The Golden Key (141 page)

The
First Provisional Assembly of the Corteis had gone on for fifteen days now. Rohario had made one speech, recorded in the minutes as “Do Not Act Rashly.” But he had helped to convince the assembly that it was better to negotiate than to attack.

“We are not barbarians. We do not murder children in the name of liberty.” Or some such words. “The Grand Duke will answer violence with violence. There will be death on both sides—”

“A small price to pay for freedom!” shouted Ruis, who had made himself spokesman for a set of unruly young men.

Rohario no longer had trouble speaking to crowds. Indeed, he had a talent for it. “Do you have a young sister, as I do, Maesso?” he had responded. “Perhaps you would like to put her in the front lines? If there must be fighting, then I believe it is better to have a written set of principles on which the Corteis agrees to govern itself before the fighting begins, rather than after, so that every man here has agreed to those principles before we begin squabbling over the gains. In this way you can win over those men who might otherwise fear they would lose everything their families have worked so many generations for to the anger of the mob.”

His speech had been only one in a long string of speeches made by various men. But it was naive to think he had not influenced the wealthier scions of Meya Suerta society, for a number of them began at once to agitate for a truce.

Twenty days after Penitenssia, they had a truce. Now they argued over the principles to be included in the document by which they meant to legitimize the Corteis—with or without the Grand Duke’s imprimature.

Sperranssia had come and gone. No young men had wandered the streets singing for kisses. Barricades stood in the avenidas. The mercado remained open, but traffic into and out of the city was restricted, Wagons were allowed onto the Palasso grounds, but they were searched for contraband. Grand Duke Renayo did not act. He had not even spoken publicly since Rohario’s disastrous interview with him the day after Nov’viva. Some said he had put his trust in the Ecclesia and, indeed, representatives of the Premia Sancta and
Premio Sancto attended faithfully each day of meetings in the guild hall commandeered by the Provisional Corteis.

Rohario did not understand why his father did not take drastic action. Renayo was not a patient man, although he was always pragmatic. But certainly with Meya Suerta in such uproar he could not send the bulk of his army to restore both order and Princess Alazais—and one of his sons—to the throne of Ghillas. Yet neither would he want to expend his substance here in the city when there was so much at stake abroad.

In ten days it would be Mirraflores Moon. Rohario listened to each tedious hour of debate. As long as they were talking, they were not fighting. More than anything he did not want beautiful Meya Suerta to be ruined in the kind of violent brawl that had wracked Aute-Ghillas. He did not want his beloved Galerria looted and burned.

If the world must change, let it change through the pen, not with the sword.

And yet, as the proceedings—and the document that would embody the principles agreed upon in the proceedings—were recorded, he noted that the bulk of the recording was done in words. Not in paintings. The
Contracts
and
Deeds
and
Marriages
that were the staple of Meya Suerta’s commerce had a fixed language, long agreed upon, one every merchant and educated man and woman could understand. But this was new. There was no language in pictures that covered it. Eiha! What did this forebode for families such as the Grijalvas, whose fortune had been made in painting?

“
We, the elected representatives of the Corteis, will meet as a body equal in authority to the conselhos.
”

This passed by acclamation.

“
The members of the Corteis will be elected without regard to orders or privileges or inherited rights.
”

“
The Corteis shall have the right to investigate wrongs done by the Grand Duke or his officers to individuals or groups of individuals, of whatever rank, in defiance of the law, and to demand that justice be done.
”

“
No taxes can be imposed without the consent of the Corteis.
”

Rohario penned a quick note and sent it forward to Maesso Velasco, who still acted as unofficial Premio Oratorrio.
I am leaving the assembly for the afternoon in order to join those of our comrades engaged in a thorough search of the records in the Palasso Justissia.

His movements were watched, of course. Interest in him was intense.
He had a constant escort of young journeymen, cronies of Ruis. They were men of about the same age as he, and although they disliked his title and privilege, they now treated him with grudging respect. Accustomed to the language of paintings, they did not have the patience to read through the volumes of tiny crabbed writing that were the records of the earlier Corteis. Four hundred years ago the Corteis had met on a regular basis in Tira Virte. At the time, Duke Renayo I had needed them to help govern the new-made country of Tira Virte. Their power had subsequently waned; one hundred years ago Arrigo II had banned it outright. The old Corteis had not been very powerful. But Rohario had discovered that it was not new, for instance, for the Corteis to abrogate to itself the right to control taxation and to accord its members privileges reserved for the nobility. These archives had been locked away, unavailable to anyone except the Grand Duke’s conselhos. Until now.

Rohario led his escort into the basement of the Palasso Justissia. The smell of smoke still pervaded the gloomy basement, a reminder of the fire that had gutted one wing of the Palasso a month ago. Here worked the gleaners, sanctos and notaries, gathering bit by bit knowledge of the words and duties and rights held by the old Corteis. They worked by the light of glass-shuttered lanterns set in rows along plank tables hauled down to this room. Rohario joined them. He pulled an old volume from the top of a stack of old volumes, leather cracked and aging, and opened it. Sneezed at once as a cloud of dust rose off the pages. A polite young sancto handed him a handkerchief. Rohario thanked him and dusted off the book. At Palasso Verrada he would have had servants to do this for him. He sighed and began to read.

Due to the illness of Lord Limner Zaragosa Serrano, Duke Alejandro hereby appoints the aforesaid Sario Grijalva as Lord Limner, by the grace of il Matra ei Filho, by the power invested in him by the Ecclesia, and by the acclamation of the people of Tira Virte.

The date read 951. Sario Grijalva, the master who had painted the altarpiece and
The First Mistress.
Interested, Rohario read on through months of tedious economic business recorded on now-yellowed pages. He yawned. Turning a page, he found a loose piece of parchment stuck into the book. He pulled it out carefully.

It seemed to be a recipe, but the words read like nonsense and the sides of the page were covered with tiny signs, unknown letters,
wound together like the endless cracks and seams that riddle a parched stretch of earth. He turned the parchment over.

Here the same hand had written hastily, with many words crossed out or scrawled over, a decree. The writing was distinctive but curiously unpracticed, as if the hand was unused to forming sentences. Here and there the ink had blotched, but Rohario puzzled out the sense of it, and as he did so a rush of foreboding ran up his spine.

Let it be agreed that Palasso Grijalva and only Palasso Grijalva will supply the Heir with his Mistress, the one to whom he offers Marria do’Fantome. So shall it be established, by the decree of Duke Alejandro, by the
Peintraddo
painted by the brush of Sario Grijalva, for all time.

Matra Dolcha! Amazing to have stumbled across this, the foundation of that long and strange relationship between the do’Verradas and the Grijalvas. Yet who had concocted it, Lord Limner or Duke? Or both of them, together, the alliance of Duke and Limner? Oddly enough, he remembered Beatriz’s words to Eleyna at Chasseriallo.

“
It took no great intelligence to see the change in you between the day you told Mother you would never wed Felippo and the day you stood simpering beside him at your wedding … if I had insisted, then they would have painted me into compliance, as they did to you! Only men are Gifted, but it is the Grijalva women who produce Gifted sons, no matter who the father is.
”

He folded the parchment in half and tucked it inside his coat, then flipped back through the volume, seeking references to the Grijalvas before Sario Grijalva had been appointed Lord Limner by Duke Alejandro. The accusation sprang out at him from ten pages earlier, in crabbed writing added between the perfect scribal hand that had recorded the proceedings of a private session called by Duke Baltran, Alejandro’s father.

Lord Limner Zaragosa has called for the Duke to revoke the Edict of Protection granted to the Grijalva familia on the basis of rumors of dark magics used by these aforesaid Grijalvas to elevate their position at court.

Matra Dolcha!

Footsteps echoed hollowly from the stairs outside. It was a welcome
relief to look up from these dire warnings—until he saw the man who entered the chamber.

Maesso Azéma walked the length of the room to stand beside Rohario’s chair. “I am surprised to find you here, Don Rohario, engaged in such industrious activity. You are a scholar? I had not known the do’Verradas indulged in philosophical pursuits.”

Because this slur offered no opportunity for a polite rejoinder, Rohario merely nodded curtly at Azéma. He carefully closed the book and stuck it back into the pile, as if it no longer interested him.

“But since I have encountered you here, Don Rohario, perhaps we might speak privately. Grazzo.”

Not wanting to cause a scene, Rohario acquiesced. They walked out into the passageway and stood on the drafty stairs, alone.

“You wonder why I come here, perhaps?” asked Azéma. “I, too, am looking for records, Don Rohario. Pieces of a puzzle that may at last be put together to form a coherent picture.”

Azéma had a wild, triumphant gleam in his eye that made Rohario nervous, especially after what he had just read about Grijalva magic. Mennino moronno! To give credence to tales told by credulous men three hundred years dead! A cold draft rose up the stairwell. Rohario shifted to keep warm and waited for the old man to go on.

“I have no reason to love the do’Verradas. En verro, no reason to wish them well at all.”

Was this meant to be a threat? “It is in your own interest, and the interest of all men of our station, to wish for prosperity, peace, and order in Tira Virte.”

“Certainly, Don Rohario. But I remind you that I am an old man now and, as the saying goes, a dying man knows he will never have to pay his tailor’s bill.”

“I am sorry that your brother died, but it has nothing to do with me.”

“It has everything to do with you, because you are a do’Verrada. But that is the point, is it not? Are you truly a do’Verrada?”

This was too much! “You will be careful,” said Rohario in a low, taut voice, “how you speak of my blessed mother.”

“It is not your mother I am concerned with. It is your grandmother.”

Rohario laughed outright. “Grand Duchess Mechella? Everyone knows she was a saint. I cannot imagine what you mean by these ravings.”

Azéma smiled. “It was a great scandal, greater than you can
imagine, ninio meyo, what went on between Arrigo and Mechella and that Grijalva woman. Arrigo and Mechella had two children—Teressa and Alessio—before they separated permanently and lived after that time in separate households.”

“
Three
children,” Rohario straightened his cuffs, fingering the buttons. Better that than punching the old man. “I suppose you mean these insinuations to make me lose my temper and embarrass myself. I think not.”

So calm Azéma was. So sure of himself. “I do not forget your father. Let me tell you a story, and I suggest you listen well. The Countess do’Alva had become Arrigo’s mistress again. Arrigo and Mechella had each their own picca aldeya, their own little village, as we used to say then. They no longer spoke to or saw each other. Grand Duke Cossimio was distraught, but despite his wishes they did not reconcile. So you see, your father’s siring can only have occurred in a single meeting of less than an hour, a supposed assignation that took place in a back room at a ball! Even were Arrigo not so much a prude that I doubt me if he would unburden himself in such a situation no matter how beautiful the woman, I know from my experience on my estates that a bull must cover a cow more than once to ensure offspring.”

“You are offensive, Maesso.” Deliberately, Rohario used the common honorific, not the man’s title.

Azéma seemed impervious. Perhaps he truly was too old to care. “Renayo looks nothing like the do’Verradas. He resembles his mother, they all say. But none of his children resemble the do’Verradas either. A strange coincidence.”

“My mother and grandmother were Ghillasian!”

“So I investigated Mechella’s picca aldeya, and whom did I find? Grijalvas. They were everywhere, these Grijalvas.”