Beyond the Raging Flames (The Hermeporta Book 2) Page 35

  ‘Let me handle this, signore’ said the manservant taking the wet cloak from his guest with confidence, ‘Signore Marino awaits you.’

  ‘Thank you’ said Antonio, before he ruffled at his damp hair, shaping it as best he could, and climbed the stone steps of the back stairs, and rose up into the grandeur of the house that surrounded him. With silent grace, Antonio navigated the elegant hallways of the house with its painted ceilings, candelabra, and ornate mouldings. He reached one door, after passing many, that he knew to be the correct one. With gentle tapping, he knocked on the door.

  ‘Come in’ said the voice from within. He took a deep breath and entered before closing the door behind him. There Benfico sat, legs akimbo, upon a four-poster bed on the far side of the room. With caution, he approached the man with measured steps. A smirk crept across the seated man’s face as Antonio walked closer, which then broke into a smile when he stepped between his legs. Benfico reached forward to grasp Antonio’s buttocks, and massaged the firm flesh:

  ‘So, you've returned to me - at last’ he said. Antonio pouted, with mock offence, and cocked his brow before he pulled Benfico up into his embrace. The pair clung to one another and kissed. Benfico, impassioned, tried to pull Antonio back onto the bed, but he resisted.

  ‘Do you have the paperwork ready?’ He said. Benfico almost slumped, before he flicked his head in the direction of a writing table in the far corner where a sheet of inscribed vellum lay near a flickering candle.

  ‘It’s been a long time Nino, let’s not talk business now’ said Benfico, his breath catching, before unlacing his shirt to reveal some of the skin below. Antonio tilted his head before answering.

  ‘You’ve made me wait long enough’ he said, ‘we could have done this years ago.’

  ‘Things were different then, Nino. Orsini’s a difficult man; you know this.’

  ‘You don’t work for him anymore, Beni.’ A smirk slipped across the bald man's thin lips, but his eyes flashed.

  ‘Indeed, and that’s why this could happen. Cardinal Bonsi can’t stand Orsini.'

  'You work for Bonsi now?' said Antonio with surprise. The man tilted his head and gestured to his surroundings.

  'Do you think I bought this Palazzo myself?' he laughed. 'The Cardinal is away in France to honour his post and visit the Medici Queen. We're good friends.'

  'How good?'

  'Not in that way, Nino.' Benfico tittered at the association, 'but he's not a fire and brimstone thrower like Orsini - he’s always thought Savonarola’s teachings went too far.’ Antonio seemed doubtful.

  ‘Is that relevant? Savonarola was burned ages ago.'

  'A hundred and thirteen years is not a long time in The Church' said Benfico. Antonio sighed.

  'But we’ve been here before; I remember the scandal that almost happened last time.’ But the man had tossed aside his shirt and had begun to make good progress with his pantaloons.

  ‘It’s different now, Nino. The legitimacy documents are drafted - we can make it work this time’ he said with another gesture to the writing table as he tossed aside his pantaloons. Antonio struggled to concentrate as Benfico stripped.

  ‘Did Cardinal Bonsi sign the papers then?’ Benfico hesitated before he shook his head.

  ‘He permitted me to have the official documents drafted, but could not sign them: Orsini's his enemy: he was always envious of Bonsi's status, and his connections to France. Orsini did all he could to meddle with his career and scupper him.' Antonio's shoulders dropped. 'Don't worry, Nino, Bonsi is our friend, a man of faith and intelligence, but he has to protect his position if there’s another conclave...' The man wagged his finger at the document, '...and he doesn't want Orsini to have the leverage to undermine him.’

  Antonio shook his head.

  ‘But the Pope is healthy’ he protested, ‘he won’t die soon, so the conclave could be years away, and besides, he’s a zealot - look how he’s punished Venice’ added Antonio. He hung his head. ‘I doubt he’d accept a signed document anyway.’

  Benfico laughed as he slid off his stockings to reveal his nakedness, and spread himself, like a starfish, upon the bed.

  ‘Oh, he WILL accept, Nino’ he purred, luxuriating upon his expensive bedsheets, ‘have you not seen the Pope’s nephew?' Antonio shook his head, 'if not seen then I’m sure you’ve heard about him… and his lover.’ A smile crept to the corner of Antonio’s mouth. ‘The Pope's mind is broader than you think. Get Orsini to sign the papers, and I’ll help you to marry the richest girl you can find.’

  ‘And how will I do that?’ he said, undressing, letting his damp clothes drop to the floor. Benfico's eyes smouldered as he admired Antonio’s defined physique.

  ‘You said Orsini's hiding in Padua, and we both know why. So, I'll leave you to figure it out’ added Benfico with unsteady breath, as Antonio mounted the bed frame, and prowled onto the covers.

  'Mother told me his prize will be burning at the stake by next Saturday - how will I get him to sign the documents if the girl is dead?' said Antonio, before pinning back Benfico's arms.

  ‘I don't know?' he gasped, as Antonio licked his neck, 'but you’re very good at getting what you want’ he said, before being devoured.

  ◆◆◆

  Hermes could not sit still after Antonio had left the house. He did not believe his excuses to the rest of them. Mother and son had exchanged few words. Hermes looked at Grizelda, who offered nothing in her expression, and suspected another complicit understanding that she shared with Antonio: yet another that excluded him. He let his mind wander at what the Valet could be up to before a pang of guilt reminded him of Illawara’s fate. He needed to talk with her.

  ‘I want to go to the courthouse again to speak with Illawara before it’s too late.’ said Hermes, but Bianca shook her head.

  ‘In two visits she’s still refused to speak to you, what makes you think she’ll talk to you on a third?’ said Bianca, rubbing the chain of her rosary. The amber beads tapped a percussion on the table as she massaged the orbs, ‘we must pray that the Lord will save her, and intervene.’ Grizelda gave a light scoff, which made the others turn their heads.

  ‘They’ve started building the gangway to the bonfire in the swamp already - ten leagues high’ she shrugged. The others glared at her. ‘What?' said the maid, 'she admitted to it herself. We all know there was something odd about her, and now we know what it was’ she added with a dismissive gesture. Hermes' face darkened, pulling into itself, as his lips tensed.

  ‘You’re a cold and bitter woman, Grizelda. Illawara is innocent’ said Hermes pointing at the maid, ‘you have no heart. You didn’t like Illy because everyone wanted her, and nobody wants you - because you’re a piece of salt-cod’ he hissed. Both Bianca and Dondo winced, but neither of them protested at his observation.

  Grizelda wobbled somewhat where she stood. The maid's face then settled into a mask of blank hardness, but her eyes welled up as she stared at Hermes. She looked at Dondo and Bianca, but they stared back at her and said nothing. Hermes' words went unchallenged. She wanted to say that Antonio did not want him either, that they were even, but seeing she had no defenders she kept her insights to herself. She chewed her lip and turned away to tidy the room. Hermes turned to Dondo and Bianca. ‘I must try again’ he said, ‘I know she’s angry with me, but she’s my friend. I have to speak to her. Time is running out.’

  ‘Do you want me to come again with you?’ offered Dondo, his face sullen.

  ‘Yes’ said Hermes, ‘but this time stay outside her cell. I think she’ll talk to me if we’re alone.’ Dondo nodded. Bianca’s face twitched with emotion as she listened to Hermes.

  ‘I worry for her; surely they can’t mean to burn the girl? I refuse to believe it - it's too terrible. But I also I fear I’m also losing Antonio: my son.’ Bianca rubbed her rosary with fervour. ‘He’s not been the same with me since he came back’ she added with a frown and pensive fussing at her neckline, 'don't you agree Dondo?'

&nbs
p; ‘It’s normal’ he said, ‘confinement is difficult, especially for a young man. Give him time, and he will come around.’

  But she did not look convinced, and it seemed that Hermes' troubles with Illawara mirrored her own.

  ‘I’m not sure, Dondo. He’s changed. He’s not like my boy anymore. Sometimes I don’t recognise him, and it frightens me’ confessed Bianca. She turned to Hermes and reached out to grasp his hands, the first time she had touched him. ‘Does he hate me now, Hermes? Or does Antonio still love his mother?’ And with that her thin facade cracked and she broke down. Hermes felt unable to answer. He dared not repeat the words aloud that Antonio had used in private to describe his mother, and after their return, he doubted where he stood in Antonio’s affections himself.

  Hermes tried to muster a look of reassurance to offer Bianca, but doubts infested his expression. He read Hermes' face and then cried all the more. Dondo rushed to Bianca’s side. Grizelda looked over her shoulder at the huddled group and sighed. She stood alone in the corner, unnoticed. She made no effort to comfort her mistress.

  Dondo tried to calm Bianca down, as she dabbed at her eyes with tattered lace. The mistress, at last, began to accept painful truths about her son, and some of the ways she had failed him. She had leant on him too much: as if he were a surrogate husband. She had reminded him over and over of every sacrifice she felt she had made for him but ignored how much he had supported her - and how he did it.

  With great difficulties, Dondo did his best to comfort his love before he vacated the house with Hermes. The pair left the mistress and her maid to stew in smouldering silence.

  ◆◆◆

  Getting to Illawara’s cell had taken some effort from the pair. All around people thronged, asking to see the doomed beauty and have words with her. Since her incarceration, all of society, that could, had tried to visit her. Illawara captivated the imaginations of the people from the well-heeled to the downtrodden as if some instinct within the populace sensed that she was not of their times: believing her to be exquisite and unique, and never to be seen again.

  Her reported bold defiance in the face of the feared Inquisition had only added to her fame. Bianca’s neighbours had done much to extol her efforts and build her myth: mixing in embellishments with the tantalising details.

  Many speculated that she embodied the spirit of Caterina Sforza reborn: brave, proud and dangerous - the equal of any man in courage. The people said she even made the strongest men timid. The women came to study her as if to glean some of her poise and weave it into themselves. They offered her their charms for luck, or rosaries to pray for forgiveness, or words of consolation and admiration. Some wondered aloud at her fearlessness, and found it almost supernatural, as for many, especially the women, a public beating through the streets would have been a social death, let alone a real one.

  The men, young and old, knowing her doomed fate felt liberated enough to proclaim her beauty and devote their love - singing songs of loss, or prostrating themselves in front of her cell as if stricken with great suffering - although most had only seen her the once in court. Some of her rejected suitors came to sneer, hurl insults and complain to others that they were fleeced and cheated by her. But few listened to their grumbles, and those that did laughed at their delusions or said that the punishment did not fit the crime - even if she had admitted guilt.

  There Illawara sat like a firebird caged, or some other mythical creature of which people had heard of but never thought they would see. Illawara had looked at the crowds with a combination of wonderment and disgust.

  The craven heave of human curiosity towards her, combined in a mix of anger and pity she felt for those that clamoured to look and point: few believed Illawara to be a witch, yet all found her bewitching.

  Aloof, quiet, and dignified she sat as people stared, and groped forward, and gave her their diverse views from repentance and prayer, escape, marriage proposals, legal advice, and how to carry herself when taken to her end.

  Sometimes Illawara would respond to her audience, and toss them a comment, or some wry observation to the extent that even her wit became celebrated. More often she would shake her head after the guards would shoo the people away when she got tired of the attention and mutter to herself. After a tiring day of infatuated curiosity from the public Illawara whispered to her guard:

  ‘I could squat down and defecate in front of them, and those fools would think I’d shit pure gold.' The guard laughed and admitted that he had never seen anything like it. The authorities did not know how to respond to such a famous prisoner, let alone one that confessed to witchcraft. Confusion dominated the circumstances, and rumour filled the voids. Some opinions in society thought it best Illawara be burned, for fear of her influence on the public - and women in particular.

  Hermes and Dondo elbowed their way through the churning mass of people that came to see her that day.

  ‘Get everyone out’ bellowed Hermes at the top of his voice. Illawara awoke from her daze - she had never heard her companion raise his voice so loud. ‘I mean it’ he continued, gesturing to the guards, ‘everyone get out!’ he shouted again, with such force and conviction that the space around Illawara’s cell began to empty.

  ‘You heard him’ said one guard, who had tired of the constant attention upon the captive. With some effort Dondo and the guards got the stragglers to leave. The noise and clamour died down as the public got ushered away. Hermes turned to Dondo, ‘thank you’ he said, ‘but would you be able to leave us for a moment. I need to talk with Illawara alone’ he said in a lowered tone. Dondo obliged, but one guard remained to keep watch after speaking to his colleague before the other went to fetch refreshments.

  Illawara eyeballed Hermes.

  ‘Will you be needing anything my good lady?’ said the guard before departing,

  ‘No thank you, Mario’ chimed Illawara, ‘you’re too kind.’ The guard smiled and nodded to her, checked his colleague with a look, and then left via a side door.

  Hermes approached the bars of Illawara’s cell. There she sat on hay bales, strewn with an assortment of blankets and cushions that were donated to her by the public to ease her discomfort. Illawara then avoided Hermes’ gaze as he approached - still able to hear the clamour for her outside the doors. Hermes looked back at the remaining guard, who pretended not to listen. He accepted complete privacy to be impossible, given the situation, so Hermes spoke in English.

  ‘Illy, we need to talk. I know you’re angry, but please listen to me.’ Illawara’s eyes narrowed to dark blue slits.

  ‘Angry you say? I’m more than angry; I’m livid. You abandoned me’ she hissed, ‘and now look what’s happened.’ Hermes swallowed hard.

  ‘It wasn’t like that, Illy. I had to go with Antonio to Venice… something inside me. He’s freed me Illy; he’s freed me.’ Hermes opened his arms, but Illawara shook her head.

  ‘Look where I am’ she said, eyeing her cell, ‘you’re free, and I’m behind bars about to be burned alive.’ Hermes shook his head.

  ‘Illy, why did you confess to witchcraft? Why did you say that? I don't understand why you did that. You wouldn’t be here otherwise. I think the magistrate would have thrown the case out. Everyone said it. What you did doesn't make any sense.’ Illawara’s expression became stony before her lip trembled. She looked down and fumbled with a piece of straw.

  ‘I’ve had enough Hermes; I’ve just plain had enough. What was the point of all this? All this effort and sacrifice for what?' She gestured. 'No one gives a shit about me. You’re just like Dad. The second you get the chance you just fuck off and leave me.’ Hermes grasped at his hair and gestured open-palmed to Illawara.

  ‘It’s not like that Illy; I’m not like HIM. And you're wrong; people do care about you. Dondo and Bianca care about you very much. Things were very different for me; you know that. Think how I was before. I wasn't even human. But I can be my true self now, Illy, and I’ve so much to tell you.’ Illawara cocked her brow before
she gave Hermes the middle finger.

  ‘Save your breath, Hermes. I don’t have time for your excuses. After all this effort, and preparation, and after all the sacrifice. You saw Antonio, saw what you liked, and decided that you wanted him more than you wanted to stick with me: simple.’ Hermes’ face clouded with emotion. His voice chopped up.

  ‘That’s not true Illy; I love you. You’re my only true friend in the whole world. You know that's the truth. Please listen to me. I can speak freely now, somehow Antonio helped, the spell is BROKEN. I’ve so much to tell you’ he said. But Illawara scoffed and swiped her hand through the air. She arched her back, and raised her chin, imperious before she spoke.

  ‘Ha! All he broke was your ass’ she said with a dismissive flick, ‘and he’ll break your heart too - mark my words - I told you first. I’d bet he doesn’t want you. You're blind now, but you'll see that someday’ she spat.

  'Illy, please don't speak like that: it's vulgar and beneath you' said Hermes. But Illawara clenched her fists, as her eyes darkened to a deep purple hue.

  ‘I don't care what you think. You’re just a plaything to him - a fucking NOVELTY, an experiment, someone willing to pass the time.’ Hermes seemed to wither at her criticism, ‘you were just a warm body to hold onto in a cold cell - when he’s done, he’ll move on and leave you, just like how you and Dad have left me.’

  Hermes looked crushed as he sank into himself. His expressions riddled with shame and remorse. Illawara hurt Hermes as if she had struck a barbed whip across his heart. Her comments stung and burned every part of his being. The guard shifted on his feet; although he could not understand English, he understood from Illawara’s delivery, and Hermes' response, that she had dealt the youth a mighty blow.

  Hermes’ breath became ragged, and he struggled to control his voice as Illawara glared at him from her cell like a lioness. He had seen her lose her temper many times, but it was the first she had directed her invective with such strength against him.