Beloved (77 page)

The noose itself didn’t tighten, but the rough rope burned against Stefano’s skin.

“Guy, what did Julien do to you? How did he hurt you?” he asked, his voice filled with concern. He wanted to distract Guy. He could see the rage in his face.

It worked. Guy’s expression changed. His voice became brusque and dispassionate. He began to pace back and forth in front of him, all the time holding the end of the rope as if it were a leash.

“Julien
explained
things to me. He showed me what little boys were for, all the ways I could please him.”

There was a catch in his voice and for a moment Stefano thought he might cry.

“But I was too little. He hurt me. And he kept hurting me.” Suddenly, he refocused on Stefano.

“I’d be willing to wager Monsieur Pagni never showed you those things, did he? You never learned how to please a man, did you?”

“No, you’re right. But you can show me, here, now—please Guy—before it’s too late.” Stefano begged, emphasizing the last words.

But Guy was lost in his memories. “Remember how we used to travel with our tutors? Tell me, what did you do when you traveled with old Pagni?”

Stefano was baffled and fielded a guess. “We saw the Roman ruins.”

Much to Stefano’s surprise Guy laughed.

“Well then, perhaps I can say I was ruined by Romans!” Guy began to pace again and his expression turned dark. “Julien took me to Rome when I was eight. He took me to some villa and invited all his friends to come and meet his pupil. He passed me around—to all of them. Even the women. Every day, every night, there were people there. Giving Julien money for a little time with his pupil.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Stefano asked, as Richard and also as himself. He was surprised to find he felt some sympathy for Guy. He’d never imagined that such a thing might be the origin of Guy’s obsession.

Suddenly, Guy jerked the rope, pulling Stefano’s face close to his. “I tried to tell you. Don’t you remember? That day after the ball.”

“What ball?” Stefano asked. He was looking for something to grab onto that would bring Guy back. He had never seen him so disconnected.

“Oh, of course, how could you remember? Something so unimportant as a friend asking for help.” Guy’s tone was sarcastic and threatening.

“Guy…” Stefano whispered his name. It worked. He had Guy’s attention. “You must tell me—am I to go to my grave without knowing how I hurt you so deeply?”

“The ball at Cybelle’s. You must remember? You couldn’t talk because you had ‘something to do.’ You thought I didn’t know! You had to visit your whore. And your whore wasn’t enough. You took mine, as well!”

Guy stepped away and took another drink. Unfortunately, Stefano was sobering up rather quickly.

“I’m sorry. I should have been satisfied with mine.” Stefano had no idea where he might go from there.

Guy grabbed his chin roughly. “You didn’t know I saw you the next morning but I did—there in the hall—both the woman and the girl, fondling you like they couldn’t get enough, couldn’t bear to let you go.” Guy’s hand slipped to Stefano’s genitals and suddenly his expression changed. It was followed by a sob and he dropped to his knees throwing his arms around Stefano’s legs and pressing his face against him. “Why did you love them? Why not me?” he sobbed, “Why not me?”

“I do love you, Guy. Untie me and let me show you.”

“No. No, I can’t.”

“Then show me, show me how much you love me.” Stefano knew he was finally in control again.

Guy looked up at him, grateful as he smiled through his tears. He reached for the buttons at Stefano’s waist.

Comme les rides sur la surface de l’eau la plus calme

S’éloignent sans cesse du centre au cercle de l’Amour.

—Petrou

Like ripples on the stillest water Love’s circle ever outward moves.

Mars 1760

Arles

Shortly after Christina left, they moved Richard to one of the small holding cells in the courtyard in front of the
Hôtel de Vill
e. He caught a brief glimpse of the gallows beyond the gate just as the priest from St. Trophime, who had performed his wedding to Christina, came to him. He heard his confession and promised to re-enforce what Richard had written in his letter to Robert—that he did not blame him for what was about to happen.

It was cold and dark, the Mistral pushing the black clouds down from the north. The wind blew relentlessly, picking up water from the river and promising rain. It was surprising anyone had come for the spectacle, yet there was a small crowd, groups of people scattered around the square near the gallows. The mood was subdued. There was none of the usual sense of celebration that accompanied the execution of a known criminal. These people had come to witness a travesty and they knew it. While some were merely curious, most had come out of respect for the Baron and his family.

Christina and Maryse were waiting toward the back of the crowd with Denis, surrounded by six guards from the townhouse. Maryse was taking no chances that anyone would bother them. The women held each other’s hands tightly, barely daring to breathe. They were dry eyed, their tears long since spent. They both felt the numbness that came with disbelief. It was impossible for either of them to imagine that this was happening and yet right in front of them stood the gallows, the noose snapping in the wind.

Then Christina caught sight of another cloaked figure moving along the outside edge of the crowd.

“Is that her?”

Maryse followed her gaze. “Yes.”

Christina released Maryse’s hand and moved toward the woman. Maryse and the guards followed.

“Signora Cellarini?”

Arabella was startled that anyone would know her name. She turned and immediately recognized Christina. She quickly dropped into a curtsy.

“Baroness,” she said softly.

“Christina, please,” she said as she reached out to embrace her. “Come with us. We can help each other.”

Their little group returned to the center of the square.

Arabella was surprised, but grateful she was with Maryse and Christina. She was thinking of little beyond Richard as she put one arm around Christina and took her hand. Maryse did the same, thinking how pleased Richard would be if he knew.

Guy was still drunk. He’d slept only briefly, waking when the level of alcohol in his system dropped. Stefano was gone and at that moment he remembered little of what had passed between them. But the hanging—Guy had no intention if missing it. It had cost him far too dearly.

He began drinking again as he dressed warmly and, with a flask in each pocket of his heavy coat, he made his way to the square. He arrived in time to see Christina and Maryse and then to wonder who the other woman was. When he saw her swollen belly he concluded it might be Arabella, though how she’d reached Arles without him knowing, he couldn’t imagine. He would have to see about that. And then he realized that very soon Richard would be dead and the network of spies he had maintained for the past seven years would no longer be necessary.

He was disappointed by the number of guards surrounding the women. Guy had hoped to get close enough to Christina to upset her. It would have been a little additional pleasure. But this was priceless—Richard’s three whores, all here to bid him goodbye.
Perfect!
Guy laughed out loud in pure delight and received some hateful looks from the people nearby.

Stefano was on the other side of the square, inconspicuous against the wall of a building. He had the high collar of his coat turned up and a hat pressed firmly on his head. He had no wish to be recognized. This would not be the time to have his resemblance to the Baron remarked on. It happened often enough in the course of any given day. It also marked his association with Guy, which was not appreciated by the citizens of Arles these days.

Stefano was watching Christina. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. He paid little attention when another woman joined them. It was Christina he watched, Christina he longed for. Yet, even as he stood against the cold stone wall, he knew she was lost to him. Forever. He had lost her because he was a coward.

It wasn’t long before a murmur rippled through the crowd as the gates to the courtyard swung open. First came the banner of the city of Arles followed by the Magistrate and the three judges who had presided at Richard’s trial. The judges stopped at the judgment seat, the ancient stone bench set into the wall surrounding the
Hôtel de Ville
. The Magistrate followed the standard bearer and stopped at the foot of the stairs to the gallows.

Richard was brought out with the hangman and two guards in front of him, two guards behind. He followed the hangman and two of the guards up the narrow wooden stairs to the platform where he knew the noose was waiting. He was mildly surprised that he felt nothing. His heart was pounding and it was almost as though his body knew it was in danger while his mind had already moved beyond what was to come. He found himself thinking how fortunate he was that he had been able to assure the safety of Christina and his child.

When he reached the platform, the hangman led him to the spot on the trapdoor, facing the crowd. The hangman dropped to his knee in front of Richard.

“Forgive me, Master. I promise you it will be quick.”

When the man looked up, Richard was surprised to see the tears in his eyes.

“I forgive you and wish you well,” Richard said softly.

The hangman rose and as he slipped the noose over Richard’s neck, a number of people fell to their knees making the sign of the cross.

“Will you have the hood?” the hangman asked.

Richard shook his head. The man knelt and pulled a strap tight around his ankles and buckled it.

The old magistrate finally made it to the top of the stairs. He unrolled the proclamation declaring Richard’s conviction and sentence, though his weak voice was swept away by the wind. If Richard could have seen his face, he would have seen the old man’s despair. He bowed his head and the wind shifted.

Richard thought he heard him say, “May God have mercy on your soul and on my own.”

There was a moment, the smallest fraction of a second when time seemed suspended and Richard found Christina in the crowd. Their eyes locked and then, in an instant, it was over.

All three of the women stood transfixed by the sight of Richard’s body hanging at the end of the rope. It was obvious that he’d died instantly. They were vaguely aware of some muffled cries from the crowd. Some of the people had fallen to their knees, praying for Richard’s soul.

“Come,” said Maryse. She tried to turn Christina back to their carriage. “They’ll be bringing him home. We need to be there.”

Arabella loosened her grip on Christina’s hand, intending to find her own way back to Maryse’s townhouse.

“No,” Christina whispered, holding on tight. “Please, come with us. You should be there, too.”

Arabella gave her a brief, grateful smile as they turned toward the waiting carriage. When the guards had handed them to their seats, two stepped up onto the footmen’s perch and the others went to retrieve the body. They were taking no chances that Richard might not have a peaceful trip home.

Guy pushed his way to the front of the dispersing crowd. A few were still on their knees at the foot of the gallows. Guy ignored them. The priest and two of the city guards stood at Richard’s feet. One of the guards shouted up to someone on the platform and motioned the Baron’s guards to step up and take the body as the rope was released. Guy watched the men catch Richard’s body and slowly lower him onto the cart. One of the guards took the strap from his legs, the other, the rope that bound his hands. The priest gently loosened the noose and and slipped it off. It was obvious from the angle of Richard’s head that his neck was broken, but when Guy saw the rope burn along the side of his throat, his hand inadvertently went to his own.

Guy was drunk—very drunk. Snippets of what had happened the night before began flashing through his mind and mixed with what he was seeing. Richard was there, not ten feet away. And he was dead. But Richard didn’t have to die! He had told Richard everything, and Richard had…Richard had…well everything was good between them now. So good.

So, why was Richard dead?

Stefano walked. Despite the weather, he ducked his head into the wind and walked. He passed along the near side of St. Trophime. With no destination in mind he cut through the old theater space, passed the two lone marble columns and then walked on beyond the ramparts of the city. He kept walking and finally found himself at the Alyscamps. He was alone. The wind whipped the tall cypresses and the bare branches of the elms, only now starting to show the halo of green that indicated spring was finally on the way. But Stefano wasn’t thinking of spring. He was thinking of Christina and the last time he’d been on that same path with her.

He sat down in the shelter of the wall at the little chapel.
Christina
. They had been here together on that day when he first knew he would succeed with the seduction Guy had planned for his innocent wife. She had been so trusting, so young. She’d put her life in his hands and what had he done? He’d broken her heart and thought nothing of it. She’d been an amusement, a rather pleasant step on the ladder he’d imagined himself climbing, one which would lead him to riches and his rightful place as a gentleman.

Well, he’d succeeded. But at what cost? His way of life was dependent on pleasing an unstable, sadistic man. He was constantly walking the tightrope of Guy’s emotions and it had cost him the woman he loved.

Stefano wept openly, though there was no one to see it. He had come so far, done so much to secure a place for himself in the world of the fortunate and when he’d finally accomplished his goals, he was alone and face to face with himself. And he couldn’t live with what he saw.

It began to rain.

The women worked together to prepare Richard’s body. Only Arabella had performed this deeply personal service for the dead before—for her parents, her own children and most recently for Alfredo. But Christina and Maryse were willing participants, both wanting to offer one last expression of their love to the man who was such an important part of their lives. As they worked, their tears flowed freely as they shared an occasional memory or confidence, exchanged in low tones.