Plague of Angels (23 page)

“For me?” Theodora sat up. “Why for me?”

“Don’t stop what you were doing!” her husband captured her hand and guided it back. “I think a short trip to Caere would be good for your spirit,” he said. “And for Sergius’s spirits as well.”

Theodora smiled. “I see.”

“If we are going to arrange the next pope,” said Theophylact, “we may as well make it someone we can control. And take Marozia with you. You can stop in at Speleto on your way home.” He groaned, then grabbed her and rolled on top of her. “But first things first!”

In Caere, thirteen-year old Marozia walked through the halls of Sergius’s villa, bored and lonely. They’d been there a week, and Marozia was mostly being ignored as her mother spent time in private with the man she wanted to be pope.

Marozia had already explored every corner of the place, had watched the scullions at work, had visited the gardens and the animal pens, talked to the guards and the servants, and generally made a nuisance of herself to he point where her mother had given her a stern lecture on proper behavior and a dozen licks of a leather strop borrowed from Sergius’s blacksmith to back it up.

Now, smarting and sore, Marozia walked alone through the palace grounds, hoping a couple of the servants would do something wrong and get whipped themselves, just so she could watch it. Unfortunately, all the servants seemed to be annoyingly good at their jobs, and no one had cause to complain about their actions or behavior. She wondered how she could get one of them into trouble.

“You shouldn’t waste your time with servants,” said someone. “Not when you could be in charge of all of them in a few years.”

Marozia turned around. The speaker was a girl a bit taller than Marozia herself, with black hair and brown eyes and dark skin. She smiled at Marozia, and there was something in her smile that was both wicked and trustworthy. Marozia at once wanted to like her. “Besides,” said the girl. “It’s not them you want to get even with, it’s your mother.”

The fact that the other girl knew what she was thinking irritated Marozia to no end. She drew herself up as tall as she could, which was still not as tall as the other girl and that was even more irritating. “Who are you to speak to me like that?” she said haughtily. “I could have you whipped for speaking about my mother that way.”

The other girl laughed. “No you couldn’t.” And despite herself, Marozia found herself laughing as well. “Besides, if you try, I won’t help you become the most powerful woman in Italy.”

“You can’t do that!” said Marozia.

“Sure I can,” said the girl, twirling one of her black curls between two fingers. “First thing is to replace your mother as Sergius’s favorite.” The other girl walked around Marozia, looking her up and down. “You’re going to have to grow a bit first. Sergius likes them curvy and you have no boobs as all.” She walked behind Marozia. “No real bum either.”

“Stop it!” said Marozia, giggling.

“Come on,” the other girl said, capturing her hand and tugging her down the hallway. The girl smelled like rose petals with a hint of something muskier. “The afternoon show is about to start and we can hide behind the curtains and watch if we go now.”

“Wait! What afternoon show?” demanded Marozia, running up to keep up with the other girl.

The girl turned and flashed a smile, teasing and merry. “In Sergius’s room. Or don’t you want to see why he likes your mother so much?”

That made Marozia pause, but the charm of the other girl held sway. “All right,” she said. “But I don’t even know your name!”

“Ishtar,” said the girl.

“That’s a strange name.”

“It’s very old,” said Ishtar. “It came from Babylon.” She pulled Marozia along faster. “Now hurry up! If you want to be the most powerful woman in Italy, first you have to know how to hold power!”

Together, the two girls ran down the hallway, giggling.

That evening, Marozia sat in the villa’s orchard, watching the sun set through the leaves of the apple trees. Her mind was whirling, choked with obscene images. Her stomach was upset and she had had to excuse herself from eating dinner at the same table as her mother and Sergius. Ishtar and she had spent the afternoon watching them engaging in the most carnal of activities. Ishtar wouldn’t let her leave when she’d had enough—which was very soon—and the sights and smells and sounds had imprinted on her memory. She wasn’t stupid. She knew what men and women did, and she knew that babies came from it, but the things that her mother had done…and liked doing…

He’s not even my father,
Marozia thought.
How could she let him do those things?

Marozia shuddered, and tried to turn her attention to the vivid hues of the sunset.

“Hello,” said Ishtar, stepping out from behind a tree. Marozia didn’t look at her.

“What’s the matter?” asked Ishtar, smiling. “Never seen a woman take it like a boy before?”

“No, I haven’t,” snapped Marozia. “And I never wanted to see my mother do it! Ever! It was disgusting!”

“Your mother’s been doing that and much more since before you were born,” said Ishtar calmly, sitting beside her. “And you’ll be doing it soon enough.”

Marozia stood up and stomped away from Ishtar. “My mother is a whore! I’ll never be like her!”

“Wrong,” said Ishtar. “A whore is paid to give the man what he wants. Your mother uses her body and mind to get her whatever
she
wants. And the reasons she does that with Sergius is so that Sergius will serve her when he becomes Pope. And unless you want to spend the rest of your life serving her, you’d better learn how to do it better than she does.”

“Eww.” Marozia looked away. She was angry and confused and not at all happy about the prospect. “I don’t want to do… that. I won’t.”

“You don’t have a choice,” said Ishtar, her voice suddenly very hard and much, much older than her appearance. “Your mother is taking you to Speleto to show you off to Alberic. Didn’t you know? If he likes you and agrees to ally himself with your father against Benedict, you’ll be married to him, and you can either spend your life doing what your mother was doing the way
he
wants for the reasons
he
wants. Or you can do it the way
you
want for the reasons
you
want. And
right now
is when you get to pick.”

“But…what if I don’t want to do any of it?”

Ishtar laughed. “You don’t get to do what you want, girl. You get to do what your mother and father tell you. Nothing else.”

Marozia pouted. “It’s not fair.”

“No,” said Ishtar. “It isn’t. But it’s the way it is. Now what do you want? To be your mother’s slave and Alberic’s whore? Or to learn how to rule over both of them?”

Marozia took a long look at Ishtar, who suddenly looked much older and wiser than the girl she had been before. “Who are you? Why do you care?”

Ishtar smiled. “I have been in your position, girl,” she said. “And in every position your mother was in this afternoon. I have been in those positions of my own volition, and because others have made me do it, and let me tell you it is far, far better when it’s by your own choice. If you have the brains and the daring, I can make you more powerful than any other woman in history. If you don’t…” Ishtar shrugged. “Then you can see what it feels like to be taken by a man you don’t want touching you. I hear Alberic prefers it when a woman resists. It gives him an excuse to hit them.”

“You’re disgusting!” shouted Marozia. “You’re horrible.”

“I’m right,”
said Ishtar, and this time she poured the full strength of her Angelic power into the words. Marozia froze where she stood, her eyes wide.

“What… what are you?”

Ishtar smiled and let her wings show, though she did not change any other part of her form. Marozia fell over backwards, scrabbling against the dirt to get away until she fetched up against a tree. Ishtar stepped forward and knelt before her “I’m an Angel, Marozia,” said Ishtar. “And I can make you so much more than you are. You just need to trust me, and know that everything I do will make you powerful and strong, and give you control of the nobility and the papacy if you want it. But you have to choose
now.
”

“But… but… I don’t know what I want!”

“Choose,” said Ishtar. “Now.”

“But…”

“NOW!”

“All right! I’ll do it! I’ll do what you ask.”

“You’ll do what I
say
,” said Ishtar, and her eyes flashed red. “Everything I say, when I say and how I say.”

“Yes!” cried Marozia. “I will! I swear I will!”

“Good!” The wings vanished, the red faded from her eyes, and Ishtar once more appeared as a slightly older, slightly taller girl. She held out her hand. “Now come one. It’s time to go to the stables.”

“The… the stables?” Marozia was confused.

“Haven’t you looked at the stable hands?” said Ishtar. “They’re delicious. And they are excellent to practice on.” She smiled again. “So vigorous and so eager. But remember, no giving up your virginity. We need it intact for your lover-to-be.”

“Lover?” Marozia took Ishtar’s hand and stood up. “You mean Alberic?”

Ishtar laughed. “Of course not. Alberic will be your husband.
Sergius
is going to be your lover.”

Pope Benedict IV sat at the head of the table, alone. It had been a long and trying day, and he had chosen to have dinner alone in his apartments, rather than face another delegation of Italian nobles who wanted something from him.
They do not understand what the church is here to do,
he thought, as he took another spoonful of the almond-flavored pudding he had asked for dessert. It was one of his favorites, and on days like this one, he was especially fond of it.

“Is it good, Papa?” asked a woman.

The Pope looked up, startled. The woman was clad in black from head to foot, though somehow her clothes –
or is it armor?
– managed to reveal every part of her body while showing none of it. She was taller than he, and her hair and skin were both white. Her eyes, though, glowed red. The pope rose, nearly knocking over his chair from surprise.

“I had to put in lots of sugar,” said Nyx. “Otherwise the bitterness comes through.”

“What…what are you?”

In his chest, it seemed that a massively strong hand had made a fist with his heart inside it. He gasped, but no air or sound would come.

“It had to seem natural,” said Nyx. “And since you liked to dine alone, this seemed the best time.” She looked down at the bowl as Pope Benedict clutched at his chest. “Shouldn’t leave any lying around, though.” So fast she seemed to blur she was beside him at the table, and picking up the bowl. She ate the rest without qualm, then smiled at him. “It only works on mortals, of course. But it is delicious.”

He stumbled backwards and she caught his arm, steadying him and easing him back into his chair. “Shhhh…” she whispered as he tried to grab at her, the movements sharp and spasmodic. “Shhhh. It will be over in a moment.”

Benedict’s mouth opened and closed a half-dozen times, then fell open and stayed there. His head slouched against his chest, and his hands stopped their struggling. Nyx stepped back and waited as his soul pulled free of its body. To her surprise, it began ascending.

I guess he was one of the good ones.
Nyx waved at him, and she saw in his soul the anger and helplessness he felt at the sight of his own body. She watched him until he rose out of sight.

“Well,” said Nyx, patting the corpse’s head, “now that you’re finished, time to see what we can manage.”