Suicide Kings (6 page)

She looked around disoriented, and saw a writhing form on the bed. Blinking away some of the smoke, she could see Mancini wedged between the bed and the wall where he had fallen. Like a turtle on his back, he struggled to get up, a struggle made worse by a bloody gouge across his shoulder. She’d struck him, but it had been a glancing blow. His face was red and when he set his eyes on her, he looked ready to explode. “You shot me, you whore!” he bellowed and she could hear him even over the ringing. “I’m looking at a dead girl!”

Siobhan emerged out of the cloud of smoke. She’d dropped Mancini’s box, but now had his little stiletto in one hand. With the other she tugged Diana’s sleeve, “I think we’ve exhausted our luck, m’lady. Best we be going.”

Snapping out of her momentary fog, Diana agreed. As she turned away from the struggling Mancini, Diana opened the door to his room and started down the hall. Here she was, running once again in completely inappropriate attire. This would be much easier in a dress that came up above her ankles, scandalous as that would be. Just along the hall stairs led down. When she came to these she spotted the innkeeper climbing toward them. He scowled when he saw her, “You there, halt!”

She pointed the pistol at him. “Stay back or I’ll shoot!” As she said it, a long tendril of gray smoke arose from the barrel, betraying the hollowness of her threat.

The innkeeper grinned and lunged toward Diana. His hands reached for her throat. At that moment, Siobhan appeared at her side. Siobhan slashed the tip of the stiletto across the back of one outstretched hand. The bartender jerked back with a screech, holding his wounded hand. He tottered on the step for a moment. Seeing her opening, Diana lashed with one foot and kicked him firmly in the chest. He went over backward, tumbling like a melon down the wooden stairs.

Diana and Siobhan charged past his plummeting form into the main room and toward freedom. The few other men in the main room cheered, seeming to enjoy the spectacle. Diana ignored them, getting to the door and pushing beyond it to liberty. She turned quickly to be sure Siobhan still followed. Confident she had not left her accomplice behind, she charged into the street. This was an unfamiliar area and she was not sure exactly where she was going, but it hardly mattered. They needed to be away from here.

Along the lane she went, took a random left turn, and followed that street. Other pedestrians watched her and Siobhan rush past with open mouths. The two of them, unescorted young women in formal attire, running at full speed, were hardly inconspicuous. Diana led them on a right turn and there she nearly ran down Cardinal Lajolo.

Hiding the pistol behind her, Diana came to a rapid stop. Siobhan skidded to a halt beside her.

Two bodyguards on either side of the Cardinal began to draw swords, but he waved them down. “Why, Diana Savrano,” the Cardinal huffed, brushing himself off. “You nearly knocked me onto my haunches. I should have expected you to be sequestered in mourning. Have you forgotten your mother so quickly?”

The priest’s harsh words stung, but Diana was still more concerned about their pursuers. She looked nervously behind them. “No, Your Eminence. I had only an important errand to attend to.”

The Cardinal’s censorious eyes washed over onto Siobhan. “And who is this with you?”

“This is Siobhan, my handmaid,” Diana explained, quickly. There would be no disengaging from the Cardinal until he was ready. Not even if the hounds of Hell were chasing them.

“Irish, I assume from the name,” he said with a tone of dissatisfaction. “Have we so few servant girls in Italy now we must hire Celts?”

Diana stuttered, “I-I’m not really sure, Your Eminence.” As she turned around this time she saw both Mancini and the innkeeper slide into view. They stopped when they saw the Cardinal and glowered at Diana and Siobhan. Perhaps being cornered by the Cardinal had been fortuitous after all. A moment later, still glaring at her, Mancini and the innkeeper turned and disappeared back around the corner. Evidently, they’d given up for now. Diana breathed a sigh of relief.

“It is unseemly for two young women to be seen about town unescorted. You should return home at once, lest I have a word with your father about your behavior,” the Cardinal reproved, never seeming to notice their pursuers.

“Yes, of course,” Diana promised. “We’ll head right home.”

The Cardinal glared and shook his head, but he moved off with his small entourage without further word.

Siobhan leaned in and whispered, “Weren’t you going to ask him about that nun?”

Diana shook her head slowly. “Are you mad? I know when not to press my luck.” Even as she said it, it seemed an ironic statement. She looked at Siobhan for a moment, and then they both burst out laughing.

“I can’t believe we pulled that off,” Siobhan said, wiping one arm across her brow. “You would have gotten a better shot off on Mancini if you hadn’t closed your eyes!”

“You saw that?” Diana couldn’t help but laugh at herself. “Keep quiet about it, would you? You were fantastic with that stiletto. I’m so glad you came along.”

“It’s my duty to protect my lady when she’s in danger. If you don’t mind my saying, it might be best to be moving on, should our gentlemen friends double back on us or notice the Cardinal’s left.”

They moved off quickly, returning back to familiar parts of Firenze.

“What will our next step be?” asked Siobhan once they seemed to clearly be in safer environs.

Diana knew their trouble with Mancini wasn’t going to end at the inn. If he’d been willing to kill one Savrano, he’d certainly be willing to go for a second. There would be no backing out now. Only by pressing forward would they find their way out of this mess. “I haven’t had a chance yet to puzzle over what he told us about my mother dying before he could kill her. I’m not sure what to make of that. While we still have daylight, I think we should push ahead though. I’d like to inquire about the nun who died last night.”

“Very well. Lead on, I’ll be with you,” Siobhan promised. This time when she touched Diana’s arm in a gesture of friendship, Diana didn’t mind the impropriety at all. It was good to have an ally.

****

The convent at Saint Cecilia was set on a low hill overlooking the city of Firenze, close enough to set a shadow on the city, yet far enough away to be removed from its worldly concerns. Saint Cecilia cultivated a reputation as a favored repository of charitable donations from the successful merchants of Firenze. Many of the sisters were daughters from those same families, their dowries to the convent enriching its coffers. Looking about the outer walls of the cloister, Diana remarked to herself, the largesse of the Catholic faithful showed in the design. The buildings and acreage were immaculate and well kept. The grounds were beautiful, shaded by mature cypress and smaller almond and olive trees, although these were now largely bare from winter chills. The main hall towered over them, built from sturdy stone imported from the north, near Verona.

Although some of the sisters attended vocations in the city, the convent did not encourage outside visitors. Exceptions were made, however. Diana knew that the Savrano family had donated generously to Saint Cecilia. She suspected her mother’s will would contain similar sizable donations in hopes her time in purgatory would be shortened. Of course the family had significant power over the final disputation of a will, particularly that of a woman. Diana felt certain the convent would be disinclined to alienate a member of the family. It didn’t hurt that many in Firenze assumed that Diana had her father’s ear. Diana knew this was because she enjoyed considerable freedom for a young woman, and many assumed this reflected some influence over her father. That reality did not match the rumors was inconsequential. In moments such as these, Diana found it convenient to profit from them.

As they approached in late afternoon, the convent appeared quiet. Among the trees lining the main walkway, it was easy to remain unobtrusive. Diana felt an atmosphere of calm and tranquility from the place. She could only imagine what horrors the young sisters might endure within those walls, but the cloister was successful in projecting an impression of peaceful contemplation.

“It is like a prison,” Siobhan said, apparently missing the correct interpretation.

Diana looked at her. “Signore Orsini implied as much in speaking of the nun thrown from the dome. He suggested some of the sisters might commit suicide because of the treatment they receive.”

Siobhan’s eyebrows furrowed as she seemed to absorb the words. Diana turned away from her handmaid. Now that they were here she wasn’t entirely sure how to proceed. The manicured cypress grove broke against a long open arched walkway that led to a small domed chapel. Diana stepped into the walkway sure this would lead her to some sign of life.

“Have you ever thought about joining a religious community?” Siobhan asked quietly.

“No, never.” She couldn’t suppress a shudder.

“Well, why not?” Siobhan asked. “Given your age, I’d assume you haven’t been eager to get married.”

“Not you too!” Diana stopped and turned round. “Did my father put you up to this?”

Siobhan shook her head, her pale skin turning pink.

Diana put her hands on her hips. “Just because I don’t choose to let a man enslave me, doesn’t mean I wished to be enslaved by women.” Looking at Siobhan, over whom she had enormous control, she suddenly felt awkward. She turned and resumed progress toward the chapel.

Behind her, Siobhan’s footsteps followed. After a moment her hushed voice asked, “Don’t you like men?”

Diana felt like tearing out her hair. “I like men fine…physically. I just don’t see the advantage for a woman in marriage. A wife is no more than a reliable source of progeny for noble families. Meanwhile a husband is free to carouse, womanize, and generally do as he pleases. I for one am worth more than that arrangement can offer.” Angry as she was, Diana felt ashamed of her own lack of patience with the Irish girl. Of course her mother was barely a day in her tomb; Diana could be forgiven a lapse of irritability.

A moment later the trail ended at a crossway. To the left, the arched footpath continued around the outside of the chapel; to the right a little corridor ended in an unmarked wooden door. Sensing the latter offered more promise, Diana approached the door and tried the latch. She might as well heave on a latch bolted to a mountain. She looked around, confused and annoyed, “How does one gain entrance to this place?”

As if on cue, a girl in black robes emerged from the wooden door. Her manner seemed hurried, apparently intent on some errand. She was startled at the sight of Diana and Siobhan, and stared at them for a moment. She was youthful, younger than Diana certainly, and thin as a baby bird. From her robes, Diana guessed she must be a novitiate.

Since the juvenile girl didn’t speak, Diana began. “I’m Lady Diana Savrano. I should like to speak to someone in a position of authority within the cloister.”

The young girl opened her mouth, then closed it again, before finally speaking. “Of course, Lady Savrano. If you’ll but linger here, I’ll summon one of the elder sisters.” Without waiting for a reply, the young girl disappeared back through the wooden door and closed it solidly with a loud thud.

Diana looked at Siobhan, hoping her expression would convey her unbridled impatience. Siobhan met her stare and said nothing.

Sensing her wait would not be short, Diana began walking along the arched path outside of the chapel. It gave her something to focus on, to admire the ancient cypress trees that graced these grounds. After a moment however, she was surprised to hear her name being called.

Diana turned to the wooden door, but found it still closed.

Siobhan pointed. “The voice comes from ahead of us, not behind. The wall of the convent itself speaks to us.”

Siobhan was right, in a matter of sorts. The voice, that of a woman, came from a small window set in a brick outlay from the main chapel. Diana approached and saw the face of a young nun in the window, the face ringed by the black and white of a habit. The woman’s face appeared familiar somehow, in a distant way, and Diana could not place it.

“Diana Savrano,” the woman said again, and her face offered a welcoming smile. “Do you not recognize me?”

As she came up to the window, Diana saw the room beyond was perhaps three feet by eight, not atypical for a nun’s cell. However there appeared to be no door whatsoever, only a second window looking in on the chapel. The woman had been trapped in the little room unless she was inclined to try to squeeze through either of the tiny gaps. Only a small cot, table and shelf of books furnished the chamber. A wooden cross hung on one wall.

The woman must be an anchoress, Diana realized, a nun who had taken vows to live in complete isolation, even from the other sisters. In reality, such women were hardly isolated, of course. The other sisters, and even citizens from the city would come to seek the religious, and even practical advice of an anchoress, as such women were considered to be both exceptionally blessed and wise.

Diana regarded the anchoress and studied her face. The woman was a few years older than herself, with an angelic face of red lips and fair skin. Her eyes were blue and the few strands of hair that escaped the headpiece were light brown. Her light features would have been prized in Firenze or Roma, and yet she had chosen to waste them here. Diana did not recognize the woman and told her so.

“We met some years ago,” the anchoress persisted. “Several times, in fact. My father is Signore di Lucca. Your family attended several balls my father held before I entered the convent. You were, as I remember, being pursued by a Frenchmen at the time.”

Diana looked at the ground. “That was a long time ago. You’ve been here since then?”

“I have,” she said, no hint of regret in her voice. “My name is Francesca. We didn’t know each other well, but I remember you.”

Diana mumbled some apology for her own poor recall. In truth, Diana didn’t know what to say. Her inclination was to express sympathy for Francesca’s imprisonment, but the older woman did not seem distressed by it. Indeed she radiated a certain holy contentment that simultaneously impressed Diana and made her nervous.