The Angel of Soriano: A Renaissance Romance (12 page)

The sun was already midway through morning when Bernardo opened his eyes. Stretching, he gently removed Aurelia’s head from his chest and placed her cheek on his bunched up shirt. She moaned in her sleep, turned over, and her knee pressed against his morning erection. If he wasn’t so worried that Borgia followed on their heels, he’d take her again.

Rolling out from under the warm wool, the cold hit him like a brick as he searched for his clothes. He danced on one foot and struggled with his hose.

Watching the moves, Fulvio raised an eyebrow then handed him a clean shirt and vest. A warm hat and cloak followed. “Was she worth it?”

“Heavenly.” He completed dressing, slipped into his boots, and squatted by the fire.

Then Fulvio poured him a cup of a thick bitter drink mixed with goat’s milk and Bernardo drank it down.

It energized immediately. “What’s this called?”

“Some sinful drink from Africa.
Cowful
? I get it cheap from a trader in Venice.”

“It’s good.”

Fulvio grunted, glanced at Aurelia’s cherubic face, and his own softened. “Should I wake her?”

“In a minute. We need to talk. Sit.” Bernardo felt like a new man. He smiled remembering last night’s intimacies.

“I’m listening.” A flat stone by the fire served as chair.

“My father is no doubt going to disown me.” Every possible scenario that played out in Bernardo’s head last night ended with the elder Carvajal shouting and sending him away.

“Where will you go?” Fulvio removed the iron pan from the fire, poked at the meat, and offered him a bite of squirrel.

The greasy meat mixed with wild onion went down hard. “I’m thinking I will hire myself out as a mercenary. We payed those men in Rome quite well.”

“A short life.” His friend and sometimes servant stared at the fire, deep in thought.

In the distance, atop a high hill, his cousin paced. Bernardo would miss them both. “I should be able to keep her well fed and find a small home. I may even take her north, to England. As an outcast I can’t ask for you to stay with me. I want you to promise to serve my father or the eldest of my brothers.”

Fulvio grunted and kicked dirt onto the fire. “I’ll consider it.”

That done, Bernardo knelt beside his wife, kissed her on the forehead, then cheeks, then lips. “Aurelia, angel. You need to wake up.”

She fluttered her eyelashes, squinted at the brightness and stretched long. When she held his gaze and shot him a sly smile, he was undone. He’d give up a thousand inheritances to greet her like this every day.

After giving her a moment to dress and eat, they all rode north along the river’s flood plain. Bernardo pointed out the homes of each of his farmers. Many were outside with their children and waved. He’d miss them all as well.

Too soon they traveled inside the castle walls of Soriano. In the main piazza at the bottom of the town, he stopped, confused. He wracked his brain for the date. A festival? Certainly none he could recall. Yet streamers of bright colored linen cloth hung from every window. Shopkeepers set up booths and tables of wares.

He rode toward the wine merchant, a middle-aged portly man. “What goes on here today? What feast is this?”

The man didn’t look up from placing a long board atop two barrels. “A wedding, my friend. A grand wedding between two noble families.”

“Whose?” Bernardo swallowed hard, suddenly dreading the answer.

He looked up with recognition and eyebrows lifted. “Why, yours Signore Carvajal. The infant has bled. She’s ready to be your wife. I can see by your face that you weren’t aware. Let me be the first to congratulate you. It’s good your cousin the bishop is here, no?”

Aurelia gasped and struggled to be let down.

“Stop. I’ll fix this.” He thanked the man as politely as possible under the circumstances and made his way up the winding streets. Shopkeepers called out to him, some with good wishes, a few with rude comments about the woman in his lap.

Holding her close, he hid her face under his cloak.

How dare his parents plan his wedding while he was away? Anger seethed within his breast as he made his way through the narrow streets. He was no child to be manipulated like this.

He left his horse with the stable master, endured more congratulations, and kept his wife tucked under his arm. He promised he’d never let go of her again and he was a man of his word.

She gazed up at the hanging lanterns and festive cloths. “This is all for your wedding? To Lucella?”

The hurt in her eyes caused his chest to tighten. “I swear I didn’t know.”

When she pursed her lips, he said, “When I was in Rome, I sent word to the majesties in Spain that I wish to wed you. Meanwhile, my father must have done similarly for Lucella. This is not good.”

“I shouldn’t be here. Let me go.” She slid off his horse but it was too late to run.

A dozen of his father’s guards surrounded them with swords out. Never, in his worst nightmares, had he expected such a welcome. He could thrash them all and had done so on many occasions, but to keep Aurelia from harm, he dismounted and lifted his hands in surrender.

With what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze to her hand he said, “Say nothing about our wedding. I’ll come for you as soon as I can.”

Her tears brimmed as Antonio stepped forward and led her away.

Clenching his fists, Bernardo shouted after him, “If even one of her hairs is out of place, I will hold you personally responsible. I’ll draw my sword from your Adam’s apple to your cock. Do you understand my meaning?”

The man turned, paled, and nodded. Then more gently, he led Aurelia by her elbow into the keep.

The rest of his men shuffled, unable to meet his gaze. “Go. Do what you must. Take me to my father.”

Bernardo released his grinding jaw so he could lean over and whisper to his cousin. “Best to wait in the church. You can’t marry me to Lucella if I’m already wed.”

Inside, his father paced in the great hall under a mural with devils falling under a bridge. His hand clenched his sword’s hilt and his round face flamed red with anger. “Son, I’m severely disappointed in you.”

“Sir?” Bernardo glared.
How dare he put him in this predicament?

“You come into my town almost missing your own wedding and with your mistress on your lap? Lucella is weeping in her room.” His father pointed up the stairs.

Bernardo rolled his eyes. “Lucella is always weeping. I refuse to marry her. I’ve already sent word to Ferdinand and Isabella that I married Aurelia Nardini.”

His father slapped a hand down upon a trestle table, the legs folded, and it collapsed. A blue pottery carafe teetered and then broke into pieces on the marble floor.

Lightning fast, the elder’s quick fist almost broke Bernardo’s jaw. A second blow followed and he doubled over in pain. Eyes closed, he braced for the next hit while guards held him upright.

“You’ll not eat nor sleep not speak until you agree to marry Lucella. I will annul whatever you’ve done!” His father clamped onto his chin until he opened one eye.

Bernardo had never seen him angrier. Another fist split open his lip and he licked off the blood.

Then as he was dragged out the door, his father said, “Take him to the dungeon and bring me the Nardini whore.”

Aurelia stared at the ceiling inside Soriano’s great hall. In strange contrast to the wall’s gory battle scenes, another artist had carved cherubs into the molding. They smiled down, blissfully unaware of all mankind’s misfortunes depicted below.

Bernardo’s father strode forward stepping over broken table pieces, pottery shards, and a puddle of wine. His face flushed with ire and his thick dark brows furrowed. “If you weren’t the ward of my good friend, Pierpaolo, I’d tie you between two horses and have you slowly pulled apart.”

Good friend? She almost scoffed out loud. The steward of Soriano might be a magnificent soldier but the man was a political clown.

Before she could share her uncle’s opinion of Borgia and any of his vassals, he wandered away, muttering to himself. “The legacy of her great uncle is still strong in Rome. I can’t have her executed and yet I can’t abide her presence. She’s bewitched my son.”

Eyes ablaze, he suddenly turned and slammed his fist into his palm. “I will not have it!”

The sound echoed off the high walls and Antonio gripped her upper arms when her knees went weak.

Dideco pointed an index finger at her. “When Pierpaolo comes for the wedding, I’ll let him deal with you. But should you ever set foot in Soriano again, I’ll have you whipped in the public square. He glowered just inches from her nose. “Do you understand me, girl?”

Aurelia swallowed hard and nodded, wondering again what’d happened to Bernardo. Why wasn’t he defending her?

The elder’s sword hit the back of her thighs when he swiveled and crossed the room. Looking out the front arch, he continued to argue with himself. “No, no. That’s not nearly enough. Everyone saw her ride into the city upon his horse dressed as a boy.”

With a wave of his hand out toward the piazza, he said to Antonio, “Take her to the church. Have Bishop Carvajal hear her confession. Tell him her penance is to be that of all whores who overstep their position.”

Antonio paled, grabbed her waist, and led her toward the arched doorway.

She paused there, turned, and begged. “But I saved your life, signore. This is how you repay me? I swear, I’ll leave quietly to live in a convent far away.”

Dideco’s lips pursed. “I don’t care where you go. Should you make it to the lower piazza, you become Nardini’s problem.”

Outside, she was taken across the piazza and down the steep slope.

Skipping to keep up with the tall Antonio, she said, “Please. Talk to me. What does he mean? Make it to the piazza? Mother of God. Let go of me.”

What was this penance that everyone feared? She twisted to break free of his iron grasp. When that didn’t work, she kicked impotently and dug in her heels. “Where is Bernardo?”

He frowned and pulled her by the hair. “In the dungeon until he agrees to marry Lucella.”

She moaned at the stinging in her scalp. She was right. Bernardo should never have forced her to marry him.

Rain fell, the street stones grew slick, and she fought to free herself until she had no more breath. But her silent jailer stoically tugged her up the front steps of the old church. Then he threw her into the open hall where a crowd of well-dressed onlookers gawked.

They whispered all too loudly.
Bernardo’s mistress. Whore. On his wedding day. Upon his lap.

She wanted to shout out that she was no mistress. She was wife of the steward’s eldest son. Before she could set the town straight, Lopez lifted her to her feet, glowered at Antonio, and led her into the confessional.

Alone, she knelt in the dark and waited for the wood panel to slide aside.
Dear God. What will happen now?

His low and pious voice startled her from the other side. “When was your last confession?”

She didn’t understand. How was that going to help her escape? “Last year, during lent, as all good Catholics. Are you going to free me? Free Bernardo?”

“Shush.” He pushed the sliding screen aside, his next whispers barely audible. “Too many people heard Dideco’s commands. You must go through with the walk or risk being stoned by the villagers. They do not take kindly to fornication.”

The walk? Fornication?
Her heart raced. He wasn’t going to save her. “You don’t understand. Dideco is sending me back to Vignanello. Pierpaolo will kill me.”

Silence ensued for some time. Then he spoke so loudly, that half the church could hear. “And do you have something to confess?”

Face heated, she answered coldly. “The only sin was his, for throwing me over his shoulder when I said no.” She left out the part where they’d made love in the archway, before their vows.

The partition between them slid open, his voice just above a whisper. “The marriage was consummated last night?”

“Si. But never again. I swear I’ll use my small dowry to enter the religious life.”

He sighed and rubbed his hand over his face, looking much like her beloved Bernardo. “It’s too late. In the eyes of God, you are truly married.”

“I know, Father. Perhaps I did truly sin, but not on purpose. My beauty is a curse and a burden. Bernardo took one look at me and has wanted me ever since.” She put her face into her clasped hands then looked up, ever hopeful. “Am I to be forgiven?”

“If it is God’s will.” His brows creased, mouth pursed, and he closed his eyes in prayer.

When his murmurings stopped, she asked, “What’s going to happen?”

His pitying look said much. “Be brave, Aurelia, and God will elevate you above the rest.”

“Platitudes Father, when I need answers? What is this walk?” She peeked out the door where Antonio still stood. Surely she could outrun him. But then what? She had no home, no benefactor.

“We’ll find a way to rescue you on the way to Vignanello. Listen for the sound of a cardinal. Now enough talk. Pray loud enough for all within the walls of the church to hear.”

She all but shouted several ‘Hail Mary’s’ with him, finding no strength or comfort in the outward display.

Her faith abandoned her when Antonio knocked on the confessional doors. “I apologize, father, but it’s time.”

“Time for what?” She searched their faces.

Both men shook their heads with sympathetic faces.

Antonio clamped onto the same spot as before and pain shot up her arm. “Are you going to fight me, Aurelia, or go peaceably?”

She tried to squirm out of his grip. “Ow! Not so hard. Go where?”

His hold lessened. “Back to the top of the hill. The piazza.”

“Then what?”

He shook his head and lowered his gaze.

Whatever they were hiding, it had to be very, very bad. She bit down on her lip and trekked up the wet bricks. The rain had stopped, but thick gray clouds hid the top of the parapets.

Some well-dressed nobles followed from the church, along with some of the local merchants, all climbing the hill behind her. They circled around her, in the top piazza.

Dideco, face grim and body tensed, watched from the grand hall’s arched doorway. His wife, Lucella, and her grandmother, stood next to him.

Men from the garrison, shouted encouragement to her from outside the walls of the keep. “Be brave, Aurelia.”

Visibly shaken, Antonio removed his tight grip from her upper arm and wiped the sweat from his brow. His eyes met Dideco’s.

“I’m sorry.” He grabbed her stolen shirt at the back of the neck and pulled hard, choking her. Then the fabric ripped and the seams gave way.

Mio Dio.
He meant to strip her? She shot her arms to cover up her breasts but he grabbed both of her wrists in one hand. With the other, he pulled the front of her garment down to her waist and it fell away.

The nobles in the crowd cheered, the merchants less so, and the men from the garrison actually shouted for Antonio to stop.

Dideco rolled a finger in the air for him to continue.

When it looked as if Antonio might take off her chemise as well, she found a mite of courage and hissed, “Bernardo will kill you.”

He paused, conflict clear in his eyes.

Lucella’s grandmother, however, marched down the steps of the great hall. Dressed in layers of embroidered silk, she swished across the piazza and stopped in front of them.

She cleared her throat, spewed wet spittle into Aurelia’s face and shouted, “She poisoned us.”

“I did not. I was not even here when it happened. I saved you.” She glared at the horrid woman and prayed the devil would stuff that righteous look up the old mule’s ass.

“What better way to get into the young Carvajal’s good graces?” Her nasty face contorted in an even uglier sneer. Then Signora Santamaria tore open the front of the Aurelia’s chemise.

Mortified and face burning, Aurelia shot her arms across her chest. Some in the crowd cheered but just as many others jeered at the old woman as she sauntered back into the keep, nose high in the air.

Fulvio, somewhere deep in the crowd, called out. Then Aurelia looked up and caught a rolled-up shirt midair. Blinking back stinging tears of gratitude, she slipped it on, and tied the laces tight.

“Quickly. Do not stop until you reach the bottom.” Antonio pushed her out of the piazza and into the street.

Dressed in just Fulvio’s shirt, boots, and rolled up hose, she began her penance. A drizzle of rain fell as rotting fruit from every direction landed in her face, her hair, and on her body. The juices made it hard to see and the sharp points of the pits tore at her skin.

It’s only a mile to the bottom. Surely, I can endure. Women do not die of embarrassment, nor of ripe fruit.

She stared at her feet, not willing to let the crowd see her cry. She had sinned by wanting higher than her station and perhaps for sex in the alley, but she was a Nardini. A noble. Grand-niece of the greatest cardinal to ever live.

Many of Bernardo’s men, including Fulvio, appeared suddenly on horseback and pushed back the angry crowd. She wanted to tell the soldiers to do nothing to ire Dideco further. But when the fruit stopped flying, all she could do is be silently grateful.

At the butcher shop, a strange old woman covered her in a warm cloak. “Have faith. You’re almost to the bottom.”

“Grazie, signora.” Aurelia pulled the long soft and strange material around her body.

Then after a roll from the bakery hit her cheek, she whooshed out her breath, and stared forward. The fountain. She’d made it.

But the relief was short lived. After taking two more steps down the hill, her heart raced and she nearly screamed at the sight. Around the corner Pierpaolo waited atop his black steed, surrounded by Nardini soldiers.

He slapped her to her knees to the cheers of the nobles and shouted, “Take her to Vignanello. I have a wedding to attend.”

“Do it and incur Borgia’s wrath.” She spit on the ground in front of him.

He laughed atop his horse. “You have no idea, do you? That’s exactly what I intend to do.”