The Blessed (11 page)

Hasani nodded slowly. It was good. He was beginning to trust Boeri. At least a little. “How horrible for you. You believed he would die?”

Again, the nod.

“He did not. He lived. Mayhap Daria healed him. But he is here, Hasani, here in Provence. Soon, you shall be reunited. I promise.” He hesitated. “I would free you, man. But I cannot allow you to run. I know you want to go to the Gifted, go this night. But you must wait upon me. Together we will find them. And in the meantime, we shall pray for all the knights in the company of the Gifted.”

“YOU need to rest,” Anette said, pushing Dimitri Devenue back to his bed.

Dimitri threw back his head and laughed. He gestured out the window. “Do you see how glorious it is outside? How can we keep to the mansion? This valley has not seen such warmth in the midst of winter's keep in more than a decade. Come,” he said, taking her hand in his, placing it on his chest. “Let us go to the river. I have not laid eyes on it for more than two years. I am a man freed. Would you keep me prisoner here?”

Anette cast a helpless look in Daria's direction.

Daria shook her head and drew closer. “He appears the picture of good health,” she said. She smiled into Dimitri's eyes. “And I understand your desire to see the banks of your beloved Gardon once more. You are like a man reborn.” She studied him for a moment longer. He was as dark and handsome as Anette was fair and beautiful. Both of them fairly glowed with love and joy. “But give it one more day of rest. If you still feel as well tomorrow, we shall see about going to the Pont du Gard. But you shall remain swaddled like a baby in the back of a wagon. Do you promise this?”

“I promise,” he said dramatically, with all the flair of Count Armand. Was this the same man who was at death's door but two days past? Never had Daria been privy to such a dramatic healing, so quickly. Only Gianni's return from death's door and Old Woman Parmo, in Siena, measured near to it. Many had she seen healed, but mostly it was but the beginning of a long process. A jump forward, to be sure, but far from the end of the road. This man bore witness to a healing of biblical proportions.

“M'lady, do you think it wise?” Gaspare said, stepping forward. The tone of his voice gave her pause, and she studied his face. He had drawn her aside earlier, given her much to think about in terms of others recognizing a miracle. He had lived it, given his gift, known the good and the bad. He stood there beside Gianni, like two glowering big brothers. She knew that they had only her best interests at heart . . .

But one more glance to Dimitri and her decision was made. “We shall go and take our noon meal at the river's edge.” She looked to Gianni and Gaspare, now with Piero at their side. “It is only a matter of time until word gets out about Lord Devenue's healing. Let us enjoy the day and capitalize upon the event. Clearly the Lord God wished us to come here, to heal this man. Do you really believe he would not bless our celebration with him before we depart for Avignon?”

Gianni stepped forward and took her arm. “Amidei and his men have not been seen for more than a day.”

She pulled her arm from his grasp in irritation. “Very well. Mayhap they knew that God was present with us and they could never win. Mayhap they turned tail and ran.”

“Mayhap it is all a ruse to persuade us to believe just that.”

Daria squared her shoulders and looked up to the knight, then allowed her face to soften. “Please, Gianni. Would it not be good for us as well? To relax upon the banks of the river and bask in God's glory? For but an afternoon? It has been so taxing, so long, this journey. We do not go away from God's care. Surely his angels shall be as close to us in the midst of the wilds as they are in this mansion.”

“Daria, I—”

“Please,” she said again, resting a hand on his chest. “We'll give Amidei and Vincenzo another day to make an appearance or obtain confirmation they have indeed left.”

He stared down at her, helplessness and frustration knitting his brow in wrinkles.

“If you are leaving soon for Avignon, we shall go with you,” Dimitri said. “You shall need an introduction to His Holiness's court. Who better than I, your newest evidence of divine favor?”

Daria raised her eyebrows and looked to Piero. The priest shrugged his small shoulders. “It would help,” he said. “Or we bring him in at an opportune moment.”

“You shall need to know quite a bit before you enter the city,” Count Armand broke in, moving from the window to the group beside Dimitri's bed.

“Such as?” Gianni said.

“Some courtly ritual, games, dances,” the count said. “The pope's favorite gifts, his favored friends as well as his antagonists.”

Piero frowned. “There is not gaming or dancing in the
papal
court.”

“More so than any other,” Armand returned. “I shall introduce you to my friend, a poet and a critic of Avignon, back in Les Baux. I fear there is much ahead of you that you are not yet prepared to face. Let us take our picnic on the morrow, then return to Les Baux to pick up the rest of your people and spend a few days in preparation. You must not enter this battle blind.”

Daria angled a smile toward Gianni and he nodded, once. “Very well,” she said. “Let us be about it then.”

She departed in a swish of skirts and heard Lord Devenue laughing at Gianni in the room behind her. “You, my good knight, are as deeply in love as I find myself.” His voice echoed down the hall. In the exuberance of his newfound life, Lord Devenue seemed to have lost all restraint and any sense of propriety. In her mind's eye, she could see him reaching for Anette. Ever since his healing, he had been unable to keep himself from touching her.

But if Gianni was as deeply in love with Daria as Dimitri was with Anette, why did he not reach for her at all? On the ship, en route to Marseilles, it had been different for them. It was as it once had been between her and Marco, falling in love, free and deliciously beguiling, consuming her nearly every thought. There were soft conversations and embraces, stolen kisses . . . but when they had set foot on land, he was once more the knight, she the lady, and it was as if a wall had risen between them.

 
HIGH on a hill, farther north in the valley of the river, Amidei received the spy and heard of Lord Devenue's miraculous healing, and their intended excursion to the Pont du Gard the following day. The Gifted believed Amidei and his people had departed, but knew not where they had gone. Reportedly they were still on alert, cautious that he hovered nearby, but understandably, they drew some comfort from the fact that he had not been seen for more than a day and a night.

Abramo had had the ceremony in the cave across from the mansion. But it had been lackluster. Few of the villagers had responded to their invitation. He found none of the women appealing. His master had awakened him the next morn, drawn him to the mouth of the cave in order to converse. “The enemy has gained strength this night, as we knew they would,” the master said. “But send Vincenzo, my son. Send him to follow their every move and strike the moment he has opportunity. He shall draw blood among the Gifted. He will remind them that although they are watched over by the God who believes himself most high, they still live in a natural world. They are but human, still subject to pain and even death. If we maim many, surely the healer cannot get to them all before one or more dies.”

“It will be so, master.”

“We must remind them that although they worship the God of the heavens, I am the god of this world. And Vincenzo shall be more firmly tied to our ways than ever before. He is hesitant. We must force his hand now, before he weakens.”

“Yes, it shall be so, my master.”

“Have Vincenzo and the archers cut away their bloody robes and bring them to the next ceremony. Their blood shall feed you and yours, give you strength. Remind you of the power within your grasp.”

“Yes, master.” Abramo salivated at the thought of the coppery taste of his enemy's blood in his mouth. Daria's blood. Gianni's blood. Piero's blood. Tessa's blood. Surely it would be sweet. Savory. He closed his eyes.

Sustenance. To feed, to feed upon the Gifted. Glory. Glory. Glory!

He sank to his knees before his dark master, who now levitated before him. “What would you have me do, master?”

“We, my son, shall go to Avignon and prepare the way. The Gifted may be maimed, but not vanquished here, in the countryside. But we will use God's own to bring them down in Avignon. Once there, we shall begin laying a carefully crafted trap.”

 
“YOU are torn, torn between being master, servant, lord to his lady,” Piero said, staring at Gianni intently. “What keeps you from professing your love?” It was only Piero, Gaspare, and the knight, sitting on a wall outside the mansion that night.

Gianni lifted a shoulder, looking miserable. “I am her defender.”

“Is not a husband a defender as well?” Gaspare ventured.

Gianni cast a sharp look in his direction. “I have no means, nothing to offer her.”

“The lady is a fine woman,” said Vito, joining their circle uninvited. “But she is no longer a woman of means herself. I fear our days of drawing more than warm vittles in the pot as payment in her service are long over. But still we stay. Why? Because we are called to this place. Called to serve one another on this mad quest.”

“He is right, Gianni,” Piero said. “Wealth has little bearing at this point. If you love her, if you are called to serve as her husband as well as her captain, move, man. She is clearly confused. And remember Adimari . . . you must not scar her tender heart again. Give in to it, man. You are more in love with her than you thought possible.”

Gianni sighed. “ 'Tis the truth of it. And if I fool none of you,” he said, looking from one to the next, “I doubt I fool our lady. But is it the way of wisdom, priest? Does it not make us somehow more vulnerable?”

Father Piero smiled. “Love always does, my man.” He stared at him a moment longer. “I tell you this but once. I fear that your unspoken vows, your unrequited passion, as much as Count Armand celebrates it, makes us more vulnerable than anything. Better to find satisfaction and communion in each other's company. It shall give you both strength for what we face ahead.”

Gianni eyed him. “So you would bless it, then? If she would have me?”

Count Armand stole up behind him and clasped him on the shoulder. “What is this of which you speak? Could you be planning a betrothal to the Duchess?” His eyes were alight with pleasure. He shook his head. “It must be in the air. I doubt my sister will last a sennight before she is married to Lord Devenue. We may not even get her home to Les Baux. It will take everything in me to persuade her to depart. Most likely I'll need bring Devenue with us back to the castle.”

“The cardinal de Provence shall marry them, then,” Piero said, his disappointment barely disguised.

“Ah, no. I doubt anyone but you shall do, Father Piero,” Count Armand said. “Those two,” he said, nodding in the mansion's direction, “are your two newest patrons, such as they are. You'll be happy to know that the countess brings a handsome dowry to the marriage. And what they cannot provide, I can. You and yours shall want for nothing while you travel in Provence.”

“You are most gracious, Count Armand,” Father Piero said, grinning. “But if the cardinal is not invited to preside over such a ceremony, there shall certainly be retribution.”

Count Armand sat back and considered his words. “You know as well as I that if the cardinal gets in the middle of this now, we'll be embroiled in papal scrutiny as to Lord Devenue's healing. A marriage ceremony could be postponed indefinitely as the papal rats filled out forms and conducted interviews. Anette and Dimitri have waited for years for this chance. Love dawns. I say seize it now, before it disappears. Love, like life, is a fleeting opportunity. Hesitate, and it is gone.” He stared at the mansion again, but his eyes swung back to Gianni and stayed upon him for a long moment.

He twisted off a garnet ring from his pinky, barely getting it off. “My grandmother's, worthy of any lady as a marriage band,” he said, offering it to the knight.

“I cannot, m'lord.”

“You can and you shall,” the count said. “What do you fear? That she might deny you?”

“At least you can bury the dream if the lady says no, Captain,” Vito said. “Better to have tried than—”

“Cease!” Gianni growled at Vito, grabbed the ring with mumbled thanks to the count, shoved off the wall, and stalked toward the stables, mumbling something about helping to get the horses ready.

“Where's he heading?” Basilio asked, just joining the group, with Rune at his side.

“Apparently to saddle some horses,” Vito said. “I think you should go join him. Ask him about Lady Daria,” he said with a laugh.

“Do no such thing,” Piero warned, although his eyes danced. “The poor man is already in enough misery.”

“Yes, it's exquisite, isn't it?” Armand asked. “ 'Tis almost too perfect to ruin by a common marriage.”

“I believe,” Piero said, “a union between Lady Daria and Sir de Capezzana will be anything but common.”

CHAPTER NINE

THE group spent the night at Lord Devenue's mansion, eating around a restored dining hall table, alight in the glow of fifty candles and loaded with feastings. Dimitri had summoned two dramatists from Nimes who made them laugh with their antics, so hard that tears streamed from their eyes. Even Gianni gave in to the laughter, relaxing for once from his constant guard, and eyeing Daria from across the room. Their eyes danced together through the evening, silently, one glancing at the other, the other holding a gaze, glancing away. Three musicians arrived quite late, just as Daria was considering retiring to bed and forcing her newly healed patient, Lord Devenue, to do the same. But Armand and Anette would hear nothing of ending the festivities then. It was too lovely to let it go. Dizzy with the glowing joy all about her, Daria felt herself powerless to resist.