The Blessed (13 page)

“The Duchess, they call her?”

“One and the same. An honorary title given to her by the people of Toscana. She is a healer, Holiness. Many of her healings have been authenticated, most recently a group of lepers in Venezia.”

The pope's brow furrowed at the mention of the city on water. Much love had been lost between the reigning pope and the doge, duke of Venezia. He sighed and rose, moving down the steps of the dais in stately fashion to walk toward the window. Two bishops, his aides, trailed behind him, then Cardinal Boeri.

“A knight of the Church, a former priest-cum-chaplain, and a fabled Duchess who can heal. Hardly the makings of such legend.”

“But there is more. While I was in Venezia, residing with the doge, he came into possession of a slave, a man named Hasani.”

The pope eyed him from the side. “We have heard of Hasani. He moans as if the weight of the Holy Spirit is upon him, while walking the Court of Familiars in chains.”

“Indeed. He is actually a freed, learned man educated alongside Daria d'Angelo by her father. And gifted with foresight.”

The pope's eyes returned to his as he faced the cardinal in full. “Tell us, Cardinal. Do these Gifted carry with them any letter? Any papers they claim as prophecy?”

Cardinal Boeri took a deep breath, desperately trying not to take a step back from the shorter man. Had Saucille told him of it as planned? His tone echoed with older knowledge. He had to trust his Lord in this. “Indeed, Beatissimo Padre. They believe their coming was foretold.”

“And what is their stated mission?”

“To bring the faith back to the people.” He sighed, as if very concerned. “They are preaching, baptizing, even communing outside the Holy Church, insisting upon translating the Scriptures into the common tongue.”

The pope glowered. “Why have they not already been arrested and brought to us?”

“They are en route to Avignon, intent upon an audience with Your Holiness.”

The pope gave him a wry grin. “And they anticipate what? A blessing?”

He began to walk again and Boeri fell in step with him. “Mayhap. But this is what I wished to speak of. The Gifted have already won wide public support, from Toscana northward. Now in Provence, they continue to sow their seeds deep. They are on a poorly chosen path, to be certain, and need to be set straight. But Holy Father, given the Church's need for public support and tithes, would not the Gifted garner the perfect method? The masses love a good tale to tell, and the Gifted are giving them plenty to wag their tongues.”

“We wish for the masses to speak of their Lord in such a manner, not of heretics.”

“Agreed. The Gifted are . . . unorthodox in their methods, but I do not believe them to be heretical. Let me bring them here, to Your Holiness, to set them on the right road. Let us utilize their gifting for God's greater good. I am certain that if the masses learn of their story and hear of the miracles that transpire behind them, this court shall benefit greatly. Your treasury will have never seen the flood of gifts that are sure to come, without one papal bull or indulgence issued.”

The pope drew to a pause. “You wish to be the Gifted's shepherd?”

“I do,” Cardinal Boeri said, with a slight bow. “With your blessing.”

“It is quite a gamble, Cardinal,” the pope said with a cocked brow. “Should they prove unmanageable, unwieldy, or heretical after all, you shall find yourself a common priest in some God-forsaken location.”

Cardinal Boeri returned his look with a small smile. “But if they do not . . .”

“Then, Cardinal,” the pope said, placing a hand on his shoulder and resuming their walk, “you shall be in mighty stead indeed.”

“There is more, Holiness. An evil lord preys upon the Gifted, seeking to destroy them. I believe he has designs upon your holy house as well. You must—”

“Be off at once, then, Cardinal,” he said in dismissal, moving back to his throne. “We now wish to meet your Gifted. We charge their safe arrival to your care. Upon your return, we shall address your other concerns.”

SHE awakened late the next morn, wrapped in Gianni's arms. His presence was warm and surprising, a welcome reprieve from morning's chill. Had she dreamed the night before? Now? Or was she truly now Lady de Capezzana?

Her husband was awake, but unmoving, simply staring at her in awe. He kissed her forehead as she moved. Daria rose onto one elbow, pushed her cascading hair over her shoulder, and rested her head on her hand. With the other, she covered his chest, broad and exquisitely muscled with a smattering of light brown hair. Her fingers found one long scar, still white, just above his right kidney. “Where did you obtain this?”

“South of Roma. Apprehending a highwayman.”

“And this small one here?” Her fingers moved to his left shoulder, directly beneath the clavicle.

“North of Roma. A man stealing from a church.”

“And this one?” she asked, tracing a red line down his arm.

He rolled to his side and pulled her close. “A battle I'd prefer to forget. Against a man I'd prefer to never see again. Can you help me forget him, wife?”

“I believe so, husband. But shouldn't we be getting to the others? Today is our outing to the Pont du Gard.”

“The Pont can wait. It is not every day that a man awakens to find he has married the Duchess d'Angelo. I want to revel in this moment, and the fact that you are mine.” He kissed her on the neck, slowly moving downward.

She smiled languidly. “No more than I want to know that you are mine as well, husband. But we need to break our fast.”

“I will fetch us some food in time. But . . . not . . . yet . . .”

 
THE group elected to make their picnic an afternoon event, given the late rising of the four newlyweds. A report came back that Amidei had been seen leaving the nearest town the night before, and Gianni visibly relaxed. If Amidei had left, then Vincenzo surely couldn't be far behind him. Still, he made sure that the knights of Les Baux planned to leave with full armor. If Amidei did not give them chase, then the townspeople might, given their first glimpse of Lord Devenue, once again restored.

They made their way down the country road and onto an old Roman road, paved with broad, flat stones. Within minutes the towering Pont du Gard, a Roman architectural marvel, came into view. It was a series of three levels of arches, the bottom made up of six massive arches that crossed the Gardon river. They were like the feet of a giant, capable of withstanding more than a thousand years of battering flood waters and rising fifteen paces—the height of three grown men—to the next level. The second level was a series of eleven arches, another thirteen paces in height, with narrower arches that gave the bridge an elegant feel. It was on this level that the road had also been erected, made from the original foo-traffic bridge by narrowing the arches at the base.

The third level was a series of thirty-five smaller arches, like the top of a queen's crown, the jewel of the bridge. But five of them had collapsed and others had been dismantled, the stones used in churches and other construction in the region, according to Dimitri. The aqueduct had lasted for only several hundred years before it ceased working and the Romans abandoned the project, finding alternative means to bring water to the thirsty city of Nimes.

Daria looked up to the holes in the face of the second level as they crossed to the other side.

“Where they inserted wood scaffolding to build or repair,” Gianni explained, riding beside her.

She could see the curving adze marks of the quarrymen, men who were naught but drying and disintegrating bones in shallow graves by now. Such a testimony of the human spirit, this place was. It reminded her of the ruins outside St. Remy, and the Colosseum in Roma. Count Armand had told her there was something similar in Orange. If they had the opportunity, Daria thought she might like to see it.

She was about to say something to Gianni and looked in his direction, but his eyes were on the woods high above them. On either bank, dense, scrubby oaks and other trees covered the rocky hills. Below, limestone cliffs gave way to the water, providing lovely access to the river. Already, people gathered down below them, where Lord Devenue pointed. He gestured farther downstream, to an empty plateau that would give them a panoramic view of the bridge to their north and the valley to their south.

Gianni's frown deepened.

“Can you not rest and endeavor to enjoy this day, husband?”

“It is not my duty to rest. It is my duty to protect you, wife.”

“What if your lady relieved you of such duties? You are a spouse now, as much as a captain-at-arms.”

“Being your husband,” he said, reaching to take her hand, “only makes me want to protect you more. Whether you like it or not.” He gave her a small, tender smile. “I would rest easier if we knew where Amidei had gone.”

“Mayhap he left, gave up on us. Look at us, Gianni. We have our men, and Count Armand has twenty more. They would be foolhardy to attack us here.”

“Lord Devenue!” a woman cried as the lord passed. Dimitri and Anette were directly in front of Gianni and Daria, traveling behind Count Armand and his men. People had separated obediently to make a path for the nobleman, nodding or even bowing as he passed. Up to this point, no one had noticed Lord Devenue, their attention on either of the Rieus instead. The count and countess had not been seen in this region since the engagement between Lord Devenue and the Countess des Baux had been broken.

Dimitri turned in his saddle and smiled at the woman, tipping his hat. “Madame Emile,” he said in greeting.

The woman lifted a hand to her gaping mouth, then a moment later shrieked and ran off, gesturing to three others.

“So much for keeping news of Lord Devenue's healing a secret,” Vito said behind them.

“Let them come,” Daria said. “If we are surrounded by the faithful, we are more protected than ever from those who hunt us, yes?”

Gianni smiled again and gave her a half nod, seeing the wisdom of her words. He looked over his shoulder, and Daria did too. Already, villagers were amassing and slowly following behind them on foot.

They spread blankets out across the rough rocks, and two servants laid out trenchers full of meats and cheeses and breads. There were dried apricots and peaches as well as a light red wine. They had all been served and had just begun eating when the first villagers dared to draw near.

“Lord Devenue?” called a man.

Dimitri turned and lifted an arm to a middle-aged man dressed in a woolen cloak to ward off the afternoon chill. He beckoned him closer.

The man, hat in hand, his wife beside him, drew closer. “M'lord, we . . . we believed you dead.”

Dimitri rose and shook the other man's hand. “I believed it myself. It is good to see both of you.”

Daria watched their interaction. Obviously acquaintances of old. Or servants once dismissed?

“How? How has this miracle transpired?” the woman asked, staring blatantly at Lord Devenue's head.

Dimitri smiled and glanced at Daria, then on to Piero. Piero nodded at him. “The priest brought to me a healer in his fold,” he said carefully, intent upon this knowledge spreading the way it would benefit them the most—as a holy event, a Christian and priest-blessed event. “Three nights past, I was healed, completely healed.”

The woman crossed herself and sank to her knees. “For so long, m'lord, for so long . . . we prayed that you should be healed. I confess to you now that I did not believe it possible.”

“All things are possible when the Lord is present,” Dimitri said, standing to reach down a hand and help the older woman to her feet. “Come. Let me introduce you to my new friend, Father Piero.”

Piero rose and greeted the couple. “We shall hold a service of thanksgiving here, by the river, in but a few hours. Will you be so kind as to join us? Invite others?”

“Here? By the river, Father?” the man said. “Mayhap you'd like to come to our village chapel . . .”

“Nay, it shall be here,” Lord Devenue said kindly. “Did not John the Baptist baptize new believers on the banks of the River Jordan?”

The couple departed, obviously confused but intrigued. Four others took their places, greeting Lord Devenue as a family member back from the dead, bowing in the countess's direction. As with the first two, Dimitri sent the four off to gather friends and family and return.

Daria glanced at Gianni. As expected, her husband's jaw worked in frustration. But could he not see this was right? The way of wisdom? If they could win the villages of Provence as supporters, their way might be easier in Avignon. With Les Baux and Lord Devenue as friends, surely this was God's own path. The pope might imprison them, separate them, even hand them over to civil authorities to be killed. Here in Provence, they needed all the support they could garner. This was why Piero had agreed to Devenue's plan to come to the river. This was why he had leaped at the opportunity. He knew that as soon as the people saw their Lord Devenue, long lost to them, they would flock to the Gifted. He had longed to preach for some time. Now would be his opportunity. And there was more, someone new to be healed . . . she could feel the first stirrings within her heart.

Dimitri turned to Piero and nodded, then looked to the rest of the Gifted and his own men. “They will come, then, in throngs. The village priest will be one of the first, to make sure we are not leading his people astray. But he is a good man, and he will recognize that the God on high is traveling among us.” He again looked at each of them. “I have told Father Piero I believe I was healed for two reasons—to be a testimony of the Lord's blessing upon the Gifted, and so that love might be requited at last.” He smiled at Anette and bowed toward the count. “My thanks to the count who did not allow me to languish in the world of unrequited love any longer.”