The Blessed (39 page)

“Most clearly,” he said.

The pope sat back on his heels and studied him. A small smile grew at the corners of his mouth; he undoubtedly was seeing Abramo's face as Satan's own. When he got hold of Ambrogio . . .

“We shall assign six knights to follow your every step, Lord Armidei. Do not be surprised to see them behind you,” said the pope.

He turned to go, leaving Abramo sputtering in rage. Just what exactly was transpiring here? When had the tide turned? When had the Rhône again shifted direction?

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

DARIA ran across the narrow footbridge to meet him, and Gianni swept her into his arms, holding her close, tenderly, whispering over and over, “Oh Daria, I am so sorry. So sorry.”

At last she pulled away and looked up into his green eyes. “You did as any one of us might have,” she said. “Armand understood you had been tricked. He could see it all. And Anette . . .”

“Anette?”

“She grieves. But she knows the truth of it, too, Gianni. She will return to us.”

Gianni looked up into the winter-dormant tree branches. “She left, then.”

“To say her farewells to Armand. See him home.”

He sighed heavily and wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they began to walk back to the river manor. “I would have liked to do the same.”

“I know. We all feel it. Father Piero has proposed a remembrance ceremony of sorts. We shall honor Count Armand's memory here, even though we shall not be at his funeral pyre.”

“They will burn his sword with him?” Gianni asked.

“In the manner of all the valiant,” she said. Her eyes went to the ground, but in her head, she could only see Basilio and Rune and Armand's father, all clutching their swords in hand as the fires were lit beneath them. The flames rising to the sky, heat so great they had to back away . . .

“So much death, in this life,” Gianni said.

“So much life, among the death,” Daria returned. She had to tell him of the baby. It could not wait any longer. She turned to face him, but a shout went out from behind her. They turned together, to see Vito, with Tessa across his back. The two cried out in joy and rushed to them, embracing Gianni. Their shouts roused the rest of the household, and soon all were about Gianni.

Daria backed away and watched as they enfolded him as a long-lost brother. Even Lucien and Matthieu came near, tentatively reaching out an arm for Gianni to grasp, silently giving him their blessing, their forgiveness. Piero had spent some time with them of late, explaining Amidei's great power over the mind, the flesh, the heart. He had explained enough of Daria and Gianni's history with the Sorcerer that they might see things from Gianni's perspective, understand how things might have gone so desperately wrong.

She could see from the tender look upon Gianni's face that their embrace and welcome meant the most to her husband. As they reached out, touched him, held him within their gaze, he found some of the absolution he sought. Daria knew that only when he was forgiven by Anette would this journey be complete.

“Come, husband,” she said, taking his hand and leading him into the manor. “You must bathe and eat and tell us what you have learned while in the pope's close care.”

Gianni smiled. “Close care? If that is his close care, then I would hate to be in his prison.”

“We wouldn't want that,” she said with a grin. “Go upstairs. I will bring water for a hot bath,” she said.

“Only if you join me in it,” he whispered.

She shoved him away and yet smiled at him. “Mayhap in the second bath,” she said. “You smell of pig slop and lesser things.”

He gave her a shrug and turned and headed up the stair, his weariness plainly evident in every step he took. He bore the effects of five nights in a prison cell, the grief of the loss of a friend, but she could detect no abuse. “Thank you, Lord Jesus,” she whispered, filling a huge kettle to set atop the cook's fire.

Gianni was asleep, facedown across their bed, when she and the maids came up, buckets of water in hand. They poured it into the massive master washtub, filling it halfway with the steaming water, then returned to the kitchen to fetch five more, letting the captain nap.

Daria looked outside and then down at her snoring husband, aware that it was but three in the afternoon. If he slept for the night now, he might awaken partway through the night and prowl the manor, awakening them all. Nay, it was best to rouse him now with a bath, help him remember life, hope, love. Then he could tell them what he had learned in the
palais
and retire for the night.

She smiled and locked the door, then went to the bed and slowly undressed. She stared at her husband and rubbed her belly, aching with the need to tell him. But she wanted him alert, his attention solely on her, not so distracted, not so terribly weary. Daria leaned forward and gave him delicate kisses atop his temple and ear, wrinkling her nose at the rank smell of him. He roused and opened one eye at her.

Immediately he rolled to his side and held his head in one hand, gazing upon her. “What mischief are you up to, wife?”

“Mischief?” she asked, a puzzled expression upon her face. “No mischief. Just a bath as you requested.” She turned and slipped into the sudsy, hot water, then looked back to see his grin. “Come, husband,” she said, reaching out a wet, bubble-covered arm. The soap reminded her of home, with its scent of juniper berry and anise . . .

 
“THE cardinal came to me and confessed a greater ambition in his heart,” said Gianni, sitting with the others around the great dining room table after they had supped.

“Which ambitions?” asked Father Piero, fingering his knife, stabbing a rind of pork fat and stuffing it in his mouth.

Gianni remembered the priest's strange hesitation with the pope, shoved it from his mind, and continued. “He confessed that he had hoped to use an alliance with the Gifted as a means to bring home the papacy to Roma. And moreover, he confessed his own desire to be crowned pope.”

They all stared at him, absorbing the information.

“He has come to see the error of such desires,” he said, looking each in the eye. “The Lord has made it apparent to him that his task is not to ascend to greatness, but rather to assist us in our monumental task. He now sees it as the rationale for my coming to him and serving alongside him in the hunt for the Sorcerer and others of the dark, for how he came to be the keeper of a portion of our letter. And moreover, why he is a cardinal. He has been kept separate, untainted by the work of Amidei here in Avignon, and yet he still has a favored voice within the pope's ear. He has warned the Holy Father of what is transpiring among the cardinals, of Amidei's widening web.”

Piero studied him. “Are you certain that he is now a trustworthy ally?”

“Upon my life,” Gianni returned.

 
THE Gifted rose just before daybreak, building a massive fire and holding a vigil of silence for Count Armand Rieu des Baux, just as they knew their friends did at the same time on the limestone cliffs beside the castle. The fire lit easily, for the men had stacked wood dried last autumn high, and laid the kindling well.

Piero spoke in a hushed whisper. “Good is the Lord, for he brings us friends along this difficult path, friends we shall see yet again, in our Lord's own kingdom, a kingdom without end.” He took the torch from Vito and passed it to Gianni, who threw it across the kindled pile. It immediately caught and spread, moving about the pile at a steady pace until all was aflame.

The fire's light drove away the last bit of darkness, even as the sun rose over the eastern horizon. “The enemy considers death his own victory, when he might extinguish the Lord's light among the world,” Piero said, walking between the Gifted and the flames. “But God knows that death is but the beginning. In the hereafter, we are relinquished . . . to peace, to hope, to nothing but freedom and worship of our Lord God on High.”

They stared back at him, eyes drawn to the flames and back to their priest again. “Armand is lost to us, but not to the Father. Large is his reward in heaven, as it shall be for us. We shall not fear death,” he said, looking each in the face, waiting until each acknowledged him. “We shall not fear death.
We shall not fear death!

“The devil presumes it is his greatest weapon. We can take this weapon from his hands. If we believe, brothers and sisters, truly believe, that our very lives are in God's hands alone, then no one, no one can ever instill fear in our hearts again. This life is temporary, fleeting. The eternal is ahead, a life in the Garden, as it was meant to be. How many of our friends have pledged and given their very lives to our own cause? Lucan, Aldo, Beata in Siena; Basilio and Rune on the bridge.” He stopped before Gianni, observing his abject misery. He reached out a hand and laid it on his shoulder. “And now Armand.

“Mayhap they saw it more clearly than we ourselves have. No matter how we try, how we fight,” he said, again pacing before them, forcing each to look into his eyes, “we cannot cling to a life that is not our own. We must relinquish our rights to the Father, and trust that he will see us to
his
end, come pain or glory. Do you believe this as truth?”

They nodded, understanding the import of his words, why he lent such intensity and vigor. Well each could imagine the wrap of rope around chest and waist and hands and legs to a stake. Well each could imagine the Inquisitor's nod, the flames alight at their feet. They had no choice. No choice but to lay their very lives in the Father's hands just as their friends had done before them. It was their only hope.

How many had died for this cause? Daria wondered. In protection of the letter, or portions of the letter? What had become of the prophets who had painted their portraits among the borders? Of those who had painted their faces among frescoes, of those who had woven images of peacock and dragon into holy tapestries, of those who had sculpted them into figures that had lain dormant, deep beneath the recesses of Les Baux? How many had lived and died, all a part of the Father's long plan?

All at once, the import of their task, the slow arrival of their Master's making, made her knees weak. She fell to the ground beside her husband, weeping with him, half in grief, half in overwhelmed awe at the task before them, the long coming of this time. She watched and worshipped her Lord and Savior as his sun, birthed from his Father's hands, arose in the east. Dimly, she felt her brothers and sisters coming to their knees as well. Her life, her child's life, her husband's life, were not her own to hold.

She must relinquish them to the King. Daria opened her hands before her, in front of flames that singed the tips. “Take us all,” she whispered, “we are nothing if we are not yours, my King.”

Gently, Father Piero knelt beside her and lifted her up and embraced her, seeing that she had taken in what he was trying to impart. “Come, daughter. Let us share the Truth with the others.”

She rose and followed behind him, translating his words from the Latin as he read the Scriptures. At some point, she became aware of the four knights of the Palais de le Pape sitting atop their horses, mouths agape, watching them. But she ignored them, taking their presence in as part of the Lord's grand plan. Their task was greater still . . . instilling courage among the Gifted, come what may. Every word bolstered her own heart, lifted her own chin. She had little doubt that it would do the same for the rest.

“ ‘The cords of death entangled me,' ” Daria translated in little more than a whisper, barely discernible above the crackling of the fire behind them. She cleared her throat. “ ‘The anguish of the grave came upon me. I was overcome by trouble and sorrow.' ”

Piero continued in Latin.

“ ‘Then I called upon the name of the Lord; O Lord! Save me!' ” she continued on, translating now for the Gifted, in the language of Toscana, and again in Provençal, wanting the knights to hear. “ ‘The Lord is gracious and righteous; our God is full of compassion. The Lord protects the simple-hearted; when I was in great need, he saved me. Be at rest once more, O my soul, for the Lord has been good to you. For you, O Lord, have delivered my soul from death, my eyes from death, my feet from stumbling, that I may walk before the Lord in the land of the living.' ”

She shared a look with Piero and continued on. “ ‘I believed, therefore I said, “I am greatly afflicted.”And in my dismay, I said, “All men are liars.” How can I repay the Lord for all his goodness to me? I will lift up the cup of salvation and call on the name of the Lord.' ”

Daria turned toward the papal knights and strode toward them, still translating the priest's words as she walked. “ ‘I will fulfill my vows to the Lord in the presence of all his people. Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints. O Lord, truly I am your servant; I am your servant,' ” she said, pausing as she realized her husband was beside her.

“ ‘The son of your maidservant,' ” Gianni said, looking down at her as they walked toward the knights together, taking her hand.

“The
daughter
of your maidservant,” Daria whispered.

Piero's Latin words came to them in a shout, encouraging them onward.

“ ‘You have freed me from my chains,' ” said Gianni.

“ ‘I will sacrifice a thank offering to you and call on the name of the Lord. I will fulfill my vows to the Lord in the presence of all the people,' ” Daria said, reaching up to take the scroll from a young, stunned knight's hands.

Piero continued in Latin from behind them.

“ ‘In the courts of the house of the Lord—in your midst, O Jerusalem. Praise the Lord,' ” ended Gianni. He gathered his wife in the safe nestle of his arm and turned her away from the knights, men who would soon ride hard back to the
palais
to report all they had witnessed.