The Blessed (48 page)

He laughed without humor. “They are on the attack. And they are in league with the doge and other nobles. These three letters,” he said, raising them to shoulder height, “are notices of dissolution of my business agreements with merchants in Venezia and Provence, based on criminal charges brought against me in Siena. Something tells me that there shall be others.”

He paced back and forth, hands on his hips, head down, thinking. “They intend to bring me down financially,” he said. “To sever key relationships between here and Roma. They know that if they go after merchants of this caliber, then others shall follow suit.” He stopped abruptly, staring at the ground. He looked up at Vincenzo and Ciro, shaking his head and cocking a brow in wonder. “It was an astute move. They have struck where I am vulnerable, and the effect shall be crippling.”

Ciro and Vincenzo stared at him, waiting for him to continue. Never had they witnessed him at rest, stupefied. Even after Daria had taken his eye and escaped the isle in Venezia, Abramo had had an immediate plan, knew his counterattack. And yet Abramo could not move, paralyzed by sudden fear. The Gifted were formidable spiritual opponents. But never had he imagined they might take him on in this arena.

He sat down on the edge of a chair, thinking. How would his master advise him?

“The master shall not be pleased,” Vincenzo said.

“You think I am not aware of that?” Abramo roared, rising. “You have spent much time in my company, Baron del Buco. You have gained financially based on my own gains, so if I lose, so shall you. Think. What would be a wise course of action when every day counts?”

“We must hold our ground here. Now. Then move out, regaining territory we may indeed lose. We could appeal to the cardinals for assistance—”

“Our favor is slipping with every hour that the Court deliberates on the fate of the Gifted. They seek a method to release them, which means they must find just cause to bless them. Nay, we are already suspect. To say anything shall lift the veil further.”

“Mayhap we should go to the nobles, persuade them to continue to ask questions that shall chafe at the cardinals. If the Gifted are allowed to minister freely—”

“After witnessing the child's healing, not a one of them has the stomach to hand them over to the authorities, advising death. You'd think that God himself entered the Court of the Rota.”

“It sounds as if he did.”

Abramo frowned at Vincenzo. He knew he despised any favorable mention of the Gifted's God. Seeing his glower, Ciro took a step away from the baron.

“We have no time for such games. They have reached for our jugular. We must do the same.” He circled Vincenzo, staring hard at him. “Write back to the Nine of Siena. Tell them none of the witnesses live and we shall not be brought to court for claims based on hearsay and rumor. We will arrive at our convenience, but we prepare our own claims against the Nine for inconveniencing us, costing us valuable business relationships, and shall seek remuneration.”

Vincenzo frowned, confusion in his eyes.

“You hesitate, friend?” Abramo asked, pausing in front of him. He reached up to lay a hand on his shoulder. “I have asked what our master would advise, and it is this. We are to hunt down the Gifted upon their release. And kill every last one of them. The old woman, the artist, and the children first. Then the rest. They must see the extreme cost of their folly before they die.”

Vincenzo swallowed. “They shall be under guard.”

“Through Provence, yes,” Abramo said, nodding, returning to the window. “It would be foolhardy to address them here. But where do you suppose they shall go when they are released? They have reached the end of the prophesied map, by coming here. They shall sense victory, progress, in facing the pope and his courts, and emerging alive, possibly even with the tacit agreement to allow them to continue ministering to the faithful.”

He turned and walked back to them, smiling wryly now. The smile faded and an intense look again entered his eyes. “Add to that the fact that they are summoned, as are we, to appear before the Nine.”

“They shall return to Siena,” Vincenzo said in a whisper.

“Yes,” Abramo said, nodding with a smile. “And we shall be waiting for them.”

 
“WHY do they tarry?” Daria asked, going again to the cell door and resting her forehead against the cool, rusty bars. “It has been five days since Roberto was healed!” As potential criminals now, they were no longer allowed the freedom and luxuries of the Court of Familiars. But the guards treated them as royalty, in awe of the stories they had heard and wary that they might turn their holy powers upon them. Small gifts from noble and commoner alike continued to arrive—icons of the saints, food, wine, and rare herbs.

“Be at peace,” Josephine said. “They shall soon come to the end of their deliberations. I could not see their faces, but I could hear the decision in the bishop's voice. Surely you saw the same on the pope's face. They can do none else than release us, bless us.”

They had gone through it thirty times before, but the waiting chafed at Daria. It wearied her, having to constantly comfort Tessa when she herself fretted, as well as encourage Agata, who found it exceedingly difficult to sleep upon the stone floor.

She closed her eyes. She, too, longed for a decent bed and her husband, with his arms around her. He must be like a caged lion, pacing in his agitation of being far from her.

“Lady de Capezzana?”

Her eyes flew open. So lost had she been in her thoughts, she had not heard the guard approach. The man lifted a letter up and slipped it between the bars. “For you,” he said. His eyes covered her in awe. All the guards treated them all as miracle workers, bringing them extra blankets, extra bread, fresh water. She hoped they did the same for the men.

“Thank you,” she returned. Tessa and Agata rose to their feet, curious at this. A letter delivered to her in the papal dungeon?

She turned it over to see the red seal. She smiled hopefully at the women. “It is from the Nine,” she said, for Josephine's benefit. She shook her head. Her messenger had made miraculous time, as had this letter in return. On God's wings, surely. And aided by the doge's fastest vessels.

“Open it, m'lady!” Tessa said excitedly.

But she had already slipped her finger beneath the flap, noting the broken seal. “It is a personal letter from Marco.” She felt sudden heat at her neckline.

“Read it aloud,” Josephine said softly. She had sensed her sudden discomfort. “The best way out from under a secret's shadow is fact's light.”

Daria cleared her throat and moved over to the high, small window in order to better see.

 
She looked up at the women and girl, a bit dazed, unaware of what she had just said, only of Marco's voice ringing through her ears.
Purchased for a time . . . utmost care . . . raise her to emulate you . . . power of the Almighty . . . hasten home.
Slowly her eyes focused on the women, every face pointed toward her.

Agata rose and neared. She had one hand to her mouth, and the other reached for Daria's belly, resting it there. “My lady, is it possible?” she asked in awe.

Daria smiled. “Indeed, it is.”

“How? When?”

Daria gave her a wry smile. “Agata, must I really tell you how this happens?”

The older woman blushed and stammered. “I mean . . . Marco . . . you were . . .”

“It is a miracle, isn't it?” Josephine asked, coming closer and reaching out for her hand. Daria took it. “Great was your love, m'lady?”

“Marco had my heart since childhood, the love of an innocent,” she said. “But it is Gianni who has captured my heart as a woman grown. I am his now.”

“As he is most assuredly your own,” Josephine said. “Never have I known a man to be so in love with his wife.”

“He has been that way since the day she first brought him home,” Agata said proudly.

“God has blessed us in many ways. The road has been hard. Much has been sacrificed. But I count it all as gain.”

Josephine smiled. “When a woman can say that from inside a prison cell, it bears witness to God himself. You are the image of our blessed Saint Paul.”

“When?” Tessa asked, no longer able to keep her tongue. “When shall your babe be born?”

“In the autumn,” Daria said, looking to the window, longing to see Bormeo flying high above them, herself free to stand and watch. “When the leaves are fully turned upon the oaks and maples that line the forests of Toscana, and the harvest is brought in, and the tinge of winter's frost is in the evening air. That is when the child shall come to greet us.”

Her hand moved to cover her belly. Well she knew of the dangers ahead, the very real threat of bringing Abramo Amidei and Vincenzo del Buco to justice. But God had seen them through so much. She would not borrow tomorrow's trouble. She only wished to see this day through and be freed of the pope's prison cell. Tomorrow was in God's hands alone.

“Guard!” she called.

The man hurried toward her. “Yes, m'lady?”

“Please, I beg you. Can you get this letter to my husband? He must know of this at once.”

“As you wish, m'lady,” he said, setting off at once.

She watched him disappear down the long, dark corridor. The seal had been broken. Had the guard already read Marco's words? She doubted it. So few knew how to read, let alone the Toscana dialect. So who had it been?

 
CARDINAL Morano arrived that night. The Gifted were to be released immediately.

“You have done all you could to preserve the sanctity of the Church and her court, m'lord Cardinal,” Abramo said with a slight bow. “You are to be commended.” He turned and reached for his cape, his gloves. His satchels were already by the door.

“You . . . you plan to depart? Now?”

Was that a note of relief in his voice? Abramo assumed that housing the men who had been tossed from the Court of Apostolic Causes must be providing some discomfort for the cardinal. Yes, it was best to leave, immediately. To preserve some semblance of relationship, so that he might pick it up again when he returned.

“Yes, m'lord Cardinal. Our time with you has been most edifying. I shall await you and my bride at my residence in Firenze, come summer. You shall conduct the ceremony yourself. It will be a grand affair. And greatly shall your church prosper.”

“Where do you travel now?”

“Baron del Buco and I must see to other matters at hand.” He smiled at the cardinal. Was he seeking information? Might the cardinal have been turned against them? Sent in to spy upon them? “We shall travel throughout the spring, beginning now with a journey to Paris. But I shall see you in Firenze.” He reached out to tap the cardinal lightly on the chest. “Yes?”

The cardinal paused and licked his lips. “Yes. Of course. I shall set out for Madrid in a month's time and prepare your bride for your vows. We shall be there no later than summer's end.”

“Summer's end,” Abramo said, nodding his head as if the deal were completed, knowing that the cleric lied. He had been breached. He no longer belonged to Amidei—in fact, suspected him. Had they all fallen? Every cardinal? Had all his hard work here been in vain?

He turned to go and paused by the door, thinking of the cardinal in the caves, stalactites above them. The exquisite taste of carnal appetites, just beyond his reach. It made Abramo salivate at the mere memory. “M'lord Cardinal, we have shared much these past weeks.”