Communion Blood (38 page)

“Do you think so?” Rugerius asked. “Perhaps you would like to discover the truth of it before you shout your assumptions to the world.” His bearing was correct, a nice mixture of deference and dignity, just self-effacing enough to provide the new arrivals no reason to take offense, although they did.

“You impertinent buffoon!” Ursellos cried as he scrambled down from his raw-boned, black-spotted gelding. He rushed at Rugerius, flicking the whip as he came, a look of murderous intent about his mouth.

“Senor Calaveria y Vacamonte,” said Ragoczy amiably in Spanish, as he strolled around the comer of the new house, coming up behind Ursellos on his left side, “I must ask you not to savage my manservant.” He was elegantly dressed for the country, as if he had expected to entertain, in a justaucorps and small clothes of black brocade, a French-style neck-cloth—it was once again safe to wear French fashions—and high black boots; he was fastidiously brushing sawdust from his shoulder as he studied Ursellos and the men with him.

“You
whoremaster!
You
defiler!”
Ursellos raged, swinging around to confront the self-possessed foreigner; he was unimpressed at Ra- goczy’s use of his language, though the workers exchanged disappointed glances at being deprived of the opportunity to be spectators at a confrontation.

“I have done nothing to deserve your obloquies,” said Ragocizy, regarding Ursellos as if the younger man were a ill-trained puppy.

“Nothing?
Nothing?
You have made my sister your harlot, and you claim you have done nothing!” He laid his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“You have no reason to challenge me, Senor, and you will do your sister no good carrying on in this way,” Ragoczy said, not quite as pleasantly as before. “I assure you I have done nothing to earn your vituperations, and if you continue to make such unfounded accusations, I will have to take action to vindicate my honor; in the Courts, not with swords.”

“Your
honor
? You have the gall to speak of honor!” Ursellos’ scorn was so overstated that a few of the workers laughed again, making Ursellos all the more furious. “You have no honor. To have honor, you must have birth and breeding. You are nothing more than a foreign panderer; that title you claim for yourself is undoubtedly false. I will not tolerate such claims as honor and breeding coming from one such as you!”

Ragoczy, who was aware of Ursellos’ reputation, resisted the urge to counter these accusations with a similar goad. Instead, he shook his head. “If you wish to discontinue your tirade and come into my house, I will show you the hospitality to which your rank entitles you. For your sister’s sake, I recommend you do this. Have your men dismount and water their horses while you and I discuss your complaint.” He stood very still while the outraged young dandy made up his mind. “Put the whip away, Senor,” he said quietly.

As if suddenly aware of all the eyes upon him, Ursellos flung the whip toward his men-at-arms. “Keep that for me. I may still have use for it.” He stalked toward the open door, Ragoczy following him; behind him his escort swung off their horses, prepared to wait awhile. “All right. Where is my sister? I will not be fobbed off by well- mannered phrases. I want to see her,” he demanded as soon as he stepped into the small entry area. “Bring her here to me at once.”

Ragoczy motioned to Rugerius: he was still speaking Spanish. “Be good enough to ask Senorita Calaveria y Vacamonte if she would like to see her brother.” Then he said to Ursellos, “Your belligerence will only alarm her; you must know that. If you wish to persuade her to come with you, then you would be well-advised to take a more reasonable tone.”

“She is my sister. She will come with me because I say so!” Ursellos shouted. “If you try to hold her here, you will answer for your—” “Senor Calaveria y Vacamonte,” Ragoczy interrupted his obstreperous guest, “she will hear you. You are shouting loudly enough to be heard halfway to Roma, which I am certain you do not want, for your sister as well as for your errand here. If you do not moderate your tone, you will frighten her. Is that what you want: to frighten her?”

“She
should
be frightened!” Ursellos said. “She has behaved disgracefully. It would serve her right if our brother disallowed her engagement and confined her to a convent.” He stalked a short way down the corridor. “This place is very old.”

“Yes, it is,” Ragoczy said calmly, relieved at the change of subject, but wary.

“You must have bought such a ruin for little more than the land is worth.” The contempt in his voice was strong as a noxious odor.

“I suppose I would have, had it not been in my family since it was built, when the Caesars ruled,” said Ragoczy.

“A fable, made to impress the gullible,” said Ursellos.

“So it may seem to you,” Ragoczy said levelly. “Alas, troubles in my native land have kept me from dealing with this holding as I ought—as it deserved, until now. That is why the new villa is going up, as this one seemed too hard to repair and bring to modem tastes.” He saw that Ursellos wanted to challenge his assertion, and added a cordial warning: “I have proof of this, if you doubt my word.”

Unwilling to hear more of this, Ursellos demanded, “I must see my sister. Bring her to me now!”

“She shall come, if she is willing to see you,” said Ragoczy carefully, slightly emphasizing the
she.

“You cannot keep us apart. I am her brother: she has to obey me, and so do you in regard to her. She will come with me willingly, or the law will force her compliance.” He stopped, his eyes narrowing. “Unless you have married her.” For a moment the ramifications of this enormity went through him. “You would not do anything so despicable. Not even you would marry her without our permission.” “She remains unmarried, as she wishes to be. She is also my guest,

and as her host, I am obliged to acquiesce in her wishes.” He kept his voice and manner mild. “You would not ask me to overlook my duties to her, would you?”

“I have authority over her,” Ursellos insisted. “The law gives me the right to—”

“As I understand the law,” Ragoczy said, daring to interrupt Ursellos again, “the law gives such rights to your brother. The Cardinal is the oldest, is he not? It is his will that the law upholds, not yours.” Before Ursellos could answer, Ragoc
2
y indicated a door. “That leads to my reception room. It is small and far from grand, but if you would enter it, I will have my servants bring you some refreshment.”

“I will not be here that long,” said Ursellos.

Ragoczy shrugged. “It will take half an hour to ready my coach and longer than that for your sister to ready herself to travel, but you may do as you like.” He saw the startled shine in Ursellos’ eyes. “Or were you planning to carry her back to Roma on the rump of your horse like a wayward peasant wench?” He bowed slightly, his tone ironic, but his purpose was deadly serious. “That would set tongues wagging, wouldn’t it? treating your sister like a runaway strumpet.”

Before Ursellos could form a rejoinder, Rugerius came down the corridor accompanied by a plain-faced woman in servants’ clothing. “She asks her brother to wait awhile,” said Rugerius in Italian, without inflection.

“What?” Ursellos was outraged. “You dare to keep her from me?”

“No, nothing of the sort,” Rugerius said. “Her maid will explain.” He nodded to the servant-woman, giving her permission to speak.

“Her maid!” Ursellos scoffed, also in Italian. ‘What nonsense is this? Her maid?”

Clarice Fiumara ducked her head respectfully. “I have been maid to your sister since she quit her penitent’s cell,” she declared.

“And wholly subject to this so-called Conte,” said Ursellos.

“No; I have secured my position due to my brother, Bonaldo Fiumara, who is the masterbuilder on the new villa.” She stood very straight. “If anything untoward happened here, the Artei would protect me from anything the Conte might require. Not that any such thing has been necessary, for the Signor’ Conte has done nothing that

would not be approved by the Pope himself.” Her expression sharpened as she made her own measure of Leocadia’s brother. “So I tell you now, little though you may believe it, that your sister has been treated with highest regard and the strictest propriety, even before she revealed her name. I shall say the same to my Confessor and any Magistrate in the land.”

Ursellos contemplated the stalwart, unprepossessing woman. “God knows liars, even in Confession,” he said at last, but with less heat than in his former outbursts.

“Then I have nothing to fear, from you or any man, this day or at the Last Judgment,” said Clarice, unimpressed.

“I am sure you have been paid well to say so,” Ursellos sneered.

“I am paid well, yes, but not well enough to lie.” She curtsied to Ragoczy. “She has need of me, Signor’ Conte. If you will permit?”

Ragoczy gave a wry smile. “By all means, Clarice; thank you for your substantiation,” he said, and motioned her dismissal.

“It appears, Ragoczy, that you have her fooled,” said Ursellos, a malign curl to his lip. “That, or you have bribed her through her brother.”

For an instant Ragoczy said nothing. “Pray do not attach your own methods to me, Senor Calaveria y Vacamonte.” His manner was still impeccably polite, but his show of amiability was at an end. Without giving Ursellos an opportunity to respond, he went on to Rugerius, “It is nearly time for the mid-day meal, is it not? and the builders will be stopping work shortly, as will the household staff. Their meal is being prepared in the kitchen: if you will ask the cooks to put together a cold repast for the men-at-arms, and make a place for them in the servants’ dining room, I will speak to Matyas and Amerigo about readying the smaller coach for our guest’s—your sister’s—use.” All but the last was addressed to Rugerius but for Ursellos’ benefit.

“And what of me?” Ursellos inquired angrily. “Since you are such a stickler for the rules of hospitality.”

From the door, Ragoczy turned. “You said you wanted nothing. If you have changed your mind, your request will be fulfilled at once. My cooks have excellent reputations, and I am sure they will acquit themselves well. Rugerius, old friend, see to our guest’s wants.” He

did not wait for another acrimonious exchange to begin, but left Ur- sellos in the small reception room, bound for the stables. He had almost reached that building when Maurizio rushed up to him, consternation showing in every line of his body. He halted, partially blocking Ragoczy’s way, his hands bunched at his sides.

“Is it true?” he asked breathlessly.

“That her brother has come?” Ragoczy responded. “Yes. He is here.”

“And he will take her back to Roma?” Maurizio’s voice raised more than a third. “Today?”

“That is his intention,” said Ragoczy.

“And you will let him?” Maurizio stared at Ragoczy as if the older man had turned into an asp before his eyes.

“I have nothing to say in the matter,” Ragoczy told Maurizio. “He is her brother and the law supports his claim on her. If I were to refuse his request, I would be subject
to...
unwelcome consequences.”

“But if she doesn’t want to go?” Maurizio pleaded, misery ridding him of everything but despair.

“Sadly, the law is not required to consider her wishes, only those of her male relatives.” How different things had been when he first met Olivia, Ragoczy thought—although the protection of the law had had little impact on Olivia herself—at least women had had the right to their own lives. He took a deep breath. “If she has a reason to refuse her brother, she has said nothing of it; I am powerless to interfere.”

“I
would interfere,” said Maurizio staunchly. “I would do anything for her.”

“I know,” said Ragoczy with compassion.

Maurizio was too caught up in his dejection to take comfort from Ragoczy’s understanding; he was barely aware of it. “You cannot know how I feel. You’re too old.”

“Doubtless,” said Ragoczy, a sardonic note in his voice.

The impetuous young musician looked up suddenly. “She can run away with me now! I can take
her...
oh, somewhere her brother cannot find us!”

“Have you asked her to fly with you?” Ragoczy was more apprehensive about the answer than his face revealed.

“No. Not yet.” Maurizio’s answer, defiant though it was, reassured Ragoczy, although his next remark did not. “But she will come with me, I know she will.”

“Maurizio,” said Ragoczy steadily, “there are four men-at-arms with Leocadia’s brother. Assuming that she was willing to do such a mad thing, and leave with you, how far do you suppose you would get? And when they caught you—and they would catch you—they would injure you, possibly kill you: the law would approve their doing it, for her brother would swear you were abducting her. What would that do for her?” He read anger and confusion in Maurizio’s face. “Very well: assuming you could get away, what would you do? You are a musician, not a farmer or a merchant. Your skills do not lead to hiding. Your very reputation would make it impossible for you to play anywhere in Europe and not expose yourself, and her, to discovery.”

“Then we will leave Europe. We will go to the New World, and I will play there,” he said stubbornly.

“How?” Ragoczy asked. “Maurizio,
think,
just a litde, what you would subject her to. She has trouble enough now. If you are as devoted as you say you are, do not add to her woes.” He paused. “For her sake, Maurizio.”

“I could learn a trade. That would support us, and we would not be discovered,” he insisted. “I would be able to care for her.”

“And how do you think she would like the life as a weaver’s wife, or a bricklayer’s? Are you willing to give up your music? And where would you have to go? Not Spain or Spanish territories, certainly, or any Catholic lands. Where?” Ragoczy asked very gently. “You would hate it, and so would she.”

“But she ran away from her brothers,” Maurizio exclaimed. “She did not want to be with them.”

“She ran away from something,” said Ragoczy. “If I knew for certain it was her brothers, then I might try to prevent this one from taking her, and be damned to the law. She has said nothing, and that limits my actions.” He regarded Maurizio closely, telling himself that