Communion Blood (7 page)

Ragoczy rose. “What on earth?”

“The account books and maintenance records for your property.

You will want to review them.” Bruschi handed them over with a flourish.

“You ask for no bona fides?” Ragoczy was suspicious of this ready acceptance.

Bruschi laughed. “As to that, Signor’ Conte, you have provided them to the Curia and the magistrates’ court. If you are accepted there, who is Ettore Colonna to cavil?”

“Who indeed?” asked Ragoczy, amused, as he took the proffered articles. “Thank you and Ettore Colonna for bringing these.”

“No thanks are necessary,” said Bruschi, more for form’s sake than for his actual feelings. “Ettore Colonna has asked me to extend an invitation to you so that you and he may discuss any questions you may have regarding what has been done to your property. He would call himself, but it is more—”

“Fitting,” Ragoczy supplied. “Truly.” He made a leg. “Tell Ettore Colonna I will make it my business to call upon him next week. All he need do is inform me what days are more convenient, and what hours he receives visitors and I will suit my time to his.”

“I shall be pleased to tell him,” said Bruschi. With another sweeping leg, he stepped back and left the room, Rugerius accompanying him.

“What do you make of that?” Rugerius asked when he returned from seeing Bruschi off into the gathering mists of evening.

“I will know when I have examined these books. I am relieved to have them.” He held them up. “It was good of him to send them to me. I admit I am surprised he waited until now to do it.”

“Perhaps he was waiting on the approval of the Curia?” Rugerius suggested. He was speaking Hungarian, as much to foil any eavesdroppers as to enforce their position as coming from Hungarian territories. “Your status as Abbe may be in some doubt.”

“If it is, so must a hundred others be,” Ragoczy replied, a faint line deepening between his fine brows. “The Curia must know that men of hereditary rank in the Carpathians have found their way into the fringes of the clergy to preserve their estates from Ottoman claims. I am no different than they are, and the Curia undoubtedly is aware of it, for they encourage the practice.” He looked down at the books again. “Perhaps the Curia wanted to review these before I saw them. That could explain the delay.”

The sound of work had stopped, leaving the air eerily silent. It took both Ragoczy and Rugerius a moment to realize what the change was.

“The worker have left for the night,” said Rugerius. “The question of your position in the Church is going to have to be setded.”

“So long as I defend my native earth against the forces of the Ottomites, the Church will not mind if my vocation is less than pristine, or if she does mind, it will be for other reasons than that.” He held up his hand. “Even here in Roma, the Church knows she needs every ally she can find if she is to sustain any of her claims on Balkan or Carpathian lands. I have been considering the matter for several days and I believe I may have hit upon a solution. My vocation or lack of it will be overlooked if I do not claim too much by its right. As an Abbe, the Church may find me unacceptable, so I will begin to style myself Conte da San-Germain and that should forestall any but the most zealous of critics. I will try to make my representation of Niklos on grounds of noble obligation, and use my position of Abbe only if it is utterly necessary. In regard to San-Germain, make sure it is understood that it is
da,
not
di.
I have no wish to find myself disputing an Italian over his hereditary rights.”

“From
and not
of,”
Rugerius approved. “Splitting hairs, but it provides you some leeway.”

“And by retaining the Frankish style, it removes my claim beyond the Papal States—even beyond Italy.” Ragoczy went back to his chair near the fire.
“From
worked before, in Fiorenza.” He used the older form of the name of the Tuscan city now called Firenze.

“I hope you may be right,” said Rugerius. “There are no Medicis here to protect you, and no easy escape, if that is required. Roma is the lion’s mouth of the Church. The Pope is monarch here, and his armies are everywhere. If any of your claims fall under suspicion—” He held up his hands to remind them both of how powerless they would be.

“I do not dispute you, old friend,” Ragoczy said, settling himself comfortably, his dark eyes fixed on the middle-distance. “Olivia was right to build fireplaces in this room as she did in so many of the others. It would be very cold without it.” He did not feel the cold himself, but had long ago made a point of keeping warm enough to avoid questions. “The old heating channels under the floor must be filled with debris by now. Even if the holocaust had not”—he faltered—“not been blown up, it would not be safe to try to use it after so many centuries.”

“The fireplace is pleasant,” said Rugerius. He brought a standing candelabrum up next to Ragoczy’s chair. “I will light the candles, if you like.”

“It is light enough,” Ragoczy said, who was rarely troubled by darkness.

“It is customary to use candles or lamps after sunset,” Rugerius reminded him.

“So it is,” Ragoczy responded, no longer in a reverie. “And you are quite right to light them. We are in Roma and we must assume we are being watched.”

“So we must,” said Rugerius. He bent and took a long, narrow kindling spike from the iron basket beside the fireplace. Lighting this from the fire, he used it to set the candles burning. “There. You are going to read the account books?”

“I am,” said Ragoczy.

“And you are preparing to ask questions of Signore Colonna?” He was fairly certain this must be the case.

“I am,” Ragoczy repeated.

“Will you be staying in tonight?” Rugerius pursued. He was looking a trifle impatient, his faded-blue eyes fixed on Ragoczy.

“I should think so. If I venture out at all, it will be well after midnight,” Ragoczy said with unruffled calm.

“I suspect this house is being observed, even late at night,” Rugerius warned. “If you travel any distance from this villa, someone is apt to notice it.”

“Rugerius, old friend, I am not so hungry that I must raven about the countiyside. If I leave, I will be careful, and I
will..
. dine wisely,” he promised with a faint, wry smile.

“I do not question your circumspection, my master, I only mention the dedication of those you may encounter in your search.” Rugerius showed his concern in a gentling of his austere features.

“No doubt you are right. Yet long hours in the cold and rain can make any man less attentive than he ought to be. By the time I prepare to leave, any observer is likely to be groggy; he will pay no attention to me if I take reasonable precautions. I have eluded spies before; I have not forgot how to do it.” His smile was ironic. “If the Turks did not succeed in catching me these last six years, why should I fear the Romans? Particularly
these
Romans.”

“If you mean that Nero or Vespasianus no longer reigns here, I will allow that. Nevertheless, I would prefer the Praetorian to the Swiss Guard,” Rugerius said. “For the city is not benign simply because what was Caesar’s is now the Pope’s.”

Ragoczy nodded to show he understood. “Let me get to my reading. I will call you if I decide to go out.”

“As
you say,” Rugerius conceded and was about to depart when something struck him. “Will you build another laboratory in the new villa?”

“Oh, yes, I think so,” said Ragoczy with such lack of concern that Rugerius was instantly alerted.

“Is that entirely prudent?” he asked, trying to conceal the sudden alarm that seized him at this apparent recklessness. “You are aware of the spies. Is it wise to give them something so irrefutable as a laboratory to watch?”

“I would rather they watch my laboratory than many other of my activities,” said Ragoczy in a pointed way. “I know there is reason to be uneasy; do not think I am unaware of it. But if the worst the spies can find is experimentation, then I will he safe. It will be assumed that my eccentricities are part of my researches.” He chuckled. “Even a Cardinal or two dabbles in scientific experiments these days. So long as I provide medicaments and astrolabes and chronometers, I think I will be safe. The Romans have always liked toys. I may even say I am trying to invent an automaton. That would be fitting enough, for there are all those clockwork figures in church belltowers.”

“Not in Roma,” Rugerius pointed out sternly.

Ragoczy made a gesture of acknowledgment. “But I am from Hungarian territories, and this would be a harmless reminder. An occasional eccentricity is expected of foreigners. This will be mine, I think. It’s harmless enough, particularly if I do not do anything too well. They will ignore my other ... eccentricities if they can attribute them to this. Besides,” he added, a bit more briskly, “I am not about to publish anything, no matter how trivial, under my own name, and certainly not in the Papal States. If I want to put my thoughts into print, I will use my press in Amsterdam and find a wholly changed name—no trace of Ragoczy or San-Germain in it. The censors will have nothing to attach to me other than Hungarian caprice.”

“I hope you are right, my master,” said Rugerius. “The Pope’s Little House would not be an easy residence to leave.”

“I do not intend to run afoul of the Inquisition, I promise you,” Ragoczy said levelly; he had spent nineteen of the last forty years in Church prisons in the Americas. He closed his eyes briefly, as if shutting out a memory.

“Who does have such intentions?” Rugerius countered. “And yet the Little House is never without guests.” He turned away and left Ragoczy to his reading.

By noon the following day, Ragoczy had finished perusing the two books Celestino Bruschi had given him; he had made two closely written pages of notes of entries to clarify with Colonna. He dressed at leisure in his Hungarian clothes, his sword worn in plain sight this time, his pectoral device on his chest, and went down to his makeshift library to speak with Rugerius. The sound of rain had replaced the constant noise of the builders, and the four servants Rugerius had hired went about the duties in near-silence.

“How long do you expect the rain to last?” Rugerius asked in Italian when Ragoczy requested he put a stop to his sorting of books.

“Three days—at most. The wind is too high for it to last. I do not know how long we will have to wait for the next rain. We may not dry out enough for work to be resumed.” Ragoczy glanced over the stacked crates and the partially built shelves. “Do you want to wait until the new villa is built to do all that?”

“It is pleasant work, and the servants talk of the quantity of books instead of wondering about their contents; at least they do while I am by,” said Rugerius. “The servants are not entirely trustworthy.”

“Why should they be? I am a foreigner to them. They have no duty to me other than to perform the tasks they are hired to perform. The Church is everywhere and her power exceeds mine no matter how honorably they labor.” He set down the two books on a tall stool. “Ettore Colonna is a very precise man. Or his steward is.”

“You are satisfied?” Rugerius asked, his face revealing nothing of his thoughts.

“I am not dissatisfied,” Ragoczy replied. “When I have spoken to Signore Colonna I will know more.” He strode down the room. “I should help you with this. Two of us working would speed the task.”

Rugerius shook his head. “The servants might think that you and I are concealing something among the books. Just as well to leave it to me.”

“Perhaps I should call on Niklos. He will be kept in by the rain,” Ragoczy said.

“Will this present the separation of interests you wish to maintain if you do?” Rugerius asked with such formality that Ragoczy knew they were being listened to.

“If I am to represent him, I must occasionally consult him,” Ragoczy said. “I should discover how things stand now with Niklos so that I may make the most of my forthcoming discussion with Signore Colonna: I will need to be informed on all points. If you will be good enough to continue on here as you’ve begun?” He bowed without making a leg. “I shall not be long, old friend.”

“Will you take the smaller carriage?” Rugerius asked, anticipating the answer.

‘Why should four men and four horses get wet when only one must? No; I shall ride. I think the eight-year-old mare, the one from Vienna, will serve. She’s probably eager for a chance to sport a little.” He cocked his head toward the blowing rain against the windows. “I see no purpose in taking an escort, either. I will not be entering Roma, and have no need of showing my consequence.” He swept the dull-red riding cloak he had been carrying around his shoulders and fastened the elaborate hogging at his neck.

“Very good, my master,” said Rugerius, lowering his eyes. “I will send word to the stable.”

“Never mind. I will do it myself.” He swung about on the thick heel of his boot, and walked away toward the corridor that would take him out to the stable beyond. When Nero was Caesar, there had been stalls for nearly four hundred horses here, and was thought a smallish enterprise. Now there were stall for twenty, and many of the neighbors had fewer. He stepped into the aisle between the stalls, which was wide as the deepest box-stalls, brushing the damp from the cape of his cloak as he made his way to where his riding horses were kept.

Two were recent purchases from Senza Pari, for he trusted Olivia’s horses above all others; though he elected not to ride one today, preferring the mare he had trained himself.

The grey mare was glad for the attention he gave her as he brushed down her coat and combed out her mane and tail. As he picked out her hooves, he realized she would need new shoes in a fortnight at the very latest; he would have to refit the smithy before then. He patted her flank, haltered her, and led her out of her stall, looping her lead to a large ring secured in the pillar in the center of the aisle. Then he went to fetch his tack, choosing a wide fleece saddle pad to help keep her warm. He politely declined the stable- hand’s offer to tend to the chore, enjoying what was usually grooms’ work, talking to the mare as he buckled on her breastplate and tightened her girths. The current fashion in double-bitted military bridles he disdained, using, as he had done for two thousand years, a simple snaffle. He brought the reins back over her head and swung up into the saddle, spreading out his cloak to cover her rump and securing his broad-brimmed hat with its braided cords in a knot under his chin. Then he nodded to the stable-hand. “Open the end door, Lo- tario. Grazie.”