Prospero Regained (12 page)

“That is the normal way of things,” Erasmus replied airily. “This pope was different.”

A deep inarticulate noise made me glance Gregor’s way. Slowly, my brother rose until he stood precariously in the gondola, his red cardinal’s robes billowing about him. He glared down at the rest of us, his face so suffused with wrath that his normally olive complexion appeared ruddy.

It was the old Gregor again, the Gregor from before his imprisonment, the harsh and brutish man I could never bring myself to like.

“Are you telling me”—his hoarse voice sounded softer and more menacing than I had ever heard him—“that the Cesare Mephisto fought was
Cesare Borgia
?”

“Didn’t you know?” Erasmus asked in surprise.

“No! No one mentioned it.”

“I take it you’ve heard of this Borgia guy?” asked Mab.

“Heard of him?
Borgias
!” Gregor spat, his eyes glittering with the memory of countless hateful offenses. “If ever there was a family I abhor, it is the Borgias! Everything that went wrong in Western Civilization since the fifteenth century was the fault of the Borgias! All this…”—he spread his arms, indicating the Swamp of Uncleanness beyond; the silver star wobbled about on his hand—“harkens back to them!”

“That seems a bit extreme,” Mab said cautiously.

“When people speak of the abuses of the Church,” Gregor continued, “they are referring to the reign of the Borgias! The Reformation was brought on by the excesses of the Borgias! No wonder the blackguard broke his word to Mephisto and continued fighting after first blood! A blacker scoundrel never walked the earth, except perhaps for his father! I hope Pope Alexander burns in Hell!”

The wrath in Gregor’s eyes flickered suddenly and drained away as he glanced around at our surroundings. He stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I wonder if we’ll see him here.”

“I suspect he is farther down, in a lower Circle,” Malagigi replied graciously, his eyes watching the star and the rocking motion of the gondola. “I could inquire if you like.”

“No … no matter.” Gregor sat down again, leaning on his staff as he did so, his hoarse voice steady again. “These Borgias corrupted the Church with decadence, performing every imaginable offense. Cesare was the man after whom Machiavelli modeled his book,
The Prince.

“And the greatest irony?” Gregor continued sadly. “Several Renaissance artists used Cesare Borgia as their model when painting Jesus. Because of this, to this day, portraits of Our Lord continue to resemble this unscrupulous villain! He was a murderer who threw his rape victims into the Tiber, and his is the face of our Savior!” Gregor shook his head at the tragedy of it. “This is the kind of man with whom our brother consorted? This sword partner of Mephisto’s was even accused of having committed the heinous crime of incest, fathering a son upon his own sister.”

“Gregor, my lad, maybe we Prosperos shouldn’t throw rocks at other glass houses,” Erasmus cautioned gently.

Gregor gave Erasmus a puzzled glance, and I realized that my brother, the former pope, had not understood whose children Teleron and Typhon were. The argument between Titus and Logistilla back on Prospero’s Island must not have made much sense to him, but then, having just returned from three decades of imprisonment upon Mars, probably much that we said did not make sense to him. I wondered if Titus would have married Logistilla if he had known Brother Gregor was still alive.

“Besides,” Erasmus added, “Pope Alexander VI did get the trains running on time.” He waved his hand. “Or whatever it was that needed done back then. He ran a tight ship of state, which is more than can be said for Mussolini, who is credited with getting his trains to run on time, but never did.” When he saw me gawking at him, Erasmus added with a shrug, “Ulysses told me. You know what a train nut Ulysses is.”

Malagigi said, “Young Cesare was a follower of Antonio’s, I believe, rather than a friend of Mephisto’s. He looked up to Antonio because your uncle was reputed to be a sorcerer.”

I said, “Theophrastus believed that the stories of Cesare’s sister, Lucrezia Borgia, poisoning people were actually a cover for the spells that Antonio taught her and her brother.”

Gregor nodded. “Among the inner circles of the Church, it was well known that she practiced black magic of the worst sort.”

“But that might not have been Antonio’s fault,” Erasmus warned. “The Borgias were
Orbis Suleimani,
too. So—like Antonio and Father—they had access to the magic they were supposed to be stopping. How do you think the popes in Rome got all that loot we appropriated from them in 1623? The Spear of Longinus? The Ark of the Covenant? The two Borgia popes, Cesare’s father and his great uncle, robbed the
Orbis Suleimani
treasure house to get all those goodies.”

“Indeed. That was the reason I supported Father’s raid on the Vatican, despite my reservations.” Gregor spoke gravely. “Father was entirely correct. Access to unholy magic was ruining the Church. The quality of the churchmen improved greatly after we removed those accursed talisman. Only we should not have taken the Ark of the Covenant. I told Father this at the time, but he would not listen. The events that followed proved me right.”

I straightened, startled. Gregor believed that Cornelius’s blindness had been a punishment for our having stolen the Ark from the holy church? I wondered if there were any truth to his theory.

“Borgias!” Gregor shuddered. Despite the great heat, he chafed his arms as if he was cold. “They must all be down here somewhere, Cesare and Lucrezia, too.”

“She was a very lovely woman, Lucrezia.” Erasmus sighed.

“You knew her?” Gregor’s eyes flicked over him disapprovingly.

“Only in passing,” Erasmus murmured. “Though Mephisto fought a duel on her behalf when he was Duke of Milan. She married one of our cousins, you know.”

“The Harebrain was duke, once?” Mab asked.

“After our guide”—Erasmus indicated Malagigi—“and his siblings drove us out of Milan, our family regrouped and returned about fifteen years later. Both Mephisto and I had a chance to be duke for a bit, before the Hapsburgs finally threw us out for good in 1535.”

“Hadn’t realized that. Maybe I should be calling you, ‘Your Grace.’” Mab scribbled a note.

“It was long ago,” Erasmus allowed. “If you won’t call me Erasmus, please stick with Professor.”

“And this great duel between your brother and Cesare: it was all over a girl?” Malagigi asked eventually, when the going got easier for him. “How
romantique!
”

Erasmus chuckled. He leaned over the side of the boat and peered into the swampy waters below us. “Cesare claimed Mephisto had trifled with her and alienated her affections. Only it had not been Mephisto at all…”

“Really? Who was it?” I had never heard this part of the story.

Erasmus had the decency to look sheepish. “It was I.”

“You!” I scrambled to sit straight in my astonishment. “And Mephisto fought Cesare to cover for you?”

Erasmus actually blushed. “I was four years his junior and still clumsy with a sword. Mephisto knew I had no chance.” He chuckled again. “I was so innocent back then. Bianca and I had met by the Elephant Door, alone, and I had kissed her on the cheek. I thought myself so very naughty.”

“All these years, Mephisto never said a word!” I laughed.

CHAPTER

SIX

The Hellwinds Cometh

After we had poled our skull-boat for about a quarter of an hour, Malagigi pointed to a large island upon which succubi cavorted with the souls of the dead. As we approached the shore, horned women swept out of the sky, calling to Mab, Malagigi, and my brothers, smiling and cooing. They had naked breasts and long straight hair. One extended her long finger, with its blood-red nail, and crooked it at me, pursing her lips invitingly. I jerked back, revolted. Gregor placed his staff over his forearm, forming a cross. Hissing, she flew away.

Landing, we followed Malagigi around a large boulder. On the far side, a great black demon lay stretched out on a couchlike rock. Rotting, emaciated women fawned upon him, kissing his marble-like limbs and performing acts I did not study closely enough to identify. Nearby, other women, equally repulsive, danced jerkily or sang. Their music was a horrible cacophony of nauseating sound.

Before I could avert my gaze, the demon turned its many-horned head and regarded me with glowing sapphire eyes. I recognized my brother.

“Ugh, Mephisto,” I cried in disgust, raising a hand to block my vision. “Really!”

“Mephisto?” Erasmus frowned, glancing about. “Where?”

“Sister?” The demon chuckled, half-rising, so that he reclined like a Roman. “Care to join us?”

Mab strode in to the midst of the revelers and grabbed the crystal ball from where a damned soul had been trying to commit an unnatural act with it. He crossed to where Mephistopheles lay and shoved the silver star near his face so that the true nature of his paramours became clear to him. Roaring with revulsion, my brother the demon leapt to his feet, scattering the fawning damned like mice before a lion. His staff, still handcuffed to his arm, swung about freely.

“Fool, Sorcerer,” Gregor shouted. “You have brought us to the wrong Mephistopheles. I warned you all that we should not trust Maugris.”

Gregor turned toward Malagigi. With calm determination, he raised the hand bearing the Seal of Solomon. I did not know if the Seal could harm a good shade such as our guide, but I did not want to risk finding out. I leapt in front of the Frenchman and spread my arms, blocking my brother’s way.

“No, Gregor! That
is
Mephisto!”

“‘Is’ in what meaning of the word?” murmured Erasmus, his brow furrowed. He stood poised, as if waiting for the situation to resolve into some kind of sense.

Overhead, the flying succubi screamed and reeled, dashing away into the lurid red sky in their attempt to flee the dreaded Seal of Solomon. Gregor, meanwhile, had turned his makeshift cross on our family demon.

“Come now, Brother. That will not work on me.” Mephistopheles laughed, though he winced and took a step back.

“What does this mean?” Gregor’s raspy voice was so harsh I could hardly make out his words. “Why does this demon call me ‘Brother’?”

“Because that demon is the Harebrain in his alternate form,” Mab explained as he returned from poking around the stone couch, Mephisto’s clothing dripping from his arms. He handed the long royal blue surcoat to Mephistopheles, muttering. “Here. Don this to cover your nakedness. There are ladies present.” Mab glanced with disgust at the now cowering souls of the damned. “One, anyway.”

“So, our brother has an alternate form … rather like Bruce Banner and the Hulk?” Erasmus asked faintly.

Gregor stared at him blankly.

“Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,” explained Erasmus.

“Yeah, only I don’t think any science experiments were involved,” Mab quipped.

Gregor was unable to follow their conversation. He scowled at them both. “I like this not! How did Mephisto become a demon?”

Mephistopheles stepped forward, now dressed in his surcoat. Malagigi and Erasmus both took a careful step backward. Gregor, Mab, and I stood our ground.

Looming over them, my brother the demon pointed at the crystal globe in Mab’s hands. “The Mystic Eye of John Dee can see into the depths of Hell. With it, I beheld dastardly deeds and black treacheries committed by the denizens who dwelt here. Demons are forever committing crimes they do not want their superiors to discover. By observing these crimes and informing them that they had been observed, I gained their support. In this manner, I moved up through the ranks until I had acquired the prestige and powers of a Prince of Hell. Once I had this power at my fingertips, I used it to forge new compacts.” He hefted his staff, which was a good foot longer than it had been in our youth. “To create new bindings so that I could summon more creatures.”

“Despicable,” hissed Gregor, his old churchman ways rising to the fore.

“Gaining power in Hell—by blackmail. Doesn’t God burn you twice for that?” Erasmus’s voice was light, but there was a tremor to it. Mephistopheles turned his many-horned head toward Erasmus. His sapphire eyes glittered icily. He took a menacing step forward.

“Let he who is without sin cast the first stone,” urged Malagigi, stepping hastily between them and raising his hands, though I did not know what kind of a barrier his insubstantial body would have made.

“So, this is what drove you mad.” Gregor leaned against his staff and nodded as if some ancient suspicion had been confirmed. “Consorting with the Powers of Hell!”

“No, Brother, that was caused by … Arghh!” Mephistopheles tipped back his horned head and howled at the lurid sky. “Fools! You have caused me to recall what I must not!”

Above, the sky rumbled.

“Flee, fools!” Mephistopheles raised his arms toward the sky. “The Queen of Air and Darkness approaches!”

The lurid red sky rolled back like a scroll, showing a foggy gray beyond. From this mist streamed a horde of demons, imps, demi-goblins, and cacodemons followed by a black chariot pulled by skeletal lions. Within the chariot, whip in hand, stood a figure of beauty and malice, cold as death, pale as bone.

Alarmed, we Prosperos raised our staffs. Hellshadow seeped from Gregor’s staff and Erasmus’s began to hum. Unconcerned, Malagigi walked calmly to Mab and held out his hand. Reluctantly, Mab parted with the little silver star. Retreating until he stood a short distance from the rest of us, Malagigi bent his head in prayer and raised his hand, so that the light upon his palm shone brightly. Starless, Mab pulled out his lead pipe.

Erasmus held his whirling, humming staff at arm’s length, wincing slightly because of the stiffness in his arm, tired after hours spent withering the plesiosaur. “Would it be out of place of me to ask why Lilith is attacking us?” he asked airily. “Is it just a general she’s-evil-we’re-good thing? Or is it personal?”

“It’s personal,” Mab replied. “She owns your brother … but only when he remembers that she does … which is why he drank from the Lethe.”