The Angel of Soriano: A Renaissance Romance (3 page)

The portcullis lifted and she ducked under for probably the last time. Both she and her home now belonged to Pierpaolo. She shuddered. According to her father, her uncle was a man with shifty eyes and a fierce temper.

Hundreds of bright yellow roses wilted upon the high stone walls surrounding Pierpaolo Nardini’s courtyard. Marble goddesses attended in silent watchfulness as Aurelia slipped off one leather shoe. She straddled the fountain’s ledge and over-heated toes cooled in the refreshing water. Unable to resist, she bared her other foot, lifted her skirts, and waded. This was the warmest October she could remember.

Even in her new silk shift, open sleeves, and low bodice, she’d almost passed out during her father’s never-ending funeral. The fumes of incense hadn’t helped one bit. Did God really wish for all His supplicants to wheeze and cough while deep in prayer?

She turned, thinking to have a heated discussion on the subject with her father, then sadness washed over her. He was no more. That part of her life was gone forever. It hardly seemed possible.

With a splash of water on her face, she wondered, and not for the first time, if she’d landed in Dante’s fifth circle of hell. But what did it matter. Apparently, even in the afterlife, one was forced to move forward. She grabbed a persimmon from a low hanging branch. Like everything else, it had no taste. She sighed deeply and swallowed. Whether in hell or just hell on earth, some strength was needed to endure what was about to come.

After the chanting in the church had come to a resounding final tone, Bernardo had bowed stiffly and said goodbye. She’d wanted to hug him tightly and remind him of his vow to keep her safe. Instead, under the observant gaze of the whole village, she’d kept her eyes to the floor. It was bad enough she’d rode into the village upon his horse. Any other signs of affection would label her wanton.

And Pierpaolo? He’d not been at all happy to see her. At first, he’d refused to believe she was his brother’s offspring. But could she truly blame him? By all accounts she’d drowned in the Tiber last summer. If not for an old woman who’d remembered her as a child, and Bernardo’s threatening presence, he might’ve cast her out.

Any moment now, he’d enter his courtyard and demand she meet the man he’d already decided she’d wed. A deep sigh escaped from within her breast. She’d met the old healer long ago. But perhaps, like her father, Signore Battista would allow her to aide him as he administered to the sick. She tried to focus on that one bright thought.

Looking at her reflection in the pool of water, she pinched her pale cheeks and used the persimmon juice to moisten her lips. Best to make a good impression on the old goat.

But it wasn’t his voice that echoed in the main hall, rather that of the Bishop of Vignanello and Pierpaolo. She’d already decided that she could abide neither one separately and together they were a burden beyond compare. Grabbing her shoes, she padded up the back stairs to the balcony overlooking the garden and lay flat. Perhaps it was a sin to spy, but how else could she find out what they planned?

Nardini, clothed in billowing pink sleeves, floral doublet, and a pair of ridiculous red pantaloons, turned to the holy man, “I tell you, she must have it on her person or hidden it well. Perhaps someone stole it? I’ve searched the house personally, and found nothing.”

The portly bishop’s round face, dripped with sweat. He tucked his flowing black robes under his large behind and sat on the fountain’s ledge. “Wouldn’t something that important be stored in the Vatican?”

“No. Giuseppe trusted no one.” Her uncle paced, scratching at his short, dark beard.

She inched toward the balcony’s edge, head lifted, and heart racing so as to hear better.

“Say again how this beautiful woman is related to you?” The bishop eyed her uncle like a cat, eyes wary.

“My niece. Imagine my surprise when Carvajal’s eldest son brought her here. I was told she drowned in the Tiber late last summer.”

The bishop mumbled something she couldn’t catch. He leaned over the water, soaked his silk hat, and wiped it across his baby face.

Then he put the limp material back onto his bald head. “So, you want her gone?”

“Of course I want her gone! I can’t take risks. What if the Nardini land in Naples is truly hers as Giuseppe claimed? Her dowry. What if she has proof?” Pierpaolo’s face reddened.

“Calm yourself. It’s too hot. As her legal guardian, whatever she owns becomes yours.”

“I cannot take any chances. I’ve heard of cases where women inherited their family’s fortunes.” Pierpaolo glanced about, and seeing no one, continued at a lower volume. “You’ll have the town gather sometime in the next week in the piazza. There, you’ll read the pope’s last decree on witchcraft. I’ll have my servants start some rumors.”

Aurelia stuffed a fist into her mouth and bit down.
Mio Dio.

The priest shook his fat head, chin flesh wagging atop the neck of his expensive priestly robes. “But the villagers—”

Her uncle paced, stopped directly under where she hid and said, “A beautiful blond with ivory skin amid a town of plain folk? She is the devil’s temptation personified.”

“I could put her into a local convent.” The fat bishop eased up from the fountain, his large body requiring both palms on the ledge in order to move.

Pierpaolo loomed above him with hands flaying in the air. “Absolutely not. How will that fix my problem? Then the abbess will lay claim to my inheritance.”

“
I
could take her as mistress. Give you the land. Treat her well. That buxom body should not go to waste.” A lecherous grin spread across his round face.

Her uncle shook his head, “No, she must die.”

Aurelia’s stomach turned and she shivered despite the heat. She wasn’t going to be married off to the old healer after all. They were going to see to it she was tortured, then burnt alive, perhaps even worse.

Picking up her skirts, she ran from the balcony’s edge, and feigned to be slumbering on a bench. When they neared, she dulled her face and said, “Excuse me uncle. I must’ve fallen asleep.” She rolled off and curtsied low.

Her uncle tilted his head, not at all convinced. “Of course, my dear. This must all be a shock to you.”

The bishop nodded and his fat neck wobbled as he tsk-tsked.

After a moment, they both wandered off into the great hall, speaking again of her death, but in less obvious terms.

Atop the volcano city of Soriano, the castle towered above the many stone buildings with orange roofs. Colorful banners lay flat and motionless against the tufa parapets. Above that, a cloudless blue sky promised another beautiful day.

Bernardo Carvajal sighed and paced. The pope’s new fountain sat dry and lifeless in the center of the piazza at the foot of the city.

In the center of the marble wonder, a stone madonna reminded Bernardo of Aurelia. But then again, as of late, everything reminded him of her.

Fulvio, having just arrived from under the great portcullis in the south, dismounted, and studied the whole affair. “You finally got guildsmen from Rome to connect the damn thing?”

Bernardo pointed to the workers in a hole in the ground. “They too are a gift from Pope Innocent. He apparently has a fondness for Soriano.”

“And prefers the Holy Mother of God to deliver his water?” Fulvio dismounted and snickered.

“It would seem so.” Bernardo smiled. “It’s good to have you back, my friend.”

Sudden gurgling under their feet moved to the top of the statue’s head and water spurted out, splashing down into the circular pool. Workers and townspeople all cheered.

Bernardo’s face and arms moistened from the deliciously cool mist.

Sweaty and dusty from the road, Fulvio handed off his reins and strode under the cascading water. Laughing, he caressed the statue’s breasts. “She is
bellisimo
.”

“That’s supposed to be the Virgin Mary.
Mio Dio
. Do you want to go to hell, you heathen?” Pulling him out by the arm, Bernardo apologized to the dour faced ancients, dressed in black and crossing themselves.

A smirk covered his friend’s wet face and he slicked back his dark hair. “She’s more real than the fair Aurelia you pine over day after day. Why in God’s name don’t you go and see how she fares? If you don’t, I will.”

“The Earl of Vignanello was quite adamant. He wanted her to adjust to her new surroundings and her impending marriage. He said it was quite evident that she was smitten and would need time to forget me.”

Fulvio stared with eyes wide, then guffawed. “She? Taken with you? I would say ’twas the other way around. You’ve done nothing but mope since meeting her. First, it was, Fulvio, come find her with me. Then, Fulvio, come ride in front of her estates. And finally, come draw your sword and save her with me. And now? Just quiet brooding. I preferred the former more than this latter state. You truly have become morose.”

He was correct. But how to forget the long blond hair, perfect skin, and the palest of eyes that haunted him? Today was to be her wedding day. His stomach rolled. He’d heard rumor her intended was an old healer. That he wanted her more as an assistant and was too old for his cock to rise. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try.

God’s Blood.
There was nothing he could do. Why did he torment himself so?

He threw a small purse at the workers who’d put aside their tools to jump in the water. They shouted their thanks and splashed.

Children, too young to be clothed, ran across the hot bricks and joined the melee. Adults brought buckets and gathered the water flowing off from the open palms of the Blessed Virgin. Some splashed pails over their heads.

He ducked his head under the flowing water with a grin, then bid them all a good day. Much refreshed, he headed up the steep path between the stone buildings. Fulvio followed, his horse’s hooves clopping on the paving stones. On either side of the narrow road, merchants poked their heads out and greeted them.

At the bakery halfway up the hill, Fulvio ducked in. When he stepped out, he had a sweet bread in his hand and spoke with his mouth full, “Mephmw.”

“Have mercy on me and swallow.” Bernardo punched his arm.

His friend handed him a raisin and nut bread. “You’ve finished the fountain. The castle walls are fortified and the gates have new iron. Do you suppose Borgia will now allow you to keep your handsome head upon your shoulders?”

“I hope so.” He took a bite and remembered the last time he’d faced the man, lying about Aurelia’s death. “You don’t suppose Nardini will tell him that she still lives?”

“How would I know? I’m but a mere serf.” Fulvio bowed comically.

Behind the joking, Bernardo knew there was some hurt and said quietly, “Eventually your father will come to his senses. You won’t be disinherited forever.”

He laughed and shrugged. “I’m forever in your debt. Without you, I’d be begging. Maybe a man-whore.”

Bernardo grinned, thinking his friend could probably do quite well for himself if he decided on such an undertaking. “Did you see your sister while in Rome? Is she well?”

“She’s still safely hidden away with a friend. As long as she remains so, then I’m content to stay with you, if you’ll have me.”

“Your father still has no idea you stay with me?” Bernardo hoped he’d gained no new enemies.

Fulvio shook his head no and kicked at a stone. “He’d never believe an Orsini would stoop so low as to become servant.”

“I consider you more friend and companion.”

“A penniless one.” His friend shoved him hard, and he tripped.

He pushed him back, the serious moment over. “Tell me, what did you learn in Rome?”

“That Borgia will find out the truth, sooner or later. Best you think of some story, other than like Lazarus, she came back to life.” He waited as if he thought Bernardo could create a good story out of the ether.

“Shit. Let’s go.” Bernardo’s dark mood returned and a knot in the back of his throat made it hard for him to swallow. He should’ve never tried to save her but the alternative was too awful to consider. Since when had he become so altruistic?

Fulvio stopped again outside the front of the church. “I hate to ask, but what news do you have of your fiancé, Lucella?”

With a moan, Bernardo handed back what was left of his bread. “You certainly know how to ruin a man’s appetite.”

“My fate is intertwined with yours. I’m concerned.”

A shudder ran through Bernardo, as if stabbed by a ghostly sword and he said nothing. Aurelia’s sweet and lovely face floated in his mind’s eye. This time he couldn’t dispel it.

“When’s the wedding?” Unconcerned that he’d ruined a perfectly fine day, Fulvio started up the steep incline.

The vision of Aurelia’s sweet and heavenly face disappeared to be replaced by his fiancé’s pouting visage. “Jesu. Hopefully, never.”

“Her family will soon insist.” His friend raised a knowing eyebrow.

Bernardo ignored the look, took off his hat, and accepted a lemon drink from a tavern owner. Then he veered them off to the right toward the stables, refusing to speak any more about Lucella and his impending doom. “Tell me. What news in garrison gossip?”

Thankfully, the man was willing to change subjects. “As one might expect. There are the mercenaries who gripe about being underpaid. There are those who grumble constantly about the state of this and that. Then, the locals, such as myself, who are happy to have a warm polenta, warm women, and a place to lay their heads.”

Bernardo laughed. “You’re one lucky bastard.”

“Indeed I am.” Fulvio bowed comically, taking off his feathered cap.

With a heavy sigh, he stared up the hill toward the keep. “I suppose I can’t put off the inevitable. I’m expected to dine with my whole family. Please feel free to take the rest of the day to yourself.”

“To your new country house?” His friend waggled his brows.

“I suppose you may. It’s all but finished.”

“Does Lucella’s grandmother know about it? I have no desire to run into that witch.”

“God forbid. It’s my only sanctuary. She’s got spies searching the town. Thinks I have a lover.”

“Don’t you?” He smirked.

Bernardo thought again of Aurelia and wished it were true. “No. No. Not since the baby troll came to live with us.”

“Your balls will rot, unused.”

“Shut it. I best get used to it. I’m to be wed as soon as the girl comes into her menses.”

“Seriously, Bernardo. Your father has many mistresses. You could do the same.”

He shook his head. “True, true. But I should at least try to be faithful.” But his heart spoke otherwise. He wanted Aurelia under him, moaning his name.

His friend slapped him on the back, “More’s the pity. Very well. I’ll take my siesta in the cool garrison, find a willing woman, and be off before dark.”

At the top of the hill, a small breeze stirred. Bernardo took off his cap, caught his breath, and groaned at the wailing within the keep.

His fiancé, betrothed since age eight, and most recently arrived from Spain, stormed down the stairs.

Damn, it’s too hot for this.
“What is it, Lucella?” He sighed and waited with the patience of a saint.

“You will take me away from this horrid place. I demand it.” The chubby fourteen year old pouted like a child. If by now she had no poise and grace, she probably never would.

As he approached, he prayed again to Christ Almighty that the girl would never bleed and he could avoid a marriage to her. Feeling guilty, he amended his thoughts. Perhaps her family could merely fall out of favor and Cardinal Borgia would cancel the contract. But until miracles abounded, he’d need to keep the girl somewhat calm.

“What happened now?” He brushed a kiss across both her right and left cheek.

“The stonecutters!” She stomped a foot, face red and blotchy. It truly wasn’t her fault nor his, but her bleached blond curls and shaved upper forehead forced him to compare her to Aurelia’s natural beauty.

Guilty of missing most of what she’d just said, he tried to focus. “Has one of the masons bothered you?”

“All of them!”

Bernardo pulled out his sword. “Why were you out among them? I’ll gut them all. Where’s your grandmother? Why wasn’t she with you?”

“I sent her to the village. I needed a sweet. And I was not outside.”

“Jesu —”

“Do not use God’s name in vain.” She glared.

He clenched his teeth. “Did you invite them in? The workers?”

“Those ruffians? Of course not.”

“How in the hell... how did they accost you?” He slid his blade back into the sheath.

“Accost? I said
bother
. Are you deaf as well as stupid? They
bothered
me with their noise.”

He cursed under his breath then used all self-control at his command. “Come inside. You gather a crowd.”

He walked her toward her chambers and hopefully out of his sight until dinner. “That is rather the point of masons. They cut stones and repair walls. I do all this to keep you, and what is mine, safe.”

She ranted on as if deaf to his words. “Look at my dress. It’s covered with dust. And I cannot open the shutters. My bed curtains...”

Madonna.
He gritted he teeth, thinking of a long life attached to this little beast, worse yet, trying to bed her. Nothing to be done about it. When it finally happened, and he was sure that it would, he’d do his duty and send her back to Spain. He prayed for a boy else he’d need to bed her again.

Closing the door in the midst of her tirade, Bernardo lay down in his room for a short nap. It required clamping a pillow over his ears. Why had God cursed him by allowing him to meet the fair Aurelia? Before that, he’d never hoped for more in a woman. Now it was all he dreamed of.