The Blessed (18 page)

“Well said,” said Cardinal Boeri. And he seemed genuinely supportive, Piero noted. It might be that the cardinal would be their greatest support in Avignon. What mighty work was this? God bringing a powerful cardinal to their aid?

“And,” Petrarch went on, daring to hold up a finger to Boeri, “while I support a regal palace painted in finery such as our friends Simone and Ambrogio might paint, I loathe the obscene amounts of food, the women who are little more than papal courtesans, and the sin that is ignored even within Cornelius's own walls.”

Boeri nodded. Several of the nobles shifted uneasily. The pope's power was far-reaching. Many undoubtedly had been entertained at the tables that Petrarch now took to task. But they remained. They did not speak against him.

Count Armand caught his eye. Now was the time for Piero to speak. Now was the time for the Holy Spirit to claim these sons and daughters. Now was the time for the Gifted to move forward in their quest to spread their message of hope. Now was the time for them to regain some of the strength they had lost when Basilio and Rune fell from the bridge.

“My new friends,” Piero said. “Frances raises valid concerns.” All eyes turned to him. “Count Armand Les Baux has graciously called you here, not only to help us say farewell to our brothers, Basilio and Rune, not only to discuss the threat of the invaders who brought our comrades down, nor only to solidify ties. The count considers each of you trustworthy friends, and therefore, we do too. He has brought you here so that we might share more of our mission with you.”

The nobles stared at him, a funny-looking little man, a common priest who nonetheless demanded their full attention. Piero knew they were unused to such command, were undoubtedly confused by it.

“I was but a young man when I first learned that God had a greater call upon my life than my simple vocation.” He went to a table and pulled the ancient leather scroll from inside the satchel. “What I am about to tell you is a tale of mystery and intrigue, but moreover, a story of hope. I am here to tell you that you are a part of something magnificent and holy. Something that God intends to use to change the world, and every believer within. We are on the precipice of change, of a new era.”

He looked about the room, meeting every eye. “And you are each a part of it. Every one. I will tell you a story of us, God's Gifted. But you must first hear this—there is not a one in this room who is not gifted by God. We are all a part of the body, Christ's hands and feet to the world. The question is, are we hands and feet that move, that act? Or are we merely limbs that sleep, as if numb?”

ABRAMO ate at Cardinal Bordeau's table, enjoying an excellent roasted game hen;
fougasse
, a flat olive bread; and a
tourte des blettes,
a pie made of chard, raisins, and pine kernels. The cardinal waved to a steward, and the man jumped to pour more wine into Amidei's goblet. He knew that his men and the two women who had traveled with them were being fed and catered to in the servants' quarters. Here, his troop could abide as long as they needed. His relationship with the cardinal ran deep and long.

“So, when shall you tell me what happened to your eye?” the cardinal said, sitting back to sip from his own full goblet.

Abramo sighed. “A she-cat. Caught me unawares.”

The cardinal threw back his head and laughed easily. “I always warned you that your taste for women would be your downfall.”

Abramo leaned forward, elbows on the table, goblet cupped between his two hands. “No more than your own hunger might lead you to trials, my friend.”

The cardinal shrugged and then raised his goblet in toast. “We all have our vices to confess.” He eyed Abramo. “So who was she? A woman who dares to disfigure you is a woman who may just intrigue me enough to sway my own interest.”

Abramo laughed but hesitated. How much to tell him? All of it? Or just enough to bring him into the game? And no one,
no one,
would have Daria d'Angelo before he had her . . . just before he watched her die. Yes, that would be the end of her. Serving him in death, if not life. Knowing him, his power over her, his master's supremacy, before she knew darkness in the full.

His eyes moved back to the cardinal. Nay, his old friend would never truly stray to women. Abramo knew his tastes. “Have you heard of Lady Daria d'Angelo?”

The cardinal sat back. “Yes. They call her the Duchess . . . of Siena?”

“Once of Siena. Lately, traveling with a troop who call themselves the Gifted, who have been preaching, teaching, healing, and more from Siena northward. Even now, they travel here, to Avignon.”

Josue took a long, slow sip of his wine. “She is the healer? The one from Siena? From Venezia? The one we've heard so much about?”

“So the pope knows of her?”

“Indeed. There is little like it that so holds his interest. He will enjoy the fact that she comes here, to him. He was considering sending his knights to fetch her and hers.”

“No need. They will be here within a fortnight.”

“Tell me more. Is your she-cat the leader?”

“Somewhat. There is the healer, Daria d'Angelo. Also a knight, once a captain of the guards de Vaticana de Roma, named Gianni de Capezzana. But it is really a priest, one they found outside Roma, a Father Piero, who guides them.” He took a sudden, deep draught from his goblet. If only his master had known of the priest earlier, before the Gifted had gathered, then Abramo could have seen to his demise while still in the hills outside Roma. He had been right there, right there . . .

“So you are here to capture the woman? Is it retribution you seek?”

“In part,” Abramo allowed. “But it is in our mutual interests to see the Gifted put down. Now.”

“Killed? Or imprisoned? Or merely chastened back into their proper roles?”

“One way or another, they each must die. If they are allowed to live, they will continue to do damage to my causes. And they will undermine your own office and that of the pope. You can be certain that they shall address any vice they see. They dare greatly. And they preach, m'lord Cardinal, in the common tongue. They baptize and commune anywhere they find themselves.”

It was the cardinal's turn to sit forward. “You have failed to bring them down, curb their path. And so you look to the holy office of the pope to do your work for you? Do you not find that a bit ironic, Abramo?”

Abramo shrugged and leveled a gaze at Josue. “It matters not to me how it is accomplished. But it must be accomplished, one way or another. And immediately.”

“There has been a man in the court of late who I believe you know,” Josue said. “Cardinal Boeri de Roma.”

Abramo felt himself grow cold at such news. This was a man who knew him as a sorcerer. Who once worked with de Capezzana. He had been with the doge in Venezia. Had the cardinal told tales of his work in Roma? In Toscana? In Venezia?

Josue watched him with animated eyes, then slowly picked up his goblet for a sip. “Calm yourself. He spoke not of a noble practicing the dark arts, but of a curious group called the Gifted.”

AS soon as Daria heard the word
healing
leave Piero's lips, her eyes had been drawn to Lady Blanchette, across the room from her. This was a woman who had suffered, who knew abdominal pain even now. The woman, pale and sallow, slowly looked about the room and met Daria's eye. It was as it so often was for Daria . . . the Lord drew her attention to those he intended to heal, only at the time when it was right.

But there was a second yet in the room. A man, leaning in to hear Piero's words. Duke Richardieu of Villeneuve-des-Avignon. Now she remembered him speaking too loudly through the evening, as if he were thirty years older, rather than the young man he was, no more aged than Count Armand. It was as if she could see into his inner ears, to the place where scar tissue grew atop scar tissue and blocked his hearing. God intended to clear the passages, to give him his hearing back.

She sent the boys off to light more candles about the room. Piero wanted no mistake made here, now. He would want these nobles to bespeak of the miracles about to take place to others, with awe, but no claims of magic. Daria caught Gaspare's eye, and he gave her a smile of understanding, nodding. So he felt it too. Mayhap he would add his own gift to the evening, make it a night none would soon forget. Daria's thoughts went to her lost knights, Rune and Basilio, of her longing still to reach out and heal them, bring them back from the funeral pyres that had taken them away forever, out of their own realm and into God's. Although surrounded by people, with her new husband nearby, Daria felt the loss of their presence acutely.

Piero finished his preaching, reaching for Daria's Bible and reading Paul's words in Provençal. “ ‘Do you not know that in a race all runners run, but only one gets the prize?' Many are your prizes, great is your wealth, my noble friends. But I speak of the
prize
.”

He grinned at them all, excitement building in his eyes. “We speak not of a perishable wreath, placed around your shoulders for a day, but an eternal crown—one that will truly make you a noble among the saints of heaven. Paul said, ‘Run in such a way as to
get
the prize. Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last; but
we
do it to get a crown that will last
forever
.' ”

Many of the nobles smiled in wonder and surprise at this funny little priest who demanded their attention with his words that seemed to grow and expand within their chests. Tessa squeezed her hand, but Daria could already feel it, the Holy drawing near. She smiled back at the little girl, who was grinning, eyes shining. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, not from fear, but from anticipation and joy.

She caught Dimitri's eye and gave him a nod. Now was the time.

Lord Devenue stepped forward and lifted his hands out to the crowd as if in invitation. “All of you have asked how it is that I might have been so miraculously healed. Most of you saw me more than two years past, and could attest to the fact that I was nigh unto death. Rest assured that my plight became even more dire, my countenance no less than that of a monster. I had almost given in to death, wished for death every day, every hour, until the Gifted, these friends before you now, came to me. With them, they brought the Lord's own healing.” He gestured toward Anette, and she came to his side. “The Count and Countess des Baux were present. They can attest to the fact that God entered my mansion; stole into the dark, dusty, forgotten halls; and reclaimed me.”

Anette nodded. “Just as he has here, now.”

Armand nodded as well. “These are the Gifted, God's own on his mission. And we all, every one in this room, are called to protect and aid them. To serve God by serving his servants. To learn from them what it means to run this race for God's own glory, not our own. It is why we are here. It is the greatest call upon our lives.”

“God knew we would be here, on this day, with this before us,” Armand said. He rose and walked over to the tapestry on the wall and drew it to one side. “Long have our families been crusaders, fighting for what is right.”

Claude Richardieu jumped from his chair and strode over to the ancient fresco. “It is the fox, our family herald.”

“And our heraldic lion,” Lord Blanchette said. His eyes flicked from Armand to Claude to Piero, still not entirely convinced. He shrugged his shoulders a bit. “We have known for some time that the Blanchettes have long been friends with Les Baux.”

“But what of this? Daria's heraldic peacock? And Amidei's dragon?” Armand rushed to Lord Blanchette, face flushed, with the speed of someone bent on striking another. But he did not, only knelt on one knee, one hand gesticulating wildly. “This is no coincidence, m'lord. This is the Lord, speaking to us, calling to us. He knew the Gifted would need us, here, now. He knew it.” Armand waved back at the fresco. “That is but one reason we should believe.”

Daria walked across the room and took Lady Blanchette's hand and drew her forward, to the center of their circle. Piero bowed his head and began praying, hands lifted to the ceiling, alternately in Provençal and then Italian and then Latin, and on a deeper level, with invitation and then Scripture. He went to his knees as he prayed, and each of the Gifted followed suit, forming a circle. The nobles about them, still standing, shifted uneasily, unsure of what to do. Some knelt out of deference to the nobles of Les Baux. Others reserved judgment, remaining where they were.

But Daria would lead them. She looked to Lady Blanchette and saw the yellow in her eyes and that of her skin, as if her body were poisoning itself. They stood together, Lady Blanchette's hands in hers, amid the praying, kneeling Gifted and the others. “Lady Blanchette,” Daria said. “How long has your liver been ailing?”

The woman's mouth dropped open. “For three years, now.” She tore her tearful eyes from Daria's and glanced about the nobles. “Did someone here tell you of my ailment?”

Daria smiled. “Yes, m'lady. Your Lord and your God.”

Lord Blanchette slowly sank to his knees as if they had collapsed beneath him.

“M'lady, your God, the Lord of heaven and earth, intends to heal you, now. Do you believe?”

The noblewoman stared at Daria. “I have been to doctor after doctor. They said I shall die. That it is a cancer.”

Daria gave her another small smile. The woman wanted to believe, but was afraid to hope. “You must give in to hope, my friend. I know you have been fearful for some time. That you have hoped for a cure, a miracle, but have been disappointed. It is damaging, such experience. Well I know what the heart can endure . . . or cannot. But I beg you, friend. Believe once more. Believe not in me, not in magic, but that the healing presence of the great Physician is now in the room. Believe that the God who healed Lord Devenue can now heal you as well. Do you believe?”