The Blessed (29 page)

“It will be well,” Ambrogio said, turning to stare at the panel. “The man who will serve as my model will never give this chapel more than a passing glance. Let us just say that he is less than devout.”

The men moved about the chapel, dousing the torches and setting them back in their iron holders. Simone promised a shortcut and they moved out into the hallway, through a vestry lined with ancient manuscripts and royal robes. Ambrogio paused, staring at the hundreds of volumes that lined the shelves, many of which would undoubtedly boast lovely illuminations. If only he had time to look through them . . . but Simone was already entering another hallway. Ambrogio sighed and followed him down a narrow staircase.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THEY had arrived after nightfall, a magnificent retinue of fine knights and horseflesh, the red and white peacock crest of Daria's family on one flank, the white sixteen-pointed star on a bed of red of Armand's family on the other.

In the end, even Agata and Roberto and Nico insisted they come along. Daria rode across a beautiful brown gelding, with Bormeo on one arm. Beside her was Count Armand, and behind them the Lord and Lady Devenue.

Although the city gates were closed for the night, the nobles had little trouble entering. In fact, the guards, seeing the flag of Les Baux, opened them wide, and they never paused.

Armand had sent word ahead to the Duke and Duchess Richardieu at their estate in Villeneuve-des-Avignon about their impending arrival. The new city across the Rhône was where many nobles chose to live, outside the stench of Avignon proper. Daria and Gianni had disagreed with Armand's plan for a grand entrance, wishing to slip quietly around the city, but Armand had won them over.

“We enter battle. We must never signal anything but utmost strength and stature. I always enter Villeneuve through Avignon, announcing my presence. We shall not hide now. Besides, the entire city will know of our arrival by morn anyway. Why not use it?”

He set off, and they followed him, their countly herald, seemingly appointed by God himself. And so they marched through the city streets, largely silent at this late hour. But here and there people opened their windows to gaze upon the processional, wondering if they be but politician or pilgrim.

In some ways, the Richardieu mansion in Villeneuve-des-Avignon was immensely more comfortable than the Les Baux castle hewn from the stony cliff. The rooms were larger and more luxurious. There was a constant fresh breeze off the water, a welcome, cooling air, not the deep chill that pervaded the castle. The meeting places were larger, more welcoming. And if the Gifted thought they had been waited on hand and foot in Les Baux, it would be nothing compared to this noble mansion in the city.

Gianni widened his eyes toward Daria, telling her he was reluctantly surprised by the wealth shown here. But in his eyes, she detected admiration and appreciation as well as surprise. They emerged in the central hall, a massive room alight in the wash of a hundred candles, with a staircase that curved upward on two sides, like the welcoming arms of a maiden.

It was there that the Duke and Duchess Richardieu found them, sweeping down that same staircase to cry out their greetings and share embraces. By the time they were done, each and every one of the Gifted felt welcomed, at home.

The duchess turned to the chief steward, standing ready at her side. “Laurent, have your people see Lord Rieu, Lord and Lady Devenue, Sir Gianni, and Lady Daria to the north rooms. Give them the larger suites. Ensconce the priest, Father Piero, beside them, and the others in rooms that extend from there.”

“Yes, m'lady,” said the steward, bobbing in a quick bow. Six men emerged and took their bags and satchels from them, and the steward led the way.

“I shall see you all in the morning, at first light,” said Armand from the hallway as they parted. “Let us take our rest and we shall make our plans come daybreak.”

Daria and Gianni nodded their good night and followed a maid to the right. “You have traveled a good distance this day, m'lady,” the maid said to Daria.

“A good distance, yes,” Daria agreed. She laid a hand on her stomach, trying to hide her grimace.

“Are you hungry?” asked the maid. “I can fetch you some soup, bread, and wine immediately.”

Daria eyed Gianni, seeing him turn with a look of displeasure. She had little on her mind other than disrobing and falling into a deep sleep, but her husband was probably hungry. “Please, mademoiselle. That would be most welcome.”

“Right away, m'lady. I shan't be more than a bit.” She bobbed in another curtsey, and Gianni shut the doors behind her. Daria was already crossing the wide, marble floors to double doors, visible in the light of the candle left behind by the maid. She opened the doors inward and gasped.

Gianni was behind her, taking her bag from her shoulder, tossing it across a bench at the foot of their bed, and then returning to encircle her from behind at the rail. Beneath them, the Rhône wound in a cascading ribbon, silver in the almost-full moonlight. It was surrounded by old cotton-woods, thick at both trunk and branch, winter dormant, standing as quiet, regal sentinels on guard.

Her cheek was cold to the north wind, the
mistral
as the locals called it, but Daria could not tear herself away. Across the river, beyond the bridge of Bénezet, a bridge that had weathered centuries of storm and floodwater, was the imposing Palais de le Pape. Her towers climbed into the half-lit sky, and Daria could even make out the small shapes of guards atop her walkways.

“It has been a very long time since a place had such a firm sense of home, for me,” Daria said, leaning her head to the side as her husband edged in.

“But we barely know the Richardieus.”

“Mayhap it is that we took part in Claude's healing . . .”

“It is good to see him, is it not? Or rather,
hear
him, not shouting at everyone.”

“Thrilling! Yes, I think that is part of this sensation within me . . . but Gianni,
home
. Think of it. I long to return to Toscana, to see people I know and love. To have you there with me.”

Gianni hesitated for a long moment, wrapping his arms more tightly about her. “What if . . . what if we are on this road, constantly moving about, forever?”

“Forever?” She frowned and turned to face him, studying him in the dim light.

Gianni raised his head and stared out toward the bridge, the river, for several breaths. “Daria, this is not a stretch in the road for us. It is
the
road. God has placed us upon it. We will walk it as long as he continues to allow us to place one foot in front of the other.”

Daria listened to his words, heard them as the slow wisdom of faith, but cast them aside. “I do not wish for a lifetime of this. I wish for quiet. Solitude. Time with you beside a slow, sparking fire in the hearth. To sup with friends. To worship.” She turned, looking up into his eyes, reaching up to run her fingertips over his hard chiseled jawline, to his ear. “Oh, husband. I long for peace.”

He did not smile, just nodded softly. “Peace is here. With you. In the eye of the storm.” And then he bent down to kiss her. “At least we travel this road together.”

“Together,” she whispered, stepping up on her toes to kiss him again.

“Daria,” he said, turning her gently back toward the river, pointing out six horses approaching.

“Tessa!” she cried, rushing past him and down the stairs.

Gianni smiled, leaning his arms down on the railing, watching as Vito, Ugo, Gaspare, the two knights of Les Baux, a girl, and an old woman crossed a small bridge over a creek and entered the Richardieu mansion's gates.

But his smile faded as he saw Tessa turn in the saddle behind Vito, search the woods, and jump off, despite the knight's barked warning.

Gianni searched the woods beside the river, those that extended upward, to the cliffs and on toward Montpellier. What danger did she sense? Whom did she fear? Was Amidei already near?

 
“STEADY,” Abramo said lowly to Ciro and Vincenzo. They could plainly see the knights arrive upon the road below, and across the narrow valley, Sir de Capezzana and his new bride, Daria, on the small portico. “We will have our opportunity with them in time,” Abramo said easily. “They shall be invited to Prince Maximilien's ball, given in honor of the pope. If that doesn't force their hand, we shall. Given their inability to hold their tongues, they shall soon find themselves in the Court of Apostolic Causes, before the Lord's Commissioner. We hold, gentlemen. Hold. And allow their Church, their precious Church, to be their own undoing. We shall merely aid them upon their way. Taunt them. Tease them forward, before they know they've entered a trap.”

He laughed, and his laughter echoed across the stippled waters of the Rhône.

They watched as the girl child, Tessa, jumped off the horse from behind Vito and stared up the hillside, as if she could see them. Her arms were at her side, her chin lifted, staring as if she could see in the dark.

“It's unnerving, how she does that,” Vincenzo said in a whisper, shifting in his saddle. “Do you believe she can actually see us?”

“Senses us. Not actually sees,” he said, staring down the hillside, unmoving, as if memorizing every inch of the girl. She stood there, her silhouette visible in the moonlight. The knight joined her, looking upward, hand on the hilt of his sword. “She feels us, knows we are here. It is most unfortunate she is in the Gifted's company. Imagine, a small child being such an obstacle for us. But a child shall not be invited to the ball, so they shall not have their fierce little guard to warn them of our presence.”

“You are certain that the Richardieus and their guests shall be invited to the ball?” Vincenzo asked.

“My friend,” Abramo said, turning his horse and setting off toward the bridge of Bénezet, “the invitation is already inside the Richardieu mansion. Les Baux dare not decline. They need Prince Maximilien on their side, and if Armand refuses, it shall be an outright slap in the face of both prince and pope. Nay, Richardieu's household, and all honored guests within, will be equally obligated. We shall see your old friends, your beloved ‘niece' Daria, in two nights' time. Isn't it interesting,” he said, pausing, still looking forward with his horse, “that it is the very same night as our ceremony?” He turned in the saddle and eyed Vincenzo, although his face was in deep shadow. “The tide is about to turn again, my friends. It is turning while we yet ride back into Avignon. It is almost as if the mighty Rhône might shift directions as we ride across it.”

 
NICO and Roberto, having heard the riders approach, tore down the stairway, past Daria, and out the front door of the grand house. Daria watched as Roberto trailed behind and felt a pang of guilt. Months ago, in Siena, she had promised to see to his well-being, his healing. His awkward gait had become more pronounced in the last months, even as he grew taller. Now probably nine years of age, he was in a growth spurt, which had made his deformity more apparent.

As a younger child, Roberto had had a serious break in the leg; because he was as a beggar child of Il Campo, it had been poorly set, if it had been set at all. The result was that his lower leg and foot were at an odd angle. Pain was evident in him from hip to ankle, and for the hundredth time, Daria wondered how he had made the trip from Siena to Venezia all on his own—intent on warning the Gifted of Vincenzo del Buco's treachery and the crimes he had wrought against her household. It was obvious that God had a purpose in placing him among them. Roberto had aided their escape from Amidei's dark isle, helped them collect the letter and the glass pieces of the map. “Do you wish for me to heal him, Lord God?” she whispered, rushing down the stairs and finally exiting the manor. She pulled her cape close at the neck.

There was no answering tug to her heart, the becalming, warming feeling when she knew she was to do as the Lord bid. She groaned inwardly, watching the children greet one another. She would need to consult a surgeon physician, someone to assist her with rebreaking the bones to try to repair the deformity. It would mean months of recuperation. Risk of infection. Learning to walk again.

“When, Lord?” she whispered, opening her arms and smiling at Tessa as the girl ran to her. When would they have that kind of time? Rest? Calm? They faced the biggest battle ahead of them, one that very well might demand sacrifice—of cause, of purpose, mayhap their very lives. What would happen to the children if this quest ended upon the Inquisitor's stake?

And dear, loyal Roberto, so patient, so deserving. Why could it not be him that the Lord chose to heal? Her thoughts went back to Vincenzo's beautiful wife, Tatiana. Of others, deserving, true to the faith, that God did not choose to heal. It confounded and frustrated her, but as always, she gave in to the trust in her Maker, the One who could see far beyond in time to his own goals and purposes. She would not doubt him. She would not. But it did not mean she would not still give in to irritation over his timing.

She hugged Tessa, holding her close, so thankful to be reunited again, and reached out to lay an appreciative hand upon Vito's arm for bringing her back safely. Father Piero appeared at her side, ready to greet the others, and behind them, Gianni.

Vito bowed with a grin and then turned so she could see an old woman behind him. “M'lady, Captain, Father, may I introduce you to one of our own? We have found the last of the prophesied Gifted, and narrowly succeeded in saving her from Lord Amidei. Josephine Fontaine, meet Lady Daria de Capezzana, Captain Gianni de Capezzana, and Father Piero.”

The older woman reached out a shaking hand to touch Daria's cheek, pausing before her for a moment, then turned to Father Piero, who took both of her hands in his with a smile. After a moment, she turned to Gianni, and reached up to rest her age-spotted hand on his shoulder, high above her. She nodded, tears running down her face. “Do you know? Do you know how long it is that I have waited for you all?”