The Hermetica of Elysium (Elysium Texts Series) (38 page)

“Nadira. You were not to digress. I have other places to send you and you traipse off to tend to your business. Trust me. I told you I would get him for you. You are traveling for me, now.” A moment later Nadira was back on the divan in Di Marco’s secret room. “Nadira.” Di Marco took her hand and tapped her wrist.

“My lord.” She sat up carefully, but still the room spun about her.

“Lie back. It takes a while to wear off. How do you feel?”

“Tired, and thirsty.”

“I knew you would be. Here is the water I have ready for you.” Di Marco produced a green glass goblet and steadied it as Nadira drew it to her lips. “You went somewhere else, didn’t you?”

Nadira released the goblet. She could not resist a guilty look. “I did.”

Di Marco sighed. “Well, I suppose it can’t be helped.’ He looked so dejected Nadira felt pity for him.

“What about the French? Didn’t I give you what you wanted?”

Di Marco brightened. “Yes, that was remarkable. I wrote down exactly what you said and you did speak for some time. You say you don’t know any French?”

“I can say a few words, mostly terms of politeness, but my master did not deal with French merchants. He found them arrogant and treacherous. He preferred the Turks and the Lascars.”

Di Marco raised his eyebrows. “Really? Less treacherous?”

“No, less arrogant.” They both laughed. Di Marco rubbed her hand between his two.

“You spoke perfect French to me with a very aristocratic accent. I am very pleased.” His mouth smiled, but Nadira saw that his eyes did not. She stared at him until he looked back at her.

“What did I say?”

He bent low over Nadira’s head. “You have told me where he is and why he has come,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

“And the Holy Father? Will he ask me these same questions? Will I have to drink this elixir for him as well?” Nadira was nervous about that prospect. She could envision a dozen churchmen in long robes standing around her demanding she speak to spirits or frighten an enemy for them. Her stomach fluttered.

“I do not know. It is possible, though I have expressed my doubts about subjecting you to that kind of scrutiny. You see, you must be relaxed and calm to get excellent results. I have seen the wreck of those who were frightened or unhappy after drinking the elixir. There is no antidote but time, and sometimes time drags the traveler through great stretches of hellish territory before releasing him.” Di Marco’s voice trailed off and his eyes lost their focus. After a long pause, Nadira spoke.

“You have been there, haven’t you?”

The feather in Di Marco’s tam quivered. He lifted his eyes to Nadira’s. His mouth thinned into a flat humorless smile. “And I will never go back.”

“Do you think His Holiness will insist?”

“I fear that possibility. Alexander is not someone I feel comfortable refusing. He is a great and powerful man. I fear his son, Cesare. There is more to this pope than a ring and a crook.” Di Marco rubbed his face. “But I say too much, Nadira. None of that should concern you. I will have you cleaned, dressed, and brought before the Holy Father as I have been instructed.”

Three days later, it was as Di Marco said. They stood before the great doors of Pope Alexander IV’s banquet hall.

“What will happen tonight?” Nadira asked him.

“There will be a banquet. Many men will talk about politics and matters concerning the French king. Afterwards the guests will separate, each to his own diversions. I will take you to a smaller room where His Holiness and a few men he has selected will interview you.”

“You will be with me the whole time?” Nadira asked with some anxiety.

“Yes. You are my mission. The others fear the elixir and I hold the only key to that door.”

Nadira frowned, “So you will be responsible should my performance not please these great men.”

Di Marco squeezed her hand. “You cannot fail to please them. Your information concerning King Charles has been supported by the information gathered by spies. The pope is impressed with your ability. He is unlikely to be displeased.”

“I fear I may say something that will greatly displease him. I cannot lie when under the influence of these potions, as you know.”

“I will protect you; it is important that you not allow worry to color your performance.”

“How can you protect me?” Nadira’s voice sounded shrill to her own ears. She lowered her voice and repeated. “How can you?”

“It is easier than you think. I merely have to say that any unfortunate words were spoken by a demon, and you are merely the mouthpiece.”

“Then I shall be burned as a witch.”

Di Marco laughed and hugged her harder. “Not here. The pope is perturbed by the efforts of Torquemada and Savonarola. He understands the need for extraordinary methods of gathering information. It has been said that he consults a witch from his childhood on occasion. Did you know that?” Nadira was too shocked to respond. Di Marco laughed affectionately. “Rest until the banquet is over.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

T
HEY
were the first to arrive in the Great Hall. Servants hovered about setting the tables which were laid out in the shape of a T, and preparing the meal courses. Others were arranging the seating. Nadira paused in the doorway looking about the Hall. The room was enormous, though completely empty except for the small table grouping at the far end. The painted ceilings were so high she could barely make out the details of the frescoes. Lavish drapery lined the walls. Nadira assumed windows were behind them, though they were very definitely covered. The floor was polished marble; so slick she made herself take tiny steps to avoid slipping.

Di Marco released her hand and moved along the tables, examining each place setting and the centerpieces. He ran his hand along the back of a camel-backed couch that was placed at the top of the table next to the grandest chair. Nadira assumed the Holy Father would be seated in this elaborate throne. He smiled at her when she joined him.

“This is where you will perform tonight,” he said.

“I’m not looking forward to the experience,” she said feeling the smooth wood and the soft cushions. “Will I have some wine first?” She turned a coquettish eye on Di Marco.

He laughed shortly. “As much as you like, as long as it is no more than two cups.”

Nadira smiled and moved to the throne. The back rose up high over her head, the dark wood carved in a similar pattern of swirling vines. She touched this chair and felt its great age. The servants had polished the wood to a warm shine in the candlelight. Behind her, the sound of tinkling bells made her look up. Di Marco was looking toward the sound as well. A servant entered carrying a musical instrument of some kind Nadira had never seen before. Di Marco took her hand and led her before the table.

“Wait here. They will enter shortly. When you are presented to the cardinals, a deep curtsy will be suitable. However, it is best if you do kneel and kiss the pope’s slipper, and the ring he will offer you.”

The sound of trumpets announced the end of their reverie. Di Marco squeezed her hand as musicians filed into the room and took their places to the left of the entry. Behind them the cardinals entered, their long red robes sweeping the polished marble. Nadira curtseyed as each one passed. Since she was looking at the floor, she did not see their eyes upon her. Di Marco squeezed her hand to signal her to look up as the pope finally made his entrance. He was dressed in white and wearing no cap. Nadira realized she had been expecting him to look like the pope in the paintings scattered along the many hallways in the palace. Instead, he entered rather disappointingly in very plain robes and bareheaded at that.

He came up to her, smiling, and extended his hand. Nadira kissed the ruby ring, and then knelt to kiss his slipper. Di Marco raised her up. The Pontiff smiled as he examined her. He made the sign of the cross over her head mumbling the sacred words, and then turned to take his place at the table. Di Marco led her to her seat very near the Holy Father, next to a decrepit cardinal with a long nose and hair sticking out of his ears. She smiled deferentially as she lowered herself into her chair.

The pope spoke. “It is time. Di Marco, my friend, please escort your lady to the couch.” The pope patted the couch that had been moved even closer to his great chair. Nadira felt Di Marco lifting her from her seat, but her mind felt strangely distracted. It might be the wine, but she suspected it had more to do with the fear in her heart. Di Marco led her to the couch and set her down gracefully. He bowed to the Holy Father and pulled a vial from his voluminous sleeve.

“Your Grace. I have the elixir as you requested.” The pope took the vial and held it closer to the massive candle that burned brightly on his left. He moved it about and shook it gently to see the liquid move inside the thick glass. The nearest cardinals leaned forward to peer at the small bottle as well. Nadira willed the fear to leave her body and rejoiced as she felt its biting pinch on her heart fade to be replaced by a smooth calm. Another breath and she almost felt like floating. She began to draw the next when the sound of a low voice in her ear stopped the process.

“It is not time for the trance yet.” Di Marco leaned over and took her hand in his. “I know it is difficult, but stay with me.” Nadira opened her eyes. Most of the cardinals were staring at her. She looked from one face to another. One cardinal frowned, another appeared more pale with fear than she. The older cardinal with the hairy ears snored, his chin tucked to his bony chest. The three farthest from the Holy Father were having quite an animated conversation, complete with broad hand gestures. The pope himself looked grim as he handed the vial back to Di Marco. He glanced up and nodded to the captain of his guard who stood in the doorway. Nadira watched as he backed out of the room, closing the heavy doors behind him. The cardinal nearest the doors walked over and barred them from the inside, sealing the small group within the great Hall.

Di Marco handed her the vial, then took up a cup of wine with the other hand. “Drink it all, then chase it with the wine. I gave the same to you last week. Do not be afraid.” Nadira took the vial obediently and lifted the stopper. She heard gasps around the table and paused, raising her eyes to the men in the room. What were they thinking? That she would not go through with it?

Two men crossed themselves. Hairy Ears woke up with a grunt and a start. Nadira met their eyes one by one as she brought the vial to her lips. With a flick of her wrist, the bitter fluid dripped down her throat. She anticipated the acrid flavor and did not flinch. Di Marco pressed the wine into her hand. She tossed it back with one motion and wiped her bottom lip with her thumb. Di Marco took the glass from her hand and laid her gently on the couch, arranging her silk gown to cover her feet. Nadira began to breathe deeply again, but Di Marco touched her shoulder.

“Not yet, you don’t know where you are going.”

“Of course,” she mumbled sleepily. She blinked in the candlelight; already it was too bright for her.

“Look at how her eyes grow so large,” one of the cardinals whispered. “I cannot see the color anymore.” The other men drew closer until a sea of faces dimmed the candles. Nadira smiled.

“Where am I going?” she murmured.

“Tell her to go to the French king,” the Holy Father instructed Di Marco. Nadira heard the words and was gone, the room disappeared around her and she stood before Charles VIII, King of France. He was even shorter than she; Nadira looked down upon his head. She turned to see what he was seeing. To her astonishment, she was looking down on the city of Rome from the top of a hill. “He is here,” she heard herself say.

Behind her an old oak whispered, “Find out what he wants.”

Nadira reached out and put her hand through the king’s chest just as she had Di Marco’s, Garreth’s, and Alisdair’s. The king was hungry, and dissatisfied with the quality of the meals his stewards were providing. In the distance, she heard laughter but was not sure if the sound came from the room full of priests, or from the generals and courtiers surrounding the king of France. She moved her hand around. There. The French king would allow the sack of Rome, but intended to move through to Naples. He wanted to go on a crusade to Jerusalem. He wanted the pope’s blessing and support for that plan.
He wants Naples. He hates the Spanish Ferdinand
and Isabella. He wants
… here she stopped and moved closer to the small man.

The king had turned from the view of Rome and was making his way with his entourage back to his tent. She moved to keep up
.
He wants to know who are his enemies and who
are his friends.
He did not trust any of the men around him. Nadira looked about at the serious faces. She reached out her hand to an important military man. He was trustworthy. She touched a courtier. He was harmless, but was just along on the campaign to enlarge his estates, hoping for favors.

Another passed by, walking through Nadira’s hand. He was tough one. She stared at his face. This man resented the king and would betray him if given the chance. He had slept with the French queen! Nadira gasped. The vista faded and was replaced with the Great Hall. Di Marco tapped her shoulder. “Good. Now I want you to go to Naples and see the duke.” He held up a small portrait.