Piero looked up at him, over them all. “I know not.”
“If it isn't Amidei or del Buco, someone else shall arise to take their place,” Josephine said.
“You do know how to impart a comforting word, m'lady,” Vito said.
Piero gave him a rueful grin. “Truth is truth.”
“So the battle is ever before us,” Gianni said, taking a few steps to the left, thinking. “As a knight, I can live with that. But Father, we cannot continue to stand in place. No army can withstand constant attack. We must either abdicate territory or strike back, seize upon what is rightfully ours. A true knight, a good knight, strategically stands, holds, but then he
moves
. Here, in Avignon, I feel as if we've been hovering in one place too long.”
Eight bugles rent the air, signaling a royal arrival. “I know that sound,” said Vito.
“Venezia,” Ugo said with him, eyes raised in alarm. They were still wanted men in the islands of the Rialto, for having ransacked the holy crypt. They had taken nothing but the piece to their glass map, but the outrage over their daring entrance had had the entire city up in arms.
Piero reached up and patted Gianni on the shoulder. “I believe that is a call for us as well. Soon we shall be on the move again, good knight. Trust our God. He sees us and knows our strengthâor lack thereof.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
THE Gifted emerged onto the massive Honneur Courtyard, just inside the Champeaux Gate. Now they could see why the Court of Familiars had been emptyâeveryone in the
palais
appeared to be here. The Doge of Venezia arrived not only with buglers, but also with banners and elaborate horse dressing, preceded by eight knights, and followed by eighteen more. Four hovered on either flank, on foot, here in the courtyard. Beside him, along with numerous scribes and officials, was Cardinal Boeri and the Conte and Contessa Morassi. The contessa turned, and briefly Daria glimpsed two babies in the arms of a nursemaid behind her.
Daria gasped and started down the steps, but Gianni held her back. Already the papal court officials reached them, welcoming them, ushering them toward the Dignitaries' Wing. It would not be wise to interrupt the process.
“It is good,” he whispered in her ear, wrapping an arm around her shoulders while they stood, watching from the shadows. “Surely they are all here to lend us support.”
Daria nodded, hoping the Morassis would look up and she could wave, but they had turned in the other direction and walked away, up toward a group of papal officials. To their left stood Amidei, del Buco, and Ciro.
The Gifted held their breath in anticipation, all watching now what was about to unfold. Amidei greeted the doge in a deep bow, but the doge dismissed him, barely looking in his direction. When Daria glanced up at her husband, he was grinning. His eyes moved from the humbled form of Amidei down to her. “Daria, what was Amidei referring to, back there? What secret? Or was it more of his games?”
She glanced at the others, judging distance, wondering if it was at last time to tell her husband, when her eyes rested upon Hasani. “Come,” she hissed toward Gianni, already turning in her friend's direction.
They moved the man around the corner, away from prying eyes and into the shadows. Hasani's eyes rolled back into his head, and he allowed them to settle him to the ground. In seconds it was over, and he pushed them away, moving to his feet and then running down the hall, back toward their quarters. They all followed.
Hastily he pulled a piece of parchment out of a shallow drawer and the cork from an inkwell. He dipped and sketched, drawing a man atop a bed, another hovering over him. And in the corner was Abramo Amidei.
“ 'Tis the pope,” Father Piero breathed out.
Hasani nodded, still drawing. He moved to a new sketch, of a man kneeling beneath a throne, cardinals on either side of him. A conical hat was being lowered to his head.
“A new pope is crowned,” Piero whispered.
A knock sounded at the door, and Vito and Ugo went to answer it.
“The pope has cancelled any afternoon audiences, as he remains ill,” said the steward, glancing in to see them all curiously crammed in one man's small room. Hasani was entirely blocked from sight. “He shall see to you on the morrow.”
Piero turned and pushed through the others to get to the steward, who had already turned to go. “Wait!”
The man turned to stare at him.
“Please,” he said, moving into the hallway with him. “Is the Holy Father improving?”
“He had risen today, hoping to attend the audience, but had to return to his bed.”
Piero crossed himself and gestured backward, into the room. “Lady Daria, she is well known as a healer.”
The steward laughed in his face. “Well we know of your healer. You believe he will send for the very one he must search and potentially try for heretical acts? I think not.” He turned to go. He waved a hand over his shoulder. “The royal physicians are already keeping the pope in constant care.”
“Wait, brother,” Piero tried again, walking after him. “I fear there is dreadful intrigue within the
palais
. Is the pope under careful guard?”
The steward frowned and stepped toward Piero. He lifted a hand toward him. “Do you dare to threaten the Holy Father?”
“Nay, Iâ”
“Do you have information of intrigue meant to be used against him?”
“Nay, not exactly . . .”
“Then hold your tongue, Father. The
palais
has ears and they needn't any unwarranted false information.” He walked away again.
But Piero was not done. “The pope has no enemy in us,” he called. “But tell me. He does have enemies, does he not? People who wish to place their own favored cardinal in power? People who would benefit from such an act?”
The steward turned again. “Are you not exactly such people? Would it not benefit a group of heretics to place their own heretical cardinal atop the papal throne?”
Piero sighed, soon nose to nose again with the steward in the hall. “Fine. Consider us all threats, every last one within the
palais
this night. But quadruple the Holy Father's guard. If I were his enemy, if I intended him harm, would I ask you to do that?”
The steward stared back at him. “I shall ask it again. Do you know of something the
Honneur Gard
should know? Shall we go and speak to them now?”
“Call it intuition,” Josephine said, moving toward them in the hall. “What is the harm in positioning guards you already have on the premises? What will you feel like on the morrow if something happened to the pope, something you could have prevented? Do you want to endure a lifetime of hellish memories because you did not wish to act on a word of caution? Think on it, man. We may be heretics. But then again, we may
not
. Are you willing to risk the Holy Father's life upon your own judgment?”
The steward stared back at her, then to Piero, considering, and then he turned again and walked away.
“Think he'll do it?” Vito asked, as Piero and Josephine edged back in the room.
“He will. He simply needed to protect his pride and not admit as much to us,” Piero said. He walked back to Hasani's desk, where the rest hovered, still staring at the drawings.
A dead pope.
And a new pope crowned, the highly favored Cardinal Morano of Madrid, a man loved by one and all.
Piero let out a breathless laugh and lifted the illustration. “The devil is nothing if not wily and inventive.” He glanced at Gianni. “You wished to act? The time is now.”
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IT was the Morassis who came to their door an hour later, with a steward who formally invited them to join the doge in his private apartments to sup.
Daria cried out at the sight of them, reaching out to embrace each of them as old family members, then reaching for little Angelo and little Daria, the twins now three months in age and able to smile and coo up at their godmother.
“I cannot believe you ventured after us,” Daria said, looking up from her godchildren to the Morassis. They turned and dismissed their servants, closing the door firmly behind them.
“We could do little else,” the conte said in little more than a whisper. He looked at Daria. “You look well,” he said with a grin, gazing behind her at her husband. He reached out a hand, “I understand congratulations are in order. You certainly know how to pick a bride.”
Gianni shook his hand, smiling. “How did you know that we would need you now, here, Conte?”
“Armand sent word of your intent to come here, to the
palais
. Given our pope's firm stance against anything that might even smell of heresy, we thought we should pack up the twins and venture to Provence.”
“A bold venture, with two precious children in tow,” Gianni said. He hesitated. “About Armand, Conte . . .”
“No need,” Martino said, holding up a hand. “We stopped and saw the countess in Les Baux. Anette told us all.” He looked upon Gianni with kind eyes that became hard with determination. “Our enemy is common. One who would've burned us all alive in my palazzo in order to accomplish his goals.” His eyes flicked to Daria and then back to Gianni. “You are not him. Armand died in battle against our enemy.”
“All and the same, I beg your forgiveness,” Gianni said.
“You are forgiven, Sir Gianni,” Martino said softly.
“We are exceedingly grateful you have come,” Daria said, looking at them both with eyes soft with emotion. She glanced down at the twins, now woozy with sleep, and kissed each on the forehead.
“It was for them we came, really,” Gracia said. “The pope must know that what you speak is true. Seeing them, hearing our story, may convince him. And the others Anette and Dimitri spoke of . . . Surely, collectively, we can speak the truth to Holy Father and he shall hear us.”
“If we get to hold our audience with the
sitting
pope,” Gianni said. “Listen, you must lend your shoulders to the cause. Hasani has received another vision. Amidei is again on the move . . .”
The Morassis listened to their story, never interrupting. “You must tell this to the doge, now. He has the power to change things in this
palais
, sound an alarm. The pope, ailing as he may be, has long sought to repair the Church's relationship with Venezia. Mayhap this is all God's doing.”
“No doubt it is all within the Lord's sight,” Piero said. He had entered the de Capezzana room, invited by Daria, halfway through their story. “But the devil is still on the prowl.”
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“YOU have passed the test,” Abramo said, laying a comforting hand on Cardinal Morano's shoulder. “You observed writhing flesh, comely young bodies, temptation like you have never known, and yet you remained true to your vows.”
The cardinal remained where he sat, staring into the fire of his hearth, watching the flames dance. He looked wan, weak, after a week of self-mutilation, beating back the demons that walked through his memory and back again.
Abramo smiled. Still the images were harvested where the master had placed them. And still the cardinal believed himself the victor, capable of keeping them caged in memory. But Abramo could see the spark in his wide eyes, the desire to see it again, experience it again, regardless of the pain that ensued after. The rush of desire, the excruciating pain of mutilation . . . yes, well he knew of the cycle now. He lived it, breathed it, alongside Cardinal Gabriel Morano, future pope.
It was delicious.
“You are to be commended. Few are as worthy as you, Cardinal. I will pay you back for finding me a wife, for leading me out of my own depravity.” Never mind that the cardinal had been led away before the culmination of the dark ceremony. Let him believe what he wished.
What is right for him,
the master always led,
shall be right for him.
Abramo moved to the other side of the chair, watching the cardinal, still staring into the flames. He placed a hand on his arm and closed his eyes, asking his master to show him what so captivated Morano.
The cardinal's lips parted. Drool pooled at the corner. His eyes, wide and limpid, remained on the fire, but his lids opened even wider as if he watched a scene unfold before him.
“Yes,” Abramo whispered into his ear. “All of that. You can become pope. You can rule the hearts and minds of all of Christendom. Show them how to live the devout life.” He leaned closer. “But if you are to know and protect your flock, you must at some point know the dark. It is an investment in your future, Gabriel. A sacrifice made on behalf of your flock. Did not Jesus bear his own forty days and nights in the desert?”
He moved to his other side, and leaned in again. “You shall venture in, just for a time. To know the full extent of your enemy. To conquer him. Yes, conquer him. You can rule the world of light
and
dark. You are
that
strong. Able to walk in either realm. See how far your faith has brought you? You are to be rewarded. Rewarded. God wishes it to be. It all shall be yours. And I will be here, right by your side, ever grateful for your leadership.”
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“HE has created mayhem in my city,” the doge said at last. He had been silent through much of the meal with the Gifted and the Morassis and Cardinal Boeri, as they told the Venetians of what had transpired since they left in the midst of the fearsome storm, barely escaping with their lives.
“He barely pays homage, and he certainly avoids many of the taxesâyour own Hasani bearing good witness to that fact.”
They all remained silent, waiting for the doge to continue. Every last one of the Gifted and their loved ones were present, sitting about the table in mute fascination.