by Rue Allyn
• • •
Dirty and weary, Robert rode into Rome’s center. The ship’s captain would not be sailing until his broken arm healed. Thank God in his panic Robert hadn’t forgotten to check for the small casket of coffee beans stashed under the bed at the inn. For some reason the casket had gone unnoticed. Probably because Il Mano de Dei believed Juliana to be the only prize.
Basti had a mere half a day’s start. Robert should have been able to catch the priest and wrest Juliana from him. A toll keeper who refused to recognize the seals on any of the safe conducts delayed Robert another half day. As a result, he pushed his horse too hard, and it came up lame. He had been unable to purchase or steal another. That put him a second day behind. Juliana had been with Basti a full three days now. The secretary’s gruesome story echoed in Robert’s memory.
He swallowed the bile that rose at the thought of Juliana suffering a similar or worse fate. The priest was to be feared, even by a warrior knight. What must Juliana be feeling? She was an innocent, not trained in battle to face countless threats without flinching. But he had seen her bravery more than once. Unfortunately, this encounter with Basti was a rare occasion when bravery might cause more retribution than cowardice.
Robert could not let that happen. He had developed a plan as he rode north. He could only pray that it would work.
Despite his dirt and weariness, he rode directly to the gates of Hadrian’s Tomb, where the church kept all its prisoners in Rome. There he demanded to see Basti. The guard sniffed at him. Robert had no doubt that he smelled as filthy as he felt.
“Come back tomorrow, after you have washed the dirt from your body and soul. I will seek after God’s Hand and leave word for you here.”
The guard turned away.
“Nay!” Robert objected, rattling the gates as if he would break them. “You will bring him to me now before he murders an innocent woman.”
The guard turned, positioned his halberd for attack, and strode forward until the point rested on Robert’s chest. “Do you wish to live? Do you wish to help this woman you speak of?”
He nodded but did not flinch. Juliana needed him, not his fear.
“Then leave and return tomorrow. All are guilty in Basti’s eyes. ’Twould mean my death and yours were I to disturb him while punishing his prisoners.”
“I must see him.” Robert spoke the words with a calm at odds with the terror that nearly overwhelmed him. How could he rescue Juliana if he could not confront her captor?
The guard lowered his weapon. “So you shall, but to do so now would cause Basti’s ire to fall on us and not save anyone.”
“Please.” Robert was not used to begging, but for Juliana he would do that and more.
The guard shook his head. “No, for both our lives, do as I say and come back tomorrow.
“The risk is that great?”
The guard nodded.
“Very well.” Wishing he’d achieved a different result, Robert left. He could not help Juliana if he were dead.
He found a nearby inn that offered beds and a bathhouse and shared bed space that night with a parcel of pilgrims bound for the Holy Lands, as he had once been. Hopefully, they found greater peace and absolution than he had.
Tired as he was, he slept poorly. Visions of his father dressed in bloodied priestly robes, Juliana dead at his feet, haunted his dreams. He rose with the dawn, found the bathhouse, shook awake the sleepy attendant, and offered him a florin if fresh clothing could be found before the bath was finished.
Clean and feeling much more presentable but worried beyond belief, Robert made his way back to the prison, purchasing bread along the journey from a lad pulling a baker’s cart. He finished the loaf just as he approached the gate guard. ’Twas not the same man.
“The night guard, did he leave word for me about Fra Basti?”
“Si, signore. He said that I should take you to see Fra Marco instead. Follow me.”
After winding through a maze of corridors, Robert found himself standing before a tonsured priest.
“How may I help you, my son?”
“I seek news of Fra Basti.”
“Ah yes, the night guard mentioned you to me. If you truly wish to meet with God’s Hand, you are in luck. Fra Basti is even now within the prison. The trial of heretics begins in a few weeks, and Fra Basti is trying to get the poor bastards to recant and save their souls.”
“’Tis not Basti I need to see so much as one of his prisoners. Do you know how that might be managed?” Robert kept his tone low, but still his voice shook with urgency to get to Juliana.
“No one sees the heresy prisoners until the trial, save God’s Hand and his minions. Should you try, you would bring Basti’s interest on yourself.”
Robert eyed the man. His words made little sense, unless this priest opposed Basti. A spark of hope rose in Robert’s breast. How to discover whether Fra Marco might be an ally or not?
“I am not eager to meet Basti, but I must try.” Robert risked a bit of honest humility.
“Why would you do such a thing, if you don’t wish it?” Fra Marco asked.
Encouraged by the priest’s answer, Robert decided to risk more. “Suffice to say that honor is involved.” That and more guilt than any one man should bear for his careless guard of Juliana. He should have taken her with him. At least then he would have been available to defend her.
“Oh, honor.” The brother looked him up and down. “You are a knight, and of a certainty honor is important to you. I also realize that wise knights know when to sacrifice principle to survival. I suggest you choose caution over honor when dealing with Basti.”
“I do not plan to challenge the priest.”
Fra Marco chuckled. “Nor do I imagine you would. However, you do not strike me as a subtle man, and Fra Basti is a master of subtlety. He will take your most innocent remark and find great evil in it. You would be in prison with the heretics within the blink of an eye.”
“You seem to know him well.”
“To my regret, I do.”
“Would you be willing to advise me?”
“I will do what I can. How had you thought to approach Basti?”
“Would he be susceptible to a bribe?”
“The church rewards him too well for his battle against heresy for him to risk losing that by taking a bribe.”
Resistance to bribery should have been obvious. Robert cursed himself for a fool but refused to be daunted.
“Would threats be likely to intimidate the man?” A man who tortured often did so to mask his fears because he lacked true courage
“Not empty ones, and the services he provides to certain papal officials protect him from any serious threat.”
What could God’s Hand fear enough to force him to release Juliana?
“Does the man have no weaknesses?”
“Only his passion for torturing the female prisoners.”
“He does not torture the men.”
“No, he leaves that to others. He enjoys more watching the women suffer. He often lets them wait in isolation, to worry about what will happen. After a few days, sometimes a week, the prisoners are so fearful, they babble incoherently and Basti is able to get them to do and say anything he wishes. After that period of torture by anticipation his favorite activity is watching the guards rape the women into submission. By the time the guards are done with them, the women wish for death. If the guards enjoy a woman too much, Basti considers her so irredeemable that he often obliges by forcing through a death sentence at the tribunal. He believes all women to be evil and deserving only of death or slavery.”
Robert shuddered. ’Twas what his father had said after confessing. Women were evil, and he enjoyed seeing evil suffer. “Does no one try to stop this? Do his superiors know?”
“They try not to see.”
“And their blindness condones.”
“Basti convinces them that the women are heretics also guilty of other grievous sins. What matter if their suffer
ing begins here or in Hades?” The brother shrugged, as if the answer to the question had no import.
“What if a female prisoner were not a grievous sinner or a heretic?” The thought of Juliana in pain hurt Robert immeasurably, twisting in his belly like a fatal wound. Panic raced in his heart.
Fra Marco’s eyes lit up. “Know you such a one?”
“I might.”
“If it could be proven that the woman is not guilty of any accused sins, and if Fra Basti had tortured her, his enemies would raise an outcry.”
“Does he have many enemies?” Robert prayed it was legions.
“Enough.”
“Then where do we begin?”
“First we must prove the woman is actually in the prison.”
“I know she is.”
“Yes, yes, but ’twill be difficult. Basti holds total control over most of the prison and wields much influence in the papal court. We must convince someone with greater authority to seek the woman out before Basti can move her. Do you have any documents about her?”
“Aye.” Robert was certain the gleam in his own eyes now matched the one in Fra Marco’s. From the pouch in his jerkin, he removed the letters with Edward’s signature and handed them to Fra Marco. Waiting was difficult when every instinct urged him to tear the place apart looking for Juliana.
“Edward Plantagenet of England. Excellent.” Marco shuffled the papers and continued to read. “Why did you not say she was the cousin of England’s king?”
“Do you think this will gain Lady Verault’s release?”
“No, ’tis not sufficient for that. This will prevent any possibility of rape, however, and I know a certain bishop whose interest will be piqued enough for him to investigate quickly. I am certain we can move Lady Juliana’s trial to take place in just a few days.”
Robert beat a fist against the table. “What good will that do? You said yourself that Basti tortures his women prisoners. She has been in his custody for four days. A few more and she could be dead, or worse.”
“If Edward’s cousin is guiltless, ’twould not do for her to be raped or die before her innocence could be proven. If she’s only been with Basti for four days, we may yet prevent the greatest harm. Come with me.” Fra Marco handed back the papers and led the way from the room.
“Where are we going?”
“To see a bishop.”
• • •
Robert stood once more outside the prison gates, torn between hope and frustration. The bishop had asked for a hefty “contribution” to the church and had promised to look into Juliana’s situation today but refused to allow Robert to go to the prison, claiming it would attract too much attention. He was warned not to mention his letters from Edward to anyone then dismissed with a promise of news by messenger as soon as there was news to tell.
He left because he had no other choice.
What to do? The condemned woman in Genoa had blackened limbs and a broken face. He could not let that happen to Juliana. He turned away from the gates, despair and hope at war in his heart. For Juliana’s sake he must take the side of hope. Thus, he had preparations to make. Once she was released, he had to be ready to get her out of Rome quickly. And she would be released. The alternative sickened him too much to contemplate.
He did not know what shape she would be in when that happened. He must be ready for every eventuality, so he set off in search of better accommodations and new horses. He would have to find some lady’s clothing as well. To fend off despair he spent a busy day, returning to the prison to leave word with Fra Marco about his new lodgings and learned that Juliana’s trial had been moved up to the following afternoon. He was warned not to be too hopeful of a positive outcome, but he would not let despair and doubt win. Despite his worry and frayed nerves, he prayed Juliana’s suffering—and thus his own—would be short and light.
Chapter 13
Basti had not touched Juliana during the swift ride to the prison in Rome. He smiled when her clothes had been stripped from her body and she’d been forced to don a gown of rags that smelled of unwashed bodies and did little to cover her. But she kept her head high and her hands folded serenely before her as she entered the cell to await her turn for torture.
She’d been appalled at the state of the other women in the crowded space and had done what little she could to ease their suffering. She gave her food to those with starving bodies. When urged to eat herself, she smiled, saying God would provide her a feast soon enough. With little more than water and filthy rags, she tended the women hacking from lung fever or in pain from pus-filled sores. To raise spirits, she kept up a steady flow of conversation about any topic her fellow captives wished to discuss.
In comforting the other prisoners, she found solace and confirmation that the Beguine tenants of faith and work for the good of others could heal the deepest spiritual wounds. She encouraged her companions to tell the truth because no matter what happened at their trials, God would welcome them when their earthly time was done.
“But what of those who need us?” a very young woman, little more than a child, had questioned. “I have a babe Basti has taken from me. If I do not recant and return to him, that priest will have my son raised to hate women.”
“Did Christ deny his faith to save himself despite the wrongs done to him and his followers?”
“No.”
“Yet the world had need of him, did it not?”
“Yes.” The young mother nodded.
“But Jesus held to the truth knowing he would die, and his death became a great salvation to the world. Had he lived, that would not have happened. You must have faith that God will not allow hatred to triumph.” The words were easy to say, but Juliana knew how difficult the action was. Faith in the face of persecution and pain was never easy. Robert’s image filled her mind. He was a man she could have loved, had that been her destiny. A moment’s regret for what might have been was all she allowed herself before she buried selfish longings and resumed her determination to live the faith she espoused.
Tears fell from the girl’s eyes. “You are telling me I will be condemned to the stake.”
Juliana embraced her, letting the mother weep out her sorrow. “’Tis most likely. You must take what time is left you to comfort those around you. Make your son proud of you. God will find a way to let him know of his mother’s courage and kindness.”
Done weeping, the young woman moved back. “I am not so brave.”
“Neither am I,” Juliana confessed.
The girl looked at her with astonishment. “But you are so calm and have helped so many of us in the short time you’ve been here.”
“Kindness takes no courage and comforts my soul. I cannot change Basti nor influence the minds of the bishops who preside at the heresy trials.” Though she did pray that the letters would end the persecution of women and earn them a rightful place in the church. “But I can act where I see pain and suffering. If my fate is to die, then I accept that. God has reason beyond knowing. All he asks of us is to believe in him.”
The young mother stood straighter. “I believe.”
“Then, like me, you have naught to fear. Now help me tend the others’ wounds.”
Juliana saved all her tears for private moments when the others slept. She refused to sleep for Robert lived in her dreams. He held out his hand promising peace and contentment. All she had to do was wed a stranger. But the stranger had empty eyes with Basti’s face and represented all the cruelty possible in man. Juliana refused to allow such horror to touch her, even in sleep.
Every day Basti came with his guards. “Do you recant your heresy?” he asked each woman one by one. A few did.
“Take them away and have them washed. They must be presentable in the marketplace if we are to encourage true believers to open their homes to these lost souls who now seek God’s light.”
In other words, Juliana translated for herself, no master wants a slave who is dirty and stinks.
The women, like he
r, who refused to recant were taken away individually to a chamber where Basti would watch as the guards did unspeakable things to the women’s bodies.
Juliana knew he allowed the guards to rape women and assumed that she would suffer that fate before she died, but not yet. Evidently Basti wished her to contemplate that terror while inflicting lesser wounds. He took joy from her agony when his minions twisted her foot at an unnatural angle. The pain she experienced was terrifying enough that only her faith in God kept her from pleading for a merciful death. Of a certainty the torture would get worse. However, she would endure as long as she could and pray for a speedy trial. It seemed her prayers now were answered.
The guards came without Basti and, chaining her to two other prisoners, marched them from the cell through dim, dank hallways to a courtyard filled with light.
Smiling, Juliana hobbled into the space. The priest had made a mistake. Yes he’d succeeded in torturing her body and causing her physical pain, but he’d neglected to isolate her and thus had been unable to break her spirit. She shut her eyes at the brightness of a sun she had not seen in more than three days. Grateful for the small warmth, she raised her face to its beams and gathered her serenity about her. Then she stepped forward to shield her companions.
• • •
First, Robert heard the shuffling clink of chained feet. A nauseating smell followed as the procession filed into the square. Then he saw them.
They were filthy. Their torn clothing exposed body parts, bruises, cuts, and running sores. The rags provided no defense against the elements or prying eyes, so the accused huddled together, linked by common need as much as by the chains that bound their hands and feet.
He had to look twice before deciding that Juliana was the creature in the middle, hovering in front of the other two as if she could protect them. She was in slightly better health than her companions, her body not quite as bent or trembling, but her cuts and bruises were more plentiful. High on her cheek, almost hidden by her hair, a reddened circular sore oozed pus. He could not tell if it was a bruise or a burn. Robert saw that she favored her right leg. He followed the limb to the ground and saw her foot twisted inward, the ankle puffed to twice normal size. His heart wept tears for her pain, but he kept his face a careful blank.