The Blessed

by Lisa T. Bergren

  Amidei raised his eyebrows. “Pride goeth before destruction, Count.”

  “Not pride, Amidei. Divine understanding.”

  Abramo stared into his eyes, thinking of different ways to dispose of this nuisance before him. “So it is out beyond you? The line to see our favored guest? If so . . . lead the way. You promised me a cup of wine.”

  “Indeed,” said the count, gesturing past him. “Please. I shall follow you out.”

  VITO, Ugo, and Hasani rushed down the hall, paused at the scene unfolding at the far end of the countess’s room, then eased forward, seeking the servants’ staircase.

  Quietly Vito edged open the door and leaned in, catching the end of the count’s conversation with Amidei. He grinned and silently saluted the count, shaking his head at how God intervened on behalf of the Gifted. What winder was this? A count of Provence, so firmly entrenched on their side?

  He turned and whispered to Hasani and Ugo, “It is well. The count must have caught him here, before he made it in. He cuckolded him into returning to the festivities below.”

  Ugo smiled and lifted a brow. Hasani only looked relieved. All three turned and headed back. Vito and Ugo positioned themselves, one at the countess’s door, one at the top of the staircase with Josephine and Matthieu. Hasani moved inward, joining the others.

  FATHER Piero knew when Hasani joined him. He could feel his presence and his ease as the tall man knelt down beside him and placed his long, black fingers atop his own, praying for this child of God.

  Daria was growing tired. “Father in Heaven, you asked us to heal this child. We ask that you take over her heart, that you drive out the demon that has imprisoned her. Free her, Lord Jesus. Free her.”

  Hasani reached out to rest a hand on Daria’s shoulders, feeling her frustration and concern. Silently, he was encouraging her to give in to the prayer, to block out the enemy outside. To trust in the Holy.

  “Lord Jesus, you are our King. We invite you in, into this room within a castle that is nothing compared to your kingdom. Come and reign here, now. Lay claim to this child of yours. Wrestle her away from your enemy. Drive him away from this room, now and forever.” She leaned down, weeping at last over Ariana. “We know you have the power to do this, Lord Jesus. The enemy has a firm hold upon her, but you have a greater hold. For you are the power . . . and the glory . . . forever and ever. Amen.”

  Daria sat back, eyes alight as Ariana laughed, the first sound they had heard from her since Gaspare had prayed she would be silenced. And it was not the laugh of a maniacal, possessed woman, but the free, light giggle of a young woman in bloom.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  ARIANA allowed Daria to choose a dress for her, brush out her hair, and pin it up. She settled a delicate gold band around her head, befitting a princess.

  “I have no mask for you,” Daria said sorrowfully.

  “It matters not,” the girl said. “My papa will wish to see me without my mask at last.”

  Daria smiled back at her in the mirror and squeezed her shoulders. “How glad am I that we were here, now.”

  “No more than I,” said the princess. She covered Daria’s hand with her own. “You, m’lady, shall have my undying gratitude.”

  “Not us, princess. Always remember that it is God who has freed you, and he is the guard who shall keep the enemy from your gates. But you must be very wary of inviting our enemy inside again.”

  “I shall remember. Now let us go to my father.”

  Daria sighed and looked to Gianni and Hasani and Piero. They were ready as well. Together, the group headed down the stairs, with Matthieu, Vito, and Ugo before them, hands on the hilts of their swords, and Hasani and Gianni coming behind the women.

  “HOW long,” Amidei said, eyeing the count after they had left the pope’s side, “do you think you can keep them safe from me?”

  Count Armand pursed his lips and tapped them. “Hmm, I do not know. Mayhap forever?” He grinned audaciously at Amidei.

  It had been some time since an enemy had taunted him so. Abramo could not remember the last. The count intrigued him, like none other since Daria. If he could bring this one down, how great would be the master’s victory? An insider, a supposed ally, that Abramo could use to reach others within the Gifted . . .

  “What if I promised you wealth beyond all you could imagine?” Abramo asked. Vincenzo eased in from the other side, while Ciro watched the beginnings of the dance take form among the massive bonfires.

  “Nay,” the count dismissed. “What more could I want?”

  “The next kingdom? And the next? All of France?”

  Count Armand scoffed. “You are promising me all of France? Does the king know it is for sale? Mayhap we should go over to him now. He’s right over there. Shall we go and ask about the highest bid?”

  Abramo ignored his taunts. “You and I both know that kingdoms are not truly won and lost in a battlefield of swords. It is the mind,” he said, tapping his temple, “and the money that control most kingdoms.”

  “I confess I love women more than money,” the count said. “And I am quite content with my own kingdom.”

  “A count who never seeks to take the next will soon lose his own.”

  “I do not fear invasion. Many are my friends and few are my enemies.” The smile faded from his face. He tired, too, of their games.

  Abramo stepped in front of him and turned, chin in hand. “Is it women you truly desire, Armand? Come with me tonight, to my ceremony, and you shall experience mysteries unparalleled with anything you have ever dreamed of. You shall feel like a god. And all the world, your servant. There are no rules in my realm. No one shall deny you.”

  The count hesitated.

  “Ah yes, I can see it in your eyes. You are intrigued by a place without rules. Constrained, a life of a count must be. Courtly conduct and all of that. Come and see what it is to experience life without any demands at all, only gifts to be unwrapped.”

  Armand swallowed hard and then stood up straight, nearly as tall as Abramo. “Lord Amidei, our time has come to an end. I must see to my honored guests.” He leaned closer, taking Abramo’s shirt in his fist. “See that you stay in Hell’s Keep and away from me and mine,” he said fiercely. Then he forced a smile, released his shirt, smoothed it out, patted him firmly twice on the chest, and walked away.

  “Pity, that,” Abramo said with a sigh to Vincenzo.

  “What, m’lord?”

  “That he should have to die with the rest of them. Come, Vincenzo,” he said with an easy smile, “let us see if our peacocks have emerged for the dance. We shall collect them.” He nodded to the moon. “It is soon time.”

  THEY entered the vast courtyard that bordered the cliff, overlooking the river, far below them and sparkling in the moonlight. Torches and bonfires were ablaze all over, lending both light and warmth, and while Prince Maximilien, the king of France, and the pope still received the remains of the line of people, the party was well underway. The men with casks continued to circle around, taking up new casks when their own were empty, serving one and all who were present. Maids now served skewers of roast pork and chicken and duck, interlaced with onions and potatoes. Others served delicate breads, laden with pats of butter.

  To the side remained two knights of Les Baux, guarding the Gifted’s own gift to the pope, the two gazelles, and obviously awaiting their arrival. Gianni waved them forward, and the two jumped from their posts to do as he had bid.

  “The Count and Countess des Baux?” Gianni whispered.

  “Come and gone,” said one of their knights.

  “With Amidei?”

  “Indeed,” said the other, eyes wide still, in surprise at the sight. He relaxed when he saw no surprise on Gianni’s face.

  They moved closer, watching as the pope, king, and prince received the group ahead of them, clearly bored and tired by now, after receiving more than three hundred guests before them.

  Two priests took the people’s invitations, auth
enticated them, and then looked for their names upon the list in hand, a vast scroll, before letting them move forward to the dais where the guests of honor sat. Two other armed guards stood on either side of them, axes on long handles ready across their chest. Six others stood in a line behind them—two from Maximilien’s guard, two from the kingdom across the river, and two from the pope’s own Honneur Gard.

  Daria searched over her shoulder nervously, as if worrying that Amidei might be closing in from behind even as they faced a new potential enemy before them. Only Cardinal Boeri’s presence on the dais made her capable of breath. But all at once, the princess was moving forward, edging past the guards and priests, going to her father in a full curtsey, reaching out her hands to him.

  With one look into her eyes, the prince was on his feet, mouth agape. His wife stood up beside him, emerging from the shadows. “Ariana?” she asked. She hurried to the girl, took her face in one hand, staring at her as if to ascertain it was truly her daughter, even as the prince took the girl’s hands and bid her rise.

  “Ariana, my daughter? You are free?” he asked.

  The girl smiled back at him and nodded. “I am healed, Papa. I am returned to you,” she said meaningfully.

  He leaned back in wonder, looking her over as if she were to be relearned as kin. How long had the evil one had his hold upon her? Piero mused.

  But his eyes turned to the pope, who had awakened from his party doze. Cardinal Boeri was whispering in his ear, and the man was studying each of them, one after the other, as the cardinal continued to talk.

  Piero’s knees shook. He could not help himself. Here he was, before the Holy Father, the Bishop of Greater Rome, the man who held the keys of Peter. From him, the entire Church flowed; he was like the spring that produced a river that led to a sea that covered the earth.

  Piero frowned. He had not anticipated this, this thrill, this awe, in meeting the pope. He had been called to the Church, served the Church, for many, many years. Nearly all of his life. Who was he to question what God had put into place and what he had not? Was he not but a lowly priest from the outer reaches of Roma?

  He focused on Ariana, the young beauty before him, and remembered what she had been like but an hour before. He glanced over his shoulder, as Daria had before him, looking for Amidei. The devil would use any edge, any wedge he could find, to worry a crack into a chasm into a valley between him and his Lord. It was his way. Piero knew that. He shook his head and whispered a prayer of covering for himself and the Gifted. Because standing here, before the pope, the Holy Father—the man from whom all Christendom received guidance—sent his knees to quaking again.

  GIANNI looked back to Piero in confusion, looking for him to lead here, but Ariana’s reunion with her parents, their obvious surprise and joy at her appearance, their questioning glances to the adults behind her . . . all had set things off in the wrong direction, as if a boulder had broken loose and headed toward the valley floor unhindered.

  “How is it, Ariana?” asked Prince Maximilien. “How is it that you are well again?”

  “These people came to me,” she said, reaching back to Gianni and Daria with girlish delight. “They freed me, Papa. Healed me.”

  “You no longer suffer from stomach trouble?” asked her mother delicately, sliding a glance toward the pope, who now stood beside her husband, obviously anxious to avoid further detail.

  “No troubles at all,” gleamed the young princess.

  “So this is Sir de Capezzana and his bride, the former Lady d’Angelo,” the pope said, taking another step toward them.

  Daria, Piero, and Gianni immediately knelt. “Yes, Your Holiness,” said Gianni, again waiting for Piero to speak, and then stepping in when he did not. What ailed their priest?

  The pope leaned forward, allowing them each to kiss his ring. “You may rise and remove your masks for a moment,” he said.

  “We brought you two gazelles for your menagerie, Holiness,” Daria said, doing as he did.

  “Thank you, daughter. They shall be well looked after and bring light to our new gardens and menagerie.” He reached forward and lifted her chin, and nodded once. Did he hesitate, as if he recognized her? “You are as beautiful as you are fabled to be, Duchess. Are you truly a healer as well?”

  Daria’s eyes flitted to meet his, glanced at Boeri and then back to the ground.

  Gianni’s muscles tensed at another man’s hands upon his wife, old holy man or not. But he remained where he was. Clearly the pope knew more of them than they expected. What all had Boeri told him? His heart raced. He had promised to shield them, introduce them in a prudent manner that would not elicit a response of might . . .

  “You may look upon us, daughter. There is nothing to fear here, with us. Tell us of your story. We expect it shall be the most intriguing thing we hear this night. But first introduce us to those who travel alongside you.”

  Two cardinals edged nearer, on either side of Boeri, and Piero rubbed his chest, still puzzlingly silent.

  Daria raised her chin and slowly, elegantly rose from her deep curtsey. “Holy Father, may I present one of your own, Father Piero, my chaplain.”

  “Ah yes, Father Piero,” said the pope, leaning down to place his hand on the man’s head in silent blessing. When the priest did not look up, he moved on.

  “We travel with my friend and freed man, Hasani, Gaspare de Venezia, Vito and Ugo Donati de Siena, Josephine Fontaine de Avignon, and others.”

  “We see,” said the pope. “Quite a varied group. You are a collector of people as well as a healer, Lady Daria?”

  Daria hesitated, eyeing Piero, still with head bowed.

  “She healed me, Your Holiness,” said the young princess, coming beside them, clearly attempting to ease the tension in the air and aid them. “This very night.”

  “Oh? And what ailed you?” asked the man, eyeing her. “Stomach trouble?”

  Ariana hesitated and then nodded. “I have not felt this well in some time, Holy Father. These people freed me. Healed me. I swear my life upon it as truth.”

  The pope raised an eyebrow. “No swearing, please, daughter, in our presence.” He looked to the king and Prince Maximilien. “May we take these honored guests away from you? I have sat so long, I need to stretch my legs. And you must be eager to join the others in the festivities.”

  All three nobles nodded their heads reluctantly, clearly wishing to take part in that conversation, and the pope laced a hand through Gianni’s arm and another through Daria’s. “Come along, little brother,” he said to Piero. The priest obediently rose and followed. It made Gianni want to turn and shake him. Despite years with Cardinal Boeri, he was ill prepared for this, time with the pope himself. “You, too, mother of Avignon, and fisherman de Venezia, and freed man of Siena. Where is the girl child? We must speak with you all.”

  “She is safe at home,” Gianni said, holding his breath. “She did not come with us.” What did this mean, that he knew of each of them?

  “No matter,” said the pope, waving his hands in dismissal. “You may relate our words to her.”

  They walked through the vast garden, led by two of the guards of the palais in Avignon, and followed by the two cardinals. Evidently Cardinal Boeri had been instructed to remain behind. He had met Gianni’s glance with a helpless look.

  The pope moved slowly but consistently forward. The festival had reached a new height, with laughter and singing and dancing engaging almost everyone present. He paused at last, at the edge of the cliff. The castle across the river was alight with torches on every level, sending glittering, reflected streams across to them as if lifelines. The full moon cast its own wave of light across the water.

  “We stand at a precipice, my new friends,” the pope said, looking dolefully downward, into the dark abyss before the river washed the rocks below. “You must see that you walk a path that is like that we see here, perilously close to taking you down.”

  Piero looked up, and his eyes glittered in the mo
onlight. He rubbed his chest and eyed the men in red behind them. Gianni followed his gaze to Cardinals Bordeau and Corelli. Had these two been touched by Amidei and his minions, as the young countess had? What were the weaknesses? Where were the wormholes that had made way into their hearts, giving them entrance to evil?

  “We are here,” Piero said, finally finding his voice, “because we can be no other place. God himself leads us. We merely follow.”

  “Worthy words, little brother,” said the pope. “But pray, tell us that the stories we have heard are not true. That you have not deigned to use your gifts outside of Church sanction? You have not purported to truly heal?”

  “We have healed, at God’s own bequest,” said the priest, “under his advisement and leadership.”

  The pope raised his chin and studied Piero. “Then pray, tell us the truth of this as well. It is but rumor that you have baptized, upon a river bank.”

  Piero swallowed hard, but his gaze did not waver. He clearly was not telling him anything Cornelius did not well know already. “Upon the river bank and elsewhere, just as John and the others did before us.”

  A long moment of silence followed. “And what of communion?”

  “We have communed in many places, many a time.”

  The pope eyed Gianni and Daria. “And the sacrament of marriage?”

  “Again, in the full view of our God on high.”

  Cornelius sighed and paced back and forth. He began to speak, paused, and then resumed his pacing, his chin again in hand. “We must speak of this further,” he said at last. “We shall spend time in prayer and fasting, and you shall come to our palace very soon. There we shall wrestle through what is to become of your eternal fate.”

  When it was clear that Piero would say nothing, Gianni said, “Begging pardon, Your Holiness. But we are the Gifted, prophesied to come together centuries ago. And we firmly believe that while you are in a holy stead, no one but God himself shall decide our eternal fate. We shall come to you as you have asked, but we shall brook no argument that anyone rivals the God on High. It is our enemy’s best argument, and we fervently hope that you shall not use it as well. Now, may we have your leave to depart?”