A Christmas Requiem

by S. J. Parris

  ‘Ten years ago, when the previous pope was elected, he ordered Rebiba and another cardinal arrested, because they had opposed his election,’ Porta said. ‘They were both imprisoned in the Castel Sant’Angelo. The other cardinal was strangled one night in his cell. No trial, no repercussions – but clearly on the then pope’s orders. Some weeks later, Rebiba was released without charge – but can you imagine what those weeks did to him? Lying awake night after night, waiting for the footstep in the dark? It has made him utterly without mercy.’

  ‘Not even cardinals are safe,’ Este said, touching a hand tenderly to his own throat.

  ‘Oh God.’ I leaned on the balustrade and looked down over the courtyard, feeling faint. I could not even enjoy the prospect of amusing my friends in Naples with the idea that anyone could consider our prior too liberal. ‘Then I am walking into a trap.’

  ‘Well.’ The cardinal rested his back against the stone pillar beside me. ‘It is certain that Fra Agostino was sent to San Domenico to report on anything that could be used against your prior. A young man of prodigious – one might almost say unnatural – gifts is going to be an object of interest. And I have not studied the art of memory the way either of you have, but I have read enough to know that it draws on occult philosophies and magic.’

  ‘Every book Bruno has used in developing his memory system came from my secret library,’ Porta said, lowering his voice. ‘And every one is on the Inquisition’s Index of Forbidden Books. If he should be tortured, that would give them enough to take me in as well, and cast suspicion on you, Your Eminence, as my patron.’ He nodded to the cardinal.

  ‘I wouldn’t mention either of you,’ I said fiercely, but my stomach had clenched tight at the prospect and I feared I might retch. In truth I had no idea what I might be capable of, faced with the prisons of the Inquisition, and whether any of my principles or loyalties would survive. Like most healthy young men, I tried not to think about death at all if possible, and only as something that happened to other people.

  ‘Oh, I’m sure you wouldn’t,’ Porta said smoothly, patting my arm. He seemed remarkably sanguine, though I knew he had been bred to hide his feelings under a mask of courtliness. ‘All the same, it would be well to make sure nothing you say to the Pope about your memory system gives even the slightest hint of unorthodox reading.’

  ‘Make sure you give all the credit to St Thomas Aquinas,’ Cardinal d’Este added. ‘He was a good Dominican, and a student of memory – they can’t find fault with him.’

  ‘But if I have been brought here so that they can use me to attack the Prior of San Domenico, they will find something else to fault.’ I turned to face him, and my legs buckled under me; whether it was fear or hunger, I couldn’t say. The cardinal reached out and caught me by the arm. He had heard the panic in my voice.

  ‘Let’s get this young man something to eat, and hear some Christmas music, and we’ll have no more talk of the Inquisition,’ he said, with deliberate good cheer. As we paused for the servant to open the door from the loggia, he laid a hand on my shoulder. ‘Speaking of danger,’ he said in a low voice, and my heart froze, though he was half-smiling. ‘Watch out for my sister Lucrezia. She’s taken a liking to you, and she’s a young woman who is used to getting what she wants. Well – not so young any more,’ he added wryly. ‘She will be thirty-four soon. High time she was married off, and put an end to all the gossip.’

  ‘Was that her betrothed, the man who knocked over the drinks?’ I asked as we stepped back inside. ‘I don’t think he took a liking to me.’

  ‘Ha! No, he wouldn’t. That’s Renzo Arduino. Don’t worry about him. He’s nobody – just a bastard nephew of the Prince of Piombino that my sister keeps on a leash to amuse her, in lieu of a lapdog. He’ll yap at anyone who comes near, but he has no claim – the family would never let him marry her, though he can’t seem to get that through his head, and hangs around in the hope that one day she’ll take his suit seriously. If he gives you any trouble, just tell me and I’ll have his arse kicked out of Rome faster than he can scatter a tray of drinks. But I’m serious – mind Lucrezia. If you’ve been tasked with spying on me tonight, you can be certain that others here will have the same commission. And since you are to appear before the Holy Father tomorrow, it would be wise if you kept yourself free from any taint of gossip. Don’t give them any more ammunition to use against you.’ He slapped me on the back as we approached the press of guests. ‘Now – let us celebrate the Nativity of Our Lord with some decent food and a dance. I want you to hear my new singer from Brescia.’

  The cardinal’s Master of Ceremonies rang a bell and led the guests through to a high banqueting hall, its ceiling painted with scenes from the lives of the saints, the walls hung with rich tapestries. A long table had been set down the centre, with embroidered cloths, silver plates and goblets, gold candelabra and more Christmas garlands; the air was rich with the scent of pine and spices. All around me, people had grown animated and louder with the wine, jostling and pushing for seats closest to the cardinal and his entourage; in the press, I became separated from Porta and decided that, instead of running after him like a child who has lost his mother, I would do better to grab the nearest seat, in case I should find myself without one at all. I stood, looking around for an empty chair, shoved on all sides, when a hand closed over my sleeve. I turned to see Lucrezia d’Este smiling at me with a wolfish glint.

  ‘Sit by me,’ she said, pulling me after her. ‘My brother will have kept seats.’

  It was not a command I could refuse, as she well knew. The crowds parted respectfully before her and she gestured me to a chair at her side, across the table from the cardinal, who glanced from me to his sister and raised a wry eyebrow, as if to say I had been warned. Leonora sat opposite me, next to her brother; she also regarded me with a tight-lipped smile, as if she felt her thoughts were best kept to herself. Further down the table, a fight had broken out; Renzo Arduino, Lucrezia’s lapdog, who had missed out on a seat close to his lady, was trying to force his way in several places down, near enough that he could at least skewer me with a glare of such fury that I felt compelled to move a candelabra so that it obscured his face.

  The din of chatter died away as Cardinal d’Este stood to give thanks for the birth of Our Lord, the obedience of His Holy Mother, and the blessing of the Christmas season. A pious ‘Amen’ echoed the length of the hall, before the double doors at the end were flung open to admit a small army of servants bearing silver trays and platters with an array of delicacies beyond anything I had seen, even at the grandest feast days at San Domenico. There were stews of boar, beef and venison; plates of fish and shellfish; fresh pasta stuffed with cheeses and pine nuts; pies and pastries; roasted game birds and song birds in thick sauces of cream and herbs; seven different kinds of bread. I had only to set my glass down for a moment and a boy in Este livery would appear silently at my elbow and refill it. Musicians and singers accompanied the meal with motets composed for the season, though they could barely make themselves heard over the noise. I saw what Fra Agostino had meant about the luxury and indulgence of the cardinal’s table, and how it might scandalise anyone who believed the religious life should be one of abstinence and self-denial, in imitation of Christ. For myself, in a short while I was too drunk to give much thought to such theological questions. I ate, laughed and joined in the bawdy jokes, told stories of my own youthful adventures in Naples, and was persuaded by Lucrezia to teach her one of the filthiest army songs I had learned from my father; wine continued to flow and the laughter around us grew wilder and more raucous. Occasionally, I caught Porta’s eye across the table, though my head was too muddied to understand the import of his glance. When Lucrezia slid her hand up my thigh under the table I barely even noticed at first, though Renzo Arduino certainly did.

  After the meal, when the guests were sated and the singers brought in, I excused myself and stumbled out to the staircase, pausing to ask a servant where I might go to piss. He pointed
me down to a rear courtyard where animal troughs had been filled with sand for that purpose, and when I had relieved myself I adjusted my habit and leaned against a pillar for a while, hoping the night air would straighten my head. I still possessed enough clarity to realise that I was far too drunk to think of going back to Santa Maria yet; if Fra Agostino should accost me on my way through the door, I was in no state to offer him any useful account of the evening, and my obvious indulgence would only confirm his low opinion of me and the convent I represented. I tilted my head back to look at the upper balconies of the palazzo; the pillars around the loggia all appeared doubled. I pressed one hand over my left eye and squinted until they steadied. If I could find a place to rest for an hour or so, I reasoned, I might yet be able to creep back to Santa Maria after matins, and avoid Fra Agostino until breakfast, by which time I might be in better shape. To my drunk mind, this seemed in the moment a foolproof plan. I was looking for the entrance when a drawling voice spoke from the shadows behind me.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  I turned. Renzo Arduino stepped into the torchlight. His right hand rested lightly on the sword at his belt.

  ‘I’m having a piss. Did you want to watch?’

  ‘Do you think the lady Lucrezia is a common whore?’ He drew himself up, his chin tilted at me in challenge, but he was swaying on his feet, and there were wine stains down the front of his fine silk doublet. I realised he was as drunk as I was.

  ‘What?’ I had to narrow my eyes to focus. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘No? You’re acting as if you think she’s for sale. I saw you groping her under the table all through dinner.’

  I had enough of my wits about me to realise that it would be unchivalrous to protest that it had been the other way around.

  ‘I think you must be mistaken.’ I tried to move past him, but he shoved me hard in the chest; I stumbled and he took a step towards me. I realised then that he had come for a fight and, much as I would have liked to oblige, it would not help my reputation or that of San Domenico if I were to appear before the Holy Father on Christmas day with a black eye and bruised knuckles.

  ‘Do you seriously think,’ he said, through his teeth, his hand back on his sword hilt, ‘that she would be interested in fucking a dirty little Neapolitan peasant like you? How do you dare have the temerity even to look at her?’

  He was almost vibrating with rage. I suspected he knew as well as I did that the lady Lucrezia had made it clear that she was extremely interested. I had done my best to ignore the slow, stroking motions of her fingers at the top of my thigh, and her murmured innuendoes in my ear; it was fortunate that the wine meant my response was muted. But I had met too many men like this Renzo in my own order – bastard sons of noblemen, obsessed with the distinctions of rank because they were so acutely conscious of their own tainted status – to take the insult with grace, especially in my cups.

  ‘What are you, her bodyguard?’ I stepped up to face him, my hand sliding around my back, under my cloak, before I remembered that I had left Porta’s knife behind.

  ‘I am going to be her husband, you dog.’ He was taller than me, but I was riled enough not to be intimidated.

  ‘Ah. She forgot to mention your betrothal. I’ll be sure to pass my congratulations to His Eminence, her brother. He’ll be surprised by the news, I imagine.’

  ‘It’s not official,’ he blustered. ‘But I will have her eventually. I haven’t spent this long courting her for nothing. I am of the royal house of Piombino, you know.’

  ‘Mm. Though that’s not really official either, is it?’

  At that, he moved to draw his sword, but the drink had made him clumsy; it stuck in the scabbard, and as he fought to free it, I could not think of any way to stop him except to land a hard punch in his gut. He doubled over, coughing, and I ducked past him towards the door leading into the palazzo.

  ‘I’m going to make sure you end up at the bottom of the fucking Tiber,’ he shouted after me, when he had recovered enough to speak. ‘In so many pieces your whore bitch mother will have to spend the rest of her worthless life fishing for them. Memorise that, you Neapolitan cunt! Good evening, Your Grace,’ he added, with an unsteady bow, as an older man in bishop’s robes passed me in the doorway, looking from one to the other of us with consternation.

  The night air and the confrontation had sobered me somewhat; I realised with a jolt of fear that I had narrowly avoided a brawl in the cardinal’s house, which might have ended in serious injury for one or both of us, and would not have helped my standing in Rome, or Porta’s. I congratulated myself again on having the foresight to leave the knife behind. I needed to get away before anything worse happened. I also wanted to make sure I avoided any possibility of the lady Lucrezia propositioning me directly; I did not think she would react well to an outright rejection, but the alternative would place me in an equally dangerous position. Cardinal d’Este, tolerant as he was, would be unlikely to forgive such a breach of etiquette.

  I decided to find Porta and ask him to make my excuses to the cardinal. I also wanted to ask if he could spare one of his bodyservants to accompany me to Santa Maria; I was not convinced that I would find the way back easily in my present state, and although Renzo was loud and arrogant and I did not take his blustering threat literally, it was possible that he was angry enough to follow me into the streets and teach me a lesson on the way. That odd, unsettling sense of being stalked earlier in the afternoon also came back to me. Perhaps I had imagined it, but in the light of what Cardinal d’Este had told me about Rebiba and the Pope, it did not seem impossible that someone could have been set to spy on me while I was here. In the dead of night, half-drunk, my fears swelled and loomed like distorted shadows in candlelight; I did not relish the thought of walking through Rome unarmed in the dark.

  In search of Porta, I soon realised I had taken the wrong staircase. I could hear the hubbub of music and conversation but I seemed to be moving away from it with every twist of the corridor. My head had begun to spin again and I felt a sudden need to sit down. To my right, I noticed a door that had been left ajar; a light flickered from within and I pushed it open to find a small chamber with a cheerful fire blazing in the hearth. Chairs had been pulled close and empty glasses lay abandoned beside them, but whoever they belonged to had disappeared. Against one wall there was a day bed piled with cushions and velvet throws. I stood by the fire to warm my hands, and decided to pause for a rest before finding Porta.

  I had only intended to close my eyes long enough to clear my head. Instead, I fell into strange dreams, and when I half-opened them I believed for a moment that I was in the kitchen of my childhood home in Nola, with my head in my mother’s lap, her strong fingers raking with a soothing rhythm through my hair. I blinked hard and my vision cleared to show the lady Lucrezia stroking my head, a knowing smile playing over her lips.

  ‘Very ungallant of you to fall asleep on me, my little Dominican,’ she chided, running a forefinger down my cheek.

  I scrambled to sit up. We were alone in the small chamber, the door shut fast, the fire and the candles burning low. I had no idea what time of night it might be, or how long I had slept. The sudden movement had set my head pounding.

  ‘Forgive me, I – I have to get back,’ I stammered. But she was perched on the edge of the day bed, sitting on my habit; I could not move without physically pushing her, and she knew it.

  ‘No rush,’ she said, placing her hand on my chest. ‘No one is going to come looking for us.’

  I glanced at the door. This was not true; I was certain that Renzo Arduino was, at this very moment, urgently searching every room in the house for us, ready to defend his lady’s honour. I was more worried about my own.

  ‘My lady.’ I tried subtly to move, only to find that my belt had been unfastened. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m expected back at Santa Maria. I am in holy orders,’ I added, unnecessarily, indicating my habit.

  She let out that raucous laugh that
sounded as if it should belong to a tavern-keeper and not a noblewoman. ‘Yes, I had noticed,’ she said. ‘I never met a churchman who let those vows bother him unduly. Do you know how many mistresses my brother has? And he’s a cardinal.’

  ‘Well, exactly.’ I tried to sound deferential. ‘He is senior enough that such things would not damage his prospects. Whereas I am merely a humble friar—’

  ‘There’s nothing humble about you,’ she said, toying with the collar of my habit. ‘I watched you tonight, showing off your memory tricks. You’re very sure of yourself and your own brilliance. It’s an attractive quality.’ She leaned closer; I pressed myself back against the wall. ‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘what do you think are my attractive qualities?’

  I let my gaze flicker downwards and noticed that she had loosened her bodice. ‘Um.’ My mouth dried. The pain in my head felt as if it were bulging outwards through my eyes. ‘You are a very beautiful woman, my lady. But His Eminence the cardinal is my host, and I would not for all the world insult a lady as noble as you by even daring to look—’

  She made an impatient noise. ‘I’m not offering to marry you, boy,’ she said. I wondered if she actually remembered my name. ‘And His Eminence the cardinal is my little brother, who has not dared argue with me since he was a toddler in napkins. Please don’t worry on his account. His only concern is for my happiness. Which I believe you could enhance tonight.’ She unlaced her bodice all the way and let it fall open, then reached for my hand and placed it decisively on her small, firm breast.