Commedia della Morte

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “Not at all,” da San-Germain replied. “They are here to be read.” He crossed the room to where Theron stood; he could see his visitor taking stock of him, and felt a twinge of amusement at the young man’s perusal. “Let me welcome you to my house. I am Ragoczy Ferenz, Conte da San-Germain, at your service.” He smiled at Theron and nodded a polite half-bow, his expression one of genial curiosity. “And who are you…?”

  “Theron Baptiste Heurer. Madelaine de Montalia sent me. I have a message from her for you.” He looked his host over carefully as he returned the bow, and then, in the spirit of the new times, offered his hand. “I have just this morning arrived in Padova. I came as soon as I was settled in my room.”

  Da San-Germain shook it, his small hand proving to have a firm grip. “I gather from my houseman that your errand is urgent?”

  “It is.” He gave a tentative cough, then began what was certainly a rehearsed recitation. “I regret to inform you that she—Madelaine de Montalia—has been detained by the Revolutionary Tribunal.” He reached into the inner pocket of his fawn-colored hammer-claw coat and brought out a sealed letter; San-Germain noticed that his neck-cloth, though artistically tied, had wilted, losing its fashionable shape. “She asked me to bring this to you.”

  “When was this given to you?” da San-Germain asked as he took the letter.

  “July fifth,” Theron answered promptly. “It took me fourteen days to get here. I was held up at the French border for a day, while they made sure my safe conduct was genuine, and my second horse went lame three days ago.”

  “You came alone?” He did his best not to open the letter with unseemly haste.

  “I had two mules and two horses—Madelaine’s doing, of course; she even provided me with food and a tent—and I kept to the village roads, as she recommended I do.” He gave a self-effacing smile. “They aren’t as fast, but there are fewer soldiers, and fewer highwaymen, on them.”

  “A sensible decision.” He nodded in the direction of the couch. “Won’t you sit down and have something to eat? I’ll need a little time to read this.”

  “Certainly,” said Theron, and hastened to the couch. Curious as he was, he did not allow himself the luxury of watching his host for fear of appearing to intrude on him while he read.

  Da San-Germain walked some short distance down the library, toward the large, empty fireplace. He broke the seal impatiently and unfolded the heavy paper, smoothing away the wrinkles as he read Madelaine’s missive, worry building in him with every succeeding word. Telling himself it could be worse, and almost believing it, he refolded the letter and slipped it into his sleeve before he turned and went back to the couch. He pulled up an elegant upholstered chair and sat down, his face revealing nothing of his thoughts. “I gather you were with Madelaine when she was detained.”

  “I was,” said Theron, then paused to swallow before going on. “I wanted to stay with her—the Revolutionary Guards were little better than street-fighters, and all of them are eager to be in charge of everything as if they had more authority than they have been granted—but she persuaded me to come to you. She told me she could manage for herself so long as she remained at Montalia.”

  “Very wise of her, to send you,” said da San-Germain. “And for you to come to me so promptly.”

  “I sought you out as soon as I took a room at the hotel near the river. The one with the yellow front.”

  “The Hotel Franchesi,” said da San-Germain. “I understand it is comfortable. But if you like, you may command a room here at any time.”

  “That’s most hospitable of you, Conte.” Theron filled his glass with wine and said, “To Madelaine.”

  “Indeed,” da San-Germain agreed. “Do you know how much of her staff was still with her when you left?”

  “Her cook was staying. But about half of them left, or were planning to leave after I did.” He frowned. “I couldn’t convince her to come with me.”

  San-Germain repeated, “Very wise.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “If she had attempted to flee, you may be sure she would have been apprehended and held as an enemy of the people, and it would be far more difficult to rescue her.”

  This time Theron wondered what da San-Germain meant when he said difficult, but he could not summon up the courage to ask; for all his cordiality, Theron found his host imposing, carrying an air of authority that could not be banished by good manners and generosity. “Yes. Well, she plans to remain there until she can be sure of departing safely. She will not try to free herself, and the reasons you state are part of her concerns. She relies on you to accomplish what she cannot.”

  “I will do my utmost to accommodate her,” said da San-Germain, with more force than he had intended.

  Theron looked up from his tray, something like alarm in his eyes. “Conte? You mean you will—”

  “In her letter, Madelaine asks me to come to France to help her. She is of my blood, so, of course, I will do it.”

  “Do you plan to go shortly?” Theron took another large sip of his wine, his eyes revealing excitement mixed with alarm.

  “As soon as I may, once I have more confirmation from a few remaining contacts in France.” He was already deciding which of his various associates he should approach for help. “I should be away within two weeks. It is important, I think, to be fully prepared before arriving in Avignon than to try to improvise afterward.”

  “Oh, yes,” Theron agreed, wanting to gain the good opinion of this self-possessed foreigner. “A better idea, and safer, too.”

  “Just so,” da San-Germain concurred. He studied Theron for a time, keeping in mind what Madelaine had told him in her letter. Finally, as Theron was beginning to squirm under this scrutiny, he said, “It was good of you to do this for her—brave as well.”

  This tidbit of praise produced a self-satisfied smile. “That’s kind of you to say, Conte.”

  “If you like to think so.” He watched Theron refill his glass. “Tell me: how did the Revolutionary Guards seem to you?”

  “Like sweepings from the gutter,” said Theron, and drank.

  “Yes, I understand. That is always the way with such forces. But what was their demeanor toward Madelaine?”

  “What do you mean?” He forked a slice of the smoked ham onto a slice of buttered bread.

  “Were they angry? Spiteful? Uneasy? Lascivious?”

  Theron took a bite and chewed energetically. “Oh. I see what you mean. Let me think.” He took another mouthful of wine to wash down the smoked ham and bread. After a brief pause, he said, “They certainly looked at her in a carnalistic manner, and one was more of a bully than the others. But they also seemed a little intimidated by her. It’s hard to describe.”

  Although da San-Germain knew precisely what Theron was struggling to identify, he said, “Which do you think was the stronger?”

  “When I left,” Theron said, “they were slightly more intimidated than lustful, but that may have changed since I’ve been gone. I have little faith in the few of her servants who have pledged to remain with her; I feel certain they will all leave, in time.” His last words came out in an unhappy rush.

  “So long as some of her staff remains—which seems likely, at least for a while, as you say—I doubt the guards will overstep themselves,” said da San-Germain in such a way that Theron was hard-pressed to conceal his shock. “Unless she is moved.”

  “The Revolutionary Guards are bullies,” said Theron with an expression of revulsion clouding his handsome features.

  “All bullies are at heart cowards, Monsieur Heurer,” said da San-Germain. “Pray, do not abandon your meal because of me.”

  “Then you won’t join me?” Theron asked, plainly uncertain how to proceed.

  “I have dined already,” said da San-Germain.

  “The way Madelaine dines?” The instant he said it, Theron wished he had not. “Not,” he went on his hasty apology, “that it is any of my concern.”

  “You�
�re right,” said da San-Germain, not elaborating on what he meant; nonplussed, Theron had another sip of wine and struggled to gather his thoughts. “Aside from being under detention, is there any indication that Madelaine is in immediate danger? Has she been accounted a traitor? Are there accusations laid against her?”

  “I would have thought detention was danger enough,” said Theron as sharply as he dared. “I know of no accusations, but it would not surprise me if some discontented peasants came forward to denounce her.”

  “Perhaps I should say it another way: what are the chances of Madelaine being imprisoned?” da San-Germain asked smoothly.

  “I don’t know. It depends on the Revolutionary Tribunal in Avignon.” He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. “At present they appear to be satisfied to keep her at Montalia.”

  “But they could change their minds, could they not?”

  “Or they could shift her to another jurisdiction,” said Theron. “That is the more likely, from what little I’ve learned.”

  “So I gathered,” said San-Germain, and waited for Theron to explain.

  “Avignon isn’t as bad as Paris, or some other places,” said Theron as soon as he recognized that da San-Germain wanted more information. “At least not yet,” he added. “But if Avignon shifts her to another Revolutionary Court, there could be real trouble.”

  “So where she is held could change, and change quickly, couldn’t it?” asked da San-Germain.

  “I think so,” said Theron, not wanting to be too alarming. “And the courts are already unreliable.”

  “Then we shall have to plan for the worst, and make all efforts to reach her sooner rather than later.” He looked toward the shuttered windows. “If you would like to take your afternoon’s repose here, there’s a withdrawing room through that door. You would be most welcome to stay.”

  “Don’t you want to know anything more?”

  “Not at present, no,” said da San-Germain. “I have much to consider before we speak again. Enjoy my library while you’re here. You may tell my staff what they may do for you—food, drink, a place to rest, a turn in the garden, whatever you would like.” He offered Theron a slight bow, and went toward the door.

  “Conte,” Theron called after him. “What do you plan to do?”

  “I don’t know yet,” said da San-Germain. “But it must be done speedily, whatever it may be. Otherwise we risk losing her to the Guillotine.”

  Theron shuddered. “I couldn’t bear that.” He glanced covertly at da San-Germain, and caught a look of anguish that vanished so quickly that he was unsure he had seen or only imagined it.

  “I’ll send out couriers today,” da San-Germain said with calm determination. “I’ll have to leave you for an hour or so while I attend to putting these missions in motion.” He gestured to the well-laden shelves around him. “I hope you won’t hesitate to explore what this room has to offer, today or any other day.”

  “That is most kind of you, Conte,” said Theron, resuming his meal; then, sensing he had not said quite enough, added, “All your offers are gracious ones.”

  Da San-Germain gave a courtly nod, and stepped out into the corridor, closing the door at once, not wanting Theron to see the distress he felt. He leaned against the polished panel, the image of Madelaine shining in his mind: Madelaine as he had first seen her, in the autumn of 1743, before she came to his life the following year; Madelaine in Vienna in 1752, when he had been going from Praha to Athens and she had been a guest of Herzog von Brunn; in 1780 during a brief sojourn in Roma; and six years later in Trieste. “France is on fire, and it may be that Madelaine will be in danger of burning with the rest.” Forcing such thoughts from his mind, he lengthened his stride once he was away from the library, he called for Roger, beckoning him to join him in his study. “And bring a fresh jar of ink. I’ll need Giuliano to carry a message to Venezia for me.”

  “How soon?” Roger inquired.

  “Immediately, or as soon as can be managed,” da San-Germain said as he shut the door and went to his desk. “He’s to go to the Eclipse Trading Company and speak directly with Oddysio Lisson.” He sat down, pulling three sheets of paper from the drawer; all bore his eclipse device in the upper center of the page. He selected a quill, trimmed it, and held his hand out for the bottle of fresh ink. As soon as he had opened it, he dipped in the nib and began to write, saying to Roger as he worked, speaking the language of the Byzantines, “I must find out how things stand for Eclipse Trading in France, and whom, among my factors, I may trust.”

  “This has to do with Madelaine?” Roger asked in the same tongue.

  “It does.”

  “She is in danger?”

  “Yes, and it will not lessen. I must find her and bring her out of the country.” He signed and blotted the first sheet, then set to work on the second. “I want Giuliano to impress upon Lisson the urgency of this mission.”

  “I’ll explain it to him,” said Roger. “Unless you would prefer to do it yourself?”

  “I rely upon you, old friend,” said da San-Germain with a quick, one-sided smile.

  Roger took the first letter and slipped it into his inner breast pocket. “Will you want the couriers to carry back replies?”

  “Yes. I’ll explain it all to Lisson as soon as this second note is done.” He continued to write, his small, precise hand quite legible in spite of the haste in which he worked. “Give Giuliano money enough to spend a pleasant evening in Venezia, including sufficient funds for a good hotel, and enough to stable his horse in Mestre. I shall expect him back by tomorrow evening.” After scratching his signature, he blotted the second sheet and began on the third; Roger took the note and folded it before putting in with the first. “If there are any problems, I want a full account of them from Lisson, and from Giuliano.”

  “Of course,” said Roger.

  “I’d like you to send Vittorio to Genova in the morning. I want to put the factor there on alert, in case Madelaine should need to leave from that port, though I doubt we will risk making for the south coast. I prefer the Swiss border, or the Italian one, if it can be arranged.” Da San-Germain concentrated on his writing for more than a minute, then reached for a heavy envelope on which he wrote Oddysio Lisson, and said to Roger, “Giuliano knows where to find Eclipse Trading, doesn’t he?”

  “He does,” Roger said, keeping his tone carefully neutral. “Are you worried about getting Madelaine out of France?”

  “I am.” He tucked the letter into the envelope, lit a candle, and brought out his sealing wax, working it in the candle’s flame until it dropped a gobbet of red on the candle, making it sputter. The next splatter of wax sealed the envelope, and da San-Germain pressed his signet ring into it, leaving an impression of his eclipse behind. “Give it a moment, and then call for Giuliano.”

  “Which horse do you want him to use?” Roger showed no change of emotion, but there was a subtle shift in his stance, as if to hurry the message.

  “The light bay. She has Barb blood and will not be as bothered by the heat as some of the others would be. He can remount coming back if he goes to Nino Baldalucci’s stable.” He tested the seal with his finger, then, satisfied it had cooled and set, he handed it to Roger. “There.” He stood, glancing toward the window. “I know the day is hot, and it is hard time to take to the road, but it must be done. See that Giuliano has extra coins in his purse. When he returns, I’ll give him an extra payment for his trouble.”

  “Should I tell him that?”

  Da San-Germain shrugged. “If it will speed him on his way.” He went to the door. “I need a little time to myself.”

  Roger nodded. “Where will you be?”

  “I will go back to the laboratory for a short while, and then I’ll rejoin Monsieur Theron in the library.”

  “You’re troubled,” Roger said.

  “For good reason, I fear,” da San-Germain answered as he turned and went off down the hall toward the stairs.

  *
* *

  Text of a letter from Oddysio Lisson in Venezia to Ragoczy Ferenz, Conte da San-Germain, in Padova, carried by da San-Germain’s courier and delivered thirty-nine hours after it was written.

  To the esteemed Ragoczy Ferenz, Conte da San-Germain and owner of the Eclipse Trading Company, the faithful greetings of Oddysio Lisson, factor and manager of Eclipse Trading Company in Venezia, on this, the twenty-first day of July, 1792,

  My dear Conte,

  Yesterday evening, your messenger delivered your letter to me, and I will hasten to respond so that your courier may bear this back to you with all dispatch.

  By noon I will dispatch Salvatore Campo and Gabriello Donat to France, one to Avignon, and one to Lyon, according to your instructions. Both will carry the instructions entrusted to me by your courier, and both will obey them to the letter. If you should wish it, I can also send Aroldo San-Marino to Le Havre on the Silver Dawn, which sails for Barcelona, Lisbon, Le Havre, and Amsterdam in two days. It will take him some time to arrive, but he will be able to help secure you and your companions passage from that port if you require it, once he has dropped anchor there. I will also, as per your instructions, send you all reports I can gather on the situation in France, particularly in regard to the actions of the Revolutionary Courts and Tribunals, with special emphasis on the major cities, where the Revolution is being most keenly prosecuted.

  There are a few reports included with this letter, all obtained within the last week, one from Marseilles, one from Nantes, and one from the Swiss border where, I have been told, the Revolutionary Guard has reinforced their presence with a plan to stop those fleeing the country from crossing the frontier and getting beyond the reach of the Revolutionary Courts. If it should prove helpful, I can also send out paid agents to test the level of effectiveness these most recent reinforcements have achieved; there are three clerks in this office who would be delighted to have an adventure without sacrificing making a living. Although all of them long for excitement, none of the three has shown any sign of recklessness, which is to our advantage in this instance. You have but to tell me that you want them to undertake such a mission and I will have them away within a day of receiving your authorization.