The Boy Who Wept Blood

by Den Patrick

  ‘And this year they’ve taken to wing.’

  Camelia nodded. ‘They’ve not done that for a while, since before you born, if I’m remembering rightly.’

  ‘What do you normally do, with ants?’

  ‘Most times we get pans of boiling water and pour it in the nest, but it doesn’t seem to make any difference this year.’ She shook her head. ‘They’re in the sugar, and the jam; they’re all over the fruit. And they love breadcrumbs. The corners of the kitchens are filled with the brutes. And they’re bigger this year, I’m sure of it.’

  Dino declined the offer of coffee for some watered wine, settling on a stool at one side of the kitchen.

  ‘You look terrible,’ Camelia said, concern showing in her eyes. She stepped closer and brushed a stray a hair back from his face.

  Dino smiled. ‘I’m not a child any more,’ he said, smoothing back his fringe.

  ‘Sorry, my lord. Old habits die hard. So what’s troubling you?’

  ‘A great many things. I’d rather not speak of them here.’

  ‘And you can’t sleep?’

  ‘No.’ Dino shook his head. ‘I was guarding Anea last night. When I got back to my room I couldn’t settle.’ His gaze came to rest on a woman in a white shift with a ragged hem. She wore an apron, but her attire put him in mind of the disciple at the cemetery.

  ‘There was someone peculiar at the funeral.’

  ‘Duchess Prospero?’

  ‘More peculiar than that.’ Dino grinned. ‘She was in the cemetery when the ant swarms flew past. I think she was one of those disciples of Santa Maria. She was talking about portents and—’

  He got no further. Camelia ushered him out into the courtyard, face serious.

  ‘Why are we out here?’ He’d spilt wine over his sleeve in the rush to leave the kitchen. It was already warm outside despite the previous night’s storm; by midday it would be stifling. Camelia took his arm and began a stately but determined walk away from the kitchens.

  ‘A good deal of the cittadini in there are enthralled with the church of Santa Maria. If they hear you talking disparagingly about one of the disciples, well …’ She snatched a glance over her shoulder at the kitchen doors. No one had followed them out.

  ‘Santa Maria, really?’ Dino rolled his eyes. ‘I thought it was just popular with the cittadini on the rural estates.’

  ‘Well, you’re wrong.’

  ‘But here? In Demesne?’

  ‘It’d do you good to appreciate that the cittadini need something to hold on to. We don’t have apartments and clothes and drakes and titles like you do.’ Cittadini. Anea’s gift to the people. They were no longer commoners, but citizens. Camelia never said ‘common folk’ or ‘country folk’; after all, she was one of them.

  ‘But all of that Santa Maria stuff is just a concoction,’ whispered Dino. ‘It’s odd bits of myths found in the library welded to old stories and—’

  ‘Exactly. Two different things joined together to make something better.’

  ‘But it’s all horse shit, Camelia.’

  ‘Your sword.’ She tapped the scabbard with an index finger. ‘It’s not made from one type of metal, is it?’

  ‘Well no, but an iron core welded to a steel blade are hardly the same thing, you know?’

  ‘Porca miseria.’ She threw her hands up. ‘I wish I’d had all the answers at twenty-three the way you so clearly do.’

  ‘I’m twenty-two.’

  She stopped walking and closed her eyes, pressing one hand to her forehead.

  ‘Sometimes you’re so much like Lucien it’s as if he never left.’

  ‘But Santa Maria is horse shit.’

  ‘Look, my lord, there’s plenty about the cittadini believing in Santa Maria that makes your life easier.’ Dino opened his mouth to speak but Camelia silenced him, one index finger held up in warning. ‘If you’d only just pipe down and see it.’

  ‘I am an ear waiting to be filled with your wisdom.’ He sketched a bow.

  ‘You’re not so big I can’t give you a clip round the ear.’

  ‘I’m sorry. You were saying?’

  ‘You need to appreciate people are still confused about all the business with the king. For a long time he was like a god.’

  ‘Camelia, he was not a god, He was a motherf—’

  ‘Dino! I didn’t say he was a god, I said he was like a god, at least in people’s imaginations. He’s gone now and people have started wondering what it all means, why we’re here. All of those things.’

  ‘So they’ve invented a new god. A female one.’

  ‘You can’t blame them.’ Her voice was quiet. ‘Not after the things the king did. The cittadini want to believe in something again, something nurturing.’

  ‘I see your point.’ Dino looked around at the staff in the courtyard. ‘But that still doesn’t excuse the fact this stuff’s just made up.’

  ‘Well, they’ve found references and added in some morality and symbolism. Now they’re saving up to build a church.’

  ‘I’d rather they were loyal to Anea than to some fictional deity.’

  ‘They revere Anea just as much. Look at everything she’s done for the cittadini: the library, better medicines, better prices for the farmers, shorter hours, no more disappearances. Some even whisper Anea is the herald of Santa Maria. An avatar or something.’

  ‘That’s insane,’ he grunted. ‘They’d say different if they’d seen her killing an assassin with her hairpin.’

  ‘Perhaps. Did you know they sell veils in the market now? Some women even take vows of silence so they can be like her.’

  ‘Anea isn’t silent. She never stops talking; it’s just that she uses her fingers to speak.’

  ‘But they don’t know that; they just hear about the Silent Queen behind the veil.’

  ‘I’m still struggling to imagine Anea as a divine entity. What does that make me?’

  ‘Too clever for your own good.’ Camelia smiled. Their walk around the Contadino courtyard had almost led them full circle. Camelia’s eyes strayed to the kitchen door.

  ‘I should let you get back,’ said Dino. ‘I’ve caused enough disruption this morning.’

  She turned to him, pushing his hair back from his face again, brushing lint from his shoulders. He felt very young at that moment, pining for times when life had been simpler.

  ‘The thing is, Dino, most people just need something to believe in. Might be a god, might be Santa Maria, might be the goodness of people or the beauty of nature. People are likely to start causing trouble if they don’t have anything to believe in. People are fallible, that’s why they need something bigger.’

  ‘I think I understand.’ He now realised how long he’d been away from the kitchens and how much he’d missed Camelia.

  ‘You’re such a good boy, Dino,’ she said, patting his cheek with calloused hand. That smile again, like the sun coming up. He wondered when he’d become so busy he’d not had time for this.

  ‘What do you believe in, Camelia?’

  ‘I believe it’s way past your bedtime, young man. You can’t stay up all night watching over Anea and not pay a price for it. Go and get some sleep.’ She kissed him on the forehead and went inside. A good deal of shouting and some colourful language followed. Dino waited in the courtyard for a few moments feeling the sun on his face.

  ‘The goodness of people, the beauty of nature,’ he said to no one in particular before heeding Camelia’s advice. He managed four hours of dreamless sleep before Nardo called for him, telling him to attend the Ravenscourt. The Allattamentos were about to discover the extent of Anea’s displeasure.

  10

  Demesne Adjourned

  – 15 Giugno 325

  The Ravenscourt was at the heart of Demesne, a vast circular chamber with a domed and coffered roof. Windows allowed shafts of sunlight to stream in, stilettos of white piercing the dark. A viewing gallery framed three quarters of the circumference where cittadini could view the proceedin
gs, another of Anea’s ideas. Few cittadini attended; the gallery was the domain of merchants and untitled bravos clinging to ambitions of power. Doric columns supported the gallery, lending the chamber further vastness and solemnity.

  Dino remained by the double doors, watching the assembly from the rear. Lady Araneae Oscuro Diaspora waited on the wide oak chair that served as her throne, a decidedly mundane affair on a broad dais at the far side of the chamber. She wore her usual turquoise gown. A headpiece of golden crêpe and lace sat atop her head like a fan, sweeping back from her brow. She’d retained the same black veil and gloves that she’d worn to the funeral, eschewing the crisp white she usually favoured. Few if any could miss the intent, gravitas painfully evident. Anea sat, chin raised, shoulders back, while the nobles on the floor whispered among themselves. Five banners hung from the wall behind her, one for each of the great houses, her own turquoise and gold banner at the centre.

  The Domina slammed her staff against the dais floor three times. ‘This session of the Ravenscourt is now in progress.’

  Maestro Cherubini stepped forward, struggling to overcome the bulk of his gown and doublet, sweating freely in the heat.

  ‘If I may,’ said Cherubini. The Domina gave a curt nod. The maestro swept his eyes across the room, addressing the many nobles: ‘I would like to condemn the recent attack against Lady Diaspora. This stains our reputation as a democratic, intelligent people.’

  ‘But we’re not democratic,’ whispered someone close to Dino, who glared toward the source, unable to determine the speaker in the crowd.

  Cherubini hadn’t noticed the heckle and continued:

  ‘These actions serve no one. I appeal for unity among the nobili at this difficult time. Let us come together and resolve our differences amicably.’

  The maestro bowed toward the dais and withdrew, taking up a position alongside Lady Stephania, who patted his forearm. She whispered something from behind her fan. The other nobles shifted in the heat, exchanging wary looks.

  Lady Allattamento stood on the far left of the chamber, flanked by her daughters, fans thrumming like hummingbird wings, enjoying a sliver of shade provided by the gallery above. Lady Allattamento was a mature woman, spare of frame and feature, olive-skinned and well preserved. She had worn her hair down since her husband’s death. It fell in oiled black ringlets about her high cheekbones. There was a good deal of gold about the woman – fingers, ears and neck – but her gowns were many seasons out of date. A self-satisfied smirk played about her lips that roused Dino’s temper.

  Anea used the pause in proceedings to tap on the heavy wood of the throne with her fan. The Domina turned to her and the room caught its breath. Anea stood, flicking open the fan before moving to the front of the dais. Russo took this as her cue to begin.

  ‘Lady Araneae Oscuro Diaspora, ruler of Landfall, has come to a decision regarding the recent attempt on her life.’ Anea’s eyes drifted to Lady Allattamento and her entourage, but not before casting a glance toward Duke and Duchess Fontein. Few if any could have missed the insinuation.

  ‘Please, my lady,’ said Lady Allattamento in warm tones, forcing a smile, ‘do not punish me for the actions of one wayward son, now dead by the cruel consequence of his actions. I have already lost one son to tragedy and the other to estrangement.’

  ‘It has been decided,’ continued the Domina, ‘that House Allattamento is to give up the three farms it owns as reparation to Lady Diaspora.’

  Hissed intakes of breath around the Ravenscourt, a cry of dismay from near the back.

  ‘These farms shall become the property of the families who work on them.’

  The chamber filled with full-voiced disapproval, angry voices silenced by three shuddering booms of the Domina’s staff on the dais.

  ‘I will have order!’

  The discord abated.

  Lady Allattamento’s younger daughter, Viola, chose this as her moment to faint. Dino watched the collapse with cynicism. More theatre to embellish the scandal. The viewers in the gallery were ecstatic with the performance. Laughter echoed from above.

  ‘There is no proof Lady Allattamento colluded with her son,’ shouted the capo.

  Dino stepped forward, shouldering his way past a few minor dignitaries, taking up a position alongside Margravio Contadino. He felt the eyes of the chamber follow him. There were a few whispers, mainly from behind fans. The men stared with open disdain or vestiges of proud approval. Massimo nodded to him, looking handsome as ever, immaculate and alert.

  ‘Perhaps the capo knows where Angelo Allattamento secured the funds to pay off the two guards?’ Dino looked around to make sure he commanded the attention of everyone present. ‘Guards who should have been outside my sister’s door.’

  ‘I know nothing of the sort,’ said the capo.

  ‘Lady Diaspora, please,’ protested Lady Allattamento, ‘I had no idea. Surely the loss of my son and the shame he has brought my house is reparation enough?’

  Anea dropped the black fan, which hit the floor and lay like a struck raven. She stepped down from the dais, green eyes dangerous, skirts hissing across the flagstones in her wake. Lady Allattamento shrank from her like a creature hunted. Anea’s hands began to flicker.

  ‘Your son told me he brought a message from the nobili,’ translated Dino, ‘a message to put an end to any dreams of a republic.’

  Anea had drawn close to Lady Allattamento now, within arm’s reach. Those nearby melted away, afraid they too would be feel the heat of Anea’s wrath.

  ‘You may retain your apartments in Demesne and the family estate,’ continued Dino, watching Anea’s fingers. ‘I may be persuaded to return one of the farms to you should you come by any information regarding your son’s fellow conspirators.’

  ‘This is outrageous,’ blurted the capo.

  ‘Hold your tongue or I will remove it,’ growled Dino.

  The room settled into uncomfortable silence as the two men glowered at each other. Two porters struggled to carry Viola from the Ravenscourt with dignity. Anea retook her place on the dais and Virmyre appeared behind the throne, lurking over her right shoulder. Margravio Contadino coughed politely into his fist and stepped forward. The Domina favoured him with a curt nod while Anea took a moment to settle herself on her seat.

  ‘My Lady Diaspora, I regret to inform you that we are seeing a rise in prices from the farms.’

  ‘A spike in prices would be a more adequate summary,’ drawled Duke Fontein. He was wearing leather armour despite the heat and bore an elaborate blade on his hip. Sashes of scarlet and black were tied on his sword arm. His hair and beard were entirely white, a contrast to his deep brown eyes.

  Margravio Contadino stared back. The scar through his right eyebrow made the already severe-looking noble seem uncouth and dangerous.

  ‘The high prices are due in part to the ant infestation. I’m sure everyone is aware that we are heading toward drought. Crops will become more expensive in the coming months.’

  A murmur of disapproval, the shuffling of feet; some half-hearted retorts were lost in the noise.

  ‘The reason food is so expensive is because the farmers themselves are dictating the prices,’ said Duchess Prospero, fanning herself.

  ‘I’d imagine your many servants eat better than their children do, my lady,’ replied Margravio Contadino. His lips were drawn thin behind the strip goatee and moustache he wore.

  ‘Well, if the farmers are not receiving the money then who is?’ This from Duke Fontein again. It was a common scene at court: Prospero and Fontein shoulder to shoulder against any reforms, all too ready to complain when laws or economics went awry.

  ‘I assure you, Lord Fontein, my house takes a very small percentage after the farmers have taken what is rightfully theirs and taxes have been paid,’ said the margravio.

  ‘I’ve never really understood how your house earns its keep,’ replied Duke Fontein, eyes still intent on Margravio Contadino. ‘I’m sure it would make for fascinating read
ing.’ He crossed his arms and smiled without warmth.

  ‘Perhaps you should cart your own turnips in future if you object to the fees,’ said Dino.

  A few giggles from one side of the room and the gallery above, a histrionic intake of breath from behind Duchess Fontein.

  ‘Let us not forget the population has increased considerably of late,’ added Cherubini, keen to provide facts. ‘The cost of all food is at a premium.’

  ‘Enough,’ said Russo. ‘Lady Diaspora wishes to make a further announcement.’

  The nobles turned away from the dispute between Fontein and Contadino to Russo, who looked as curious as the rest as to what would come next

  ‘Nobili of Demesne, leaders of houses great and minor, messengers, professori, artisans, merchants, it has not escaped my notice that there have been many changes in the last decade.’ Murmured agreement, most of it bitter. Anea’s hands continued to sign; the Domina continued to translate. ‘And so I declare a period of consolidation. The Ravenscourt will adjourn for three months.’

  Dino noted the genuine astonishment in the faces of everyone in the chamber, not least the Domina.

  ‘During this time I shall be working closely with Professore Virmyre. As many of you know, we have made significant advances in the sciences recently, not least in the prevention of diseases, the delivery of our young and providing clean water.’

  This was undeniable. Part of Demesne’s recent population swell was due to secrets gleaned from the king’s machines.

  ‘Perhaps you can do something about the ants!’ shouted someone from the gallery, prompting a round of laughter. Dino clenched his jaw.

  ‘We will reconvene in three months’ time,’ continued the Domina, still translating, ‘when I hope I can count on your support. It would be unfortunate if you continued your current course of internecine bickering.’ A pause. ‘To safeguard against any misunderstandings –’ Anea dared to look directly at Duke Fontein, who stood taller and raised his chin defiantly ‘– I will be entrusting the Domina with the day-to-day affairs of the castle. You will give her your full and unflagging cooperation.’