Beyond the Raging Flames (The Hermeporta Book 2)

by Hogarth Brown

  ‘Have you heard of Saint Cyril?’ Hermes almost choked.

  ‘They made that barbarian a Saint! - Ridiculous’ he scoffed before he could catch his words. Antonio stood still to stare hard at his companion.

  ‘You speak as if you knew the man.' Hermes shook his head, turned away in haste, and then occupied himself by looking at the pigeons and kicking them some more breadcrumbs till their frenzy intensified. But the birds seemed at ease with his movements, and when he stooped down to pick up crumbs from the ground many of the giddy birds leapt upon his arms to eat from his hands. Antonio paused to contemplate the youth, unsure of how to proceed with his questioning before he shook himself and pointed again to the lion. ‘Do you see where that mouth is open?’ Hermes turned back, nodded, shook off the birds, and then stood away from the pigeon mêlée.

  ‘Yes’ he said with a huff.

  ‘That’s where people put their denunciations: there’s a box behind to collect them. The people of Venice post information about each other, and it’s part of how the Council knows so much: because people tell them everything, and some get paid well for it too', the youth squirmed, 'there are hundreds across the city.' Hermes saw another post-box nearby, this time carved into a stern human face with bushy eyebrows.

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’ he said throwing his hands up in the air, but Antonio rolled his eyes.

  ‘Because it seems you know nothing important, and of what keeps us safe around here.’

  ‘I see’ said Hermes, stung, before looking down, 'but knowing that doesn't make me feel safe' he added before his body gave another involuntary shudder. Antonio looked at the forlorn expression of the youth, as Hermes scuffed his shoe at the ground, and felt a pang of guilt.

  ‘Time is getting on’ said Antonio, noticing a change in the light, ‘let’s see my uncle before it gets too dark.' Hermes nodded again, and let his gaze linger on the stone lion with its open jaws, before scanning the square again and noticing the lion heads everywhere:

  ‘This is a city of scandals and secrets’ he whispered to himself, before he hurried after Antonio who had walked off with firm strides to a guard to declare his business, in the way his father had instructed. The guard stepped aside with his pole-arm to let the two pass into a vast stone courtyard and its multitude of pale marble steps. Hermes looked to the far side of the lofty space, and recognised, in an instant, the statues of Mars and Poseidon that flanked the top of some steep steps.

  ‘Father said it’s this way’ said Antonio as he tugged at the stationary youth, and he followed on even though he wanted to stop and admire the magnificence of the place. Antonio approached a sizeable dark door of pointed oak and spoke to another guard, as instructed, and the guard granted the pair access to the Ducal Palace. Hermes stayed near Antonio and shrank to his side in the darkness of the chilly passageway. Another guard, holding a torch to illuminate the gloom of the damp enclosure, waved them on in the right direction with the nonchalance of someone who had seen thousands of people pass by before. The lined stone passages narrowed as they walked deeper into the building and turned several corners as they progressed, and they moved in haste from torch to torch with the eagerness that moths seek the light.

  ‘I don’t like this one bit’ said Hermes, between gritted teeth, ‘it feels horrible in here’,

  ‘Shush’ said Antonio, ‘don’t show any fear.’ Hermes nodded and then avoided the eyes of a man and woman that approached from ahead on their way out: the pair looked in a bad way, and the woman sobbed on her companion’s shoulder as he led her along the corridor, and back to the outside world. As the pair progressed, they passed locked cells where prisoners gave out moans of discontent and others with people alone, or in groups, who mumbled their laments, yet more bellowed their misfortunes without restraint. The dungeons seem more like an asylum for the dispossessed - who's crimes seemed petty in comparison to their confinement.

  The pair turned down a hall where the next torch hung far away, the middle ground almost black with darkness, and Hermes snatched upon Antonio’s arm when a howl of anguish rent the dank air asunder from an unobserved cell. The man was shouted down by his neighbours, in even smaller confines, who seemed bored and annoyed by the man’s exclamations. The acrid smell of urine and the dull musk of excrement choked the air.

  Hermes' heart pounded as he clung on, but Antonio did not shake off his grip that squeezed the blood away from under the skin of his arm. The pair turned again to go down some steps, and even deeper into the bowels of the building.

  The youth pulled back as Antonio pressed forward, the guards so far and few between, before they plunged into the darkness. Hermes shattered the air with his scream when a rat scurried over his foot and its whip-like tail coiled around his ankle. He almost tripped over its heaviness as he shook the rodent off. Antonio flinched with surprise:

  ‘Someone tell that girl to shut up!’ Came the loud call of a rough-voiced woman from a grill low to the ground, ‘she’s split my ears.' Hermes shrivelled and chewed his lip at the unexpected rebuke.

  ‘Calm down’ said Antonio through tight lips, ‘have you never felt a rat before?’ He shook his head as he trembled all over and refused to release his grip on Antonio’s arm as they walked the dim steps. Antonio could just make out the wet sheen on Hermes' eyes. The youth struggled to speak.

  ‘Some cats are smaller than that rat’ he said with a sniff before he coughed to clear his throat. The older man’s face softened, and he reached up his hand to wipe the moisture away from the side of Hermes' cheek. He put his arm around the youth’s shoulder to squeeze the flesh and give his back a couple of slaps.

  ‘Come along’ said Antonio holding on to Hermes as they walked toward patches of light that illuminated an arched passageway, ‘my father said that this is The Bridge of Sighs.' Hermes walked up onto the enclosed connecting bridge and looked through the grill, where the dim light of evening approached outside and changed the colour of the canal water, that ran below, from pale blue to deep sea green. He looked at the outside world between the bars - distant and remote:

  'There can be few things worse than to be a prisoner in this place' he said, and sigh he did for a dark mood had gripped him.

  ‘Father said they keep the debtors this side’ said Antonio, gesturing, and he tried to comfort Hermes as they walked across the arch of the bridge. The pair separated when they saw a guard that stood on the other side and at the entrance to the dungeons proper.

  ‘Who are you here to see?’ the guard said to Antonio in a thick Venetian accent that Hermes struggled to understand.

  ‘I’m here to visit my uncle, Manfredo.' He then gave a brief description of what he could remember his uncle looking like the last he saw him. The guard nodded.

  ‘I know him. He’s in cell forty-five. In the lowest quarters.' Hermes let out some air and swung his head down, ‘is he alright?’ asked the guard.

  ‘He’ll be fine’ said Antonio, ‘it’s his first visit here.’

  ‘The air’s not good for him’ said the guard as he peered into the youth’s peevish face, ‘don’t stay too long’ he said, and tapped Hermes on his shoulder to encourage him as he gave Antonio further direction as to where to find his uncle.

  ◆◆◆

  It had taken a while to get the attention of the guard responsible for cell forty-five. He chatted in a low voice and listened to the hushed tones of a woman in a cell, further down, who had reached her pale hand through the bars, which the guard caressed, as the other clung onto her baby. The guard reached into the cell to fondle the gurgling child. The guard almost jumped out of his clothes when Antonio coughed at volume to get his attention. He scowled at the interruption, but opened the cell door of the cell and informed them that visiting time would soon be over. The guard gave them a candle to share which he lit on his torch.

  Both young men had to stoop low to enter the cell, as the weighty door of oak and iron creaked open, and the piercing smell of urine and old sweat assaulted
both men’s senses. Hermes coughed hard, and Antonio struggled to stifle his own as they crept into the hovel.

  In the corner lay a bedraggled man that looked half dead slumped against the rear cell wall with his legs sprawled in a listless sleep. Antonio raised the candle higher to cast its light further, and Hermes could make out a family resemblance in the fair skin and fair hair of both men. But there the similarity ended in Hermes' mind for the skin of the slumped man had none of Antonio’s glow and vigour, but the greenish grey pallor of a much weaker man. His hair lay greasy and lank on his shoulders in contrast to the pallid bald patch that crowned his head. The man wheezed as he slept, and Hermes could not help but shrink back.

  ‘I think he’s asleep’ he whispered, ‘are you sure you want to wake him? Maybe we can come again tomorrow?’ But Antonio’s voice wobbled out:

  ‘No, don’t be foolish’ he said as he used the candle to study his uncle as he slept, ‘but he’s so changed.' He turned to whisper to Hermes, 'he's not how I remember him at all’, and Antonio clenched his knuckle between his teeth. He moved closer to the sleeping figure and grimaced when he saw the poverty of his uncle’s state. ‘Nuncle’ he said, his face disturbed with emotion, ‘Nuncle Manfredo, it’s Antonio, your nephew.’ Antonio reached out, but his hand hesitated and trembled above his relative. The figure seemed to stir as he crept closer to the man’s side. Manfredo gave a ragged and phlegm-filled cough that that seemed to rattle through his ribcage as he awoke.

  He tried to rise from where he lay like an exhausted water bird trapped in an oil slick. Antonio then reached forward to take hold of his uncle’s bony arm and snatched up the damp straw from the floor to prop behind his uncle’s back. Antonio almost dragged his hand away when he felt the knobbles of Manfredo’s spine.

  ‘Nino’ his uncle wheezed, ‘is that really you?’ He said and focused his listless eyes on his nephew. Hermes saw a dim flame of recognition within Manfredo’s gaze as he looked upon Antonio, and the man gave a fragile smile. ‘It is you’ he said with another wheeze, and reached up a frail hand to his nephew’s face and stroked his blond hair, ‘it’s as if an angel has come to see me. You look just like my dear Bianca.' Manfredo paused before his hand slumped away from Antonio’s face.

  ‘Guard, guard’ Antonio shouted, ‘please fetch my uncle some water or wine. Anything: he doesn’t look like he’s eaten in weeks.' No response came. He took on a frantic expression. ‘Hermes fetch the guard and get him to bring us food and water: I’ll pay him; hurry!’ Hermes nodded, his heart quivering, but he obeyed Antonio and scrabbled backwards out of the cell to find the guard who had moved off.

  ‘Nuncle, nuncle’ said Antonio who struggled to keep his voice calm, ‘stay with me. My friend has gone to fetch food and water.' The man lay listless in Antonio’s arms for some time, not breathing, before he wheezed again, and opened his eyes to dull slits. Antonio's lungs emptied.

  ‘Forgive me’ said Manfredo, ‘I’m quite overcome. I’d thought I’d die here alone, and then you came…’ The man’s lip trembled before he buried his face into Antonio’s chest and then wept with quiet heaves. Antonio struck away his own tears for the second time that day - he was not accustomed to such displays of emotion.

  ‘It’s alright nuncle. Don’t worry we’ll get you out of here’ said Antonio who cradled his relative like a sick child. After some time, Hermes returned in haste with the guard, and with some dry bread, cheese, and a rough slice of ham. He held a pewter flagon in one hand. The guard stood by the door with his palm outstretched as Hermes crouched in. Antonio turned around, ‘give him this’ he said after reaching into his pocket and tossed Hermes a coin after he had laid the food down. Hermes went back to pay the guard who took the coin and then spread his empty palm again.

  ‘I think he gave wine?’ said Hermes who turned back with a worried look, and Antonio cursed under his breath before reached into his pocket again.

  ‘You have until the half of the clock before you have to leave’ said the guard after pocketing his second coin.

  ‘But that’s not enough time.’

  ‘If you choose to linger then I’ll have to lock you all in’ said the guard with a dry tone. Hermes spun with a wild look to Antonio who sniffed the wine flagon before lifting it to his uncle’s mouth.

  ‘We can’t STAY here’ he said as he clutched at himself and scanned the cell.

  ‘Shush, calm down’ Antonio said frowning, ‘we’ll not spend the night here.' Hermes' lips narrowed, but he nodded - as his shoulders tensed. Antonio rested the pewter flagon upon his Uncle’s dry chafed lips.

  ‘Drink this’ he said, ‘the guard has brought you wine.' Manfredo gave a weak nod and did as his nephew said, and drank a bit of the liquid which made him cough, but he continued to sip and then drink more fully. Antonio propped him up again, before he broke up the food into small pieces with his hands, and took great care to remove spots of mould that were on the bread. He sniffed at rest of the meal but found them to be good. Manfredo then began to eat with some passion once his nephew had started to nourish him, and before long both flagon and plate were empty.

  ‘You’ve grown into a good man’ said Manfredo, ‘strong and healthy’ he added with another cough, but this time the man rattled with more life.

  ‘What happened to you, Nuncle? Mother never said.' The man gave a wry smile.

  ‘Oh, my sister is a proud and pious woman. No doubt the news of me didn’t go down well.’

  ‘She can’t judge’ said Hermes with his brows raised. Antonio tried to ignore the comment. Manfredo gave a phlegmatic laugh that cost some air of his weak lungs.

  ‘Your friend’s quite sharp’ he said, the wine doing well to warm his bony frame, ‘but he’s right. However, I think I fell harder than she did.’

  ‘Why? How so Nuncle?’ Manfredo grimaced.

  ‘Argh, tis a ghastly story, so I’ll spare you much of it’ said the man with a listless sweep of his arm. ‘I'm ashamed to say it, but in short: I was ruined by the women, ruined by the Spanish, and then ruined by debt.’

  ‘How so Nuncle? Are you not still a man of faith? Tell me everything’ said Antonio, and Hermes crept closer to the pair as the man composed himself to tell his story.

  ‘My boy’ he said with a sigh and weak waft of his hand, and Antonio recognised the gesture as his own and his mother’s. ‘Did your mother tell you I followed Spanish missionaries to the Americas, seeking freedom and adventure?'

  'She said that you had gone to do God's work, but didn't say exactly where.' Manfredo shrugged.

  'I was foolish... I'm still foolish. After what felt like forever at sea we arrived at that New World to convert the "savages"’ he gave another rattling cough, ‘it was a mistake, a huge mistake.’ Manfredo wiped at his eyes, ‘who are we to call THEM savages?’ The man stared beyond the cell as if looking upon the ages. Antonio and Hermes waited for him to continue as Manfredo’s lip twitched and trembled again, ‘I loved her you know?’

  ‘Who?’ said the young men in unison.

  ‘Argh, a beautiful creature it pains me to remember. But she danced, oh yes, danced like the deer that leap about there.' Hermes noticed the lines of age and worry soften on Manfredo's face as he spoke about his love. 'She had a smile like ivory, you know? And hair...' Manfredo gestured to his knees to imply length, 'silken hair of raven black. I’d never seen anything like her’ he smiled, and his glassy eyes caught the candlelight. ‘I broke my vows with her many times, oh, many times: and I’d do so again if I had my strength’ he said with another cough. He propped himself up on one arm and used the back of the other to wipe at his eyes. He paused again, looking off into the distance as if witnessing something horrible. ‘I won’t say what they did to her, or the others, but it shook my faith in God.’ Anger rose in his voice, ‘it’s us that are the cruel ones: WE are the savages’ he said, his ribcage pulsating. ‘I returned to Spain on a ship laden with gold, and I wished, when halfway across the ocean, that we’d be wrecked or plundered, dr
owned and then forgotten in the waters - it's what we deserved - but we arrived safely. By the time I returned to these lands, I knew I was a broken man, and that God’s grace had left me.' Manfredo hung his head.

  ‘So, you drank and gambled to forget’ said Hermes entranced, intuiting the truth as if spun into his own life's reflection at Manfredo’s story.

  ‘Hermes, please, it’s not your place to comment on my family’s affairs’ said Antonio.

  The youth then clutched at his legs and put his chin on his knees. 'Sorry' he said. But Antonio's uncle smiled.

  ‘Don’t chide him - it's the truth’ said Manfredo, ‘and an honest man is a rare and noble thing. The world is full of lies, and especially so in Venice.’ Antonio nodded before he replied:

  ‘Nuncle, we must get you out of here. Your health is not good, and they starve you here.’

  ‘They don’t starve me’ he gruffed, before a dry laugh limped from the corners of his mouth, ‘I don’t eat. But seeing you has brought back my appetite.’

  ‘Nuncle, how much do you owe?’ Manfredo attempted a whistle, but the pitch eluded him,

  ‘I would tell all, and you're a young man, but I fear the shock would kill you’ Hermes rocked back and forth on his haunches.

  ‘Give me an idea Nuncle’ said Antonio, his face pained. But the man shook his head,

  ‘If you want to see me leave here then marry a rich woman, and use part of her portion to pay off my debts: that's what it would take’ he declared. Hermes stopped rocking in an instant as if frozen. Antonio looked at his uncle, but could not tell if he was joking.

  ‘Nuncle don’t tease’ he said scanning the man’s hollow face, ‘this is serious.' The man gave back a blank stare.

  ‘I don’t jest with you nephew, although my life has become a joke, for in truth that’s what it would take to free me from here.' Hermes looked ill as if struck with a fever, and his brow began to sweat.

  ‘Marry who?’ said Hermes trying, but failing, to keep his voice level, ‘he doesn’t know any women.' Manfredo gave Hermes a probing look for the first time, and read what he saw.