Beyond the Raging Flames (The Hermeporta Book 2)

by Hogarth Brown

  ‘Young man you miss the point: an eligible gentleman, like him, can’t be a courtier forever’ he said giving his nephew another glance to be sure of his assessment.

  ‘I don’t spend much time at court these days; Nuncle’ said Antonio with a sigh: images of the scandal caused by his and the Professor's escape from the Medici's Uffizi flashed into his mind, 'but I show foreign nobles around our fair land.’

  ‘No matter’ came his uncle’s flat reply, ‘a RICH man is treated like a prince be he at court, or in a tavern - remember that. And I don’t jest, dear nephew’ he continued, ‘my debts are bad, and a wealthy woman would be a blessing.' Hermes wriggled with his brow contorted, and wanted to speak but could not find the words. Manfredo eyed the youth: ‘and what of it young man?’ He said in Hermes’ direction, ‘is that not how the world turns? God may move the sun, but it is money that moves the world.' Manfredo heaved a sigh as if burdened by a truth he longed to avoid. 'As a man of the clergy', he continued, jabbing his bony finger in the air, 'I know nunneries stuffed to the arches with rich merchant’s daughters, that would grant half their daughter's fortunes for a titled man like Antonio.’

  ‘You’re no clergyman’ Hermes spat out. Antonio spun round.

  ‘Hermes, you’re impertinent’ said Antonio shocked, and the youth’s face clouded into darkness. Manfredo coughed again before we waved Hermes down.

  ‘Ha! Let the youth have his say, it makes no difference’ he crowed, ‘trust me, Nino, I’m sure you know as well as I that it’s hard for a man to prosper today without a wife. Ignoring my own, it’s important for you, and your mother’s future that you make a good marriage alliance.' Manfredo grasped at the air: 'bring wealth back to our noble name' he said as his eyes took on a peculiar fervour. Antonio rubbed at his cheekbones which had begun to colour and snatched a look at Hermes who tried hard to keep emotion out of his face.

  ‘Nuncle, I think you know my situation, and know the circumstances of my birth. I can’t make a good marriage if I’m, I’m…’ Antonio's voice trailed off. But Manfredo laid a gaunt hand on his nephew’s shoulder.

  ‘There are ways to fix that’ he said with increased verve, ‘I know people on the outside: I still have connections. I still know people of influence, people that can help us.’

  ‘Then why are you still here?’ Hermes burst forth breathing fast, his voice angular and hard.

  ‘SHUT UP!’ Shouted Manfredo enlivened, his eyes ablaze, ‘what does a youth like you know about the hardships of life?’ he said animated, before he wheezed again, ‘how long do you think you would last in here?’ He hissed. Antonio stared at Hermes in disbelief. Hermes looked down before grinding at the straw-covered floor with his shoe. Manfredo then let fly with a coughing fit that rattled his ribcage to the extent that Antonio thought his uncle would cough up a lung. He tapped and rubbed his Uncle’s back until his coughing fit subsided. When the man recovered, he started again in a low voice.

  ‘Nino’ he said clutching at his nephew’s wrists, while Hermes glared at the emaciated Manfredo and thought he saw all the contrivances of Bianca as he addressed his nephew, ‘I know as well as anyone the circumstances of your birth that so afflicts you and your proud, noble mother.' Hermes clenched his teeth, ‘but I also know of the remedy to solve the problem and a sure way to deliver us from this situation.' Antonio listened with intent, ‘you know, as well as I, that you can be made legitimate by a Cardinal’s decree.' Antonio bit his lips, 'I'm sure I'm not the first to tell you this.' Antonio nodded.

  ‘But Nuncle this is difficult. I don’t have the money for such a bribe, and mother lives but upon a stipend from her divided inheritance.' Manfredo gathered Antonio’s hands in his own like eggs and continued,

  ‘Nephew, this I know, and the knowledge pained me before I left for the Americas, but what I’m about to suggest does not require funds to get the job done.’ Antonio and Hermes both looked confused, ‘in which courts have you been a courtier? Before your new trade?’ He asked. Hermes leaned in to listen to the response as if Antonio were going to reveal the meaning of life.

  ‘I spent a brief time in Rome, but didn’t like it there, too corrupt and dangerous, and a short time in Mantua, but the house of Medici I liked the best.' Manfredo gazed into Antonio’s face, as all three men could hear the footsteps of the guard begin to echo and approach from far away.

  ‘We must hurry: the guard approaches’ said Manfredo agitated with a glance to the cell door, ‘perchance have you met a man on your travels called Pietro Orsini?’ The pair raised their attention like guard dogs.

  ‘Yes’ said Antonio with slow deliberation, and his uncle sighed and crossed at himself.

  ‘Oh, thank God’

  ‘You said you’d lost your faith in God’ fizzed Hermes.

  ‘Well, I just got it back’ spat Manfredo, ‘and stop interrupting the guard is almost upon us.’

  ‘Pietro is a Cardinal now, Nuncle’ said Antonio. The guard's footsteps drew closer to the cell,

  ‘I guessed he would be by now’ Manfredo continued, ‘in any case, there are things I know about him’ he said in a low voice, ‘things in his past that he doesn’t want others to know.' Hermes clenched his fists and beat them on his thighs.

  ‘Blackmail’ uttered Hermes through gritted teeth, ‘you want Antonio to use blackmail to get what you want.’ Antonio raised his hand to silence Hermes, but the guard yanked open the door and shouted into the cell:

  ‘It’s half of the clock now. Time to leave.' Antonio looked desperate as Hermes lurched forward towards the door.

  ‘Nuncle, tell me, what is it you know about Orsini?’ He said, his breath troubled, but his uncle withdrew within himself when he saw the guard and hesitated.

  ‘I cannot say for now’ he whispered shaking his head, ‘lest my news is spent by someone else.' Manfredo threw a glance at the guard before whispering: 'tell no one of even a suggestion of what I know, for if you do the game is lost for the both of us.’

  'But what is it that you've learned, Nuncle?'

  ‘Hurry up!’ said Hermes reaching back to tug at Antonio, ‘he’ll lock us in here’ he added as the guard jangled his keys.

  ‘Nuncle, please’ said Antonio who could not keep the anguish out of his voice. Manfredo trembled, shaking his head, as he pushed Antonio toward Hermes and the cell door.

  ‘Come back tomorrow’ he said as the guard bellowed again, ‘and I’ll complete my story.' Hermes yanked at Antonio’s foot. He looked back at his uncle’s pale, withered face as the candlelight dimmed in his hand - faltering nearing its end as the wick burned down to a stump. The candle blew out as Hermes dragged Antonio away before the guard slammed the cell door shut. ‘Fair thee well’ said Manfredo’s voice floating between the cell bars, ‘fair thee well.'

  ‘He’ll be alright’ said Hermes before he tugged Antonio along by his arm. The two were escorted part of the way by the guard who waved them off in the direction of his colleague that stood at The Bridge of Sighs. Hermes did not turn back once, as he strode forward resolute, but Antonio turned many times to peer back into the darkness. The youth hurried along the passageways as if escaping a Minotaur, following his ribbon of memory, before emerging into the fresh air.

  Once beyond the Ducal Palace Hermes filled his lungs with the fresh briny air as if it were a life-saving medicine. The pair stood in a shadowed alcove and saw that Venice had performed a feat of magic to turn itself from a city of watercolours, into one of oils in the rich deepening light. Every hue of the environment had intensified, and every building seemed like a prop on a stage-set as the canal waters threw up pink or green light upon the stones and woodwork. The street oil lamps were lit, as the city had darkened, and looked like flickering orbs of gold and copper leaf against the lapis sky, managing, just, to illuminate the ground with their greasy glow. Hermes lapped at the air as if tasting freedom after a prolonged confinement, and turned to look at Antonio who still hung back, his head bowed, with foreboding.

 
‘He’ll be alright’ repeated Hermes, and gave a smile that strained at the edges, ‘we’ll come back soon.' Antonio turned away to give another lingering look at the Ducal Palace,

  ‘I feel like I’ve failed’ said Antonio, ‘we wasted too much time getting here. We should have walked faster.' Hermes paused to gaze at Antonio who looked quite grey in the sultry light. He stood to his side and took his chance to throw his arm over Antonio’s shoulder. He squeezed the firm flesh, and gave the man a shake to encourage him:

  ‘He will be alright. He’s a strong man like you’ said Hermes, but his voice did not sound convincing.

  'We should go back tomorrow as soon as the prison opens’ he said, but Hermes' face fell before he stretched out his palms.

  ‘Won’t your mother worry if we don’t return? You know what she’s like’ he said. The older man remained silent and gave another slow look back. Hermes wrung his hands. ‘What about Illawara? She’ll miss me too, you know?' Antonio slashed his hand through the air.

  ‘She can wait’ he said, ‘and so can mother. She manages just fine when I’m away.' Hermes rubbed his brow and tried to think, but Antonio continued, ‘I must find out what he knows about Orsini.’

  ‘You don’t think what he said is true do you?’

  ‘Of course, it is’ said Antonio putting his hands on his hips, ‘why would he lie? He’s my uncle.’

  Seemed desperate to me Hermes thought to himself, chewing back the words before they could escape. He played at the ground with his foot, before he looked over the Grand Canal, and heard the melodies of the Gondoliers that bobbed and sang upon the water. Antonio raked his hand through his hair as if to shake off the doubts that had settled there. ‘It’s true’ Antonio continued, ‘a Cardinal can legitimise me: everyone knows that.’

  ‘What for?’ said Hermes, twisting his wrists into a gesture, ‘just so you can marry some rich girl you don’t know, or LIKE, that’s been shut up in a convent: what kind of life is that?’ Hermes looked Antonio square in the face. And it seemed then to him that the youth was a grown up, a mature man, and that he was a boy. He stretched his arms towards the city.

  ‘I don't choose the times’ he said frowning, ‘and if a man cannot make his fortune: then he must marry it.' The youth eyeballed Antonio as if he were a toothless whore. He then saw the colour return to Antonio’s face as the man clenched his hands into fists - nostrils flared. ‘I’m almost twenty-eight’ he shouted, flinging his arms out to the sides, ‘how old are you?’ Hermes paused for some time as if trying to remember something long forgotten.

  ‘Seventeen’ he said, after some time, as if it were an accomplishment, ‘yes, I’m seventeen.'

  Antonio then covered his mouth to hide his smirk before he burst out laughing. Hermes raised his chin to the gale of Antonio’s laughter. He pointed at the youth.

  ‘And you think you can lecture me? A seventeen-year-old who's barely lived. What would you know about struggle? What would you know about, about…’ Emotion ambushed his voice, ‘what could you know about a restricted life?' Antonio stood, shaking, with his face flushed crimson down to his neck. Hermes took on a serious tone:

  ‘More than you could ever know’ he said, holding Antonio's gaze before he stepped out of the alcove, and looked across the canal to the Gondoliers that sang songs of love to their passengers. Hermes closed his eyes to breathe in the air, and let his head rock back and sway, to and fro, in the melody of the voices that embraced him from across the water. He reflected on his nineteen years imprisoned in an animal's body, in a country he did not know before a sensation of freedom overwhelmed him. Hermes strode over to snatch Antonio in a fierce bear hug, took Antonio’s surprised face in his hands, and kissed him with all the passion he had.

  Antonio felt a bolt rip through him before he stood back quite amazed. Nothing was said for some time as they stood in the shadows of the alcove. The youth’s eyes shone as the Gondoliers voices echoed over the water. Antonio then stumbled as if drunk and he pressed forward again, but Antonio raised his hand to stop him. The older man composed himself, and then straightened his back:

  ‘I think we should go back to the Phoenix’ he said at last.

  Hermes, surprised by his own boldness, then gave a modest nod, and his heart pounded as the two walked back to the tavern in silence.

  ◆◆◆

  When the pair crossed the threshold of the Golden Phoenix, they emerged into a torrent of raucous laughter, foul jokes, and merriment. The populace of the tavern had increased threefold till the floor could be seen but in glimpses: so crammed in were the people. It seemed to Hermes as if the entire community around the Ghetto and the nations of the known world had squeezed into one place. The warm air swam thick with the smells of overheated bodies, food, and wine. Some of the men in the crowd clapped out a simple rhythm, and some others started to sing the verses of a bawdy tune, that all within seemed to know, united in drunkenness and the release of cares after a long day of trade. Hermes' eyes became saucers.

  ‘It’s heaving in here’ he said.

  ‘It’s a feast day’ said Antonio speaking for the first time since the long walk from the Doge’s palace. ‘Let’s get something to drink’ he said trying to raise his voice over the din and clamour. Antonio and Hermes had to push through the crush to try and flag down an Inn worker at the creaking bar but were invisible in the crowd as the people stood five deep.

  ‘It’s no use’ shouted Hermes, ‘let’s try to stand next to a table’ he said, as the Inn workers navigated between heaving bodies and scurried their way to the sitting guests while carrying drinks and food. Antonio nodded, but no tables were free as they struggled through the huddle. The chants and the crowd’s music grew louder as the raunchy song reached its chorus, and then a roar erupted as a wine faced man clambered up from his seat to start dancing on his table. Hermes' face dropped open:

  ‘Is that your father?’ said the youth as the man wearing dark clothes swung his arms and tapped his feet to the pulse of the music. Antonio’s eyes bulged when he recognised the older version of himself sway about his platform to the howls of laughter from the appreciative crowd. Antonio clapped his hand to his forehead, and Hermes struggled not to laugh.

  Then, as if possessed, Giovanni spun around from where he stood to call out to a person that had begun to emerge, via a door, onto an upper gallery joined to a long flank of steps:

  ‘Allow me to introduce the Duchess Vincenza da Varrotti’ Giovanni exclaimed, almost losing his balance for a moment, before he flung his arms up, in tribute, toward the direction of a woman, in spectacular dress, who seemed to be well over six feet tall. The crowd fell silent when the woman lifted her lute that she held by her side, swung its strap over her shoulder, and stood to face her audience from her elevated position. The tall woman stepped more into the light and glittered from her vantage point. Her gold brocade shimmered above the deep purple of her silk and damask dress laced with jewels.

  The hushed crowd muttered to itself and faces turned to each other to gossip, but fell silent again when the woman strummed upon her lute and began to sing. The sparse, melancholy notes she plucked seemed to fall from her lute like winter rain to chill the spines of those that listened below.

  'Let me die' she sang,

  'And who do you think can comfort me in thus harsh fate, in thus great suffering?

  Let me die...'

  Hermes and Antonio stood transfixed, like the rest of the crowd, as the woman sang on with the high resonant tone of an opera singer, and crushed hearts as she walked along the gallery - pouring out Ariadne's Lament. She paused to clasp her hands in prayer, gazing upward as if begging for salvation from her wretched life, stilt-like, upon her elevated Chopin’s while she continued her haunting verse. No one breathed, the mood so changed, and all stood still as she progressed along the balcony, her head lifted, and her hair roped with pearls, as her high notes pierced the hearts of her audience that stood, rapt, and bled with longing and admiration.


  'Oh Theseus, oh my Theseus!' she wept, her tears catching the light before falling on the crowd below,

  'Yes, I still call you mine for mine you are,

  Although you flee, cruel one,

  Far from my eyes...'

  Vincenza advanced, slow, graceful, and siren-like, down the stairs, faltering and pausing, before launching phrases of dramatic passion or whispering words of faltering anguish, on her way towards Giovanni’s table. The crowd squeezed and shrunk back to let her perfumed countenance pass - she: lost in the sorrow of her song and blind to those who suffered with her. It seemed the room had still not respired as they watched her - a tomb-like silence had smothered them all. Vincenza eventually reached Giovanni’s table and seemed to die of grief as she ended her song: before wilting on the table top till her torso lay upon it. No one spoke, but sniffles itched their way through the crowd, and people wiped at their eyes. Giovanni, wholly moved, knelt to Vincenza who seemed to have died of a broken heart, and, as if to lay his love to rest, he planted a trembling kiss on Vincenza's forehead before the throng, as if released from an enchantment, sighed and burst into sustained applause.

  Vincenza revived again with the roars and cheers, before standing, beaming a smile and bowing several times, like some mythical bird, in the renewed din. She bowed once more before she called up to the balcony over the noise:

  ‘Signore da Barretto: you are needed’ she said. The regulars in the crowd tittered with anticipation, although nothing happened for a while, before, in a flash, a Bonnet macaque, dressed as the Doge, sprang up from the upper floor to clamber along the gallery bannister.

  Antonio and Hermes took in a sharp breath, as did many others not familiar with the sight, and laughter began to ripple among the people as the diligent money made a balance, stretching out his delicate white and gold robes before he walked down the last stretch of the long bannister. The animal took off his Doge’s cap to reveal a long fringe of centre parted hair. The crowd laughed and clapped as the creature gave a well-trained bow, uncannily human, bared its teeth and, for many, he looked like the Doge of Venice shrunken into miniature. The little beast then leapt from table to table, cap extended, to collect coins from the crowd. The monkey rattled his hat wherever he went and, with one paw, and jangled any new coins tossed into his vessel that fell like hailstones of gold and silver.