Beyond the Raging Flames (The Hermeporta Book 2)

by Hogarth Brown

  Orsini reached into his pocket, and for the first time, Illawara noticed the large ruby that flashed upon his finger. He retrieved a small ring,

  ‘Wear this’, he said placing the gold signet ring, engraved with a shield and a rose, upon her smallest finger, ‘it used to belong to my mother.' Illawara took in a stab of breath, like the others, and clasped her free hand to her chest. The rest looked on agog at what they were seeing and hearing. ‘My father gave it to her when she joined the Orsini family, and I want you to have it. She said it always brought her luck’ he added. The Cardinal’s eyes looked tender, but he managed, just, to maintain the tone of his voice. ‘Wear this as a sign of my commitment to you, for you have brought this…' His lip trembled, 'this man back to life.' A lump rose in Dondo's throat.

  And with that he made a sign of the cross, squeezed and kissed her hand again, his own heart trembling, for he knew his words to be true.

  Illawara blushed from her forehead to her bodice as he stayed knelt for his small token and gesture had eclipsed all the gifts she had received before. She looked sidelong, for a moment, to Bianca who stared on with an empty face and burgeoning eyes.

  ‘No man has ever said that to me in my whole life’ said Bianca, and she seemed, to Illawara, to be watching a playback of her years as she gazed through the pair to a world beyond. The maid then placed the Malmsey wine on a table and left the room. Dondo looked on dumbfounded that a man of such rank could so humble himself in full view of all.

  ‘May I call again?’ said Orsini, his voice deep and rich, and Illawara nodded with nothing else to say, for her head filled and emptied itself with a myriad of thoughts. Orsini stood again with majestic effort - but somewhat giddy upon unsteady legs. He made a bow to Illawara and the room before he turned and spied the Malmsey which he then took up and downed in a gulp. The others looked on in a daze.

  He then left the living room and boomed his voice up the hall toward the kitchen,

  ‘MY HAT AND CLOAK’, he said. rodent-like scurrying came from the kitchen before Grizelda approached Orsini with his garments outstretched as if to protect herself from the heat of a fire. Without another word, he put on his hat, swept on his cloak and left.

  The sound of the door closing seemed to echo through the house. Bianca, the mistress of all, turned her body like a millstone towards Illawara.

  ‘We need to talk’ she said.

  Chapter 16

  Love Unrequited

  Venice, The Golden Phoenix, Saturday, December 2nd, 1611

  Giovanni untangled himself from Vincenza’s embrace, within their sheets at the Golden Phoenix, and got out of bed to stand, yawn and stretch. His shoulders clicked, and he clapped his jaws together to wake up his face and scratched the hair on his bottom. He then ruffled at his chest hair before he sniffed his armpits, and seemed satisfied with his nose’s conclusion. Vincenza yawned too, awoken by the standing of her lover, and pulled her hair away from her face, and wondered what she saw in the man. He bent down to pick up his shirt from the floor which caused him to break wind, and the pair then laughed at the sound.

  ‘That’s what Bianca’s going to do when she sees me’ he chortled, ‘and the same again when I tell her the news.’

  ‘I’m sure she will, and I wish I could be there to see it’ said Vincenza making theatrical wafts in the air to disperse the gust, ‘but keep your mask on to be certain of her surprise.’

  ‘It seems you worry her skirts won’t lift with shock if I don’t keep myself hidden?’

  ‘It’s not her skirts I’m worried about.’

  ‘Come, come, my star, my blessed angel of heaven. It’s been over twenty years since I’ve seen her, and no woman can hold a candle to you.’

  ‘It’s not her I’m worried about’ she said, her face sardonic. Giovanni paused and then laughed.

  ‘You don’t mean the girl, do you?’ Vincenza crossed her arms.

  ‘People speak of little else in the tavern, my love. You can play the fool, but you’re not deaf.' He let out a whistle before he clambered back onto the bed.

  ‘It’s not like you to be jealous’ he said, tickling her neck, Vincenza squirmed and giggled. She then howled when he blew a raspberry between her bare breasts. ‘No one, my love’, said Giovanni, strumming his fingers along her arm ‘could EVER eclipse you’ and he kissed his lover on her mouth.

  ‘That’s right’ she smiled, ‘and don’t ever forget it’ she said before she kicked him out of bed.

  ◆◆◆

  Giovanni had splashed water on his face, ran wet fingers through his hair, and then dressed in haste, before he then took up a simple mask of dark leather, and put the rolled documents he wished to present to Bianca in his inner pocket. He then saw for a moment, in his mind’s eye, when he gave over the last bag of coins to an expectant hand, and received the papers some doors down from the magistrate. After leaving his room he then took a free breakfast, given to him by the master of the establishment, of scrambled eggs, bread and cheese. Giovanni ate his fill and tapped his outer pockets to feel for his money. He checked the humble contents of the pouch, he would have to ask Vincenza for another loan but had more than enough for the coach ride uptown. Giovanni, keen to make at least some positive impression, flagged down the best-dressed carriage driver he could find, and he did not have to finish his sentence describing where to go before the driver said ‘I know where that is’, and lashed his horse till they sped along.

  He rocked backwards as the carriage lurched forward, but chuckled to himself and tapped the papers in his pocket. His breath clouded the glass of the carriage door, and he used his fist to rub away the window fog and reveal a city frigid with cold. The carriage passed swift through the streets populated with figures hunched against the wind, and the sleet that mixed itself with the mangled leaves that were freed, for a moment, from the mulch of rotting vegetation strewn about the cobbles.

  ‘I hate winter’ he said eyeing the grey-brown baldness of the trees, before he flexed his fingers that ached and became stiff when the wind blew off the Venetian lagoon. He cupped his hands and blew into them, and the heat of his breath eased the joints that cringed at the cold. ‘Why did I not buy myself some gloves?’ he said alone to himself in the carriage. He then remembered the food, wine and frivolities he had spent upon Vincenza, from Illawara’s pawned gifts, and smiled. ‘She’s worth every Carlino’ He said to himself, thinking of his lover, as his carriage progressed to his destination. Giovanni got out of his carriage, and waved off the gesture the driver gave to an upper window,

  ‘I know this place well’ he said, not looking at the driver, ‘there’s no need to show me: I’ve not come to prostrate myself in front of the girl’ he added with a waft of dismissal.

  ‘But many have, Gio’ came the familiar voice of the coach driver, ‘and the men say she would shame a duchess - so grand she is.'

  ‘Is that you, Pedro?’ said Giovanni with astonishment, craning his head to take a proper look at the man. ‘Is business that good? I didn’t recognise you in those clothes.' The driver gave a grin like the fingerboard of a piano - so many of his teeth were missing - and laughed.

  ‘Yes, Gio, it is. And as for her…’ Pedro threw a kiss up towards the window, ‘I, and the others, would like to thank the damsel for the extra business. I would go up there myself if I had the time.' Pedro then slapped his hand on his thigh, ‘and as for these I collected them today’ he said ruffling at his new elegant garments that were good against the cold.

  ‘So, I see’ said Giovanni with approval, ‘I hear she’s a beauty, but there is not a maiden in the Republic that can match my woman’ he said, puffing out his chest. Pedro cackled.

  ‘That’s not what I’ve heard.’ The driver prodded at the air with his gloved hand, ‘that one, I’m told, has the face of an angel, the mind of Galileo, and the tongue of the Devil. She’ll empty your pockets and spit you out.'

  ‘I doubt that’ declared Giovanni with knotted brows, and shoved his carriage fa
re into the leather palmed hand of the driver. Pedro dismissed the irritation of his friend with the shake of his head, grinned again, and turned his coach around to head back into town. Antonio’s father made a rude gesture behind Pedro as his carriage sped away.

  ‘Greasy Spaniard’, he said through clenched teeth before he put on his leather mask, and walked to the door across the shaded street: confident Dondo would have seen him.

  Dondo peeped out of the communal door like a squirrel and approached Giovanni as if he were a sleeping fox. ‘Allow me to introduce myself’ he said in rehearsed fashion.

  ‘There’s no need to pretend, Dondo, you know who it is.’

  ‘Then why the mask?’

  ‘I have news that I wish to deliver to the mistress of the house in person.' Giovanni reached into his inner pocket and drew out the documents there like an enchanted sword. Dondo nodded.

  ‘You have the final word, but she’ll be surprised to see you’ he said, before his body slumped somewhat.

  ‘Do not worry yourself’ said Giovanni clapping his hand on Dondo’s shoulder, ‘I don’t wish to stay, but I do wish to surprise. You’ve looked after her well. But it should be I that delivers the news: I owe her that.' Dondo looked up to Giovanni from where he stood and envied the man’s extra height before they passed across the road and up the stairs that the man had not walked upon in decades. Grizelda greeted him with a smile from behind the door. He recognised the skinny woman, who had gained more grey hairs from when he last saw her.

  ‘Grizelda’ he said, lifting his mask for a moment, before flinging his arms wide. The maid clapped her hands to her mouth and then fell into his embrace. Giovanni prodded at a shoulder blade he could feel through her dress, ‘you’ve gained weight’ he said, smiling at her hollowed face, ‘I’ve never seen you look so well.' The maid gave a bashful smile and allowed herself to be warmed by the lie before she dismissed it and asked what she could get him.

  Giovanni asked Dondo if he still kept Ouzo. The handyman nodded, and Grizelda made her way to the kitchen with his overcoat and hat that felt chilled to the touch.

  When out of earshot he turned to Dondo. ‘Does she not eat?’ He whispered to him, ‘she’s as thin as a birch twig.' The handyman rubbed at his face, but could not wipe away the sad expression that had sprung there.

  ‘She was always lean, as you know’ said Dondo, ‘but she’s got worse since Illawara came to stay.'

  ‘I see’ he said, shaking his head, ‘some women can be like that: spending so much time hating each other - gets you nowhere.' Dondo sighed as he looked down the hallway and heard Grizelda getting glasses ready.

  ‘But I can’t blame her’ said Dondo with concern, ‘of all the suitors that have come to this house, not a single man has looked upon her with favour.’ Giovanni shook his head as if moved to his core.

  ‘I’m not surprised’ he said with a theatrical shrug, ‘but maybe if she ate more she could grow some hips: no man wants to cuddle to a broomstick in weather like this.' Antonio’s father then hugged himself and rubbed at his arms to ease off the chill.

  Dondo blushed at the visitor’s words, shoved the front door shut, and felt a stab of sadness and anger for Grizelda.

  ‘It’s not her fault that she’s plain and poor’ he said, ‘there can be much more to a woman than her beauty.' Giovanni laughed, flapping his hand through the air.

  ‘I guess short men see the world differently?’

  Dondo’s eyes froze over at his comments, his mouth stiffened, but with a clenched jaw, he could make no reply.

  I’ll let this rat have his say before he leaves thought Dondo. Antonio’s father complemented the improvements to the house and suggested the same money gathering trick could be repeated with some other pretty girl if Bianca found another one. Dondo felt a knot form in his stomach as he listened to the man. The visitor then fussed with his clothes, replacing his mask, before Dondo opened the door to the living room.

  Giovanni then leapt into the space as if escaping from the circus, with a bang on the floorboards, and made a sweeping arc of his arms like a matador in front of Bianca and Illawara. Both women looked startled, like swallows in flight, with their arms outstretched and their mouths agape.

  ‘What’s the meaning of this?’ shouted Bianca outraged. The intruder paused for dramatic effect.

  ‘No man could ever forget that voice’ said Giovanni, who then threw one fist to his hip and raised his masked chin in mock defiance. Illawara looked to her mistress incredulous.

  ‘Giovanni, is that you?’ said Bianca, with her mottled hand, clasped to her heart. The man whipped off his mask, and she screamed with recognition. Illawara baulked at her shrill exclamation. Bianca stood up and then sat down. Clenched her fists, and then gripped her chair. She attempted speech a few times but failed. She shook and turned the colour of beetroot. Giovanni looked on in triumph, running his fingers through his salt and pepper hair as Dondo squirmed at Bianca’s reaction.

  ‘Have you nothing to say, Bianca? My Goddess. For time has not touched you at all.' Illawara almost laughed at the man’s complement as the mistress wrestled with herself. The lines on her plucked forehead deepened and the multitude of others quivered, but Illawara, too familiar with Bianca’s antics, had yet to see the woman so agitated.

  ‘You, you…’ She said, with her teeth bared and her eyes starting to well up, ‘you come here after all these years, and stand there expecting me to run into your arms?' Giovanni stood still and raised his hands outwards like a Magus blessing a field. Illawara scanned the room to try and read the faces of the others.

  ‘Who is this man?’ she said, more accustomed to men calling on her. Bianca’s lips trembled, and she wiped her finger under her wet nose. She fidgeted and held her scrunched up hanky in her fist.

  ‘This is Antonio’s father’ Bianca said, her voice choked.

  ‘Oh’ she said, before noting the resemblance between father and son. So, this is the man she still loves she thought, and she looked at Bianca’s pink face that had begun to run with tears. Dondo stood still and looked at the intruder with his face pensive and his lips like a streak of chalk on a board.

  Giovanni walked towards Bianca with his arms open. She clung to her chair, while he stepped forward, as if she were sinking on a ship tossed upon a raging sea. She turned her body away from him as he drew closer, when one step away from her, Illawara saw him reach into his pocket and draw forth a scroll fastened with an official red wax seal.

  ‘I bring news of our SON’ he said. With those words, anything left of Bianca’s resistance broke, and she rushed forward to collapse into a sobbing heap within her former lover’s arms. Dondo grimaced. Illawara had never yet seen Bianca so overcome, and she could see no trace of the actress that so commanded the attention of those that lived with her. Illawara looked again at Dondo, who seemed nauseous to witness the embrace.

  Grizelda entered the room in silence with a bottle of Ouzo and five glasses and began to pour out hefty measures of the liquid unprompted. She handed Dondo and Illawara a glass each before herself, and all three sipped and looked on at the emotional reunion as if contemplating a play.

  The mistress, losing herself, kissed and fondled at the face of Giovanni. He struggled at first, but then gave in to the embrace when he realised Bianca had gained physical strength over the years, and that he could not prize himself free.

  He walked her back to her chair - her feet atop his - like a little girl dancing with her father. His leg’s movements mirrored by hers before he leaned her back, and down into the chair. He tried to stand up straight but could not until he plucked off her hands that clung to him like seaweed.

  Giovanni’s voice began to shake with emotion: Bianca’s outpouring an antidote to his mirth. He lifted the scroll above his head. ‘Rejoice’ he declared, in a wavering tone, ‘for our son, Antonio, and his companion will soon be freed from jail.' Dondo smiled, and Grizelda cheered, and Bianca cried again but with more joy. Illawara closed her ey
es and took a deep breath. Soon this will all be over she thought.

  ‘My prayers have been answered’ said Bianca looking incredulous at Giovanni, who then took up the glass of Ouzo offered to him by the maid. They raised a toast. Illawara tried to be cheerful but inwardly she sighed with relief.

  I don’t have to see the suitors anymore she thought. But she fondled the gold signet ring from Orsini, which fit her so well. She thought of Hermes, and looked to the back of the room where her father’s carry case sat. Dad will come for the case, I’m sure of it, and when he does we all have to get out of here thought Illawara.

  ‘When will our son be released?’ said Bianca, dabbing at her face.

  ‘In two weeks.’

  ‘So long to wait, but that's before Christmas, praise Mary’ she added, ‘but how will we ever repay you?’

  Giovanni smiled.

  ‘You owe me nothing’ he said, ‘besides, is it not this damsel here that’s the patron of our happiness?’ he said with a gesture to Illawara.

  ‘Of course, how foolish of me’ said Bianca, ‘the funds could never have come without you.'

  Illawara nodded, and reflected on her adventures thus far, and thought how on Earth she had ended up in such a situation.

  ‘Thank you’ said Illawara, with a regal nod ‘but the suitors will not have been aware of our goal, and that it's reached an end.’ She wafted her wrist, ‘what shall we tell them now that Hermes and Antonio are to be freed from jail?’

  Everyone in the room stared at Illawara as if she had just spoken in Arabic.

  ‘You take the husband of your choice, surely?’ said Giovanni perplexed, before he gestured around the room, ‘these gifts here have not only paid for our son’s freedom, they’ve also paid for your dowry.' Illawara's face hardened like concrete.

  ‘That’s not what I had planned.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’ve no intention to marry’ she said, rising in her seat. Grizelda rolled her eyes and topped up the Ouzo in everyone’s glasses. ‘Why should marriage, and the Bible, be the only things I’m allowed to think about?’ Illawara prepared for a fight.