‘A moment, please’ said Antonio, eyes wide, to Orsini’s Henchman. Antonio moved them off to the side, as many of the city folk continued to congregate on the marshland for Illawara’s burning. ‘Good man’ said Antonio to the Henchman, who scoffed at the address, ‘I have a letter of great importance for his Eminence, the Cardinal Orsini, to sign.’ The Henchman eyeballed Antonio with his watery gaze.
‘What business have you to be asking a Cardinal of Orsini’s stature to be signing anything?’ He said. Antonio swallowed hard as he looked at the hollowed face of the Henchman, that seemed devoid of all feeling - as if made of wax.
‘If the Cardinal signs the letter I have, Illawara will be pardoned, and you, good man, will be rewarded.’ The Henchman guffawed.
‘You’re not in a position to pardon anything’ said the rakish man, looking Antonio up and down, ‘not even his Eminence can pardon this, for it’s desired by the Pope himself. Show me this letter.’ With hesitant movement, Antonio produced the scribed vellum with its official stamps and markings. The Henchman read the contents of the legitimacy document and began to laugh: a laugh far drier than the wood under the scaffold. ‘You have friends in high places’ he said, ‘but he’ll not see this letter - the girl has caused him trouble enough.’ Antonio looked panicked.
‘But this is an official document; this is not to be trifled with. It has the power to save Illawara’s life, and free me of an unbearable burden’ he said, searching the angular face in front of him for compassion.
The Henchman shoved the letter back into Antonio’s hands.
‘A woman’s life is not worth the Papacy.’
‘What is it to you?’ said Antonio, stepping closer to the thin man, and trying to intimidate him with his broader physique, ‘the girl has done you no harm.’
‘Your memory is short’ corrected the Henchman, and then Antonio remembered the mighty blow that Illawara had given him when she copper panned his head. ‘Do what you want with your foolish letter, his Eminence will not hear of it from me’ said the Henchman, resting his palm upon his dagger, ‘that girl will burn, and he will see it, and if you approach me again I’ll run you through with this dagger.’ Antonio stepped back, with haste, and allowed the Henchman to take his leave. The younger man stood back, forlorn, and watched the Henchman blend into the crowd: his patient efforts in tatters.
◆◆◆
Cook heard the kitchen door knocked with an intensity that caused a chill to strike through her. She knew who would be standing on the other side before she opened it. She gathered herself as she moved across the stones of the kitchen floor, and took a deep breath before she opened the door. There the Henchman stood with his cloak blowing in the wind, with the air of a malevolent spirit.
‘I must speak with his Eminence, I’ve grave news for him’, he said, but Cook did not step aside.
‘What’s going on?’ she said, ‘I hear a stranger’s voice on the upper floors, and his Eminence forbids me to enter his dwelling.’ The Henchman tried to step past Cook, but her figure was too broad to pass, ‘he takes up extra food to his room’ she continued, with concern, ‘yet I know that he eats almost nothing and doesn't sleep - that much he shares. All day he paces about questioning someone that is with him. But he ignores me and shuts me out.' Cook was on the verge of tears. 'He only has time for the birds and that donkey, when it is I that feeds and looks after him’ she said, jabbing at herself in the breast. The Henchman attempted to pass again, but she blocked his way. The Henchman raised his sinewed arms in exasperation.
‘Enough of your grumbling, woman, let me pass. I have important words for his Eminence that is not your privilege to hear.’ Cook set her double chin.
‘I will not’ she protested, and barricaded the door by spreading her arms and her legs akimbo. ‘I demand to know what is happening in this house, and I shall tell its true master what’s been going on here when he returns.’
The Henchman scowled till his eyes narrowed down to wrinkled lines that seemed scratched along his face with a fork, before he ducked, like a ferret, under Cook’s skirts to breach her barricade and enter the house. She screamed with surprise before she turned to hurl abuse at the intruder. The Henchman heard her and paused at the base of the stairs and drew his dagger. Her advance halted when she saw the dark blade. To her, it seemed the warm air of the kitchen had left the space. The Henchman extended his dagger and gestured at Cook's groin.
‘Obstruct me again, you fat hog, and I will stab you there and turn that meat into sausages’ spat the Henchman. The woman gasped, held herself and stepped back. The Henchman sliced his dagger through the air at her before he ascended the stairs in silent haste.
◆◆◆
‘Where on God’s Earth have you been!’ Exclaimed Cardinal Orsini, after he unlocked the bedroom door to let the Henchman in. The Henchman entered the room with a listless air as if consumed with fatigue.
‘I’m sorry. Forgive me your Eminence’ he sighed, with a limp apology, ‘but I have been laid low with a fever this past week, I felt death hover near me, and I was quite unable to rise from my bed.’ The Professor gave the Henchman a sickly look as if to say to both men that only he had valid claims to being ill. The Henchman, as poker-faced as he was, struggled to contain his surprise at how much the Professor had depleted since his absence. He looked at the man stretched out under his blanket, and at his sallow skin dotted with boils.
Across the road Lucia pressed herself close to her window, peeping out, after she heard the banging of Cook’s kitchen door, and witnessed the Henchman’s audacious entrance into the house.
‘So, the snake returns to poison its master’ she muttered under her breath, and waited to see what would happen next. She spread out her Tarot cards upon the side table. She drew The Tower, The Wheel of Fortune and the Chariot - her cards spoke of a dramatic turn of events.
The Cardinal’s face puzzled at his Henchman.
‘I’ve never known you once to be ill’ said Orsini, ‘although you seem friendly with death, malady seems not to affect you.’ The Henchman gritted his teeth and did not reply to his patron. But the Cardinal did not dwell on his observations as he wrung his hands together and traversed the room. His brow undulated as his face lay wrought with contrasting expressions. ‘Do speak up man. I’ve been on the edge of my reason: at my wit’s end.’ Orsini fidgeted. ‘What word have you of Illawara? What was the outcome in court? Has she protested her innocence? Is she harmed?’ The Henchman stepped away in silence. The Professor then watched him conjure a sombre expression. The man bowed before he replied. The Cardinal searched his messenger’s face.
‘Your Eminence, I bring thee bad news. The damsel confessed her crimes to all present at the courthouse, and the magistrate took hard with her.’ The Cardinal gasped before his Henchman could continue, clapping his hands over his ears and shaking his head in disbelief. The Professor grimaced and felt a lump rise in his throat. ‘She was sentenced to a burning, on the hallowed ground near Saint Anthony’s, just shy of the city gates - they could be lighting the fire as we speak.’ The Cardinal let fly with a howl, like a wounded animal. Cook clutched her bosom at the outcry, as she listened from the mid-flight of the stairs - the closest she dared go.
‘How could this have happened? The folly of it, madness, desperation or heartbreak must have driven her to this, and made her confess to such a charge’ said Orsini, his eyes beginning to turn red. He glared for a moment at the Professor who looked hopeless. ‘She must have lost her mind with grief?’ Orsini hurled a pewter cup across the room, where it cracked the plaster of the far wall before it crashed to the floor. ‘I know in my old bones that girl is not a WITCH’ shrieked the Cardinal, ‘and you could not rise from your bed to tell me of this turn of events? A situation as grave as this? It must have been the Devil that kept you? Only the Devil could contrive this.’
The Professor looked at the distraught Cardinal that paced about, pulling at his forehead and rubbing the back of his neck. The
Professor then gazed over at the Henchman who struggled to conceal his satisfaction. He did not want to see the Henchman win.
‘Your Eminence, there is still time’ said Winston who then struggled up to a seated position, ‘if you trust me, you can still save her.’ Orsini turned to him, daring to hope, before he wiped at his eyes.
‘The situation is lost, your Eminence’ muttered the Henchman after a confused look at the Professor, ‘have you not grown too attached to the damsel?’
‘Damn, you. She's innocent’ Orsini replied, his chest heaving.
‘But the fires will be lit as we speak. Why not pray for her soul instead, your Eminence?' The Henchman stepped towards his client as if filled with pity. 'Pray for her. Surely it’s too late - let her go.’ The Cardinal stood still, glared at his Henchman, and then looked at the Professor.
‘Tell me what I can do? Anything, anything to try and save the girl.’ The Henchman sliced a look at the Professor but held his tongue. Winston stood and tried to balance.
‘What I’m going to instruct you to do will require great faith and courage, your Eminence. Remember what I taught you, and remember what I showed you’ he said after steadying himself. The Henchman flicked his eyes between the pair and realised that the dynamics had changed a lot between them since his departure. The Cardinal nodded and looked again at his fresh hand; that he had sprayed days before, and it glowed with vigour and compared it with the other mature one. He opened and closed each palm and felt the suppleness of the younger hand and the slight stiffness of the other. The Henchman stood perplexed when he noticed the difference, and wondered what secret knowledge had exchanged between the men in his absence. Orsini closed his eyes and took in some deep breaths.
‘I’m ready’ he said, as if poised on the cusp of some great adventure. ‘I’m ready to learn, I’m ready to change… I’m ready to fight.’
◆◆◆
Illawara sat and unbraided her hair to give it some air. It was a bit greasy at the roots, but it shone with health as it bounced tousled around her shoulders. She shook her mane out and aerated it with her fingers as best she could. While she waited in her cell, before her call, Illawara attached all the charms that were given to her by well-wishers, in the previous days, onto a looped bracelet that a praying woman had pressed into her palm that morning. Illawara did not know where she had come from or where she went. The woman had not spoken a word to her, but for every day of her confinement she had knelt and prayed and gave signs of the cross. She had done so again, that morning, as she had done before, arriving early in smooth silence before anyone stirred.
Her calm presence had become a considerable comfort to Illawara when she looked at the bright, fresh face of the woman who did not utter a word to her.
After the woman had whispered her prayers, in soft pattering that fell like rain, she had stood, walked forward with her shining hand outstretched, and pressed her cool hand into Illawara’s.
‘Thank you’ said Illawara, as she considered the sweet face of the woman who’s smile soothed every worry and fear she had. It seemed to Illawara her eyes were wells of kindness. The scent of fresh roses followed her wherever she went - clarifying the stale air around her cell. The woman blinked in acknowledgement of Illawara's thanks and adjusted her blue shawl before she turned and glided out of the door as if her feet did not touch the ground.
After her first visit Illawara had desired to ask who she was but the woman was so peaceful and serene she felt it would have been rude to do so - she came, and that was all that mattered.
Illawara hooked the last of her assortment of pewter and porcelain charms - consisting of angels, animals, and crucifixes - into the loops of the blue bracelet the woman had given her. For some time, she then looked at, and rubbed, the signet ring that Orsini had gifted her, and waited to be removed from her cell.
Lorenzo, her favourite guard, arrived to collect her from confinement with tears in his eyes.
‘Don’t worry’ she said, ‘I’m not afraid.’ He kissed her hand after he opened her cell.
‘This is not right, everyone knows it’ he stammered. ‘I... I know you're brave, my lady, but let me give you these things before the others can see’ he said, looking at Illawara with deep affection. The Guard reached into his pocket and withdrew a small knife: Illawara hesitated. ‘Keep this with you. I’ll have to tie your hands behind your back, but I’ll tie the rope loose - in case you change your mind’ he said. Her expression moved with emotion.
‘But I'm to burn, even if I were to change my mind, which is pointless now but thank you. You’ve been so good to me’ she smiled. The guard shook his head.
‘It’s nothing; everyone knows you’re innocent… this shouldn’t be happening - not to you’ he added looking down, as the colour rose in his face. He coughed. ‘Also take this’ he said, after a while, before reaching into another pocket to retrieve a small gilded box. He opened it to reveal a pale powder.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s snuff’ he said,
‘But what for?’ Lorenzo struggled to answer; he closed his eyes for a long time as his lips trembled.
‘It's for the pain.’ His hands shook as he tapped some of the powder into his palm.
'Oh? I see.' Illawara nodded before she leant forward and sniffed up some of the opium from his hand as he directed.
'More' he said, and Illawara sneezed as she sniffed up the extra powder that tickled her nose. ‘Now I’ll have to tie you before they suspect anything. Hold onto the little knife I gave you like this' he directed, showing Illawara how to keep the knife in her sleeve. She obeyed his instruction as Lorenzo tied her hands behind her back. 'I’ve tied you loose with a rope that’s old and weak: it shouldn’t take much effort to cut it.’ Illawara nodded again, already feeling light-headed, all though she had resigned herself to death.
She walked forward from her cell as the guard guided her to the doors that led to the outside world, and paused. He looked back at her.
‘Do you feel afraid now?’ he asked. She shook her head and looked into Lorenzo's face.
‘Kiss me’ she said. The guard looked overwhelmed by her request before his heart nearly burst. She stood still, as the guard stepped forward, stroked her face, gazed deep into her eyes before he pulled her into an embrace. The kiss lacked experience, like the ones she knew from high school, but Lorenzo was heartfelt - although it did not move her as she thought it would. He let her go.
‘Thank you - for everything’ said Illawara, feeling the effect of the opium upon her increase. The guard nodded before he opened the side door, which then led to the street outside. Many people had gathered to see Illawara emerge. Three other guards joined the pair, and all four led her forwards through the crowds. Some members of the gathering masses wailed, some booed and yelled witch, others cried and prayed, and some threw dried flowers. Most of the onlookers were surprised to see a woman wear her hair loose in public. For as far as her eyes could see Illawara saw that people had lined the muddy streets as the guards lead her towards the city gates: a heaving mass come to stare, comment, and remember. A mass that came to bear witness and to spin Illawara’s experience into tales of caution for little boys, and the fear of death for little girls.
The troupe walked on as a priest joined them, walking behind reading psalms out loud in a voice grand and sombre. People crossed at themselves with fervour as Illawara passed with the priest and tried to reconcile the mercy and the fear they felt within for the guilty one as she walked. Illawara passed under the city gates, slow and steady, and onto the marshy land where the vast crowd gathered there and hushed when they saw her.
Her mind danced and flew above her like a swallow catching insects in a summer sky: carefree and guiltless. The wind swirled overhead and spat rain. Illawara walked through the throng of the crowd with her head held high, feeling like she belonged to spirits of the air.
Bianca, as if possessed rushed forward, and elbowed her way through the crowd: the guards were
taken aback by her advance and crossed their pole-arms in front of Illawara.
‘Wait’ Bianca said, reaching into her purse, ‘I must give her this.’ The mistress took out a small crystal-encrusted diadem. Misty-eyed, Illawara nodded, and, as if she were royal, the guards obeyed her gesture to let Bianca step forward - Antonio and Grizelda gazed on agog. Bianca’s hands trembled as she stepped forward to attach the diadem to Illawara’s head - where it glinted against her flowing dark hair once she had pinned it in place. The crowd looked on spellbound. ‘It was my grandmother’s’, said Bianca in shaking voice, as Illawara stood back up, ‘I was saving it for my true wedding day - once upon a time.’ Bianca turned to look at Dondo. ‘But I accept... now, that I’ll never wear it.’ Illawara found she could not speak, a soft bow all she could manage in reply. ‘Forgive me’ whispered Bianca before she stepped away from Illawara, and walked back through the crowd into the arms of Dondo - who looked thunderstruck by the significance. Antonio and Grizelda seemed bemused, neither suspecting that she owned such an item. But Dondo held on tight to Bianca and stroked her head as she buried her head in his chest. The crowd stood speechless.
‘Illy’ cried out Hermes, breaking the silence. He rushed forward too. But Illawara turned away from him, calm and slow, as the guards crossed their pole-arms. Lorenzo shook his head with disapproval. Hermes almost died of rejection.
Illawara ascended the gangway, unassisted, walking as smoothly as a pearl rolled across silk to the scaffold with her hands tied behind her back. She did not acknowledge Hermes. She did not care to bother. Her end drew near, and in that end, she had found peace - if not mercy.
She reached the top of the scaffold, assisted by Lorenzo, and stared down at the mass of people from her elevation like an empress of the realm - shining in the wan light. The drizzle stopped. Bianca looked up at the towering young woman, who stood regal and unspoiled and fell again into Dondo’s embrace. He bore her, knowing at last that he had no rival - that Bianca had accepted the truth about her life and Giovanni at last.
Beyond the Raging Flames (The Hermeporta Book 2) Page 37