Beyond the Raging Flames (The Hermeporta Book 2)

by Hogarth Brown

  ‘Stay here, Gino’ he said, as he tethered his sweating beast with his free hand,

  ‘I’ll bring you some water and food soon.’ The beast understood his master and was grateful for the rest. Illawara lay limp as a rag doll upon Orsini's shoulder - unconscious to the world.

  He carried her, impressed with his returned vigour, and walked downstairs to his bedroom. Her limbs dangled in the air. He lay her upon the bed: careful with her head and neck. He noticed where her dress had burned away and thus scorched the skin on her legs, the right leg more scorched than the other. Orsini grimaced when he saw the raw skin and charred fabric that still clung on in places. He noticed other burns on her forearms, where her sleeves had scorched back, and she had raised them to protect her face from the worst heat of the fire. Orsini surmised that had he arrived moments later Illawara would have perished.

  He winced when he noticed the slash of drying blood on her wrist and lifted it to kiss the wound - the taste of salt-iron ran along the edge of his tongue. He placed her arm down with gentle care, straightened it like the other, and looked at her. Illawara’s tiara had stayed in place, though many of the crystals had smoked to dullness, and much of her glossy hair had scorched to halfway up her neck - raven locks singed to a blackened frizz to less than half their length. Her cheekbones and forehead had taken on the colour of sunburn, but Orsini still looked on with adoration at his bedraggled princess - as if her tattered state had only served to enhance her charms.

  ‘You are the end of me’ he said, adjusting her limp arms again, and stroking her frazzled hair - some of it broke off into dust between his fingers. He wondered aloud how she could still manage beauty in her tragic state. He leaned forward to kiss Illawara’s chaffed lips. They were cool and dry, but his ardent kiss softened and warmed them. The Cardinal’s body rippled with excitement, but Illawara lay motionless without stirring, her breath shallow - just perceptible - but her mouth began to take on colour.

  Orsini remembered that Cook and his steed were still on the roof terrace, and he wondered what to do with them both. He stood and saw his Henchman lay unconscious on the chair. He felt nothing looking at the man as he passed him to make his way upstairs. Cook still rocked herself in the drizzle, staring at the beast, and Gino shook himself to displace moisture from his mane and wings. Orsini took Cook by the arm, she did not protest, and she followed him downstairs where he took her to her modest bedroom above the kitchen. She lay down upon her bed without prompting. He then pulled a thick cover over her, and the mature woman curled into a ball, put her thumb in her mouth and slept like a five-year-old.

  The Cardinal made his way downstairs through the kitchen and into the yard. He grabbed up an arm full of hay, a bucket filled with water and a sizeable oiled sheet used to cover the dove cage at night. All this he took to the terrace and offered the water and the hay to his grateful steed. Gino ate and drank as Orsini covered the shining animal’s torso and wings with the sheet, and knotted the ties about its neck. He patted Gino's flank, and man and beast exchanged looks with one another as if in shared wonder at both of their transformations. Orsini returned to his room.

  Illawara had begun to stir. He rushed to her side as she awoke, bleary-eyed before she tensed and cried out with pain.

  ‘Where am I?’ She yelled and cried out again as she tried to get up, and touched the side of her leg. Illawara screeched once more as sharp pains bolted through her.

  ‘Try not to move’ said Orsini, wild-eyed, ‘you’re injured.’

  ‘Who are you? What am I doing here? I thought I was dead’ Illawara looked frenzied as she glanced about her and grimaced with pain, ‘I have to get out of here.’ She tried to get up again, but Orsini braced her. ‘Get off me’ she cried in a combination of frustration, panic and pain. She struggled with him.

  ‘Please stop moving’ he said, his breath shaking, ‘you’re hurting yourself, please. Your clothes have stuck to your legs - you’re pulling the skin off them.’ Illawara stopped her struggles when she realised what she was doing, but her chest heaved as she glared at the handsome youth, her breath nasal and hard as her body throbbed with various pains. She wriggled and tried to free herself.

  ‘Who are you, and how did I get here?’ Demanded Illawara, defiant despite her situation. Orsini let go of her.

  ‘Do you not recognise me my love?’ he said gazing into Illawara’s wide, glaring eyes. She tried to slap him. But he caught her hand, just. ‘I rescued you from the fire… it’s my mother’s ring that you still wear on your finger.’ She froze. The Cardinal looked at her, his face trembling. She drew back and winced with a stiff move to look at her hand and rubbed the signet ring.

  Illawara then remembered the mature Orsini that knelt in front of her to place the ring on her finger in Bianca’s house, the man that had saved her from a raving mob, and the man that danced with her with such passion at the Uffizi. She stared into the face of the young man that looked at her as if he were about to die.

  She gasped and covered her mouth with shock. Her eyes welled up as she looked deep into the eyes that she then recognised as his.

  ‘Oh my God, what's happened to you? You look so much younger than before’ she said, her lip trembling, ‘but it is you I can see it now' her voice faltered. 'You came back for me. I can’t believe you came back. I thought I was going to die; then I thought I was dreaming.' Illawara shook her head as if to dispel cobwebs. 'You did save me from the fire - but how?’ She looked around her for evidence of how her rescuer had achieved his feat. She then felt a crash of dizziness. 'Forgive me, the guard gave me opium' she said, 'my head is still flying.' Orsini took up her hand to embrace it. The young Cardinal only nodded, unable to speak, and Illawara felt her sooty hand cooled as he covered it with kisses. ‘What happened to you?’ she said reaching up her free hand with discomfort. She stroked the smooth skin of his face, grimacing as she tried to ignore her pain, and caressed the soft locks of Orsini’s hair. ‘You’re beautiful’ she said.

  The Cardinal welled with emotion. He had to turn his face from her for a moment. Illawara smiled, ‘but no more handsome than before - younger, yes. I'd say you've turned inside out.’

  Orsini shook his head.

  ‘Yes, in a way, perhaps, but I’m not the same’ he said, ‘you’ve helped change me forever. I’m new again - I feel free, free from sin.’ He sniffed and wiped at his face. Illawara tried to smile at the youth in front of her, but the burning pain of her burns started to get worse. She bared her teeth and tried to shift herself on the bed. Orsini cringed to see her struggle. He gazed around the room to think of something he could give her. He then noticed the green vial upon the writing table. He rushed to the corner. The Cardinal snatched up the bottle, read the note in haste, and then shook the bottle until it glowed. With eagerness, Orsini returned to her.

  ‘The Professor told me this could heal any wound’ Illawara nodded.

  'Yes, it's true' she said, 'but I've never used it on myself.'

  ‘I can spray this on you to help heal your burns.’ Orsini hesitated, as he looked at Illawara’s dress, which had burned and grafted on to some of Illawara’s skin. Illawara read Orsini’s mind and spoke for him.

  ‘You’ll have to cut it’ she said, ‘cut the dress off.’ He nodded and remembered the scissors in his shirt pocket. He set about his work with care as his heart thumped in his chest. He tensed and paused when Illawara would grit her teeth and tried to stifle her cries of pain, as Orsini, with the patience of a seamstress, unpicked, and plucked off the bits of burned fabric that had bonded with her skin.

  Soon the Cardinal had snipped the dress in half along its side, and Orsini lifted it from Illawara’s body like a hinged door. The scorched dress fell open, and there Illawara lay just in her shoes, shift and bodice - exposed as an oyster.

  His face flushed as his breath became irregular. Illawara looked up at him, breathing deep herself, injured but in control. He could see where all her burns lay, but could hardly look at her, as
he felt his youth start to take over.

  ‘Spray me on the burns’ she said, calm and low, ‘I know how it works… I helped my father with the research.’ Orsini nodded, flushed to his neck, and misted Illawara’s face and injuries with the cool green liquid. She sighed with relief as the liquid numbed the tightening pain, and the formula began to regenerate her cells. Within a few minutes, much of the angry redness and bloody clots of Illawara’s skin had eased back to pink. Illawara flexed her limbs with caution. He applied more of the spray again to lessen the pain further. Her limbs were sore, but she knew the potency of the formula and that she would heal.

  Illawara looked at Orsini, glowing as he admired her, knowing with instinct how he felt. She lay on the bed without shame as Orsini offered to cleanse her. She agreed. With a wetted cloth, the Cardinal then began to wipe away the soot of the bonfire from her with orange water. He took great care of her, his hands and breath shaking as he pampered her face and bathed her skin.

  ‘Take off my shoes’ she said. He obeyed. The Cardinal then reached up to unpin the smoke dulled tiara from her head. He laid it on a table to one side. ‘Please, cut my hair’ said Illawara, feeling where the brittle strands ended, and the soft began. Orsini’s eyes widened in shock. ‘Please’ she said, ‘I can feel its half burnt.’

  Illawara then scooped her scorched hair into a stubby ponytail and offered the crispy clumps to Orsini’s scissors.

  ‘Are you sure?’ He said, poised. Her face looked balanced between stoic acceptance and crying.

  'It will grow back.' She swallowed her fear. She nodded and pulled her hair taut. Orsini took in a breath, before he cut her hair with several slices, saving as much of the undamaged strands as he could. Illawara felt the tension on her scalp subside.

  She looked away as she held onto the frazzled clumps in her fist. Her undamaged hair fell to just below her ears, leaving fresh air upon her neck.

  Illawara closed her eyes, and a tear escaped down her cheek and tumbled to the pillow. She coughed and reached her arm over the side of the bed and dropped her burnt hair to the floor. She felt like she had let go of something, and let go of someone that she no longer was.

  Orsini thought that her eyes stood out even more without so much hair to compete with, and he paused for a moment just looking at the new person in front of him. A subliminal understanding passed between the two as they looked at each other. ‘Please take off my bodice and shift’ she whispered, looking Orsini in his eyes before he knelt next to the bed. His fingers trembled as he began to unlace her bodice. He pulled the garment away. Illawara lay in her short, simple linen shift that remained untouched by the flames. He could see the shape of her breasts and body underneath. His breath became disarranged, he reached again for the scissors but his hands shook so much that he could not hold the scissors still enough to make a go on the shift. Orsini tossed the scissors aside with a clatter. Illawara half smiled when Orsini then used his teeth to snag the linen covering her thighs before he tore off the entire fabric that covered her. There she lay before him, exposed, like a ragged Venus, emerging from her dress, bodice and shift as if from a clamshell: like an exquisitely rare pearl.

  A flicker of doubt flashed through Orsini’s mind, as his older self-shouted fear into his ear for a moment, but then the younger man overpowered his mentor. The Cardinal stood. Illawara looked up at Orsini, who locked eyes with her. She felt parts of herself heat up: this would be a different experience. No more playful games with sophomores in the bleachers, no more awkward fumbled moments stolen in the shadows. Here she could not run away; she did not want to. Orsini would be real.

  Illawara flinched when she glanced over to the chair and saw the Henchman still laying there passed out. The young Cardinal understood in an instant, and took up a thick sheet from a closet and tossed it over the slumbering man. The Henchman vanished from her mind. Orsini returned to her side, never once looking away from her. He stood close; she could feel his body heat, as he began to strip off his clothes.

  Illawara watched the youthful Orsini slowly undress, her breath uneasy, as he revealed to her what time had aged, but youth had restored.

  Her heart beat faster: and with a will of their own her hands reached out to stroke the contours of his taut body.

  A flash of anticipation and fear, as she looked up at him: the first man, in the flesh, she had seen fully naked. The Cardinal let his clothes drop to the floor. She had no doubts about his desire. He climbed onto the bed next to her. His body weight rolled her out of the remnants of her clothes towards him. Orsini embraced and then gripped her. His hands became an electrical touch that pulsated her flesh, as they traversed and explored every part of her. Illawara's limbs were still sore but her whole body burned with a different fire. Orsini's kisses became wells of passion that she threw herself into to quench her thirst. She broke into a sweat as he stimulated every part of flesh overwhelming her senses: and eclipsing the opium rush she still experienced. She did not recognise her own voice. Instinct took over. Illawara then held on to let go and embraced the passionate intensity of Orsini as he made love to her, abandoning everything. This time Illawara was set aflame with the fire of youth, the heat of her desire, and the sweet scent of orange blossom.

  Chapter 29

  Aftermath

  Padua, evening, Saturday 23rd of December 1611

  Hermes and Antonio spoke with one another in low tones as the rest of the household, like other former members of the crowd, were incapacitated. No sense came out from any of them: as Bianca, Dondo and Grizelda all mumbled to themselves in their restless sleep. Hermes sat and fidgeted at the living room table. Antonio had managed to find a few biscuits and cheese in the kitchen and brought them to the living room to join the tea he made earlier. Hermes scratched his fingernails at the lace-covered tablecloth below his cup before he rubbed his forehead.

  ‘Antonio, I have to find Illawara' he said, 'I have to find out where that man has taken her.’ Antonio scratched his neck and beard.

  ‘What we just saw is one of the most stupendous things I've ever seen, and I'll never forget it' said Antonio, shaking his head, 'but what is even more astonishing is that I think that man flying was Cardinal Orsini.' Hermes' eyes bulged.

  'No, that couldn't be him? That's ridiculous.'

  Antonio shrugged.

  ‘I think it is him.’

  With the others in a stupor and with all that Antonio had witnessed Hermes had told him the whole truth about everything he knew about himself, the Professor, and Illawara: there was no need to hide anything from him anymore.

  Antonio’s brow furrowed as he scrutinised Hermes. He tried to analyse the peculiar charm of the young man in front of him, who sat fluffy haired and bronze-skinned, looking like three races mixed into one.

  ‘What?’ said Hermes, as Antonio scrutinised him.

  ‘Remind me of where you said you were from again?’ Hermes stopped scratching the tablecloth.

  ‘Alexandria’ he said, ‘I helped look after the temple of Serapeum there, and some other places like the Library.’ Antonio gave a blank stare.

  ‘Is that what they have there in Alexandria? Temples and Libraries?’

  ‘Not any more’ sighed Hermes, 'but I'd help translate some of the papyrus prayers, spells and scrolls from Egyptian, and other languages, into Latin and Greek.' Antonio nodded.

  ‘So, you’re a sort of translator librarian-priest then?' He said, leaning back his head. Hermes pulled a face while tilting his hand back and forth.

  'Sort of.'

  'But you look too young to be a priest.’

  ‘I was in training, I was an acolyte’ said Hermes, looking away, ‘never mind… it was a VERY long time ago now.’ But Antonio did not seem satisfied.

  ‘How old are you then… really?’

  ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’

  ‘You’re strange’ said Antonio. But Hermes rubbed his eyes and yawned.

  ‘Maybe, for here, in these times - yes’
came the reply. Antonio looked upward as if remembering something.

  ‘Extremely odd things have happened since I’ve met you, and Illawara. But I think now I should have listened to you more in the Doge. Maybe I would have understood things better.' He reflected as he sat and watched his mother, Grizelda and Dondo sat in heaps in their chairs. 'You say no one who breathed in that pink smoke will remember anything that happened today properly.' Hermes nodded. 'But I know what I saw today was real. I even read a story about it once. About a man on a flying horse.’

  ‘Perseus’ said Hermes, and Antonio nodded, 'there was a time when these things were less extraordinary.' Antonio did not want to entertain what that meant for the past has he understood it. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his face. He then shook his head musing at what he had seen and learned.

  ‘I adored those myths and legends' said Antonio, 'but now I know those stories can come true, that they can be real. I'm amazed at Orsini.' Antonio blinked and wagged his head. 'I even envy him. But I'm certain that was him flying on that Pegasus.'

  'Really?' Antonio nodded.

  'Yes. I've known of him since I was a child. Although he looks younger now, much younger - as if he were his own son.' Antonio laughed. 'Do you know Mother said Orsini used to call up to her window, with my father, years ago, before he joined The Church?' Hermes shook his head. 'Mother's described him in detail before, and he fits that description now. Looking back, I think she had a thing for him.' Antonio gave out a bitter laugh, 'imagine if Orsini had become my father, then maybe my life would have been different?'

  A silence fell between the pair as the thought played out in their minds. Hermes shook his head.

  'Sometimes it's pointless thinking "what if?" all the time. Life is unpredictable, and will always find new ways to surprise you, or slap you in the face' he said.