Vintage Love

by Clarissa Ross

  “I intend to remain,” she said. “I want to see your role in the gathering.”

  Irma looked out the window into the darkness. “I don’t want to think about it.”

  They rode on in silence with Della wondering what was on the other girl’s mind. Surely Irma was no stranger to these Satanist meetings. She had become one of them. And Count Barsini had claimed that she would play a leading role in the ritual on this occasion. It must be that an ordeal was scheduled, for Irma was clearly in a state of fear.

  Torchlights flanked the entrance to the Barsini villa and other carriages were arriving. Della stared out as some of the passengers in the vehicles ahead descended and made their way into the house. They seemed to be mostly near her own and Irma’s age. Evidently Count Barsini wished to be Satan’s apostle to a flock much younger than himself.

  A servant opened the door of their carriage and helped them to the sidewalk. Then they went on into the softly lit reception hall. Count Barsini was there to greet his visitors; he wore a long, flowing black robe embellished down the front with white crocheted figures of the Black Magic symbols.

  He kissed Irma and told her, “You will go to the ritual room at once.”

  Irma nodded and went on. Now he smiled in his menacing fashion as he bowed over Della’s hand and kissed it. He said, “You shall wait down here for a little. Ill have you brought to the ritual room when we are ready for you.”

  “It is well organized,” she said.

  “These things must be done correctly,” the bland Barsini told her. “Wait over there with Brother Louis.”

  “Very well,” she said, and left the reception line to join a sickly-looking young man in the black cassock of a monk. He was standing in a sort of alcove room which contained only a couple of chairs and a suit of ancient armor.

  The balding man showed shock when she joined him. “What are you doing here, Irma? You should be preparing.”

  She smiled. “I’m not Irma but her twin sister. My name is Della.”

  Brother Louis looked suspicious. “This is not some trick of Barsini’s? I’ve had my fill of his black jokes!”

  “No,” she said. “The Count sent me here to wait with you. Irma has already gone upstairs.”

  “You two look remarkably alike.”

  “I know,” she said.

  Brother Louis asked, “Are you converted?”

  “No. This is my first time here.”

  The man in the cassock showed a strange gleam in his watery blue eyes. “The mystery will be revealed to you. It is the only way!”

  “I take it you are a convert,” Della said.

  “I am,” he said proudly. “I was once a brother in the Church. But I’m free of all that now. The Devil and God are one and the same. Opposite sides of one coin. What Godly folk think evil is actually good and vice versa.”

  She said, “So you have left the Church?”

  “Yes,” Brother Louis said. “I have crosses tattooed on the soles of my feet so I can continually tread on the symbol of Christianity.”

  Della was disgusted by his words and it struck her the man was slightly mad. At the same time she recalled that a member of the Vatican Museum had been mixed up as inside accomplice in the theft of the Madonna.

  Taking a wild chance, she asked him, “Were you ever employed in the Vatican?”

  Brother Louis showed pride. “I was a specialist in illuminated manuscripts. I worked in several of the museums within the Vatican.”

  Her eyes met the watery blue ones of Brother Louis as she asked, “What do you know about the stolen Madonna of St. Cecilia?”

  She might just as well have struck him across the face, so strong was his reaction. His thin face went a bit more pale and he asked, “How do you know about that?”

  She forced herself to smile calmly and say, “As a friend of Barsini’s I know many things.”

  Brother Louis clenched his fists. “He didn’t tell you to bait me? To try and find out if I knew anything?”

  “Why do you ask that?”

  “I know nothing about where it is!” Brother Louis said angrily. “You can tell him that! I wish I did!”

  “I see,” she said. Then looking around, she saw that they were alone. The Count and his other guests had vanished. She asked the man in the cassock, “Where have they all gone?”

  “To the Black Mass,” he said, his face becoming more animated at the thought. “Tonight is a special celebration! Irma is to become a priestess of our group.”

  “Oh?”

  Brother Louis nodded eagerly. “We have a half-dozen leaders. One day I shall become a leader.”

  “What is your role now?”

  “I’m a sort of watchman,” he said. “I remain here while the ceremony is going on. And I’m also responsible for guiding in neophytes like you.”

  She recalled Irma’s advice that she might flee at any time if she changed her mind. For a moment she was on the verge of doing exactly that. But if she did she knew she would be deserting her sister and losing perhaps the only hope she had of penetrating the Madonna mystery.

  She asked, “Where is the ritual room?”

  He smiled bleakly. “I cannot tell you that. When the time comes I will take you there.”

  Della waited with the strange Brother Louis. There was an uneasy silence between them. She thought about the plight she was in and realized she had always thought of Rome as the great center of Christianity. But she’d forgotten its long dark history. Centuries of paganism were also part of the city’s background. It was not so strange that decadent secret societies should still operate within sight of St. Peter’s.

  A strong odor of incense filled the air now. It seemed to come from somewhere in the cellars of the villa. She found it not unpleasant but it began to make her head a trifle dizzy.

  She asked Brother Louis, “What is that smell?”

  “Incense,” he affirmed. “Part of the ritual.” He smiled knowingly. It has a special quality.”

  “In what way?”

  “It releases the emotions,” Brother Louis said, his pale face glowing now. “Barsini discovered it and uses it for all our gatherings.”

  Della made no reply but she began to see how wily this Count Barsini was. He had hit upon some drug which when used as incense had a lifting, aphrodisiac influence on his followers. You could be sure he would use it to help him enslave them.

  She began to worry since she could not help breathing in some of it. She still retained all her senses but she was experiencing an odd, light feeling. A feeling of relaxed well-being which she knew was not normal under the circumstances.

  As she was thinking all this a woman in a dark brown robe with an attached cowl came in through a doorway of the reception hall. Keeping her cowl pulled over her head so that her face was hidden, the woman corssed over to Brother Louis and whispered something to him. Brother Louis nodded and then the woman gave her a furtive glance before vanishing through the doorway.

  Brother Louis eyed her expectantly. “It is time!”

  “So?”

  He went to a closet and brought out a dark robe much like that of the woman who had just left. He said, “There is a dressing room over there.” He pointed to the reception hall. “Strip your clothes and put on this robe.”

  Alarmed, she said, “Must I?”

  “If you wish to join the gathering.”

  She took the robe. “Why not let me slip it on over my own clothing. No one need know.”

  “That is impossible!” Brother Louis said stonily. “I have been ordered to take you to the gathering. You must lose no time. Strip!”

  Almost ready to run for freedom again, she turned and crossed to the door of what he said was a dressing room. It turned out that it was. Hooks had been installed all along four sides of the room and clothing hung from the hooks. She was not alone in being told to strip naked before donning the robe of the cult. Relaxed by the drug she’d inhaled, she began to strip, a thing she might not have done
otherwise. She carefully hung her things on a hook and hastily donned the robe. She returned to Brother Louis in her bare feet, her shoes and stockings left behind with her other clothing.

  She said, “I am ready.”

  He eyed her hungrily, noticing her bare feet. He asked, “You are fully stripped beneath the robe?”

  “Even to my shoes.”

  He nodded. “Now I must blindfold you.”

  “Why?”

  “It is the rule,” he said firmly. And he produced a dark band of cloth and tied it about her eyes so that she could not see anything.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “Come along,” he said, taking her arm. “I shall guide you.”

  He led her across the reception hall and then down a winding stone stairway which seemed to twist about for an interminable time. And as she descended the smell of the incense grew stronger. She found herself coughing from its sweet fumes. Then they reached a level area, and in the distance she heard a monotonous chanting of male and female voices.

  The noise grew louder and she felt the chanting worshippers must be all around her. All at once Brother Louis removed the blindfold and she saw that she was truly in the middle of a room filled with the Devil’s followers. The walls were painted with views of Satan ascendant and other scenes so erotic she couldn’t let her eyes remain on them.

  All about her were the cowled heads of the brown-robed men and women of the cult. On a raised stage a few yards before her stood High Priest Barsini in a red robe! Beside him sat a black velvet altar with black candles burning. The walls of the stage bore murals of men and women in every sort of erotic position.

  The altar’s front was decorated with the image of a goat trampling on a crucifix. Barsini smiled down at the group and she was almost sure he was directing the smile solely at her.

  Now two members of the cult brought a naked, young woman from the side of the stage. The nude girl was Irma! Della felt her cheeks burn at the sight of her flesh and blood naked before this assemblage of males and females. It seemed that Irma was more deeply drugged than anyone else, for she moved as if in a trance and her lovely face and eyes were blank of expression.

  The two men turned the naked Irma over to the red-robed Count Barsini. He led her gently to the altar and saw her stretched out on it. Then he gave the group a signal and they began to sing a mournful dirge in some weird tongue. A gibberish of a mass was said by Barsini, his face and hands uplifted over the outstretched nude body of Irma on the altar.

  Black hosts were passed to be eaten and Barsini placed one between Irma’s breasts and spilled wine over her body from a silver chalice. As he finished this he removed his robe to reveal his own naked figure and shocked Della by placing his body over that of the prostrate Irma to indulge in intercourse with her on the altar! The sight of this ignited the worshippers. On all sides the men and women flung off their robes and naked bodies of males and females mingled in a bare-faced sexual exhibition!

  Della stood there, her hands pressed to her temples and terror on her lovely face, as the naked couples dropped to the floor on all sides of her to twist and squirm in the mass fornication. Blindly she turned and started toward the doorway at the rear, picking her way amid the moaning pairs, until suddenly she was confronted by a young blond giant!

  The face of the young man showed a lascivious grin as he confronted her in his total nudity. His great chest heaved with excitement and he reached out with his large hands and in a single motion tore the robe from her.

  “Lovely!” he said, staring at her unashamedly.

  She crossed her hands over her breasts and begged him, “Let me go!”

  His answer was to laugh wildly and catch her and pick her up in his arms as if she were a child. He carried her sobbing and screaming to another, smaller room which was deserted. She clawed at him and pounded him with her fists, but none of it seemed to bother him. He threw her on the hard floor and as she crouched there panting, he slowly descended upon her.

  The giant’s lips pressed to hers, his hands pinned her to the floor, and as he painfully penetrated her she passed out. When she opened her eyes again he had vanished and she lay there aching and miserable from her battle with him.

  She struggled to a sitting position and looked for something to protect herself but could find nothing. With a moan she got to her feet, feeling soiled and abused. She staggered to the doorway only to be met by Barsini, wearing his red robe again. He carried a black robe which he carefully draped over her.

  She gasped, “You—you animal!”

  “Easy,” he said. “I could give you back to some of those hungry males out there!”

  “You tricked me into coming here! Told me it would be safe!”

  He smiled. “No harm has come to you.”

  “I was raped by that giant!” she sobbed.

  “Some women would not complain,” Barsini told her. “I took you to be more sophisticated!”

  Tears streaming down her cheeks, she said, “I’m not used to being defiled! Nor did I enjoy watching you violate my sister before all those people!”

  “Irma knew what was going to happen,” he said. “It is part of our ritual.”

  “Your signal for them to break into an orgy!” she exclaimed.

  The bald man chuckled. “But orgies always accompany Satanist gatherings. You could not be so much a child as not to expect that.”

  She wanted to tell him how throughly rotten she believed him, but realized that any protection she might get must come from him. He had threatened to turn her over to the depraved, drug-sodden males in the next room and he had meant it. So she must be discreet for the moment.

  Pushing back her hair from her face, she said, “I want to leave here at once and I intend to take Irma with me.”

  “I’m sorry, that is not possible,” he said urbanely.

  “Why not?”

  “She has left with someone else. A young noble who took a great fancy to her. As a priestess she is free to bestow her favors on any member of our group. I would imagine they are back at his house by now, enjoying each other!”

  She eyed him with suspicion. “You could be lying to me.”

  “I’m not,” he promised. “She left with him only a few minutes ago. Before I came to you. It was she who asked that I look after you.”

  “If any harm comes to her you will pay for it,” Della warned him.

  “I’m not worried about that at all,” the Count said genially. “I expect you’d like to dress.”

  “I would,” she said grimly.

  “It would be wise to leave this area of the villa. Come with me to my private apartment. You can wash up there and dress. Then we can talk.”

  “No!” she said, drawing back from him.

  He spread his hands in a plea to be heard. “Why be more difficult than you need to be? You cannot stay down here. These revels will go on until dawn!”

  “Sexual orgies!” she said with disgust.

  “Whatever you wish to call them,” he said, dismissing her scorn. “I’m trying to carry out Irma’s wish to protect you.”

  “A little late,” she reminded him.

  “Why harp on it? You suffered no serious physical harm,” Barsini said. “Now be sensible, come along with me!”

  She knew that she truly had no other choice. So she let him escort her back up the winding stairs to the ground floor. Then they picked up her clothing from the dressing room and continued on to his private apartment. It was away from the rest of the house. The sound of the revels could no longer be heard.

  She washed and dressed in the privacy of the small antechamber adjoining the Count’s bedroom. When she came out fully dressed she found that he had also changed back into his linen suit.

  He smiled at her. “I still marvel at your resemblance to Irma. I feel that I have already possessed you!”

  She reddened at this reference to his rape of her look-alike and said, “Please see me home safely.”

  “I will
,” the Count said. “But first we have some things to discuss over a drink.”

  “I have nothing to say to you,” she told him.

  “I think you have,” he said calmly. “There was the matter of the Madonna. Remember?”

  In the midst of her humiliation she had completely forgotten about the stolen Madonna. Now it all came rushing back to her. She said, “All right, I will remain. But only for a few moments.”

  “As you will,” he said and, as she waited, he brought her a martini along with a large drink for himself. He sat opposite the divan on which she’d seated herself and smiled at her speculatively.

  “You interest me greatly,” he confided.

  “Forget the pleasantries,” she rebuked him. “We can never be friends!”

  His laugh was knowing. “Irma once said almost the very same words to me.”

  “I am not Irma, however much I may look like her.”

  His eyes ravaged her in the smart, low-cut black gown. “Very well,” he said. “Let us go on to other things.”

  “What about the Madonna?” she demanded.

  He shrugged. “Give me a moment, I beg you. Since we talked this afternoon I have been in touch with Brizzi.”

  “I do not believe there is such a person!”

  “You think I’m making him up?”

  “Yes!”

  “You are extremely difficult to convince,” he sighed. He got up and went over to his desk and pulled out a drawer. From the drawer he took a folded newspaper and brought it to her. “Read for yourself!”

  She took the paper from him and saw the headline: Brizzi Strikes Again!

  Standing over her, he said, “That story is only a few months old. You see the date on the paper.”

  Again he was right. She noted the date and putting the newspaper to one side, told him, “All right! So there is a Brizzi! That does not mean he stole the Madonna. I say you engineered that!”

  “I wish I had,” Barsini said, his smile vanishing. “It would be easier for you to deal with.”

  She frowned. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that your problem is Brizzi! He is the one convinced that you have the jeweled Madonna!”