“Yes.”
“What was his accent?”
“I do not know.”
De Corella raised his sword. “Was it familiar?”
Roberto raised his arm, and cowered behind it. “It was not an accent I know. I do not think he is of this province.”
The captain lowered his sword. He thought about the answer Roberto had given him. “Perhaps he was a Spaniard. There are enough of them in the city.”
“His skin looked too pale,” Roberto offered.
“He had pale skin?”
“Yes, as though he had never seen the light of day.”
Dracula felt the hairs prickle on the back of his neck. The servant had a keen eye and a loose tongue. He poised himself to swoop should the servant reveal too much more.
“And what were you to gain from this?”
“My life.”
“That is all?”
He knew Roberto was masking the truth. The servant did not hide his guilt well.
“You had best speak the truth to me,” he warned.
“I was promised the thousand ducats your master offered me.”
De Corella curled his lower lip in temper. “You sold your soul for coin?”
Roberto did not have a chance to respond. De Corella brought the sword down across the side of his head. The servant fell against the dirt again. A large wound oozed blood from above his temple, to form a thick pool on the ground beside him. His eyes stared into space.
De Corella spat on the ground beside him. “That is for your part in trying to kill my master.”
When he turned, he saw Cardinal Vicenza standing there.
Vicenza gasped in horror. “What have you done?”
“I meted out justice,” he said, his anger still clear. “Someone has to.”
The captain brushed past him and returned to Cesare’s side. Vicenza knelt down beside the dead servant. He made the Sign of the Cross and said a quiet prayer.
Cesare lay face-down on his bed. He had not dressed in the hope that his body might cool down. The sight that met the eyes of de Corella stunned him. Huge blisters covered Cesare’s entire body.
His master heard him gasp. “What is wrong?” he groaned.
De Corella did not want to say. Cesare raised his head an inch or two from the pillow and looked at him. He saw de Corella put a hand to his mouth. The skin about Cesare’s face hung in lumps from his jawbone. It had come away completely from his flesh.
Ponti saw it too. He ran to the open window and puked on the ground outside.
“What is wrong?”
“Your skin is shedding,” his good friend told him.
“What?”
“Your skin is falling off.”
“He is going to die!” Ponti cried.
“Hush, you fool,” de Corella warned. “Go and find the physician.”
When Ponti left the room, Cesare called de Corella close to him. “I want more of our men brought here.”
“Should they not remain where they are? Guarding your interests in Rome?”
“If the word leaks out that I am close to death, then others might come here to make sure I meet it. I want protection.”
De Corella nodded. “Very well, but I shall protect you.”
“Do it.”
The pope’s condition grew worse over the next three days. His slow and laboured breathing suggested he did not have much fight left in him. Soderini and Corneto had both been ill, but had recovered. They had picked up the tertian fever ravaging the city. Their good diet and better care ensured their recovery.
Holy men from the Vatican filled the villa. They held a small service for Roberto, and then no one spoke of him again. The group held a vigil outside the pope’s room, sharing the opinion that his end was near.
He could not keep any food or water down. His fever grew worse, and it began to affect his mind. Every so often, he shouted out. Nothing he said made any sense to any of them. They did not pray for him. Instead, they continued to chat and play cards. Some of them even harboured hopes that he would die sooner rather than later. Owing to their status, their stay there was mandatory, but few wanted to stay away from Rome a day longer than they had to. On top of that, the prospect of a new pope held appeal for many of them.
Corneto stayed at his bedside. He knew the Borgias had tried to kill him. Yet he was the one who did pray for Alexander’s lost soul. He held rosary beads between his fingers and said a quiet novena.
In the early evening, the pope awoke again. He looked at Corneto, who still prayed for him. “You are a good man, Adriano.”
Corneto raised his head. “How are you feeling, Holy Father?”
“I am not well. I know my end is nigh.”
“Then I shall pray for you.”
“I fear it should not be enough. I have been an unjust man.”
“God listens to all our prayers.”
“I know, but I doubt He favours me.”
“His door is open to one and all.”
Alexander tried to raise a smile. The moment he parted his lips, he broke into a cough. He eased back against his pillow when it subsided. “I have to confess that I do like you, Adriano. You have a good heart.”
“I am still a man of God.”
“Yes, I know. In spite of what I have done, you still pray for me.”
“Why would I not?”
“This could have been you lying here in my place.”
“If God had willed it for me, then so be it.”
“I fear it is as much as I deserve. That I drank that which was meant for you.”
Corneto did not answer. He picked up a wet cloth and wiped the thick film of sweat from Alexander’s brow.
“Might you forgive me?”
“Yes, I forgive you.”
The pope emitted a happy sigh and eased back on the pillow. Corneto thought it strange that he had not asked after the welfare of his son. Much of what he had done in his life had been for the benefit of Cesare.
“It seems that Cesare should make a full recovery,” he said.
The pope smiled, “Good.” Then he drifted back off to sleep.
Cesare was fortunate in that he drank very little from the poisoned flask, his father having consumed most of it. The freezing bath, although causing him to shed his skin, had helped to arrest his fever. And being only twenty-seven years of age, he had the strength to fight the alien substance in his body.
Dracula rose soon after with Ilona, and headed with her straight back to the villa. Right away, they sensed the atmosphere inside. He knew the pope was close to death. “I must go in there,” he said to his wife.
“You cannot,” she said, offering a sharp look.
“I shall alter my form. I want to see his condition.”
“Can you not determine that from here? You need only to listen to him.”
He moved away, and Ilona watched him disappear into the vines. She heard him cry out a few times and then silence. A baboon soon appeared in his place. It hissed at her and then ran to the open window of the pope’s room.
Corneto saw it on the window ledge. It made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. He picked up a stool and waved it in the air. The baboon hissed at him, not turning to run away as he had hoped.
“I am coming! I am coming!”
Corneto jumped out of his skin with fright. He turned to see the pope awake.
Alexander looked straight at the baboon at the window. “It is just, but wait a little,” he said, before relaxing again.
His words stunned Corneto. What is he saying? Does he think the beast has come for him?
The door of the room had been open a little. Most of the cardinals heard the rant of the pope. A few of them ran to the door to see what was going on.
“I shall drive it out, Holy Father,” Corneto promised.
“No, do not. Let him go. Let him go. It is the Devil.”
Corneto dropped the stool to the floor, and it shattered on impact. He looked at the cardinals
, and they returned his blank stare. Then all eyes fell on Alexander, who had drifted back off to sleep. He did not even know they were there. The baboon hissed at the group and then left.
“He said it was the Devil,” Vicenza said, still in shock.
“They have always been in league with each other,” Soderini sniped.
Guzzo pointed a finger at the sleeping pontiff. “Many have long suspected he sold his soul to win the papacy.”
“That is nonsense,” Corneto scorned him. “You should know better.”
“Yes,” Vicenza agreed. “He may have bribed his way to office, but he did not need to sell his soul.”
“It does not mean he did not do it,” Guzzo said, continuing to argue the point.
“It is wrong to speak ill of the dead,” Soderini said.
Vicenza glared at him. “The Holy Father is not dead.”
“He soon should be.”
Soderini turned to leave, and Guzzo with him. He delivered one more parting shot. “The sooner that is, the better it should be for one and all.”
Corneto looked to Vicenza. “Has the Bishop of Culm arrived?”
“Yes, Adriano. I believe he is here.”
“Then I beg you go and bring him to us. The Holy Father does not have long. The Bishop needs to administer Extreme Unction before it is too late.”
ROME PROVINCE. THE VILLA OF CARDINAL
ADRIANO CORNETO OUTSIDE ROME.
THE NIGHT OF AUGUST 18, 1503.
Ilona waited for her husband to return. It did not take long for him to make the change back to his natural form. He felt a little jaded. Still, as he had only changed for a short time, the effects would soon wear off. “Is he dead yet?” he asked her.
“Yes,” she said, her eyes fixed on the villa.
“Good.”
“Can we leave? The smell of consecrated blood is turning my stomach.”
He took her hand in his. “Come then, my love. Let us return home.”
The Bishop of Culm had performed the ceremony to cleanse the pope before death. Corneto left them alone. Still, the cardinals played cards in the hall.
Corneto flew into a rage and knocked the table onto its side. The cards and a good deal of coin flew into the air before crashing to the floor. A half a dozen pairs of eyes glared up at him. “You disgust me!” he fumed. “Get on your knees and pray! Can you not afford a dying man some respect? Even your pope!”
The bishop emerged from the room, his expression grim. Corneto walked up to him. “How is he?”
“He is gone,” the bishop said, his voice solemn.
When Corneto turned around, they all dropped their heads in prayer. “I had best go and inform his son,” he said.
He found Cesare sat up in bed. It was the first time the men had met since the morning Cesare fell sick. The younger Borgia had endured an agonising few days where his whole body had shed its skin. Although he remained in much pain, he was now over the worst. De Corella remained at his side. Ponti was busy giving orders to the ducal troops that had just arrived from the city.
Cesare wondered what had brought his host in to see him. Their ill feeling had not gone away, so he thought maybe the arrival of his troops had spooked Corneto. Perhaps he had come to plead for his life. “What brings you to me, Adriano?”
Corneto looked at him. He has the audacity to call me Adriano?
“Speak up, man,” de Corella said in his customary gruff tone.
“You are in my house,” Corneto reminded him. “Kindly afford me that respect.”
“Cesare asked you a question.”
Corneto ignored him, and returned his gaze to Cesare. “I am the bearer of bad news.”
“Is it my father?”
“Yes,” Corneto said. He looked genuinely sad. “He has passed on.”
Right away, the two men made the Sign of the Cross.
“Would you like to join me in prayer?” he asked them.
Cesare’s mind was on other things. “No, I have other more pressing business.”
“Would you like me to send news to Rome?”
Cesare sat forward. “No! You say nothing!”
Corneto realised it a good time to leave. “Very well,” he said. “I pray you are feeling better soon.”
“Damned gutter rat!” Cesare cursed him, once he had left.
“What would you have me do?” de Corella asked.
“News of my father’s death must not reach Rome; not yet.”
“Why does it worry you so?”
“The vultures shall plunder his apartments.”
“Do you want me to go there?”
“Yes, and have the troops keep a strong guard. I want no one anywhere near there.”
“Casanova has your father’s keys.”
“Yes, I know this. You must get them from him.”
“It shall not be so easy.”
“Do what you need to do. You must get those keys!”
“What of the here and now? They shall all want to return to Rome at once.”
“You ensure no one leaves the villa. Leave Ponti in command here when you go. If anyone tries to leave, tell him to kill them.”
De Corella left for Rome at once. As soon as he arrived, he had his troops strangle the Vatican palace. They allowed nobody in or out. At the same time, his men searched for Casanova, the cardinal who held the pope’s keys. When they found him, they brought him to de Corella.
“What is the meaning of this?” Casanova demanded to know, not hiding his anger at their treatment of him.
De Corella did not answer at once. He lashed out with his fist and knocked the cardinal down. The blow left Casanova looking up in shock and fear, blood trickling from a cut lip.
“I want Alexander’s keys.”
“You know I cannot give them to you.”
“His son orders it.”
“I do not answer to Cesare Borgia.”
De Corella kicked him hard in the groin. “You do from this day forward.”
Casanova choked and gagged. He clutched at his privates with both hands, fearful of what this fiend might do to him.
De Corella paced about him. He looked down to see the cardinal’s face turn a dark red.
Finally, Casanova found the strength to speak. “What do you mean?”
“The pope is dead,” de Corella advised him. “He died in the night.”
The cardinal breathed in a deep gulp of air. “At Adriano’s villa? I have not heard it announced yet.”
“And you shall not, you fool! Not before his fortune is safe.”
“And that is why you want the keys?”
De Corella gazed down at him, slanting his eyes to hint he would exact further punishment if he had to. “Give them to me.”
“I cannot. I have no proof that you are speaking the truth.”
He gave a nod to two of his men. They hoisted Casanova up and pushed him against a window. De Corella then drew the knife he kept strapped to his thigh. When his men opened the window, he grabbed ahold of the cardinal.
De Corella put the knife to his throat. Feeling the blade against the underside of his chin, Casanova got to his feet. The captain pushed him against the ledge and held him there. The cardinal gasped in fear. It was a long way down.
“You can give me the keys,” de Corella snarled. “Or I shall throw you through this window and then take them from you.”
He felt Casanova shake all over. A trickle of urine ran down the poor man’s leg. Casanova pushed with both hands against the windowpane, but his strength could not match that of Cesare’s captain. De Corella grabbed the back of his collar, and dangled him over the edge with the blade still pressed against his throat. “Well?” he asked the cardinal, one last time.
“Very well,” Casanova cried. “Pull me in, and I shall give them to you.”
De Corella dragged him back inside, and threw the terrified man down to the floor. With his blade still in hand, he watched Casanova reach inside his robes.
The card
inal knew this man placed no value at all on his life. The wretch would kill him without a second thought. He fumbled in his robes until he found the set of keys. “These are what you want,” he said, still shaking.
De Corella snatched them from his hand. “I knew you would do the right thing.”
“You have what you want. Leave me in peace, you scoundrel.”
De Corella grinned. He threw the keys to a lieutenant nearby. “You know what to do.” He then looked down at the cardinal. “If you interfere once in my master’s affairs, I shall kill you. You do not speak of this, or of anything I have said to you. Do you understand?”
Casanova waited until he was alone. Then he broke down and cried.
Cesare’s men relieved the treasury of two hundred thousand ducats in jewels and other precious gems. They also raided the coffers of another hundred thousand in gold, sending the booty to Cesare’s estate to put under lock and key. When they left, the servants plundered the pope’s apartment. All that remained were a few chairs and cushions, and the tapestries on the walls.
The news of the pope’s death reached Rome. The bells rang out from the Vatican to announce the news to the people. Cesare allowed the cardinals to take the body of his dead father to St. Peter’s. They dressed it in his finest robes and laid him out on a catafalque. The clergy chanted the Libera me, Domine around his corpse.
Bruchard exhibited the body to the people the next day. By this time, it had reached a shocking state of decomposition. The face had turned dark, and bruises covered much of the skin. The nose and tongue had swelled to an alarming size. The tongue doubled over in the mouth and pushed the lips out. They, in turn, had also swelled up to twice their usual size.
The mouth foamed, and gases inside the body bloated it to grotesque proportions. It appeared as wide as it was long. Sulphurous gases leaked from the face and the anal area that left the most acrid odour in the room. The people who viewed the body were so shocked that, they left at once.
Cesare’s men stormed into the area that same day. Word had reached them of the state of the body, and they wanted everyone out. The clergy ran for the shelter of the sacristy. The chanting ended, and the body left virtually alone.
The next day Bruchard had it moved to the Chapel of Santa Maria delle Febbre. The six bearers laughed and joked about its state. The face had now turned black, and was a most gruesome sight to behold.
The Dracula Chronicles: Bound By Blood Page 32