by P K Adams
As I moved to leave the chapel, Opaliński offered to walk me back to my chambers. I declined as politely as I could, my heart pounding. I no longer knew whom I could trust and with whom I was safe. Back in the palace, I kept to the main corridors, cursing the lights that had been dimmed for the night. At the Vilnius court—unlike at Wawel—guards were few and far between. I wondered that they remained so scarce even in the wake of the murders. In places I saw not a single soldier. Perhaps the garrison was too small, and all available hands were needed to protect the duke’s apartments and the Radziwiłł palace.
I walked quickly, glancing frequently over my shoulder and keeping away from darkened doorways so as to give myself a chance to run should anyone jump out of the shadows. When I finally made it to my chambers, I locked and bolted the door, my pulse beating fast.
As I leaned my forehead on the door, waiting for my breathing to slow, I remembered Helena’s case and realized that, just like then, nothing here was what it seemed.
CHAPTER 15
Sunday, September 13th, 1545
I woke up feeling even worse than the morning before, although I had not had wine last night. I had no energy, and a dull headache pressed against my temples. Outside, the sky was leaden gray and low, and although the rain had stopped, it looked like an unpleasantly damp day. I ran a hand over my forehead and was relieved to find it cool. With three deaths in four days, and the investigation stalled, coming down with a chill was the last thing I needed.
I lay for a long time staring at the wood-paneled ceiling of my bedchamber. Had I really arrived here only a week ago? It seemed like months, but no. It had been seven days, and in that short time, three innocent young people had been brutally killed, and two prominent noblewomen had narrowly avoided the same fate.
How many times had I run through the short list of suspects? I could no longer remember. And my frustration mounted each time. By all appearances, either Bona or the Habsburg envoys were responsible for this. There were enough clues—the Spanish wine, the poisoned ruff—to point in either direction, as well as a motive to support either case. Yet these were savvy and sophisticated players who would not have left themselves exposed to such obvious suspicion.
But it had to be one of them, and that morning I was more inclined to place the blame on the imperial envoys, because it was clear to me that Jurgis had been killed because we interrogated him. If the killer acted on the queen’s orders, he would not have had enough time to report this development and receive new dispositions—unless he had broad discretion to act. That, however, was not how Bona operated. No matter the project—big or small, important or trivial—she took control and made the decisions herself. Delegation of responsibility made her restless and irritated. More than once, I had heard her express frustration with the representatives who governed Bari and Rossano on her behalf. She was forced to accept the situation, but she did not like it. I found it hard to believe she would give free rein to someone in a matter as sensitive and consequential as this one.
But if the Habsburgs wanted to get rid of Barbara and her mother, who did they use to carry out the scheme, and was Opaliński a part of it?
The last thought made bile rise to my mouth. With no answers to these questions, I got out of bed and sluggishly pulled on my dressing gown. I had skipped supper last night, but I was not hungry. Once again I hoped I was not ill, because I needed a clear mind to come up with a plan of what to do next.
Although I heard someone racketing about in the sitting chamber, Rasa had not yet come to make up the fire in my grate, no doubt informed by Cecilia about how late I had returned last night. It did not take long for the chill to seep into my bones, so I called the maid in, and as she busied herself with the wood and kindling, I decided to do what Maria had suggested days ago—go to the baths. It was mid-morning, and there were no messages from the duke or, to my relief, the chamberlain. Sitting in my lodging, mulling over everything that had happened, seemed pointless. Perhaps with luck I would catch some gossip at the baths that would provide a key to unlocking this mystery.
I forced down some bread spread with comfits in an effort to recover my energy, then made my way to Maria’s chambers. They were on the floor below mine, where the titled guests’ lodgings were located, although hers were relatively small and at the end of one of the corridors. She was a Sforza relation, but a distant one and low in terms of noble rank. Zygmunt, like his mother, respected hierarchies.
I knocked on the door and waited. I was quite certain she would be in, for she had a habit of staying up late and sleeping late. I knocked again, more loudly, and, after a minute or so, heard a noise on the other side. It could have been someone shuffling around in a haze of sleep, but I thought I also heard whispers. Finally, the door opened, and Maria appeared. She was still in her negligee—satin and lace and feathery trimmings—her hair streaming in black coils around her shoulders. But despite her state of undress, she was alert, as if she had woken a while ago.
Her face broke into an uncertain grin at the sight of me. “Caterina! How good to see you.” Then the grin was replaced with a frown of concern. “But you look tired!”
“I am.” I hesitated, then decided not to say more on that score. “Can I come in?”
Now it was Maria’s turn to hesitate, but only for a moment. “Of course,” she said, stepping aside. “Pay no attention to the mess. I told my maid not to come in this morning.” Her voice held a peculiar note, somewhere between guilt and defensiveness but very subtle, as if she were about to be caught red-handed.
It did not take me long to realize why. At the foot of a settle in the middle of her well-appointed sitting room was a pair of man’s boots, and I saw a cloak bundled on the seat. A belt with a sword lay on the table, and although one sword looks much like another to me, I recognized the other items immediately. The boots were made of tan leather, and the right one had a small bulge at the level of the big toe. The russet cloak was familiar, too. I had last seen it on Wednesday evening resting over a chair in Zaremba’s chamber.
Her gaze had a hint of challenge in it, as if she expected me to judge her. But she was amused, too, as I could see from the roguish glint in her eyes and the hint of a smile. She was Maria d’Aragona, after all. I suspected the high color in her cheeks came from the night’s exertions rather than embarrassment. The Marchesa del Vasto was not the type to blush.
Before I had a chance to say anything, the door to the bedchamber opened, and Zaremba stepped out. Maria studied me for a reaction, but as I had already guessed the identity of her lover, I managed to keep my face neutral. My gaze strayed toward the clothing on the settle. When I met Zaremba’s eyes again, an unspoken recollection of a similar moment in his own room passed between us, and his face hardened. The expression lasted so briefly I wondered if I had imagined it; then he made a small bow, to which I replied by inclining my head. He turned to Maria, as if he wanted to say something but hesitated to do so in my presence. Feeling like an intruder, I took a step back toward the door.
Maria made a gesture as if to detain me, but I was already over the threshold and in the corridor. She followed me out, closing the door behind her. “You have been so busy I had to occupy myself somehow. Otherwise, I would die of boredom!”
Although she lowered her voice, I had no doubt Zaremba could hear every word if he put his ear to the door. I was momentarily embarrassed for him, although that feeling passed quickly.
“Die of boredom, Maria?” I lifted my eyebrows incredulously. “We have been here a week. You can attend banquets, ride to the countryside, and so much else.”
I recalled my reason for coming here. “Why, you even have your baths,” I added. To my dismay, my voice took on a whiny quality. I felt a prickle of tears under my eyelids: after yesterday’s events, reclining in a hot bath seemed like the most luxurious thing in the world, and now it was not going to happen.
She saw my eyes fill and misinterpreted it. “I thought you weren’t interested in him.�
� She looked mortified. “I asked, surely you remember!”
I sighed impatiently. “Of course I’m not interested. That’s not the point.”
“Then why are you angry with me?”
I stopped. Yes, why was I angry? Why did their relationship matter to me? Did I even want to know? I took a breath, but no words came out.
“In any event,” Maria went on, “baths and banquets aren’t the same thing. Is it possible that after so many years of marriage you have forgotten the taste of—”
She broke off as I turned away with a grimace. “Not only are you flaunting your affairs, but you mock me for reasons I don’t understand,” I shot back over my shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Caterina!” She sounded genuinely apologetic. “I didn’t mean for it to sound that way.”
Without looking back at her, I waved a hand to dismiss the subject. I was almost halfway down the corridor.
“Why did you come to see me, anyway?” she cried. “Are you getting ready to return to Kraków?”
I turned around. “Actually, I was hoping we’d go to the baths, but I see you’re busy.”
She ignored the sarcasm. “That’s an excellent idea!” Her face brightened. “Let’s do it! I’m finished here anyway.” She motioned with her head toward her door, rolling her eyes. “You’ve come just in time to rescue me.”
Despite my irritation, I had to bite back a laugh. Maria brought her hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle, and for a moment we fought down our mirth. I felt my anger dissipating. After all, what did I care about Zaremba or about Maria’s affairs? I had more important problems on my mind. I had to catch a killer, and I had to bring my son home safely. Nothing else mattered.
* * *
An hour later, a hired carriage clattered down the main street, carrying us toward the Turkish baths. The Sunday traffic was lighter, but a number of people and carts nonetheless wended their way through the muddy streets. Church bells tolled in various parts of the city, their unsynchronized sounds discordant, like a quarrelsome conversation. Maria, as I had expected, wanted to know the latest on the investigation.
“At least tell me if it’s true that there was also an attempt on Barbara’s mother,” she pleaded when I tried to remain mum. “I heard it last night in the banqueting hall.”
There was no point in denying it, although the speed with which the rumor had spread astonished me. Barely twenty-four hours had passed since Jovita’s body was discovered.
“What are you going to do?” she asked when I confirmed it, withholding the news of Jurgis’s murder, of which she seemed unaware. Apparently, nobody cared enough about a peasant boy to make him the subject of court gossip.
“I have no idea,” I said honestly, and my look of resignation must have been such that Maria put her hand on mine comfortingly. “For all we know, the culprit has left the city—or is getting ready to commit another murder.”
Maria shook her head gravely, for once at a loss for words. What I did not tell her was that I carried with me a tiny hope that I might hear something useful at the baths.
We arrived at our destination in a fashionable part of Vilnius, home to middling nobility and host to a small community of Italian artists. Maria explained that the nobles liked to hire them to fill their houses with paintings and sculptures in the French and Italian style.
Despite Maria’s assurances, the baths surprised me. I had expected a seedy and suspect establishment, little better than a tavern or a brothel, but this building radiated opulence. Silk hangings decorated the corridors, and ceramic tiles in geometric white and blue patterns, similar to those in the ceiling panels of the ducal palace, lined the walls of the lounge areas, pleasantly warm after the chill outside. In every room, silver incense burners gleamed amid flickering oil lamps set inside holders of delicate painted-glass latticework that brought to mind oriental designs. The distribution of the lamps, suspended from the ceilings on thin iron chains, provided enough light to move around but also offered shadowy areas for those who wanted their identity hidden. I wondered how many of those figures resting in anonymity were highly placed court officials wanting to avoid being pestered for patronage.
Not all of the visitors were so private, however, for I also recognized courtiers from the banqueting hall engaged in subdued conversations in better-lit areas. I strained my ears as we passed for any indication that they were talking about the murders, but I could not make out much.
I released a relieved breath when our changing-room attendant handed us two sleeveless linen shifts along with our towels. We were not to bathe naked! Good that I had resisted the urge to turn back when we stepped down from the carriage and faced the stone building that held the baths. Almost giddily, I slipped the shift over my head behind a silk partition.
With our hair bound up and secured under the towels to form a headgear that resembled a small Turkish turban, Maria and I made our way through the corridors where platters of fruit and confections were placed at intervals for the visitors’ enjoyment. In the caldarium, the bathing chamber, almond flower- and jasmine-scented steam rose from the water in the center pool, surrounding the lamps suspended above it with yellowish halos. Water also trickled into carved basins in each of the four walls, like small fountains, its sound magnified by the enclosed tiled space, as if we were in a cave. There was something mysterious and adventurous in that sound, and I immediately liked it.
The chamber, a third the size of the banqueting hall in the palace, was not very busy; most people came in the afternoon and evening, Maria informed me when I expressed surprise. The investigator in me was disappointed, but Caterina Konarska could not help but rejoice. The trickling water, the faint notes of a harp that floated in from behind one of the doors, and the murmur of voices promised the relaxation I craved. Only a handful of men and women lounged in the pool. As we descended the tiled steps into the water, one of the women came out and headed for a lounge chair, where a beaker of wine and a plate of fruit awaited her.
Of those remaining, three formed a small circle and spoke in low voices, leisurely splashing the water with their palms. The rest soaked by themselves, one older man appearing to have fallen asleep on the underwater bench. Someone who could have been his son or nephew hovered nearby, presumably to make sure he did not slip under. None of them paid us any attention as we made our way to the empty side of the pool. I was grateful for that, for I felt self-conscious with my arms bare in public. Maria showed no such discomfort, of course, as she waded confidently next to me.
I’d had no idea how tired I was until I immersed my body in hot water. Being enveloped in a wool blanket next to a blazing hearth on a winter’s night paled in comparison, because here the warmth permeated quickly to my very core, deeper than skin and muscle. On the bottom of the pool, I felt a warm current flowing over my feet, and I recalled hearing that baths such as these were typically built over a stream. The fresh water flowed over large underground firepits, heating it to this blissful temperature. I marveled at the ingenuity of the idea as I tilted my head back to rest it on the edge of the pool. A moan of pleasure escaped my throat.
Next to me, Maria chuckled. “And to think that less than a week ago you were scandalized at the idea.”
“I wasn’t scandalized.” I rolled my head from side to side. “Well, maybe a little. I imagined men and women running around naked, engaged in all kinds of—”
“Oh, you have a vivid imagination, Caterina!” She laughed. “Although there are separate chambers for men and women, where one can bathe naked if one wants to.”
“Hmm.” I closed my eyes, reveling in the lightness of my body. “Ten years ago I might have tried that, but not now.”
“That again!” Maria scoffed. “You still have an alluring figure, you know.” She looked down at the shift clinging to my body, and my first instinct was to immerse myself more deeply. But I resisted it; instead, I looked down and had to admit that perhaps she was not entirely wrong. My breasts were still firm enough, and I h
ad so far avoided gaining excessive weight around my waist, although I was by no means as slim as I had been when I had first arrived in Poland in my late twenties.
“You’ve never told me how old you are,” Maria said.
I lifted one sardonic eyebrow in her direction. “Fifty-three.”
She sat up. “No!” She clucked her tongue. “I cannot believe it! Same age as Bona, but nowhere near the number of wrinkles, not to mention—” she traced an exaggerated arc with her palms around her midsection in an allusion to the queen’s girth.
“She had a tendency toward chubbiness even when she was young.”
“Still.” Maria sat back again, shaking her head. “You’re lucky. I hope to look as good when I’m your age.”
Leisurely tracing semicircles under the water with my arms out in front of me, I thought about whether I would have had the courage to bathe in the women-only chamber. Then Maria spoke again, her voice a whisper in my ear, “But just so you know, there’s also a mixed-sex chamber where one can swim naked.”
I gave her an incredulous look, and she nodded with that mischievous smile of hers, eyes glittering in the light of the lamps. “But I’ve never been in it.”
I looked away so as not to betray the grave doubt I had as to the veracity of that statement. When I did so, I caught sight of a man walking out of the pool. His shift clung wetly to his body, revealing the musculature of a soldier, and his straight bearing seemed to confirm that profession. It brought Zaremba to my mind, and the thought sent heat to my cheeks and to the area I wish I could say was the pit of my stomach, but it was lower.
“I still can’t believe you chose Zaremba, of all the men at court,” I heard myself say.
“Why?”
Yes, why?