The Hermeporta Beyond the Gates of Hermes

by Hogarth Brown

  ‘He’s called Professor Winston Sloane.’ Just saying his name seemed to cast a spell upon both men, and, at last, it seemed the Earl had drawn a blank. He sat still for a moment to ponder. Illawara and Hermes held their breath.

  ‘Never heard of him’ the Earl said, ‘must have been before my time?’ The fraudulent pair both smiled,

  ‘Yes, I suppose it was?’ said Illawara, as her shoulders relaxed. No one spoke for a while in the carriage, and its passengers were rocked like babes in a cradle, as the clip-clop of hooves beat out a muddy lullaby on the road to Florence. But the Valet, eyeing Illawara for some time, broke the soothing silence.

  ‘That’s quite a gem you have. Is it diamond or glass?’ Illawara frowned, 'it's a DIAMOND' she shot back, 'do I look like the type that would go around wearing Glass?' She hissed. Illawara had forgotten she was even wearing the stone; it felt such a part of her.

  Both men raised their brows at her reply. Illawara mellowed herself, ‘it’s a precious gift to me’ she confessed after lowering her voice - surprised by her own ferocity, 'it reminds me of someone' she continued, 'someone important to me.' Illawara rubbed at the stone on her neck that dazzled in the lamp light.

  ‘Is that so?’ said the Valet ‘who gave it to you? You’re a very young woman to be accustomed to such things?’

  'What are you implying?' said Illawara, it had never occurred to her that things could be any different. Antonio slid a look to the Earl but said nothing. ‘My father gave it to me before he left... not that it's any of your business' she continued, 'and yes, I'm accustomed to it, and I deserve to wear it, is that such a bad thing?’ She retorted. Antonio whistled.

  ‘Spoken like a Queen’ Antonio said in an extended tone, crossing his legs. Illawara narrowed her eyes, and it seemed the carriage began to darken. The Earl shifted in his seat, and Hermes sat rapt as the air prickled among them. Illawara spoke through clenched teeth, her temper roused, the smell of drink curling from her jaws 'and I also call the stone Aphrodite after the Goddess, it's the only name that fits.' The Diamond crackled at the air with its fire as if responding to Illawara's spirit. Antonio folded his arms and held her gaze.

  The Earl manufactured a smile: ‘and yet she is not as beautiful as her owner’ he interjected. A rush of colour leapt to Illawara’s face in response to the complement, arching her back as if his words had tickled her spine. Hermes didn’t know where to look as the Earl continued, ‘I think you’ll cause quite a stir at Cosimo’s party. Were he not so in love, as I’m reliably informed, I’d be certain you’d turn his head.’ Illawara retrieved a lace fan from a concealed pocket in her dress, and unfurled its ivory arms with a snapping flick to cool herself, acting like a Duchess in a period drama. The men noted the effect the complement had had on her, and the Earl smiled to himself. Hermes and Antonio noted her haughty composure.

  The complements softened the air in the carriage, and Illawara seemed to surge with confidence. The Earl then changed the subject. Amongst themselves the group spoke in passing the hours, bouncing the conversation between them. Even Antonio began to warm to the pair as Illawara and Hermes as if sharing one mind, relaxing, made up fanciful stories to beguile their hosts. The Earl and his Valet seemed to care less and less if the stories they heard were true or not. The double act started to enjoy themselves - sensing the danger had passed - taking pleasure in their sport, as the tall tales they coined became ever more entertaining.

  …

  The night sprinted ahead, and amongst themselves, the foursome agreed to find tavern lodgings in San Miniato, as suggested by Antonio who doubled as a tour guide. Hermes and Illawara complied. Everyone arrived at the recommended tavern late in the night. The coach passengers had become weary after the journey, with a change of horses midway, on the long road to the Florentine capital. The carriage taxied into the coach house - plain but neat - so that the animals could be fed and stabled for the night. Antonio made the room reservations.

  Illawara and Hermes were to share a double room with two single beds, with the excuse given that as a relative Hermes made a suitable guardian for the single woman. The fiction did little to appease the un-approving eye of the pot-bellied tavern keeper, as he jangled the door keys in his porky hands. He had heard such stories before - none of them true. The Earl and Antonio requested the same type of room, but without objection from the sweating portly man.

  A foreign noble on Grand Tour with his guide raised fewer eyebrows than in previous years, and the extra revenue from the new lucrative trade gained a ready welcome. The corpulent innkeeper made a gesture in the direction of the rooms, while his puffy eyes moved with nimble speed over Illawara. She cringed inside and pretended not to notice the ravenous look from the sweating man. The innkeeper then gave Hermes a run over with his shifty eyes: the Moorish occupation of Spain and Sicily still soured in the collective consciousness of the people.

  But Hermes’ European fashion and smooth Italian had confused the man; assuming Hermes to be a wealthy, and swarthy, southerner - ready to enjoy his pretty whore.

  After the Earl's luggage had got carried into his booked room, the Earl and Antonio hung back to exchange words with the innkeeper in hushed tones, as Illawara and Hermes were encouraged to move upstairs. Illawara kept her leather bag with her, and Hermes only carried what he wore. Antonio, in whispers, negotiated an exchange before he handed some extra money to the innkeeper.

  Hermes and Illawara were then shown to their room by a stout Slavic maid, with rosy cheeks and fair hair, who bustled about with impatience as she lit candles in their bedroom, and fluffed the pillows. Having done her work in haste, she gave a demure curtsy, with eyes downcast, till the domes of her bust swaddled her chin: moving backwards the maid left the room and closed the door. The maid then cocked her head to check the hallway, all clear, before she tiptoed like a hen to follow the Earl and Antonio. No need to chaperone them, as Antonio knew the way. The maid once outside their door had it opened to her after she gave it a girlish tap. The door then closed behind her with a click of the lock.

  After the maid had left Hermes and Illawara, both gave out a sigh before flopping onto their creaky beds and chattering away in their new mother tongue.

  ‘What a day Hermes, what a DAY. I can’t quite believe we’re doing this’ Illawara buzzed,

  ‘Me neither - and to be like this’ he replied, pointing to himself with pride before he turned his hands and arms in the candle light.

  ‘I feel like I’m in some play at the theatre, except that I don’t know my lines' said Illawara, 'but here we can make everything up, no one knows us, we can be whatever we want to be’, Illawara chuckled.

  ‘I agree' said Hermes, 'but for me, it feels so new just being myself - getting to know ME again.’ But Illawara was not listening to him, she clasped her hands together and wriggled with pleasure.

  ‘You know, I’d be sitting there talking, and then I’d realise where I was, and either want to scream or burst out laughing’ she gushed. In truth, she had hidden her pangs of fear to maintain the illusion they were both creating. Hermes watched Illawara’s animated gestures, she missing what he had said, and chose instead to join her in revelry.

  ‘What was that stuff you made up about Rodrigo Salvatore? Him being our tutor and us coming from Torino’ he said, Illawara gasped and clutched her hand to her chest,

  'I know' she crowed, as if full of shame for herself.

  ‘I’ve never heard you come out with such things before.'

  ‘I don’t know where it came from’ said Illawara, throwing her head back, ‘I just ad-libbed … the moment just took me, and I went with it.’

  Hermes then prodded his bed like a bird inspecting a strange nest, as he contemplated how he would sleep without perching. He scratched and pulled at the bedsheets as if arranging twigs. Illawara lay still to observe him.

  ‘Are you getting ready to lay an egg?’ she said, as Hermes fussed with the bed linen. A look of embarrassment then crossed his face when h
e realised what he was doing. He paused to look at the bed with most of its linen scrunched up.

  ‘I can’t remember the last time I slept laying down’ said Hermes, under his breath, before he perked up to change the subject. ‘You’re quite the actress. Where did you get that fan from?’

  ‘eBay’ declared Illawara, with triumph. Hermes smiled before he fluffed at his pillow and plucked out one of the feathers that had begun to poke out of the fabric. He eyed the feather in silence, turning it in his fingers, and lifted the pillow to feel its weight. He shook his head. But Illawara continued to laugh as she relived her dramatic behaviour. Illawara then speculated on the fortune she could make back home by bringing items back to the future and selling her goods Online or to museums. She kicked her feet in the air as she thought of the potential.

  Standing on the bed with his arms outstretched sideways as if to balance, Hermes turned to crouch and ease himself back onto his pillow, and then under the covers. Illawara chatted away, coming up with ever grander schemes for what she believed she could sell when they returned home, but Hermes’ mind lay elsewhere. ‘Where do you think he’s from?’

  ‘Who?’ said Illawara, jolted enough to pause her speculations.

  ‘Antonio the Valet, he’s quite mysterious, isn’t he? Did you notice he said almost nothing about himself for the whole journey?’

  ‘I guess he didn’t’ said Illawara before she closed her eyes and saw Antonio’s golden hair, ‘but I tried to avoid looking at him' she waggled her hand, 'he’s a bit sharp for me. I forgot to ask what part of Italy he’s from.’ Hermes gazed up at the ceiling, as he lay still,

  ‘Those eyes, piercing…’ said Hermes trailing off. One of Illawara’s eyebrows lurched upward.

  ‘Are you ok?’ she said,

  ‘Yes, I’m fine, Illy’ Hermes coughed, ‘it’s just strange to have myself and my body back: I’ve realised there's so much I've forgotten.’

  Illawara glanced over to where Hermes lay, and he looked as if he inhabited another world. Seeming to float back to himself Hermes continued, though his voice sounded unsteady: ‘Illy, I just want to thank you….’

  ‘It’s alright… it's been a long, long time hasn’t it?’ She said, reading his expression, as Hermes failed to wipe away a tear before it caught the candlelight, and tumbled down his face. He nodded in silence, ‘I know you can’t tell me how things ended up this way’ she said in lowered voice, ‘but don’t worry, I don’t have to know. It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘But you do Illy. It does matter’ Hermes protested, clenching his hand into a fist, ‘I wish I could tell you everything every day. You see…’ But Hermes let out a pained groan before he could finish, as he felt a grinding nausea roll through him like a millstone, that squashed his insides, and crushed him into his bed.

  ‘Oh, Hermes are you ok?’ asked Illawara when she saw the youth curl into himself like a foetus. Her heart knotted with anguish. Hermes rolled from side to side clutching his stomach. ‘Please, Hermes stop trying to tell me, it's too painful for you. When we find Dad, I’m sure he’ll know a way to break the fix that you’re under?’ Hermes shook his head as he clutched at his ribs, struggling for breath, and used his face to bury his face into his pillow. He then coughed before he snorted the contents of his runny nose into himself. Illawara observed Hermes with concern: he seeming to her no more than a frightened boy, with the weight of an old life upon his shoulders. She then breached the gap between their beds to embrace Hermes: acting like an older sister trying to comfort him from nightmares.

  For some time Illawara soothed him and stroked his forehead, playing with his curly hair that coiled like springs of woollen velvet, until his pain had passed.

  After a while Illawara decided that they had better get some sleep: so both undressed to their underclothes, and hoped there were no bed bugs before they wished each other goodnight and blew out their candles.

  …

  Antonio had chosen their tavern well. The sheets were clean, and the beds were soft. Illawara and Hermes, the exhausted pair, became engulfed by sleep as soon as their heads reached their pillows: both lay deaf to the rhythmic creaking of a bed in a room down the hallway.

  Chapter 7

  A Self Remembered

  San Mianato, morning, Sunday October 2nd 1611

  H ermes awoke as if reborn from the deepest sleep he had known in years. He looked again at himself with surprise to see his own brown limbs, instead of a tiny body covered with feathers. After rubbing his face, he turned to look at Illawara’s bed and found it empty. He pawed and scratched at himself, feeling an urge to preen, before standing up to draw back the shutters, stretch his arms wide, and then look out of the window. The sky had become bright, although streaked with grey clouds that could threaten a shower later in the day. He saw a few leaves blow past in their autumnal colours, reminding him of the changing seasons - in Hawaii he had lived a life that belonged to summer.

  Hermes surveyed the neat houses and shops of San Minato: with their terracotta tile roofs, and pastel painted walls before he locked eyes with a housewife across the cobbled street as she stood on her balcony. The forceful woman had begun to beat the dust from her hearthrug with a thick stick. She paused her work to take him in as his skin caught the light. Her gaze gripped him, unwavering, smirking as she arched her body toward his direction, and then continued to beat the dust from the colourful fabric.

  A bolt ran through his body, and Hermes looked down at himself and saw that he only wore his stockings, so, with a snap, he looked away and slapped the shutters closed. He shook himself and paused to let his heart stop racing. Next, to his dresser, he found a pail of water, a bar of soap, a cloth, and a washing bowl. He then understood that every day from then on he would have to wash: not preen himself. Cleaning his body with his cloth took some time to remember and master, becoming familiar again with his physique – and the soap, like a fish, slipped his grip many times - but he freshened up and then dressed before making his way downstairs to find Illawara.

  The dining area of the tavern already heaved with the bustle of hungry people ready to satisfy their appetites. The maids in their brown wool dresses and white aprons busied themselves by topping up the jugs of water or adding autumn’s fresh bounty of fruit to the wooden bowls on the tables. Hermes could decipher from the range of languages spoken, that most guests at the inn were an international crowd. He suspected from some of the fineries on display that more than a few could also be guests at the Grand Duke’s party. Two Flemish men, with dark brimmed hats, seemed to be negotiating a deal over some plant bulbs. A German couple, glowing like newlyweds, chatted with one another by a window. They chuckled as they watched a group of nuns, arm in arm huddled like ducks, as they crossed the cobbled street in haste trying to avoid the horses and carts of merchants that clattered about the town.

  Hermes found Illawara sharing a breakfast table with the Earl and Antonio. Together they ate some of the local cold meats and salamis with fresh bread - still warm from the community oven. In the centre of their small table sat a large omelette in an earthenware bowl, still hot, while wisps of steam lifted from its surface. The omelette, made in the Tuscan style, lay scattered with shavings of black truffle from the woods on the hills, slicked with vivid green olive oil, and garnished with snowflakes of sea salt. The smell of the food made Hermes’ mouth water. Hunger gripped him. He tried not to think of how many eggs had been used to make the meal, and yielded to a desire to eat that verged on the cannibalistic for him.

  ‘So he awakes. Our bronze prince.’ Antonio’s voice rang out in greeting, as the Valet spied Hermes looking lost from the corner of his eye. Hermes flinched at the greeting and stood rooted to the spot, before attempting a move forward. Antonio had watched the hesitant approach before he got up to embrace Hermes, but the youth stood like a new-born foal and blushed, while Illawara and the Earl cooed over their breakfast.

  ‘Come and sit down’ said the Earl, observing the streak of pink that had r
ushed up Hermes neck, before pulling out a chair. Hermes obeyed, as the maid, who he recognised from last night, brought him a plate and a fork. She clucked and fussed about the table like a yard hen, removing crumbs and topping up the water, while a rosy flush in her own bust grew deeper as she exchanged glances with the Earl. Illawara pretended not to notice, but could not help the twitch of her eyebrow, as she made a start on the omelette.

  ‘You must be starving?’ She said to Hermes, ‘we’ve not eaten since we were in Pisa.' After serving Hermes, Illawara began to pile food on her plate.

  ‘Yes, I think I am’ said Hermes, in an absent-minded way. The Slavic maid brought another wooden board bedecked with meats as the Earl smiled at her and nodded his satisfaction. Hermes began to sample his food and enjoyed the pungent saltiness of the salami as it raked over his taste buds before he chewed on his bread that he had dunked in vinegar and olive oil.

  That day everything seemed different to him: colours looked brighter and more lucid. The clamour of the guests eating and chatting danced in his ears, and the odour of food and people mingled with the rings of church bells outside. Illawara seemed especially fresh and alive, glittering in her attire, as she chatted away to the Earl, and Antonio looked a different man entirely. The Valet sat relaxed and supple as his arm draped over his chair, and his eyes, no longer sharp, seemed to glow like blue topaz in the daylight. The youth caught Antonio looking at him as he drank water from his cup. Hermes felt himself burn again with hunger. Once he had resumed eating solid food, it became less strange as it nourished his human body. In silence, Hermes made a pact, there and then, at the table that he would live his life in every essence of himself.

  ‘Come along’ the Earl declared after a while, ‘it’s time we got going.’ The food lay eaten, its remnants stuck to plates and cutlery, before being cleared from the table. The group gathered itself together. The Valet had belongings retrieved from rooms, outstanding bills paid, and warm farewells made. The Earl took his time to thank the portly Innkeeper for his hospitality and friendly staff, and then Antonio for his excellent taste. The maid seemed sorry to see the Earl leave when he passed her, as she lingered in the entrance hall polishing tableware - his smile and brief wave goodbye were a treasure to her. Details seemed to pass in a haze: before Hermes knew it, the rested horses were saddled, the coach driver and footman were in place, and they were all back in the Earl’s carriage not more than two hours from Florence.