by Anne Rice
I looked up and saw old Pico in the gateway gesturing for me to hurry. All the others had gone out.
I bowed and went behind Signore Antonio and out of the orangery, and into the larger courtyard.
I was dazed. I think perhaps Fr. Piero was there, but I didn’t really look at those standing about.
I saw the open doorway to the street, with the dim silhouettes of a couple of servants keeping watch there, and I moved towards the door and then went through it.
No one questioned me. No one seemed to notice me.
I walked numbly into the crowded piazza and for one moment stared up at the darkening grayish sky. How perfectly solid and real was this world into which I’d been plunged, with its crowded stone houses, built slap against one another, and their random towers. How real the walls of the palazzos opposite, somber and brown, and how real the noises of this motley crowd, with their carefree conversation, and bursts of laughter.
Where was I going? What did I mean to do? I wanted to pray, to go into a church and fall on my knees and pray, yet how could I do this with the yellow patch on my clothes? How could I dare to make the Sign of the Cross, without someone thinking I was mocking my own faith?
I felt lost and knew only that I was wandering away from the houses to which I’d been sent. And when I thought of the soul of the dead man, going now to the utter unknown, I was desperate.
CHAPTER NINE
I STOPPED. I FOUND MYSELF IN A NARROW MUDDY LANE, overcome with the stench of the filth flowing into the gutters. I thought again of trying to reach a church, a place where I could go down on my knees in the shadows and pray to God for help with this, but then again the thought of the round yellow badge on the left side of my chest stopped me.
People passed me on both sides, some politely giving me room, others shouldering me out of their path, while others milled at the open cookshops and bakery shops. The fragrances of roasting meat and baked bread mingled with the stench.
I felt suddenly too weak in spirit to go further, and finding a narrow margin of wall between a fabric merchant’s open stall and a bookseller, I slipped my lute around into my arms, and then holding it like a baby, I leaned back and rested and tried to find above the narrow margin of the sky.
The light was dying fast. It was getting chilly. Lamps burned in the shops. A torchbearer made his way through the street with two smartly dressed young men behind him.
I realized I had no idea what month of the year it was here, and if it corresponded in some way to the late spring weather I’d left behind. But the Mission Inn, and my beloved Liona, seemed utterly remote, like something I’d dreamed. That I’d ever been Lucky the Fox, a paid assassin, seemed unreal as well.
Again, I prayed for Lodovico’s soul. But the words seemed meaningless suddenly, in the face of my failure, and then I heard a voice say very close to me,
“You don’t have to wear that badge.”
Before I could look up, I felt the badge being ripped from the velvet of my tunic. I saw a tall young man standing there, dressed very well in brilliant burgundy velvet, with dark hose and black boots. He wore a sword in a heavily jeweled scabbard, and a short cloak over his shoulders of gray velvet as fine as that of his tunic.
He had long hair, much like my own, but it was a soft brown in color, very lustrous and curled just as it touched his shoulders. His face was remarkably symmetrical and his full mouth very beautiful. He had large dark brown eyes.
In the gloved fingers of his right hand, he held the round yellow badge that he’d so easily ripped from its stitches, and he crumpled it up now, as best he could, and tucked it into his belt.
“You don’t need it,” he said in the most gentle confidential way. “You’re Vitale’s servant and he and all his household and family are exempt from wearing the badge. He should have thought to tell you to take it off.”
“But why, what does it matter?” I asked.
He lifted a short red velvet cape that he’d been carrying over his left arm and he put it over my shoulders. He then put a sword on me, buckling the belt into place. I stared at it. At the jeweled handle.
“What is all this?” I asked. “Who are you?”
“It’s time you had a little rest, and time to think,” he said in the same soft confidential voice. “I’m to take you away from here for a while, to give you some time for reflection.”
He took my arm. I slung the lute over my back again and let him lead me out of this alley.
It was now almost completely dark. Torches were passing us, making a spitting sound as they flared, and some of the shops now poured their light into the narrow walkway. I couldn’t quite see for the glare of the lights.
“Who sent you to me?” I asked.
“Who do you think?” he answered. He had slipped his arm around me, under the lute, and he was pressing me gently forward. His body seemed immaculately clean and smelled faintly of a dark sweet perfume.
The others I’d encountered here had not by any means been dirty, but even the best of them had a slightly dusty appearance and some smell of natural skin and hair.
This man gave off nothing of the sort.
“But what about Vitale?” I asked. “It’s all right to leave him at such a time?”
“Nothing will happen tonight,” the man assured me, looking directly into my eyes as he bent slightly towards me. “They’ll bury Lodovico, and it won’t be in consecrated ground, of course, but the father will accompany the body to the site. The household will mourn, whether it is permitted to mourn a suicide or not.”
“But that priest, Fr. Piero, what about his accusations, and I don’t know whether the dybbuk is still raging.”
“Why don’t you put yourself in my hands,” he said, as gently as if he were a physician, “and let me heal the pain you’re feeling? Let me suggest that you’re in no state to help anyone just now. You need to be refreshed.”
We walked through another huge piazza. Torches blazed at the entrances of the immense four-storied houses, and lights shone in myriad towers against the dark blue sky. A sprinkling of stars was visible.
I saw that men around me were very ornately dressed, flashing ringed fingers, or bright colored gloves, and many were hurrying in groups as if to an important destination.
Women in lavish silk and brocade made their way daintily through the dust, their drably dressed servants hurrying to catch up with them. Finely decorated litters passed, the bearers trotting under their burden, the passengers concealed behind brightly colored curtains. I could hear music in the distance, but the noise of voices swallowed it up.
I wanted to stop and take in all of this ever-shifting spectacle, but I was uneasy.
“Why didn’t Malchiah come to me?” I asked. “Why did he send you?”
The brown-haired man smiled and, looking at me lovingly as if I were a child in his care, he said, “Never mind about Malchiah. You will forgive me a little mocking tone when we speak of him, won’t you? The powerful ones are always mocked a little by the less powerful.” His eyes flashed with good humor. “Come, this is the Cardinal’s palazzo. The banquet has been going on since this afternoon.”
“What cardinal?” I whispered. “Who is he?”
“Does it matter? This is Rome in an age of splendor, and what have you seen of it, so far? Nothing but the dreary goings-on of one miserable household?”
“Wait a moment, I don’t …”
“Come now, it’s time to learn,” he said. And again it was as if he were talking to a small child. I found this both attractive and extremely off-putting. “You know what you’ve been longing to see all this time,” he went on, “and there are things that you should see here because they are a glorious part of this world.”
His voice had a rich resonance to it, and it seemed he was thinking of these things naturally as he spoke. Not even Malchiah’s smile had this quality of tenderness to it. Or so it seemed in the brightening light.
We fell into a veritable stream of lavishly dres
sed company, and entered beneath a huge gilded archway into what might have been an enormous courtyard or hall, I could not tell which. Hundreds of people were milling about.
On the margins of this space were tall stately evergreens decked with candles, and just before us an endless row of heavily draped tables stretching out to the right and the left.
Some guests were already seated including a company in rich robes and caps, their faces toward the great open space beyond the tables where any number of male servants were coming and going with wineskins, trays of goblets, and platters of what appeared to be gilded fruit.
High above us were great painted wooden arches garlanded with flowers, and supporting an endless canopy of shimmering silver cloth.
Torches flared on the margins of the room. And heavy golden and silver candelabra were being placed every few feet along the tables, together with golden plates. People were taking their seats on cushioned benches.
I was led to the far right where several men were already seated, and we quickly took our places. I found it awkward handling the sword. I placed my lute safely at my feet.
The place was now swarming with guests.
There must have been over a thousand. Everywhere the women were a feast for the eye with their bare white shoulders and scantily covered breasts, in deeply colored gowns with slashed sleeves, and ropes of pearls and gems in their elaborately done hair. But the younger men seemed equally as interesting, with their lustrous long hair, and brightly colored hose. Their slashed sleeves were as ornate as those of the women, and they wore an infinite variety of colors as well. The men were preening, more boldly than the women, but a contagious goodwill seem to unite all.
Suddenly, a troop of boys appeared, dressed in flimsy belted tunics, obviously intended to evoke ancient Greek or Roman tastes. Their arms and legs were bare, and they wore gilded sandals, and garlands of leaves and blossoms in their hair.
Surely their cheeks had been rouged, and maybe some paint applied as well to darken their eyes. They laughed and smiled and murmured easily, filling goblets and offering plates of candies, as though they’d been doing this sort of thing all their young lives.
One of these lithe little Ganymedes filled the silver goblets in front of us from a huge wineskin that he handled deftly as though he’d done this a thousand times.
Far to the right of us, a group of musicians had begun to play, and it seemed the voices around me grew louder, as if excited by the music. The music itself was uncommonly lovely, with a rich melody rising, a melody that sounded familiar to me but which really wasn’t, played by viols, lutes and horns. Surely there were other instruments, but I didn’t know what they were. Another group of musicians far to my left joined the first in the very same song. A slow rhythmic drumbeat underscored the melody, and other melodies became interwound with it, until I lost track of the structure of the music altogether. I could feel the beating of the drums against my ears.
I was enthralled by all of this, but I was also disturbed. My eyes were watering as much from perfume as from candle wax.
“Malchiah wants me to do this,” I pressed. I reached out and touched the young man’s right wrist. “He wants that I attend this banquet?”
“Do you think he would allow it if he didn’t want it?” the man answered with the most innocent expression. “Here, drink. You’ve been here almost a full day and you haven’t tasted the delicious wine of Italy.” He smiled again that very sweet and loving smile, as he put my goblet in my hand.
I was about to protest that I never drank, couldn’t even bear the smell of it, when I realized this wasn’t really entirely true, just a matter of policy, and the delicious aroma of the wine was rising with a remarkable seductive power. I took the goblet and tasted it. It was the way I loved it, dry and with a slight smoky flavor, and as good a wine as I’d ever had. I took another drink of it, and a soothing warmth moved through me. Who was I to question what the angels wanted? All around me people were feasting from golden plates, and chattering comfortably with one another, and as a third group of musicians joined the other ensembles, I felt myself yielding to this, as if to a dream.
“Here, drink again,” said my companion. He pointed to a slender blond woman who was just passing us in the company of several older persons, a vision with her yellow hair done up in white flowers and brilliant jewels.
“That is the young woman who caused all the trouble,” he said to me, “your Leticia, whom Lodovico so coveted, though she is promised to Niccolò, who almost lost his life.” His tone was almost reverent but something about his choice of words disturbed me and I might have said something about it, but he offered me my own goblet again.
I drank. And I drank again.
My head swam. I shut my eyes and opened them again, seeing at first nothing but myriad candles blazing everywhere, and only now did I see there were tables under the arches all down both sides of this grand space. They were as crowded as we were here.
One of the boys refilled my cup, and smiled warmly at me as he moved away. I drank again. Slowly my head cleared. Everywhere I looked I saw color and movement. People were moving out of the open space before us, and the music grew louder, and quite suddenly two trumpets sounded, to a great outbreak of applause.
Into the open space before us came a troupe of dancers, brilliantly costumed to suggest classical gods and goddesses, in gilded armor and helmets, with shields and spears, and they performed for us now a kind of slow, graceful and careful ballet. People were applauding eagerly, and the chatter everywhere increased in volume again.
I could have watched these languid dancers forever as they made their careful circles and turns, and formations. Suddenly the music picked up, the dancers moved away, and a lute player came to the fore, and placing one foot on a small silver stool, he proceeded to sing loudly but gracefully in Latin of the varieties of love.
A kind of dizziness came over me, but I felt warm and supremely comfortable and dazzled by what I saw before me. The lute player was gone. There were actors again, some got up as horses, and they were acting a battle scene with much noise and frequent rounds of applause.
There was food on the gold plate in front of me, and indeed I realized I’d been eating it rather eagerly, when the servants came to remove our dishes and to remove the tablecloth to reveal another cloth, of crimson and gold, underneath.
Bowls of scented water were being passed for us to wash our hands.
The first course had been taken away and I’d scarcely noticed it, and now came the servants with platters of roasted fowl and steaming vegetables. And we were once again piling the food on our plates. There were no forks, but that didn’t surprise me. We ate with our fingers and with the aid of gold knives. Again and again, I drank as the boys refilled our goblets, and my eyes were drawn back to the area before me when a great painted backdrop of streets and buildings was wheeled noisily into place, transforming the flagstones into a more elaborate stage.
I couldn’t make out the subject of the drama that followed. I was distracted by the undercurrent of music, and finally just too sleepy to pay much attention to any one beautiful thing.
Another round of applause drew me out of my daze. Suckling pigs were being brought in now and the aroma was overpowering, though I did not want to eat anymore.
A sudden alarm brought me to my senses. What was I doing? Why was I here? I’d meant to grieve and mourn for Lodovico and my own failure to save him, yet I was banqueting with strangers, and laughing with them at lavish theatricals that made little or no sense to me at all.
I wanted to speak but the man who’d brought me here was talking with the one next to him, and saying in the most earnest voice. “Do it. Do what you want to do. You will do it, anyway, won’t you? So why torture yourself about it, or about anything, for that matter?”
He stared forward and drank from his cup.
“You didn’t tell me your name,” I said, touching his sleeve.
He turned and flashed one of his
tenderest smiles at me. “It has too many syllables,” he said, “and you have no need to know it.”
The meat was being offered to us. He cut a large piece from the platter and put it on my plate. With a giant gold spoon he scooped up the rice and the cabbage and gave me a helping of this as well.
“No, no more,” I said. “I must leave, actually. I have to get back.”
“Oh, nonsense, you mustn’t. They’ll be dancing soon, for everyone. And then more entertainment. The evening’s only just begun. These celebrations go on all night.” He pointed to a group at the distant tables that flanked the right side of the hall. “See there, those are guests of the Cardinal from Venice. He’s doing his very best to impress them.”
“That’s all fine and good,” I said. “But I have to see what’s happened to Vitale. I think I’ve been here too long.”
I heard a lovely light riff of laughter near me, and I turned to see that incomparably beautiful Leticia bending her head towards the man beside her. “Surely she doesn’t know that Niccolò has lost his brother,” I said.
“No, of course, she doesn’t,” said my companion. “Do you think the family is going to publicize the disgrace, that the idiot took his own life? They’re burying him and leave them alone to do it. Let them do their sneaking off by themselves.”
I felt a cold anger come over me. “Why do you talk of them like that?” I asked. “They’re suffering, all of them, and I’m here to help them in their suffering, I’m here as an answer to their prayers. You sound as if you don’t approve of them or their prayers!”