Ring of Fire II

by Eric Flint

  Artemisia gathered her thoughts. In the past week she had been pondering this question a great deal. Bernini and dal Pozzo had asked the same thing when she'd sounded them out for advice; for that matter, it was a question she'd asked herself.

  "Your Eminence, in the past few weeks, I received news from England. My father died about six months ago."

  "I am sorry to hear Orazio has passed away," said Antonio with genuine feeling. Cardinal Mazzare added his sympathies. "I shall have a requiem mass said in his honor at our family chapel at Sant' Andrea della Valle. But what has that to do with your decision?"

  "If you don't mind telling us," Mazzare added. From the look he gave to Antonio, Artemisia guessed that the American thought his fellow cardinal quite rude for pressing the matter.

  "I do not mind, Your Eminence. It is a question I expected to be asked. I find myself tiring of the competition. I don't like Naples. It's crowded, dirty, and dangerous. I love Rome and will miss it, but I confess I rather enjoy the thought of being a preeminent artist up north. And I look forward to working where I will be appreciated for my skill as an artist, rather than treated as a curiosity."

  "I appreciate your honesty, Maestra," said Antonio. "I must tell you that I have decided to direct considerable patronage to you."

  "Would staying in Rome be a requirement?"

  "What would you do if it was?"

  Artemisia said nothing. The pope's nephew continued: "It is not. It is something my brother Taddeo might do, but not me. In any case, distance should not pose any great difficulties. The distance from London to Naples hasn't proved any great obstacle to your work for King Charles, after all. And it is my understanding," said Antonio, with a sly smile at the American cardinal, "that my American brother seems to have a way of communicating rather quickly."

  Cardinal Mazzare did not react to Antonio's last statement. He smiled at Artemisia and said, "If you wish, we—our delegation, that is—would be more than happy to have you travel to Grantville with Gerry and Ron Stone. In fact, I am quite certain it would set their father's and stepmother's minds at ease if you did."

  After witnessing the pandemonium the Stone boys had been in the middle of last week, Artemisia wasn't quite sure she was up for the challenge. Still, she didn't see how she could gracefully refuse the offer. And it would be safer for her, in any event.

  "I thank you, Your Eminence," she said. "I very much appreciate your kindness. Please let me know when the boys are ready to leave, so that I may make arrangements. I will need to collect my younger daughter and wrap up my affairs in Naples."

  Cardinal Mazzare nodded.

  "Maestra," said Antonio, "His Holiness has asked me to tell you that he wishes you to see him before your departure."

  Artemisia had to fight down a brief flutter of excitement and anxiety. "Of course, Your Eminence. I am entirely at His Holiness's convenience."

  It was a quiet night at the Club 250. Sherry Dobbs Murray was drinking alone. It was something she tried not to do too much, but tonight she couldn't help herself. Things were going to hell with Ronnie, her husband, and it was either drown her sorrows or go crazy.

  The problem with drowning your sorrows alone, thought Sherry, is that pretty soon you end up going crazy anyway. She had to go home sometime; it might as well be now. With luck Ronnie would be asleep or passed out. As Sherry left the Club 250, she saw a party leaving the Thuringen Gardens. She approached close enough to see what was going on. The only people she recognized were Pete McDougal's oldest boy and the Italian girl he'd been going around with the past few months.

  That's when she saw the only unattached male in the group. He looked like a soldier—and a kraut. Normally, Sherry didn't have much use for krauts, but she couldn't deny the boy looked like a stud. Strong jaw, wide shoulders and a nice, tight ass. What more could a girl want? Sherry was lonely, drunk and horny; Ronnie had been hitting the sauce even harder than usual lately, which made him more useless than usual in bed.

  Sherry wasn't what anyone would call beautiful. She knew she was sexy, though. The kraut stud gave her a second look. She was curvy, with auburn hair; men in this time liked a girl with meat on her bones. They eyed each other speculatively, and then Sherry joined the group. They went to Constantine and Danielle Nobili's house; apparently, most of them were getting sent to Rome for something or other, and it was a last chance to party with the wives and girlfriends. Jabe McDougal and his girl didn't join them. They made their apologies and left for the evening.

  At the house, the conversation got louder and raunchier. The Revenooers Rue flowed freely. This stuff is almost as bad as tequila, Sherry thought, but it gets the job done. Dietrich, that was the kraut stud's name, was undressing her with his eyes, and Sherry was getting turned on.

  They went somewhere private, but not before indulging in more moonshine. They were gone for about a half an hour, and all Sherry wanted to do by that point was go home.

  Artemisia and Constantia Gentileschi arrived in Grantville, along with Gerry and Ron Stone, in October. In the livery stable at the edge of town, she found Prudentia waiting for her, along with a gangly, shy-looking young man. She hugged and kissed her oldest daughter, and then the two sisters had a joyous reunion.

  "You look good, my daughter," Artemisia said. "I trust you have been working hard?"

  "Yes, Mama."

  "It is wonderful to meet you, Maestra Gentileschi," the young man stammered out in Italian.

  Artemisia tried to look stern but couldn't quite manage it. "You must be young Giacomo."

  "James, ma'am. Most people call me Jabe."

  Artemisia's accent couldn't quite manage "Jabe;" for her, he would remain "Giacomo," "Gia' " for short—the Italian version of "James" or "Jim." She was rather pleased that her daughter's suitor was easygoing enough to accept his new nickname. It was always a good sign when a man didn't take himself too seriously. She introduced him to her younger daughter, Constantia.

  Jabe had hired a horse cart to take them into town. Prudentia explained that Signor Nobili offered a place for both of them.

  "But, Mama, the house is rather crowded. I thought Constantia could stay with me, and you could stay at the Higgins Hotel. I know you like your quiet."

  "Hotel?" The word was unfamiliar.

  "It's like an inn, ma'am," said Jabe. "Larger than most inns, though. And much cleaner."

  As soon as all passengers and baggage were stowed on the cart, they lurched off. Artemisia and Constantia were too tired for a full tour of Grantville, but Jabe and Prudentia pointed out some of the sights on the way to the hotel. Constantia pointed at the decorations on the street.

  "Are you preparing for a celebration?" the ten-year-old asked in fair English.

  "Yes," Jabe said. "Our president—well the president of Thuringia-Franconia, anyway, not the whole USE—our president, Ed Piazza, had Congress declare October 7 a holiday. State government offices will be closed and everything. There's also going to be lots of ceremonies and celebrations up in Magdeburg."

  "It's in honor of the heroes of the Battle of Wismar. It's the first anniversary," Prudentia added.

  "Officially, they're calling it 'Remembrance Day,' " Jabe continued. "But most of us call it 'Hans Richter Day.' There's going to be lots of parties."

  "I know you're tired of traveling, Mama, but we will need to leave for Magdeburg in a couple of days."

  "One of Prudentia's paintings is being officially presented to Princess Kristina."

  Her daughter blushed deeply. Jabe grinned wickedly, enjoying putting Prudentia on the spot.

  Prudentia recovered quickly, though, and gave as good as she got. "Just wait till you see Jabe's documentary. It's being televised again." It was Jabe's turn to blush now. Artemisia was unfamiliar with "documentary" and "televised," but judging from the banter between her daughter and young Gia, she thought it might be wise to start raising money for a dowry.

  Sherry knew she couldn't hide things from Ronnie much longer; if she didn't s
ay something soon, her body would tell the tale for her. She was long past being "late," and was getting sick pretty much every day. If her husband wasn't drunk or hung over all the time, he'd have noticed something was up long before now, but even Ronnie wouldn't be clueless enough to miss a bulging belly. Better to tell him now and get it over with.

  Ronnie's reaction was even worse than Sherry imagined it would be. He didn't hit her; that wasn't Ronnie's way. But the verbal abuse was worse than his fists would have been.

  "You fucking kraut-loving slut! Whore! How much did he pay you, huh? Did that include popping out his fucking little kraut bastard kid? Whore! Stupid fucking whore! I bet you'd do your dad too if you had the chance!" From there Ronnie just got louder and less coherent. It was too much, even for the Club 250. They were kicked out, Ronnie calling her everything he could think of every step of the way.

  Artemisia had had three days to recover from her trip. Constantia had been having fun tagging along with Prudentia, which kept her occupied. Jabe managed to get a day off from his work in the Grantville office of the Joint Armed Services Press Division to give her "the grand tour" and to help her get properly settled in. The first order of business was setting up a bank account. After that was done, Jabe engaged a local "real estate agent," Huddy Colburn, to find a short-term lease. It would give her time to decide what she needed for a house in Grantville.

  At her audience with Pope Urban VIII, before she left Rome, Artemisia was given several commissions. Urban, after seeing her initial sketches for a painting of Frank Stone comforting his brother at San Matteo, told her he wanted the original when it was completed and directed her to paint a copy as a wedding gift for Frank and Giovanna Stone. In addition to that work, she would complete an altarpiece for Sant' Andrea della Valle, and there were frescoes to be painted in a USE church. The specific church would be left up to Cardinal Mazzare or his appointed agent, though the holy father made it clear that he expected to be kept informed as work progressed.

  The practical upshot of all this was that Artemisia had two hundred scudi—about $10,000 in USE paper money—to sustain her and her household in Grantville for a few months, an advance on the commissions the pope had given her. She had a letter of credit for an additional twelve hundred scudi she could access once the altarpiece and painting were finished and work began on the frescoes. To show her appreciation for Jabe's efforts, Artemisia paid for dinner at the Thuringen Gardens.

  When they left, the plan was to join Tino and Vivian Nobili for dessert at their house. It was a Saturday night, the Gardens was at its busiest and dessert with the Nobilis would be a chance for quiet conversation. As soon as they got outside, Artemisia noticed a couple arguing in front of a rather disreputable-looking establishment across the street from the Thuringen Gardens.

  Jabe recognized the man's voice. "Ronnie Murray. He's a drunk and a bully." The scorn in the young man's voice surprised Artemisia; it didn't seem to fit with his nature, as she'd gotten to know him over the last few days. From the look on Prudentia's face, she was a little surprised as well.

  "Let's go," Jabe urged. "He probably won't hit Sherry. Odds are he's so trashed he won't even remember this tomorrow." If not for Ronnie's choice of words, Artemisia might have agreed and kept on walking. However . . .

  Ronnie's words echoed in her mind and became something else: "She was wild and leading a bad life . . . she was a whore, and her father didn't know how to remedy this . . . she told me her father wanted to use her exactly as if she were his wife . . . she flirted out of her window so much you'd have thought her house was a bordello."

  These words flared inside Artemisia Gentileschi, erupting from a core of rage that remained at the center of her, even though it had been nearly a quarter-century since those lies had been directed against her in open court. Without being fully aware of what she was doing, Artemisia marched toward the argument. She spared only a quick glance back at Jabe; he was frozen, as if he couldn't decide what he should do.

  Drunk and furious as Ronnie was, it took the brute a moment to realize she was even there. He tailed off in disbelief—he seemed shocked that someone had actually gotten involved.

  "Monster! Bastarde! Leave her alone!"

  Ronnie Murray found himself looking not at his cowering wife but at a very determined woman, a total stranger to him. Artemisia had never been petite but at forty-one the stockiness of middle age had long since set in; clearly she was not a tiny female inclined to back down against the likes of a cowardly bully. If looks could have killed, Artemisia's dark eyes, burning with fury, would have been deadly weapons.

  "Mind your own goddamned business, bitch," Ronnie growled. "Or I'll give you what I'm gonna give her."

  Eerily calm, Artemisia pulled out the knife she always carried with her, ever since . . . that day. Ladylike it was not, but she long ago determined that whoever tried to do to her what Agostino Tassi had done would pay. Dearly.

  Fortunately for Ronnie two local constables chose that moment to arrive.

  Marvin Tipton and Jürgen Neubert were technically off duty. Marvin had just received news that he was to be a grandfather, and Jürgen had insisted they have a drink together when their shift was done. When the disturbance call went out over the radio, Marvin told the dispatcher he and Jürgen would handle it, as they were already on their way to the Gardens. Marvin had to suppress a smile when he saw a woman holding a knife on Ronnie Murray.

  "Okay, what's going on here?" Marvin asked.

  He almost wished he hadn't asked the question. Ronnie started up with his rambling, drunken, profanity-laced version of events; Artemisia, reverting to her native language under stress, was trying to talk over Ronnie, ably backed by her two daughters. Jabe McDougal was trying to say what he had seen. Sherry Murray, Marvin noted, was the only one not saying anything.

  "QUIET!" When everyone had fallen silent, Marvin continued: "Jürgen, why don't you take the ladies to the station in the cruiser? I'll find somewhere better to talk to Ronnie. Sergeant McDougal?" asked Marvin, turning to Jabe.

  "Yes sir?"

  "See the girls home. Where can I get hold of you?"

  "I think I'll wait with Prudentia and her sister at the Nobilis' house, Officer Tipton," Jabe said.

  "Good. I'll call you there when we're done." With that, Marvin led Ronnie back toward the Club 250, and Jürgen escorted Artemisia and Sherry to the patrol car.

  Marvin caught up with Jürgen at the station about an hour later. The two women were nowhere to be seen. "They are at Leahy Medical Center. Herr Doktor Adams is examining Frau Murray," Jürgen said. "It seemed to me correct procedure after Frau Murray told me what happened. I told Herr Doktor we would meet him at the medical center after you returned."

  "You can fill me in on the way, I guess. So much for a drink at the Gardens."

  Jürgen gave Marvin the complete story, recounting his report. Sherry had broken down once they'd arrived at the station, and the whole story came pouring out, more to the woman with her than to Jürgen. A few nights before Ed Piazza's embassy departed for Rome, there had been a party.

  As Marvin drove, Jürgen continued reading from Sherry's statement: "There was this young kraut—Marine, I think. He looked good. Ronnie hasn't . . . well, the kraut looked good, like I said. We were pretty smashed, we went off alone and things started getting kinda hot and heavy. I was into it, y'know, I was liking it. But when he started getting under my shirt, I started thinking what if Ronnie found out? And I told the guy I wanted to stop. But he wouldn't. He just kept on . . . he wouldn't stop." His partner looked at him, his face full of concern. "Marvin, she started crying then, and I could not get any more information, but it was clear she should go to the medical center."

  "You were right. What about the Italian lady?"

  Jürgen couldn't resist a wide smile. "Artemisia Gentileschi, famous artist; she's painted for kings. She said I had an interesting face, and she might want to sketch me!"

  Somehow Marvin wasn't surprised t
hat his partner knew who this Artemisia whoever was. Jürgen had a deep curiosity about the world, and Marvin knew for a fact he spent a lot of his free time in the library. He even took his cousin's family there on weekly outings. If Jürgen Neubert were up-time, Marvin thought, he'd probably go on Jeopardy! and win a bunch of money.

  "And what about you, Marvin? What of Herr Murray?" asked Jürgen.

  "Well, I think I talked Ronnie into not pressing charges against Ms. Gentileschi." Judging from Jürgen's expression, Marvin figured he hadn't mangled the woman's name too badly "He could always change his mind, but I told him it was a waste of time."

  "Frau Gentileschi did pull a knife on him. That is a violation." Jürgen was one of the most by-the-book officers Marvin had ever worked with.

  "Maybe. But a judge or jury wouldn't convict. She wasn't even really threatening Ronnie with it; she was just making him think twice. Even Ronnie admitted as much."