The Shadow Box: Paranormal Suspense and Dark Fantasy Thriller Novels

by Travis Luedke

  His flight was a mystery to all. There were strong rumours that hinted Cesare was talking to Gonzalo de Cordoba in secret. This could only mean he intended to join the side of Spain. Many believed Troche was on his way to inform Louis of this treachery. To that end, they said Cesare had him murdered.

  “I shall have to go to Napoli,” he said to his father.

  Alexander did not care for the treaty between his son and the French. “To Hell with Louis. We have enough concerns without joining in his conflict.”

  “Louis is sure to have heard the rumours.”

  “What? Of you and de Cordoba?”

  “Yes.”

  “It is merely an attempt by Florence to discredit you with the French.”

  “That might be so, but it leaves me with no choice. I have to go.”

  “I say you should wait.”

  “If I do not go, he might march on Rome.”

  “He would not dare.”

  “I know he would. It is best that I go.”

  “Why not wait awhile?”

  “For what? The situation is far too delicate.”

  “Let us see who gains the upper hand.”

  “We cannot wait for that.”

  “I have already sent letters to both.”

  “You do this without informing me? What did you say in them?”

  “I offered Louis our aid if he gave you Sicily. I promised the same to Spain in exchange for Siena, Pisa, and Bologna.”

  “Neither would agree to those demands. Napoli is never worth that.”

  “Then we should wait and offer terms to whoever wins through.”

  “Then you best hope it is Spain. If we deny our aid to Louis, he shall come to Rome in the event he is victorious.”

  Alexander sighed, knowing Cesare was right. If Louis marched on Rome, they stood to lose everything. This year alone, he had acquired the vast estates of Orsini and Colonna, amongst others, and did not want to lose them. “Very well. Then we side with Louis.”

  Cesare nodded that it was the right decision. “Might you announce it?”

  “Yes,” his father agreed. “I shall do it in the Consistory.”

  “Very well, I should prepare my forces.”

  “Let us take a small trip before you go.”

  “I do not have the time.”

  “The fever spreading through Rome is growing worse. It would be good for me to take my leave for a week.”

  “Where do you intend to go?”

  “I want to pay a visit to Adriano Corneto. Let us see if he might finance your venture to Napoli.”

  “You know he shall not.”

  “He can be persuaded.”

  “If we were to poison him, perhaps.”

  “It is what we do, my dear boy. Come with me. I do not want to go alone.”

  Cesare sighed out loud. “Very well, I shall accompany you. And then to Napoli.”

  “We can make good our trip, one way or another.”

  “Yes, if Corneto does not help, we should confiscate his estates.”

  Corneto greeted them more than a week later, though he did so with a degree of suspicion. The Borgias never did anything without a motive, and he wondered what brought them to his estate. It could not be for any good reason from his perspective.

  Dracula arrived in Rome the same evening. He learned of the Borgias’ plans and went with Ilona to the villa. There, they waited in the vineyards to make their move.

  They listened to the chatter from within the house. The men had not discussed any business as yet. Cesare remained cool, his only intention now to kill Corneto. The cardinal sensed that might be the case. With the reputation of the Borgias, he could not rule it out.

  “What do you plan to do?” Ilona asked her husband.

  “I may not have to do a thing. They might do my work for me.”

  “Why not go in there and kill them all?”

  “No, I have to be more subtle with this. We should wait.”

  They fell silent when they saw Corneto emerge from the house. The fat figure of the pope stepped out close behind him.

  “So you are joining the side of France?” Corneto asked him.

  “Yes, I see you have heard.”

  “Indeed, there are few secrets in Rome.”

  “Are you looking to lend us financial aid?”

  “So that is what brought you here?”

  “Yes, it is always good to add to our number of friends.”

  “Is that what we are, friends?”

  “If you dip into your pockets, I would view you as such, yes.”

  “You have never sought to be my friend before.”

  Alexander grinned with his black teeth. “The need has never arisen till this day.”

  Corneto sighed. “It ails me that it is the only reason you come here.”

  “Do not be so sensitive, Adriano. It is a tough world in which we live. What chance is there for any of us if we do not have friends?”

  “And that is the truth.”

  “One must act as the situation warrants it. The war in Napoli can affect us all.”

  “Napoli is a long way from Rome.”

  Alexander raised his hand and touched the cardinal on the wrist. “I would not so readily agree. Rome is the prize for the entire world, and all want a piece of it. But it is we who have the power here.”

  “And what is in this for me?”

  “As a friend, I can give you a higher status in Rome. You could line your pockets all you want. Status gives you power, and power gives you wealth.”

  Corneto thought about it. The offer had real appeal for him. He knew he would be a fool to ignore it. “You are alluding to the Roman Curia?”

  “Yes, that is what I said.”

  “And what would this new status cost from my purse?”

  “You want a figure?” the pope said, rubbing his chin, though he did not delay with an answer. “Let us say twenty-five thousand ducats to begin. And then another twenty-five thousand to follow.”

  “We should discuss it over dinner.”

  While the two men talked, Cesare set to work inside the house. He watched the servants come in and out of the dining room. They knew him by reputation, and none wanted to be the object of his scrutiny. As he tried to catch their gaze, they all kept their heads low.

  He picked up a flask of wine from the table. After holding it to his nose, he took a swig. He waited until he was alone again in the room. Then he took a vial from a pocket and poured the colourless liquid into it.

  One of the male servants walked back into the room. He carried three plates, which he set down on the table. Cesare watched him with a careful eye. The man knew it, and kept his head low, just as the others had done.

  “I would like to talk to you,” Cesare said to him.

  The servant did not look up. “I have much to do, My Lord. My master might give me the whip should I delay.”

  “Then make the time, lest you might feel the point of my sword.”

  “I cannot, My Lord,” the servant said, nervous.

  “I can make it worth your while.”

  The servant stopped and looked around to see if anyone else was coming. “What do you mean?”

  “Are you happy here?”

  “Cardinal Corneto is a good man. He treats me well enough.”

  “That is not what I asked. Are you happy here?”

  “I could be worse off, My Lord. At least here the air is clean, unlike in Rome where the fever rages.”

  “How would you like to have your own home? Out here in the country, where the air is always clean.”

  “That is but a dream for one like me.”

  “I can make that dream come true.”

  “Forgive me, My Lord. But how could you? Why would you?”

  “I can do it. Of course, I would expect something in return.”

  “What would that be?”

  A maid walked into the room, and the men fell silent. They watched her lay some fruit on the table. Wh
en she left, they resumed their conversation.

  Cesare knew he already had the man in his pocket. “It is not much that I ask.”

  “Then tell me, My Lord.”

  “And for it I would give you a thousand ducats.”

  That was a sum of money the man could not resist. It was more than he might see in his entire lifetime. “Then I beseech you to say what it is you want from me.”

  Cesare stepped forward. “This flask,” he said. “I want you to ensure that only Cardinal Corneto drinks from it.”

  The man looked at it. “It is poisoned?”

  “Why not have a taste and find out?”

  The man eyed the flask as though it contained the plague. “Do you have the payment on your person?”

  Cesare touched a pocket on his coat. “I have it here.”

  The man’s eyes widened. “Then may I see it, My Lord?”

  Cesare produced a heavy pouch.

  “That is a thousand ducats?”

  Cesare nodded. “Fifty coins. Each is worth twenty ducats.”

  The man did not know if that made a thousand. He wiped his mouth with a hand. “And it is mine?”

  “If you do what I ask.”

  “Very well,” he said. “I shall do it.”

  He reached for the pouch, but Cesare pulled it away. “When it is done,” he advised. “Then you shall have your payment.”

  The man took the flask from him. Cesare left him there and walked outside to breathe in the fresh air. It was so cool up here in the hills, unlike Rome, where he found the heat stifling at times. This was proving a welcome respite from that. He saw his father with Corneto as the men approached, on their way back inside.

  “Ah, Cesare. You have come to sample a little of the cool night air?”

  “Yes, Father,” he said. He turned to Corneto. “I can see why you like it here.”

  “It is always a good change from Rome.”

  “It makes me wonder why you would ever go back there.”

  “How long could you stay away from Rome?”

  Cesare shrugged.

  “Then you know the answer.”

  Dracula stole into the house while Ilona waited outside in the vines. He needed to find the one whom Cesare had bribed. Hiding in the shadows, he watched the servants at close quarters. Finally, he saw the man he wanted.

  The man still held the flask. Dracula reached out and grabbed him. The jolt knocked it from his hand, though Dracula caught it as it fell from his grasp. The man struggled beneath his grip, but the vampire kept a firm hand clamped over his mouth.

  “If you cry out, I shall kill you,” he said. “Do you understand?”

  The man nodded as best he could.

  “Good, let us take a quiet stroll in the gardens. We need to talk.”

  Dracula took him to a quiet spot among the vines, where Ilona joined them. The man looked afraid when Dracula released him, but he did not cry for help. His better instincts advised him it might be the last thing he did.

  He looked at his abductor, and then at Ilona. “Who are you people?”

  “I am an agent employed by the cardinal,” Dracula said.

  “What?”

  “He knows the Borgias want to kill him.”

  “We had but to discover how,” Ilona cut in.

  “We know what they intend to do.”

  “What has this to do with me?” the man asked.

  Dracula could not believe how cool the man was under pressure. “We heard every word said to you.”

  The man’s bravado did not last, and he shrank in fear. Already they had found him out.

  “Do not worry over it,” Ilona said. “There is a way you can save yourself.”

  “If you assist us,” Dracula added.

  “Assist you, how?”

  “Yes, should you elect to do so, you shall not be punished for what you have agreed to do for Signor Borgia.”

  The man had no choice but to comply, his initial composure all but gone. Knowing the gravity of his predicament, he had to struggle to fight back the tears. “Then what would you have me do?”

  “Ensure the Borgias drink the poisoned wine.”

  “You want me to kill them?”

  “You were keen enough to kill your master, for a pretty sum.”

  The man hung his head in shame. “I shall go to Hell for this.”

  “No, you shall not,” Ilona argued. “The Borgias are evil men.”

  “You would help save your master,” Dracula reasoned. “That would make you a hero. I shall allow you to keep the purse offered to you.”

  He raised his head. “You would?”

  “Yes, you need only pass the flask to the Borgias.”

  The man panicked. “The flask? Where is it?”

  “It is here,” Dracula said, holding it up. “You know what you have to do.”

  The man sighed with relief. He took the flask from Dracula and returned inside.

  Chapter 36

  ROME PROVINCE. THE VILLA OF CARDINAL

  ADRIANO CORNETO OUTSIDE ROME.

  AUGUST 11, 1503. THAT SAME EVENING.

  Shall we return inside and eat?” Corneto asked the Borgias.

  “Yes, the signs are it should be a good meal, Cesare,” the pope said to his son.

  Cesare smiled. “Yes, Father, it shall be that.”

  “Then come, let us eat.”

  “You go on ahead. I shall join you shortly. I need a breath of air.”

  The two older men sat down at the table.

  Alexander licked his lips. His mouth felt dry and he fancied a drink. “There is no wine ready for us?” he asked.

  He looked around to see if any of the servants had some in hand. His eyes fell on the man Cesare had bribed. He clicked his fingers to summon the man over.

  The man walked over with the flask. Every nerve in his body trembled, knowing he was about to poison the pope himself.

  “What is ailing you, man?” Alexander asked, his voice almost a growl. “Pour me some wine.”

  The man looked to his employer, to which Corneto nodded for him to pour. If it is what the cardinal wishes, then so be it.

  “Leave the flask.”

  He set it down on the table, and then bowed and left the room.

  “You need to use the whip more on your servants,” Alexander said to his host.

  “It is not like him,” Corneto said. “He must be a trifle nervous.”

  “But why? He knows who I am.”

  “Well, that might be the reason. You are the pope, after all.”

  The man returned with a second flask. In that moment, Cesare walked into the room and sat down. He watched the servant give the second flask to Corneto. The man was careful not to make eye contact with him. He bowed to Corneto and left again.

  Cesare smiled to himself. Soon Corneto shall be dead. Then my father can confiscate all that he owns. He would claim it for the Church, but everyone knew the pope kept these estates for his family.

  Alexander took a long swig of his wine, finding the taste quite strong. It brought tears to his eyes as it passed down his gullet. He belched out loud and poured some more.

  “Is it to your liking?” Corneto asked him.

  “Yes, it has a real edge to it, though.”

  Cesare took the flask from him, and poured a measure for himself.

  “Have some from my flask,” Corneto said, offering his.

  Cesare eyed the flask. “I thank you, but I have this one.”

  “As you wish.”

  Cesare watched his host guzzle down a good measure. He then took a swig of his own. “You are right,” he said to his father. “It is a little sour.”

  “Then drink this,” Corneto said again.

  For the second time, Cesare refused the offer. “I shall drink from this for the now.”

  “Yes,” Alexander said. “The wine is a little different in the hills.”

  Corneto began to wonder about the flask he was drinking from. It struck him as odd that C
esare did not want any of it. He put it to his nose to check it. It smelled well enough.

  “Is something wrong?” Cesare asked him.

  “I do not know. Is there?”

  Alexander sensed the tension between them. “Cesare, I have good news.”

  His son looked to him. “What is that, Father?”

  “Adriano is looking to make a donation for your campaign in Napoli.”

  Cesare did not look at Corneto. “That is good. It is nice to have a new friend.”

  “A friend would toast from the same flask.”

  He handed it to Cesare.

  “I am content with what I have,” Cesare said, still not looking at him.

  “Then would you toast with me, Rodrigo?” Corneto said to the elder Borgia.

  “Very well,” Cesare said, reaching for the flask.

  He did not want his father to drink from it. In his haste to grab it, he knocked it over. “I imagine we shall have to toast from the other flask.”

  “It is all but gone,” his father said. “You shall have to get another.”

  The servants entered with the food. They laid it out along the centre of the table for the men to eat what they pleased. The elder two spoke while they ate. Cesare did not join in. Later in the night, he did not feel too well, and neither did his father. They retired early to bed.

  By morning, they were stricken with fever. Corneto sent word to the city, and also for the physician. The news spread all over the Vatican. It did not take long for the cardinals to gather together. They set off at once for Corneto’s villa.

  “Does he have the fever from the city?” Corneto asked the medic.

  “I am not certain,” the physician replied, looking a little confused. “It is similar, but not quite the same.”

  Alexander heard them and opened his eyes. When they saw this, they moved toward him. He looked pale and weak and his body burned with fever. “Help me,” he said, his voice as feeble and as weak as his ailing torso.

  “I may have to bleed you,” the physician prognosed.

  “Then do it,” Alexander said.

  He raised his hand, but dropped it again. The physician turned to Corneto once more. “We have to remove the Holy Father’s robes. I shall need help.”

  The cardinal summoned his servants to undress the pope. They received strict orders not to look upon him. The one who had given him his wine could not resist. Guilt consumed him inside. He had poisoned the pope.