Di Marco stared at her, narrowing his eyes, considering her proposal. Finally, he sat back and joined his long fingers over his stomach, twiddling the thumbs absently.
“You must know the Holy Father gave orders that your ‘companions’ are to be removed from consideration.”
“Such euphemism,” Nadira snorted. “Lord Montrose is not easily killed, as many have discovered these last few months. Even now he is not dead.”
“But considerably decreased in capacity.” Di Marco’s smile lengthened. “You ask me to stand against the pope, risk my fortune, my position…”
“My lord, we are negotiating.”
“I cannot allow you to leave. His Holiness expects you to come to him for an audience. I must have you there. Ask for something else.”
“Bring Lord Montrose here.”
“Ah!” Di Marco threw his head back and laughed, “Right here? Never.”
“Do you fear him, then?” Nadira turned her head slightly so she could look at him from the corners of her eyes. With a smooth motion, she took his cup and drained it. The wine slid down her throat and went directly to her head. She felt giddy.
Di Marco tapped the side of his nose. “Who should I fear? The pope? Montrose? You?”
She smiled at him and pushed her hair back over her head in a gesture that had become more common since the loss of her braid. The inconvenient length made it difficult to control. Di Marco followed the movement with his eyes. Nadira saw him making a decision. Slowly, a smile crept across his lips like a cat stalking a bird.
He reached out and took her hand. “Come with me, Nadira, my dear friend. I have something to show you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
NADIRA followed him with curiosity. She moved with him through a long corridor, he pulled her behind him faster than she liked. He allowed her very little time to peek into the rooms along the hall. Some of the ornate doors were closed; others were standing open revealing luxurious rooms with large windows and sumptuous draperies. Nadira was jerked past them as Di Marco accelerated around a corner.
He stopped suddenly, buffeted as she collided with him before a very plain door. Di Marco fumbled in his sleeves for a large iron key. Nadira looked around as he struggled with the lock. After a moment, he pushed the heavy door inward, and then pulled her in with him, closing the door and locking it with great care. The room was dark. Nadira stayed close to Di Marco’s elbow as he finished securing the door. When the metal clank assured him that the lock had set, he surprised her by reaching over and pulling a heavy beam down and positioning it across the egress in the fittings bolted on either side. He pulled on the door to test the seal before turning to her.
“Open the drapes, Nadira, but just a little.”
She moved to the window and pulled the heavy velvet aside. A bright beam of sunlight penetrated the murky atmosphere of what now appeared to be a small room in the intersection of two walls of a large house. Nadira looked through the window. She thought she might be on the third floor. Di Marco pulled her back from the glass.
“I said pull back the drapes, not hang yourself out there for everyone to see!”
“I was just looking around. This is a very nice house,” she added.
Di Marco frowned at her. “Do not tell me you have lost all sense now. You had me convinced you are not what you seem, then you go and say something like that.” He looked piqued.
Nadira laughed, “I did not mean to offend, dear Di Marco. I am merely playing your game.”
“This is no game, Nadira. This is of the greatest importance. Please be serious.” The light from the opened draperies assailed the darkness. Nadira turned about, looking at the walls. Each wall was painted floor to ceiling with figures, plants, animals and landscapes. Each wall was different. One was a seascape, one was an erupting volcano, one was a vineyard and one was an open view from the top of a high mountain. Nadira moved closer to examine the color and the technique of the artist, but Di Marco grabbed her arm. “No time for art appreciation today, my dear. Please have a seat and I will bring your refreshments.”
“I’m not hungry. You are a fine host, but please do not stop me from looking at these fine…” she lost the word.
“Frescoes. I am not offering you food for your body, but a feast for your mind. Wait here. Remain seated. I beg you, do not disobey me.”
Di Marco paused to be sure she heard him. When she did not answer, he moved to the great cabinet against the vineyard wall and unlocked the doors, keeping one eye on Nadira as he did so. She leaned back in her chair and studied the ceiling, which was the wheel of the zodiac painted in bright colors. Di Marco pulled a dusty brown jug from the back of the cabinet and brought it to the table. His other hand clasped the neck of a wine bottle. Nadira met his eyes.
“What’s this?” she asked pleasantly.
“An elixir.”
“Ah, yes, you alchemists. Busy, busy, busy. All the time bubbling, cooking distilling…”
“This is a special elixir, Nadira. Perhaps Monsieur Conti shared some of his with you?”
“What does yours taste like?”
“It’s bitter, yes, it tastes sharp.”
“Maybe not. Monsieur’s tasted like dirt.”
“Ah, so you’ve had some of that one. This one is different. Very different.”
Nadira stared at him. She saw the excitement in his face. He poured a glass of wine from the bottle he had also removed from the cabinet. He was clearly exhilarated by whatever he was planning for her. “How is it different?” she asked slowly.
Di Marco sat down across from her. “Well, first of all it is stronger. It does not take as long to work. It is brighter and there are more colors where you go. And Nadira, you will be able to hear with this one.” Di Marco’s fingers tapped on the table. “Say you will try it.”
Nadira raised her eyebrows. She pushed the hair back from her face again, stretched out her legs. She was not afraid to try this new elixir; her curiosity was too strong to pass up such an opportunity. What did Di Marco want?
“And what do you desire, my lord,” she asked him.
“I only wish for you to go somewhere, listen and come back. Tell me what you heard.”
“How will I get there?” Nadira knew that navigating required a visual landmark. On the other journeys she had directed herself.
“I will guide you with my voice. I will bring you safely back. I have no desire to do you injury. In fact, my life depends upon your safe delivery to His Holiness three days from today.”
Nadira narrowed her eyes, feeling him with her mind as she had learned to do. He was excited and he was eager; she did not detect any malice. “And my terms?”
“I will see what I can do.”
“No, my lord Di Marco. That is not enough. Send someone to find him and tell him where I am. Bring him to me.” Nadira nodded to herself. Now he is mine.
“As you say, he is not easily captured.”
“He will come without struggle if he knows I have sent for him.”
“And how will he know?” Di Marco raised his eyebrows.
“I will send a message.” Nadira thought. Montrose could not read, but he would recognize something she sent him. She reached for the elixir, but stopped when her fingers were a tantalizing inch away, keeping her eyes on Di Marco.
The old man was deep in thought, probably used to political machinations of this type. Nadira was patient.
“I agree to your terms. I will send a man to de Salvo’s tower to find your companion, and you will do this thing for me.”
“Excellent! Give me some paper and I will create a message for Lord Montrose.”
Di Marco opened a drawer in the table and brought out a beautiful sheet of creamy paper. He pulled out a pair of shears and carefully trimmed the paper so that all four sides were smooth. Then he uncorked the inkbottle and pushed it toward her. He pulled a quill from the drawer and examined its nib before handing it over to her as well. “Explain to me how you can write a mess
age to a man who cannot read,” he asked.
“He cannot read, but he can think,” Nadira answered, bending over the paper. With a steady hand she drew from memory a few figures from the bird script she had copied so many weeks before from Marcus’s back. When she was satisfied, she reached for the shears and cut a lock of her hair from close to her scalp.
Di Marco frowned. “What are you doing?” he asked.
Nadira did not answer. She laid the glossy black strands on the desk and plaited them. When she finished, she tied off both ends with more hair and smoothed the tiny braid flat. Nadira tucked the tiny braid into the sheet of paper and folded it into a small packet. “Have the messenger give this to him. He will follow.”
Di Marco took the packet and tucked it into his wide sleeve. “I will.”
“Let me have the elixir, now.” She reached for the tiny bottle.
Di Marco pulled it back. “Not so fast. This is a powerful potion. We must prepare you first.”
“How is that?” Nadira leaned back in her chair.
“You must relax, we should keep it dark and cool in here.”
“I am relaxed. It is dark and cool in here.” Nadira was impatient.
“Shall we pray for guidance and protection?”
“To whom shall we pray?” Nadira asked.
Di Marco looked shocked. “Why, to God, of course.”
Nadira smiled. “You go ahead. Are you afraid?”
“Of course not.” Di Marco made a face, looked up at her again, and then glanced away. “I shall pray for a good outcome and for our safety.” He knelt, his elbows on the bench, hands clasped. Nadira watched as he crossed himself, then mumbled his prayer. She took a long breath as she waited for him to finish. He closed his eyes, his lips moved silently for what seemed a long time. Nadira watched him cross himself again. The prayer was over. Di Marco opened his eyes and moved to sit on the bench.
“I am ready.” Di Marco poured a tiny amount of the elixir into a shallow little porcelain dish. Someone had painted a little fish on the bottom. The dark elixir covered the image slowly until the fish was completely submerged. Di Marco lifted the vial, measuring how much remained with a practiced eye. He lifted the tiny dish carefully and offered it to Nadira. “Drink it all at once. It is very bitter. I have some honeyed wine for you to wash away the taste.” Di Marco lifted the small wineglass. Nadira took the porcelain dish from him and swallowed the brown elixir. Immediately she reached for the wine. The soothing sweetness of the rich wine chased the bitter bite of the elixir down past the point where she could taste anything at all. She gasped for air.
“That was wretched!” she coughed. “More wine.” She pushed the wineglass toward him.
“Not too much, you should not be inebriated,” he answered, but he obediently poured a half cup for her.
“I know what it tastes like, Nadira.” Di Marco said.
She drained the wine quickly, moving her tongue around inside her mouth to get at any corner that might not have touched the sweet wine.
“Very well, then, my lord. What is next?” She leaned closer to the small man.
Di Marco reached out for her and took her hands in his. “Come with me. I have a soft place for you to lie while you are gone.” He led her to a velvet couch beneath the volcano fresco. Nadira allowed him to arrange her neatly on the couch and cover her with a light shawl he pulled from the back of the chair beside her. “This will keep you warm, should you have a chill. How are you feeling now?” he asked.
“I’m fine, my lord.”
“Let me know immediately when things start to look different to you. Then I will know it is time.”
“Very well. Will you tell me where I am to go?”
“Not yet. Just lie quietly here for now. Can I get you some water perhaps?”
“Yes, I think I will be grateful for it later.” Di Marco stood and left the room. Nadira heard the tumblers fall in the lock as he left. She lay back and relaxed herself, looking at the fresco above her. The volcano was spewing a lovely orange fan of molten rock from its summit. On the shoulders of the great mountain, villagers were fleeing their homes, running toward the shore where fishing boats waited to take them away. In the clouds angels drifted above their heads wielding mighty swords. She looked across the room at the ocean. There was turmoil in that painting too. Waves crashed against a cliff, spraying a cottage with foam and pulling a craggy tree from its precarious perch upon the cliff. Angels floated above this painting too. The room blurred at the edges and it seemed that all four frescoes came to life, all coming into extreme focus as they backed away from her.
Nadira blinked. The angels began to fly back and forth across the volcano, their arms waving the swords up and down just inches from the heads of the fleeing villagers. She shifted to get a better view of the drama. Di Marco entered the room with a scratch of his key and a clink of glass. Nadira tried to look at him but the room spun about confusingly. She could hear him, but which painting was he in? She looked at the ocean painting. There he was coming out of the cottage with a tray and glasses. She reached out a hand to steady the tray for him.
“Nadira. Can you hear me?”
That was very interesting. Di Marco’s voice did not come from his mouth, but from somewhere overhead. Nadira looked up. The cherubim on the ceiling smiled down on her as they fluttered about the roundel.
“Nadira!”
She focused her eyes with effort. Di Marco coalesced into her line of sight. His mouth was moving, but it was a few seconds before the words made a sound, then a few seconds more before the meaning became clear. “Yes?” she whispered. Her voice sounded bumpy to her ears.
“Nadira, listen to me; hear my voice as I speak. Look here.” He pointed to the center of his forehead as he spoke and she obeyed. It was so easy to do as he said and so difficult to move her eyes anywhere else. “You will go to the place where this person is.” Di Marco held up a miniature of an ugly little man wearing fine robes and a crown. Nadira looked at the picture, trying to focus so that the image stayed still. Di Marco spoke again,” Go to this man, tell me what you see. Go now.” Di Marco emphasized the last word, and as he did, Nadira felt the familiar snap and blur as part of her obeyed Di Marco without question.
She found herself moving through bright colors until she abruptly stopped outside a tent by a stream. Unlike her other journeys, she could hear everything that was going on around her. She heard the twittering of the birds above her in the trees as well as the tinny sound of the brook rippling by her feet. The beauty of the woods on this winter day distracted her. She knelt to examine a brilliantly colored leaf, but found with disappointment that her hand moved through it quite without purchase. Beside her, the tree spoke.
“Nadira, go into the tent.”
She obeyed the tree immediately. Inside the tent sat the French king surrounded on three sides by larger, fierce men in armor. They were speaking. Nadira knew several languages, but very little French. Merely enough to read some items on a manifest, she knew no verbs, no articles. Her eyes crossed, but the tree reached into the tent with a branch and tapped her shoulder.
“Repeat what you hear out loud, Nadira. Now.”
She opened her mouth to protest that she could not understand this language especially when spoken so quickly, but to her surprise her tongue produced the French words without her having to think at all. She stood there, incredulous, as she heard herself echo the words spoken by the king and his generals. Presently they all stopped talking and the generals left the tent. The king’s servants entered soon after with food and wine for him. Nadira remembered something. She turned and ran from the tent, continued running through other tents, trees, baggage, a horse. As she passed through each object, she could feel it inside her. It was fascinating and she made a mental note to explore that facet of this elixir later. Now she moved with a purpose toward a shining light near the edge of the camp.
As she ran the tree called her back, but she ignored him. At last, she found w
hat she was looking for. A small tent beside a smaller fire, and beside it sat a very large man. “Garreth!” she cried. The man immediately looked up and scanned the faces around him. He waited, but the call was not repeated. He went back to oiling his boots. With joy, Nadira moved to embrace him. As before, she passed right through him. Disappointed, she sat beside him instead, watching his face. She could see that he sensed her presence, for he stopped his task and looked around suspiciously. Nadira did not want to frighten him, but she had to know.
“Where is Alisdair?” she asked loudly. She saw Garreth frown and rub his ears. “Yes, Alisdair,” she said slowly. Garreth looked up, squinting into the distance. Nadira followed his gaze. Another head rose above the seated men a few tents away looking in her direction. Nadira allowed a squeal of joy to escape her lips and she was instantly beside Alisdair at another fire pit. She threw her arms round him, knowing she would end up hugging herself. Alisdair stepped back, crossed himself.
“Jesu!” he breathed.
“What is it?” another soldier looked up from sharpening his sword.
“I don’t know, but I felt something clutch my heart!”
The other men laughed, continuing with their tasks. “Aye, it was that dinner. They say it was beef, but I think it was that cart horse went lame yesterday, eh, François?”
“Nay,” Alisdair rubbed his chest, his eyes circling around him. The men laughed again.
“Yes, that is exactly what that cart horse said when the cook led him away!” Guffaws cycled around the fire, but Alisdair did not laugh. His eyes narrowed a bit and he crossed himself again. Nadira was so excited she wrung her hands and bounced on her heels, but refrained from touching him again. It was exciting to hear him speak, and though she did not understand most of the French, here were a few mercenaries speaking English enabling her to share their conversation. This new skill flashed another memory for her, and though the tree beside her called her name, she closed her eyes and thought of Montrose.
Without any sense of movement, she opened her eyes. She was in a dark cottage; the only light came from a lamp which hung in the center from the crossbeam. Below her on the floor a man lay sleeping on a pallet. She knelt down and caressed his head. He startled her as he immediately awoke and sat up, the thin cloth that served as a blanket dropped to his lap. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair unkempt. She reached out to touch his face, and as she did so, he flinched.
The Hermetica of Elysium (Elysium Texts Series) Page 27
