The Hermetica of Elysium (Elysium Texts Series)

by Annmarie Banks

  “Oh” she cried out as her heart twisted with grief at finding him in such a miserable place. Montrose looked about, his eyes resting briefly on the shuttered window and the drafty fireplace beside him. He got to his feet stiffly. Nadira reached out to steady him, but moved through his body and then through the wall until she stood outside. “Oh no,” she thought, then moved back through the wall. Montrose was opening the shutters and peeking out the window, then the doorway. He hears me, she thought, or at least he thinks he hears me. Montrose walked outside where the light was better.

  Nadira could see that the cottage was really a woodshed, the fireplace just a pit with an opening in the wall, and the shuttered window was where the kindling was shoveled. Montrose stood before the door, his eyes moving side to side as he scanned the horizon. Nadira could not resist another call. She deliberately stepped inside him and remained quite still, feeling his heart beat inside her throat, for she was so much shorter than he. Montrose froze and then slowly put a hand to his chest. Nadira closed her eyes and willed herself to think of her love for him. She brought back memories of eating together, talking in the evenings, how he lifted her onto her horse. Very carefully, she said his name.

  “Robert.”

  Montrose started; he stepped out of her and looked back. Nadira saw his face twist in frustration. She followed him as he strode back into the woodshed and sat heavily on the pallet, his head in his hands. She glanced at his hands as he did so. The thumb has healed. The other arm was black and still sore from the wounds he received in the tower. Nadira could see no sign of rot on either wound. She sighed with happiness, floating just behind his head. She spoke to him softly.

  “Stay here. Someone comes with a message. Be here to receive it.” She knew that last part would not be heard. She tried to blow through him again, but just as she touched his sleeve, a tree reached out a barky finger and snagged her back. She stopped; clearly, nothing should be able to touch her when she was traveling, yet this tree had her in its grip. She struggled to free herself, but another branch snaked about her waist, scratching her with its rough bark. Nadira pushed back as the trunk drew near to her face. She was astonished when the bark parted and the tree spoke.

  “Nadira. You were not to digress. I have other places to send you and you traipse off to tend to your business. Trust me. I told you I would get him for you. You are traveling for me, now.” A moment later Nadira was back on the divan in Di Marco’s secret room. “Nadira.” Di Marco took her hand and tapped her wrist.

  “My lord.” She sat up carefully, but still the room spun about her.

  “Lie back. It takes a while to wear off. How do you feel?”

  “Tired, and thirsty.”

  “I knew you would be. Here is the water I have ready for you.” Di Marco produced a green glass goblet and steadied it as Nadira drew it to her lips. “You went somewhere else, didn’t you?”

  Nadira released the goblet. She could not resist a guilty look. “I did.”

  Di Marco sighed. “Well, I suppose it can’t be helped.’ He looked so dejected Nadira felt pity for him.

  “What about the French? Didn’t I give you what you wanted?”

  Di Marco brightened. “Yes, that was remarkable. I wrote down exactly what you said and you did speak for some time. You say you don’t know any French?”

  “I can say a few words, mostly terms of politeness, but my master did not deal with French merchants. He found them arrogant and treacherous. He preferred the Turks and the Lascars.”

  Di Marco raised his eyebrows. “Really? Less treacherous?”

  “No, less arrogant.” They both laughed. Di Marco rubbed her hand between his two.

  “You spoke perfect French to me with a very aristocratic accent. I am very pleased.” His mouth smiled, but Nadira saw that his eyes did not. She stared at him until he looked back at her.

  “What did I say?”

  He bent low over Nadira’s head. “You have told me where he is and why he has come,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

  “And the Holy Father? Will he ask me these same questions? Will I have to drink this elixir for him as well?” Nadira was nervous about that prospect. She could envision a dozen churchmen in long robes standing around her demanding she speak to spirits or frighten an enemy for them. Her stomach fluttered.

  “I do not know. It is possible, though I have expressed my doubts about subjecting you to that kind of scrutiny. You see, you must be relaxed and calm to get excellent results. I have seen the wreck of those who were frightened or unhappy after drinking the elixir. There is no antidote but time, and sometimes time drags the traveler through great stretches of hellish territory before releasing him.” Di Marco’s voice trailed off and his eyes lost their focus. After a long pause, Nadira spoke.

  “You have been there, haven’t you?”

  The feather in Di Marco’s tam quivered. He lifted his eyes to Nadira’s. His mouth thinned into a flat humorless smile. “And I will never go back.”

  “Do you think His Holiness will insist?”

  “I fear that possibility. Alexander is not someone I feel comfortable refusing. He is a great and powerful man. I fear his son, Cesare. There is more to this pope than a ring and a crook.” Di Marco rubbed his face. “But I say too much, Nadira. None of that should concern you. I will have you cleaned, dressed, and brought before the Holy Father as I have been instructed.”

  Three days later, it was as Di Marco said. They stood before the great doors of Pope Alexander IV’s banquet hall.

  “What will happen tonight?” Nadira asked him.

  “There will be a banquet. Many men will talk about politics and matters concerning the French king. Afterwards the guests will separate, each to his own diversions. I will take you to a smaller room where His Holiness and a few men he has selected will interview you.”

  “You will be with me the whole time?” Nadira asked with some anxiety.

  “Yes. You are my mission. The others fear the elixir and I hold the only key to that door.”

  Nadira frowned, “So you will be responsible should my performance not please these great men.”

  Di Marco squeezed her hand. “You cannot fail to please them. Your information concerning King Charles has been supported by the information gathered by spies. The pope is impressed with your ability. He is unlikely to be displeased.”

  “I fear I may say something that will greatly displease him. I cannot lie when under the influence of these potions, as you know.”

  “I will protect you; it is important that you not allow worry to color your performance.”

  “How can you protect me?” Nadira’s voice sounded shrill to her own ears. She lowered her voice and repeated. “How can you?”

  “It is easier than you think. I merely have to say that any unfortunate words were spoken by a demon, and you are merely the mouthpiece.”

  “Then I shall be burned as a witch.”

  Di Marco laughed and hugged her harder. “Not here. The pope is perturbed by the efforts of Torquemada and Savonarola. He understands the need for extraordinary methods of gathering information. It has been said that he consults a witch from his childhood on occasion. Did you know that?” Nadira was too shocked to respond. Di Marco laughed affectionately. “Rest until the banquet is over.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  THEY were the first to arrive in the Great Hall. Servants hovered about setting the tables which were laid out in the shape of a T, and preparing the meal courses. Others were arranging the seating. Nadira paused in the doorway looking about the Hall. The room was enormous, though completely empty except for the small table grouping at the far end. The painted ceilings were so high she could barely make out the details of the frescoes. Lavish drapery lined the walls. Nadira assumed windows were behind them, though they were very definitely covered. The floor was polished marble; so slick she made herself take tiny steps to avoid slipping.

  Di Marco released her hand and moved along the tables, ex
amining each place setting and the centerpieces. He ran his hand along the back of a camel-backed couch that was placed at the top of the table next to the grandest chair. Nadira assumed the Holy Father would be seated in this elaborate throne. He smiled at her when she joined him.

  “This is where you will perform tonight,” he said.

  “I’m not looking forward to the experience,” she said feeling the smooth wood and the soft cushions. “Will I have some wine first?” She turned a coquettish eye on Di Marco.

  He laughed shortly. “As much as you like, as long as it is no more than two cups.”

  Nadira smiled and moved to the throne. The back rose up high over her head, the dark wood carved in a similar pattern of swirling vines. She touched this chair and felt its great age. The servants had polished the wood to a warm shine in the candlelight. Behind her, the sound of tinkling bells made her look up. Di Marco was looking toward the sound as well. A servant entered carrying a musical instrument of some kind Nadira had never seen before. Di Marco took her hand and led her before the table.

  “Wait here. They will enter shortly. When you are presented to the cardinals, a deep curtsy will be suitable. However, it is best if you do kneel and kiss the pope’s slipper, and the ring he will offer you.”

  The sound of trumpets announced the end of their reverie. Di Marco squeezed her hand as musicians filed into the room and took their places to the left of the entry. Behind them the cardinals entered, their long red robes sweeping the polished marble. Nadira curtseyed as each one passed. Since she was looking at the floor, she did not see their eyes upon her. Di Marco squeezed her hand to signal her to look up as the pope finally made his entrance. He was dressed in white and wearing no cap. Nadira realized she had been expecting him to look like the pope in the paintings scattered along the many hallways in the palace. Instead, he entered rather disappointingly in very plain robes and bareheaded at that.

  He came up to her, smiling, and extended his hand. Nadira kissed the ruby ring, and then knelt to kiss his slipper. Di Marco raised her up. The Pontiff smiled as he examined her. He made the sign of the cross over her head mumbling the sacred words, and then turned to take his place at the table. Di Marco led her to her seat very near the Holy Father, next to a decrepit cardinal with a long nose and hair sticking out of his ears. She smiled deferentially as she lowered herself into her chair.

  The pope spoke. “It is time. Di Marco, my friend, please escort your lady to the couch.” The pope patted the couch that had been moved even closer to his great chair. Nadira felt Di Marco lifting her from her seat, but her mind felt strangely distracted. It might be the wine, but she suspected it had more to do with the fear in her heart. Di Marco led her to the couch and set her down gracefully. He bowed to the Holy Father and pulled a vial from his voluminous sleeve.

  “Your Grace. I have the elixir as you requested.” The pope took the vial and held it closer to the massive candle that burned brightly on his left. He moved it about and shook it gently to see the liquid move inside the thick glass. The nearest cardinals leaned forward to peer at the small bottle as well. Nadira willed the fear to leave her body and rejoiced as she felt its biting pinch on her heart fade to be replaced by a smooth calm. Another breath and she almost felt like floating. She began to draw the next when the sound of a low voice in her ear stopped the process.

  “It is not time for the trance yet.” Di Marco leaned over and took her hand in his. “I know it is difficult, but stay with me.” Nadira opened her eyes. Most of the cardinals were staring at her. She looked from one face to another. One cardinal frowned, another appeared more pale with fear than she. The older cardinal with the hairy ears snored, his chin tucked to his bony chest. The three farthest from the Holy Father were having quite an animated conversation, complete with broad hand gestures. The pope himself looked grim as he handed the vial back to Di Marco. He glanced up and nodded to the captain of his guard who stood in the doorway. Nadira watched as he backed out of the room, closing the heavy doors behind him. The cardinal nearest the doors walked over and barred them from the inside, sealing the small group within the great Hall.

  Di Marco handed her the vial, then took up a cup of wine with the other hand. “Drink it all, then chase it with the wine. I gave the same to you last week. Do not be afraid.” Nadira took the vial obediently and lifted the stopper. She heard gasps around the table and paused, raising her eyes to the men in the room. What were they thinking? That she would not go through with it?

  Two men crossed themselves. Hairy Ears woke up with a grunt and a start. Nadira met their eyes one by one as she brought the vial to her lips. With a flick of her wrist, the bitter fluid dripped down her throat. She anticipated the acrid flavor and did not flinch. Di Marco pressed the wine into her hand. She tossed it back with one motion and wiped her bottom lip with her thumb. Di Marco took the glass from her hand and laid her gently on the couch, arranging her silk gown to cover her feet. Nadira began to breathe deeply again, but Di Marco touched her shoulder.

  “Not yet, you don’t know where you are going.”

  “Of course,” she mumbled sleepily. She blinked in the candlelight; already it was too bright for her.

  “Look at how her eyes grow so large,” one of the cardinals whispered. “I cannot see the color anymore.” The other men drew closer until a sea of faces dimmed the candles. Nadira smiled.

  “Where am I going?” she murmured.

  “Tell her to go to the French king,” the Holy Father instructed Di Marco. Nadira heard the words and was gone, the room disappeared around her and she stood before Charles VIII, King of France. He was even shorter than she; Nadira looked down upon his head. She turned to see what he was seeing. To her astonishment, she was looking down on the city of Rome from the top of a hill. “He is here,” she heard herself say.

  Behind her an old oak whispered, “Find out what he wants.”

  Nadira reached out and put her hand through the king’s chest just as she had Di Marco’s, Garreth’s, and Alisdair’s. The king was hungry, and dissatisfied with the quality of the meals his stewards were providing. In the distance, she heard laughter but was not sure if the sound came from the room full of priests, or from the generals and courtiers surrounding the king of France. She moved her hand around. There. The French king would allow the sack of Rome, but intended to move through to Naples. He wanted to go on a crusade to Jerusalem. He wanted the pope’s blessing and support for that plan. He wants Naples. He hates the Spanish Ferdinand and Isabella. He wants… here she stopped and moved closer to the small man.

  The king had turned from the view of Rome and was making his way with his entourage back to his tent. She moved to keep up. He wants to know who are his enemies and who are his friends. He did not trust any of the men around him. Nadira looked about at the serious faces. She reached out her hand to an important military man. He was trustworthy. She touched a courtier. He was harmless, but was just along on the campaign to enlarge his estates, hoping for favors.

  Another passed by, walking through Nadira’s hand. He was tough one. She stared at his face. This man resented the king and would betray him if given the chance. He had slept with the French queen! Nadira gasped. The vista faded and was replaced with the Great Hall. Di Marco tapped her shoulder. “Good. Now I want you to go to Naples and see the duke.” He held up a small portrait.

  Nadira sped away again, this time to a great palace. She allowed herself to pass through the walls to the dining hall of a wealthy man. Military men surrounded him. Instead of food, large maps were spread out on the table. They were all bent over the parchment pointing and speaking. Nadira repeated some of the words she heard. Di Marco squeezed her shoulder and brought her back again. “Excellent. Come to me now, Nadira.”

  She opened her eyes, back in the Great Hall. Di Marco leaned over her with a tankard of water. She drank deeply, sighing with pleasure as the cool liquid quenched the fire in her throat.

  She looked up to see the cardinals st
aring intently at her. Each had a slightly different expression, but all appeared dumfounded and a little frightened. The pope himself was intensely pleased. He fairly beamed across the table, nodding and pounding the nearest cardinal on the back. “Excelsi! Excelsi!” He cried. “Now for the book! Bring it to me!”

  Nadira’s vision was blurred, but became sharply focused as the now familiar book was brought forward by one of the cardinals and placed reverently on the table in front of her. Di Marco pulled her to a sitting position. Nadira reached for the book with both hands. The elixir was still on her senses, narrowing her vision to the tunnel with her mind at one end and the book at the other. She felt her breathing increase with the excitement of finally touching this prey which had eluded all for so long.

  The cardinals leaned back, crossing themselves as she reached for the cover. Her hands caressed the leather and fondled the cool stones imbedded in the surface. The book felt warm and alive. The words and symbols written on the surface warned of the dangers and also promised the ecstasy contained within. Written across the bottom were the words in Latin: ‘…seek ye the river’s edge for the key to understanding...’ She turned the book over and pulled the back cover open to reveal the endpapers. Yes, they were there, just as Henry had said. Two torn sheets of flimsy paper made from some kind of reed, speckled with black, as though a copyist had flung his pen spraying ink spots over the page.

  Nadira touched the tear. Here is where Henry pulled his ration from the book. She glanced at Di Marco. He nodded. She tore out a piece as big as her thumb while the cardinals cried out in protest. The Holy Father raised his hand and they quieted. The room was still as she carefully placed the spotted paper on her tongue. Di Marco handed her the tankard. She closed her eyes as a swirl of colors reached for her mind and took it. Hands turned the book right side up and opened the heavy cover to the first page. Without thinking, she heard her voice reading the words on the page. In a blurred mixture of sound and sense, it seemed as though her voice faded away to be replaced by another voice, a sweet, soft feminine voice that spoke only to her.