But then Hasani shrugged.
He beat his chest once and pointed, as if to say, I must go, go now.
Cardinal Boeri stared at him a moment longer. “It is not far, this place. I cannot depart on the morrow—I have an audience with the pope. But we can go the next day. At first light.”
Hasani rose, regal and menacing even in chains, as if he meant to make them go within the hour.
“At first light,” Cardinal Boeri said evenly. “You do not know whether this will transpire today or on the morrow or a month from now, correct?”
Hasani continued to watch beneath a furrowed brow, not answering. The cardinal took that as agreement.
“I am here on your behalf, Hasani. I am here to argue for the safe passage of your own Daria, my former captain, Gianni, and the rest. They head in our direction even now.”
Hasani’s eyes shifted, and he raised his chin, hope alight in his eyes.
“Yes, they escaped Amidei’s isle and have followed the path of the glass map here, to Provence.”
Hasani studied him, frowning. The cardinal could see him wondering how he knew of the map, how he knew so much of the Gifted.
“I know much of your group, Hasani. Of Daria being a healer. Gianni, your man of faith. Piero, with the gift of wisdom. Gaspare, the fisherman . . . he must have the gift of miraculous powers, right? I’ve heard tell that he commanded the skies to rain, and commanded them to cease, and nature heeded his call. Is that true?”
Hasani looked away, unwilling to betray his friends.
Cardinal Boeri began to pace. “I know of the healings throughout Toscana. I surmised that your lady must have healed Gianni himself, when all his men were killed. I know of the healing of the lepers off Venezia, the healings of others in the city herself.”
Hasani rose, every muscle in his body tense, but the cardinal could not stanch the cascade of words from his mouth. The seer! Here! The Gifted were his!
“The doge told me of the legend of the glass map, how it came from Alexandria and was distributed among the seven main churches of Venezia. No one had seen them for several hundred years, but somehow the Gifted were given the clues to find them, yes? Hidden beneath a peacock in each church?” He let out a laugh of wonder. “As if Lady Daria’s own family crest were in each church, right?”
Hasani leaned an arm against the stone wall and let his head droop.
“Did you think we of the Church would not notice your actions? Did you truly believe you could keep it covert? We know everything that transpires in our lands, keep close tabs on anything that might subvert our faithful. And the Gifted . . . I had been watching for you for some time.”
Hasani looked up at him then, across his rippled bicep, so that the cardinal could see only his steady eyes.
“Oh yes,” he said, pacing again. “I have a portion of your letter. The letter that may have been penned by Santo Paulo?”
Hasani’s brow furrowed as he looked down at the cardinal.
“I purchased it from an antiques dealer in Constantinople, some thirty years past. I was a mere priest then, studying and serving in the old capital.” He stepped closer to Hasani. “I would like to believe that the Lord brought it to me because we were to somehow serve together, Hasani. It could not be coincidence that would bring Gianni into my service for years, a man who would become a part of the Gifted, and I, the man with a portion of the letter that foretold of his coming—six hundred years before he was born. It cannot be a coincidence that I am a cardinal able to travel here to Avignon, now, to assist in the defense of the Gifted so that they might be allowed to do what the Lord has asked of them.”
Hasani grunted and lifted a hand.
“Yes, they have already landed in Marseilles. Their intent is obviously to travel here and seek an audience with the pope. I am here to help them.”
Hasani searched him intently.
“What do you think will happen if they march in here, unannounced, unaided? The Lord’s Commissioner would be immediately summoned. They would spend the next year on trial, harangued, interrogated, defending their actions without sanction of the Holy Church. They would be imprisoned, punished, mayhap even tortured by the civil authorities, of course, until they said the words the Commissioner wished to hear. Their only chance”—he raised a hand and stepped toward Hasani—“their only chance is if I help them make a way. I can tell of the wonders that transpired in Italia, their battle against the Sorcerer, a proven enemy of the Church and of Christians everywhere. I can introduce them so that their presence is not such a shock to His Holiness. I can make him see that the Gifted might be of assistance to the Church rather than a threat.”
Hasani looked away, thinking over his words.
“Lady Daria suffered enough nights as a prisoner, don’t you agree?”
Hasani frowned in his direction.
“The doge learned she was severely whipped.”
Hasani moaned and looked to the ceiling.
“There is more, my friend. Amidei, our Sorcerer, already has inroads here in Avignon, forged years ago. Not only must I lay the groundwork to introduce the Gifted and win them support, I must also begin to dismantle Amidei’s foundation so that we can take him down as well. Otherwise, the Gifted may be in as much danger in facing him with his increased influence as they are in facing the Church.” He walked to the door of the prison cell. “So you see, I must have this meeting with the pope on the morrow. To give it up will hurt our cause in multiple ways.” He glanced at Hasani’s drawings on the wall. “If the knight is to die, he will die. Have you been able to change the winds of fate as of yet?”
Hasani stared at him and then hung his head and slowly shook it.
“Nay. I did not believe so. You can see the future, but you cannot change it, right? You are simply condemned to live through it.”
Hasani looked up and then lifted his hand to his chest, gesturing toward the heavy silver cross hanging from Boeri’s neck. “Pie-o,” he tried, grimacing at the effort. He pointed again at the cross and said, “Fa’ Pie-o...”
“Father Piero?”
Hasani nodded. “A-ay?”
“Alive? Is Piero alive? Why yes, I think so.” He studied the man. A wave of relief swept over his face. Had he had a vision that the priest would die? Ah yes, the arrows. “The doge . . . he learned that in escaping the isle, the priest took several arrows to the chest. Is that what you saw?”
Hasani nodded slowly. It was good. He was beginning to trust Boeri. At least a little. “How horrible for you. You believed he would die?”
Again, the nod.
“He did not. He lived. Mayhap Daria healed him. But he is here, Hasani, here in Provence. Soon, you shall be reunited. I promise.” He hesitated. “I would free you, man. But I cannot allow you to run. I know you want to go to the Gifted, go this night. But you must wait upon me. Together we will find them. And in the meantime, we shall pray for all the knights in the company of the Gifted.”
Provence
“YOU need to rest,” Anette said, pushing Dimitri Devenue back to his bed.
Dimitri threw back his head and laughed. He gestured out the window. “Do you see how glorious it is outside? How can we keep to the mansion? This valley has not seen such warmth in the midst of winter’s keep in more than a decade. Come,” he said, taking her hand in his, placing it on his chest. “Let us go to the river. I have not laid eyes on it for more than two years. I am a man freed. Would you keep me prisoner here?”
Anette cast a helpless look in Daria’s direction.
Daria shook her head and drew closer. “He appears the picture of good health,” she said. She smiled into Dimitri’s eyes. “And I understand your desire to see the banks of your beloved Gardon once more. You are like a man reborn.” She studied him for a moment longer. He was as dark and handsome as Anette was fair and beautiful. Both of them fairly glowed with love and joy. “But give it one more day of rest. If you still feel as well tomorrow, we shall see about going to the Pont du
Gard. But you shall remain swaddled like a baby in the back of a wagon. Do you promise this?”
“I promise,” he said dramatically, with all the flair of Count Armand. Was this the same man who was at death’s door but two days past? Never had Daria been privy to such a dramatic healing, so quickly. Only Gianni’s return from death’s door and Old Woman Parmo, in Siena, measured near to it. Many had she seen healed, but mostly it was but the beginning of a long process. A jump forward, to be sure, but far from the end of the road. This man bore witness to a healing of biblical proportions.
“M’lady, do you think it wise?” Gaspare said, stepping forward. The tone of his voice gave her pause, and she studied his face. He had drawn her aside earlier, given her much to think about in terms of others recognizing a miracle. He had lived it, given his gift, known the good and the bad. He stood there beside Gianni, like two glowering big brothers. She knew that they had only her best interests at heart . . .
But one more glance to Dimitri and her decision was made. “We shall go and take our noon meal at the river’s edge.” She looked to Gianni and Gaspare, now with Piero at their side. “It is only a matter of time until word gets out about Lord Devenue’s healing. Let us enjoy the day and capitalize upon the event. Clearly the Lord God wished us to come here, to heal this man. Do you really believe he would not bless our celebration with him before we depart for Avignon?”
Gianni stepped forward and took her arm. “Amidei and his men have not been seen for more than a day.”
She pulled her arm from his grasp in irritation. “Very well. Mayhap they knew that God was present with us and they could never win. Mayhap they turned tail and ran.”
“Mayhap it is all a ruse to persuade us to believe just that.”
Daria squared her shoulders and looked up to the knight, then allowed her face to soften. “Please, Gianni. Would it not be good for us as well? To relax upon the banks of the river and bask in God’s glory? For but an afternoon? It has been so taxing, so long, this journey. We do not go away from God’s care. Surely his angels shall be as close to us in the midst of the wilds as they are in this mansion.”
“Daria, I—”
“Please,” she said again, resting a hand on his chest. “We’ll give Amidei and Vincenzo another day to make an appearance or obtain confirmation they have indeed left.”
He stared down at her, helplessness and frustration knitting his brow in wrinkles.
“If you are leaving soon for Avignon, we shall go with you,” Dimitri said. “You shall need an introduction to His Holiness’s court. Who better than I, your newest evidence of divine favor?”
Daria raised her eyebrows and looked to Piero. The priest shrugged his small shoulders. “It would help,” he said. “Or we bring him in at an opportune moment.”
“You shall need to know quite a bit before you enter the city,” Count Armand broke in, moving from the window to the group beside Dimitri’s bed.
“Such as?” Gianni said.
“Some courtly ritual, games, dances,” the count said. “The pope’s favorite gifts, his favored friends as well as his antagonists.”
Piero frowned. “There is not gaming or dancing in the papal court.”
“More so than any other,” Armand returned. “I shall introduce you to my friend, a poet and a critic of Avignon, back in Les Baux. I fear there is much ahead of you that you are not yet prepared to face. Let us take our picnic on the morrow, then return to Les Baux to pick up the rest of your people and spend a few days in preparation. You must not enter this battle blind.”
Daria angled a smile toward Gianni and he nodded, once. “Very well,” she said. “Let us be about it then.”
She departed in a swish of skirts and heard Lord Devenue laughing at Gianni in the room behind her. “You, my good knight, are as deeply in love as I find myself.” His voice echoed down the hall. In the exuberance of his newfound life, Lord Devenue seemed to have lost all restraint and any sense of propriety. In her mind’s eye, she could see him reaching for Anette. Ever since his healing, he had been unable to keep himself from touching her.
But if Gianni was as deeply in love with Daria as Dimitri was with Anette, why did he not reach for her at all? On the ship, en route to Marseilles, it had been different for them. It was as it once had been between her and Marco, falling in love, free and deliciously beguiling, consuming her nearly every thought. There were soft conversations and embraces, stolen kisses . . . but when they had set foot on land, he was once more the knight, she the lady, and it was as if a wall had risen between them.
HIGH on a hill, farther north in the valley of the river, Amidei received the spy and heard of Lord Devenue’s miraculous healing, and their intended excursion to the Pont du Gard the following day. The Gifted believed Amidei and his people had departed, but knew not where they had gone. Reportedly they were still on alert, cautious that he hovered nearby, but understandably, they drew some comfort from the fact that he had not been seen for more than a day and a night.
Abramo had had the ceremony in the cave across from the mansion. But it had been lackluster. Few of the villagers had responded to their invitation. He found none of the women appealing. His master had awakened him the next morn, drawn him to the mouth of the cave in order to converse. “The enemy has gained strength this night, as we knew they would,” the master said. “But send Vincenzo, my son. Send him to follow their every move and strike the moment he has opportunity. He shall draw blood among the Gifted. He will remind them that although they are watched over by the God who believes himself most high, they still live in a natural world. They are but human, still subject to pain and even death. If we maim many, surely the healer cannot get to them all before one or more dies.”
“It will be so, master.”
“We must remind them that although they worship the God of the heavens, I am the god of this world. And Vincenzo shall be more firmly tied to our ways than ever before. He is hesitant. We must force his hand now, before he weakens.”
“Yes, it shall be so, my master.”
“Have Vincenzo and the archers cut away their bloody robes and bring them to the next ceremony. Their blood shall feed you and yours, give you strength. Remind you of the power within your grasp.”
“Yes, master.” Abramo salivated at the thought of the coppery taste of his enemy’s blood in his mouth. Daria’s blood. Gianni’s blood. Piero’s blood. Tessa’s blood. Surely it would be sweet. Savory. He closed his eyes.
Sustenance. To feed, to feed upon the Gifted. Glory. Glory. Glory!
He sank to his knees before his dark master, who now levitated before him. “What would you have me do, master?”
“We, my son, shall go to Avignon and prepare the way. The Gifted may be maimed, but not vanquished here, in the countryside. But we will use God’s own to bring them down in Avignon. Once there, we shall begin laying a carefully crafted trap.”
“YOU are torn, torn between being master, servant, lord to his lady,” Piero said, staring at Gianni intently. “What keeps you from professing your love?” It was only Piero, Gaspare, and the knight, sitting on a wall outside the mansion that night.
Gianni lifted a shoulder, looking miserable. “I am her defender.”
“Is not a husband a defender as well?” Gaspare ventured.
Gianni cast a sharp look in his direction. “I have no means, nothing to offer her.”
“The lady is a fine woman,” said Vito, joining their circle uninvited. “But she is no longer a woman of means herself. I fear our days of drawing more than warm vittles in the pot as payment in her service are long over. But still we stay. Why? Because we are called to this place. Called to serve one another on this mad quest.”
“He is right, Gianni,” Piero said. “Wealth has little bearing at this point. If you love her, if you are called to serve as her husband as well as her captain, move, man. She is clearly confused. And remember Adimari . . . you must not scar her tender heart again. Give in to it, man. You
are more in love with her than you thought possible.”
Gianni sighed. “ ’Tis the truth of it. And if I fool none of you,” he said, looking from one to the next, “I doubt I fool our lady. But is it the way of wisdom, priest? Does it not make us somehow more vulnerable?”
Father Piero smiled. “Love always does, my man.” He stared at him a moment longer. “I tell you this but once. I fear that your unspoken vows, your unrequited passion, as much as Count Armand celebrates it, makes us more vulnerable than anything. Better to find satisfaction and communion in each other’s company. It shall give you both strength for what we face ahead.”
Gianni eyed him. “So you would bless it, then? If she would have me?”
Count Armand stole up behind him and clasped him on the shoulder. “What is this of which you speak? Could you be planning a betrothal to the Duchess?” His eyes were alight with pleasure. He shook his head. “It must be in the air. I doubt my sister will last a sennight before she is married to Lord Devenue. We may not even get her home to Les Baux. It will take everything in me to persuade her to depart. Most likely I’ll need bring Devenue with us back to the castle.”
“The cardinal de Provence shall marry them, then,” Piero said, his disappointment barely disguised.
“Ah, no. I doubt anyone but you shall do, Father Piero,” Count Armand said. “Those two,” he said, nodding in the mansion’s direction, “are your two newest patrons, such as they are. You’ll be happy to know that the countess brings a handsome dowry to the marriage. And what they cannot provide, I can. You and yours shall want for nothing while you travel in Provence.”
“You are most gracious, Count Armand,” Father Piero said, grinning. “But if the cardinal is not invited to preside over such a ceremony, there shall certainly be retribution.”
Count Armand sat back and considered his words. “You know as well as I that if the cardinal gets in the middle of this now, we’ll be embroiled in papal scrutiny as to Lord Devenue’s healing. A marriage ceremony could be postponed indefinitely as the papal rats filled out forms and conducted interviews. Anette and Dimitri have waited for years for this chance. Love dawns. I say seize it now, before it disappears. Love, like life, is a fleeting opportunity. Hesitate, and it is gone.” He stared at the mansion again, but his eyes swung back to Gianni and stayed upon him for a long moment.
The Blessed Page 8
