Commedia della Morte

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “So I am to go south along the river,” said Roger. “You will take another road, with Madelaine?”

  “I believe we must.” He paused contemplatively. “The first leg of the journey is the riskiest—we’ll make for Grenoble, and then take the country roads through the mountains and on to Torino.” He said it easily enough, but he knew the roads would be muddy or covered in snow or slick with ice, and they might be pursued. “I believe if we take the mules, we can manage four leagues in a day.”

  “Provided the weather doesn’t stop you,” Roger pointed out. “If you take the mules, do you plan to drive the larger cart?”

  “No,” da San-Germain said. “We will ride. We can make better time that way, and can use the game trails and shepherds’ tracks through the mountains. You will take the larger cart, and four of the horses, and—”

  “—go south to what? Montelimar? Bollene? And from there east into Italy?” Roger guessed aloud.

  “Montelimar would be the better choice, I think,” said da San-Germain, and turned his head at a scratch on the door. “Who is it?” he called out in French.

  “Your bathtub, Citizen,” called the porter from the hall. “May we bring it in?’

  Roger went to open the door, and directed the two men to the open area in front of the fireplace. “There. When will the water be hot?”

  “A quarter hour,” said the older porter. “Perhaps a little longer; they’re just building up the fires in the kitchen.”

  “Very good,” said Roger, handing each of the men a silver coin. “For your trouble,” he said and let the men out of the room.

  “At least we can get clean,” said da San-Germain, once more speaking Byzantine Greek.

  “And shaved,” said Roger. “So I should cross the frontier on the Pinerolo Road.”

  “If it is clear enough. It’s not an easy road, but it isn’t much patrolled or guarded, either. Best to stay away from the ports: there are too many spies there, looking for escaping Frenchmen.” He went to put a log on the embers in the grate. “I would advise you to leave before the performance begins, and complain to the ostlers that I am an unreasonable man, requiring you to run foolish errands.”

  “What foolish errands?” Roger asked.

  “Think of something, something that you would find in Marseilles, or perhaps Avignon, but not here. Try not to sound angry, for that might lead those who hear you to suspect you’ve done something illegal, and once they learn that I’m gone from Lyon, they may conclude you are responsible. World-weariness, old friend, not resentment.” Da San-Germain thought again. “I’ll want four mules, with a pack-saddle on one, so that I can carry my native earth with me, and the cask we have of the earth from Madelaine’s estate. The fourth we’ll use as a remount.”

  “Will you take weapons?”

  “A sword and the duck’s-foot, with powder and ammunition. You keep the pistols with you.”

  “Do you intend to bring Madelaine to Padova with you?” It was the one thing that bothered Roger, for although da San-Germain and Madelaine could no longer be lovers, if she lived in his house, it could give rise to speculation and attention that would be dangerous for them both.

  “Lecco would be the better place for Madelaine; it is a beautiful setting, and with the large number of strangers who frequent the lake, she will have many opportunities to find nourishment without rousing unwanted misgivings among those she visits in sleep.” He looked toward the fire where the log was beginning to smolder.

  “And you will return to Padova?”

  “Oh, yes; and remain there for another year at least,” said da San-Germain, his face unreadable.

  Roger reflected upon this, and said, “If I leave just before or during the performance, what will you do?”

  There was a wry amusement in da San-Germain’s dark eyes as he answered, “I will set up for the performance, and when the troupe gets ready for their parade, I’ll go to the stable for the mules—I trust you’ll ready them for me?” He had a sharp pang of grief, recalling how this would have been work for Feo.

  “Of course,” said Roger.

  “Little as I want to do it, I’ll leave my cimbalom. I want it to appear that my departure was precipitate, as if there might be pressing reasons for me to leave. That assumption would be reinforced by your sudden departure.”

  “World-weary and resigned,” Roger interjected.

  Da San-Germain nodded, then fell silent, speaking suddenly more than a minute later. “I’ll contrive a disguise not only for me, but for Madelaine.”

  “Traders, perhaps?” Roger suggested.

  “That would probably be your disguise. No, I believe I must come up with another explanation.” He looked down into the fire as the log popped and a spark flew out onto the floor; he stepped on it, and kicked the cinder away. “If Madelaine is willing to braid her hair like a boy, I might be able to convince the Guards at the borders that I’m his tutor and he is on an educational tour.”

  “Feeble,” said Roger.

  “No doubt, but she and I will have time to modify the story and make it more convincing. No innkeeper would refuse us a room we could share if we can make that story convincing.” He put his hands together, studying the steeple of his fingers. “We will need to dress quickly when we’re through with the bath.”

  Roger looked up at the ceiling, trying to find ways to express his qualms about this most recent plan. “If you and Madelaine were to come with me, and we were to go along the roads we traveled to get here, we might be able to make a more persuasive tale for Guards and other officials,” he said slowly. “There are few people crossing along those roads in winter. If we’re careful, and have a good enough story, we might be in Italy without problems.”

  “Possibly,” said da San-Germain in a tone that Roger knew meant no. “If you’ll get out three changes of clothes for me and for Madelaine and pack them in the soft leather bags? They can be tied to the cantles of our saddles. We’ll need cloaks as well, the fur-lined ones. And half-blankets for the mules.”

  “I’ll attend to it after shaving and bathing, you and then me.” Roger went to fetch the leather bags and was almost out of the room when da San-Germain stopped him.

  “Thank you, old friend. You may dislike this latest extemporization, but it does make our successful escape more probable.” There was a trace of irony in his smile. “If we’re pursued, the Guards will expect us to be together, so separating increases our chances.”

  Roger started to speak, but a knock on the door announced the arrival of the first large cauldron of hot water; he put his uncertainties aside and went to get the shaving gear while da San-Germain admitted the first pair of several servants bearing the cauldron to the room.

  * * *

  Text of a letter from Theron Baptiste Heurer to Madelaine de Montalia, entrusted to da San-Germain and delivered into her hands at one of the clock the same day.

  To my most dear, my most adored Madelaine, my heartfelt greetings, Your deliverance from the executioner’s hands has filled me with delight; I am grateful to da San-Germain and his two comrades for all they did to bring you safely out of imprisonment and the threat of death. Be sure I will thank all three of them most heartily when our performance today is complete and our wagons are sheltered from the rain.

  No doubt you have been told that the Commedia della Morte troupe has been performing my play by the same name, and you will not be surprised to learn that, due to the great success we have enjoyed, we are embarked upon a second project. Even now I am writing the second act of the new drama, and we are rehearsing the first act in the morning. We have every reason to hope that this will lead to further opportunities, and the attention of truly great men. I know you will be thrilled for me, though this will mean that we will not have the opportunity to be reunited for some considerable time. For this, I beg your understanding. You have been a staunch supporter of my work before your misfortunes and I have the hope that your enthusiasm has not waned during your unfortun
ate time in prison.

  I have taken the liberty of dedicating my new play to you, although with initials only, since there could be difficulty with the officials if they learned that the work is in tribute to an aristocratic fugitive from justice. You, I know, will understand my reluctance to put you in danger, however indirectly, by revealing a connection that could lead to your discovery and arrest. Would that we lived in more accepting times, but, the demands of the Revolution require the people of France to restore the balance of society, and if in doing so, some are penalized who should not be, for the sake of the country, we must acquiesce in the process. It is my most fervent desire that some day, you will be able to attend a performance of The Triumph of Liberty, which is based upon a narrative poem by Jean-Marie Collot d’Herbois, who did me the honor of encouraging me to undertake the work. I will send you a copy of the manuscript as soon as I can afford to hire a copyist, so that you may see how much my work has improved.

  Photine d’Auville, the leader of the Commedia della Morte, has been kind enough to take an interest in my future and has asked me to deliberate upon forming an official partnership, one that would give us both the advantages of continued association. She is a fine actress, a most remarkable artist. Ask da San-Germain, who has been her patron, to describe her talents. The range of her gifts and the strength of her abilities inspire awe in all who see her. You must surely grasp the advantage of such an alliance, as well as the benefits that would accrue to the Commedia della Morte as well as to me. Already she and I are discussing what other works we might essay, a prospect which will keep me busy for some time.

  Yet I miss the pleasure of your company, the passion we have shared, and your generosity. One day it may be possible for us to resume our intimacy, but I fear for now, that will not be prudent for either of us, for all the reasons I have put forth already. You and I have been star-crossed in every sense of the word, but I find I must bow to Fate, and to release you from the love and expectations you have had of me. It is with a heavy heart that I must bid you farewell, and hold my precious memories of our treasured time together in lieu of you yourself. I have come to realize that you are beyond my highest aspirations, and that all that you offered me is beyond the scope of my understanding; reluctantly I will have to accept what has happened. That in no way diminishes my ardor or my esteem, but it has shown me that until I have attained the reputation for my work that I seek, I will not be worthy to pursue you; I can only promise my enduring idolatry, as well as my thankfulness for the inspiration you have provided, little as I deserve it. Your greatness of mind and your sweetness of heart must always be an example to me as I continue my aesthetic crusade.

  May you find safety where you are going, and may you one day return to France to resume your title and estates, free from the threat of arrest and trial. Until that day, know that I will long for you, lovely and desirable as you are, and will remember you with exaltation.

  With amorous devotion,

  Theron Baptiste Heurer

  8

  Madelaine stared down at the single crossed sheet of paper, her face darkening as she read; when she finished it, she wadded it into a ball. “Of all the inane drivel!” she exclaimed, not as loudly as she would have liked, and threw it across the small, musty room at the back of the abandoned chapel near the north wall of the city where she had been hiding since dawn. “And to think I was attracted to him!”

  Da San-Germain bent and picked up the bunched letter, opening it and smoothing it, its crackle mixing with the steady patter of rain on the old roof. “Best not to leave it here. If it’s found, it could bring trouble.”

  “To us, or to the troupe?” Madelaine asked, her voice sharp.

  “Either, or both, more likely.” He thrust it into the pocket of his caped Russian greatcoat. “We can dispose of it later, once we’re away from here.”

  “Which we must be shortly,” said Madelaine, still glaring at the letter he held.

  “Yes. We will have to get as far beyond Lyon as we can in the next three hours, for after that, they will know we are missing. If you still want to dispose of it by the time we halt to rest, we can burn it with all due ceremony.” He thought for an instant of Sarai, of Aachen, of Delhi, of Fiorenza, of Amsterdam, of Cuzco, of—with an effort he thrust those memories away as useless. “They’ll send out couriers, or Guards.”

  Some of the ire faded from her violet eyes. “No doubt you’re right, Saint-Germain. But all that self-serving twaddle—remember me with exaltation! If he believes that this is an example of his improvement on his earlier work—well!” She lifted her chin.

  “He is eager to exhibit—” da San-Germain began only to be interrupted.

  “Don’t defend him to me—not you,” she said, bending down to finish pulling on her boots; arrayed in boy’s clothes, she still had an air of femininity about her that da San-Germain found compelling. “You know as well as I that he doesn’t deserve it.”

  “I wasn’t defending; he asked that I explain his circumstances to you, which I have done. He declares himself your sworn cavalier.” He was glad to see that her indignation was already fading.

  “Oh, spare me,” she pleaded, laughing.

  “As you wish.” He made a leg, giving her an ironic half-smile. “My duty is discharged, at least so far as Theron Heurer is concerned.”

  “Enough of Theron,” Madelaine said, shaking her head and regarding da San-Germain with apprehension; after a brief moment of hesitation, she asked the question that had been bothering her since he had awakened her half an hour before, proffering a valise of boy’s clothes and delivering Theron’s letter. “I’m happy you’re with me, but why are you here at mid-day? It’s not simply because of that miserable letter, is it? You told me you’d come at sundown.”

  He held up his gloved hand. “Sadly, we have yet another change of plans.”

  “Oh? Again? How many times does this make?” No matter how much she wanted to know more, she held her tongue; when he remained silent, she asked, “What happened? Do you think the three coaches have been found yet?”

  “I would imagine so, but that is not what’s caused our predicament.” He met her eyes with his own.

  She regarded him steadily. “What, then?”

  “Something neither you nor I could have anticipated: an official in the Department of Public Safety was … informed of our contrivance.” This oblique statement did not succeed as he thought it would.

  “One of the players talked?” Madelaine pressed her lips together to keep from saying anything more.

  Da San-Germain shrugged. “Does it matter? The mischief is done.” He shook his head and went on, “Luckily I discovered that the official had been told in time to alter our hour of departure, or we would have been trapped here, and that would bring us both to the True Death within days, and put others in danger because of it. With all you have been through, that would be intolerable to me.” His gaze was tender. “Had you gone through no misery, it would still be intolerable to me; losing you.” He took a step back. “We need to be gone soon, my heart, so that we have a fair lead on whomever they send after us. And they will send someone after us; they cannot afford not to. What I told you wasn’t supposition; the officials here must try to recapture any fugitives from their jurisdiction, or risk interference from Paris.”

  She gave an exasperate sigh. “Of course they will hunt us. They cannot afford to let us go without an attempt to reassert themselves through our capture. It would be folly to remain here.” She waved her hand in the direction of the ceiling, indicating the rain. “No matter what the weather, and the state of the roads.”

  “The mules will manage it better than horses,” he said, pulling another greatcoat from the bag of clothes he had brought her. “You’ll need this, and I have a tricorn for you.”

  “A good choice,” she said, then offered him an indirect apology. “I didn’t mean to be so tactless, Saint-Germain. You didn’t write that wretched letter.”

  “Then
just as well that he didn’t bring it in person,” said da San-Germain, wanting to ease her aggravation.

  “Might he have done so?” she asked in disbelief.

  “He thought you would want to see him,” said da San-Germain, handing her the three-cornered hat.

  “God save us,” she exclaimed, and surprised them both by chuckling. “I hadn’t realized he had such a high opinion of himself.”

  “I believe he thinks you have the high opinion of him, not he.”

  Her laughter increased; then she made an effort to quiet her mirth. “He is so very young.”

  “He assumes the same of you,” da San-Germain reminded her.

  “I’ve told him my age, but you’re right, he thought I was … fabricating a tale.”

  “Well, he is a poet; would you expect anything less?” He turned his attention to their immediate situation. “The mules are in the narthex. Four of them: two for riding, one to carry, and a spare in case one of the others falls by the wayside. We have grain enough for them to last a week. Then we must find more. I have money and jewels, but it might not be enough.”

  “I’m going to take my dress.” She raised her hand to silence him. “I won’t put it in the valise, and once we’re out of France I’ll dispose of it. It’s hardly fit to wear, but if we should be detained, I would like to have it.”

  He waited a moment to answer. “If you think you may need it, then bring it with you.”

  “Good. If we are snowbound, I won’t be able to pass for a boy for very long, and this way— We won’t be out of France in a week, will we?” She knew the answer, but could not keep from asking.

  “It would take longer than that on main roads in summer with no troubles at the borders,” he said. “You and I are going on lesser roads, with winter coming on.” His enigmatic eyes remain fixed on her. “Fifteen days will be as rapid a passage as we can hope for, if we face nothing more than poor roads and bad weather, let alone pursuit. Beyond leaving the country, we will also have to get out of the mountains after we’re over the border.”