‘Illawara PLEASE?’ said the Professor remaining in English, swaying, as if overcome by dizziness. Sweat clung to his brow. ‘You've always been a spirited girl with a will of your own, but I need my case. It has medicine that will help me.’ But she had stopped listening.
‘That’s all you want isn’t it’ she hissed, ‘you don’t give a shit about me. All you want is your fucking case!’ she shouted, striking the object with her fist. The Professor wobbled forward with a sweaty palm outstretched.
‘It’s not like that, Illy’ a look of profound shame crossed the Professor’s face. ‘… I’m … I’m dying’ he said, returning to Italian. The rest of the household listened took a collective breath. Illawara looked at the Professor, discerned the truth, and started to sob.
Outside, trying to run up the stairwell, a middle-aged woman, who lived downstairs, deserted her usual sentinel post to join her son. She banged on her neighbour’s door. Her voice breathless and filled with fear: ‘LET ME IN’ she gasped, ‘this is bad. Armed men have broken down the door and are making their way upstairs.’ No sooner was she admitted then the neighbours heard the armed men she had spoken of as they progressed upwards. In safety, the woman clasped her son to her, and all watched the helmeted advance of the Inquisition guards as they arrived at the top of the stairs - led by Beppe. The neighbours gasped into their hands, as one of the guards began to pound on the front door with a bronze mace.
Inside Bianca’s home, everyone froze - the room struck with doom. The banging sound came again: ‘INQUISITION’ shouted one officer of the guard. Grizelda jumped, being nearest the front door, and her hands began to shake as a combination of fear and excitement gripped her, at last she thought, at LAST. Bianca began to cross herself at great speed. The Banging came again, even louder than before.
‘I think they’ve come for me?’ said Illawara with a sudden flash of insight. ‘It was him wasn’t it?’ she said, turning to Bianca with a scowl, ‘I knew it, that outlandish man calling himself a prince is working for The Church.’
The Professor looked dumbfounded. ‘Dad, we need to get out of here before they arrest me. I can’t stay here anymore’ she said, returning to English, her eyes full and trembling. Illawara fussed with the locks of the case to get something out, but her fingers were like squids stranded upon a shore.
The Professor stepped forward, clarity coming to his mind.
‘Let me help you’ he said, gripping the case, as the furious banging continued outside.
‘We can use the Mystify, fool all of them’ said Illawara, the Professor nodded with blank understanding but increased his grip on the case. ‘What are you doing?’ she said, ‘open the case.'
But the Professor held on and began to tug at the carry case as if it were a life raft. ‘No, no’ sobbed Illawara, fighting his grip and starring into the Professor’s glazed eyes. He looked at Illawara as if she were some apparition or ghost as if she were someone else.
‘I’m sorry’ he said, his voice coming out higher and younger than his years as if speaking from his youth to a person he used to know.
The Professor tore the case from her grasp as the Inquisition broke down the door and burst into the living room. Bianca screamed.
‘Daddy, PLEASE’ Illawara implored, but it was as if the tall man with yellow-tinged skin that clutched his carry case with febrile intensity had lost his mind and his case contained all of his sanity. He concealed his case in his cloak.
‘Arrest her’ declared Beppe, brandishing his Papal seal, ‘she’s a witch.’ Two robust guards bounded forward and gripped Illawara by each wrist.
‘Daddy, help me’ pleaded Illawara in English, but the Professor seemed far away as he shrank behind the living room door. The Inquisition tugged at Illawara’s arms. ‘Get your hands off me’ she spat in Italian to her captors.
‘This must be some mistake?’ Protested Bianca, sensing that the man behind her door would be of no help.
‘This woman is my niece. Unhand her; she’s innocent.’ The Professor stood rigid, unable to speak, spooked: he did not see Illawara where she stood but another person instead – and the likeness Illawara shared with her was a constant fear for him.
Neave, the Professor's little sister, deathly pale, stared at him bare-chested in her underwear, her hair drenched as she stood in a puddle of water. Her eyes glowed blue through her wet locks, her neck blackened with bruises. The little girl pointed her finger at her brother in silence, invisible to all others in the room. Winston shrank further into the corner with terror. He shook all over, the yellowing whites of his eyes like cracked eggs in a bowl. He looked demented: paralysed with fear.
‘She’s a deceiver of men’ announced Beppe with vitriol, ‘using potions and incantations to enchant and ensnare her suitors’ The Inquisitor looked wild, ‘see her suitor's gifts strewn about the place: evidence enough of her crimes’ he decried.
Illawara’s brows creased together, as the veins rose in her neck: ‘you low-life shit-bag’ she shouted to Beppe, struggling with her captors, ‘you were here yourself not long ago, dressed like a clown, and you say that I deceive’ The guards flashed Beppe a look of doubt.
‘Don’t heed her’ he said, ‘the Devil moves her tongue’ and he swept his arm towards the open door, and the burly guards with the help of two others dragged Illawara screaming out of the house.
She fought with all her might. The men were too strong for her but were still surprised by her fierceness and strength. ‘Use the mystify!’ Illawara yelled back to the Professor, not thinking about what she said.
But the Professor could not move for the fright that gripped him: Neave glared at her brother her eyes like torches before she walked out of the living room as if to follow Illawara, leaving her little wet footprints behind her.
In a glance, Bianca saw that the tall stranger inhabited another world as he watched his sister walk away. Bianca followed Dondo as the Inquisition yanked Illawara out the door.
The Professor became jolted by Illawara's words once Neave left the room - coming back to himself - with weakness and aching in his limbs. It was too late to work the Mystify, they had taken Illawara and the moment had passed. To intervene now would be a death sentence for them both. Winston clung to his case: the salvation for them - in his mind. The neighbours watched with morbid fascination and terror as they saw Illawara, fiery and beautiful, dragged down the stairs. Bianca and Dondo, pleaded for the Inquisition to unhand her but dared not intervene against the authority of the Pope. Professor, his face searching every corner followed on behind in a daze, feeling he was losing his mind. The neighbours gasped with shock when they saw him with his disguise removed.
'He's a dead man walking' remarked one neighbour to the nods of others.
Grizelda, seeing her nemesis dragged past her, quaked with thrills, elation, yearning and dread. She’s gone she said to herself. Her heart pounded. The neighbours saw her wrestle with herself. Grizelda rested her neck on the door frame and gasped for air. She’s gone at last. The maid ran her fingers over her face and almost laughed, almost cried, just catching herself before she turned to close the front door. 'When she’s dead Beppe will come for me' she declared in the passageway, ‘he loves me. He must LOVE me to do this’ she added in wavering breaths.
The neighbours looked on dumbstruck.
'It was her, wasn't it?' said one neighbour as if speaking for all the other others, 'it was Grizelda the broomstick.' Many of the neighbours covered their mouths and then nodded - intuiting the situation, understanding that she could never have escaped Illawara's shadow. They had looked forward to Illawara marrying soon. They wanted the story to continue. The Pope's men had torn her away from them. Now it seemed everything was over.
As if imbibing the feelings of everyone present the baby started to cry - and so did some of the others.
◆◆◆
Bianca lamented and wailed, her hands wrung with anguish as if Illawara were indeed her child as the Inquisition dragged he
r away. The Professor’s mind numbed into cold helplessness as if watching the events as a kind of dream - he could not process what he had seen in the living room and what was happening to Illawara. How could Neave find him in the past? Winston moved as if out of his body. But she, however, yelled, swore, and protested her innocence all the way down the stairs holding onto the railings to try and prevent the men dragging her out of the building. She impressed the men with her spirit.
Incredulous gasps of shock emerged from the neighbours lower down the floors, alerted to the drama by the tumult and cries from Illawara, Bianca and Dondo. Some of the children began to cry: so unexpected the scene had been for them. All the children loved Illawara like a princess and would skip after her whenever she had attended church. Compassion flooded into the adult's hearts to replace the dry envy that had lived there before.
Orsini arrived downstairs ready to emerge from his carriage but knew it was already too late when he saw the Inquisition guards outside the main entrance to prevent an intervention or escape.
He urged the Henchman to carry on down the street to affect innocence and got out further down the road. The Cardinal held back and waited but had to stifle a wail from himself when he saw Illawara manhandled out of the building. He ran forward to intervene, but his Henchman held him back.
‘You’ll be ruined’ he said to his client, ‘braver to use your influence in a better way.’ He listened to his Henchman, who at that moment seemed far wiser than he. It looked as if he were waiting for something yet more valuable.
‘Where are you taking her?’ Bianca exclaimed, already feeling the void in her life left behind by Illawara: the strength of her feelings surprising her.
‘The Palazzo della Ragione’ he said, ‘where else?’
‘Oh, Dondo. This is terrible’ cried Bianca, as they both watched Illawara get dragged away, shouting and protesting her innocence until the whole neighbourhood heard her. The neighbours had all rushed to street-facing windows to witness the last of the commotion.
I must get back to Venice the Professor thought, ‘with Lucia’s help I can find a way to help her’ he said to himself, sweat dripping from him, as he slunk along down the street with his case, looking back all the way. He almost reached the end of the street when the Henchman struck him across the head. Winston blacked out.
Orsini and his henchman, avenged by the blow, bundled the Professor, and his case, into their waiting carriage and rode off.
Like an abandoned lover, Grizelda looked on from the kitchen window and watched Beppe direct operations as crowds gathered to see Illawara frogmarched out of sight. She had seen her wish fulfilled. The maid craned her neck to improve her view.
‘Don’t forget me…’ she croaked.
Dondo and Bianca returned to the kitchen, after some time, where Grizelda sat barren faced. Dondo wore a look of dejection, the maid stared into space - lost in her thoughts - and Bianca began to wonder how she would manage without Illawara: the most exciting thing to happen to her in years.
Two figures walked into the house, and closed the front door that was left open and loose on its hinges:
‘What’s happened here?’ came a voice into the kitchen.
Antonio who stood next to Hermes and waited for his answer.
Bianca, Dondo and Grizelda all tuned to the pair with disbelieving shock. It was too much. All three overwhelmed and exhausted by events began burst into tears.
‘Oh, my dearest son’ sobbed Bianca, ‘I’m so glad to see you, but something terrible has happened…’
Chapter 21
The Captive
Padua, morning, Wednesday the 13th of December
The Professor awoke with an unbearable headache. He tried to reach up to stroke his brow but found his hands and feet were tied.
‘Not again’ he mumbled to himself and looked around to try and establish his surroundings. He found himself in a well-furnished bedroom, draped here and there with luxurious fabrics. A sizable Venetian mirror reflected the rest of the room from a wardrobe door. The Professor saw and heard a fire, from where he lay, that burned in the hearth which added warmth to the space, unaided by the milky sunshine that peeped through the window drapes.
‘He’s awake; your Eminence’ came a hollow voice - dry and yellowed as old paper. Orsini moved across the room from where he sat and stood over the Professor to inspect him. He looked up from where he lay and tried to focus his eyes upon his captor. After a few moments, he recognised the Cardinal.
‘So, you remember me, do you?’ said Orsini, his voice like a snarl, ‘I don’t take kindly to those that make a fool of me’ he added, his amber eyes ignited into a flash by a stray band of winter sunlight. The Cardinal walked around his captive, and the Professor felt the floorboards move with his weight. ‘I’ve waited a long time for this’ he added, crouching down next to the Professor: who then got a smell of orange water from the Cardinal, a man whose body heat rivalled that of the fire. ‘I knew there was deceit in your character the moment I saw you.’
He cast his eyes over the prone man. The Cardinal gave the Professor a prod in the neck but withdrew his hand in haste when he felt the sickly sweat that had begun to emerge from his body. He stood again to wash his hands in a bowl of scented water, drying them on a cloth, before he carried on. ‘What brought you to the Duke’s banquet? And what is your business here in Italy?’
The Professor’s mouth felt dry, and his voice croaked.
‘I need water, please do you have any water?’
‘Answer the question’ said Orsini, although he motioned to his Henchman, who then poured water from a pitcher into a ceramic cup. The thin ghoulish man then passed the cup over to the Cardinal. The Professor’s body twisted in the cup's direction as Orsini moved the cup to his mouth and then pulled it away: taunting him. ‘Let’s start again’ he said, ‘answer my questions, and you’ll get some water.’ He glared down at his captive, ‘why were you at the Duke’s banquet?’
Winston swallowed hard, trying to find moisture in his mouth but to no avail. He would have to answer his captor. His voice did not sound like it belonged to him when he spoke:
‘I went there to see and speak with Galileo…’ the Cardinal seemed unsatisfied, ‘to ask him some questions… to ask him about his research.’
‘Hmmm…’ purred Orsini, ‘that seems a lot of effort just to have a conversation: especially when you come all the way from England.’ The Professor fidgeted, he felt like he would pass out.
‘Please, I need some water’ he said, his mouth a desert.
‘Open wide’ said Orsini, in a jovial tone, as if about to feed a child. The Professor frowned and wanted to avoid the indignity of having water poured into his mouth. But Orsini raised his eyebrows as if to chide, and the Professor, too tired to protest, laid still and opened his mouth. The Cardinal stood and raised his arm to full height before he tipped a narrow waterfall into the Professor’s gasping jaws. Winston gurgled like a fountain, and then Orsini moved the flow until it missed the mouth and splashed all over the Professor’s face. The Professor swallowed and coughed before Orsini ended the stream, but the water, nonetheless, had helped revive him.
‘Good boy’, said the Cardinal, ‘what is your Profession?’
The Professor hesitated and glanced across to Orsini who had rested himself on a chair nearby with the satisfaction of a dragon upon a hill of gold. The captive turned the other way to look at the Henchman that held an implement in one hand that the he struggled to the identity: it looked circular, barbed and sharp. He ruminated: evasiveness would be unwise, but the truth could be dangerous.
‘I’m a physicis… um’ he began before correcting himself, ‘I’m a natural Philosopher…’
The Cardinal seemed to be waiting for more; Winston's mind blanked for a moment when something occurred to him, ‘…your Eminence’ added the Professor, hating seventeenth-century decorum. The Cardinal then nodded with satisfaction, before he rubbed his ruby ring that had a lustre which d
anced with the moving light given off by the fire.
‘You're a natural Philosopher of what?’ said Orsini, nonchalant, but eyeing the Professor with a penetrating look.
‘Of the heavens, your Eminence, which is why I wanted to talk to Galileo.’ The Cardinal drew in a breath through his nostrils till they hissed.
‘Well, that is an odd thing, because I heard that you’re an Earl and the eighteenth Earl of Oxford at that…’ Winston, with the effects of fatigue and disease, had forgotten his prior caprice. He lay dumb for a moment. Orsini stood up in haste and placed his shoed foot on the Professor’s throat. He bore down. The Professor fought to free himself as his pallid face began to turn red, but being bound his efforts were futile. ‘Who are you!’ growled the Cardinal, ‘I knew the Earl you masqueraded as, and I also know that he's DEAD, and so will you be if you do not tell all.’
Orsini stared into the Professor’s face as he clamped his foot down. The Professor writhed and began to turn purple. He saw tears well and dim in his captive’s grey eyes, as the Professor started to lose consciousness. Orsini glared down at his prisoner to witness the moment the Professor’s life almost left him before he lifted his foot. The Professor gasped, choked, and coughed to draw breath into his body, as he twisted this way and that, bound as he was. The Cardinal sat back in his chair and watched the Professor wheeze and writhe with calm indifference.
‘If there is one thing I cannot stand, it’s a liar’ he said with disgust. ‘I will get the truth from you, even if he has to kill you for it’ said Orsini pointing to his Henchman, whose face lit up with macabre pleasure at the prospect. The Henchman ran the iron bar, topped with its barbed ball, along the floor: the points of black iron rattled the floorboards, and the Professor felt the vibrations run through his body. The Professor still coughed and spluttered, however, but sensed he had to talk up, and talk quick.
‘But what if the truth… is impossible to believe?’ he heaved, coughing up phlegm ‘what if the truth changed everything you knew?’ He pondered the Professor’s words with curiosity and trepidation. The Cardinal, after years of Vatican intrigue, could sniff a lie at thirty paces, but his gut told him his captive spoke the truth.
Beyond the Raging Flames (The Hermeporta Book 2) Page 30
