Beyond the Raging Flames (The Hermeporta Book 2)

by Hogarth Brown

  Hermes shook his head as he looked up, stung with Illawara's snub yet compelled and gripped with terror. He snatched a glance at Antonio and Grizelda who both wept. They cried for their own reasons, forlorn and bewildered.

  Beppe abandoned Padua for Rome after Illawara had walked past him in her procession. He had fulfilled the Pope's wishes but felt overwhelmed by what he had done. He took the fastest carriage he could afford to leave Padua and its memories behind him.

  Illawara steadied her feet upon the wooden plinth above the massive heap of firewood beneath her. Lorenzo, bleak with grief, then took his leave of her. She looked down at all the assembled people there: the workmen from the docks; carpenters and tradesmen; the administrative men, clerks and business owners; and the women: maids and mothers, high born and low standing with their children or family members. The students from the University, native and foreign, most who had never seen such a spectacle in their young lives, suffused a crowd mixed with the high Courtesans, and common whores: the ones that mourned Illawara the most. All those classes of people, noted for their better clothes, stood out against a backdrop of the everyday people of society, without a thought in their heads save for the show and the distraction from their woes. They were there to gawk and gossip at the novelty of seeing a young woman burned just as she entered the prime of her life.

  Illawara looked down upon the vast stew of humanity that lay below her and felt in some way that her demise had become her honour. In Italy, she had not cheated, and she had told as much truth as she could within reason. She understood that the moment was both her punishment and reward for being so at odds with the times in which she found herself.

  The crowd looked up, Hermes and the Marconi household included, before a silence fell upon everyone like snowflakes.

  She realised that they waited for her to speak. Her mind, buzzing but barren, could conjure few words until she looked down again and saw the woman with the blue shawl move through the crowd unnoticed. She knelt at the base of the pyre and prayed making signs of the cross: scented, silent, and sweet.

  A flicker of hope ignited in Illawara's heart; her new friend had come to comfort her.

  ‘So’ said Illawara, inspired to speak, ‘my life has come to this... And you all stand here today to see me burned.’ Illawara's voice did not quake but rolled out strong and clear above the gathered mass. The opium in her blood emboldened her. ‘Many of you here today think that I deserved this end, and more still will think that I was wronged - although I confessed to the crimes.' A murmur spread through the crowd. 'Yes, I've been wronged by some, but I don’t cry for it now' she said, 'a life for a life is only fair I suppose.’ She paused to think of the man that she had sacrificed to the Hermeporta to begin her journey. Hermes' blood chilled when he heard Illawara say those words and understood then that guilt must have weighed heavy on her heart. Every ear listened to her. ‘I’ve not lived long, as you may have guessed' she continued, 'but in a short time I’ve learned some important lessons.’ The crowd leaned forward. Illawara's dark hair blew in the wind, and she shook her head to get her hair out of her face. ‘One of them is that whoever speaks an unpleasant truth is soon punished for it' the people's eyes shifted to their neighbours in the crowd, 'but another is that betrayal becomes the jailer of all those that practice it.’

  A mutter of recognition rippled through the gathering, and each person looked to their neighbour again to acknowledge what she said, or to glance at another with reproach. Hermes, Grizelda, and Antonio shrank like wretched weeds at her words and pondered their shortcomings. ‘Some of you may look up at me here and think me tragic’ Illawara continued, the opium taking her to new heights, ‘but you’re wrong. I’ve no fear’ she declared, looking again at the blue shawled woman praying below her, ‘because today, of all days, is the freest day of my life.’

  Illawara felt euphoric, as if her very soul had spoken, and did not care that her body would soon be turned into ashes for she had learned a truth that had liberated her. The crowd were moved and sobered by Illawara’s words. Even those that wished her dead admired her courage in the face of a dreadful end. But she did not notice the signal a man gave to have flaming torches tossed onto the base of her pyre by the reluctant guards. The woman in the blue shawl still knelt and prayed: unnoticed in plain sight of all. The torches burned but the wood did not catch light.

  ◆◆◆

  ‘Tell me what else I shall do’ said Orsini, already confused by some of the Professor’s instructions.

  ‘Don’t listen to him, your Eminence’ said the bewildered Henchman, his eyes wild and sticking out like ostrich eggs. ‘He’s a madman, you’ve unshackled him, but he's unshackling your mind.' Orsini shut out his Henchman's words with the flick of his hand. 'But he’s told you to take your donkey up to the roof terrace, and tether him there - as if an animal of that sort is any use at such a height’ protested the Henchman. In Orsini's room, the men heard Gino bray from the terrace as if to answer the man, but the Professor carried on his instructions undeterred.

  ‘Strip yourself naked’ commanded the Professor to the Cardinal, with such bold conviction that Orsini obeyed, as Winston opened his carry case. The Cardinal began to take off his clothes. The Henchman’s mouth dropped open.

  ‘Your EMINENCE!’ he said stupefied, ‘have you lost all your WITS? Why do you obey this Pox-ridden knave?’

  But Orsini ignored the protests of his Henchman and removed all his clothes to stand in front of the Professor in the full spread of middle age. His robust body reflected in the mirror behind him.

  ‘Close your eyes’ said the Professor, and Orsini did so, raising his arms aloft as if upon a cross and threw back his head as if to offer his neck for sacrifice. The Professor took up the glass vial filled with golden liquid, a personal triumph of his research, and sprayed every nook and crevice of the Cardinal, from head to toes, with the gleaming liquid. ‘Rub your body’ said the Professor, ‘let the liquid absorb into your skin.’ The Cardinal did so with eagerness, massaging the liquid across his flesh, including armpits and groin, and wherever else he cared to reach. The Henchman looked on dumbfounded at the bizarre scene in front of him - convinced that his patron had descended into madness - but grew more incredulous still as he observed the spray take its effect.

  Orsini could feel his skin heat up, and the changes begin within himself. He kept his eyes clamped shut before turned to face the mirror in the room.

  There for all to see Orsini turned himself in the winter light, as his skin began to shine with an amber glow. The Cardinal felt the years of care and regrets rolled back as the vigour of his youth returned. His skin, which had started to sag, loose and dry in places, regained strength and suppleness and flushed with new life. The coarsened hairs of his chest softened back to silkened darkness, as the greys coloured themselves or fell to the floor. Orsini watched himself, transfixed, as his waist consumed its stubborn fat and sagging tissues to willow back to toned slenderness: the ridges of his torso casting shadows he’d not seen in decades. Orsini twisted and flexed in the mirror like a Greek wrestler before a fight, as his slackening muscles regained their shape and contour and his body contracted back to its athletic prime. The Henchman was utterly dumbfounded.

  The Cardinal walked forward to the mirror and gazed at his reflection as Narcissus did upon his lake, and ran his hands over his firm-skinned face in disbelief: a face that flushed with ruddy youth. He caressed his fingers through the dark, voluminous locks of his hair that had sprouted renewed from the desolate scalp: his fingernails dazzled by silken sensations.

  He stood in wonderment and withdrew to look at himself returned to his early twenties. The amber light coming from Orsini dimmed back to his olive skin: the colour of wild honey. She stood shaking his head at himself. He covered his mouth with his trembling hands and turned to look at the Professor in disbelief before he wept: his transformation complete. The Cardinal struggled to compose himself for several minutes: overwhelmed.

&nb
sp; The Professor looked on with pride at the potency of his life’s work and marvelled at the youth the Cardinal was able to return too.

  ‘You're one of the best results I’ve ever seen' said the Professor, who shook his head in surprise 'for all those years you've kept that young man alive inside you.' The youthful Cardinal could only nod as he wiped at his eyes.

  ‘Do we ever lose the image of our prime?’ said Orsini.

  The Cardinal worked hard to pull himself together and blew his nose on a hanky before breathing deep and closing his eyes to calm himself down. The Henchman had collapsed speechless in a chair as if struck by lightning.

  ‘Please dress now' said the Professor, 'there's much more to do.’ The youthful Orsini nodded and walked to the clothes box. He smiled and then exclaimed with pleasure.

  ‘Many of these things will be too loose and baggy now.’ Only his voice and the knowing expression in his eyes had retained their maturity. ‘I shall need to buy new clothes’ he smiled again, clear and bright. The young Orsini put on a new codpiece before he rummaged, pressing this and that against himself, and threw on some clothes that were loose but complimented his body. He then stood in front of the mirror once more to admire himself. Orsini posed and drank in his rejuvenated reflection. ‘Twice as young, but half as foolish!’ He declared. Just then he felt as if life was offered to him anew as if he could win any battle and accomplish any desire.

  ‘Remember Illawara’ said the Professor.

  ‘I’ve not forgotten my damsel’ beamed the Cardinal, ‘what must I do next?’ said Orsini with enthusiasm and eagerness. The man, at that moment, reminded the Professor of some of his students: with their ebullient optimism and eagerness for life.

  ‘Fetch for me some twine, two bottles of Prosecco spumante from the wine cellar, and your favourite dove from the courtyard’ the Cardinal blinked with surprise but continued to listen, ‘and then bring all to the to the roof terrace.’

  He paused for a moment at the odd requests, but he no longer questioned the Professor’s logic. Orsini skittered out of the room and bounded down the stairs.

  When Orsini left the Professor retrieved his pink vial of Mystify from his case.

  'You're a warlock' said the Henchman, his eyes glazed, as the Professor shook the bottle and walked towards him. 'A magician... it should be you burning at the stake...' he mumbled before the Professor sprayed the petrified man full in his face with Mystify. The struggle was brief as the thin Henchman passed out: overcome by the spray given at such high dose.

  ‘You’ll struggle to remember your birthday when you wake from this’ snarled the Professor, yanking at the Henchman’s nose and spraying the liquid up the Henchman's nostrils as he slumped into his chair unconscious.

  Cook had tottered down the stairs, as fast as she could, on hearing Orsini's approach, but got overtaken by the sprightly youth that galloped down after her. She shook with alarm at the young man that flashed past her and dashed into the cellar to retrieve three bottles of Prosecco which he then clinked on the table.

  ‘Cook, do you have any twine?’ said the young Orsini before he sprang into the courtyard. In moments the youth returned clutching a dove in his hand, clasping its wings and stroking its head. The woman gawped at the vision in front of her, as the young Orsini strode with smoothness to where she stood at the base of the stairs. She only recognised his eyes and voice when he spoke to her. She had not had time to move from her spot to undertake her errand.

  ‘Heaven help this house’ she mumbled, as she crossed herself with fear, ‘I know not what I shall say at confession. My priest will think me possessed.’ Orsini strode forward, but Cook shrank back.

  ‘You have nothing to fear, or confess, good woman, for God this day has blessed me’ he said, glowing, ‘I am restored to myself again: it’s a miracle, a MIRACLE!’ Orsini then embraced Cook with his free arm. She tried to flee, but she could feel the strength of him. He kissed her on the cheek with affection. She shook her head in disbelief.

  'You look just like my dear Jacopo - my lost son' she said, unable to move her feet.

  ‘Do you have the twine?’ said Orsini, ‘I've seen you tie herbs with it?’ he added, scanning the room with a swift gaze. She pointed her chubby finger in the direction of a box that lay on the windowsill. He almost skipped to the window in a moment, with the dove still clasped in hand - as white as his shirt. He found the twine and some scissors. He took up the ball of thread and shoved it onto the neck of one of the bottles, and the scissors into his shirt pocket. Then he locked the narrow necks of two of the bottles into his supple fingers, and clasped the placid dove with the other hand, and smiled with cheer.

  ‘Voila,’ he beamed, 'the third bottle is for you' he said. But Cook shook her head; her face turned pale.

  ‘You're just like him - just like my son. In all my years’ Cook said, shaking all over, ‘in all my years…’ But Orsini did not remain to hear her mutterings as he sprang up the steps taking them three at a time.

  He bounded back into his bedroom, saw that his Henchman had passed out on the chair, but found the Professor absent. He tucked the dove under his arm as he packed a leather bag with the bottles, scissors and twine and made his way to the roof terrace.

  There the Professor stood, his tall figure wrapped in his blanket against the cold. He stared out from the roof terrace to a window lower down and opposite the house - Orsini could see the medicine he had first injected into his captive had done much to lift the disease that afflicted him. The donkey pawed his hoof at the ground: his saddle put to the side as the Professor had instructed.

  ‘There you are’ said Orsini before the Professor turned to him. He still looked ghastly in the daylight, but it had been the first time he had stood in days without dizziness.

  ‘We don’t have much time’ said the Professor, ‘what I’m about to ask you to do can only be done once, and will take all of your imagination, concentration and courage.’ Orsini nodded. ‘Tell me, your Eminence, do you know these animals well?’

  ‘Yes, this donkey, with his twin, I’ve raised from a foal, and this dove here is my favourite, for it always comes to my call.’

  ‘Good’ said the Professor, ‘they trust you.’ The Cardinal wondered where the he was going with his thinking but did not argue. ‘In these times, what is the quickest way to send a written message to another?’

  ‘By carrier pigeon’ said the Cardinal, a truth that would have been obvious to the town dunce - he thought to himself.

  ‘Indeed, it is. You’re an educated man, your Eminence, and no doubt have heard of the Greeks and their mythology.’

  ‘I have Professor, but I can’t say I approve of all what the Greeks did.’

  ‘Never mind that: what is your favourite Greek myth?’

  ‘The story of Perseus’ he said, without hesitation, surprised at remembering himself and his daydreams that sprung back to his mind untarnished and fresh.

  ‘I thought so’ said the Professor, ‘today you will fly, your Eminence. You will fly to find and save Illawara.’ The Cardinal looked bemused.

  ‘What? But how Professor?' Said Orsini turning his hands in the light, 'you’ve given me back my youth, but you didn’t give me wings.’ Winston gestured to the dove and then the donkey before he entwined his fingers.

  ‘You can fly like Perseus upon his Pegasus if you combine your two friends.’ Orsini’s jaw dropped open in horror. ‘We must hurry’ the Professor urged, taking up the vial filled with blue liquid and shaking it - its blue fire stirred within. ‘Do you remember what I told you about this tincture?’

  ‘Yes’ said the Cardinal, his heart pounding.

  ‘Good’ said the Professor striding over to the donkey and spraying the animal all over. Gino began to fuss and paw at the ground as a ripple of blue flames spread across his back. ‘Come quickly, your Eminence, bring the bird here.’ He brought the dove close to the Professor who sprayed it all over as the Cardinal braced its wings. The dove became engulfed by
a gentle blue fire that did not burn. Both animals became agitated. ‘Make haste’ he said, ‘think of the legend and press the bird upon your donkey’s back, just beneath his shoulder blades.’ Orsini’s hands shook, but he did as instructed, and as soon as he put the dove upon the donkey’s back a blue light emerged from the join, and both animals began to thrash about.

  ‘Keep thinking of the legend’ said the Professor, ‘focus on your dream - think only of Pegasus.’ The Cardinal tried to concentrate but stood almost too shocked by what he saw as the donkey brayed and tried to the throw the dove off its back which fought hard to fly away. ‘Focus your mind’ urged the Professor, who sprayed at both beasts again with the tincture to maintain their fragile bond. The join of the pair still glowed with blue light as the animals fought to free themselves. ‘Speak and use your IMAGINATION’ yelled the Professor to the blank-faced youth, ‘express your thoughts to focus them - say something…anything… even better if it rhymes - their bond is breaking.’

  The Cardinal’s thoughts scattered as the distressed animals fought to free themselves before his thoughts aligned. Orsini reached his mind towards the animals as if about to speak to a congregation.

  ‘I think, I think have it… Yes, it's simple, but I have it’ he said, before he spoke in his boldest voice over the frenzied animals. ‘As my dreams lay intertwined, so may these beasts become combined.’

  In an instant, there came a bright flash of blue light. The flames rose around the animals, and the blue glow of the beasts filled Orsini’s eyes. He raised both of his hands in a majestic gesture, and the dove’s wings began to stretch and grow, as the donkey’s fur began to pale.

  ‘That’s it’ exclaimed the Professor with admiration, ‘your beginning to create.’ Orsini stood as if in trace and turned his hands in the air with mastery.