The Hermeporta Beyond the Gates of Hermes

by Hogarth Brown

  When Hermes entered the man then turned, and Hermes recognised him as the young priest Marco they all had met the day before. ‘Buongiorno signore, are you hungry?’ he said with a smile, Hermes nodded. ‘Take a seat. I’m making an omelette before everyone wakes up.’ The priest then threw some chopped leeks and onions into the pan with some seasoning and continued to stir with confidence. ‘Quite a night you’ve all had, so I hear’ said Marco.

  ‘Yes, I guess it was’ replied Hermes, looking for somewhere to sit down.

  ‘A man is dead I’m told.' Hermes covered his mouth as he gasped.

  ‘What? That’s horrible' he said. Hermes then cast his mind back to when Illawara struck Orsini’s henchman with a copper pan and dreaded she had killed him.

  Marco was the type of man who struggled to hold back when something juicy was to be said. He had savoured Hermes' reaction before he continued: ‘Antonio thinks he may have run over a guard with the carriage.'

  ‘Oh?’ said Hermes, as his expression darkened. ‘I believe we did hit something, but I thought it might have been a cornerstone…’ his voice trailed off, but Marco gave a look that urged him back to speech. Hermes rubbed at his forehead, ‘well, things were desperate at that moment, there was so much confusion, we didn’t know what was going on. The guards seemed to be everywhere. So much shouting and yelling…’ Hermes shook his head as if trying to eradicate the memory.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry yourself’ said the priest with a dismissive waft of his spoon through the air, ‘I say he deserved it; a lot of the Duke’s guards are bastards. A bunch of lying, cheating bastards - all of them.’ Hermes' eyes bulged.

  ‘What? But you’re a priest aren’t you supposed to cross yourself and pray for their souls or something?’ The priest rolled his eyes.

  ‘Do I look like a nun?' Marco then mused for a moment and rubbed his chin. 'Maybe you’re right, and I should say something.’ Marco then made exaggerated signs of the cross in the air before raising his hands in mock prayer: ‘dear Lord bless the bastard’ said the priest before thumbing his chin, and dashing a bowl of beaten eggs into the sizzling frying pan. Hermes closed his mouth but shook his head before he sat himself down as the priest continued talking. ‘You’re all in a sticky situation: Antonio tells me that Cardinal Orsini is after you, and he’s not a man to cross.’ Hermes rubbed again at his brow,

  ‘I knew this was a bad idea’ he thought to himself. Hermes clutched at his stomach, before releasing the wind out of his mouth. ‘Well, he does have something about him’ Hermes then said aloud, ‘He's unsettling, he has some kind of power, some kind of…’ Hermes trailed off,

  ‘Intensity?’ said Marco, Hermes nodded, ‘oh yes, that dragon is well known for it - he gets what he wants.’ Marco then wriggled his brow with a tilt of his head. Hermes cradled his chin in his hands and looked on at Marco’s preparations with blank emptiness. Antonio and Illawara entered the kitchen. Antonio looked younger to Hermes with his hair ruffled and his face still soft from sleep. Illawara came into the kitchen behind Antonio as if in a trance, her usual spark much dimmed. She had taken off her diamond choker, chopines, and high ruff collar: she looked bleached. ‘I think you need to sit down and eat some food’ said Marco to Illawara, after just one look at her. Hermes pulled out a seat for her at the table, and she fell onto it like a tattered rag without speaking. All three looked on with concern at the unfamiliar, docile, creature before Antonio spoke to break the silence:

  ‘Oh God, I’m a dead man' he exclaimed, 'what a night.’ Marco seemed almost amused at the declaration, ‘kind brother’ Antonio continued, ‘I’ve not been able to tell you the half of it.' The Priest smirked,

  ‘Well, what you said last night was feast enough for any man, are there yet more dishes to be added to the table?’ said Marco. He enjoyed his visual pun, as he portioned out the steaming omelette onto four plates, before raking a gnarled stump of Parmesan over a grater and dusting the pieces with the cheese.

  ‘Oh brother. Where to begin and where to end?’ said Antonio, dragging his fingers through his hair, and tensing his jaw, before he blew air out of his mouth. ‘I’m saddened, but running over that guard is not the worst of it: I fear I’ve caused a scandal for the Duke. All of Firenze will ring with the news. I’ll never be allowed back at court again, and we’ll be hunted by that crocodile Orsini.' At the mention of the Cardinal’s name, Illawara roused a somewhat from her wakeful sleep and seemed to take more interest in the conversation.

  ‘Well, you’ve given him good reason to chase’ said Marco, with a side look to Illawara that Hermes did not miss.

  ‘Indeed I have’ said Antonio, throwing his arms aloft as if pleading to God, before clamping his hands on the crown of his head and walking to the kitchen window. ‘The Cardinal is relentless - we’ve all heard the stories, but I know him. I know what he's like - what they say about him is true’ Antonio continued, ‘this is going to be tough, very tough indeed.'

  ‘Ah, so it is’ said Marco with a philosophical sigh, ‘Orsini stops at nothing to get what he wants, but for now, you can’t run on empty stomachs. Eat, my friends, before the food gets cold.’

  Antonio obeyed and made his way to sit with the others, and all began to eat their food. Illawara ate with slow mouthfuls, but the meal started to give her some colour, although she looked like a tepid thing - still eclipsed by her former self in the glory of the night before. After half finishing her meal, Illawara paused in thought before she spoke up: ‘can he be so bad?’ she said, the three young men turned to look at her, ‘he’s an excellent dancer…’

  ‘Are you talking about Orsini?’ said Marco, frowning.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘is that so wrong? How old is he? Because he dances like a young man.’ All three men widened their eyes at her. Antonio cast an aside look at Hermes, and then flicked his head in Illawara’s direction, but the youth could only shrug his shoulders.

  ‘You don’t know him, Illawara’ said Antonio. Marco coughed as if he were an actor on a stage:

  ‘He’s is older than Judas and twice as cunning’ boomed Marco, shaking his cooking spoon in the air. ‘I’m surprised that jackal can dance at all - what a charm you must have had on him - most of the Cardinals I know are too gouty to dance on feathers without soiling themselves.’ Antonio reached out to grasp Illawara’s clammy hand:

  ‘Don’t be taken in Illawara, Orsini is powerful, but he's a dangerous man. Dancing or not, we'll have to be careful with our movements from now on.’ Illawara snatched her hand away from Antonio's grasp.

  ‘Fine, but Orsini doesn't frighten me?' Illawara raised her chin. The three men exchanged glances and looked at Illawara again, 'ok, he frightens me a bit' she said, 'yes, especially the way he looked into me...’ Antonio gave a shudder of recognition. Illawara's eyes glazed over as she spoke, ‘it was like he knew me, really knew me. It's impossible, of course, but I felt like he saw every part of me. I couldn't hide from him. I felt…' Illawara turned away, 'I felt - naked.’ Illawara clutched at herself as if reliving her dance with the Cardinal - remembering his eyes, face, and embrace. She sat staring into the distance as if still listening to the music.

  ‘Illy, what are you talking about?’ said Hermes, shaking her shoulder. Illawara had shivered before she seemed to rouse from her reverie. Illawara considered the faces of the men around her.

  ‘But someone who moves like that can’t be all bad’ she continued, ‘he has poetry in him - I can tell.’ A silence fell between the men as they pondered Illawara who seemed to occupy another realm.

  ‘I can tell’ said Marco, pointing to the bruise on Illawara's forehead, ‘that you must have walloped your head on the carriage door when Nino ran over that guard?’ Antonio winced, ‘I’ve never heard such talk about Orsini - you speak as if that reptile were a prince’ added Marco tutting while shaking his head. Marco then used his finger to mop up the last remnants of his omelette into his mouth, before releasing the digit with a petulant pop.

  'But he is
a Prince' she said, 'he's a Prince of The Church, no?' added Illawara before she scratched her fork around her plate like a pauper in response to Marco's chastisement. Marco pouted, shook his head, and sniffed at the air.

  ‘You’re confused’ said Marco, ‘a lot of Cardinals ACT and are treated like Princes, but it doesn’t mean they are ones…’ huffed Marco, ‘only a matter of time though – there’s much talk of it in The Church – I’m against the idea.’ Hermes studied Illawara’s face before she looked out to the window and sighed.

  ‘Where do you think we’ll be safe for now, Marco?’ whispered Antonio to Marco as if Orsini could burst in at any moment.

  ‘It’s difficult to say, Nino, as there are few places where the eyes of Orsini do not see, but I know a friend who has a safe-house in another part of town. It’s not too far from here. It’s further up the hill toward Arcetri.’ Antonio beamed a smile.

  ‘Good, we’ll go there. What's your friend’s name?’ said Antonio,

  ‘Riccolo, he’s a spice merchant, but you’ll have to find him first’ said Marco, ‘the house belongs to his relative, but you can find him in the taverns - or the brothels.’ Hermes raised an eyebrow,

  ‘What kind of priest is this?’ Hermes thought to himself, before focusing his attention on Antonio.

  ‘Which one?’ Asked the Valet, ‘there are so many places - does he have a favourite?’

  ‘Try Da Francesco Taverna first, he likes to eat there, or then there’s Il L’azzurro Madonna' Marco paused to smirk, 'he likes to eat there too.' Hermes frowned at Marco's words, but Illawara seemed oblivious.

  ‘The Blue Madonna? That's quite a name to give to a whore-house’ scoffed Hermes.

  ‘But what of it?’ said Antonio. The smirk died on Hermes' face, 'a man must have his pleasure.'

  ‘But what about my Dad?’ said Illawara, released back into reality.

  ‘You have a father in Florence?’ said Marco, stepping forward, like he wished to give up his vows. Illawara's face faltered.

  ‘Well yes, and no... I don’t know if he’s still in the city: it’s complicated.'

  ‘That’s not even the half of it’ Hermes sniped, crossing his arms, ‘her father is the reason we even came here in the first place - but we couldn’t be sure where he was. Then we were offered a ride in the Earl’s carriage - that’s how we met Antonio - but he turned out to be her father.’ Marco’s mouth dropped open, ‘Yes’ said Hermes, shaking his head, ‘we thought her father would be at the banquet, but he was with us all along.’ Marco looked incredulous. He addressed Illawara.

  ‘So you were travelling with your own father, and you didn’t recognise him?’ He shook his head as if scolding a toddler, ‘you’re not a bright girl’ added Marco. Illawara shrank with shame, 'but don't worry, pretty one, I'll be your father.' Antonio pushed his friend back.

  ‘He wore a disguise’ said Antonio in Illawara’s defence, ‘none of us knew until Orsini tore off his mask - he had us ALL fooled.' Marco arched his brows – quite tickled.

  ‘It just gets better’ said Marco, wallowing in the revelations, before he crossed at himself, ‘oh Madonna, you really are in a lot of trouble.'

  ‘We know that’ spat Hermes.

  ‘Oh shut up - all of you’ shrieked Illawara, ‘Let’s just find him, and get him home’ she said, before clamping her hands to her head. Illawara grasped at her hair and began to sob like an abandoned child. More concerned looks passed around the table.

  ‘I think he may come back, Illawara.’ said Antonio. Illawara shook her head, and tried to regain control of herself, her head pounding.

  ‘Why would he?’ she whispered, ‘He clearly doesn’t care about me.'

  ‘But I think he must come back’ offered Antonio, ‘because he’s left his case in the carriage. I don’t know what’s in it, I asked, but he wouldn’t let me handle it.’ Hermes and Illawara looked at each other, ‘so I guess it’s important to him, if so, he may come to you instead.' Illawara blinked several times, and her expression freshened.

  ‘Yes, I hope so. Dad must have forgotten it in the rush…' said Illawara, as she pondered the potential contents of the case.

  ‘Did he say anything to you, Antonio?’ asked Hermes, as he rubbed Illawara’s back.

  ‘Not much’ said Antonio ‘I travelled with him down from Torino before Pisa, and we talked about several things. I arranged accommodation, I know the inns, but I can’t imagine I know more than about him than his daughter does.’

  ‘You could know more’ said Hermes, ‘It’s been a while.'

  Illawara began to compose herself as Marco looked on - much entertained by his guest's plight. ‘After last night I don’t know what to believe’ said Antonio, ‘but he’s a man of reason and culture. We spoke of many things, and especially of Galileo - he knew a lot about him.'

  ‘The heretic’ said Marco, who waved his hands in mock horror, enjoying himself. ‘I’ve nothing personal against him' added Marco, 'but all in The Church call him so: Orsini despises him, and encourages everyone he knows to discredit the man.’ Antonio bristled.

  ‘Stop your teasing, Marco’ said Antonio; ‘I’m told that you have illegal books bound in Bible covers. What do you think the Inquisition would say about that?’ Marco shrugged,

  ‘I don’t care - we all need something interesting to read. They always ban the best books' he huffed, 'I’m sure Galileo's will be next.'

  ‘He’s an enlightened man of our age’ Antonio continued, in earnest, ‘The Starry Messenger and Galileo are far ahead of their time, they will change the minds of men. I’m sure of it. I can understand why the Earl, I mean your father, was eager to speak with him.'

  ‘I had you down for a social climber, not a philosopher’ sneered Marco.

  ‘Hush, let him speak’ said Hermes, ‘you were saying…’ Antonio cleared his throat and commanded himself.

  ‘He mentioned wanting to see someone at the convent of San Matteo, soon after we arrived in Pisa’ said Antonio.

  ‘But it’s just a bunch of old nuns that live up there’ said Marco, shaking his head, 'and the young ones are all ugly - well, except for one. She's...'

  ‘Can you lead us to him, Antonio?' said Illawara, 'I must speak with my father.' Antonio flapped his arms.

  ‘But who is he? And what is he doing here?’ he said. Illawara and Hermes looked at each other again, before their eyes rested on Marco.

  ‘I can’t explain now' she said, 'I promise I’ll tell you later, but we must hurry. My Dad could be in danger.' Marco looked on half surprised, and half amused by the revelations that poured out from his fugitives. The lay priest could not remember when he was last so entertained, apart from the lewd banter of the inns and brothels he frequented.

  ‘Marco’ said Antonio, ‘we must begin to make our move before it’s too late. Tell me where your friend’s house is, and we shall call on it before we try to find him in the taverns.' After shaking his head with a half-smile at the group, Marco wrote directions to the safe house and the names of Inns, brothels and taverns on a scrap of Chinese paper while his fugitives made ready.

  Antonio and Hermes, though irritated, thanked Marco for his food and hospitality. Illawara told herself to calm down, drying her eyes, before giving her own thanks, although she had been insulted. In the gathering morning, yet to break, the group made their way to the carriage. Antonio located the Professor’s case for Illawara and gave it to her.

  ‘Travel safely, bellissima’ Marco called after Illawara - restored to her finery. She ignored him as she got in. Hermes then paused with his foot upon the carriage step, before he turned to Marco:

  ‘Why did you become a priest?’ He asked. Marco shrugged,

  ‘It’s not my calling, but I’m the youngest son - what choice do I have?’ he said, grinning, before Hermes slammed the door shut, and Marco saw them all off. Antonio glanced back at his friend, a waving shadow, before the sun would rise and banish the last of twilight, and the first church bells would ring before the morn
ing bustle returned to the streets of Florence.

  Antonio folded the scrap of paper handed to him bearing the notes and scrawled map of their new destination and shoved it into his breast pocket. Illawara had handled Professor Sloane’s dark leather-bound case before she clutched it to her chest. Antonio cracked his whips to rouse the sleepy horses into action and became comforted by the sound of wheels on cobbles leaping in his ears, as they progressed toward upper Florence and Arcetri.

  Chapter 10

  The Convent of San Matteo

  The outskirts of Florence, before dawn

  P rofessor Sloane had slept rough that night just off the roadside that leads up to Arcetri. He had found an alcove that faced inward to a narrow carriage yard with a dead end. Winston thought it best to avoid the taverns that night, as that would be the first-place Orsini and the authorities would look for him. He needed to keep a low profile and wait for the danger to pass. It had not taken long for the stallion to abandon him once he got off the beast, he understood the animal had no loyalty to him and wished that he could have stolen a car instead.

  Still lying in the alcove, before daybreak, he shivered and brushed off the dew that had crept upon him in the night. He sniffed at the air: cool, mossy, and fresh in contrast to the bitter taste in his mouth. More leaves had fallen during the night, and they littered the carriage yard like coloured pencil shavings. He tried to get up, failed, tried again, failed, and then decided to roll forward. He used his momentum to stand at the third attempt: uncurling himself like a fern frond.

  His body ached all over: his skin covered in bruises, his joints clicked, and his right arm sore where the knife had slashed his skin. But his linen shirt had done a good job of staunching his blood, and a thick scab had formed underneath the stained shirtsleeve, where the fabric had mingled with it. He winced somewhat as he freed shirt fibres from the clotted blood. The Professor did not look good. His clothes were still grand, but grubby and stained, his hair a gerbil’s nest.