The Hermeporta Beyond the Gates of Hermes

by Hogarth Brown

  ‘It is said, your Eminence, that no one has heard of this “Beauty in Blue” before: no one can trace her family ties, no one knows of her dwelling or house, and most can only guess at what city she’s from… it were as if she appeared by magic.’ Benfico held the Cardinal's gaze without blinking. A vein rose in the Cardinal’s neck before his adviser carried on, ‘no one seems to know who on God’s good Earth she is - even the Medici, after your little... performance’ said Benfico with a twist of his wrist, 'they have drawn a blank: even with all of their connections.’ Orsini turned almost as red as his gown and gripped his scrunched napkin in his right hand,

  'That's quite enough, Benfico' growled Orsini. But the advisor ignored him.

  ‘Many speculate’ the blithe Benfico continued, taking pleasure in the Cardinal’s discomfort, ‘that she’s likely a - COMMON - courtesan from Venice.’ Orsini’s eye’s flashed, ‘so, as a hinge of The Church, your Eminence, the question is...’ Benfico hummed, before pausing for dramatic effect, ‘who were you defending? A witch or a well-drilled whore?’

  The Cardinal slammed his fist on the table making one of the house servants drop his vegetable platter on the floor - surprised by the boomed sound as he had walked in. The other servant just managed to hold onto his braised rabbit, when the Cardinal's fist had cracked the varnish under the table cloth. Benfico froze as the Cardinal bellowed: ‘how dare you question me and my judgement. I only answer to his Holiness, and I’ll not take insolent correction from a half blind mincing faggot!’

  The attendant with the braised rabbit placed down his bowl on the table with haste, and then yanked up his colleague from the floor who had made a desperate attempt to scoop up the spilt vegetables. Orsini didn’t care, and vented his rage, as the servants scrambled for the door: ‘who in Dante’s Hell do you think you are to question a Cardinal of the Church and an Orsini at that?' He shouted, standing up to point his finger at his advisor, 'I don’t know what unholy favours YOU gave to get your position, and it’s true that I’ve never liked you, but to suggest that I’d defend a witch or a WHORE is beyond impertinence.' Orsini then hurled his desert fork at Benfico, catching the man on his wrist before he continued. 'My family belongs to, and has fought for, our Mother Church, we’ve paid in blood to be here, and, in my own house, I’ll no longer abide such questioning and insult from a fickle, ass-licking-rodent like yourself.’

  The Cardinal’s voice exploded like cannon fire, and Benfico’s face became pale as his lips quivered. Orsini fixed his adviser with a look that seemed to stab the man in the face, and the consultant looked away before he attempted to reply. Benfico trembled, he had never seen Orsini so enraged let alone state his open dislike of him, and he took some time to respond as his eyes began to well up. Orsini, hot-faced, glared at the man till he shrivelled into his chair: ‘I’m sorry, your Eminence’ Benfico answered, clutching his injured wrist, his breath becoming shallow while his lips would not stop trembling, ‘I see that I’ve greatly offended you. I was impertinent’ coughed Benfico as he shook and garbled his words out, ‘and I humbly seek your forgiveness.’

  The short-sighted man spoke with his head bowed, but he chanced a look up at Orsini and wished he had not when he saw the face that had darkened with rage - Orsini seemed like a Gorgon: ‘GET OUT’ spat the Cardinal. With a gasp, Benfico bolted upright, and nodded with speed before he fled from the room, skidding on the cooked vegetables, as he sprinted for escape and closed the door behind him. Breathing like a wrestler, the Cardinal took up the braised rabbit platter and emptied the cooked meat onto his plate. He then flung the dish at the door, smashing it to pieces, where it fell near the other broken vessel. The house staff and courtiers, who had pressed themselves against the door from outside, leapt back and clutched at their ears in pain at the deafening smash of heavy porcelain.

  The other staff rallied round to comfort Benfico who quaked, inconsolable, as they took him down the stairs to the kitchen to give him fortified wine. The Cardinal grumbled his dissatisfaction, hearing the fuss and simpering outside, before hunching over his plate to devour his cooked rabbit like a beast from a dark forest.

  When the Cardinal had finished, he wiped his hands and downed both glasses of wine that the staff had poured out for him before the start of the first and second courses. He stood, and then took a swig from Benfico's untouched wine, crossed the room, and pulled open the door to sweep the broken china and mess aside with a scrunch. Some of Orsini's staff cowered on the lower stairs, while offered strict council by the Chef, before Orsini brushed at his clothes and stepped out of his front door to make his way to the Vatican. The great house had taken on the atmosphere of a morgue by the time Orsini had slammed the door behind him and strode his way towards the riverside.

  …

  The Cardinal crossed the polluted Tiber river, leaving the Palazzo Orsini behind, at the Ponte Vittorio bridge after a long walk up the river embankment, and ignored some of the unpleasant things that floated by in it. Orsini then marched the short distance to the Vatican via some of the side streets that usually buzzed with market stalls, and the sounds of creaking waggons laden with late harvest grapes from the Alban hills in the south. He saw the remnants of stray grapes, from the previous day’s harvest, that were crushed underfoot by the Sunday crowds. Orsini closed his eyes for a moment and saw a glass filling with sweet Frascati; his favourite Roman beverage. In the late afternoon sunshine Orsini emerged from the side streets in his scarlet robes, and sparkling gold crucifix, like a flame. He turned to face the Vatican’s new façade that neared its completion. Hundreds of pilgrims and worshippers milled about everywhere in the recess before the Pope called evening Mass.

  The scaffolding, which looked like clusters of matchsticks, on the front of the Vatican did little to diminish its grand impact. The Cardinal recalled the master craftsmen at their work amongst the clinks of chisels and clouds of dust. Orsini sneered: all of them were Maderno’s men; the architect charged with completing the dead Michelangelo’s vision in stone. Local people milled about, some stopped to look, point, and grumbled at how the façade obscured the dome - Orsini listened in silence but agreed within before he moved on. The Cardinal made his way to the far side of the Vatican and enjoyed the effect his rank had on the populous of Rome as he prowled through the promenade. The throngs of pilgrims, in various states of disrepair, either shifted out of his way or gave him a pious bow, or, more still, reached for his hand to kiss it before crossing themselves.

  Upon seeing the Cardinal one scrawny man, in an acute fit of piety, threw himself down, prostrate, at the feet of Orsini and began to beseech and pray. He shook and all over as if gripped by a trembling fever.

  'Touch me, your Eminence' begged the pilgrim, before explaining to the Cardinal, that, per wise words said to him, his elderly father would become cured of an illness that made him too sick to journey from Tivoli. Orsini swooped himself down to pick up the ecstatic man that clung to the Cardinal’s strong arms as if saved from drowning. He dusted off the angular frame of the Pilgrim, who then covered the Cardinal’s scented hands with kisses. Other pilgrims looked on; goggle-eyed before they shuffled forward in hopes of a kind word to them.

  'Your faith will bring your father's blessing' Orsini said to the Pilgrim with majesty, making a sign of the cross, before he swept off as the man gave praise and swooned in his sackcloth.

  Orsini began, at his leisure, his mood mellowed by deference and wine, to make signs of the cross here and there in the air, and relished the effect his presence had on the pilgrims that limped in from all parts of Christendom. Orsini approached the side of the Sistine Chapel after making a left past the main Basilica, and gave a nod of recognition to the Swiss Guards, in their bright pied livery, before the two men parted their polearms to let him pass. Orsini gave greetings to the guards he recognised but paused for breath when they whispered to him that His Holiness already awaited him inside.

  Orsini hesitated before he crossed the threshold, closed his eye
s, and then stepped into the chapel. When he opened them again, his eyes were struck afresh by the sheer magnificence of the place, and he crossed himself and thanked God for Michelangelo’s genius. The figures on the ceiling depicting man before the arrival of Christ, and those of the last judgement on the far wall seemed to writhe with movement and expression upon the lapis painted walls.

  The Cardinal walked on and saw the figure of a man knelt in prayer, looking as if wrapped in gold leaf, on the ground at the base of the far altar on which a Papal Tiara rested.

  The splendour of the Pontiff’s exquisite robes outshone the grandiosity of the frescoed walls. As the footsteps of the Cardinal echoed through the chapel a hidden choir struck up with a paean of fragile, yet clear, voices, full of lament and sorrow as if forced, by hand, to drag Christ’s limp, dead, and bleeding body off the cross.

  Orsini shivered. The Pontiff never missed a chance to hammer home a point - Orsini's expression faded to greyness with the music as he approached, impotent and isolated, his stature diminishing as he drew closer to the Bishop of Rome. Orsini climbed the steps of the altar as the Pontiff spun around on his knees with surprising speed, and then used his great golden crozier to stand erect and majestic. The fifty-nine-year-old Pontiff extended a robust hand bedecked with rings in Orsini’s direction and waited for his kiss. Orsini grazed his mouth as he pressed his lips to one of the Pontiff’s hefty jewels as he kneeled before His Holiness.

  The Pontiff then raised his arms, as the Cardinal sank, to stretch out his robes like the wings of an eagle. Orsini bowed down to the floor as the choir sang onto a higher pitch, that seemed to lift the ceiling and open a trap door to heaven. Orsini, humbled at the feet of the Bishop of Rome, shrank as if every eye of the painted frescoes were upon him. The Pontiff said nothing for a while, as he looked down, but then gave a gentle waft of his staff to halt the music.

  Together they resided in silence until the Pontiff spoke: ‘my son’ said the Pope in a rich tone, ‘I hear that you’re troubled, that you’ve made errors in judgement, and that PASSIONS afflict you. Is this so?’ Orsini swallowed, his mouth dry, and kept his head bowed for some time before he answered:

  ‘I sought… your Holiness, to try and save a soul from danger, an INNOCENT that needed guidance: a lamb to be protected from the wolves.' The Pontiff had listened before he made a deep inhalation and then spoke again so that his imposing voice undulated from the walls.

  ‘They say that this innocent of which you speak of is not a lamb, a lost member of our flock, but a witch you had chosen to save in Firenze. A woman that turned grain into gold, no less’ said the Pontiff, with arms outstretched commanding the air. Some members of the choir had taken the liberty to peep through the grill and enjoyed witnessing the Pope take a strip off a powerful Cardinal who had once criticised their singing. The Cardinal felt their eyes upon him but did not dare turn around.

  ‘This is what the crowd accused her of, your Holiness, but I didn’t see the act with my own eyes as the others said they had.' Orsini then clasped his hands together as if in prayer, 'to turn grain into gold would be quite a feat indeed, and seems too far-fetched to be true, your Holiness: surely you cannot believe this?’ Orsini cleared his throat and looked up at the Pope, his eyes full of longing, ‘she’s a delicate creature, your Holiness, and it seems she had given alms to the poor - a wretched fallen woman with a babe - is that not a Christian thing to do?' Orsini searched the Pontiff's ruddy face for mercy, but the Pontiff stood above him with his face unmoving.

  'It's our Christian duty to give alms to the poor' echoed the Pope. Orsini seemed encouraged,

  'Indeed, it's a noble virtue no less, and surely a sign that her heart is good? It was evident to me that those less needy, than the said woman, were ENVIOUS and vengeful that her generosity and alms had not extended to them.’

  Pope Paul V stood, looked, and listened for a while before he spoke: ‘do you believe what you say to be true my son?’ Orsini nodded and looked up into the distinguished face of the Pontiff. The Pontiff stood resplendent as the Cardinal gazed up at him from the floor. ‘I believe you, Pietro’ said the Pope with his face raised up to the ceiling, ‘a man of your rank and birth would find it impossible to lie in the house of God’ the Pontiff paused, ‘but there’s a problem, my son.’ Orsini frowned. The Pope looked down to the kneeling Cardinal and continued to speak, ‘word has got out that you’ve embarrassed the Medici House - an ally - and word has also spread that an Eminent member of the Church has let a witch slip from his grasp: this can only help our enemies, be the accusations true or not, do you understand?’

  The Pontiff looked down at the Cardinal, who had bowed before he continued in elevated tones, ‘the Republic of Venezia: that plague riddled seething cesspit of iniquity, vice, and sin will seize upon any shortcomings, or weakness, of The Church for its own advantage.' The Pope then declared: 'let alone what that disgraceful Paulo Sarpi, our despised enemy, who’s very life seems to be guarded by the Devil himself - what poisonous things would he say about this to the Republic and its Protestant sympathisers?’

  The Cardinal attempted to protest, but the Pontiff stubbed his crozier on the ground, splintering the air, before he carried on, ‘this situation that we find ourselves in presents a real and grave danger for our Mother Church, my son, and it must be resolved in the clearest of terms.’ The Cardinal looked bewildered.

  ‘But, your Holiness, the matter has past and by all accounts the woman has fled. The matter will soon be forgotten and all will be well’ But the Pope shook his head. Orsini frowned. ‘Then what do you suggest?’

  ‘Purification by FIRE’ boomed the Pontiff who let his voice ricochet around the chapel. The Cardinal searched the Pope’s face,

  ‘Purification of what, your Holiness?’

  ‘Of her, you fool’ said the Pontiff to an audible gasp from the gallery. Orsini clutched at a sudden pain in his chest with a rush of adrenalin as he comprehended the Pontiff’s words.

  ‘But, your Holiness… this is not Germany’ said Orsini blinking, ‘we do not burn women by the dozen in these lands – this would be exceptional: she is not Giordano Bruno’ But the Pontiff shook his head.

  ‘Do I need to remind you, Pietro, that our Mother Church is under attack from all sides? We must defend her and her rights with every sinew of our bodies, and the might of our righteousness.’ Orsini crouched struck dumb as the Pontiff continued, ‘our enemies grow ever stronger, and we must show them that we’re not weak, that we'll not spare them punishment.'

  The Pontiff struck his crozier on the ground, just missing Orsini’s fingers, again cracking the air with sound. 'We must strike the FEAR of God into the very heart of the Republic - that floating cesspool - that protector of witches, quacks, Protestants, God deniers, and Saracen infidels. We must let them know that we’ll give no quarter, and leave no doubt of The Church’s supremacy under God himself.’ Orsini tried to protest again but the Pontiff had not finished, and he turned to snatch up his Tiara and Crown himself.

  The Pontiff then raised his voice yet further to thunder the chapel from all sides: ‘we burn her so that the reputation of our Church remains immaculate, intact, and unstained. We burn her to rid ourselves of her sin, and we burn her to show that Republic, her homeland: a floating turd in that putrid lagoon, that the authority of my Pontificate will never be challenged again!’

  The Pontiff swung his arms aloft in rapture like God had spoken through him, while his voice rang out as if addressing to the amassed faithful from the Basilica window. Orsini rubbed at his stomach and turned his face away from the ecstatic Pontiff. ‘Stand up my son, and embrace me’ said the Pope, once calmed after his invective outpouring. The Cardinal stood and obeyed.

  The Pontiff grabbed Orsini by the shoulders, after their brief embrace, with a firm grip and looked into his eyes, but Orsini tried to avoid them. ‘This will happen, my son, so discard your feelings for the girl' he said, 'do you think yourself the only man of faith that loves what
he cannot have?' Orsini struggled to control himself at the Pontiff's words. 'It is for the best my child - my Inquisition has already begun to prepare the case.’ Orsini stood powerless to protest. 'When we find her, the purification will proceed, and your damaged reputation and rank will rise once more unsullied from her flames, restored and vigorous again.' The Pontiff lowered his voice as if to console a child. 'You’re talented Orsini; it would be a shame to waste ALL your prospects when with such a good chance of gaining my Holy office.’ Orsini nodded, and closed his burning eyes before he kissed the Pontiff’s bejewelled hand,

  ‘Thank you, Holy Father, your words are beyond wisdom' croaked Orsini. The Pontiff's face looked on with a warm smile, but cold eyes. He bade the Cardinal goodbye with a gesture of his bejewelled hand and another waft of his staff to the gallery. The Pope spun around, with the rustle of his robes, and walked through a door to the side of the alter only just wide enough for him, his tiara, and the expanse of his clothes.

  When the Pontiff vanished, the choir struck up with a triumphant Hallelujah that rattled through the Cardinal’s ears. Orsini made his way down the steps, in a daze, buffeted by sound, to the far door where he had come in. He drooped past the Swiss Guards in silence, who then looked at each other with concern when they saw his face. Orsini walked at a slow pace and clutched at his stomach. When Orsini passed from the sight of the guards he ran and vomited in the first vessel he found.

  Chapter 16

  A Steep Learning Curve

  Padua, Sunday October 16th

  I llawara wanted to do her best to make herself useful to Bianca, and she treasured any attention given to her by the former grand lady. Illawara helped as best she could, as did Hermes, while Grizelda and Dondo were away: accompanying Bianca to market and assisting with light chores. Bianca, in turn, fussed over Illawara and her appearance, vowing, over the coming days, to take out her old dresses (that no longer fitted her) from storage chests and updating them to source new appropriate clothes for the young woman.