The Angel of Soriano: A Renaissance Romance Read online

  “Shit. Let’s go.” Bernardo’s dark mood returned and a knot in the back of his throat made it hard for him to swallow. He should’ve never tried to save her but the alternative was too awful to consider. Since when had he become so altruistic?

  Fulvio stopped again outside the front of the church. “I hate to ask, but what news do you have of your fiancé, Lucella?”

  With a moan, Bernardo handed back what was left of his bread. “You certainly know how to ruin a man’s appetite.”

  “My fate is intertwined with yours. I’m concerned.”

  A shudder ran through Bernardo, as if stabbed by a ghostly sword and he said nothing. Aurelia’s sweet and lovely face floated in his mind’s eye. This time he couldn’t dispel it.

  “When’s the wedding?” Unconcerned that he’d ruined a perfectly fine day, Fulvio started up the steep incline.

  The vision of Aurelia’s sweet and heavenly face disappeared to be replaced by his fiancé’s pouting visage. “Jesu. Hopefully, never.”

  “Her family will soon insist.” His friend raised a knowing eyebrow.

  Bernardo ignored the look, took off his hat, and accepted a lemon drink from a tavern owner. Then he veered them off to the right toward the stables, refusing to speak any more about Lucella and his impending doom. “Tell me. What news in garrison gossip?”

  Thankfully, the man was willing to change subjects. “As one might expect. There are the mercenaries who gripe about being underpaid. There are those who grumble constantly about the state of this and that. Then, the locals, such as myself, who are happy to have a warm polenta, warm women, and a place to lay their heads.”

  Bernardo laughed. “You’re one lucky bastard.”

  “Indeed I am.” Fulvio bowed comically, taking off his feathered cap.

  With a heavy sigh, he stared up the hill toward the keep. “I suppose I can’t put off the inevitable. I’m expected to dine with my whole family. Please feel free to take the rest of the day to yourself.”

  “To your new country house?” His friend waggled his brows.

  “I suppose you may. It’s all but finished.”

  “Does Lucella’s grandmother know about it? I have no desire to run into that witch.”

  “God forbid. It’s my only sanctuary. She’s got spies searching the town. Thinks I have a lover.”

  “Don’t you?” He smirked.

  Bernardo thought again of Aurelia and wished it were true. “No. No. Not since the baby troll came to live with us.”

  “Your balls will rot, unused.”

  “Shut it. I best get used to it. I’m to be wed as soon as the girl comes into her menses.”

  “Seriously, Bernardo. Your father has many mistresses. You could do the same.”

  He shook his head. “True, true. But I should at least try to be faithful.” But his heart spoke otherwise. He wanted Aurelia under him, moaning his name.

  His friend slapped him on the back, “More’s the pity. Very well. I’ll take my siesta in the cool garrison, find a willing woman, and be off before dark.”

  At the top of the hill, a small breeze stirred. Bernardo took off his cap, caught his breath, and groaned at the wailing within the keep.

  His fiancé, betrothed since age eight, and most recently arrived from Spain, stormed down the stairs.

  Damn, it’s too hot for this. “What is it, Lucella?” He sighed and waited with the patience of a saint.

  “You will take me away from this horrid place. I demand it.” The chubby fourteen year old pouted like a child. If by now she had no poise and grace, she probably never would.

  As he approached, he prayed again to Christ Almighty that the girl would never bleed and he could avoid a marriage to her. Feeling guilty, he amended his thoughts. Perhaps her family could merely fall out of favor and Cardinal Borgia would cancel the contract. But until miracles abounded, he’d need to keep the girl somewhat calm.

  “What happened now?” He brushed a kiss across both her right and left cheek.

  “The stonecutters!” She stomped a foot, face red and blotchy. It truly wasn’t her fault nor his, but her bleached blond curls and shaved upper forehead forced him to compare her to Aurelia’s natural beauty.

  Guilty of missing most of what she’d just said, he tried to focus. “Has one of the masons bothered you?”

  “All of them!”

  Bernardo pulled out his sword. “Why were you out among them? I’ll gut them all. Where’s your grandmother? Why wasn’t she with you?”

  “I sent her to the village. I needed a sweet. And I was not outside.”

  “Jesu —”

  “Do not use God’s name in vain.” She glared.

  He clenched his teeth. “Did you invite them in? The workers?”

  “Those ruffians? Of course not.”

  “How in the hell… how did they accost you?” He slid his blade back into the sheath.

  “Accost? I said bother. Are you deaf as well as stupid? They bothered me with their noise.”

  He cursed under his breath then used all self-control at his command. “Come inside. You gather a crowd.”

  He walked her toward her chambers and hopefully out of his sight until dinner. “That is rather the point of masons. They cut stones and repair walls. I do all this to keep you, and what is mine, safe.”

  She ranted on as if deaf to his words. “Look at my dress. It’s covered with dust. And I cannot open the shutters. My bed curtains…”

  Madonna. He gritted he teeth, thinking of a long life attached to this little beast, worse yet, trying to bed her. Nothing to be done about it. When it finally happened, and he was sure that it would, he’d do his duty and send her back to Spain. He prayed for a boy else he’d need to bed her again.

  Closing the door in the midst of her tirade, Bernardo lay down in his room for a short nap. It required clamping a pillow over his ears. Why had God cursed him by allowing him to meet the fair Aurelia? Before that, he’d never hoped for more in a woman. Now it was all he dreamed of.

  Chapter 6

  Aurelia stood on the plateau of the city of Vignanello. She leaned against her uncle’s plain, but huge stone keep. Below and off to her right, bright yellow hazelnut trees covered peaceful rolling hills for as far as the eye could see. However, in front of her in the piazza, townspeople grumbled and shouted.

  The hour of her condemnation had arrived. She tried to be as brave as her beloved Savior but she shook as the priest spewed out the pope’s doctrine. Then the sun ducked under a cloud behind the church tower and all eyes turned in her direction.

  An elderly woman in heavy black wool crossed herself and muttered prayers into her rosary beads. The others gazed up at the sky with worried looks. But it wasn’t until it thundered with a flash of lightening that a heavy Sicilian pointed at Aurelia and said, “Witch.”

  The priest grinned evilly, stopped speaking, and gazed up. Slowly dark storm clouds sunk into the valley below. No wonder he’d waited for almost an hour. He’d timed his speech with impeccable accuracy.

  When rain fell in heavy sheets and lightning struck the tower’s cross, the crowd rushed into the church, screaming. Aurelia shuddered. Soon a holy inquisitor would arrive from Rome. Her legs went weak picturing the devices that would be used to extract a confession.

  Her handsome Spaniard’s last words infuriated as they came into her mind. I will see you are well cared for? Why then, did he leave her here with the devil incarnate? Worse yet? Why did she honestly believe that someone would take care of her? Hadn’t her mother taught her that lesson well? In this life, one must fight for oneself or die.

  Pierpaolo dug his fingers into her shoulder and her knees buckled. Then he dragged her across the square by the hair and pulled her up the three church steps. Inside, he made her kneel at the altar and face the crowd.

  Never having been accused before of anything, Aurelia wasn’t sure how to act innocent.

  The woman who’d just called her a witch approached Pierpaolo. “Take he
r home. The holy church is no place for her.”

  The priest cleared his throat, nodded at Pierpaolo, then strode slowly to the baptismal font. “Gather all you need and sprinkle it across the entrances to your houses. God will save you as he did the Israelites during the last plague of Moses. Her black soul will not be able to kill you while you sleep.”

  Holy Christ’s blood. Did he jest? Unfortunately, most of those gathered did as he suggested.

  Then Pierpaolo walked her out of the church and across the slippery stones. The rain drenched her silk skirts and her hair clung to her face in long strings. She cleared her vision with the back of her hand.

  Pierpaolo’s wife, built more like a man, followed, trailed by his mistresses, six children of various heights, and fifteen servants.

  He pointed at Aurelia. “You, come with me.” Then he dismissed the rest of his entourage with a wave of the hand.

  Inside the main hall, he shoved her to the floor and she gasped as his sharp toed boot bit into her side.

  He whispered, “Soon you’ll be dead like your father before you.” He squatted on his heels, pulled on her hair, and brought her face to his. “Do you understand?”

  She nodded, stars in front of her eyes from the pain in her scalp. When she opened her mouth to speak, nothing came out.

  He stood, paced, and muttered, “You will pretend to be a witch. Capisce?”

  She tried to stand and shook her head, no.

  “It’s easy enough. Even for the simple-minded.” His grin turned evil, he stood, and kicked her repeatedly.

  Intense pain radiated from her insides and back and she curled into a small ball. On her hands and knees, she coughed up blood, helpless.

  “Bene. Good. When you greet people in the piazza you are to say…now repeat after me, Zoccara, Merdusa”

  Good for nothing full of shit?

  He pulled her to her feet and shook her until her head pounded. “You are a wicked and deceitful witch. Do you hear me? Despite acting mute, I will call for the inquisitor and you will suffer.”

  She spat into his face, pleased how it hit him dead center.

  After wiping the spittle off his nose, he struck her so hard that she awoke sometime later, lying upon the cold marble floor. She scooted away, sliding on her wet skirt. A crazed rage burned in his eyes as he lifted his fist again.

  She braced. It was going to be bad.

  “Signore Nardini.” A lyrical feminine voice entered the courtyard.

  She couldn’t believe her good fortune and muttered a brief prayer of thanks to God.

  His mistress approached with a girlish pout. “You promised me you wouldn’t be long and I’ve been waiting and waiting.”

  Aurelia ventured a glimpse between her knees as the young woman pulled him by the arm out of the hall and up the stairs. On the way out, she shot her a wink over her shoulder.

  God had given her a brief retrieve, best not to waste it. She raced to her room and barred the door.

  Chapter 7

  That night, a cuckoo lamented while small frogs chirped incessantly. It was time to stop procrastinating and proceed. Aurelia surmised by the position of the new moon that she had about an hour before dawn. She leaned out of the window and over the balcony’s cold iron bar. Except for the gurgling fountain, all was silent in the piazza below.

  The portcullis guard leaned back on his bench with legs stretched long. His chest heaved up and down with hand resting on his sword’s hilt. No doubt the sentry posted at her chamber’s door was similarly armed but he’d been snoring for hours as well.

  Using the moon’s dim light, Aurelia put the parchment with the red wax seal in the center of a linen cloth. Apparently it might hold some value. Bread pieces followed along with some stolen coins. Then she tied the fabric’s corners and put the makeshift bag in a boot.

  She slipped into a knee-length silk shirt, laced a boy’s doublet so tight her eyes watered, and gasped at her image in the mirror. Cheeks, eyes, and lips swelled from Pierpaolo’s beating. A blessing, she supposed grimly, now that she needed a disguise.

  With a deep breath, she prayed for courage and pulled her braid to the front. Clenching her stiletto in her right hand, she sliced hard and the clump of hair fell to the floor. Tears threatened but she blinked them back. She’d weep later.

  After stuffing her hose, wine, and hair into the other boot, she tied them together. Then she wore them like a scarf around her neck and tiptoed to the window. Below, the guard still slept soundly.

  She grabbed ahold of the window bar with a stout heart. One leg went over, she swiveled on a bare toe, and brought the other limb to meet the first. Then she grabbed hold of the bedsheet-rope, squatted, and slid her foot until the first knot nestled between her two biggest toes. Inch by inch, she lowered.

  At the bottom, her heart pounded in her ears as she snuck across the bricks of the piazza. She stopped and loomed over the sleeping guard at the gate. The perfect place for her knife’s edge pulsed as she readied, clenching her stiletto in her palm and picturing how his blood would spurt high into the air.

  My God. I can’t do this. She lowered her weapon and backed away.

  Purple at the sky’s edge reminded her that dawn was fast approaching. Her panic subsided somewhat when she spied a ladder. She used it to climb up to the top of the wall and paused.

  Blessed Jesus. Now what?

  She circled the narrow path at the top of the wall on tip toes and peered down. The east side was of a lesser height, but still, perhaps a twenty foot jump.

  I could drag up the ladder and set it down on the other side, said one inner voice.

  Another argued back, Too damn heavy. It’ll wake the whole keep.

  Why in heaven’s name had she not planned better?

  Because, she reminded herself, she was about to be burned at the stake, or tortured, or both.

  She glanced over the sheer side again weighing the odds of breaking a leg.

  The horizon slowly brightened to hues of dark blue and pink. Time was running out.

  Suddenly, the answer came into her mind. Her hose!

  A pike holding a banner provided the perfect place to tie one end while the other leg dangled down. This time her hands burned as she slid without knots for toe holds. The ground hit hard and fast, she almost screamed out, and tried to put some weight on her ankle but was rewarded with excruciating pain.

  Ouch. Ouch.

  No time. Grabbing her meager belongings, she slipped on her boots and tied them tight. Then she half-limped, half-trotted, down the road. After several miles, the sharp pain dulled to a throbbing numbness.

  When horse’s hooves barreled down the road behind her, she stifled a squeak and jumped to the side of the road, clenching her knife. It’d be useless against the huge knights but she’d fight to the death. Better that, than the inquisitor’s torture.

  They slowed their horses to a trot and stared down at her. The drumming in her chest was so loud, she was certain they’d hear. As best she could, she imagined herself as she was disguised, a teenage boy. Then with a face as sullen as any young man she’d ever met, she glared back.

  Two of the mounted men grunted and rode forward, but one stayed and regarded her from head to toe.

  Her knees shook but she continued to stare up with insolence. Then without a word, Pierpaolo’s warrior clucked his tongue, dug in his heels, and his horse trotted down the road.

  Stunned at her audacity or plain dumb luck, she limped after them.

  Around mid-morning, she sat down on a large flat rock, her ankle no longer able to carry her weight. She ate her stale bread and prayed that a kind soul might come along the road. After all, she figured God owed her a favor.

  When a donkey cart rolled along, she grabbed some clover and hopped to the middle of the road. “Buongiorno, kind sir.”

  A middle-aged farmer regarded her bruises with pursed lips and a deep frown. Prepared, she fed flowers to the beast best known for its stubbornness. It flicked its ears, re
ached its neck down and nibbled. She tossed the rest to the road, hoping the beast would stay.

  The man flicked the reins and clicked through his teeth but the donkey brayed with ears back. It hadn’t yet finished the gift she’d offered.

  The man’s black brows furrowed under a hat that resembled an old flour bag. “What do you want? Be off. I’ve no coin for you, boy.”

  “Please sir…” She needed a ride so badly, she’d beg if needed.

  “Who do you belong to?” His shirt was gray with age and he wore no hose. Leather shoes had seen better days.

  “…Uncle Pino.” Damnation. She bit down on her tongue. No serf would call a noble by those intimate terms.

  The man’s demeanor changed all at once and he smiled. “Uncle Pino? Is that what you call your master?”

  She nodded, hoping she’d not given herself away.

  “Get on, then. I’ll take you home.” His hand outstretched, she grabbed it and hopped onto the rough plank of the cart. All the while she sang praises to heaven for the ride. Perhaps God was watching, after all.

  “Did someone beat you?” Peering closely at her face, he frowned.

  “No sir. I slipped and fell.” She lifted her hand to her swollen nose and inhaled sharply at the pain.

  He tsk-tsked. “I don’t believe that, not for a moment, but I need some herbs for my wife. Have you been in his services long? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you there before.”

  She tried to think of a reasonable response as the cart bounced over the rough road. Lying was a lot harder than she’d ever imagined. “Not long at all. I’m his newest apprentice.”

  “Pino will no doubt be happy to see you. Did you try to escape him? Is that what this is all about?”

  “Escape from Signore Aggi? No sir. Never. He’s a very kind man. He asked me to find news on Giuseppe Nardini, the doctor and his dear friend. I did but I’m afraid I drank too much and fell in with bad company.”

  The man nodded, clucked his tongue, and pointed his finger at her. “That explains the beating. Don’t worry. I’m sure Signore Aggi will be compassionate. What did you learn of the dottore?”