The Angel of Soriano: A Renaissance Romance Read online

  “I’m afraid he’s dead. Felled by intruders.” Her throat constricted at the mention of her father. If he was watching from heaven, she prayed he’d ask God to give her a helping hand. But she knew better. God and the angels only helped those that helped themselves.

  The farmer flicked a small switch at the donkey’s rear. It bucked, brayed, but moved along after a few more defiant moments.

  Chapter 8

  In his personal chambers built into the tufa of the volcano, Bernardo gave up on his siesta and stood naked at the window. Below him, the red tiles of the village rooftops fell steeply away exposing hills filled with yellow hazelnut trees. His chest swelled. As captain of the guard, these farms and more were now under his protection.

  A welcome breeze stirred the clothes drying in his open windows. To the south, black clouds lowered into the valley covering what little view he had of Vignanello.

  Beautiful Aurelia. Did she ever think of him? Was she happy in her new life? If not, perhaps he’d offer her his warm bed and swollen lust. He’d stayed away several weeks as Pierpaolo had asked. Surely by now, it’d be appropriate to check on her well-being.

  He shrugged into a clean silk shirt, careful not to catch his hand on the many slits of the bulbous sleeves. Then he tied the lacing of his leather doublet tight. A pair of damp hose hung by a hook, drying beside the window.

  With a sigh, he buckled his sword’s belt and bounded down the dark tufa staircase. After passing under the arched doorway, he jumped over the odorous river of urine and horse manure. He’d speak to the lazy street cleaners later.

  At the top of the sharp climb, he shouted, “Ho. Wake up.”

  The gate guard jumped up from his nap and saluted.

  Bernardo laughed, “Sit back down. It’s too damn hot for formalities. But stay alert. Who knows what evil abounds.”

  Antonio lifted a skin of water to his lips and offered a sip to Bernardo. “I hearsay Rome is hotter.”

  “Oh, my friend, it is. With clouds of mosquitoes thicker than mud. It’s good you remind me that all in Soriano is not misfortune.”

  The words had barely left his mouth when a temper tantrum of the greatest proportion echoed off the walls of the keep and into the valley.

  Bernardo clenched his teeth and shuddered. His fiancé would need to find some grace at dinner or find another place to dine. Shaking off Antonio’s sympathetic look, he strode across the bricks, through the black stone arch, and into the main hall of the castle. Best to get this over with.

  Many of the higher ranking of the villagers were already seated upon benches. Twenty trestle tables sat in two neat rows of ten, laden with bowls of rice pasta covered in gravy.

  His noble family sat in chairs, with his father in the center, facing into the whole room. Next to Bernardo’s empty seat, the almost grown Lucella sat with tongue wagging at her grandmother in their native Spanish. Her eternal frown and red eyes made what could’ve been a pleasant enough face, downright disagreeable.

  His heart raced when his eyes shifted to the chair to his father’s right.

  Pierpaolo Nardini? What was he doing here? Perhaps he could get news of the sweet Aurelia, by now a married woman of Vignanello.

  Pasting a nonchalant look onto his face, he slowly meandered through the long hall, leaning over to say hello, winking at young ladies, and generally creating merriment. His next impulse was to run when his father cleared his throat and pointed to the empty spot next to his fiancé.

  Christo. The rest of the room stopped eating and stared.

  Doffing his cap with a comical wave of his hand, he bowed low to all. “Buona sera, my friends. Wish me luck. May the wolf not bite me in the ass.”

  Chuckles abounded at his theatrical entrance. A few banged knives on the table.

  He pitched his voice to charm the room. “Thank you all. I will sit and dine now, with your leave.”

  Lucella hissed at him when he sat, “I will tell Papa and he will have me sent home immediately.”

  “I could only dream of such an outcome,” Bernardo said dryly. His pleasant smile faded as he picked up the latest three-pronged invention from the south. He used it to artfully stab at a piece of highly spiced lamb.

  Daggers shot across the table from his stepmother’s angry eyes and his father tried his best not to be amused.

  Lucella’s grandmother, Lady Joanna Santamaria, sat across the table, and glared. Frown lines, permanently etched into her mouth, deepened.

  Face skewed, Lucella began to whine anew in a manner he no longer had any patience for. Lighting fast, he reached a bare hand into a bowl of pasta and stuffed a great wad into her mouth’s gaping hole. She coughed, choked, and spit it out.

  Her grandmother stood, red with rage. “Inexcusable.”

  “Enough!” Bernardo stood and jabbed his fork into the table with a force so hard that stemmed chalices toppled, crashing to the marble floor.

  All conversation stopped in the room and heads turned to the main table. Careful not to harm her, he pulled Lucella to her feet, and stood her high upon her chair.

  “If you are to become my wife, young lady, you will not whine. You will not screech. You will not cause my family or anyone in the vicinity, discomfort. Do I make myself clear?”

  Bernardo suddenly realized that this may’ve been the first time in Lucella’s young life that any had ever challenged her behavior.

  The look of shock wore off, her blond brows furrowed, and she screamed, “My Papa will have you executed for this.”

  Across the table, his stepmother almost fainted. Bernardo’s father, looking all the part of the steward of Soriano, rose slowly. He may have aged since his last victories in Spain, but he was still a large and imposing figure. The hall was so full of tension that even the dogs sat motionless and watched. The deafening silence broke when a pigeon fluttered and cooed in the rafters.

  Dideco Carvajal glared at Lucella. Without taking his eyes off from her, he rounded the table, picked her up by the waist and put her down upon the floor. Then he said to her grandmother, “She does not return to a meal or out of her room until she’s learned some grace. No one is to feed her until I say so.”

  Bernardo had never felt more fondness for his father. That is, until his wrath turned upon him. “You goad her too much, son. It must stop now or I will ban you as well. Do you understand? Certainly, for the few hours you must endure your intended, you can do it with the honor of a Carvajal.”

  A performance worthy of any great minstrel in Florence, Bernardo bowed low to the table and then to the rest of the room. “My apologies father, to you, to the family Santamaria, and to you Signore Pierpaolo.”

  His father winked, hidden from all, before sitting back down.

  It was high time someone chastised the brat-child. Perhaps she’d grow into a lovely young woman. If not, he doubted he’d ever be able to make a legitimate heir. She’s still young. I could die in battle before the inevitable nightmare comes to pass.

  Table cleared of unpleasantness, his appetite increased a little and so he focused on the Earl of Vignanello. When the man’s gaze lifted to his, Bernardo asked, “How goes it with the fair Aurelia?”

  Pierpaolo’s face darkened and his voice went to a whisper, “What have you done with her?”

  “Scusami?” Bernardo’s heart raced, his stomach wrenched, and he swallowed down bile rising in his throat.

  “Don’t act innocent. She went missing this morning. When I prove you have her, I’ll demand satisfaction.” He stood, hand on sword.

  Bernardo kept seated, not needing another scene at this meal nor more of his father’s wrath. “I assure you, Signore, I’ve done nothing such as what you accuse me of. I would gladly add a few of Soriano’s men to help you search for her.”

  No doubt the conversation would’ve resulted in sword play if Dideco hadn’t suddenly turned pale and vomited over half of the table.

  As is the way of such things, almost all did the same. Soon the room was full of thos
e either holding their stomach, retching, or rolling on the floor in filth.

  Poison? “Antonio, sound the alarm! Now!” Bernardo stood and raced over bodies.

  The young captain who’d been sitting closest to the entrance, shot out of the hall. Soon clanging resonated from the bell tower. Bernardo jumped over the last of the writhing bodies and out the door.

  He paused at the foot of the tower and put a hand on Antonio’s shoulder. “Tell the garrison what you saw. Divide into four groups. Make sure the gates are all down. I’m to the parapets.”

  He prayed that the extensive training would yield good results as he climbed the ladder or they might all be dead by morning.

  From the castle’s highest tower miles above the valley, he scoured the dimly lit scene for any sign of an army approaching. No torches, no flickers of light, no sounds. At his house not far away, a light flickered in a window where Fulvio no doubt was being woken and dragged away from a warm wench. He heaved out a deep sigh of relief and climbed down.

  Should this have been a true invasion, their defenses might not have been sufficient. He’d need to station guards at more of the primary roads.

  Although quite certain there was no danger other than that in the kitchen, he trotted back into the main hall. His family was already abed upstairs, no doubt along with their honored guest, Pierpaolo.

  Many of the help were ill as well but those who were not aided the rest.

  He found one of his favorite maids and asked, “How bad? How many have died?”

  She curtsied despite the misfortune, “None, signore. Most just moan and hold their stomachs, and puke.”

  “Tell all, noble and serf, I’m going for an herbalist.”

  “Si, signore. Grazie.” The girl hurried back to her duties.

  He mounted at the stables and stopped at the main portcullis, which to his relief was down. Antonio saluted. “Are we under attack?”

  Bernardo answered as truthfully as he dared. “It would seem not. Best to stay alert, however, until morning.”

  As an afterthought, he added. “You’re from around here. No?”

  The man nodded, “Si, Si, Not far at all. Bastia. Lived here all my life.

  “Do you know of an herbalist… ah … named Uncle Pino?” He felt a bit foolish using the name, but could remember no other.

  “Oh yes, a great and learned man.” His head bobbed up and down, and he grinned.

  “Do you know where I can find him?”

  The man hesitated. “You mean him no harm?”

  “God’s blood, no. I need his services or we may all die from the piles of vomit accumulating in the keep.”

  A map was drawn with stick into the dirt, Bernardo nodded his thanks, and the gate was raised. Then he squeezed his thighs encouraging his horse, Monstro, forward.

  Chapter 9

  Despite the throbbing pain in her face, ankle, and ribs, Aurelia smiled. She recognized the winding road where hazelnut trees grew so thick that branches brushed against the sides of the cart. They traveled alongside the high stone wall for several miles until the donkey stopped at the end of the road and brayed.

  No doubt forewarned of their arrival, Uncle Pino stood at the gated entrance, a proud Roman, dressed in short tunic. The iron bars creaked open, allowing their cart access. It wobbled across the flat stones into a large open area surrounded on three sides by opulent gardens. To the front of them, the large brick keep loomed three stories overhead.

  After locking the gate, Pino approached and eyed her appearance with a deep frown but thankfully said nothing. Praying he’d not give her away, Aurelia turned, grabbed her sack out of the back, and hopped off.

  She knelt on her good leg with head lowered and said, “Forgive me, master. I’ll never drink again. I promise. I’ve learned my lesson well and I have the news you asked for.”

  “What news is that?” Pino sounded slightly irritated and even though only five foot, seemed at this moment, much taller.

  “Dottore Nardini is dead.” Every time she said those words they seemed more real and a sob nearly burst forth.

  He put a hand atop her shorn locks and rubbed fondly. “Get up, young man. Feed and water the good man’s donkey. Later, I’ll see to your injuries and discuss your penance.”

  He tossed the farmer a coin. “Thank you so much for bringing my…er…servant home.

  As her uncle and the farmer spoke of ailments, herbs, and payment, she limped with the braying donkey to the stables. After she fed it some grain, she unlaced her tight bindings and inhaled fully for the first time since last evening.

  A habit, she tried to pull fingers through her hair and the short length shocked her. It was, however, a bit of a relief. Pushing the donkey’s nuzzle aside, she dunked her head in the trough of water and then shook like a dog.

  Pino entered a few moments later and even as wet as she was, took her into his strong arms. “My word, child. What’s happened to you?”

  Tears burned but she blinked them back and basked in his love. He’d always been more of a caring father than Papa. He called out, “Stefano? Hook the beast back up to the cart and help the good signore on his way.”

  The young man who’d been her childhood friend stared at her with wide eyes. “Aurelia? Is that really you?”

  She nodded at the brown-haired man, with eyelids that always looked as if they wanted to bed you.

  Stefano clenched his fists. “But your bellissima hair? Those bruises. Who did this to you? Tell me so I can kill them for you.”

  His father pointed out of the shed. “Out. She needs a bath and then she can tell her story. After, we’ll all decide what needs to be done.”

  “Si, Papa.” He leaned over, “Just say the word, Auri, and I will marry you. No matter what.”

  Before she could answer, Aunt Mia shouted, her boots stomping down the outside stairs to the lower level, then into the shed. Aurelia relaxed into her warm, loving embrace with cheeks pressed into the older woman’s heaving chest.

  After a few minutes of crying, she studied Aurelia’s dark bruises at arm’s length. “Holy Madonna and all of her angels! Who did this to you?”

  “I don’t even know where to begin.” A giant tear mixed with trough water and traveled down her cheek. Mia wiped it away. She was lucky that she’d been able to escape.

  “There, there, dearest chick. We’ll have none of that. Whatever has happened, you’re safe now. Pino will go into the garden and find some herbs to relieve your aches.”

  She turned to her husband. “Leave us, dearest, while I have her washed and dressed.”

  Pino gave his wife a peck on the cheek and strode out the door. “I’ll be right back.”

  Aurelia suddenly remembered her dire condition. “Wait. Before you go. I must tell you. I’ve put you all in grave danger. Pierpaolo Nardini of Vignanello searches for me as does Cardinal Borgia in Rome.”

  Her uncle frowned. “Borgia? He did this?”

  She shook her head, no. “My father’s brother beat me. He’s quite insane. He thinks I’m a witch.”

  Mouth grim, Pino gave a curt node “I’ll send word to our neighbors to increase the watch.”

  “You poor lamb.” Mia took her by the hand and led her into a small open area behind the stables where a barrel overflowed with warm water. A tiny wooden aqueduct started above her head and angled up and out the wall.

  She smiled proudly and pointed, “It’s Pino’s latest invention. Rain water is gathered in a pool above. After warming in a pool, it’s filtered like wine, and then flows freely through those pipes into this tub.”

  While she spoke, Aurelia slipped out of the oversized doublet and shirt. They both gasped at more dark bruises on her ribs and buttocks. No doubt her face was the same shade of violet.

  While tsk-tsking and shaking her head, Mia helped her onto a stool, then into the barrel. The heavenly lavender soothed her body as well as her soul. This was the first moment that she’d let her guard down since the day her father died.
>
  Her aunt took a bar of soap and lathered what was left of her hair. “Very well. Out with it. Let’s hear your confession.”

  Where to begin? Aurelia sighed and squeezed her eyes shut, safe from the stinging soap. “Papa is dead.”

  “I’m so sorry, pulcino.”

  Little chick. She’d not heard that name for years and it soothed her enough to continue. “It’s all my fault. I should’ve gone with him.” Her father lying dead on the ground shot into her mind’s eye and she couldn’t expel it.

  Mia gently scrubbed her scalp and massaged her neck. “Rinse. Then explain.”

  She sighed with a heavy heart. “Last fall, Papa got called to Rome by Cardinal Borgia. Pope Innocent was sick with Roman Fever and heard that Papa had some success in curing it but he wanted proof.”

  “I heard there was going to be a new book on the subject.” Pino entered the barn with a handful of pungent herbs.

  She sunk deep into the barrel until fully covered with water. “Si, si. I gave His Holiness my notes but we jump ahead. Cardinal Borgia insisted we treat a Spaniard named Dideco who was sick and abed with the disease. In truth, I do believe the man would’ve recovered without our intercession. That would’ve been the end of my story except for his very handsome son, Bernardo.”

  Mia raised her eyebrows.

  Exhausted, Aurelia tried to explain but it was all mixed up in her head. She’d not slept well for days and not a wink last night. “You see, he tried to save me from Cardinal Borgia’s ah… interest.”

  “Did he, now?” Pino added some ground herbs to the water that smelled of strong mint.

  Her eyes grew heavy. “Well yes. But he had to make up a story that they found my body in the Tiber.”

  “This is all rather confusing.” Mia frowned and searched for a linen towel.

  “I know. I know. But you asked me to enlighten you. So, because I’m presumed dead, I couldn’t go with Papa when he treated his patients. You know what a very bad doctor he was.”