The Palace (53 page)

"When certain matters have been answered to our satisfaction, then the estate
will be settled, one way or the other." The younger monk rapped out the words.

"And have you already decided what those acceptable answers are? Tell me at
once, so I may be prepared to lie to your order." Ragoczy folded his arms and
waited.

The young Domenican Brother said, "I am Fra Mario Spinnati." He studied
Ragoczy closely, studying his reaction to this announcement.

Ragoczy raised his brows and asked, "You are willing to tell me who you are?
You must be very certain of yourself."

This was not what Fra Mario had hoped for. He rose to his feet, his breath
coming quicker. "You are wearing blue boots. Boots of tooled leather. With
heels."

Obligingly Ragoczy raised one foot and inspected the boot as if he had never
seen it before. "So I am."

Fra Mario's control slipped badly. "
And you were wearing them at the
Bonfire of Vanities
!" The sudden shout rang through the old church.

"Very likely," Ragoczy agreed, standing on both feet once more.

"You were wearing them then. I know, because you were seen."

Ragoczy shrugged. "I wasn't trying to hide myself."

"But why were you there?" Fra Mario demanded.

"I suppose for the same reason many others were there—to see Botticelli's
paintings for the last time." He knew this answer was a dangerous one, but he
hoped it might lessen the impact of the accusation he knew was coming.

"The citizens of Fiorenza were there to see an end to Vanity," Fra Mario
insisted.

"Were they? Then why did so many weep when the paintings burned?" His eyes
met Fra Mario's with controlled intensity.

"They wept," Fra Mario said unsteadily, "because they were filled with joy.
They were free." Too late he realized that the foreigner had succeeded once
again in putting him on the defensive. He tightened his hands. "Is that why you
stole the paintings?"

"What paintings?" Ragoczy asked.

"The
Semele
and the
Persephone
." The monk's question was a
challenge, and he was clearly waiting for the chance to take up the battle in
earnest.

"Are they missing?" Ragoczy asked.

"You know they are!"

"You've told me." Ragoczy saw the slight confusion on the two older monks'
faces and felt relief. The matter was still between Fra Mario and him. "I'm
glad," he added thoughtfully, "that someone had the courage to take them."

This had all the effect he had hoped it would. Fra Mario took a few hasty
steps around the end of the table, his jaw set pugnaciously. "You say that,
foreign dog!"

"Yes," Ragoczy agreed calmly. "I say it. Because I believe it. And whoever it
was, in time the world will be grateful to him."

"And would you have taken the paintings?"

Ragoczy knew from this question that Fra Mario was less convinced than he had
been. He studied the monk evenly. "Yes," he said at last. "If I had had the
opportunity, I would have made the attempt. But I would have tried to take the
Jupiter and Io
instead of the
Semele
." His eyes never wavered from
Fra Mario's face, and his candor perplexed the Domenicano.

One of the older monks interrupted at this point. "Signor' Ragoczy," he said
in a surprisingly strong voice, "I am Fra Stanislao. I would like to ask you a
few questions."

"Of course," Ragoczy said, recognizing a far more dangerous opponent in the
old monk than Fra Mario had been. "I will do my best to speak truthfully."

Fra Stanislao nodded noncommittally. "You say you are the heir of Francesco
Ragoczy?"

"I am."

"Do you have proof of that?"

"I have a patent of arms which should be familiar to you: the eclipse, winged
erect on a silver field. I have also letters from my uncle, and a document from
two Hieronomiani Brothers, reporting the death of my uncle and giving his last
Will." There were few of the Hieronomiani Brothers in Italia, for their strength
was greatest in Spain. The assumption would be that Francesco Ragoczy had gone
into Spain or perhaps Portugal. "I believe he was in the company of an alchemist
of his acquaintance, a Magister Branco."

Fra Stanislao nodded again. "Are you willing to produce these documents?"

Ragoczy sighed as one much put upon. "I have been trying to show someone at
la Signoria my documents since first I arrived in Fiorenza. If your examination
of them would hurry the conclusion of the settlement of my claim, let me send
word to my houseman Ferrugio and he will bring the documents to you."

If this assertion impressed Fra Stanislao, nothing in his manner or
expression revealed it. "That may be for later." He glanced at a parchment in
front of him. "Now, this matter about Donna Demetrice Volandrai. You have been
seeking to secure her release."

"I have been," Ragoczy agreed, his senses suddenly very alert. "My uncle
specifically bade me see that Donna Demetrice was given housing and a pension of
her own in return for her service to him. He charged me with the task of seeing
that she was protected and provided for."

"But she stands accused of heresy," Fra Stanislao pointed out mildly.

"It is a crime to which she has not, as I understand it, yet confessed. And
it may be that her tuition from my uncle in the science of alchemy has
contributed to her accusation. Until she is condemned, I would dishonor the
memory of my uncle to abandon Donna Demetrice." He stood somewhat straighter and
let his accent become stronger and harsher. "I do not know how it is in Fiorenza,
but in my Transylvanian mountains, when the honor of your name and your family
is in your hands, you are doubly damned if you betray either."

At last there was a reaction from Fra Stanislao, the merest touch of anger in
his voice and the abrupt way in which he put down the parchment. "Honor is Part
of Christian life. And I hear that you are a Christian. A Catholic, in fact."

Ragoczy nodded slightly. "I am. I attend Mass regularly, as I am certain you
know." He decided to take a certain risk. "Is it only Fra Mario who thinks I
have stolen Botticelli's paintings, or do you agree with him?"

Fra Stanislao frowned. The foreigner had anticipated his question and he was
thrown off stride. "I have reserved judgment so far."

"If you wish, search Palazzo San Germano. The Militia Christi have already,
but it may be that they overlooked something in their eagerness to destroy my
uncle's treasures." His voice was louder and his brow darkened. "But I ask that
if you desire another search, that someone be sent who will supervise those
young men, so that more will not be damaged."

"You sound angry, Signor Ragoczy," Fra Mario said smugly.

"I
am
angry. So would you be if you had seen the wanton destruction
that was brought to my house." Ragoczy stepped nearer the table where the
Domenicani waited. "Do you want to search the house?"

Fra Stanislao made a gesture of dismissal. "If you are so willing to have us
there, the pictures must be elsewhere."

"What?" Ragoczy demanded, and looked at the monks with a kind of arrogance.
"I see. If I will not allow you to search Palazzo San Germano, it is because I
have the paintings there. If I do allow you to search, it is because I have the
paintings somewhere else. That condemns me no matter what I say and makes it
unnecessary for you to ask such questions of a Fiorenzan. Foreigners
are
better suspects, are we not?" He half-turned from the table, indignant.

"It's not your foreignness," Fra Mario insisted, ignoring the warning gesture
from Fra Stanislao. "We know you're mixed up in this somehow. You were seen near
the paintings. You were talking with Botticelli."

"I haven't denied it," Ragoczy said, relieved. "He had asked me to return to
him a painting my uncle had bought from him a few years ago. I made a search for
it and could not find it. I told him so. I also told him I was glad that it
wouldn't have to burn." He decided to take another chance. "I tried to look at
the pictures before they were consumed, but the Militia Christi had a tight
guard on them. Only Domenicani were allowed to handle the works. So I watched
from as close as I was permitted to stand." He knew that several of the Militia
Christi members would testify to that if they were ever asked. And luckily no
one had seen him in his hiding place when he pulled the Domenican habit over his
own clothes.

Reluctantly Fra Stanislao nodded. "So we understand. But one of the young men
claimed to have seen a monk wearing blue tooled leather-heeled boots."

Ragoczy's laughter was startling, and Fra Stanislao crossed himself to
protect himself from the impiety of it. "I beg your forgiveness, good Domenicani,"
Ragoczy said when he could speak. "But the thought of a monk in my shoes…" He
let his mirth possess him again. "It's ridiculous. I admit that I stood very
near one or two of the monks who searched through the paintings, and it is
possible that someone looking quickly might have seen my boots near the feet of
one of the Brothers. But to think anything else…" He mastered his laughter this
time.

Fra Stanislao regarded him coldly. "It is possible that the young man was
mistaken." He fingered the parchment, his face revealing nothing. "The
auto-da-fe is to take place on the tenth. Today is the sixth. Tomorrow or the
day after, Donna Demetrice will be examined by members of our Order, to
determine if there has been heresy committed. She has maintained that there was
none in her initial examination, but the examination was not rigorous."

Ragoczy turned cold. "What do you mean, not rigorous?"

"I mean," Fra Stanislao informed him in his most deliberate manner, "that so
far she has been threatened only. She has refused to answer us. So it will be
necessary to submit her to the Question."

The Question, as Ragoczy knew well, meant some form of torture. He did not
betray his dread as he lifted his brows again. "I should think her oath would be
enough."

This time Fra Stanislao shook his head regretfully. "You don't understand.
The Devil is cunning and his ways are devious. You have never met this woman,
you don't know what she might be capable of doing. For the salvation of her
soul, her body must suffer. For the glory of God, she must accept chastisement
and confess the truth."

This cool recitation brought a smile to Fra Mario's lips and he turned to
Ragoczy. "When the Question is finished, if she has proven innocent, she will be
released to your care."

"How does she prove herself innocent?" Ragoczy asked, knowing the answer.

"She dies, foreigner. She dies."

But this was too much for Fra Stanislao. "It is enough that she demonstrate
her innocence under Question. If she dies, it is proof of her redemption. But if
she lives and convinces us, then it will be a simple matter to see that she is
restored to you. If, of course, she is found to be guilty, she will burn on the
tenth, with the other heretics."

Ragoczy gazed down at the Domenicani Brothers. "Tell me, of those you have in
prison who are accused of heresy, how many have demonstrated their innocence and
lived?"

Fra Mario answered the question, with relish. "None. But there are eleven of
the accused yet to be examined."

"I see. How convenient." Ragoczy stepped back. "Well, good Domenicani, what
now? Are you proposing to accuse me of heresy, to be sure of my compliance with
your plans? Are you going to insist that I stole Botticelli's paintings? Or are
you going to send for my documents, and find out whether or not I am who I say I
am?"

Fra Stanislao's mouth was a tight line, and he spoke as if the words were
painful. "Time enough for your proof after the auto-da-fe. But you must
understand our position, and our concern for our city and the state of your
soul. We are assigning a guard to you, who will stay with you until we decide
what is to be done. If you make any attempt to escape or to trick your guard, we
will know that you are not what you claim, and we will order you arrested and
imprisoned."

Ragoczy's eyes glittered unpleasantly. "I see. Just as you condemn me if I
don't allow you to search my house and condemn me if I do, you guard me, and if
I accept the guard I must betray my house and name and oath, but if I refuse the
guard, I convict myself of heresy and am dishonored. Very neat, good Brothers."
He looked around the empty church, staring out of the elaborate screen of the
Madonna chapel.

Not one of the monks seemed to hear the sarcasm in his words. Fra Stanislao
was unperturbed as he said, "The whole matter will be resolved in a few days,
Signor Ragoczy. You might as well accept things as they are with a good grace.
Fra Sansone"—he signaled for the Domenicano to approach—"will be your guard."

Fra Sansone deserved his name. He was tall, broad-shouldered and muscular in
a way that not even the Domenican habit could disguise. He acknowledged Fra
Stanislao and turned a passively hostile gaze on Ragoczy.

"Fra Sansone," Ragoczy said politely. "I will do my humble best to make you
comfortable. If that is not also a sin?" he added, addressing his remark to Fra
Stanislao.

The old monk had little humor left in him. "You will do yourself and Donna
Demetrice a great service if you treat this man with as much circumspection as
possible. Fra Sansone was once part of the secular arm of the church. He still
has great capacity for such tasks." By which Fra Stanislao meant that Fra
Sansone had been a torturer. "I trust you understand me, Ragoczy."

"I understand," Ragoczy answered grimly.

"In that case, you may leave. We will speak again on the eleventh." Fra
Stanislao motioned to his companions.

"And in the meantime? How will I know what has become of Donna Demetrice? How
will I know how I must defend myself, if there are accusations laid against me?"
His indignation was no longer feigned.