《THE DARK ARTS》


 CHAPTER 1

    <hr>


    In a grand chamber within a mansion nestled in a tranquil city reminiscent of Salem''s quietude, a man meticulously applied gold leaf to a devilish figure. The room overlooked a quadrangle embraced by the house''s architecture, and the midday sun, high and unforgiving, cast a fiery radiance upon the ivy that clung desperately to the brick facade, casting eerie shadows into the dimly lit interior. The devil, crudely hewn from wood, leaned against the wall, its three tails curling menacingly, and its horns arched back in a sinister pose. The man, seated on a humble stool before this macabre creation, focused intently on his task, his hands moving with practiced precision. Upon a table near the open window, a collection of knights in fantastical armor, crafted from rough clay, stood in a row, while nearby rested a stack of vellum sheets adorned with intricate drawings in shades of brown and green. Adjacent to them, a figure of St. Michael leaned against a chair, surrounded by painted glasses of varied colors and shapes. On the stark white wall hung a winged painting depicting a martyrdom, its vivid colors providing the only semblance of life in the otherwise dreary room. The man, clad in somber brown attire, possessed a long, gaunt face framed by straight, lifeless hair. With meticulous care, he applied the gold leaf to the devil''s form, each stroke a deliberate act of creation within the silence that enveloped the chamber. Outside, the scorching sun illuminated the neglected paths lined with sparse vegetation, highlighting the desolation that permeated the surroundings. Across from the mansion, a building with rows of vacant windows stood eerily silent, its tiled roof adorned with withering vine leaves tinged with yellow under the August sky''s polished blue expanse. Between the closed, glimmering windows of the neighboring structure, busts of ancient philosophers peered outward, their sightless eyes fixed on the blinding sunlight, while the tendrils of the vine snaked across their emaciated forms. In the center of the grassy square lay a decrepit fountain, its once-grand structure now a mere relic of past glory. Tall white daisies sprouted around it, their golden hearts shimmering like the gilded devil within the mansion. The oppressive silence merged seamlessly with the sun''s relentless blaze, creating an atmosphere of eerie tranquility. The man at the window, feeling the searing heat seep through his sleeve as he leaned on the sill, exuded an aura of solitude, a demeanor shaped by prolonged solitude. His youthful countenance, framed by a broad brow and a pronounced jawline, possessed a haunting beauty accentuated by cloudy, dark eyes. His reserved and solemn expression spoke of untold depths, with lips pressed in determination and a chin that bespoke quiet strength.


    After a period of blankly staring at the sun-drenched garden, the man turned his gaze back to the room, his teeth clenching his forefinger as he pondered the half-gilded devil before him. With a thoughtful air, he retrieved a cluster of exquisitely crafted keys from his belt, swinging them softly in his hand before departing the chamber.


    The house lacked corridors or passages, each room seamlessly flowing into the next, connected by short, dark staircases against the walls. Numerous grand chambers adorned the dwelling, their windows overlooking the quadrangle in a manner befitting nobility.


    As the man traversed from one room to another, his footsteps disturbed the settled dust, and his eyes caught sight of cobwebs and the intricate webs of spiders, stretching across doorways like sinister veils.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Within these abandoned rooms lay many peculiar and opulent objects¡ªa treasure trove of carved cabinets filled with tarnished silver, religious paintings adorning the walls, furniture draped in richly colored tapestries, and purple silk hangings embellished with strands of ladies'' hair in shades of brown and gold.


    One room overflowed with books strewn about the floor, while a table displayed peculiar goblets crafted from shells set in silver and electrum. Paying scant attention to these riches, the young man ascended to the upper level and wrestled with the rusty lock of a door, granting access to a stifling store-room. The space was laden with dust and a musty odor, cluttered with bundles of scarlet, blue, and green fabrics, painted tiles, old lanterns, garments, priestly attire of exquisite workmanship, glassware, and rusty iron chests.


    Kneeling before one such chest, he unlocked it to reveal glass shards fashioned to mimic precious gems. Carefully selecting two equal-sized pieces of clear green glass, he returned to the workshop with a grave demeanor. Observing the half-gilded devil, his brow furrowed until he inserted the green glass into its empty eye sockets.


    The resulting twinkling effect, imbuing the devil with a semblance of life, softened his expression. He stood in contemplation of his creation, then proceeded to clean his brushes and stow away his paints and gold leaf.


    As the sun shifted, casting hot shadows of vine leaves and dazzling reflections of St. Michael''s robe, the young man exited the room once more, this time venturing into the hall and unlocking the door leading to the street.


    He surveyed an empty market square bordered by decaying houses, beyond which loomed the twin towers of the Cathedral against the golden and azure sky. Recently besieged and ravaged, this part of town now lay forgotten amidst the construction of new quarters.


    Between the worn cobbles of the square, tufts of grass sprouted defiantly, a testament to neglect and solitude. Not a soul stirred in sight, save for the young man who shielded his eyes from the harsh sunlight, casting a long, slender shadow across the hall through the open door.


    Beneath the iron bell that hung ominously against the lintel, a basket of bread, a can of milk, and wrapped meat awaited, draped in linen. The youth retrieved these provisions, shutting the door behind him as he entered a lavishly furnished dining room, then a small antechamber, before emerging into the arcaded end of the courtyard. He slipped back into the house through a low door near the pump, returning to his workshop.


    There, amidst the eerie quiet, he set about preparing his meal. Upon the wide hearth, a tripod and an iron pot awaited. He kindled a fire beneath it, filled the pot with water, and added the meat. Then, he retrieved a hefty tome from a shelf, settling on a stool in the shaded corner where he remained huddled over the book''s unsettling illustrations and blood-red script. His absorption was palpable, his face flushed and eyes fixated, oblivious to the passage of time or the simmering pot.


    As the sun dipped, casting shadows over the garden and room alike, the atmosphere grew cooler. Still, the young man remained motionless, engrossed in his macabre reading. Outside, nature''s tendrils clung to the brick and stone, a stark contrast to the man''s intense focus.


    Suddenly, a heavy bell resounded, shattering the stillness with its urgent toll. Startled, the young man leapt up, his complexion alternating between shades of red and white, his heart racing, and his gaze bewildered and dazed.


    The bell''s clamor persisted, drawing him back to reality. With a furrowed brow, he pushed his disheveled hair from his forehead and approached the courtyard with cautious steps, crossing through the dim dining chamber into the hall.


    Pausing for a moment, he unbolted the door, revealing two figures outside.

 Chapter 2

    <hr>


    The two visitors stood before him, one resplendently attired and the other cloaked in darkness, his hat held respectfully in hand. ¡°You ain¡¯t expecting us,¡± the youth remarked, eyeing them skeptically. ¡°And there ain¡¯t nobody else around here.¡± His voice carried a soft, somber tone, tinged with a hint of coldness.


    The finely dressed stranger replied, ¡°If you¡¯re Master Edward Bensouda, we¡¯ve come to speak with you.¡± His voice was smooth and commanding, contrasting sharply with the youth¡¯s subdued demeanor.


    Edward widened the door slightly. ¡°I am Edward Bensouda, but I don¡¯t know either of you!¡±


    ¡°I reckoned as much,¡± the other replied. ¡°Still, we have a matter to discuss. I¡¯m Balthasar of Nola, and this here¡¯s my friend, you can call him Thomas from Dendermonde.¡±


    ¡°Balthasar of Nola,¡± Edward murmured, stepping aside to let them in. As they entered the hall, he bolted the door securely, then turned to them with a grave, focused air.


    ¡°Will you follow me?¡± he asked, leading them to his workroom.


    Though the sun had departed from the chamber and garden, its warmth lingered, casting a golden hue over the surroundings. Edward moved St. Michael from the chair and cleared a stool for his guests, who took their seats in silence.


    ¡°You¡¯ll have to wait until supper¡¯s ready,¡± Edward informed them, settling himself by the pot and stirring it with an iron spoon, all the while studying the two men openly.


    Balthasar of Nola was a vision of extravagance, his large frame adorned in vibrant colors and intricate designs. His features were bold, with a high color in his cheeks and deep, expressionless blue eyes. His attire, a flamboyant display of gold, orange, and vivid blue, was accented with daggers and a short sword strapped to his belt.


    His companion, dressed in somber black and violet, exuded a different charm. With hazel eyes that sparkled with intelligence and a smile that hinted at hidden thoughts, he observed the room with keen interest, his hat laid beside him on the floor.


    Edward regarded them both with a cool appraisal, taking in their contrasting appearances and the unspoken tension that hung in the air.


    Balthasar of Nola maintained eye contact with Master Edward Bensouda, his gaze piercing and assertive. ¡°You know of me?¡± he inquired abruptly.


    ¡°Indeed, I do,¡± came the immediate response.


    ¡°In that case, you might have an inkling of my purpose here?¡± Balthasar pressed further.


    ¡°Not at all,¡± Master Edward replied with a frown, puzzled by the sudden interrogation.


    Balthasar glanced at his companion, who appeared more intrigued by the half-gilded devil than the conversation at hand. Deciding to speak for himself, Balthasar adopted a tone that was both defiant and arrogantly confident.


    ¡°I hail from East Salem, my father being the Margrave, and I was knighted by the Emperor at the tender age of fifteen. But now, I¡¯m weary of Nola, its castle, and my father¡¯s dominion. I¡¯ve taken to the road,¡± he declared.


    Master Edward attended to the pot on the hearth, his curiosity piqued. ¡°Where does this road lead you?¡± he inquired.


    Balthasar gestured grandly. ¡°To Cologne, perhaps Rome, even Constantinople, Turkey, or Hungary.¡±


    ¡°A knight on a quest,¡± remarked Master Edward.


    Balthasar shook his head emphatically. ¡°Not merely a wandering knight. I have ambitions,¡± he asserted.


    Master Edward chuckled. ¡°And what of your companion?¡± he inquired.


    ¡°A scholar, weary of Nola¡¯s confines, dreaming of fame,¡± Balthasar explained with a smile. ¡°He seeks the renowned Universities¡ªParis, Basle, Padua. You¡¯re familiar with them?¡±


    The youth¡¯s eyes lit up. ¡°Indeed, I am,¡± he replied eagerly.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    ¡°I yearn for knowledge,¡± Thomas added quietly, drawing attention to himself.


    Balthasar, ever restless, fidgeted with the ribbons and tassels on his extravagant attire. ¡°Yes, knowledge, but I seek more,¡± he interjected.


    Meanwhile, Master Edward continued with preparations for supper. He arranged the clay knights on the windowsill and casually discarded drawings, paints, and brushes onto the floor.


    A hush descended upon the room, the atmosphere tense and distant, discouraging further conversation. Master Edward, composed and detached, retrieved a fine cloth from a wall press, laying it meticulously on the rugged table. He then set out earthenware dishes, painted drinking glasses, and agate-handled forks, the clatter of utensils against the table the only sound in the solemn air.


    In the dimly lit dining room, Edward Bensouda served his guests a modest yet respectable meal, far from the opulent feasts that Balthasar of Nola was accustomed to. Honey in a gleaming silver jar, apples with dew-kissed leaves, woven baskets of wheaten cakes, grapes on a gilded tray, and fresh lettuces and radishes adorned the table, brought forth from Edward¡¯s own provisions. As he assisted his guests with their servings, Balthasar struck up conversation.


    ¡°You live a solitary life here,¡± he remarked.


    ¡°I prefer solitude. It allows me to focus on my work, and I find pleasure in it. My art¡ªpaintings, carvings, sculptures for churches¡ªthey find eager buyers,¡± Edward explained.


    ¡°You¡¯re skilled with your craft. Who trained you?¡± Thomas inquired with genuine interest.


    ¡°I was apprenticed to Old Master Lukas, a renowned artist from Ghent who worked in Italy. Upon his passing, he bequeathed this house and all within it to me,¡± Edward replied.


    Conversation ebbed into quietude as they dined. Balthasar ate heartily but with refinement, while Edward, seated near the window, ate sparingly, his gaze fixed on the changing hues of the sky and the serene yet decaying surroundings outside. Thomas, observing Edward¡¯s demeanor keenly, seemed more intrigued by his host¡¯s enigmatic presence than by Balthasar¡¯s flamboyance.


    As the evening wore on, Balthasar boldly requested wine, prompting Edward to rise and fetch the bottles¡ªwhite, red, and yellow, encased in wicker, alongside an amber-hued beer akin to what the locals drank.


    Balthasar, now invigorated by the wine, broached the purpose of his visit. ¡°Why have you chosen this secluded life?¡± he inquired.


    Edward, unfazed, responded, ¡°I am married,¡± lifting his glass in a gesture of acknowledgment.


    ¡°Many men are,¡± Edward remarked casually.


    Balthasar, undeterred, leaned forward. ¡°It concerns my wife. That¡¯s why I¡¯m here,¡± he declared.


    Edward¡¯s expression turned serious. ¡°I¡¯m aware of your wife,¡± he stated.


    ¡°Tell me about her,¡± Balthasar demanded, his interest piqued.


    Edward leaned back in his chair, a faint smile playing on his lips. ¡°What do you know?¡± he countered.


    Balthasar, slightly taken aback, pressed for information. ¡°I want to hear from you,¡± he insisted.


    Edward obliged, recounting the familiar tale with a detached air, his gaze fixed on the outside world. ¡°She was Ursula, daughter of the Lord of Rosewood, sent to the convent of the White Sisters in this town. Educated for the nunnery, she was destined for the Order of the White Sisters. However, her brother¡¯s death changed her fate. Many sought her hand, leading to your betrothal,¡± Edward narrated.


    Balthasar toyed with the tassels on his sleeve. ¡°Without my consent,¡± he muttered.


    Edward continued, unperturbed.


    He delved into the dark tale that brought Balthasar of Nola to his doorstep. "They sent a guard to retrieve her back to Rosewood, fearing the dangers of the journey and the schemes of fortune hunters. To secure her swiftly, they wedded her to you by proxy," Edward recounted, his voice carrying a somber tone.


    Balthasar''s eyes hardened behind his fair lashes as Edward continued. "Ursula, desiring a life of devotion as a nun, fell ill with grief. In her despair, she confided in the Abbess," Edward explained.


    "I know this tale," interrupted Balthasar.


    "Yet hear it from my lips," insisted Edward. "The nuns, enticed by greed, feigned Ursula''s death and concealed her in the convent among novices. Her wealth promised to the Sisters if they aided her escape," Edward added.


    "And I was pleased at the news of her death," confessed Balthasar. "I had other affections."


    Edward''s tone turned grave. "Ursula, bound by her vows, suffered in silence. Eventually, she wrote to you, revealing her deception and pleading for rescue," Edward said, gesturing towards Balthasar''s breast where Ursula''s letter resided.


    "You never answered," remarked Edward, disappointment in his voice.


    "I had my own troubles," Balthasar retorted, his gaze shifting to Thomas for support, finding none.


    "She found refuge with Master Lukas here after fleeing the convent," Edward continued, ignoring Balthasar''s excuses. "And she wrote to you again, disclosing her whereabouts. Still, you remained silent."


    "And the nuns made no effort to find her?" Thomas inquired.


    "They feared exposure after the war," Edward explained. "The convent was destroyed, and Ursula lived here, honing her skills under Master Lukas."


    Balthasar leaned back, absorbing the revelations. "I knew part of this. But what of Ursula now?"


    Edward fixed his gaze on Balthasar. "You inquire too late, Balthasar of Nola."


    The Knight, uneasy yet regal, a mix of sullenness and magnificence, shifted in his seat. "A man must know his burdens. She''s my wife, unknown to all but me."


    Dusk enveloped the room in its golden hue. The half-gilded devil cast eerie shadows, Thomas''s face held a mysterious smile, and Balthasar''s presence exuded both grandeur and turmoil.


    Edward, with a calm demeanor, revealed the final chapter. "She passed four years ago. Her resting place is in the garden, among those white daisies," he disclosed, the weight of the past heavy in his words.

 Chapter 3

    <hr>


    Balthasar¡¯s laughter cut through the somber air as he processed the news of Ursula¡¯s death. ¡°Dead,¡± he echoed, a mixture of relief and detachment in his voice. ¡°Well, that solves my dilemma¡ªI¡¯m free from that burden now, Thomas.¡±


    Thomas, less indifferent, furrowed his brow. ¡°Is that how you see it? It¡¯s tragic¡ªthe poor girl was so young,¡± he remarked, turning to Edward. ¡°What was the cause of her death?¡±


    Edward, wearied by the topic, sighed deeply. ¡°I cannot say. She seemed content here, yet death claimed her.¡±


    Balthasar, now standing, expressed a hint of unease. ¡°Why was she buried within the house?¡± he inquired.


    ¡°It was during wartime,¡± Edward explained. ¡°We did what was necessary, and perhaps it was her wish.¡±


    Leaning out of the window, Balthasar stared at the white daisies in the fading light, imagining them sprouting from his deceased wife¡¯s remains. He felt a mix of conflicting emotions¡ªanger at her for dying and shaming him, yet relief that her death had resolved his marital obligations.


    Edward, sensing the discomfort, reassured Balthasar. ¡°She rests undisturbed. Her grave is deep.¡±


    The Knight, visibly unsettled, crossed himself. ¡°May she rest in peace,¡± he muttered.


    With a lantern in hand, Edward led the way to their sleeping quarters. ¡°You now know all there is to know,¡± he stated, offering Balthasar Ursula¡¯s ring, which was met with swift refusal.


    As they settled in for the night, Balthasar reluctantly accepted the invitation to sleep in the house. ¡°Tomorrow, we ride for Cologne,¡± he declared, determined to leave the haunting memories behind.


    ¡°Rest well,¡± Thomas bid them farewell, the shadows of the night embracing the ancient house as they retired to their respective rooms, leaving the mysteries and tragedies of the past to linger in the darkness.


    Edward cautiously pushed open the door, casting a wary glance inside before entering. Thomas stood by the window, his figure cloaked in darkness, save for the faint light that danced upon the pages of a small book he held.


    ¡°Do you enjoy reading?¡± Edward¡¯s voice cut through the silence, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. Thomas jumped slightly, hurriedly concealing the book within his doublet. ¡°Yes, and you?¡± he responded cautiously.


    Edward placed the lantern on the table, illuminating their faces in its flickering glow. ¡°Master Lukas left behind his manuscripts,¡± he explained. ¡°Being alone, I¡¯ve delved into them.¡±


    In that dim light, an odd mixture of guilt and excitement flashed in their eyes as they exchanged glances. ¡°Ah,¡± Edward murmured, taking a step back. ¡°Alone with a deceased maiden in the house,¡± whispered Thomas, a hint of unease in his voice. ¡°How have you spent your time?¡±


    Edward retreated against the wall, his demeanor tense. ¡°Did you pity her?¡± he whispered. Thomas recoiled slightly. ¡°Balthasar disgusts me¡ªeven though he¡¯s my friend.¡±


    ¡°You would have come if she called for you?¡± Edward pressed, his voice edged with desperation. Thomas nodded. ¡°It would have been the only choice,¡± he admitted. ¡°What was she like?¡±


    Edward hesitated, his voice softening. ¡°I thought her beautiful,¡± he confessed. ¡°She had blonde hair¡ªyou can see her likeness in that painting on the wall. But now it¡¯s too dark to see.¡±


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    Moving closer, Thomas changed the subject. ¡°Do you also pursue knowledge?¡± he asked eagerly. Edward¡¯s response was abrupt. ¡°Why should I trust you? I know nothing about you.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a connection in our shared pursuits,¡± Thomas replied calmly. Edward¡¯s eyes flashed with frustration. ¡°Let¡¯s retire for the night. I tire of talking.¡±


    Thomas nodded in agreement. ¡°This place is suited for quiet contemplation,¡± he remarked as they prepared to rest, the shadows of the room seeming to deepen with each passing moment.


    As if broodingly enraged yet refusing to show it, Edward led Thomas to a chamber adjacent to Balthasar¡¯s resting place. He left Thomas without a word, and Thomas didn¡¯t seek any explanation.


    Instead of returning to the workroom, Edward ventured into the garden, pacing under the fiercely burning stars that seemed unnaturally close to the dark silhouette of the house. His strides were hurried, his demeanor troubled. He nervously chewed on his lip, finger, and the ends of his straight hair, casting tumultuous glances at the heavens, the ground, and his surroundings.


    Well into the night, Edward finally reentered the house, clutching a candle. He crept silently to Balthasar¡¯s chamber. With a gentle touch, he unlocked the door and slipped inside.


    Shielding the candle¡¯s flame, he approached the bed where the young Knight lay in deep slumber. Balthasar¡¯s disheveled blonde hair contrasted sharply with his flushed face and the rumpled pillow. His belongings lay scattered on the floor¡ªa testament to his carefree demeanor. A blue cord peeked from his open shirt, revealing a hidden charm.


    Edward stood there, watching the sleeper with a mixture of contempt, anger, confusion, and contemplation flickering across his weary face. Balthasar remained undisturbed by the light or Edward¡¯s intense scrutiny. After a while, Edward silently left and crossed to the opposite chamber.


    Thomas lay on his cot, fully dressed, his fair features peaceful in sleep. Edward placed the candle on the table and approached him noiselessly.


    Thomas¡¯s face, illuminated by the candlelight, seemed to hold a serene grace even in slumber. His dark hair framed his temples, and his lashes brushed lightly against his cheek, as if he might wake at any moment.


    Edward, staring down at Thomas, felt a surge of emotions, his breath quickening. He retreated to a chair, covering his eyes with his hands as he tried to steady his uneven breaths. The candle flickered in tandem with his inner turmoil.


    After a while, Edward looked up with a wild gaze, exhaling a long, distressed sigh. Thomas stirred in his sleep, prompting Edward to sit up, alert and expectant.


    Thomas shifted again, rising slightly on his elbow as he noticed the light and Edward¡¯s intense stare. With cautious movements, he swung his legs off the bed, preparing to face whatever awaited him in the eerie stillness of the night.


    Edward interrupted Thomas before he could speak, placing a finger on his lips.


    ¡°Hush,¡± Edward whispered urgently, ¡°Balthasar is asleep.¡±


    Thomas, taken aback, furrowed his brow. ¡°What do you want with me?¡±


    Instead of answering directly, the young sculptor let out a low moan, burying his head in his arm. ¡°You are strange,¡± remarked Thomas, puzzled by Edward¡¯s behavior.


    Edward lifted his gaze. ¡°Will you take me with you to Padua¡ªto Basle?¡± he pleaded. ¡°I have money and some learning.¡±


    ¡°You are free to go as I,¡± Thomas replied, but a spark of curiosity ignited in his eyes. ¡°I would go with you,¡± Edward insisted fervently. ¡°Will you take me?¡±


    Uneasy, Thomas stood up from the bed. ¡°I have had no companion all my life,¡± he revealed. ¡°The man whom I would take into must be of rare quality¡ª¡±


    Crossing to the other side of the table, Thomas met Edward¡¯s gaze across the flickering candlelight. Their eyes locked momentarily, as if both feared what the other might expose.


    ¡°I have studied somewhat,¡± Edward confessed hoarsely. ¡°You also¡ªI think, in the same science¡ª¡±


    A silent understanding washed over them, and then Thomas spoke. ¡°So few understand¡ªcan it be possible¡ªthat you¡ª?¡±


    Edward stood up abruptly. ¡°I have done something.¡±


    Thomas paled, but his hazel eyes glowed with intensity. ¡°How much?¡± he began, then cut himself off. ¡°God help us¡ª¡±


    ¡°Do you use that name?¡± Edward exclaimed, baring his teeth.


    Thomas¡¯s fingers gripped the back of the chair tightly. ¡°So it is true¡ªyou deal with¡ªyou¡ªah, you¡ª¡±


    ¡°What was that book you were reading?¡± Edward demanded sharply, his tone fraught with urgency.


    Thomas chuckled suddenly. ¡°What is your study, that you desire to perfect at Basle, at Padua?¡± he countered. There was a moment of silence, and then Edward extinguished the candle with a swift motion of his hand, his excitement palpable.


    ¡°Black magic¡ªblack magic!¡± he confessed in a half sob, his emotions running high.

 Chapter 4

    <hr>


    Thomas spoke softly under his breath, ¡°I guessed it when I entered the house.¡±


    Edward¡¯s voice cut through the silence, ¡°And you?¡±


    ¡°I¡ªI also,¡± Thomas confessed.


    The air grew heavy with anticipation as they stood in the dimly lit room. Edward gestured for Thomas to follow him quietly. They descended the creaking stairs into the workroom, where the lantern cast eerie shadows across the walls.


    Edward settled into a chair under the open window, his disheveled appearance matching the chaotic atmosphere. ¡°Tell me about yourself,¡± he urged.


    Thomas leaned against the wall, feeling a surge of nervous energy. ¡°What do you want to know?¡± he asked, his voice tinged with desperation. ¡°I can do very little.¡±


    Resting his chin in his hand, Edward¡¯s eyes gleamed with hidden knowledge. ¡°I have had no chance to learn,¡± he confessed in a hushed tone. ¡°But what one might do¡ª!¡±


    ¡°I came upon old writings,¡± Thomas explained slowly. ¡°I thought one might be great¡ªthat way, so I fled from Nola.¡±


    Edward stood up abruptly. ¡°I will work a spell tonight. You shall see.¡±


    Grabbing the lantern, Edward led Thomas to another chamber. There, he revealed a trapdoor in the floor. Thomas hesitated, fear flickering in his eyes. ¡°Have you done this before?¡± he asked apprehensively.


    ¡°This spell? No,¡± Edward admitted, his excitement palpable.


    Descending into the darkness, Thomas muttered, ¡°God will never forgive.¡±


    ¡°Are you afraid?¡± Edward¡¯s voice echoed in the vault.


    Thomas clenched his jaw. ¡°No. No.¡±


    They entered a large vault, the air thick and suffocating. Edward set the lantern on a nail, illuminating the space. ¡°I have been studying how to raise spirits and see into the future,¡± he whispered. ¡°Have you the courage?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Thomas replied hoarsely. ¡°For what else have I left my home if not for this?¡±


    Their eyes met, reflecting a mix of fear and determination. Edward drew circles and strange symbols on the floor with white chalk, while Thomas watched intently.


    As Edward opened a book, Thomas leaned over his shoulder to read. ¡°I have tried it. It has never succeeded,¡± Edward admitted.


    ¡°To-night it may,¡± he whispered with a hint of desperation.


    Edward shook the ashes out of the brazier and kindled charcoal, casting an eerie glow in the dim vault. ¡°The future¡ªwe must know the future,¡± he muttered.


    ¡°They will not come,¡± Thomas said, wiping his damp forehead. ¡°I heard them once¡ªbut they never came.¡±


    ¡°Did you tempt them enough?¡± Edward¡¯s voice quivered. ¡°If you have Mandrake they will do anything.¡±


    ¡°I had none,¡± Thomas admitted.


    ¡°Nor I¡ªstill, one can force them against their will¡ªthough it is¡ªterrible,¡± Edward acknowledged.


    The thin smoke from the charcoal enveloped them, making their heads throb and their breathing shallow. Edward stepped into the chalk circles, clutching the book tightly.


    In a slow, unsteady voice, he began the blasphemous invocation. Thomas trembled, biting his tongue to stifle the urge to pray.


    But as Edward continued, his confidence grew. His voice rose, filled with authority, and his eyes blazed with fervor. The charcoal glowed red, casting sinister shadows in the cramped vault.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Finally, Edward stopped. ¡°Put out the lantern,¡± he commanded.


    Thomas complied, plunging the chamber into eerie darkness save for the glowing charcoal. Edward spoke again, this time in a strange, heavy tongue, invoking powers beyond mortal comprehension.


    Faint noises echoed from the darkness¡ªhowls, sobs, and eerie moans. ¡°They come,¡± Thomas whispered, his voice filled with dread.


    Edward repeated the invocation, the air crackling with tension. A grotesque figure crawled into the dim light of the brazier¡ªa creature resembling a dog, yet with the shape of a man, its mottled black skin sending chills down their spines.


    Thomas gasped and recoiled, pressing himself against the cold stone wall. Edward, however, confronted the creature with defiance.


    ¡°So you have come. Show us the future. I have power over you,¡± Edward declared, his voice tinged with madness.


    The flames flickered, casting a surreal glow as the mirror revealed fleeting images¡ªa woman with a crown and yellow hair, then another figure with a blurred tiara.


    ¡°More,¡± Edward demanded, consumed by passion. ¡°Show us more¡ª¡±


    The mirror brightened, unveiling a cloudy sky and the silhouette of a gallows tree against it.


    Thomas, trembling but curious, stepped forward, drawn by the haunting visions of what was to come.


    ¡°Ah, God!¡± Thomas shrieked, crossing himself as the mirror cracked and shattered with a sharp sound. A chorus of terror-filled howls erupted, and dark shapes leapt into the air, vanishing into the abyss.


    Edward staggered, clutching Thomas. ¡°You¡¯ve broken the spell!¡± he gibbered in disbelief. ¡°You¡¯ve broken the spell!¡±


    An icy silence descended, extinguishing the flickering brazier until even the coals turned black. They stood in darkness, the air heavy with the aftermath of dark forces.


    ¡°They¡¯ve gone!¡± Thomas whispered, breaking free from Edward¡¯s grasp and finding his way to the ladder by a faint glimmer of light above. He climbed out through the trapdoor, his breaths ragged with exertion.


    Edward, agile and quick, followed and closed the flap. ¡°The charm wasn¡¯t strong enough,¡± he hissed through clenched teeth, fixing Thomas with a glare.


    Thomas defended himself, ¡°I couldn¡¯t help it¡ªI saw them.¡± He collapsed into a chair by the open window, his head in his hands.


    The room was bathed in soft starlight, a stark contrast to the recent darkness. Outside, vines rustled in the night wind, tapping against the lattice.


    Edward returned with a candle and a glass of wine. He illuminated Thomas¡¯s anguished face, offering him the drink. Thomas accepted silently, the color returning to his cheeks as he drank.


    Edward set the glass down and leaned closer. ¡°What did you see¡ªin the mirror?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Thomas replied, his voice wild. ¡°A woman¡¯s face¡ª¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Edward interrupted. ¡°And what did she mean to us? And a figure resembling the Pope?¡±


    Thomas nodded. ¡°But what business do they have with sacred things? And then I saw¡ª¡± He hesitated, his voice hollow.


    Edward turned sharply. ¡°No¡ªthere was nothing more after that!¡±


    ¡°There was,¡± Thomas insisted. ¡°A stormy sky and a gallows tree¡ª¡± His words echoed eerily.


    Edward paced into the shadows. ¡°Those deceitful imps!¡± he spat. ¡°They tricked us!¡±


    Thomas stood, facing Edward. ¡°Will you continue with these studies?¡± he asked cautiously.


    Edward glanced back. ¡°Do you intend to turn away?¡±


    ¡°No, no,¡± Thomas assured him. ¡°But we must tread carefully, keeping knowledge this side of blasphemy and darkness.¡±


    Edward laughed bitterly, the candlelight casting eerie shadows across his face.


    ¡°I have no fear of God!¡± Edward declared in a thick voice. ¡°But you¡ªyou are afraid of Satan. Well, go your way. Each man to his master. Mine will grant me many things¡ªmake sure yours does the same for you¡ª¡±


    As he opened the door to leave, Thomas rushed after him and grabbed his robe. ¡°Listen to me. I am not afraid. Why else would I leave Nola?¡±


    Edward looked up at Thomas with resolute eyes, his proud mouth curling slightly. ¡°I cannot ignore the fate that brought me here,¡± continued Thomas. ¡°Will you come with me? I can be loyal.¡±


    Thomas¡¯s words were earnest, his face eager, but Edward remained silent.


    ¡°I have despised men, not cherished them, all my life¡ªyet I am strangely drawn to you¡ª¡± ¡°Oh!¡± Edward exclaimed with a quivering laugh.


    ¡°Together, we could achieve much, and it¡¯s dangerous to study alone.¡±


    Extending his hand, the younger man proposed, ¡°If I join you, will you swear a pact of friendship?¡±


    ¡°We will be like brothers,¡± Thomas affirmed solemnly. ¡°Sharing joys and sorrows.¡±


    ¡°Keeping our secrets?¡± whispered Edward. ¡°Letting no one come between us?¡±


    ¡°Agreed.¡±


    ¡°You understand me,¡± said Edward. ¡°So be it. I¡¯ll accompany you to Basle.¡±


    He lifted his unique face; determination and strength emanated from his hollowed eyes and colorless lips, commanding Thomas¡¯s attention.


    ¡°We could rise to greatness,¡± Edward proclaimed.


    Thomas grasped his hand as the candle¡¯s red light faded into a dim gray, yielding to the approaching dawn. ¡°Can you sleep?¡± he inquired.


    Edward withdrew his hand. ¡°At least I can pretend. Balthasar must not suspect. Go to bed¡ªremember tonight and our oath.¡±


    With a silent step, Edward left, his departing footfalls barely audible.


    Thomas stood, feeling marked and tainted by blasphemy yet strangely elated. He tiptoed to his chamber, each creak of the floorboards and shifting shadow causing guilt to tingle in his blood. Bolting the door, he flung himself onto his disheveled bed, holding his fingers to his lips, and gazing with strained eyes at the window. There he lay through the hours of sunrise, half-swooning in a troubled sleep.

 Chapter 5

    <hr>


    Thomas was awakened by the sound of loud, cheerful singing echoing through the room:


    ¡°My heart¡¯s a nun within my breast, So cold is she, so cloistered cold...¡±


    The lyrics jolted Thomas to full consciousness, his head throbbing with a burning ache. Sunshine flooded the room, casting a glaring gold hue over everything.


    ¡°So I blow off my loves like the thistledown And ride from the gates of Nola town...¡±


    Balthasar¡¯s voice cut through the air, mingling with laughter. Thomas hurriedly got up, feeling a sense of urgency and discomfort. What time was it? The day simmered with a drowsy heat, blurring the colors outside into a golden haze.


    Descending to the workshop, Thomas found Balthasar in high spirits, polishing his sword handle while singing merrily. Edward, on the other hand, sat withdrawn in a corner, absorbed in his own thoughts.


    A dislike for Balthasar simmered in Thomas. Ghosts and devils hadn¡¯t disturbed his sleep; he resented Balthasar¡¯s carefree demeanor amidst their unsettling experiences. Edward glanced up briefly, then focused back on his work. Thomas sat down heavily, irritated by Balthasar¡¯s joviality.


    ¡°Are you unwell?¡± Balthasar inquired innocently, noting Thomas¡¯s disheveled appearance.


    ¡°I feel something amiss,¡± Thomas replied tersely, his annoyance palpable. Balthasar, unfazed, teased about the company of learned men, unaware of the tension in the room.


    ¡°We part ways here,¡± Thomas announced abruptly.


    ¡°So soon?¡± Balthasar feigned surprise, then sang again, indifferent to Thomas¡¯s departure.


    ¡°So I blow off my loves like the thistledown And ride through the gates of Nola town...¡±


    Thomas eyed Balthasar¡¯s dazzling attire, feeling a pang of disdain. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m bound for Basle,¡± he declared.


    ¡°I¡¯m heading to Frankfurt; we could have traveled together longer,¡± Balthasar remarked good-naturedly.


    ¡°I have other plans,¡± Thomas retorted shortly.


    Balthasar, sensing the tension, decided to leave. Edward¡¯s cold demeanor didn¡¯t go unnoticed, prompting Balthasar to offer payment for his stay.


    ¡°You misunderstand,¡± Edward replied cryptically, causing Balthasar to flush with embarrassment.


    ¡°You judge me,¡± Balthasar challenged, eyeing Edward with defiance. ¡°Perhaps Thomas is more to your liking¡ª¡±


    Thomas watched as Balthasar, in his vivid attire of blue, gold, and purple, made his departure. The Knight tossed a swaggering gesture towards the table where he had placed four gold coins.


    ¡°So you may buy masses for the soul of Ursula of Rosewood,¡± Balthasar declared, his voice carrying a hint of bravado.


    Edward, his mood dark and brooding, questioned, ¡°Think you her soul is lost?¡±


    ¡°A choired saint is glad of prayers,¡± Balthasar retorted with a smirk. ¡°But you are in an ill mood, master, so good-bye to you and God send you sweeter manners when next we meet.¡±


    With a flourish, Balthasar donned his orange hat and headed for the door, leaving Thomas to stir with reluctant interest.


    ¡°You are going to Frankfort?¡± Thomas inquired, his envy of Balthasar¡¯s carefree demeanor evident.


    ¡°Ay,¡± Balthasar confirmed. ¡°I shall see in the town to the hire of a horse and man¡ªmine own beast being lamed, as you know, Thomas.¡±


    Curiosity brimming, Thomas probed, ¡°Why do you go to Frankfort?¡±


    ¡°All men go to Frankfort,¡± Balthasar replied vaguely. ¡°Is not the Emperor there?¡±


    Thomas shrugged, uninterested in Balthasar¡¯s reasons, but the Knight seemed perturbed by the question.


    They left the room, Edward discreetly observing their departure. As they traversed the neglected rooms, Balthasar expressed his dislike for the place and his unease with Edward. Yet, he acknowledged that the young man had served his purpose.


    In the hall, as they bid farewell, Balthasar¡¯s vibrant presence contrasted with the decayed surroundings. His departure echoed with a final verse of his song:


    ¡°So I blew off my loves like the thistledown And rode through the gates of Nola town.¡±


    Thomas watched him vanish around the corner, then secured the door and returned to the workroom, where Edward awaited with a question burning in his eyes.


    ¡°What do you know of that man?¡± Edward inquired. ¡°Where did you meet him?¡±


    ¡°Balthasar?¡± Thomas frowned, contemplating the complexities of their recent encounter.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Edward returned to his gilded devil, his fingers tracing the intricate patterns with a sense of finality. ¡°Know you anything of the woman he spoke of?¡± he asked, his voice carrying a weight of curiosity and unease.


    ¡°Did he speak of one?¡± Thomas inquired, his weariness evident in his voice.


    Edward glanced over his shoulder, his eyes reflecting a mix of contemplation and apprehension. ¡°Yea,¡± he replied, ¡°besides, I was thinking of another woman. They were his words.¡±


    Thomas, feeling drained and overwhelmed, sank into a chair. ¡°I know not,¡± he admitted. ¡°There were so many. As we travelled together, he made his prayers to one Ysabeau, but he was secret about her¡ªnever his way.¡±


    ¡°Ysabeau,¡± repeated Edward thoughtfully. ¡°A common name.¡±


    ¡°Ay,¡± agreed Thomas with a touch of indifference.


    Edward suddenly redirected their conversation, pointing out of the window at the daisies and the broken fountain. ¡°What had he done if she had been living?¡± he mused aloud before swiftly shifting to a different topic. ¡°I have finished my work. I wished to leave it complete¡ªit was for the church of St. Bavon, but I shall not give it them. Now, we can start when you will.¡±


    Thomas looked up, concern etched on his features. ¡°What of your house and goods?¡± he asked, mindful of the practicalities.


    ¡°I have thought of that,¡± replied Edward. ¡°There are some valuables, some money; these we can take¡ªI shall lock up the house.¡±


    ¡°It will fall into decay,¡± Thomas remarked.


    ¡°I care not,¡± asserted Edward, his eyes gleaming with determination.


    Observing Thomas¡¯s fatigue, Edward¡¯s disappointment clouded his face momentarily. ¡°Do you commence so slackly?¡± he questioned with a mix of frustration and urgency. ¡°Are you not eager to be abroad?¡±


    ¡°Yea,¡± Thomas conceded. ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°We do not begin with ¡®buts¡¯!¡± Edward interjected passionately. ¡°If you have no heart for the enterprise¡ª¡±


    Thomas interrupted with a half-smile. ¡°Give me some food, I pray you,¡± he requested. ¡°For I ate but little yesterday.¡±


    Realizing his oversight, Edward quickly attended to Thomas¡¯s request, arranging the remaining meal with a semblance of care. As Thomas ate, his gaze wandered towards the open door leading to the next room, where memories of their recent mystic endeavors lingered. Edward¡¯s understanding gaze met his, silently acknowledging the unspoken thoughts.


    ¡°Leave it alone now,¡± Edward advised softly. ¡°Let us not speak of it before we reach Basle.¡±


    Thomas felt a wave of relief wash over him at Edward¡¯s words. The prospect of delving into the dark and forbidden subjects they had toyed with filled him with unease. As they shared the meal, Edward examined the four gold coins left behind by Balthasar, his curiosity piqued by their presence.


    ¡°Masses for her soul!¡± Edward exclaimed, his voice filled with disdain. ¡°Did he think that I would enter a church and bargain with a priest for that!¡± With a mocking laugh, he flung the money out of the window, watching it disappear amidst the nodding daisies.


    Thomas, taken aback by Edward¡¯s reaction, gave him a startled glance. ¡°Why, till now I had thought that you felt tenderly towards the maid,¡± he remarked.


    Edward continued to chuckle. ¡°Not I. I have never cared for women,¡± he declared without a hint of regret or sentiment.


    ¡°Nor I,¡± replied Thomas simply, his tone thoughtful as he leaned back in his chair. ¡°When young, they are ornaments, it is true, but pleasant only if you flatter them. When they are overlooked, they become dangerous¡ªand a woman who is not young is absorbed in little concerns that are no matter to any but herself.¡±


    The smile on Edward¡¯s face deepened derisively. ¡°Oh, my fine philosopher!¡± he taunted. ¡°Are you well fed now, and preaching again?¡± Leaning against the wall by the window, the intense sunlight accentuated the highlights in his dull brown hair as he folded his arms and scrutinized Thomas closely.


    ¡°I warrant your mother was a fair woman,¡± Edward remarked abruptly, breaking the tension. Thomas, momentarily taken aback by the shift in conversation, responded, ¡°I do not remember her. They say she had the loveliest face in Salem, though she was only a clerk¡¯s wife.¡±


    ¡°I can believe it,¡± mused Edward, his expression unreadable.


    Thomas glanced at Edward, feeling a sense of bewilderment at the young man¡¯s unpredictable demeanor¡ªsuch abrupt changes in manner, unfathomable eyes, and a pale, fragile appearance paired with tempered courage.


    ¡°I marvel at you,¡± Thomas admitted. ¡°You will not always be unknown.¡±


    Edward¡¯s response was cryptic yet determined. ¡°No, I have never meant that I should be soon forgotten.¡± He then approached Thomas, holding a strip of parchment in his hand.


    ¡°I have made a list of what we have in the place of value¡ªbut I care not to sell them here,¡± Edward explained, his tone serious.


    ¡°Why?¡± Thomas inquired, curious about Edward¡¯s reluctance.


    ¡°I want no one over the threshold. I have a reputation¡ªnot one for holiness,¡± Edward replied with a wry smile, indicating his preference for privacy and discretion.


    Looking at the list, Thomas noted the valuable items marked on the parchment¡ªsilverware, glass, pictures, and clothing. ¡°Certes! How might one carry that even to the next town? Without a horse, it were impossible,¡± Thomas remarked, considering the logistics.


    Edward nodded in agreement, pondering the list. ¡°We will not sell these things Master Lukas left to me,¡± he decided suddenly. ¡°Only a few, such as the silver and the red copper wrought in Italy.¡±


    Thomas, understanding the plan, lifted his grave eyes. ¡°I will carry those into the town if you give me a merchant¡¯s name,¡± he offered.


    Edward promptly provided a merchant¡¯s name and directions to his house, finalizing their plan with a sense of purpose and determination.


    ¡°A Jew, but a secretive and wealthy man,¡± Edward added casually. ¡°I carved a staircase in his mansion.¡± Thomas, feeling the ache in his head and the horror in his heart subside, sensed a growing excitement coursing through his veins.


    ¡°There is much here that is worthless,¡± Edward remarked as they walked through the dusty, sunlit chambers. ¡°And many things dangerous to reveal, yet a few of those that are neither might bring a fair sum¡ªcome, and I will show you.¡±


    Thomas followed Edward to the store-rooms on the upper floor, where Edward unveiled treasures from a hidden press in the wall¡ªcandlesticks, girdles with enamel links, carved cups, and crystal goblets. Selecting the finest among them, Edward placed them in a coffer, locked it, and handed the key to Thomas. ¡°There should be the worth of some gulden there,¡± he said, attempting to lift the coffer but failing.


    Thomas, surprised by Edward¡¯s inability to lift the seemingly light coffer, easily lifted it himself. ¡°¡¯Tis not heavy,¡± he remarked.


    ¡°Nay,¡± replied Edward, his face reddened with frustration, ¡°but I am not strong,¡± his eyes betraying a hint of anger.


    Thomas, intrigued by this sudden display of vulnerability, scrutinized Edward more closely. ¡°How old are you?¡± he inquired.


    ¡°Twenty-five,¡± Edward answered with a curl of his lips.


    ¡°Certes!¡± Thomas exclaimed, his hazel eyes widening. ¡°I had thought you to be eighteen.¡±


    Edward turned abruptly. ¡°Oh, get you gone,¡± he said gruffly, ¡°and be not overlong¡ªfor I would be away from this place at once¡ªdo you hear?¡ªat once.¡±


    They left the room together, Thomas still curious. ¡°You have endured this for years,¡± he remarked. ¡°And suddenly, you count the hours to your departure.¡±


    Edward ran lightly ahead down the stairs, his laughter echoing low and pleasant. ¡°Untouched, the wood will lie forever,¡± he replied cryptically, ¡°but set it alight, and it will flame to the end.¡±

 CHAPTER 6

    <hr>


    They had been on the road for a week, nearing the borders of Salem. The company of each other had become precious, despite their differences; Thomas, grave and reserved, contrasted sharply with Edward, who was changeable and quick to anger. Today, however, a heavy silence of mutual discontent hung between them.


    Their first clash had been at the start of their journey when Edward adamantly refused to sell his house and furniture or deliver the finished sculptures of St. Michael and the Devil to the church of St. Bavon. Instead, he locked up his possessions, leaving them to decay in solitude. Thomas couldn¡¯t shake the unease of thinking about Edward¡¯s abandoned home, blanketed in merciless sunlight, with daisies growing over Balthasar¡¯s wife¡¯s grave.


    Despite these misgivings, Thomas was captivated by Edward¡¯s allure. He had never felt such understanding and shared ambitions with anyone else. He knew little of Edward¡¯s past, but he sensed a nobility about him, a penchant for luxury and refinement that set him apart. Even at the inns where they stayed, Edward always demanded the best accommodations and services, a preference that now strained their camaraderie.


    Their recent disagreement stemmed from lodging options at a town fair. When offered lodging in a barn with merchants¡¯ clerks, Thomas was willing, but Edward haughtily refused, leading to ridicule from onlookers. After a tense exchange with the landlord, they left the town, winding through the bustling fair before reaching a high road.


    As they trudged up a steep incline, burdened by their belongings, they eventually veered off onto meadows bordering the road, collapsing on the grass in exhaustion. Despite Thomas¡¯ frustration at their impromptu outdoor sleeping arrangement, he couldn¡¯t deny the beauty of the place.


    The evening sun bathed everything in a soft, enchanting light. The golden fields of grass, the tall red trunks of pine trees, and the rocks adorned with white flowers created a picturesque scene. Below them, the town nestled in the valley, its streets weaving up and down the slopes, leading to the church spire piercing the sky like a spearhead. Flags fluttered, including the Emperor¡¯s banner above the city gate¡¯s turrets, adding a sense of grandeur to the tranquil landscape tainted by their discord.


    Thomas lay in the long flowering grass, relishing its soft touch against his cheek. He admired the rugged beauty of the grey rocks and the delicate white flowers that adorned them, as well as the majestic pine trees with their deep green foliage against the fading blue sky. As his weariness subsided, he cast a glance at Edward, noting his pale profile against the backdrop of the town below.


    Edward sat nearby, cloaked in dark red, his gaze fixed on the town. The evening breeze gently tousled his hair, and he remained motionless, lost in thought. Despite their recent quarrel, Thomas found himself drawn to Edward¡¯s remarkable skills and their shared understanding, contrasting sharply with the noisy company they had avoided by camping out in the meadows.


    Edward broke the silence, acknowledging the tension between them. ¡°You¡¯re upset with me,¡± he stated.


    Thomas replied calmly, ¡°You acted rashly.¡±


    Edward¡¯s expression soured. ¡°Oh, a fine friend you are!¡± he exclaimed. ¡°You swore loyalty to me. How does that hold when we clash for the first time?¡±


    Thomas, still composed, countered, ¡°I¡¯m not upset, and I¡¯ve never opposed your whims.¡±


    Edward retorted, ¡°You paint me as whimsical¡ªit¡¯s untrue.¡±


    Sitting up, Thomas observed the sunset painting the town and hills in crimson hues. ¡°You¡¯re as particular as a lady,¡± he remarked. ¡°I¡¯ve slept rough many times while you insist on comfort like royalty.¡±


    Edward flushed. ¡°I choose how I live,¡± he declared. ¡°I come from noble stock, mistreated though it was. Let¡¯s not argue, my friend. We share common goals and swore allegiance.¡±


    With a nod, Thomas acknowledged their bond. ¡°Indeed, we are bound,¡± he agreed, setting aside their recent discord in favor of their shared aspirations.


    Thomas, with his striking features, turned towards Edward with genuine affection. ¡°I do admire you greatly,¡± he confessed. ¡°I don¡¯t fault you for your weakness and fondness for luxury. Others have found me too gentle in the past.¡±


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Edward regarded him with a sly look. ¡°So, I¡¯m forgiven?¡±


    Thomas smiled, the previous tension dissipating. ¡°Indeed, I regret my ill temper. The sun was unforgiving, and our burdens were heavy up the hill.¡±


    Collapsing onto the grass beside Thomas, Edward sighed dramatically. ¡°Truly, I¡¯m exhausted.¡±


    Thomas observed him closely. Despite his weariness, Edward¡¯s slender form and delicate features held a captivating charm. Thomas, accustomed to his own beauty, recognized Edward¡¯s allure¡ªthe feminine grace of his hands and feet, his fair complexion, and even the strength hinted at by his jawline. Edward¡¯s presence exuded a subtle fragrance of essences, and his attire added to his allure.


    As Thomas admired him, Edward spoke dreamily. ¡°This place is heavenly¡ªso sweet.¡±


    The gentle breeze carried scents from the pines and wildflowers, creating a serene atmosphere as dusk settled over the valley. Edward teased Thomas about returning to the town¡¯s rowdy revelry, but Thomas expressed contentment with their current tranquil surroundings.


    As darkness enveloped the landscape, Edward posed a profound question. ¡°What are your aspirations in life? If we achieve great power, what would you do with it?¡±


    Thomas was momentarily stunned by the inquiry, his mind racing with possibilities. He looked out at the fading world, feeling a surge of ambition. ¡°I would seek greatness,¡± he murmured. ¡°Like Flaccus Alcuin, like Abelard, like St. Bernard.¡±


    ¡°And I would surpass them all,¡± Edward declared boldly, ¡°as great as the Master we serve can elevate us.¡±


    Thomas shivered, contemplating the implications. ¡°The ones I mentioned served God.¡±


    Edward¡¯s gaze sharpened. ¡°How can you be sure? Many holy men attained their status through unconventional means. I, for one, would not settle for simple woolens when I could wear golden silks.¡±


    The night descended like a shroud, casting the town below into a flickering array of lights while the stars adorned the sky above. In the meadow, the breeze whispered through the long grass and the pine branches, adding an eerie soundtrack to the unfolding conversation.


    ¡°I¡¯m just a beginner,¡± Thomas admitted after a moment¡¯s silence. ¡°I¡¯ve dabbled in necromancy from a book, but it¡¯s... it¡¯s not right.¡±


    ¡°Why hesitate?¡± demanded Edward.


    ¡°It¡¯s sacrilege,¡± Thomas replied slowly. ¡°A grave sin.¡±


    Edward chuckled darkly. ¡°I care not for angels or saints.¡±


    ¡°Peace,¡± Thomas pleaded, feeling a cold sweat forming on his brow from the terror creeping in.


    A tense silence followed, broken only by Edward¡¯s quick breaths rising from the grass. Eventually, he spoke in a calm tone, revealing his innermost desires. ¡°I crave immense wealth, boundless power. I want nations at my command... but my ambition knows no bounds.¡± He sat up abruptly, placing a hand on Thomas¡¯s arm. ¡°If the dark forces offered you that, wouldn¡¯t you accept?¡±


    Thomas recoiled inwardly. ¡°You would! You would!¡± Edward exclaimed. ¡°And gladly trade your soul for it.¡±


    Thomas remained silent, lying still as he gazed at the human lights in the valley, beyond which twinkled the stars. Edward continued, a hint of sinister allure in his voice. ¡°I confide in you because I value our bond¡ªthat I reveal the secret of my future power...¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s my secret too,¡± Thomas interjected quickly. ¡°I¡¯ve already done enough to invoke the Church¡¯s eternal wrath.¡±


    ¡°The Church,¡± Edward echoed thoughtfully. Fearless and daring, his thoughts at that moment would have chilled Thomas to the bone had they been voiced.


    As the town¡¯s lights dwindled one by one, plunging the valley into darkness, Thomas folded his cloak as a makeshift pillow and lay in the fragrant grass. Sleep eluded him, haunted by the exquisite yet tormenting beauty of the place, reminiscent of Paradise but tainted by the horrors he was entangled in.


    His dreams turned tumultuous, his sleep filled with restless moans. Meanwhile, Edward paced in the shadows, the dew settling on his uncovered head. Wrapping himself in his mantle, he defied the darkness with calm eyes, pacing back and forth until exhaustion finally claimed him, and he too succumbed to the deep slumber of the night, only to awaken abruptly, seated upright in the embrace of the pines¡¯ haunting whispers.


    As the dawn crept in, casting a purple haze over the landscape under the pale green sky, the pines stood stark against this eerie backdrop, their whispers adding a haunting melody to the scene.


    Edward, awakened by the light, approached Thomas who still slumbered peacefully. His eyes, filled with a mix of awe and dread, lingered on Thomas¡¯s serene face. The light slowly filled the valley, creating a mystical aura as clouds gathered on the horizon. Edward, feeling a chill in the air, wrapped his mantle tightly around himself as Thomas stirred awake.


    With a sudden start, Thomas called out, ¡°Edward, is that you?¡± jumping to his feet. Edward, caught off guard by the urgency in Thomas¡¯s voice, turned back, his expression tense. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± he asked in an odd tone.


    Thomas, trying to shake off the remnants of his unsettling dreams, brushed his hair back. ¡°I don¡¯t know... nothing,¡± he muttered, but an eerie tension hung between them, palpable in the stillness of the morning.


    A distant roll of thunder broke the silence, growing louder as they looked towards the hills. Against the ghostly light, a colossal figure on horseback emerged, holding a banner that seemed to blend the colors of blood and darkness. The horseman paused, facing eastward, then raised the banner high before thundering down the hillside.


    As quickly as he appeared, he vanished before reaching the valley, leaving only the rising sun to illuminate the land. Thomas, overwhelmed by the surreal sight, buried his face in his sleeve, trembling uncontrollably. Yet, Edward stood tall, his gaze fixed on the horizon, undeterred by the supernatural spectacle unfolding before them.

 CHAPTER 7

    <hr>


    As the lecture ended, students spilled out through the weathered arches into the sun-drenched gardens of the university. Beyond the fortress-like silhouette of the university, the mountains loomed, their snow-capped peaks stark against the bright sky. Below, the town of Basle sprawled along the banks of the Rhine, its azure waters winding between the shimmering buildings.


    Amid the chatter of students clad in robes of somber purple, blue, and violet, Thomas scanned the crowd for Edward, absent from the lecture. ¡°We¡¯re heading up the river,¡± one of his companions announced. ¡°We¡¯ve got a fine boat for sailing. Join us?¡±


    Thomas declined with a shake of his head. ¡°I have other matters to attend to.¡±


    His friends chuckled. ¡°Always lost in thought, our Thomas! He¡¯ll be a scholar of renown, mark my words!¡±


    ¡°I prefer the shade for contemplation,¡± Thomas replied with a smile.


    Walking along a path flanked by laurels and dark foliage, they approached Edward, who rose gracefully from his seat. Dressed in opulent brown silk robes, adorned with a gold chain around his cap, and sporting a finely embroidered shirt, Edward exuded an air of elegance and detachment that set him apart from the rest.


    The two students greeted him with a half-mocking reverence, acknowledging his customary aloofness. Edward regarded them with a measured gaze. ¡°Have you gleaned much wisdom today?¡± he inquired.


    The student grinned. ¡°Aristotle is not unraveled in a single afternoon. Besides, Master Joris nodded off during the lecture! The Doctor was not pleased!¡±


    ¡°It was quite a spectacle,¡± remarked one of the students. ¡°Although, he wasn¡¯t asleep but had swooned from the stifling heat. By the Mass! It was sweltering! Where were you?¡±


    ¡°Engaged in perfecting my Latin in the library. I¡¯ve translated the tale of Tereus and Philomena into the vernacular this afternoon,¡± replied Thomas.


    ¡°Good evening to you both.¡± The two friends linked arms. ¡°We¡¯re off to a lively tavern up the river.¡±


    As they vanished from sight, Edward turned sharply to Thomas. ¡°Did they invite you along?¡±


    ¡°They did,¡± admitted Thomas.


    Edward¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°You should have gone.¡±


    ¡°I had no desire for it. They¡¯re a frivolous bunch,¡± retorted Thomas.


    ¡°True, but we¡¯re starting to draw attention with our solitary ways. It wouldn¡¯t be wise if they began to suspect,¡± warned Edward.


    ¡°It¡¯s unlikely,¡± dismissed Thomas quickly.


    ¡°It mustn¡¯t happen,¡± insisted Edward firmly. ¡°But don¡¯t be standoffish or overly reserved.¡±


    ¡°I desire no companionship but yours,¡± Thomas declared. ¡°What connection do I have with those idle fellows?¡±


    Edward¡¯s eyes softened. ¡°We won¡¯t linger here much longer,¡± he assured. ¡°I believe we¡¯ve exhausted all this school can offer us.¡±


    Thomas brushed aside a swinging laurel bough. ¡°Where do you propose we go then?¡± he inquired, showing deference to the younger man in all matters.


    ¡°Paris! Padua!¡± exclaimed Edward. ¡°Would you consider that? We could build a reputation, and then¡ªor we could lecture¡ªin any bustling city¡ªCologne, Strasbourg.¡±


    ¡°In the meantime¡ª?¡± probed Thomas.


    ¡°In the meantime, I make progress,¡± whispered Edward. ¡°I¡¯ve delved into...certain matters. Will you join me in my chamber tonight?¡±


    ¡°Secretly?¡± Thomas asked.


    Edward nodded, his serious face under the flat student¡¯s hat tinged with a hint of flush. He placed his hand on Thomas¡¯s arm. ¡°I have something important to discuss with you. It¡¯s not prudent to speak of it here. Farewell for now.¡±


    In a moment of strong affection, their eyes met, and hands clasped before they parted ways. Thomas watched the figure in brown silk hurrying towards the university, then turned and walked out of the gardens, away from the town. His hands clasped behind his back, he followed a winding path through the trees, lost in wild daydreams that stirred his blood.


    The prospect of wielding immense power tantalized him¡ªthose evil spirits he sought to command could grant him anything in the world! The golden visions that blinded him, the horror of the means he¡¯d use, and the dread of the inevitable consequences were beyond words.


    Sitting on a fallen tree trunk, he gazed down the forest path with rapt eyes, unaware of his location. Through the pine trees, he glimpsed castle walls unknown to him. Rising, driven by his racing thoughts, he wandered deeper into the forest until he emerged into a green valley shaded by thick trees.


    A stream meandered through the center of the valley, its banks carpeted with deep green grass dotted with white daisies. Young poplar trees lined the stream, their golden leaves shimmering like gypsy¡¯s sequins even in the still air. Lost in his thoughts, Thomas walked beside the water, oblivious to the tranquil atmosphere, the birds¡¯ soft voices, and the majestic sunlight on the mountains and castle beyond.


    Suddenly, a sound broke through his reverie¡ªa sound of weeping, of sorrow. Thomas, startled, looked around and spotted a lady across the stream, seated on the grass, cradling a dead bird. Her tear-stained face and disheveled yellow hair marked her grief. As she glanced up at him with wet eyes, Thomas felt compelled to approach and speak.


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Thomas, moved by the lady¡¯s sorrow, inquired, ¡°You are troubled?¡± fearing his question might come across as insolence. But she responded simply, revealing her heartache over a small brown bird that had met its end at the hands of her cat.


    The lady held out the bird¡¯s lifeless body on her palm, describing how it had sung joyously on a poplar tree until her cat attacked and killed it. Tears welled up in her eyes as she recounted the tragic event, seeking solace in Thomas¡¯s sympathy.


    Feeling a mix of pity and horror at the story, Thomas suggested punishing the cat. ¡°You may chastise the cat,¡± he offered, noticing the sleek feline nearby.


    The lady, however, defended her pet, refusing to consider harsh measures. ¡°She is an agreeable cat,¡± she insisted, rejecting the idea of hanging her. Thomas, realizing his misstep, stood helplessly, unsure how to comfort her.


    As she wiped her tears, the lady stood in a meek silence, clutching the dead bird. Thomas, desperate to ease her pain, suggested burying it. ¡°If you buried it¡ª¡± he began, hoping to bring her some comfort.


    Her eyes brightened at the thought. ¡°You think so?¡± she asked hopefully.


    ¡°Certes!¡± Thomas eagerly reassured her, offering to dig a grave. She knelt among the sorrel leaves and daisies by the stream, unable to cross due to its width, and asked Thomas to make a grave for the bird.


    Thomas, thrilled by her trust and vulnerability, took the bird from her and prepared a resting place. Despite her not being conventionally beautiful, Thomas found himself drawn to her, eager to please her in a way he had never attempted before.


    As her pale red dress fluttered around her on the grass, her curls and veil swept back from her face, Thomas knelt down and extended his hand towards her. Their fingers touched over the mid-stream as he took the bird, and she recoiled hastily.


    Observing her closely while still on his knees, Thomas noticed a change in her demeanor. No longer seemingly unconscious, she stood tall as if commanding herself to stay put. Her slender figure reminded him of a pale crimson pistil atop a lily with yellow on the head¡ªher hair, he thought to himself.


    ¡°I am vexed to trouble you,¡± she spoke hesitantly, prompting a flurry of thoughts in Thomas¡¯s mind. However, he remained silent, focusing instead on cutting a small square of turf with his knife.


    ¡°You are a clerk from the college?¡± she inquired politely.


    ¡°Ay,¡± he replied, wishing he could have presented himself with a grander title. ¡°There are many learned men there,¡± she remarked courteously, her eyes assessing him.


    Despite the unholy daydreams that had consumed him earlier, Thomas found himself completely absorbed in the task of preparing the bird¡¯s grave. The judgment in her eyes compelled him to handle the task with utmost care.


    A verse he had read but hadn¡¯t fully grasped echoed in his mind, emphasizing her captivating presence and its effect on him. He dug into the soft brown earth, lined the grave with leaves, and gently placed the little bird inside.


    For a moment, he held the bird as she had done, unable to meet her gaze. Then, he laid it to rest in the ground, covering it with grass and daisies. When he looked up, flushed from his stooping, he noticed she was no longer watching him. Instead, she had turned her gaze towards the distant woods, lost in her own thoughts.


    Now with a moment to spare, Thomas took in the details of her appearance.


    As Thomas rose from his knees, the lady turned to him. ¡°I thank you,¡± she said, her voice carrying a hint of urgency. ¡°Do you often come here?¡±


    He replied somewhat foolishly, ¡°Nay, never before¡ªI did not know the place.¡±


    ¡°That is my home yonder,¡± she revealed, gesturing toward the castle walls.


    ¡°Yours?¡± he exclaimed, surprised.


    ¡°Yea. I am an orphan, and the Emperor¡¯s ward,¡± she explained, her tone tinged with melancholy.


    Glancing at the point of her shoe beneath her pale crimson robe, she inquired, ¡°What town do you come from?¡±


    ¡°Nola,¡± he replied.


    ¡°I know no town save Frankfort,¡± she remarked, a hint of curiosity in her gaze.


    A moment of silence lingered between them, interrupted only by the graceful stride of the wicked grey cat along the stream¡¯s edge.


    ¡°I shall lose her,¡± the lady lamented, referring to the cat. ¡°Good even, gentle clerk. My name is Jacobea of Martzburg. Perhaps I shall see you again.¡±


    Thomas felt a surge of desire to speak but found himself at a loss for words. ¡°I do hope it,¡± he stammered, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.


    With a half look and a flash from her grave grey eyes, Jacobea bid him farewell again and vanished after the cat. Thomas watched her hasten down the stream, her dress swaying the grasses and leaves in her wake. He hoped she might glance back and see him watching her, but she did not, and as the last trace of her pale red attire disappeared, he reluctantly tore himself away from the spot.


    The sunset painted the sky with vibrant hues as Thomas walked through the woods. Bars of orange light filtered through the straight pine trunks, casting a glittering path before him. His mind was no longer occupied with the thoughts of earlier or the lady he had encountered. Instead, he was engulfed in a golden confusion of fancies, unable to form coherent hopes or fears.


    Approaching the garden of the college, Thomas stumbled upon a group of students lounging on the grass.


    Just beyond them stood Edward, noticeable for his rich dress and elegant bearing, alongside another youth whom Thomas recognized as Joris of Thuringia. A quick glance revealed tension between them; Edward appeared white and tense, while Joris was hot and flushed.


    Thomas hurried across the grass; it was well-known that quarrels were to be avoided within the college grounds. ¡°Sirs, what is this?¡± he inquired.


    The students turned to him, their expressions a mix of amusement and excitement, tinged with unfriendliness and doubt. One of them provided half-scornful information. ¡°Your friend was caught with an unholy forbidden book, though he denies it. He tossed it into the river rather than show it, and now he¡¯s at odds with Joris over it.¡±


    Edward, catching sight of Thomas, turned his pale face towards him. ¡°This fellow insulted me,¡± he stated. ¡°Yes, laid hands on me.¡±


    Joris burst into half-angry, half-amused laughter. ¡°I can¡¯t get this little youth to fight¡ªby Christus his Mother! He¡¯s afraid because I could snap his neck between my finger and thumb!¡±


    Edward¡¯s eyes flashed with anger. ¡°I¡¯m not afraid, nor could I fear the likes of you. But my profession and degree forbid me from brawling¡ªbe silent and leave.¡±


    The tone stirred Joris further. ¡°Who are you,¡± he shouted, ¡°to speak as if you were noble-born? I only touched your arm to get the book¡ª¡±


    Others joined in. ¡°He did no more than that. What was in the book?¡±


    Edward held himself proudly. ¡°I won¡¯t be questioned any further.¡±


    ¡°Fine words for a common Flemish knave!¡± mocked one of the students.


    Edward retorted sharply, ¡°I can back up my words,¡± and headed towards the college.


    Joris moved to follow, but Thomas caught his arm. ¡°It¡¯s just a heated moment,¡± he tried to calm things down.


    Joris shook himself free, staring after Edward¡¯s retreating figure. ¡°He called me ¡®son of a Thuringian thief!¡¯¡± he muttered.


    Laughter erupted from the group. ¡°How did he know that? From the forbidden book?¡±


    Joris¡¯s anger redirected. ¡°Shut up! You, son of a British swineherd, with your red face!¡±


    The group dissolved into argument and shoving matches, while Thomas followed Edward across the gardens.

 CHAPTER 8

    <hr>


    Thomas found Edward passing under the arched colonnade.


    ¡°Prudence!¡± he quoted. ¡°Where¡¯s your prudence now?¡±


    Edward turned quickly. ¡°I had to put on a bold front. Certes, I hate that knave. But let him go now. Come with me.¡±


    Thomas followed him through the college, up the dark stairway into his chamber. It was a low arched room, looking onto the garden, barely furnished, containing only the bed, a chair, and some books on a shelf. Edward opened the window on the sun-flushed twilight.


    ¡°The students are jealous of me because of my reputation with the doctors,¡± he said, smiling. ¡°One told me today I was the most learned youth in the college. And how long have we been here? But ten months.¡±


    Thomas was silent, the triumph in his companion¡¯s voice finding no echo in his heart. Neither in his legitimate studies nor in his secret experiments had he been as successful as Edward, who excelled in ancient and modern lore, languages, algebra, theology, and oratory, and had delved dangerously into forbidden things.


    Shaking off his jealousy, Thomas changed the subject. ¡°Edward, I saw a lady today¡ªsuch a lady!¡±


    In their constant, close companionship, Thomas had never seen Edward harden visibly. ¡°A lady!¡± Edward repeated, turning from the window, casting shadows over his face.


    Thomas proceeded to describe his encounter. ¡°Ay¡ª¡¯twas in a valley¡ªa valley I had never seen before. Oh, Edward!¡± he exclaimed, leaning against the bed¡¯s end, gazing into the dusk. ¡°¡¯Twas a lady so sweet¡ªshe had¡ª¡±


    Edward interrupted, his anger palpable. ¡°Certes!¡± he cried. ¡°She had grey eyes, belike, and yellow hair¡ªalways yellow hair?¡ªa mincing mouth, sideways glances, and cunning words, I¡¯ll warrant me¡ª¡±


    Thomas, bewildered, confirmed, ¡°Why, she had all this. But she was pleasant, had you but seen her, Edward.¡±


    Edward sneered. ¡°Who is she¡ªthy lady?¡±


    ¡°Jacobea of Martzburg,¡± Thomas replied, relishing her name. ¡°She¡¯s a great lady and gracious.¡±


    ¡°Out on ye!¡± Edward exclaimed passionately. ¡°What is she to us? Have we not other matters to think of? I did not think ye so weak as to come chanting the praises of the first thing that smiles on ye!¡±


    Thomas bristled at Edward¡¯s dismissive tone.


    ¡°¡¯Tis not the first time¡ªand what have I said of her?¡± Edward accused, his tone sharp with skepticism.


    ¡°Oh enough¡ªye have lost your heart to her, I doubt not¡ªand what use will ye be¡ªa love-sick knave!¡± Thomas retorted, his own temper flaring.


    ¡°Nay,¡± answered Thomas hotly. ¡°You have no warrant for this speech. How should I love the lady, seeing her once? I did but say she was fair and gentle.¡±


    ¡°¡¯Tis the first woman you have spoken of to me¡ªin that voice¡ªdid ye not say¡ª¡®such a lady¡¯?¡± Edward pressed, a hint of annoyance in his voice.


    Thomas felt the blood stinging his cheeks. ¡°Could you have seen her,¡± he repeated defensively.


    ¡°Ay, had I seen her I could tell you how much paint she wore, how tight her lace was¡ª¡± Thomas interrupted, unwilling to hear more disparagement.


    ¡°I¡¯ll hear no more¡ªart a peevish youth, knowing nothing of women; she was one of God¡¯s roses, pink and white, and we not fit to kiss her little shoes¡ªay, that¡¯s pure truth.¡± Edward stamped his foot passionately.


    ¡°Little shoes! If you come home to me to rave of her little shoes, and her pink and white, you may bide alone for me. Speak no more of her.¡± Thomas held his tongue, realizing the futility of continuing the argument.


    Thomas was silent a while, trying to quell the anger that rose in him at Edward¡¯s unreasonableness. He needed to maintain their good understanding and companionship. ¡°On what matter did you wish to see me?¡± he finally asked, redirecting the conversation.


    Edward struggled with his emotions for a moment, then crossed to an inner chamber and opened the door. They entered a dismal room filled with the smell of decay and stagnant smoke. Edward lit a lamp and placed it on the windowsill, casting eerie shadows around the room.


    ¡°See,¡± Edward said, revealing a roughly carved wooden figure from a dark corner. ¡°I wrought this today¡ªand if I know the spells aright, there is one who will pay for his insolence.¡±


    Thomas examined the figure. ¡°¡¯Tis Joris of Thuringia,¡± he noted, recognizing the likeness.


    Edward nodded somberly. ¡°Nothing. I would see what skill I have.¡±


    Excitement surged in Thomas at the thought of an enchantment powerful enough to confound enemies. ¡°Light the fire,¡± he commanded eagerly, ready to test their spellcasting abilities once again.


    Thomas positioned the image by the lamp, pouring a thick yellow fluid from one of the bottles over the dead sticks. With a handful of grey powder, he ignited the concoction. A close dun-colored vapor rose, filling the room with a sickly smell. Suddenly, the sticks burst into a tall and beautiful flame, casting an eerie glow around the chamber.


    Drawing three circles around the fire, Thomas marked the outer one with characters from Edward¡¯s manuscripts. Edward watched from the shadows, his heavy brows furrowed in thought. ¡°Was she beautiful?¡± he asked abruptly, his tone softened.


    Taking it as a sign of reconciliation, Thomas replied, ¡°Why, she was beautiful, Edward.¡±


    ¡°And fair?¡±


    ¡°Ay, with yellow hair.¡±


    ¡°No more of her,¡± Edward declared with a fierce mournfulness. ¡°The legend is finished?¡±


    ¡°Yea,¡± Thomas confirmed, rising from his knees. ¡°And now?¡±


    Edward anointed the little image of the student with liquid from a purple phial, placing it within the circle around the flame. ¡°Carved from ash plucked from a churchyard,¡± he explained. ¡°And the ingredients are correct. Now, if this fails, Zerdusht lies.¡±


    Addressing an invocation in Persian to the soaring flame, Edward retreated to Thomas¡¯s side. The room glowed in the clear red light of the unholy fire, revealing every detail in vivid clarity.


    ¡°Look,¡± Edward said with a slow smile.


    The image, resembling Joris in his flat hat and student¡¯s robe, writhed and twisted within the magic circle, emitting agonized moans.


    ¡°The Magian spell has worked,¡± Edward announced triumphantly, his teeth showing in a sinister grin.


    A sensation of giddiness overcame Thomas as he watched the figure, resembling Joris, struggle and moan as if in real pain, despite not being burned or scorched by the flames.


    Thomas and Edward stood in the dimly lit chamber, their faces reflecting the flickering glow of the fire. ¡°It cannot get out,¡± Thomas breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.


    ¡°Nay,¡± Edward whispered back, his eyes fixed on the column of pure fire. ¡°Wherefore did ye draw the circle?¡±


    The creature, trapped within the fiery ring, struggled and writhed in futile attempts to escape. It groaned and fell, only to rise again and make frantic dashes at the barrier that held it captive.


    ¡°Let it out,¡± Thomas urged faintly, a wave of sickness washing over him.


    But Edward¡¯s elation at their success overshadowed any concern for the creature. ¡°Ye are mad,¡± he retorted. ¡°The spell works bravely.¡±


    As they watched, a sound pierced the air, causing both to wince¡ªthe bell of the college chapel, calling the students to vespers.


    ¡°I had forgotten,¡± muttered Edward, his excitement dampened. ¡°We must go¡ªit would be noticed.¡±


    ¡°We cannot put the fire out,¡± Thomas protested.


    ¡°Nay, we must leave it¡ªit must burn out,¡± Edward insisted, already moving towards the door.


    The creature, exhausted from its futile attempts to escape, lay quivering within the circle of fire. ¡°We will leave him, too,¡± said Edward coldly.


    But Thomas¡¯s mind raced back to the image of the lady with tears on her cheeks, holding a dead bird in her hand. Without thinking, he reached into the flames and grabbed the creature. It shrieked in agony as he touched it, burning his fingers, before crumbling into a charred morsel of wood in his hand.


    ¡°Should have let it burn,¡± Edward remarked, his excitement still evident as he led the way out of the chamber.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    As they descended into the hall, the air felt fresher, but Thomas couldn¡¯t shake the sense of terror that clouded his mind. Edward, on the other hand, seemed invigorated by their dark experiment, his eyes gleaming with excitement against the backdrop of the sultry evening and the ominous purple clouds on the horizon.


    Without exchanging a word, Thomas and Edward moved together into the ante-chamber leading to the chapel, where they encountered a group of men speaking in hushed tones.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t they enter the church?¡± Thomas whispered, a sense of unease creeping over him. ¡°Something¡¯s amiss.¡±


    As they approached, one of the students turned to them. ¡°Have you heard?¡± he asked somberly.


    ¡°A terrible thing,¡± added another. ¡°Joris of Thuringia has taken ill in a most peculiar manner. He collapsed among us as if consumed by hellfire.¡±


    Thomas felt a chill run down his spine. ¡°What happened to him?¡± he inquired, trying to mask his growing dread.


    ¡°We carried him to his chamber,¡± another explained. ¡°He was in agony, begging us to shield him from imaginary flames. The priest is attending to him now¡ªmay God protect us from dark forces.¡±


    ¡°Why do you speak of dark forces?¡± Thomas interjected, his voice tinged with concern.


    ¡°It was unnatural,¡± murmured one student. ¡°There¡¯s a sense of evil about it.¡±


    Edward, maintaining his calm demeanor, led the way into the chapel, with Thomas and the others following quietly.


    Inside, the flickering candles on the altar cast eerie shadows, heightening Thomas¡¯s sense of foreboding. He knelt on the cold stone floor, his mind swirling with guilt and fear. The weight of his recent actions¡ªthe unholy spells, the summoning of dark forces¡ªpressed heavily on his conscience.


    A deep groan escaped Thomas as he realized the enormity of his sins. He bowed his head in anguish, unable to bear the weight of his own transgressions. Images of Joris writhing in agony and the lurking presence of sinister entities filled his mind.


    In a desperate moment, Thomas looked up and saw Edward kneeling beside him. The contrast between his own turmoil and Edward¡¯s serene composure was stark. Despite their recent dealings with the occult, Edward appeared unaffected, his expression placid and his demeanor calm, like a figure carved in stone amidst a sea of turmoil.


    Thomas¡¯s gaze bore into Edward¡¯s, who sensed the intensity and shot a cautionary look under his lids. The weight of the hymn and the church¡¯s atmosphere hung heavily on Thomas, making him feel suffocated by the pillars¡¯ shadows and the stern gaze of the mosaic saints.


    As the choir sang with fervor, Thomas struggled to join in. The incense-filled air and the unyielding gaze of the saints seemed to judge him relentlessly.


    ¡°Laudate, pueri Dominum. Laudate nomen Domini,¡± echoed through the chapel, but Thomas couldn¡¯t shake off his unease. The singers¡¯ curious glances followed him as he left, and he felt a sense of relief mingled with dread.


    Outside the chapel, Edward caught up to him, his eyes ablaze with intensity. ¡°I¡¯m done with it,¡± Thomas muttered, his voice hoarse with emotion.


    Edward¡¯s response was sharp and urgent. ¡°Do you want to confess openly? Remember, our lives are at stake if they find out.¡±


    Thomas recoiled at the thought. ¡°I can¡¯t pray. I can¡¯t stay in there. The blessing feels like a curse.¡±


    ¡°Come upstairs,¡± Edward suggested, leading the way down the long hall.


    They encountered a friend of Joris¡¯s, and Edward paused to inquire about the sick man¡¯s condition. The answer left Thomas tense and anxious.


    ¡°If he dies...¡± Thomas whispered, his eyes wide with fear.


    They retreated to Edward¡¯s austere chamber, the sky outside completely obscured by clouds. Edward lit a lamp, casting flickering shadows across the room. Thomas sank onto the bed, his hands clasped tightly.


    ¡°I can¡¯t continue,¡± Thomas confessed. ¡°It¡¯s too dreadful.¡±


    ¡°Are you afraid?¡± Edward asked calmly.


    ¡°Yes, I am,¡± Thomas admitted, his brows furrowed with worry.


    ¡°I am not,¡± Edward stated with unwavering composure.


    ¡°I can¡¯t stay here,¡± Thomas murmured, his distress evident in his tense posture and clasped fingers.


    In the dimly lit chamber, Thomas poured out his inner turmoil. ¡°I¡¯ve put my soul in dire danger. I can¡¯t find the words for prayer, can¡¯t speak holy names.¡±


    Edward¡¯s voice was soft, carrying a weight of disappointment. ¡°Is this your bravery? Your aspirations, your loyalty to our cause? Will you run to a priest with secrets that bind us both? Is this, O noble youth, all your hopes have come to?¡±


    Thomas groaned, torn between fear and loyalty. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I just don¡¯t know.¡±


    Stepping closer, Edward¡¯s tone turned introspective. ¡°Is this how our partnership ends? Our alliance?¡±


    As Edward clasped Thomas¡¯s hand¡ªa rare gesture of affection¡ªThomas felt a surge of conflicting emotions. Yet, the image of the stern angel at the altar haunted him, freezing his prayers on his lips.


    ¡°Maybe I¡¯ve gone too far to turn back,¡± Thomas gasped, seeking reassurance.


    Edward withdrew his hand. ¡°Stand with me or apart, it matters not. I can stand alone.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Thomas replied earnestly. ¡°Truly, I cherish you, Edward, like no other.¡±


    Edward¡¯s gaze hardened slightly. ¡°Then, don¡¯t falter with talk of priests. Promise me loyalty unto death and damnation, and I shall match it.¡±


    Before Thomas could respond, a violent knock echoed through the room. Panic flickered between them; suspicion had arrived at their door, and the consequences loomed darkly.


    Edward cursed under his breath. ¡°Damn the spells and Zerdusht¡¯s concoctions! We¡¯re trapped!¡±


    Thomas, composed now, secured the inner door. ¡°We¡¯re safe. I have the key.¡±


    Edward, seizing a couple of books, threw them on the table. The knocking persisted.


    ¡°Open the door,¡± Thomas instructed calmly, taking a seat and pretending to read.


    As Edward unbolted the door, a group of students, led by a stern-faced monk bearing a crucifix, flooded in.


    ¡°What¡¯s your purpose here?¡± Edward challenged, his demeanor composed. ¡°You disrupt our studies.¡±


    The monk¡¯s voice was stern. ¡°Serious accusations have been made against you, my son. You must refute them.¡±


    Thomas shut his book with deliberate care, rising to confront the accusing crowd. What was once terror now simmered into anger and defiance, his primal courage igniting in anticipation of confrontation. Faces pressed in at the doorway, eyes alight with curiosity and accusation. The monk¡¯s stern presence only fueled Thomas¡¯s resolve; he didn¡¯t see himself as Evil, but as a man justified in the face of unjust accusations.


    ¡°What¡¯s the charge?¡± Edward¡¯s voice brimmed with a newfound intensity, a stark departure from his usual calm. His defiance was palpable, his nerves showing through clenched lips.


    The students murmured, inching closer, while the monk wasted no time in presenting their supposed crimes. ¡°You stand accused of causing Joris of Thuringia¡¯s illness through dark arts.¡±


    Edward¡¯s denial was feeble, lacking conviction. Thomas, however, met the accusation head-on. ¡°On what grounds, sir?¡±


    The monk had a list ready. ¡°Your secretive behavior, your origins unknown to us, the timing of Joris¡¯s illness after your altercation.¡±


    ¡°He drank like a beast,¡± chimed in a student eagerly.


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen a light here late into the night,¡± added another.


    ¡°Why leave before vespers ended?¡± demanded a third.


    Thomas smirked, feeling the weight of discovery, yet unafraid. ¡°These are baseless claims. Find something substantial, or leave.¡±


    Edward, hiding behind the table, spoke with strained breaths. ¡°You slander us with baseless accusations.¡±


    ¡°Will you swear it?¡± challenged the monk.


    Thomas stepped in. ¡°Search the room, but know, you¡¯ll find nothing.¡±


    ¡°And what if we can¡¯t find your tools of the dark?¡± accused a voice from the crowd.


    Thomas seized a lantern, holding it high. ¡°Look closely. See anything sinister?¡±


    Eager eyes darted around, inspecting every inch. One student rifled through the books on the table, hoping to uncover damning evidence.


    The books hit the table with a thud, disappointment evident in Thomas¡¯s expression. The priest scanned the room, finding no signs of religious artifacts. Edward, his demeanor filled with silent defiance, gestured toward his breviary on the table, a silent protest against the accusations.


    ¡°Where¡¯s the key to the inner chamber?¡± demanded one of the students, grappling with the door. Edward, taken aback, paled visibly. Thomas, however, erupted in anger. ¡°That room¡¯s not ours. We know nothing of it.¡±


    ¡°Will you swear to that?¡± the priest asked, eyeing Thomas intently.


    ¡°I swear,¡± Thomas declared firmly.


    But another student, wrestling with the door, interjected, ¡°Edward Bensouda asked for this room for his studies! I remember, and he had the key.¡± Edward¡¯s reaction was immediate. ¡°No, I have no key,¡± he insisted.


    ¡°Search, my sons,¡± the priest commanded, and a dozen students surged into the chamber, overturning books, rummaging through clothes, and inspecting the bed. Finding nothing, their suspicion turned back to Edward.


    ¡°He¡¯s hiding the key!¡± they accused.


    All eyes turned to Edward, who stood defiantly, holding the lamp high. Its flickering light accentuated his features, casting shadows across his face. His complexion drained of color, his expression hardened into a scowl.


    ¡°Do you have the key?¡± demanded the priest, extending the crucifix.


    Edward hesitated, his voice strained. ¡°What good would my oath do? Would you believe me?¡± His eyes blazed with contempt.


    ¡°Swear on this,¡± insisted the monk, offering the crucifix again.


    Edward refused to touch it. ¡°I have no key,¡± he repeated.


    ¡°That settles it,¡± Thomas declared, placing the lamp on the table.


    One of the students scoffed. ¡°Search him! Check his clothes. He¡¯s hiding it.¡±


    Edward tensed, realizing the gravity of the situation. With the table as his only barrier, he prepared for whatever came next, knowing he had the key hidden on him.


    As tension filled the air, Thomas challenged their accusers. ¡°What¡¯s your next move?¡± he demanded.


    In response, one of them grabbed Edward¡¯s arm and pulled him into the center of the room, while another snatched his mantle. A cry of ¡°Search him!¡± echoed through the room. Edward lowered his head, swiftly retrieved the key from inside his shirt, and tossed it to the floor. As they lunged for the key, he stumbled back beside Thomas. ¡°Keep them off me,¡± he pleaded. ¡°Keep them off me.¡±


    ¡°Are you a coward?¡± Thomas snapped angrily. ¡°Now we¡¯re completely doomed...¡±


    He shoved Edward away as if to abandon him, but Edward clung to him desperately. ¡°Don¡¯t leave me¡ªthey¡¯ll tear me apart.¡± The students rushed through the unlocked door, shouting for lights. The priest grabbed the lamp and followed, leaving the two in darkness.


    ¡°You¡¯re a fool,¡± Thomas muttered. ¡°We might have saved the key with some cunning...¡±


    A terrible shout erupted from the inner room as they discovered the remnants of the incantations. Thomas dashed to the window, with Edward following. ¡°Thomas, please, take me with you¡ªI¡¯m defenseless! I¡¯m... I¡¯m small and pitiful, Thomas!¡±


    Thomas had one foot over the window ledge. ¡°Come on, then, damn it,¡± he replied. A hoarse cry announced that the students had found the figurine of Joris; those on the staircase saw them at the window. ¡°The sorcerers are escaping!¡±


    Thomas helped Edward onto the window ledge. The warm night air and rain greeted their faces. Darkness enveloped them. The students yelled furiously as they discovered the forbidden substances and tools. They abruptly turned and rushed to the window. Thomas swung himself out, then let go, landing heavily on the balcony below. ¡°Jump!¡± he shouted to Edward, who hesitated on the window sill.


    ¡°Oh, God, I can¡¯t!¡± Edward peered into the darkness, trying to spot Thomas.


    ¡°I¡¯m reaching out my arms! Jump!¡±


    The students had knocked over the lamp, causing a momentary delay. Edward, glancing back, saw the room ablaze with new lights and figures crowding the window. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and leapt. The distance wasn¡¯t far; Thomas half caught him, and they stumbled onto the balcony.


    A torch appeared from the window above, casting wild shadows. Thomas pushed Edward roughly through the window into the library, then followed. ¡°Now, for our lives,¡± he declared.


    They sprinted through the dark chamber and reached the stairs, their pursuers close behind. They could hear the clattering footsteps on the upper landing. How many steps until they reached safety?


    Edward stumbled, but Thomas pulled him up. A youth caught up with them, breathless. Thomas, gasping for air, turned and shoved him backward. They finally reached the hall, raced through it, and burst out into the dark garden.


    A minute later, their pursuers, brandishing lights and consumed by rage and terror, spilled out of the college doors. Thomas grabbed Edward¡¯s arm, and they ran across the grass, crashing through bushes and trampling roses. They dashed blindly into the forest until the shouts and lights grew fainter behind them. Finally, they collapsed on the grass, panting and shaken.

 CHAPTER 9

    <hr>


    Thomas¡¯s voice cut through the darkness with anger. ¡°You fool, we¡¯re safe enough. They think the Devil¡¯s snatched us away. Be quiet.¡± Edward wheezed from his spot on the ground. ¡°Not scared. Just worn out. Are they gone?¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± Thomas replied, scanning the surroundings. The murky dark offered no hints of light or sound. He reached out, feeling the wet tree trunk. Resting against it, he sighed. ¡°Do you have any money?¡±


    ¡°Not a cent,¡± Edward muttered.


    Thomas checked his own pockets, finding nothing. Their situation was dire. Their belongings were likely burning in the college. They were still within reach of those who¡¯d kill them on sight, with no way to escape. Daylight would expose them if they stayed, and they needed to flee before then.


    ¡°If we wander now, we¡¯ll end up back at the college gates,¡± Thomas cursed.


    ¡°It¡¯s pouring,¡± Edward weakly remarked. ¡°Can¡¯t we find shelter?¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Thomas grumbled. ¡°But unless your charms and spells can whisk us away, we¡¯re stuck here.¡±


    Edward lamented his lost manuscripts and tools. ¡°They¡¯ll burn them all,¡± Thomas stated, his anger flaring.


    Edward struggled to his feet, leaning on the tree. ¡°Curse them all!¡± he spat.


    Thomas, filled with hate for their pursuers, felt no remorse. His only drive was to outsmart and triumph over them. ¡°Stop whining,¡± he snapped at Edward. ¡°You¡¯ve been cowardly tonight.¡±


    Edward fell silent, recognizing a new side of Thomas¡¯s character. His fear and surrender of the key had weakened their bond. ¡°Complaining won¡¯t help,¡± Thomas added harshly.


    Edward¡¯s voice softened. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have been so harsh if you were sick. I¡¯m in pain...¡±


    Thomas¡¯s expression softened slightly.


    ¡°I¡¯ll overlook your behavior, Edward, because I care for you,¡± Thomas said, extending his hand to touch Edward¡¯s wet silk mantle. Despite the heat, Edward was shivering.


    ¡°What should we do?¡± Edward asked, trying to control his chattering teeth. ¡°If we could make it to Frankfort¡ª¡±


    ¡°Why Frankfort?¡± Thomas interrupted.


    ¡°Well, I know an old witch there who was friendly with Master Lukas. She might take us in,¡± Edward explained.


    ¡°We can¡¯t get to Frankfort or anywhere without money...it¡¯s so dark!¡± Thomas exclaimed.


    ¡°And raining heavily! I¡¯m soaked through...and my ankle...¡± Edward complained.


    Thomas clenched his jaw. ¡°We¡¯ll find a way, despite the odds. Are we so easily discouraged?¡±


    ¡°A light!¡± Edward whispered excitedly. ¡°I see a light!¡±


    Thomas scanned the darkness and spotted a faint light with a misty glow, slowly approaching.


    ¡°A traveler,¡± Thomas remarked. ¡°Will he see us?¡±


    ¡°He might offer help,¡± Edward suggested optimistically, ¡°unless he¡¯s from the college.¡±


    ¡°No, he¡¯s on horseback,¡± Thomas observed.


    They could hear the horse¡¯s slow steps amid the rain¡¯s drumming. The light from the lantern revealed a man holding it and a horseman whose bridle he held.


    ¡°I¡¯ll talk to him,¡± Thomas decided.


    ¡°What if he asks who we are?¡± Edward whispered.


    ¡°Tell him part of the truth¡ªwe left the college after a fight,¡± Thomas instructed.


    As the horseman and his companion neared, Thomas stepped forward. ¡°Excuse me, sir. Do you know of any place besides Basle where we could find shelter?¡±


    The rider, wrapped in a cloak and hat, initially looked wary, his hand hovering near his knife. But as Thomas spoke, the rider¡¯s curiosity was piqued by Thomas¡¯s attire and confident demeanor.


    ¡°We¡¯d be grateful for any shelter, even in your barns,¡± Thomas said to the horseman. The horseman¡¯s gaze shifted to Edward, who was visibly shivering in his silk clothing.


    ¡°Students from the college?¡± the horseman inquired.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Thomas replied. ¡°I had a skirmish and injured a fellow, so I fled. My friend here chose to come along.¡±


    The stranger urged his horse forward. ¡°Certainly, you can come with me. There¡¯s enough space.¡±


    Thomas grasped Edward¡¯s arm. ¡°Sir, we appreciate it,¡± he said.


    The servant¡¯s lantern illuminated the muddy, winding path, the wet tree trunks, the gleaming leaves, and the large brown horse adorned in bright scarlet gear, with its rider wrapped in a cloak up to his chin. Edward observed them both in silence, while Thomas spoke.


    ¡°It¡¯s a dreadful night to be out,¡± Thomas remarked.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been in town,¡± the stranger replied casually, ¡°buying silks for my lady. And you¡ªso you injured a man?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not dead,¡± Thomas clarified, ¡°but we can¡¯t go back to the college.¡±


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    The horseman had a soothing voice that seemed unconcerned about the conversation¡¯s direction. ¡°Where are you headed?¡± he asked.


    ¡°To Frankfort,¡± Thomas answered.


    ¡°The Emperor¡¯s there now, but he¡¯s bound for Rome soon,¡± the horseman mentioned. ¡°Have you met the Empress?¡±


    Thomas pushed aside the overhanging branches. ¡°No, we haven¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°She was in Nola a year ago,¡± the horseman continued, ¡°a wonder of the world, they say. But I suppose you¡¯re not going to Frankfort to see her.¡±


    ¡°Indeed not,¡± Edward finally spoke up.


    ¡°I figured as much,¡± the horseman replied, falling silent.


    They emerged from the woods onto a grassy slope, rain pelting their faces. Following a winding path uphill among scattered rocks, their progress slowed. They didn¡¯t speak until they reached a gate in a tall wall that loomed out of the darkness.


    The servant handed the lantern to his master and rang the bell beside the gate. Thomas could sense the enormity of the castle concealed in the night, a residence fit for nobility. The gates opened, revealing men with lights. The horseman rode in, followed by the two students.


    ¡°Inform my lady,¡± the horseman instructed one of the men, ¡°that I bring two guests seeking her hospitality.¡± Turning to Thomas, he added, ¡°I¡¯m the steward here; my lady is kind-hearted.¡±


    They crossed a courtyard and approached the square door of the castle¡¯s main tower. Edward glanced at Thomas, who remained quiet and subdued. Their guide dismounted, handed the reins to a servant, and gestured for them to follow.


    The door swung open, revealing a vast chamber that encompassed the entire donjon. Torches flickered on the walls, casting eerie shadows across the room. Men in varied attire, some in lustrous golden and blue livery, others in armor or hunting gear, populated the space. A few pilgrims with the emblematic cockle-shells adorned their hats mingled among them.


    The steward led the way, garnering only minimal acknowledgment from the occupants as he made his way through. They ascended a steep, damp staircase lit dimly by a solitary lamp in a deep-set window niche. Edward, drenched and shivering, watched as the steward removed his wet mantle, leaving damp trails on the cold stone steps. Thomas noticed this detail, though its significance eluded him.


    Reaching the top of the stairs, they paused on a small landing. Thomas inquired, ¡°Who is your lady?¡±


    ¡°Jacobea of Martzburg, the Emperor¡¯s ward,¡± the steward replied, revealing himself as a young man dressed plainly in deep rose attire with high boots and a short sword.


    As they entered the immense chamber, Edward whispered to Thomas, ¡°Is this the lady we encountered today?¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± Thomas murmured in response. ¡°Yes, it is.¡±


    The chamber was vast, its bareness emphasized by the shifting candlelight hanging from the ceiling. A large arched window and a massive fireplace dominated the walls. Tapestries in dull purple and gold adorned the brick walls, while painted beams stretched across the lofty ceiling. A slender white boarhound lay asleep in the center of the hearth, adding to the room¡¯s vastness and shadowy ambiance.


    Amidst the shadows, Thomas discerned the figures of two ladies seated in the window-seat. The steward approached them, and the students followed suit. One lady reclined with a small grey cat in her lap, dressed in a brown gown with gold thread. The other, in a green dress, sat on crimson and yellow cushions, busy with needlework.


    ¡°This is the chatelaine,¡± the steward introduced, gesturing towards Jacobea of Martzburg. She turned to regard the newcomers, her presence commanding attention. ¡°And this is my wife, Sybilla.¡±


    Both women scrutinized the strangers, their expressions unreadable in the dimly lit chamber.


    ¡°These are your guests until tomorrow, my lady,¡± announced the steward, breaking the silence.


    Jacobea leaned forward with a slight flush of surprise. ¡°Well, why, you are welcome,¡± she said in a gracious yet reserved manner.


    Thomas struggled to find his words, inwardly cursing the twist of fate that had brought him to rely on her hospitality. ¡°We are departing the college,¡± he explained, avoiding direct eye contact. ¡°And tonight, we could find no shelter.¡±


    The steward chimed in, ¡°I encountered them and thought it best to bring them here.¡±


    ¡°You acted wisely, Sebastian,¡± Jacobea replied. ¡°Please, gentlemen, have a seat.¡±


    It appeared that she would leave it at that, but Sybilla, the steward¡¯s wife, interrupted with a smile as she looked up from her needlework. ¡°Why did you leave the college on such a wet night?¡±


    Thomas¡¯s reply was blunt. ¡°I killed a man¡ªor nearly did.¡±


    Jacobea turned her gaze to her steward, a silent inquiry in her eyes. ¡°Are they not wet, Sebastian?¡±


    ¡°I am quite dry under this mantle,¡± Thomas interjected quickly, unclasping his cloak. ¡°But he is not,¡± he added, indicating Edward, who stood apart, his eyes fixed on Jacobea.


    ¡°The rain has soaked me to the skin,¡± Edward admitted, his tone tinged with discomfort.


    Jacobea, showing courtesy, remarked, ¡°Sebastian, please take the young man to a chamber. We have plenty of empty rooms, I assure you. Provide him with dry attire.¡±


    ¡°My clothes are too large,¡± Sebastian replied indifferently.


    ¡°He¡¯ll catch an ague,¡± Sybilla interjected. ¡°Give him something that fits, Sebastian.¡±


    Sebastian gestured towards the door beside the fireplace. ¡°Follow me, sir,¡± he said to Edward, who nodded and ascended the stairs after him.


    The chatelaine pulled a bell-rope, summoning a page in livery. She whispered instructions, and the page fetched Thomas¡¯s wet mantle, set up a carved chair for him, and departed.


    Alone with the two women, Thomas felt a sense of unease. He observed Jacobea¡¯s attire, her delicate features, and the velvety shoes peeking from beneath her gown. His gaze then turned to Sybilla, noting her striking appearance¡ªpale complexion, fiery red hair, and intense blue eyes that seemed too sharp and unyielding.


    The room was steeped in silence, adding to Thomas¡¯s discomfort as he sat there, feeling like an unwelcome guest in this grand but unsettling environment.


    Thomas¡¯s eyes kept returning to Jacobea, a mixture of pride and unease swelling within him as she remained silent, almost as if she had forgotten his presence altogether. He held back the words that threatened to spill from his lips, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks each time she shifted in her seat without acknowledging him.


    After a while, the steward returned and settled into a chair between Thomas and his wife, seemingly without reason other than its proximity. He fiddled with the laces on his sleeves, a silent figure in the gathering darkness of the room.


    An eerie aura enveloped Thomas as he sat there, sensing an ominous weight hanging over these seemingly tranquil people who exchanged no words. He clasped his hands together, fixating his gaze on Jacobea.


    Finally, Sebastian broke the silence. ¡°You¡¯re headed to Frankfort?¡±


    Thomas nodded. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°We are also, soon, aren¡¯t we, Sebastian?¡± Jacobea interjected.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be heading to the court,¡± Thomas remarked.


    ¡°I am the Emperor¡¯s ward,¡± Jacobea replied.


    The conversation tapered off into silence once more, punctuated only by the soft sound of Sybilla¡¯s needlework. Thomas stole a glance at Sebastian and was struck by the passion etched onto his face, a stark contrast to his subdued voice¡ªan enigmatic countenance that sent a shiver down Thomas¡¯s spine.


    ¡°How quiet the castle is tonight,¡± Jacobea remarked, her voice barely audible in the heavy stillness.


    ¡°There¡¯s plenty of noise below, but it doesn¡¯t reach us here,¡± Sebastian replied.


    A page returned with glasses of wine, offering them first to Thomas and then to the steward. The cold touch of the green glass sent a chill down Thomas¡¯s spine, intensifying his sense of impending dread. Were these ominous feelings merely figments of his imagination, fueled by recent disturbing thoughts?


    Jacobea mentioned the rain, reaching out of the window to feel its wetness. Sybilla remarked on the heat, creating a discordant contrast in the atmosphere. The page collected the glasses and exited the room, leaving behind a palpable silence.


    Just then, the door near the fireplace creaked open, and Edward entered, adding to the eerie quiet of the gathering.

 Chapter 10

    <hr>


    In his flame-colored mantle that draped heavily around him, Edward exuded a newfound liveliness, a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere of the room. His eyes gleamed with an intensity that seemed almost unnatural.


    ¡°Seems like a merry night,¡± he remarked, his gaze sweeping across the gathered group. ¡°Shall I entertain with a tune or a song?¡± His eyes locked onto Jacobea, who responded hastily, sensing the tension in the air.


    ¡°Surely, with this oppressive heat tonight,¡± she replied.


    Edward¡¯s laughter filled the room, catching Thomas off guard with the sudden shift in demeanor. Leaning against the wall, he observed the silent faces around him with an air of amusement.


    ¡°I¡¯m quite the musician,¡± he boasted with a smile.


    Jacobea retrieved an instrument from the window-seat cushions¡ªa red, heart-shaped body with three strings on a long neck. ¡°Can you handle this?¡± she asked, a hint of apprehension in her voice.


    ¡°Aye,¡± Edward confidently replied, taking the instrument. ¡°I¡¯ll serenade you with a fine tune.¡±


    Thomas, usually adept with music, was surprised by Edward¡¯s hidden talent. Yet, a sense of helplessness gripped him, as if an invisible force held him captive in this eerie setting.


    With the instrument in hand, Edward began to play, the melody harsh and mocking. As he sang softly, his shadow cast a looming figure on the wall, the tapestry¡¯s deep hues accentuating his flamboyant attire and pale complexion.


    The nonsensical lyrics flowed from his lips, captivating the listeners who sat in stillness. Sybilla resumed her sewing, her movements rhythmic against the eerie melody.


    Thomas couldn¡¯t bear the oppressive atmosphere any longer, his disdain growing for the place and its occupants. Edward¡¯s rhymes, though seemingly innocent, carried an unsettling undertone.


    Jacobea, perturbed, released the cat from the cushions and stood, a forced smile on her lips. ¡°Is that the song of a foolish lady?¡± she inquired.


    ¡°Aye, and if she had offered her love, it might not have been spurned,¡± Edward replied, his bow slicing across the strings.


    ¡°Do you truly believe that?¡± Jacobea¡¯s voice quivered.


    ¡°Well, she was wealthy, fair, and young,¡± Edward mused. ¡°Had she not been so foolish, she could have been his second wife.¡±


    Thomas watched Jacobea¡¯s bewildered expression, sensing her inner turmoil. Sybilla¡¯s comment about the first wife added to the tension, but Edward continued, unfazed by the discomfort he stirred.


    ¡°The tale is an old one,¡± Edward concluded. ¡°If only she had confessed her love, perhaps the squire would have been free to love her in return.¡±


    As Jacobea bid the others good night, a weariness settled over the room, casting an eerie pallor upon the dimly lit hall. Sybilla¡¯s movements were deliberate as she rose, her eyes reflecting a mix of weariness and unease.


    ¡°To-morrow I¡¯ll see you off, gentlemen,¡± Jacobea spoke softly, her gaze shifting between Thomas and Edward. She moved towards the door, Edward holding it open for her, their eyes briefly meeting before she looked away, a blush tingeing her cheeks.


    Sybilla glanced at the sand clock, signaling the lateness of the hour. She linked arms with Jacobea, a subtle smile directed at Thomas, before they ascended the stairs, their steps echoing faintly in the quiet hall. The little cat trailed after them, its presence adding to the eerie atmosphere.


    Sebastian retrieved the red silk lily, the candles flickering as if straining against the encroaching darkness. ¡°You know your room,¡± he told Edward, keys jangling in his hand. ¡°I¡¯ll be here in the morning. Good night.¡±


    Thomas bid them good night heavily, his mind swirling with questions and unease. Edward, still holding his instrument, lounged in the window-seat, a mocking smile playing on his lips.


    Sebastian left without looking back, the door closing behind him with a resounding thud. Alone in the shadowy hall, Edward¡¯s demeanor turned cynical. ¡°Is there no one to guide us?¡± he taunted, his tone dripping with disdain.


    Thomas paced, his agitation palpable. ¡°What was that song about?¡± he demanded. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with this place and these people? She didn¡¯t even look at me.¡±


    Edward toyed with the instrument, emitting eerie sounds. ¡°She¡¯s pretty, your chatelaine,¡± he remarked, his gaze piercing through the darkness. ¡°You might find yourself falling for her.¡±


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Thomas bristled. ¡°You mock me because she¡¯s a noblewoman,¡± he retorted. ¡°I don¡¯t love her, but...¡±


    ¡°But what?¡± Edward prodded.


    ¡°If our powers could sway her to me,¡± Thomas hesitated, his thoughts racing.


    ¡°You¡¯ll never have her,¡± Edward snapped, a dangerous glint in his eyes.


    Frustrated, Thomas confronted him. ¡°Who¡¯s to say? I¡¯ll use any means necessary.¡±


    ¡°Even dark ones?¡± Edward challenged, rising to his feet.


    ¡°I¡¯ve cast aside my doubts,¡± Thomas declared, desperation creeping into his voice. ¡°I¡¯ll do anything to win her.¡±


    Edward¡¯s smile turned sinister. ¡°You¡¯re changed tonight.¡±


    Thomas shot him a glare. ¡°I need rest.¡±


    ¡°The chamber¡¯s ready upstairs,¡± Edward informed coldly. ¡°I¡¯ll stay here.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Thomas pressed, unsettled by Edward¡¯s demeanor.


    Edward¡¯s smile widened, devoid of warmth.


    As Thomas retired to his chamber, leaving Edward alone in the dimly lit hall, a transformation overtook Edward¡¯s demeanor. His proud countenance twisted with agony and desperation, his hands clenched as he paced in turmoil. The flickering candles cast dancing shadows, and the incessant rain outside added to the eerie ambiance.


    ¡°I¡¯ll thwart him,¡± Edward muttered, his voice steady but filled with determination, as if addressing an unseen entity. ¡°You¡¯ll see to it. Haven¡¯t I served you faithfully since I left the monastery? Haven¡¯t you promised me great power, whispered secrets of forbidden knowledge?¡±


    He turned, as though confronting an invisible presence, his eyes darting around as if following some ethereal figure. ¡°I¡¯ll ensure he fails. Did you send me here for this purpose? They seem aware of your influence tonight¡ªhush! Someone approaches.¡±


    Edward pressed against the wall, signaling silence, his gaze fixed on the door at the far end of the hall. As it creaked open, Sebastian entered cautiously, holding a small lamp that illuminated his dark features and pink attire. His eyes met Edward¡¯s, a hint of anticipation in his gaze.


    ¡°You¡¯re still awake?¡± Sebastian remarked, his tone layered with curiosity and excitement. ¡°You sought me out. Why?¡±


    Edward leaned casually, masking his inner turmoil. ¡°I couldn¡¯t sleep. Your words have troubled me. Who are you? What did you mean?¡±


    Sebastian loosened his attire, his unease palpable. ¡°Tonight feels different, as if stirred by your words,¡± he confessed. ¡°Who are you truly?¡±


    Edward maintained his enigmatic smile. ¡°Just a student from Basle college. And you know what I meant.¡±


    Sebastian¡¯s expression shifted, a mix of disbelief and realization crossing his face. ¡°God! How could you know¡ªeven if it¡¯s true? But perhaps there¡¯s sense in it¡ªshe¡¯s shown me favor.¡±


    Edward¡¯s smile deepened. ¡°Imagine the possibilities. A wealthy lady, her husband a nobleman.¡±


    Sebastian¡¯s mind raced, grappling with newfound thoughts. ¡°You¡¯ve planted seeds of doubt in me! I talk foolishly to a stranger, yet your words linger.¡±


    Edward¡¯s laughter filled the room. ¡°Consider your mistress. Watch her closely.¡±


    Sebastian¡¯s voice quivered. ¡°I have a wife.¡±


    Edward¡¯s demeanor turned cryptic. ¡°But will she live forever?¡±


    Sebastian recoiled, a sudden dread gripping him. ¡°There¡¯s sorcery in this¡ªyour words...¡±


    ¡°Remember them well,¡± Edward urged, his tone cryptic. ¡°You¡¯ll hear no more from me.¡±


    Sebastian stood bewildered, as if awakening from a spell. ¡°I feel I¡¯ve lost my senses tonight. I don¡¯t know why I came here or what these thoughts mean.¡±


    Edward¡¯s smile held a hint of mischief. ¡°Perhaps fate will bring us together in Frankfort, sir steward.¡±


    Sebastian grasped Edward¡¯s words eagerly. ¡°I¡¯ll be there¡ªwith my lady¡ª¡± His voice trailed off.


    ¡°As for me,¡± Edward replied, ¡°I don¡¯t yet know where I¡¯ll reside or what name I¡¯ll take. But you¡ªshould I need to find you, it will be at the Emperor¡¯s court?¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± Sebastian said reluctantly. ¡°But what business would you have with me?¡±


    ¡°Maybe it¡¯ll be you needing me,¡± Edward grinned. ¡°After all, I¡¯ve planted thoughts in your head tonight that you won¡¯t easily shake.¡±


    Sebastian turned quickly, snatching the lamp. ¡°I¡¯ll see you before you leave,¡± he whispered, fear etched on his face. ¡°We¡¯ll talk more tomorrow.¡±


    Filled with dread and a sense of self-loathing, Sebastian hurriedly left through the door he had entered. Edward, tingling with excitement, noticed the dimming candles and the eerie atmosphere of the hall. He approached the window, the rain now ceased, and the night enveloped in a stifling darkness.


    Closing the window, Edward reclined on the cushions, thoughts consumed by Jacobea. Her image dominated his mind, overshadowing the events of the day¡ªhis time in the library, the eerie fire, the frantic flight to the castle. To him, she was a captivating enigma, her essence akin to a delicate ivory pyx filled with crimson blooms¡ªguarded secrets and fervent emotions.


    His plan crystallized¡ªto unravel her secrets, to destroy her soul as retribution for her interference with Thomas, not out of hatred for her beauty or presence. ¡°She¡¯s so beautiful,¡± he murmured, a hint of tenderness in his voice.


    As the last candle flickered and died, Edward lay in the darkness, envisioning Jacobea in her bed, her hair flowing freely. A longing stirred within him, a desire to hold her, to share laughter and intimacy. He saw her as a creature worthy of love, even as his intentions darkened with thoughts of manipulation and destruction.


    The force that had brought Edward here tonight made it clear: if he didn¡¯t seize the opportunity to destroy her, she¡¯d forever have Thomas. He had initiated the game, seeing the beginning of the end in Sebastian¡¯s dark visage.


    But as he thought of her, tears welled up. He wept wearily, face buried in the cushion, thinking of her long, soft yellow hair soon to be tarnished in despair. Mocking himself for his tears, he fell asleep, only to wake to the sound of his name echoing.


    Sitting up, Edward saw Thomas, pale and fully dressed, urging him to leave. Edward, struck by Thomas¡¯s beauty in the dawn light, remained silent, impressed by his friend¡¯s wild yet pained expression.


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t sleep,¡± Thomas confessed. ¡°I don¡¯t want to see them¡ªher¡ªagain, not like this. Get up, Edward. Why didn¡¯t you come to bed? I needed your company¡ªthings were haunting me.¡±


    ¡°Her face, mostly?¡± Edward whispered.


    ¡°Aye, mostly her face,¡± Thomas replied solemnly.


    Edward considered the open castle and the lurking servants. ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± he agreed, regretting only that he wouldn¡¯t see her delicate face and golden hair again.


    As they readied to depart, a rush of emotion overcame Edward. Despite everything, nothing stood between him and Thomas. They were to face whatever lay ahead together, alone.

 Chapter 11

    <hr>


    They trudged through the forest, the sun casting golden figures through the pines onto their path. Thomas, lost, hungry, and weary, harbored bitterness for leaving Jacobea¡¯s castle. Edward, though fatigued, remained hopeful.


    ¡°We¡¯ll find help,¡± Edward assured. ¡°Remember last night? We were hopeless until someone offered us shelter.¡±


    The forest led them to a gorge, water trickling through rocks, a white horse grazing nearby, and a monk in a blue-grey habit sitting peacefully.


    Thomas, scornful of all things holy since his expulsion from the Church, muttered, ¡°What good is he?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll talk to him,¡± Edward replied with a smile.


    The monk greeted them with calmness, offering rest and food from his meager supplies. Despite their hunger, they ate in silence, Thomas consuming more than his share. Edward, more reserved, drank deeply from the cool water.


    ¡°You¡¯re from Basle?¡± the monk inquired.


    ¡°We¡¯re headed to Frankfort,¡± Edward confirmed.


    ¡°A long journey, but a pleasant one,¡± the monk remarked cheerfully. ¡°I¡¯m Ambrose of Menthon, returning to serve Christus here.¡±


    Thomas, recognizing the name of Saint Ambrose, grew uneasy. ¡°What brings you here, Father? I thought you were in Rome.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve returned to serve Christus better,¡± Ambrose explained humbly. ¡°If it¡¯s God¡¯s will, I¡¯ll build a monastery up there,¡± he gestured toward the mountains.


    His serene demeanor and purposeful words hinted at a deeper, hidden purpose.


    As they journeyed, Ambrose of Menthon shared his plans for a monastery in the snowy peaks, funded by generous donations from the wealthy castles.


    ¡°Ain¡¯t you scared of bandits, Father?¡± Edward inquired, his tone tinged with skepticism.


    The saint¡¯s serene smile remained. ¡°Nay; God¡¯s money is sacred even to the wicked. I fear nothing.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s much evil in folks¡¯ hearts,¡± Edward remarked, his smile mirroring Ambrose¡¯s.


    ¡°Judge with kindness,¡± Ambrose replied. ¡°The world holds both good and bad. Your bitterness betrays a troubled soul. Earthly riches fade, but God offers eternal life.¡±


    As they walked, Edward proposed joining Ambrose, feigning ignorance of the way.


    ¡°Welcome, my sons,¡± Ambrose welcomed warmly.


    The trio journeyed together, discussing various topics. Ambrose spoke of nature, saints, and theological debates, surprised by Edward¡¯s extensive knowledge. Thomas, envious of Edward¡¯s intellect, stewed in silence.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    At dusk, they reached a valley with a town below. The Angelus bells chimed, prompting Ambrose to kneel in prayer. The students, hidden in the trees, whispered of seizing the monk¡¯s gold.


    ¡°It¡¯s our chance,¡± Thomas whispered eagerly.


    ¡°We could take it without violence,¡± Edward suggested, eyes gleaming.


    ¡°If need be, even that,¡± Thomas agreed, excitement mounting.


    After their prayers, they joined Ambrose at the edge of the forest, overlooking the town.


    ¡°Now we can find our way,¡± Edward declared, his tone determined.


    Ambrose, unaware of their thoughts, asked if they¡¯d accompany him into town, unaware that Thomas had slipped behind him.


    Edward¡¯s eyes gleamed with mischief as he signaled to Thomas. ¡°Let¡¯s head into town, but we¡¯ll leave you out of this, Saint,¡± he declared.


    Thomas swiftly wrapped his mantle around the monk¡¯s head, causing him to stagger backward. Edward swiftly bound the saint¡¯s hands with a leather belt, and together they dragged him into the shadows of the trees.


    Thomas sneered, ¡°I¡¯m tired of your preachin¡¯, and your sickly face ain¡¯t pleasant to look at.¡±


    They tied Ambrose to a tree, the saint offering no resistance or protest. ¡°Man¡¯s heart is full of evil,¡± Edward jeered. ¡°And saints ain¡¯t immune to foolishness!¡±


    Examining their spoils, they found parchments, books, and bags filled with gold coins, each stamped with the Emperor¡¯s likeness. The sight of so much wealth left them silent and trembling.


    Thomas, hearing the coins clink, felt his doubts fade. He was convinced that their encounter with Ambrose was no coincidence but a gift from the devil himself. The pleasure of having such riches was intoxicating, surpassing even the allure of Jacobea of Martzburg.


    As they loaded the gold onto the pony, Edward chuckled. ¡°I¡¯ll fetch my mantle,¡± Thomas said, approaching Ambrose and removing the covering from his head. The saint slumped over, seemingly lifeless.


    Edward joked, ¡°Looks like he¡¯s fainted.¡±


    Thomas, noticing blood on the saint¡¯s robe and straps, examined him closely. Underneath, Ambrose wore a belt lined with sharp points, inflicting immense pain when bound.


    ¡°Hurry!¡± urged Edward.


    Thomas, troubled by the saint¡¯s suffering, hesitated. ¡°What do we do with him?¡±


    Edward dismissed it. ¡°Leave him. It¡¯s not our concern.¡±


    With the sunset painting the sky, they descended into the valley, concocting a story to explain Ambrose¡¯s state to the townsfolk. They stocked up on supplies and ventured back into the wilderness, their hearts pounding with the thrill of their newfound wealth and darker deeds.


    The two men spread out a lavish feast, a stark contrast to the humble meal of Ambrose. With the gold they had acquired, they indulged in yellow and red wines, baked meats, cakes, jellies, and fruits. Their laughter echoed through the tranquil night, a stark contrast to their previous hardships.


    The sky above was clear, a vast expanse devoid of clouds, a sharp contrast to the stormy night they had endured. They reveled in their newfound wealth, toasting their mysterious benefactor with wine purchased with the very gold meant for God¡¯s snowy sanctuary.


    Edward¡¯s spirits soared as he savored the fragrant pine-scented air, the deep hues of the forest, the verdant grass, and the shifting colors of the sky at dusk. A passing herd of mountain goats and the distant lights of the town were the only signs of life in the serene landscape.


    As they enjoyed their meal, Edward broached a subject that had been lingering in his mind. ¡°Do you recall the vision in the mirror, the woman¡¯s face? Was it Jacobea?¡±


    Thomas¡¯s demeanor shifted, his expression darkening. ¡°No, it wasn¡¯t her. It was entirely different.¡±


    He fell into a contemplative silence, lost in thought while Edward watched him intently. Eventually, fatigue overcame Thomas, and he drifted into sleep.


    In his slumber, Thomas was enchanted by a hauntingly beautiful song, so exquisite that he feared it was merely a dream. The melodious voice soared and descended, filling the night with a joyous serenade. When he awoke, he searched for the source of the song in vain, realizing bitterly that it was but a fleeting dream, leaving him yearning for its return.

 Chapter 12

    <hr>


    In a hidden corner of Frankfort lurked an ancient one-story house, veiled by a lush garden and whispers of sinister enchantments. Nathalie, its mysterious inhabitant, was rumored to be a witch from distant lands, her origins shrouded in secrecy and suspicion. Despite such rumors, no concrete evidence of her dark arts had ever surfaced, shielding her from scrutiny.


    The garden, once rumored to host eerie feasts and shadowy gatherings, now lay deserted, basking in the oppressive summer heat. Red roses, vibrant and alluring, adorned the overgrown foliage, casting a stark contrast against the house¡¯s foreboding aura.


    Inside, a dimly lit chamber revealed Edward, a figure immersed in arcane pursuits. Clad in somber attire, he marked a date on a parchment calendar with a crimson pencil, his demeanor a blend of concentration and contemplation. His companion, Thomas, joined him, exuding a brooding elegance that belied his inner turmoil.


    Edward shared his ambitions with a hint of pride. ¡°My name spreads through Frankfort,¡± he proclaimed, a glint of determination in his eyes.


    Thomas, however, remained distant, his gaze fixed on the vibrant garden beyond the shuttered window. ¡°Your doctrines stir controversy,¡± he remarked, his tone tinged with reservation.


    Unperturbed, Edward defended his unorthodox teachings. ¡°I challenge the norms, yet they come to learn,¡± he remarked, a trace of defiance in his voice.


    Thomas¡¯s eyes narrowed, betraying a mixture of envy and resignation. ¡°Your fame grows while mine remains hidden,¡± he confessed, his bitterness palpable.


    Their conversation shifted to darker realms, hinting at forbidden knowledge and elusive powers. ¡°We delve into secrets,¡± Edward declared, a flicker of excitement dancing in his words.


    Thomas, however, harbored doubts about his own abilities. ¡°I struggle to command the spirits,¡± he admitted, a shadow of defeat clouding his features.


    Edward¡¯s concern deepened at his friend¡¯s admission. The specter of their intertwined fates and the looming darkness of their ambitions hung heavy in the air, casting a foreboding spell over their clandestine pursuits.


    As tension thickened between them, Edward¡¯s face betrayed a mix of anguish and desperation. ¡°Your success is not mine,¡± Thomas declared with a hint of bitterness. ¡°Nathalie favors you, not me. I lack both fame and fortune¡ªSaint Ambrose¡¯s gold is gone, and I rely on your charity.¡±


    Edward¡¯s gaze softened, reflecting genuine concern. ¡°That¡¯s not true,¡± he protested weakly, but his troubled expression spoke volumes.


    ¡°I¡¯m leaving,¡± Thomas announced firmly, sending a shockwave through Edward.


    ¡°Leaving Frankfort?¡± Edward gasped, his voice strained with disbelief.


    ¡°No, this place,¡± Thomas clarified, his determination unwavering.


    Edward¡¯s features drained of color as if drained by unseen forces. ¡°You can¡¯t mean that,¡± he pleaded, his distress palpable.


    Thomas, resolute, faced the room. ¡°I won¡¯t break our bond,¡± he reassured, though his gaze wandered to the witch¡¯s garden outside.


    ¡°Where will you go?¡± Edward¡¯s voice quivered with anxiety.


    ¡°To Court,¡± Thomas revealed, his eyes glinting with a mix of excitement and resolve. ¡°Jacobea of Martzburg offered me a position as her cousin¡¯s secretary. I¡¯ll be close to her.¡±


    Edward¡¯s response was a silent agony, his hopes crumbling before him. ¡°Are you happy?¡± he managed to ask, his voice barely audible.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t forgotten her,¡± Thomas affirmed, his voice swelling with emotion. ¡°And there¡¯s potential for us to achieve more through your dark arts.¡±


    Edward¡¯s anguish filled the room like a heavy fog. ¡°I¡¯ll lose you,¡± he whispered, his despair evident.


    ¡°You¡¯ll still see me often,¡± Thomas tried to reassure, but Edward¡¯s sorrow was palpable.


    Their conversation spiraled into the depths of their conflicting desires and their pact with darkness. As Thomas turned to leave, Edward¡¯s haunted gaze lingered, torn between loyalty and longing, as the shadows of their choices loomed large in the dim room.


    Edward¡¯s desperation filled the room as Thomas prepared to depart. ¡°Are you leaving?¡± he asked, his voice trembling with fear.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Thomas replied firmly, his hand on the door.


    ¡°Don¡¯t go,¡± Edward pleaded, his words catching in his throat. ¡°We have everything ahead of us if we stick together...if you...¡± He couldn¡¯t finish, overcome with emotion.


    But Thomas was resolute. ¡°Your arguments won¡¯t change my mind,¡± he stated, opening the door and stepping out.


    Left alone, Edward sank onto the luxurious gold cushions, his fingers entwined in anxiety. Through the window, the vibrant red roses in the garden contrasted sharply with the blue sky, a scene of deceptive tranquility.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    As Thomas sang upstairs, a bitter realization dawned on Edward. ¡°He sings because he¡¯s leaving,¡± he whispered to himself, a pang of anguish piercing his heart.


    The next time Thomas entered, he was ready to depart, his belongings bundled up. ¡°I¡¯ll bid Nathalie farewell tomorrow, or maybe tonight. But I must see the Chamberlain now,¡± he informed Edward.


    Numb with grief, Edward could only nod, still standing by the calendar that marked their fateful meeting.


    Once Thomas left again, Edward felt the weight of his departure crushing him. ¡°He¡¯s gone¡ªgone¡ªgone,¡± he repeated softly, feeling the loss keenly.


    He approached the window, opening it wider to let in the sunlight. The roses outside seemed to mock his sorrow with their vibrant beauty.


    In a moment of desperation, Edward cried out to the heavens, invoking dark forces. ¡°Satan! Give him back to me! I¡¯ll give you anything!¡± His plea echoed through the room, but there was no answer, only the buzz of bees among the roses.


    As he collapsed into the window-seat, Nathalie, the witch, appeared before him. Edward¡¯s gaze was filled with a mixture of sorrow and anger as he confessed, ¡°Thomas has gone.¡±


    Nathalie¡¯s response was calm and unsurprised. ¡°I knew he would,¡± she stated matter-of-factly.


    ¡°He left without a proper farewell, without remorse,¡± Edward lamented, his distress evident.


    ¡°He is neither good nor evil,¡± Nathalie observed, her eyes glinting with wisdom. ¡°Let him go. His heart and passions are in conflict; he lacks the courage and clarity to succeed.¡±


    ¡°But I want him back,¡± Edward insisted, his longing palpable.


    With a knowing smile, Nathalie shook her head. ¡°You who can have the world, let him go.¡± Her words echoed in the room, leaving Edward to grapple with his grief and the harsh reality of Thomas¡¯s departure.


    ¡°He¡¯ll come back. He¡¯s too deep in it to stay away,¡± Nathalie remarked confidently.


    ¡°I want him back for good,¡± Edward exclaimed. ¡°He¡¯s my partner¡ªhe has to be by my side always¡ªhis thoughts should be only of me.¡±


    Nathalie¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°This is foolishness. From the day you came to me talking about Master Lukas, I saw your path¡ªyours was to be everything, his nothing. I saw your name echoing across the world while he faded into obscurity.¡± She stood up emphatically. ¡°Let him go! He¡¯ll only hold you back, a burden on your journey. He¡¯s envious of you, not particularly skilled...what can you say about him except that he¡¯s nice to look at?¡±


    Edward slipped off the cushions, pacing the room slowly. A serene smile graced his lips, his eyes reflecting a gentleness.


    ¡°What can I say about him? In three words¡ªI love him,¡± Edward declared, folding his arms and lifting his head.


    ¡°You came from mystery¡ªas you should,¡± the witch smiled.


    Edward¡¯s smile was tinged with pain. ¡°It¡¯s a mystery...to speak of it would be to invite damnation right here and now. It feels so distant, so strange, so dreadful...well, well!¡± He rubbed his forehead, lost in thought. ¡°As I worked in Master Lukas¡¯s abandoned house, painting, carving, reading forbidden texts, I felt no fear; it was like I had no soul...so why fear losing what was gone before I existed? ¡®The Devil put me here,¡¯ I said, ¡¯and I¡¯ll serve him...he¡¯ll make me his emissary on earth...and I waited for his command. People spoke of Antichrist! What if that¡¯s me?¡¯...that¡¯s what I thought.¡±


    ¡°And so it shall be,¡± the witch whispered.


    Edward¡¯s eyes gleamed with intensity. ¡°Could anyone but a demon entertain such thoughts?...then Thomas came, and I saw in him a mirror of myself¡ªhe did what I did, knew what I knew; and¡ªand¡±¡ªhis voice faltered¡ª¡°I remember watching him sleep¡ªand then I realized I wasn¡¯t a demon, for I knew I loved him. I had terrible thoughts¡ªif I love, I have a soul, and if I have a soul, it¡¯s doomed;¡ªbut he¡¯ll go with me¡ªif I¡¯m from hell, I¡¯ll return to hell, and he¡¯ll come with me;¡ªif I¡¯m damned, he¡¯ll be damned and walk hand in hand with me into the abyss!¡±


    His smile vanished, replaced by fervent determination. ¡°She may try to claim his soul¡ªif he loves her, she might lure him to heaven¡ªwith her golden hair! Didn¡¯t I long for blonde locks when I saw my bride?...I¡¯ve forgotten what I was saying¡ªI mean, she doesn¡¯t truly love him...¡±


    ¡°But she might,¡± the witch interjected. ¡°He¡¯s charming and handsome.¡±


    Edward turned his darkening gaze to Nathalie. ¡°She can¡¯t.¡±


    The witch played with her fingers. ¡°We can control many things, but not love or hate.¡±


    Edward placed a hand on his chest. ¡°Her heart belongs to another¡ªa man in her employ, ambitious, poor, and married.¡±


    Approaching the witch, Edward, slender yet radiant, seemed almost ethereal compared to the aged Eastern woman. ¡°Do you grasp my intent?¡± he asked.


    The witch blinked slowly. ¡°I understand that witchcraft or dark magic aren¡¯t necessary here.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Edward agreed. ¡°Her own feelings will betray her...she¡¯ll be the one to bring him back to me.¡±


    Nathalie shifted, her coins tinkling in her hair. ¡°Edward, why are you fixated on his return?¡± she asked, torn between reproach and longing. She gently touched the impassive yet smiling youth. ¡°You¡¯re destined for greatness,¡± she spoke with eagerness. ¡°I might not have much to my name, but you hold the keys to many realms. The world will bow to you¡ªlet him go.¡±


    Edward maintained his smile. ¡°No,¡± he replied softly.


    The witch shrugged and turned away. ¡°I¡¯m just your servant now. You know the words that can command me and all my kind. So be it; bring your Thomas back.¡±


    Edward¡¯s smile grew more profound. ¡°I won¡¯t need your help. I can handle this alone. Even if it risks my path to greatness, I¡¯ll have my partner back.¡±


    ¡°It won¡¯t be hard,¡± the witch agreed. ¡°A silly girl¡¯s influence versus yours!¡± She chuckled.


    ¡°There¡¯s another who¡¯ll try to keep him at Court,¡± Edward mused. ¡°His old friend, the Margrave¡¯s son, Balthasar of Nola, who shines in the Emperor¡¯s circle. I met him recently¡ªhe¡¯s my enemy too.¡±


    ¡°Well, the Devil will turn them all in your favor,¡± the witch remarked with a smile.


    Edward glanced absently at her as she crept away.


    As the sunset approached, its red light danced in the roses, casting a deep crimson hue in the dim chamber. Edward stood by the window, deep in thought, concocting plans where Jacobea, her steward, Sybilla, and Thomas would be entangled like flies in a web; a mix of devilish plots and desperate human emotions brewed grotesquely in his mind, birthing dark and macabre ideas.


    The sound of a bell broke his reverie, reminding him of a time when that sound had interrupted his thoughts in an empty house¡ªwhen he had found Thomas outside his door. Edward left the room to find the witch, but she had vanished. He assumed the bell was for her; she often had secretive visitors. Crossing the dark passage, he opened the door to the small garden that separated the house from the cobbled street. There stood a woman in a green hood and mantle, deep within the porch¡¯s shadow.


    ¡°Whom do you seek?¡± Edward asked cautiously.


    The stranger replied in a low voice. ¡°You. Aren¡¯t you the young lecturer who talks about many things? They call you Constantine.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Edward confirmed. ¡°I am.¡±


    ¡°I heard you today. I need to speak with you.¡±


    She wore a mask that hid her face completely, just as her cloak concealed her form. Edward¡¯s sharp eyes gleaned nothing about her.


    ¡°Come in,¡± she insisted urgently.


    Edward held the door open, and she entered the passage, breathing fast.


    ¡°Follow me,¡± Edward said with a smile, convinced she was Jacobea of Martzburg.

 Chapter 13

    <hr>


    Edward and the lady reentered the room, where he placed a chair for her by the window. He waited for her to speak, his gaze fixed on her shrouded figure.


    The lady wore a mask typical of Italian fashion, resembling a plague-stricken face with green and yellow patches. These masks, nicknamed ¡°melons,¡± concealed every feature except for the eyes and mouth, favored by ladies for their anonymity. Her hood and mantle further obscured her identity, leaving no skin exposed.


    ¡°You¡¯re well hidden,¡± Edward remarked eventually, as the lady remained silent. ¡°What brings you to me?¡±


    He began to doubt if she was Jacobea, noting her height and reticence.


    ¡°Are we alone?¡± she asked, her voice slightly muffled by the mask.


    ¡°No one here,¡± Edward replied, growing impatient. ¡°Who are you?¡±


    ¡°That can wait,¡± she replied, her eyes sparkling through the mask. ¡°But I know who you are, sir.¡±


    ¡°You do?¡± Edward¡¯s tone turned cold.


    She seemed to smile. ¡°Edward Bensouda, expelled from Basle University for practicing black magic.¡±


    Edward was shocked; his past as Doctor Constantine had been carefully hidden. He blushed and paled, unable to defend or deny.


    ¡°It was recent,¡± the lady continued. ¡°Many in Basle still remember.¡±


    Edward¡¯s anger flared. ¡°How did you find this out? Basle is far from Frankfort. What do you want for your silence?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve kept my inquiries discreet,¡± she explained calmly. ¡°I hold your secret alone. I can help you keep it. It would be easy to spread rumors of Edward Bensouda¡¯s demise.¡±


    Edward¡¯s mind raced. ¡°You¡¯re Jacobea of Martzburg¡ª¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she interrupted, startled. ¡°But I know her¡ª¡±


    ¡°She told you about me¡ª¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she repeated. ¡°She knows nothing of you. I alone hold your secret in Frankfort, and I can assist you in concealing it.¡±


    Edward clenched his finger, his lip, his gaze fixated on the abundance of roses, the darkening sky, and the quiet figure in the grotesque speckled mask. If she spoke, he might need to flee Frankfort, disrupting his plans.


    ¡°The town holds another young man,¡± the lady remarked. ¡°He too fled Basle.¡±


    Edward¡¯s face twisted with cunning; he realized she didn¡¯t know about Thomas¡¯s involvement.


    ¡°He was here¡ªnow he¡¯s at Court. He was innocent in Basle, came with me out of friendship. He¡¯s simple and devoted,¡± Edward replied.


    ¡°I¡¯m concerned with you,¡± the lady retorted. ¡°You possess great and terrible skill, in league with evil spirits...your spells ended a life¡ª¡± She paused.


    ¡°Poor soul,¡± Edward muttered darkly.


    The stranger stood, her calm demeanor replaced by fierce, barely restrained passion. She clasped her hands, trembling.


    ¡°Well,¡± she exclaimed hoarsely. ¡°You could do it again, in a softer, subtler manner?¡±


    ¡°For you?¡± Edward whispered.


    ¡°For me,¡± she confirmed, sinking into the window-seat and mechanically adjusting her gloves.


    Silence hung as the dying sunlight bathed the room, casting a red hue over everything. Outside, the roses whispered in the witch¡¯s garden.


    ¡°If you won¡¯t tell me, I can¡¯t help you,¡± Edward stated grimly.


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you this much,¡± she declared passionately. ¡°There¡¯s a man I hate, a man blocking my path. I need him gone, and if you can help¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll be in my power, just as I am in yours,¡± Edward thought, finishing her sentence.


    She gazed at the roses. ¡°I can¡¯t explain the nights of horror and days of bitterness, the resolutions and hatred that led me here. It¡¯s my resolve, and if your magic can assist¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll pay you handsomely,¡± she added quickly.


    ¡°You¡¯ve told me nothing,¡± Edward repeated. ¡°It¡¯s better if you speak plainly.¡±


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    She appeared agitated. ¡°Not today. I¡¯ll return. Your secret is safe for now¡ªthink about what I¡¯ve said.¡±


    She moved to leave, but Edward blocked her path.


    ¡°No,¡± he insisted. ¡°Show your face¡ªhow will I recognize you? You must trust me as I trust you.¡±


    She hesitated, then removed her disguise, revealing her face to the shoulders in the twilight.


    Edward¡¯s first thought was that her beauty surpassed any he¡¯d seen. His second was that it was the same face he and Thomas had glimpsed in the mirror.


    ¡°Oh!¡± Edward exclaimed.


    ¡°Well?¡± the lady asked, holding the hideous mask in her hand.


    As the lady revealed her true beauty, it was as if a new entity had stepped into the dimly lit chamber, her radiance stark against the earlier shadowy figure.


    Her beauty was breathtaking, unimaginable until seen; Edward couldn¡¯t fathom a woman could be so stunning.


    ¡°If Jacobea¡¯s hair was golden, this woman¡¯s locks were pure, glimmering gold, and her eyes a deep, soft violet,¡± Edward mused, admiring her slender throat and rich bodice.


    Her smile faded, her beauty taking on a grave, almost tragic air. ¡°You don¡¯t recognize me?¡± she inquired.


    ¡°No,¡± replied Edward, concealing the fact that he had seen her in his mirror of dark magic. ¡°But will I recognize you again?¡±


    Edward chuckled softly. ¡°You¡¯re unforgettable. Strange that such a face would seek out witchcraft!¡±


    The lady replaced her hideous mask, which now seemed more ghastly after glimpsing her beauty, and wrapped herself in her mantle.


    ¡°I¡¯ll either come to you or send word,¡± she stated. ¡°Reflect on what I¡¯ve said and what I know.¡±


    She disappeared once more under her green cloak. Edward didn¡¯t inquire further but escorted her down the dark passage and opened the door for her. She left swiftly, her footsteps light on the path. Edward watched her vanish into the night, then closed and bolted the door. After a moment of tense excitement, he hurried to the back of the house and into the garden.


    The dim light revealed the sprawling roses as Edward ran among them until he reached a stone statue partly hidden by laurels. In front of it lay a flagstone with an iron ring. Pulling at it, he revealed a trapdoor leading down into the witch¡¯s underground chamber.


    Descending into the dimly lit room, Edward found Nathalie amidst alchemical equipment and eerie decorations. Human bodies hung from ropes, their forms withered and crowned with leaves.


    ¡°One visited me,¡± Edward exclaimed to Nathalie. ¡°A remarkable lady.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± murmured the witch. ¡°Was it part of your plan?¡±


    The air was heavy with foul odors as Edward explained the encounter and his newfound allegiance to the lady¡¯s cause.


    ¡°Who is she?¡± Nathalie blinked.


    ¡°I aim to find out,¡± Edward frowned. ¡°She mentioned Jacobea of Martzburg as well.¡±


    He coughed, affected by the noxious atmosphere, then asked for the crystal globe. Placing it on the floor and drawing a pentagon around it, Nathalie cast her incantations, causing the globe to glow with a pale blue light.


    Edward gazed into it, frustration mounting. ¡°I see nothing,¡± he grumbled.


    Undeterred, Nathalie repeated her incantations, leaning closer with her forehead adorned with yellow coins.


    Rays of light began to shimmer from the globe. ¡°Show me something of the lady who came here today,¡± commanded Edward.


    They waited.


    ¡°Do you see anything?¡± whispered the witch.


    ¡°Yes¡ªvery faintly.¡±


    He stared for a while in silence.


    ¡°I see a man,¡± he said finally. ¡°The spells are off...I see nothing of the lady¡ª¡±


    ¡°Keep watching,¡± urged the witch. ¡°What¡¯s he like?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t make him out clearly...he¡¯s on horseback...in armor...now I can see his face¡ªhe¡¯s young, dark-haired¡ª¡±


    ¡°Do you know him?¡±


    ¡°No¡ªI¡¯ve never laid eyes on him.¡± Edward kept his gaze fixed on the globe. ¡°He¡¯s clearly a knight...impressive but cold...ah!¡±


    His exclamation came as the ball changed; it slowly faded into a faint blue, then returned to its dark, muddy hue.


    He tossed it angrily out of the pentagon.


    ¡°What does that tell me?¡± he exclaimed. ¡°Who is this man?¡±


    ¡°Ask Zerdusht,¡± said the witch, indicating the brass head. ¡°Maybe he¡¯ll speak tonight.¡±


    She threw spices onto the fire, and a thin smoke rose, filling the chamber.


    Edward approached the brass head, his eyes filled with anticipation.


    ¡°The dead stir,¡± grinned the witch. ¡°He might speak tonight.¡±


    Edward fixed his wild gaze on the hanging corpses. Their withered forms twitched and writhed, their wreaths of poison-colored leaves gleamed through the smoke, swaying with their headless movements.


    ¡°Zerdusht, Zerdusht,¡± murmured Edward. ¡°By Satan¡¯s name, speak to your servant, reveal something of the woman who visited today on dark business.¡±


    A heavy silence followed his words; the smoke thickened, then suddenly dissipated.


    The lamps went out, and the fire faded to ash.


    ¡°Something is coming,¡± whispered the witch.


    In the darkness, the sound of the dancing dead and their bones grinding against the ropes echoed.


    Edward stood motionless, his eyes fixed ahead.


    Soon, a pale light bathed the chamber¡¯s end, revealing the figure of a young knight. His black hair spilled from under his helmet, his face composed yet proud, his dark eyes cold and fearless.


    ¡°It¡¯s the one from the crystal!¡± exclaimed Edward, but as he spoke, the light and the figure vanished. He pounded his chest.


    ¡°Zerdusht! You mock me! I asked about the woman! I know nothing of this man.¡±


    The brass head suddenly glowed, its eyes opening to reveal red orbs staring at Edward, who shouted in triumph, then dropped to his knees.


    ¡°A year ago, I saw a woman in the mirror; today she came to me...who is she?...Zerdusht¡ªher name?¡±


    The brass lips moved and uttered, ¡°Ysabeau.¡±


    What did this reveal?


    ¡°Who was the knight you showed me?¡± he demanded.


    ¡°Her husband,¡± replied the head.


    The flaming eyeballs rolled as Edward demanded, ¡°Who is the man she seeks my aid for...who is it she spoke to me about?¡± The response came swiftly, ¡°Her husband.¡±


    Edward jerked in surprise. ¡°Quick,¡± the witch¡¯s voice cut through the darkness. ¡°The light is fading.¡± Edward¡¯s next question pierced the air, ¡°Who is she?¡±


    ¡°The Empress of the West,¡± replied the brass head. A cry erupted from both Edward and the witch. Edward¡¯s voice trembled as he asked another question, ¡°She intends to replace the Emperor?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± the light dimmed further, the red eyes fluttered shut.


    ¡°With whom?¡± Edward¡¯s urgency was palpable. In a faint yet clear voice, the answer came, ¡°The Lord of Ursula of Rosewood, Balthasar of Nola.¡±


    The lids closed, the jaws clicked, and the light vanished. The lamps flared back to life, revealing the motionless bodies of the dead men, their wreaths resting on their chests, the witch huddled by the hearth.


    In the middle of the chamber stood Edward, his smile twisted into a grotesque expression of horror.

 Chapter 14

    <hr>


    The dense forest stood like a somber cathedral, its towering trees creating an eerie silence that echoed through the shadowy aisles. Not even a whisper of the summer wind dared disturb the thick canopy above, leaving the grass and flowers untouched by its gentle breath. The sun, casting its bright rays over the town of Frankfort, failed to pierce through the green gloom of the forest¡¯s depths.


    Nathalie, the witch, sat low on the grass near a small shrine adorned with a figure of the Madonna. Clad in a brown cloak, she peered intently into the dark recesses between the ancient tree trunks, her eyes fixed on the approaching figure of a lady struggling through the undergrowth.


    The lady emerged hesitantly, her long yellow dress torn and dirtied, her hair disheveled. As she drew closer to the shrine, her fatigue was evident, and her grey eyes widened with fear upon seeing the witch.


    ¡°What troubles Jacobea of Martzburg that she wanders disheveled and alone in these woods?¡± asked Nathalie, her voice devoid of emotion.


    ¡°I am lost,¡± Jacobea replied, her voice trembling. ¡°How do you know me?¡±


    ¡°By your countenance,¡± Nathalie answered. ¡°But why are you lost?¡±


    ¡°I seek the way to Frankfort,¡± Jacobea explained wearily. ¡°I was with the Empress at the tournament when my horse bolted, throwing me off. Now I¡¯ve lost my way.¡±


    Nathalie¡¯s faint smile hinted at hidden knowledge. ¡°I know not the path,¡± she said. ¡°But I can reveal your fortune without coin or silver.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Jacobea exclaimed, her agitation growing. ¡°I do not believe in such things. Just show me the way out of these woods, and I¡¯ll pay you for it.¡±


    Ignoring Jacobea¡¯s offer, Nathalie approached and grasped her hand. ¡°What secrets lie in your palm?¡± she mused.


    Startled, Jacobea tried to pull away, her fear mounting in the witch¡¯s presence. ¡°There¡¯s no magic in this,¡± she protested, her voice tinged with anger.


    Releasing her grip, Nathalie spoke sharply. ¡°I know more about you than you realize, Jacobea of Martzburg.¡±


    With a sense of foreboding, Jacobea turned and hurried down the shaded path, but Nathalie followed silently, her cloak billowing behind her.


    ¡°You cannot escape,¡± the witch¡¯s voice echoed through the trees. ¡°You may wander endlessly, but Frankfort will remain beyond your reach.¡±


    Jacobea felt a chill run down her spine as the witch¡¯s slender fingers brushed against her yellow sleeve. ¡°Who are you?¡± she exclaimed, her voice tinged with desperation. ¡°And what do you want from me?¡±


    The witch¡¯s pale lips curled into a sly smile. ¡°Come with me, and all will be revealed,¡± she whispered.


    Fear gripped Jacobea¡¯s heart. ¡°No, I won¡¯t,¡± she declared firmly.


    ¡°You¡¯ll wander aimlessly without me,¡± the witch warned, nodding toward the dense forest.


    Jacobea hesitated, her eyes scanning the eerie surroundings¡ªthe still trees, the silent glades, the looming branches that obscured the sky above. ¡°I¡¯ll pay you handsomely if you guide me out of here,¡± she pleaded.


    ¡°Follow me now,¡± Nathalie insisted, ¡°and I¡¯ll lead you to safety afterward.¡±


    ¡°Why should I trust you?¡± Jacobea¡¯s voice trembled. ¡°I don¡¯t know you, and I fear you.¡±


    The witch sneered, sizing up Jacobea¡¯s youthful strength. ¡°What harm could I possibly do?¡± she scoffed.


    Despite her doubts, Jacobea couldn¡¯t deny the logic in the witch¡¯s words. She reluctantly followed as Nathalie ventured down a grassy path that wound through the shadowy trees.


    As they traversed the forest, the oppressive silence and the monotonous greenery began to dull Jacobea¡¯s senses, lulling her into a strange calmness. Eventually, they reached a secluded pool nestled in a hollow, surrounded by dark ferns and stagnant waters. Across the pool sat a young man in somber attire, engrossed in an ancient tome.


    The sight sent a shiver through Jacobea¡¯s veins. She longed to flee from those penetrating eyes fixed upon her. But the witch¡¯s grip on her hand was surprisingly strong, pulling her closer to the edge of the eerie pool.


    The young man closed the book, his gaze unwavering as he watched Jacobea approach. Against the backdrop of the gloomy forest, her figure clad in luminous yellow velvet, her golden hair blending with her gown, and her frightened yet graceful demeanor created a stark contrast.


    Amidst the gloom of the forest, a stark picture unfolded¡ªa beautiful lady, Jacobea, clad in radiant yellow, her features marred by fear and confusion, held captive by the small, drab figure of Nathalie, the witch.


    ¡°Remember me?¡± inquired the youth seated by the pool.


    Jacobea averted her gaze, unnerved by his intense stare.


    ¡°Let her go, Nathalie,¡± the youth demanded impatiently, leaning on his closed book. His eyes lingered admiringly on Jacobea¡¯s trembling form.


    Nathalie relented, releasing Jacobea¡¯s hand. The young man ran his fingers through his dark locks.


    ¡°You know who I am,¡± he stated confidently.


    Reluctantly, Jacobea turned to face him, her pallor contrasting with her vibrant attire.


    ¡°Yes, you sought refuge at my castle once,¡± she admitted.


    The youth, Edward, maintained his intense gaze. ¡°And what did I tell you in return for your kindness?¡± he pressed.


    Jacobea remained silent, unwilling to acknowledge the truth.


    ¡°I revealed something to you,¡± Edward persisted. ¡°Something you haven¡¯t forgotten.¡±


    ¡°Let me go,¡± Jacobea pleaded, attempting to retreat.


    Instead, she sank onto a moss-covered boulder by the pond, her hands trembling as they grasped her locks.


    ¡°You¡¯ve never been the same since then,¡± Edward observed.


    Fear and defiance flashed in Jacobea¡¯s eyes as she faced him. ¡°You¡¯re evil,¡± she accused, glancing at Nathalie.


    ¡°Why am I here?¡± she demanded.


    ¡°Because I willed it,¡± Edward stated gravely. ¡°Your horse doesn¡¯t often stray and leave you lost in the woods.¡±


    Jacobea gasped at his knowledge. ¡°You willed that too?¡± she exclaimed.


    Edward smirked, revealing a hint of malice. ¡°Perhaps your horse was bewitched¡ªever heard of such a thing?¡±


    The mention of witchcraft sent a chill down Jacobea¡¯s spine. She shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting between Edward and the cursed landscape.


    ¡°You granted a position at Court to a young man I know,¡± Edward continued. ¡°Why?¡±


    Caught off guard, Jacobea struggled to find an answer. ¡°I...I didn¡¯t dislike him,¡± she stammered weakly.


    ¡°As you did me,¡± Edward interjected.


    ¡°Maybe I had no reason to favor you,¡± Jacobea retorted, her voice tinged with defiance. ¡°Why did you ever come to my castle? Why did I ever meet you?¡±


    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    She covered her eyes, unable to bear Edward¡¯s piercing gaze.


    ¡°No matter,¡± Edward taunted. ¡°So, you were fond of my comrade Thomas?¡±


    Jacobea hesitated, feeling compelled to respond. ¡°I liked him enough. He seemed pleased to see me again, and since he was idle¡ªI...¡±


    ¡°Why the questions?¡± Edward interrupted, a hint of jealousy in his tone. ¡°Could it be that you¡¯re jealous?¡±


    The young man¡¯s furrowed brow betrayed his inner turmoil. ¡°Am I a fool to be jealous? Don¡¯t meddle with forces beyond your ken. It would¡¯ve been better if you never crossed paths with my comrade¡ªor me,¡± he scowled.


    Jacobea countered, ¡°He¡¯s free to make his own choices. If he chooses to come to Court...¡±


    ¡°If you lure him,¡± Edward retorted sharply. ¡°But let¡¯s leave that be.¡±


    He stood and leaned against the tree, the jagged grey wood and colorful fungi creating an eerie backdrop. The forest around them exuded a deep, unsettling stillness.


    Jacobea battled her rising dread, feeling as if a sinister mist emanated from the black pool, chilling her to the bone. She couldn¡¯t evade Edward¡¯s penetrating gaze, like bright stones in his smooth face.


    ¡°Come closer,¡± he commanded.


    Reluctantly, Jacobea obeyed, feeling as if she were under a spell.


    ¡°I believe you¡¯ve enchanted me,¡± she said wearily.


    ¡°Not me, another,¡± Edward replied cryptically. ¡°You¡¯re slow in realizing things, Jacobea of Martzburg.¡±


    A tremor ran through her, and she glanced nervously around the forest before focusing on Edward.


    ¡°I know a bit of magic,¡± he continued. ¡°Shall I reveal the man you want to make Lord of Martzburg?¡±


    ¡°No such man exists,¡± she murmured weakly.


    ¡°You lie,¡± Edward accused. ¡°And I could prove it.¡±


    ¡°You cannot,¡± she insisted, clasping her hands tightly.


    Edward smirked. ¡°You¡¯re fair and gentle, but you harbor rebellious thoughts, secrets you¡¯d never confess even in church.¡±


    She remained silent.


    ¡°Why did your steward accompany you to Frankfort while his wife stayed at Martzburg?¡± Edward pressed. ¡°What reward will he receive for his loyalty?¡±


    Jacobea pressed her handkerchief to her lips, struggling to respond.


    ¡°What reward should I offer?¡± she finally asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Edward replied forcefully. ¡°But I do know he awaits your word¡ª¡±


    ¡°Stop!¡± Jacobea interrupted.


    Edward pressed on mercilessly. ¡°He waits for you to say, ¡®Sebastian, you find me fair and wealthy, and my love is yours. Cast aside the woman in Martzburg, and come to me.¡¯ Say that, and he¡¯ll ride to Martzburg tomorrow, free.¡±


    Jacobea¡¯s handkerchief fell, her eyes wide with shock. ¡°You¡¯re a demon,¡± she whispered. ¡°You can¡¯t be human to manipulate my heart like this. And you¡¯re wrong¡ªI¡¯ve never had such thoughts.¡±


    ¡°In the Devil¡¯s name, I¡¯m right,¡± Edward smirked.


    ¡°The Devil! You¡¯re his pawn!¡± Jacobea retorted defiantly. ¡°Or how else would you know what I barely realized until you came that cursed night? What he never knew until then¡ªah, I swear it, he never imagined...but now, his eyes¡ªI can¡¯t mistake them.¡±


    Edward¡¯s words dripped with menace. ¡°He¡¯s a loyal servant, waiting for his mistress¡¯s command.¡±


    Jacobea collapsed to the grass, her voice barely audible. ¡°Please, stop. Whoever you are, whatever your intentions, I beg for mercy. I am deeply unhappy¡ªdon¡¯t provoke me further.¡±


    Edward advanced and gripped her shoulders firmly. ¡°Naive fool!¡± he exclaimed. ¡°How long do you think you can endure this? How long before he realizes he could be the master, not the servant?¡±


    She turned away in agony. ¡°Then it was you who filled his head with these thoughts, you¡ª¡±


    Edward cut her off heatedly. ¡°He knows, remember that! He knows and waits. He already resents the woman who keeps him silent. It would be so easy¡ªone glance, a few words¡ªhe¡¯s not slow to understand.¡± He released her, and Jacobea collapsed, clasping his feet.


    ¡°I beg you, retract this wickedness. I am weak. Since I first saw you, I¡¯ve fought against your influence that¡¯s killing me. Man or demon, I plead with you, let me be!¡±


    She lifted her tear-stained face, hair cascading like golden threads over her gown. Edward regarded her coldly. ¡°I am neither man nor demon,¡± he declared. ¡°But mark my words: as important as he is to you, so is your doom sealed.¡±


    ¡°Doomed!¡± she echoed, half rising.


    ¡°Yes, so collect the price of your soul,¡± he taunted. ¡°What does that woman mean to you? A heartless woman, as good as dead now or in fifty years¡ªwhat¡¯s one more sin? While you hold that man¡¯s image above God¡¯s, you¡¯re already lost.¡±


    ¡°I am so alone,¡± she whimpered. ¡°If only I had a friend...¡± Her voice trailed off, as if someone came to her mind. Edward, observing closely, flushed with anger.


    He stepped back and clapped his hands. ¡°I promised to show you your lover. Now let him speak for himself.¡±


    Jacobea turned to see Sebastian standing a few feet away, holding back branches and gazing at her. She screamed and rose, but Edward and the witch were gone. Even if they were nearby, they didn¡¯t respond to her calls. The forest seemed eerily empty except for Sebastian¡¯s silent figure.


    Convinced that Edward was an evil entity summoned by her own dark thoughts, believing Sebastian¡¯s appearance was a phantom sent to torment her, she, overwhelmed with misery and terror, sought refuge in the still pool.


    But as she prepared to plunge into the water, she heard Sebastian¡¯s voice¡ªa human voice. She paused, listening fearfully as he called out to her.


    ¡°It¡¯s me,¡± he called. ¡°My lady, it¡¯s me.¡±


    Realizing Sebastian was no ghost but her living steward, she gathered her wits and replied, ¡°You startled me. I thought you were a robber. I didn¡¯t recognize you.¡±


    Relieved by his presence, she moved away from the water, grateful for his reassurance amidst the eerie forest.


    As she clutched the crucifix to her lips, Jacobea found a moment of solace. Sebastian¡¯s calm demeanor, despite her disheveled appearance and evident distress, was disconcerting.


    ¡°It¡¯s fortunate I stumbled upon you,¡± Sebastian remarked gravely. ¡°The woods are vast.¡±


    ¡°Yes, vast indeed,¡± she replied. ¡°Do you know the way out, Sebastian?¡±


    Struggling to meet his gaze, she faltered, ¡°Forgive me, I¡¯ve walked far and I¡¯m weary¡ªI need to rest.¡±


    Sebastian didn¡¯t press the issue. ¡°Have you encountered anyone else?¡± he inquired.


    She hesitated, unwilling to speak of the strange figures she had encountered.


    ¡°No,¡± she finally replied.


    ¡°We have a long journey ahead,¡± he stated.


    Feeling his eyes on her, Jacobea gripped the crucifix tighter, drawing blood. ¡°Do you know the way?¡± she asked, her voice dull.


    ¡°Yes,¡± he confirmed. ¡°But it¡¯s a considerable distance.¡±


    Gathering her skirts, she gestured for him to lead. They proceeded down a narrow path, the only sounds being his soft footsteps and the rustle of branches he moved aside for her.


    Struggling with the oppressive silence, Jacobea tried to speak several times but was stopped by Sebastian¡¯s interruption.


    ¡°It¡¯s odd that your horse behaved so strangely,¡± he remarked.


    ¡°But you found him?¡± she asked, hope flickering.


    ¡°Yes, a man discovered him, agitated as if under a spell.¡±


    Her heart raced at his choice of words. Was it intentional?


    Unable to respond, she was grateful when he changed the subject. ¡°Were you injured when thrown from the horse?¡± he inquired.


    ¡°No,¡± she replied quickly.


    The forest remained eerily quiet as they walked until reaching a clearing. Sebastian halted.


    ¡°We still have a ways to go. Would you like to rest?¡± he offered.


    ¡°No,¡± she insisted. ¡°Let¡¯s continue¡ªwhere are the others? We should encounter someone soon!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not aware of anyone passing through here,¡± he admitted, eyeing her fatigued form. ¡°You must rest, it¡¯s unwise to push on.¡±


    Reluctantly, she sat down, her crucifix pressed against her chest.


    ¡°It¡¯s so shadowy here,¡± she remarked. ¡°It¡¯s hard to imagine sunlight filtering through these dark trees.¡±


    Sebastian stood before her, his silhouette outlined against the darkening woods. Jacobea couldn¡¯t help but notice his thin, dark cheek and heavy-lidded eyes as he spoke.


    ¡°I reckon I ought to head back to Martzburg,¡± he stated, his words hanging heavy in the air.


    Jacobea, struggling to maintain composure, waved her hand dismissively. ¡°You know you¡¯re free to do as you please, Sebastian.¡±


    He removed his glove slowly, examining his hand. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it be best for me to leave?¡±


    His gaze met hers squarely, challenging her. ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± she replied desperately, ¡°why you¡¯re asking me this now.¡±


    ¡°I rarely find you alone,¡± he remarked, his words rigid yet purposeful.


    She looked down at the crucifix in her hand, trying to steady herself. ¡°You can leave Frankfort whenever you want¡ªwhy not?¡±


    Sebastian turned to face her fully. ¡°But I can come back?¡±


    His question echoed in Jacobea¡¯s mind, reminiscent of Edward¡¯s words. The crucifix slipped from her grasp.


    ¡°What are you saying? Oh, Sebastian, what are you saying?¡± Her words were forced, whispered in disbelief. ¡°Go and come as you wish, are you not free?¡±


    Picking up the crucifix, he frowned, eyes dark and filled with excitement. ¡°Do you remember the students from that night at Martzburg?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± she replied. ¡°Isn¡¯t one of them at Court now?¡±


    ¡°I mean the other¡ªthe boy,¡± clarified Sebastian.


    Avoiding his gaze, Jacobea lowered her head, sensing the trap closing around her.


    ¡°I met him again today,¡± Sebastian continued, his tone tinged with intrigue. ¡°Here, in this forest, while searching for you. He spoke to me.¡±


    Surely, the Devil was at play, orchestrating this encounter. Sebastian¡¯s knowing look confirmed her worst fears.


    ¡°He¡¯s cunning,¡± remarked the steward.


    Jacobea lifted her head. ¡°He¡¯s an enchanter¡ªa wizard. Do not listen to him, do not speak to him. As you value your soul, Sebastian, do not entertain him.¡±


    Sebastian stood firm. ¡°Let me return to Martzburg. One word¡ªI¡¯ll understand.¡±


    Her resolve strengthened. ¡°We must continue. I can¡¯t speak with you now, Sebastian.¡±


    But he blocked her path. ¡°Let me go to Martzburg,¡± he insisted. ¡°One word¡ªI¡¯ll understand.¡±


    Feeling trapped, Jacobea struggled to find her voice. ¡°You¡¯ll stay in Frankfort,¡± she asserted, finding newfound strength.


    ¡°Sybilla asks for my return,¡± he pleaded, gazing at her intensely. ¡°Don¡¯t we understand each other without words?¡±


    ¡°The fiend has ensnared you,¡± she replied fearfully. ¡°You know too much¡ªguess too much, and yet I tell you nothing. I¡¯m bewitched, unable to answer as I should.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve kept silent for too long,¡± he confessed. ¡°But I¡¯ve dared to imagine¡ªhad I been free¡ª¡±


    The crucifix, forgotten until now, was held tightly in her hand. ¡°We shouldn¡¯t speak like this,¡± she protested, feeling overwhelmed.


    ¡°You¡¯ll bid me go to Martzburg,¡± he persisted, grasping her cold fingers.


    She looked up at the canopy above. ¡°No, no! God have mercy on me!¡±


    As if in response to her plea, the thick foliage rustled, and Jacobea sensed a release from the suffocating tension. She turned to see knights and a page boy approaching, part of the search party sent for her.


    She moved towards them, relieved. Only Sebastian saw her raise the crucifix to her lips before they turned back towards Frankfort, leaving the dark forest and its haunting secrets behind.

 Chapter 15

    <hr>


    Edward and the witch parted ways at the gates of Frankfort. As Edward made his way through the bustling town, Nathalie slipped into the quieter streets. Passers-by greeted Edward, drawn to the mysterious allure surrounding the young doctor of rhetoric. His mind, however, was preoccupied with thoughts of Jacobea of Martzburg and the possibilities for Thomas or Sybilla, the steward¡¯s wife.


    He passed by the college with its tapping trees and crossed the bridge over the Main¡¯s flowing waters. The imposing walls of the Emperor¡¯s castle loomed ahead, and Edward paused briefly to observe the fluttering Imperial flag against the evening sky. His mood lifted, and he whistled a tune as he walked down the long street towards the witch¡¯s house.


    At her gate, he spotted Thomas, flushed and breathless. Excitedly, he approached his friend and touched his arm.


    ¡°Thomas, my friend! What brings you here?¡± Edward exclaimed.


    Thomas explained, ¡°My master and most of the Court were at the tourney today. I thought it safe to come.¡±


    Edward¡¯s expression hardened slightly. ¡°Ah, you¡¯re becoming cautious in your visits here.¡±


    Thomas defended himself, ¡°You word it unkindly. Let¡¯s go inside and talk comfortably.¡±


    They entered the witch¡¯s dwelling and settled in a room overlooking the garden of red roses. Edward lit a green glass lamp, casting a soft glow in the dim room, and studied Thomas intently.


    Thomas, dressed in rich black and crimson attire, seemed uneasy, his usual charm marred by a hint of discomfort. Edward¡¯s plea broke the silence.


    ¡°Thomas, come back to me,¡± he urged with a touch of melancholy.


    ¡°I¡¯m content at Court,¡± Thomas replied quickly. ¡°My master is kind, and my duties are manageable.¡±


    Edward observed him closely, resting his cheek on his hand. ¡°It¡¯s clear you¡¯re content, rarely venturing away from Court.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not easy for me to visit often,¡± admitted Thomas, looking out of the window towards the roses.


    Edward pressed on, ¡°Your desires bind you to the Court. I fear you¡¯re becoming a faithless friend.¡±


    Thomas bristled at the accusation. ¡°That¡¯s unfair, Edward. You know my loyalty to you. Is it disloyalty to appreciate and serve a lady?¡±


    Edward¡¯s dry response cut through the tension. ¡°Or perhaps a woman?¡±


    Thomas turned to Edward with a charming smile, his voice softening in an attempt to soothe.


    ¡°She¡¯s truly the sweetest of her kind, Edward; if you knew her¡ªevil itself cowers before her¡ª¡±


    Edward¡¯s response was grim. ¡°It¡¯s probably best that I don¡¯t know her. You speak strangely¡ªyou and I both know we¡¯re not saints¡ªbut perhaps you¡¯re considering reforming¡ªperhaps you¡¯ve repented a second time.¡± Thomas appeared uneasy.


    ¡°No, no¡ªnot quite so far. Have I not gone too deep? Do I not still hope to gain something¡ªmaybe everything?¡± His tone dropped, ¡°But I wish I¡¯d never meddled with the monk. I wish I hadn¡¯t touched God¡¯s money¡ªand when I see her, I can¡¯t help but feel the sting of my sins.¡±


    ¡°How often do you see her?¡± Edward inquired calmly.


    ¡°Rarely,¡± Thomas replied sadly. ¡°And perhaps it¡¯s better that way¡ªwhat could I ever be to her?¡± Edward¡¯s smile was somber.


    ¡°That¡¯s the truth. Yet you waste your time lingering where you might catch a glimpse of her face.¡±


    Thomas bit his lip, conflicted. ¡°You think me foolish¡ªfor hesitating, for regretting¡ªbut what have my sins brought me? There are plenty of honest men in better situations than I am, without the fear of damnation haunting them.¡±


    Edward¡¯s gaze darkened. ¡°You were content before you met this lady.¡±


    ¡°Enough of her,¡± Thomas sighed wearily. ¡°You make too much of it. I don¡¯t think I love her; but one who has fallen must feel sorrow and yearning at the sight of such sweetness, such purity.¡±


    Edward leaned forward, his hand gripping the table¡¯s edge. ¡°Maybe she¡¯s not as pure or gentle as you think. Perhaps she¡¯s like any other woman, as you might see one day.¡±


    Thomas turned from the window, torn between protest and justification. ¡°Can¡¯t you understand holding something beautiful dear¡ªworshipping¡ªeven loving?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Edward¡¯s voice was tinged with emotion. ¡°But if I loved¡±¡ªhe said the word with a delicate reverence, rising from his seat as he spoke¡ª¡°I would bind their soul to mine for eternity; neither devil nor angel could separate us. But¡ªbut that¡¯s not our concern¡ªthere are other matters to attend to.¡±


    ¡°If only I had never laid eyes on those wicked books or her face,¡± Thomas muttered restlessly. ¡°Then at least my thoughts would be undivided.¡±


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    He approached the table, meeting Edward¡¯s gaze across the flickering lamp¡¯s flame. In his hazel eyes was a plea, a call for guidance from the strong to the weak, and Edward reached out his hands impulsively.


    ¡°Ah, I¡¯m foolish to bother you with my troubles, my friend,¡± Thomas confessed, his voice touched with affection. ¡°You¡¯re headstrong and unpredictable, caring little for me, I¡¯m sure¡ªyet you have power over this foolish heart of mine.¡±


    There was a tender grace in Edward¡¯s demeanor, his words, and his outstretched hands that moved Thomas deeply. He clasped Edward¡¯s slender fingers warmly, though they were soon withdrawn. Edward, who disliked physical contact, smiled warmly.


    ¡°I have news that will please your impatience,¡± Edward announced, fetching a large red copper candlestick from a wall cabinet. Three half-burnt candles illuminated the room as he lit them, casting a brighter and more comforting light.


    Setting the candlestick on the table, its flickering light enhancing Thomas¡¯s imposing figure, Edward returned to the cupboard and fetched a tall bottle of golden wine and two glasses with delicate white lines tracing their rims.


    Thomas settled into his chair, removing his gloves and smoothing back his hair. ¡°Have you seen the Empress?¡± inquired Edward as he poured the wine.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Thomas replied disinterestedly.


    ¡°She¡¯s quite a beauty?¡±


    ¡°Sure, but too sugary sweet¡ªlacks that touch of nobility,¡± Thomas remarked.


    Edward passed the wine across the table and took his seat. ¡°I¡¯ve heard she¡¯s ambitious,¡± he remarked.


    ¡°Ay, she won¡¯t give the Emperor any peace; always pushing him toward Rome, wanting him crowned by the Pope as Emperor of the West; but he¡¯s more fond of the North, not eager for rule in Italy.¡±


    ¡°The nobles aren¡¯t happy with his indecision?¡± Edward probed.


    ¡°Mostly, I reckon¡ªwe all dream of Rome¡¯s golden glory, don¡¯t we? Balthasar¡ªyou remember him, Margrave of East Salem now since his father¡¯s boar hunt demise¡ªhe¡¯s itching to cross those Alps, has sway over the Emperor. Indeed, he¡¯s fond of him.¡±


    Edward set down his untouched wine. ¡°Balthasar loves the Emperor!¡± he exclaimed.


    ¡°Indeed, why not? The Margrave¡¯s always been affectionate, and the Emperor is lovable.¡±


    Edward raised the glass again, this time draining it. ¡°This is ripe for plots,¡± he declared, dabbing at his lips. ¡°Opportunity for us to profit. You said the Devil was a harsh master?¡ªlisten to this.¡±


    Thomas shifted the candlestick, its golden glow dazzling his eyes. ¡°What concern are Emperor and Empress to us?¡± he asked, brows furrowing with a growing apprehension.


    ¡°She¡¯s been here,¡± Edward disclosed. ¡°Lady Ysabeau.¡±


    Thomas stared, a sharp inhale parting his lips, his cheeks flushing with excitement.


    ¡°She¡¯s aware,¡± Edward continued, ¡°that I, Doctor Constantine of Frankfort College, and you, humble secretary to her Chamberlain, are the two scholars chased from Basle University.¡±


    Thomas recoiled in the ornate chair, a pained sound escaping him. ¡°So,¡± said Edward gravely, ¡°she has the power to ruin us¡ªespecially here in Frankfort.¡±


    ¡°How can I show my face at Court again!¡± Thomas burst out bitterly.


    Edward noted the selfish concern but refrained from mentioning how he had shielded Thomas from suspicion. ¡°It¡¯s more than that,¡± he replied calmly. ¡°She could have us burned in the town square¡ªJoris of Thuringia perished from his ¡®illness¡¯ that very night.¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± Thomas gasped, turning pale.


    ¡°But she won¡¯t,¡± Edward assured. ¡°She needs us¡ªme, us. That threat is just her way of ensuring our obedience; she attended my lectures in secret¡ªpicked up some hints¡ªfound out more.¡±


    Thomas refilled his glass, repeating with uncertainty, ¡°She needs us?¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t you guess how?¡± Edward prompted.


    Thomas drank, placed the half-empty glass down, and looked troubled, avoiding Edward¡¯s keen gaze. ¡°How could I know?¡± he asked, sounding hesitant to speak at all.


    Edward suppressed a hint of impatience.


    ¡°Come on, you know. Should I speak plain?¡± Edward¡¯s voice was low and insistent.


    ¡°Yeah, sure,¡± Thomas replied, still avoiding direct eye contact.


    ¡°There¡¯s a man standing in her path,¡± Edward continued, his tone darkening.


    Thomas met his gaze now, his eyes stark against his flushed face. ¡°Who¡¯s got to die like Joris of Thuringia?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Edward confirmed.


    Thomas swallowed hard. ¡°You want me to help?¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t we one, inseparable? The reward will be grand,¡± Edward urged.


    Thomas ran a hand over his sweaty forehead. ¡°Who¡¯s the man?¡±


    ¡°Quiet!¡± Edward whispered urgently, peering through the candle¡¯s glow. ¡°It¡¯s the Emperor.¡± Thomas jerked back in shock.


    ¡°Her husband! I won¡¯t do it, Edward!¡±


    ¡°You might not have a choice,¡± Edward replied icily. ¡°You gave yourself to the Devil and to me¡ªand now you¡¯ll serve us both.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t do it,¡± Thomas repeated, his voice shaking.


    Edward¡¯s eyes blazed with anger. ¡°Watch how you say that. There are two already¡ªwhat about the monk? You can¡¯t turn back now.¡±


    Thomas looked desperate. ¡°Why did you drag me into this? You¡¯re deeper in the devil¡¯s dealings than I am.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a curious thing to say,¡± Edward retorted, his face pale but resolute. ¡°You pledged companionship with me¡ªtogether we sought success, fame, power¡ªyou knew the means, you knew whose aid we needed to rise. Together we cast spells that killed Joris of Thuringia, together we stole from the monk; now¡ªnow when I tell you our opportunity has come¡ªthis is how you thank me!¡±


    ¡°An opportunity! To aid in secret murder for a woman?¡± Thomas spat out.


    ¡°You never thought we¡¯d take the saintly path¡ªyou weren¡¯t so particular when we bound Ambrose of Menthon to that tree,¡± Edward reminded him sharply.


    ¡°How many times will you bring that up?¡± Thomas snapped back. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have done it if not for you.¡±


    ¡°Well, same goes for this; if you¡¯re weak, I¡¯m strong enough for both of us,¡± Edward declared.


    Thomas tugged at the tassels on his sleeves, visibly agitated. ¡°It¡¯s not about fear,¡± he argued, his face reddening.


    ¡°Sure, you¡¯re afraid,¡± Edward taunted. ¡°Afraid of God, of justice, maybe even of man¡ªbut none of that matters to us. Our fate isn¡¯t ours to mold; we use the tools at hand as we¡¯re bid. Life and death, they¡¯ll serve us to our ends.¡±


    Thomas crossed to the other side of the table, his eyes full of fear as he faced Edward. ¡°Who are you?¡± he asked softly.


    Edward didn¡¯t reply, a look of despair overtaking his features, sending a chill through Thomas. ¡°Ah!¡± Thomas recoiled, repulsed.


    Edward covered his eyes with his hand, a pained expression crossing his face. ¡°Do you hate me, Thomas? Do you?¡±


    ¡°I¡ªI don¡¯t know,¡± Thomas stammered, unable to comprehend his own sudden aversion as he witnessed the change in Edward.


    The room had darkened, shadows creeping into the corners, leaving only the table and Edward¡¯s figure illuminated by the candlelight and lamp¡¯s faint glow.


    As Thomas paced, Edward lowered his hand, fixing him with an intense gaze. ¡°This will make us more powerful than anyone,¡± he declared. ¡°Forget me and focus on that.¡±


    He dropped his hand, revealing pale lips and a haunted look in his eyes. ¡°What does that mean?¡± Thomas exclaimed, torn by confusion.

 Chapter 16

    <hr>


    ¡°We¡¯re heading to Rome,¡± Edward announced, his voice laced with seductive temptation. ¡°And you¡¯ll get what you desire.¡±


    ¡°My desires!¡± Thomas exclaimed, his voice echoing wildly. ¡°I¡¯ve walked a cursed path chasing after the ghost of¡ªmy desires! Do you still promise that I¡¯ll one day seize it?¡±


    ¡°Indeed¡ªwealth, power, pleasure, they all await you in Rome when Ysabeau crowns Balthasar with the imperial diadem. These things¡ªand¡±¡ªEdward¡¯s voice wavered¡ª¡°even Jacobea of Martzburg,¡± he added slowly.


    ¡°Can one win a saint through devilish means?¡± Thomas cried out.


    ¡°She¡¯s just a woman,¡± Edward replied wearily. ¡°But if you hesitate and waver, I¡¯ll release you from this pact with me; go your way, serve your saint, renounce your sins¡ªand see what God has in store for you.¡±


    Thomas paced the room, his steps unsteady. ¡°No¡ªI can¡¯t¡ªI won¡¯t give up even the hope of what you promise.¡± Excitement sparked in his eyes, his cheeks flushed with anticipation. ¡°And I pledged myself to you and your master. Don¡¯t mistake my pause for cowardice¡ªwho is the Emperor?¡± His voice was hoarse. ¡°Nothing to you or to me... As you said, Joris of Thuringia died.¡±


    ¡°Now you sound like my companion from Basle,¡± Edward exclaimed joyously. ¡°Now I see again the spirit that led me to swear friendship with you that first night. Now I¡ªah, Thomas, we¡¯ll be true to each other, won¡¯t we?¡±


    ¡°I have no choice,¡± Thomas replied.


    ¡°Swear it,¡± demanded Edward.


    ¡°I swear it,¡± Thomas affirmed.


    He went to the window, pushing it wider to gaze into the moonless night. Edward clasped and unclasped his hands on the table, whispering to himself, ¡°I¡¯ve regained him¡ªregained him!¡±


    Thomas spoke without turning. ¡°What¡¯s our next move?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll meet the Empress again,¡± Edward revealed. ¡°For now, stay discreet; there¡¯s no need to discuss this further.¡±


    It was now Edward evading the topic, his bright eyes under lowered lids observing Thomas¡¯s eager yet desperate face, a smirk playing on his lips.


    ¡°Your absence might raise eyebrows at the palace,¡± Edward said softly. ¡°You should return. I¡¯ll let you know how you can assist me.¡±


    But Thomas remained indecisive. ¡°I feel like I have no will when you command me,¡± he protested. ¡°I come and go at your bidding¡ªyou stir my emotions and then deny me closure.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re aware of everything I do,¡± Edward retorted. He stood up, holding the copper candlestick. ¡°I¡¯m exhausted. I¡¯ll escort you to the door.¡±


    ¡°Where were you today?¡± Thomas inquired.


    ¡°Did you witness the Court returning from the tournament?¡±


    The candle flames flickered, casting a warm glow over Edward¡¯s pale face. ¡°No¡ªwhy do you ask?¡± he replied.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Thomas admitted. His crimson doublet shimmered in the candlelight as he gathered his black mantle. ¡°When can I visit again?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Whenever you wish,¡± Edward answered. He stepped into the passage, illuminating the darkness with the candlestick. ¡°You¡¯re bound to me whether you come or not¡ªaren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Indeed, I believe so,¡± Thomas conceded. He hesitated.


    ¡°Good night,¡± Edward whispered.


    Thomas made his way down the passage.


    As Thomas bid ¡°Good-night,¡± he grasped the latch, allowing a gust of air to nearly extinguish the candle flames, casting eerie shadows across Edward¡¯s face. The door closed with a final thud, enveloping the room in darkness. Thomas stepped onto the street, closing the latch behind him. The night sky was partially veiled by clouds, with only a few stars twinkling dimly. Leaning against the house, Thomas felt a mix of excitement, confusion, and impatience. Edward¡¯s sudden dismissal bothered him, the sway Edward held over him mingling with the allure of the promised reward.


    Thoughts of Rome, with its grandeur and power, Jacobea of Martzburg, and just one obstacle between him and his desires, raced through Thomas¡¯s mind. He questioned why he had ever hesitated or been horrified. His anticipation soared, like spirits taking flight to the heavens, leaving him breathless in the charged atmosphere. Countless questions for Edward gnawed at his elated heart, fueling his impatience.


    On impulse, Thomas turned back to the door, attempting to open it. To his surprise, it was bolted from within, a sign of Edward¡¯s caution. Although he hadn¡¯t heard a sound, Thomas wondered about Edward¡¯s stealth. Unwilling to draw attention by knocking, he circled the house, intending to enter through the low windows of the room where they had conversed. But the room was dark, the windows shut.


    Annoyed, Thomas stepped among the rose bushes, gazing up at Edward¡¯s darkened chamber. The witch¡¯s dwelling stood silent against the stormy sky. A chill gripped Thomas as he wondered where Edward had vanished so swiftly and quietly. Who had secured the doors and windows without a sound?


    Then, a light flickered in a room he had always thought of as Nathalie¡¯s storage space for herbs and potions. His curiosity piqued, Thomas waited for the light to vanish, but it remained steady, like a beacon in the rose garden¡¯s darkness. The fragrant scent of roses mingled with the rising wind, stirring the clouds above.


    Old suspicions resurfaced as Thomas crept closer to the light, remembering Edward and Nathalie¡¯s secretive nature. He crouched against the house, peering into the room through a slightly askew curtain.


    In the oval room veiled in Syrian tapestries of scarlet and yellow, the black and white marble floor bore witness to a haunting ambiance. The air hung heavy with the blue vapors of a copper brazier¡¯s perfume, while lamps behind pink silk screens cast an eerie glow. At the room¡¯s far end, a violet velvet curtain adorned with grapes and swans concealed a mysterious space. Nearby, a low couch draped in scarlet and purple cushions beckoned, accompanied by a table adorned with celestial motifs on a white cloth.


    Thomas, unattended, took in these details with a mixture of curiosity and unease. The amber beads draped across the table and the familiar copper candlestick hinted at familiarity yet concealed mysteries. His anger simmered at feeling misled, fueling his anticipation of Edward¡¯s presence.


    As the violet curtain stirred, Thomas¡¯s surprise almost escaped in a gasp. A slender feminine arm emerged, followed by a figure cloaked in yellow silk, barely concealing her form. Thomas¡¯s heart quickened with dread as the girl¡¯s presence exuded an inexplicable terror, freezing him in place by the window. Her veil obscured her features, but restless dark eyes hinted at an unnerving awareness of his gaze.


    Moving silently, the girl¡¯s actions puzzled Thomas, especially the dragging sound accompanying her steps. Her delicate hand toyed with a silver ring, adorned with a flat red stone, before it fell to the floor with a clang. As she searched for the ring, Thomas¡¯s horror deepened, realizing she possessed green wings folded on her back, trailing behind her with a chilling sound.


    In a moment of terror, Thomas¡¯s cry pierced the room, startling the girl into a shriek of fear. Darkness engulfed the room as she extinguished the lights, leaving Thomas to flee through the garden, haunted by imagined grasping hands and flapping wings.


    His cries for mercy to Christ echoed through the night as he stumbled out of the witch¡¯s house and into the quiet streets of Frankfort, his mind reeling from the horrors witnessed within.

 CHAPTER 17

    <hr>


    The echoes of the monks¡¯ chants faded into the hushed stillness of the Emperor¡¯s chapel. As the Court began to disperse, Jacobea remained in deep prayer, her mind clouded with unease despite the sacred setting. The Empress, adorned in opulent jewels and lifted by pages, glanced at Jacobea with a knowing smile before passing by. Meanwhile, the Emperor, clad plainly and absorbed in his devotions, walked beside the radiant Margrave Balthasar of Nola, their contrasting figures highlighted by the sun¡¯s rays through stained glass.


    Thomas, the Queen¡¯s Chamberlain¡¯s secretary, caught Jacobea¡¯s attention. His usually calm demeanor now bore signs of distress and pallor, prompting her curious gaze to linger on him. Their eyes met briefly, his hazel orbs conveying a silent plea or question that stirred something within her. Thomas held her gaze until he left the chapel, a subtle blush tainting his cheek.


    Alone in her prayers, Jacobea sought solace from heavenly protectors against the Devil¡¯s temptations and her own inner struggles. Incense perfumed the air, adding a serene ambiance as she contemplated her fears and desires.


    Upon rising from her prayers, Jacobea found Thomas waiting for her. His presence brought an unexpected comfort, and she approached him with a gentle smile. However, his request to learn to pray alongside her startled her.


    ¡°I know not how to guide you,¡± she confessed, her troubled expression revealing her inner turmoil.


    Thomas, fervent in his plea, saw her as a beacon of spiritual guidance. Yet, Jacobea¡¯s response hinted at her own struggles and doubts, casting a shadow over their interaction.


    ¡°You¡ªunhappy?¡± Thomas questioned, surprised by her admission. ¡°I always saw you as carefree as the roses in bloom.¡±


    Her gaze turned somber as she recalled a pivotal moment that seemed to have changed her. Thomas, sensing her discomfort, inquired about the friend who had caused this shift.


    ¡°The young scholar,¡± she whispered fearfully, ¡°he is in Frankfort now.¡±


    Thomas¡¯s demeanor stiffened, his mind racing with unanswered questions about his mysterious friend.


    ¡°You have seen him?¡±


    Jacobea¡¯s voice quivered as she poured out her fears and suspicions to Thomas, her eyes wide with apprehension. She spoke of her unsettling encounter with the young scholar in the forest, the day of the grand tourney when she last saw Edward. Thomas, with a mix of dread and anger, listened to her account, piecing together the pieces of Edward¡¯s dark influence.


    ¡°If he has been meddling with your mind,¡± Thomas spoke through gritted teeth, ¡°if he dares to¡ª¡± His words were laced with a protective fury, a fierce loyalty to Jacobea evident in his every syllable.


    Her eyes widened in a mix of horror and curiosity. ¡°You know him?¡± Her voice trembled with dread.


    ¡°Ay, to my regret, I do,¡± Thomas admitted, his expression pained. ¡°He is a tempter, a deceiver. Stay clear of him if you value your peace.¡±


    She withdrew slightly, her features contorted with distress. ¡°But you¡ªare you working with him?¡±


    Thomas¡¯s anguish was palpable. ¡°He ensnares me with temptation, pulls me into darkness.¡±


    Her desperation grew. ¡°Who is he?¡±


    Thomas struggled with his response, torn between secrecy and the urge to warn her. ¡°I cannot say.¡± He clenched his fists in frustration, his gaze dropping to the floor.


    ¡°He torments me,¡± Jacobea confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. ¡°The mere thought of him is a weight dragging me down.¡±


    Thomas¡¯s eyes flickered up, catching the trembling of her delicate hands. ¡°How can such as he trouble you? What temptation can he offer?¡±


    As Jacobea¡¯s fingers quivered on her prayer book, Thomas¡¯s anger simmered against Edward. ¡°I cannot speak of my temptations,¡± she murmured, her voice laden with guilt.


    Thomas¡¯s resolve hardened. ¡°The reward seems worth the struggle,¡± he muttered, his eyes clouded with conflicting emotions.


    Her response cut through him, her disbelief palpable. ¡°Worth it?¡±


    Thomas winced, imagining Edward¡¯s influence looming over her. ¡°You must not know the depths of my struggle. But I must tell you this¡ªI would be lost to darkness if not for you.¡±


    Her eyes widened in surprise, the sunlight casting a surreal glow around them. ¡°You would change for me?¡± Her voice was tinged with hope.


    Thomas¡¯s gaze softened as he reached out, his touch gentle on her sleeve. ¡°You inspire goodness in me. For your sake, I would fight the demons that haunt me.¡±


    Her eyes searched his, a mixture of doubt and longing. ¡°Would it truly make a difference?¡±


    ¡°It would be everything to me,¡± Thomas confessed, his heart laid bare before her. ¡°You are my beacon of light in this dark turmoil.¡±


    ¡°Your words have given me strength,¡± Jacobea said with a mixture of humility and determination. ¡°But please, don¡¯t place me on a pedestal. I will strive to earn your respect.¡±


    Thomas spoke with deep sincerity, ¡°I may not be a knight in shining armor, but I will worship you with all my heart. Through you, I will find my way back to God and live a life of repentance.¡±


    Jacobea nodded, touched by his sincerity. ¡°Indeed, we can help each other. I too might have faltered if someone hadn¡¯t cared.¡±


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Thomas¡¯s expression turned grave. ¡°What did that young man tempt you with?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s in the past now,¡± Jacobea replied softly. ¡°I will live up to your expectations of me. I may not have a knight by my side, nor have I desired one, but I will always remember your encouragement during my moments of solitude.¡±


    ¡°Let us make a pact, then,¡± Thomas proposed, his voice filled with hope. ¡°That we both remain free from darkness. Allow me to see you as pure and innocent as I would see a saint.¡±


    ¡°With your devotion, I will strive to be just that,¡± Jacobea promised solemnly. ¡°As long as you think well of me, I will do no harm.¡±


    Thomas knelt before her and kissed the hem of her gown, sealing their pact with reverence.


    ¡°You¡¯ve pulled me back from the brink of eternal damnation,¡± Thomas whispered gratefully, his voice tinged with relief.


    Jacobea reached out and lightly touched his sleeve. ¡°Thank God,¡± she murmured.


    He nodded, bowing slightly before turning to leave. As he departed, Jacobea retrieved a crucifix from her bosom, the same one that had been her solace in the forest. She kissed it reverently, feeling a weight lift from her heart that had been there since her encounter with Edward Bensouda.


    With newfound resolve, Jacobea made her way back to the grand hall of the palace, her thoughts already forming plans to return to Martzburg or to send for Sybilla. However, her intentions were interrupted by an encounter with the Empress, who paced the chamber with an air of discontent.


    Ysabeau, affecting a fondness for Jacobea, smiled lazily at her. But Jacobea, while respectful, couldn¡¯t shake off a sense of unease in the Empress¡¯s presence, feeling a discordance between the surface beauty and something more sinister beneath.


    The Empress gestured for Jacobea to stay, her voice childlike yet manipulative. ¡°Come, talk to your abandoned lady,¡± she cooed. ¡°The Emperor is busy with his prayers. My ladies are all out with their lovers, and here I am, amusing myself.¡±


    With a mischievous glint in her eyes, Ysabeau revealed a net filled with vibrant butterflies. ¡°Guess what I¡¯ve been doing,¡± she teased, her tone playful yet tinged with cruelty.


    Jacobea studied the trapped butterflies with concern. ¡°Why hold them captive?¡± she asked, her voice tinged with sympathy.


    The Empress regarded the fluttering insects thoughtfully. ¡°Their wings are beautiful. I wonder if they¡¯ll keep their brilliance if I pluck them,¡± she mused, a hint of cruelty in her words.


    Disturbed by the Empress¡¯s disregard for life, Jacobea felt a surge of compassion for the helpless creatures. ¡°They¡¯re alive and deserve to be free,¡± she urged.


    Ysabeau¡¯s demeanor shifted, her gaze hardening. ¡°You always spoil my fun,¡± she remarked coldly before abruptly offering the net to Jacobea. ¡°Take them and be gone.¡±


    Surprised by the sudden change, Jacobea accepted the net, sensing there was more to the Empress¡¯s actions than met the eye. She glanced around and noticed the Margrave of East Salem entering the hall, understanding the Empress¡¯s shift in behavior.


    Jacobea gathered the freed butterflies and swiftly departed from the chamber, leaving behind the Empress who sank into the window-seat among crimson cushions adorned with sprawling lions. Ysabeau pulled a white rose from her belt and bit into its stem with a hint of bitterness in her expression.


    The Margrave approached her, his imposing figure amplified by his opulent attire, resembling a golden giant in the dim light of the room. ¡°Where is Melchoir?¡± he inquired.


    Mocking laughter escaped Ysabeau. ¡°Writing Latin prayers,¡± she sneered. ¡°If you were Emperor of the West, Lord Balthasar, would you stoop to such piety?¡±


    His brow furrowed. ¡°I lack the holiness of Melchoir,¡± he admitted.


    Ysabeau¡¯s laughter rang out again. ¡°And would you, as my husband, indulge in such acts?¡± His fair face flushed with embarrassment. ¡°Such thoughts are beyond my station,¡± he replied hesitantly.


    Turning her gaze to the window, Ysabeau¡¯s attire revealed her penchant for extravagance, with red, bronze, and purple silks draped around her, accentuated by a thick belt. Her golden hair cascaded in curls above her forehead, crowned with a diadem, while emeralds adorned her throat¡ªa testament to her Byzantine origins.


    Deliberately maintaining silence, Ysabeau awaited Balthasar¡¯s response, but he remained silent, leaning against the tapestry.


    Exasperated, she exclaimed, ¡°Oh God! I despise Frankfort!¡±


    His eyes gleamed with suppressed emotion, yet he remained wordless.


    ¡°If I were a man, I would not tolerate such timidity,¡± she continued.


    Finally, Balthasar spoke. ¡°Princess, though I yearn for Rome, we are bound by the Emperor¡¯s decisions.¡±


    Ysabeau¡¯s bitterness surfaced. ¡°Melchoir should have been a monk. A German township satisfies him when he could wield greater power.¡± She turned her piercing gaze to Balthasar. ¡°We of the East comprehend strength, not this hesitance. My father seized power in Ravenna¡ªI was born to royalty, raised in opulence¡ªI cannot fathom your Northern caution.¡±


    ¡°The Emperor plans to journey to Rome,¡± Balthasar interjected, troubled. ¡°He may cross the Alps this year.¡±


    Ysabeau¡¯s demeanor softened momentarily. ¡°You love Melchoir, hence your patience.¡±


    Balthasar lifted his head. ¡°As do you, Princess. He is your lord, and we must abide by his decisions.¡±


    Suppressing her true feelings, Ysabeau forced a smile. ¡°You are steadfast, Margrave. But do not forget, I am your ally too, despite the strains.¡±


    Her sharp eyes observed Balthasar¡¯s discomfort, noting his reluctance to meet her gaze.


    ¡°My duty to the Emperor,¡± she murmured softly, ¡°and my love, cannot blind me to his weakness now; come, Lord Balthasar, even your loyalty must admit we waste time. The Pope calls¡ªCome¡ªthe King of the Lombards will acknowledge my lord as his suzerain¡ªand here we linger in Frankfort waiting for the winter to bar the Alps.¡±


    ¡°Surely he is mistaken,¡± frowned the Margrave. ¡°Mistaken...if I were in his place¡ªI¡¯d be Emperor indeed, and all would know I reign from Rome...¡±


    She took a deep breath. ¡°Strange that we, his confidant and his wife, cannot sway him; the nobles are on our side too.¡±


    ¡°Except Hugh of Rosewood, always whispering in his ear,¡± replied Balthasar. ¡°He persuades him to stay in Germany.¡±


    ¡°The Lord of Rosewood!¡± echoed the Empress. ¡°Wasn¡¯t his daughter your wife?¡±


    ¡°I never laid eyes on her,¡± he interjected hastily. ¡°And she¡¯s dead. Her father seems to despise me for it.¡±


    ¡°And me too, I reckon, though why I¡¯m not certain,¡± she smiled. ¡°His daughter¡¯s gone, gone...oh, we¡¯re certain she¡¯s gone.¡±


    ¡°Indeed, she was a fine match,¡± the Margrave spoke grimly. ¡°Now I must seek another bride.¡± The Empress stared at him.


    ¡°I hadn¡¯t thought you¡¯d pondered that.¡±


    ¡°I must. I am the Margrave now.¡±


    Ysabeau turned to gaze at the palace garden. ¡°There¡¯s no lady suitable for your rank who¡¯s also unattached,¡± she remarked.


    ¡°You have an heiress in your retinue, Princess¡ªJacobea of Martzburg¡ªI¡¯ve considered her.¡± The vibrant colors of the Empress¡¯s gown quivered with her hidden agitation.


    ¡°You consider her? She¡¯s nearly your height, Margrave, and not fair¡ªoh, rather a mild creature¡ªbut¡ªbut¡±¡ªshe glanced back¡ª¡°am I not your lady?¡±


    ¡°Aye, and always will be,¡± he affirmed, lifting his bright blue eyes. ¡°I wear your favor, I tilt for you, in the jousts you¡¯re my Queen of Love¡ªI pray in your name and serve you, Princess.¡±


    ¡°Well¡ªperhaps you don¡¯t need a wife.¡± She bit her lip to silence herself.


    ¡°Surely,¡± replied Balthasar with wonder. ¡°A knight must have a wife besides a lady¡ªsince his lady often belongs to another, and his highest aspiration is to touch her gown¡ªbut a wife is for managing his castle and serving him.¡±


    The Empress twisted her fingers in her girdle. ¡°I¡¯d prefer,¡± she exclaimed passionately, ¡°to be a wife than a lady.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re both,¡± he responded, blushing. ¡°The Emperor¡¯s wife and my lady.¡±


    She gave him a curious look. ¡°Sometimes I think you¡¯re simple, or perhaps I¡¯m just unaccustomed to the North. You¡¯d stand out in Byzantium, my stoic Margrave!¡± Leaning closer across the gold and red cushions, she continued, ¡°Indeed, you shall have your reserved maiden. I believe her heart is as cold as yours.¡±


    He moved away from her. ¡°Don¡¯t mock me, Princess,¡± he said fiercely. ¡°My heart burns enough, let me be.¡± She laughed at him.

 CHAPTER 18

    <hr>


    ¡°Are you scared of me? Why are you backing away? Come closer, and I¡¯ll sing the praises of Jacobea of Martzburg to you.¡±


    He shot her a surly look. ¡°No more about her.¡±


    ¡°And yet your heart burns hot enough¡ª¡±


    ¡°Not on her account¡ªGod knows.¡±


    But the Empress clasped her hands together and rose slowly, gazing past Balthasar toward the door.


    ¡°Melchoir, we¡¯re talking about you,¡± she announced.


    The Margrave turned; the Emperor, clad in velvet, was quietly entering; he glanced solemnly at his wife and warmly at Balthasar.


    ¡°We¡¯re discussing you,¡± Ysabeau reiterated, dark-eyed and flushed, ¡°about you...and Rome.¡±


    Melchoir of Brabant, the third of his name, austere, reserved, proud, and cold, looked more like a knight of the Church than the King of Germany and Emperor of the West; he was plainly dressed, his dark hair cropped short, his handsome, slightly haughty face composed and stern; too earnest to be flamboyantly attractive, yet many men admired him, including Balthasar of Nola, for the Emperor was both valiant and likable.


    ¡°Can¡¯t you let go of Rome?¡± he asked sorrowfully, while his large, intelligent eyes affectionately regarded the Margrave. ¡°Has Frankfort become so repugnant?¡±


    ¡°Surely not, Lord Melchoir¡ªit¡¯s the opportunity! the opportunity!¡±


    The Emperor sank wearily onto a seat. ¡°Hugh of Rosewood and I have conferred, Balthasar, and we¡¯ve decided not to journey to Rome.¡±


    The Empress stiffened and lowered her lids; the Margrave swiftly turned to face his lord, his fresh face drained of color.


    Melchoir smiled gently. ¡°My friend, you¡¯re an adventurer, dreaming of the glory to be won¡ªbut I must consider my people who need me here¡ªthe land isn¡¯t ready to be left. It would require many knights to secure Rome; we¡¯d drain the land of warriors, extort money from the poor, tax the churches¡ªleave Germany vulnerable, prey to the Franks, all for the hollow title of Emperor.¡±


    Balthasar¡¯s chest rose and fell. ¡°Is this your final decision?¡±


    The Emperor replied gravely, ¡°I don¡¯t believe it¡¯s God¡¯s will for me to go to Rome.¡±


    The Margrave bowed his head and fell silent, but Ysabeau interjected into the pause.


    ¡°In Constantinople, a man like you wouldn¡¯t hold a throne for long; by now, you¡¯d have been a blinded monk and I free to choose another husband!¡±


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    The Emperor stood from his seat. ¡°The woman is delirious,¡± he remarked to the pale Margrave. ¡°Leave us, Balthasar.¡±


    The German departed; once his heavy footsteps had faded into silence, Melchoir glared at his wife, his eyes flashing.


    ¡°God forgive my father,¡± he uttered bitterly, ¡°for tying me to this Eastern she-cat!¡±


    The Empress huddled in the window-seat, clutching the cushions tightly.


    ¡°I was made for a man¡¯s companion,¡± she cried fiercely, ¡°for a ruler¡¯s spouse. I wish they had thrown me to a foot-boy instead of giving me to you¡ªsuch a timid woman¡¯s soul!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve repaid the harm,¡± the Emperor replied sternly, ¡°with the immense sorrow I endure because of you. My life is not pleasant with you nor simple. I wish you had less beauty and more kindness.¡±


    ¡°I can be kind when I choose,¡± she taunted. ¡°Balthasar and the Court think I¡¯m a loving wife.¡±


    He advanced toward her; his face appeared pale.


    ¡°It¡¯s true only I know you for what you truly are¡ªheartless, cruel, fierce, and unyielding¡ª¡±


    ¡°Enough of that!¡± she cried passionately. ¡°You drive me insane. I despise you, yes, you oppose me at every turn¡ª¡±


    She swiftly crossed the floor to him.


    ¡°Do you have any courage¡ªany spirit¡ªwill you go to Rome?¡±


    ¡°To satisfy your reckless ambition, I will do nothing, nor will I go to Rome for any reason,¡± Melchoir declared. Ysabeau trembled like an enraged animal.


    ¡°I won¡¯t discuss it further,¡± Melchoir said coldly and wearily. ¡°Too often we waste ourselves in such arguments.¡±


    The Greek woman could barely speak for fury; her nostrils flared, her lips pale and tightly pressed.


    ¡°I¡¯m ashamed to call you lord,¡± she hoarsely stated, ¡°humbled before every woman in the kingdom who sees her husband at least brave¡ªwhile I¡ªknow you¡¯re a coward¡ª¡±


    Melchoir clenched his hands to restrain himself.


    ¡°Listen to me, my wife. I am your master and the master of this land¡ªI won¡¯t be insulted, nor mocked, by your sharp tongue. Disdain me all you want, you won¡¯t voice it¡ªby St. George, no!¡ªnot even if I have to silence you with a whip!¡±


    ¡°Ha! A Christian knight!¡± she sneered. ¡°I detest your Church as much as I detest you. I am not Ysabeau, but still Marozia Porphyrogentris.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t remind me your father was a stableman and a murderer,¡± said Melchoir. ¡°Nor that I forced you to change a name your lineage had made infamous. I wish I could send you back to Ravenna!¡ªfor you¡¯ve brought nothing but bitterness to me!¡±


    ¡°Be cautious,¡± Ysabeau warned. ¡°Be cautious.¡±


    ¡°Step aside,¡± he commanded.


    Instead, she loosened her heavy belt; he saw her intention and seized her hands.


    ¡°You won¡¯t strike me.¡± The gold links slipped from her grasp as she stared at him with fiery eyes. ¡°Would you have struck me?¡±


    ¡°Yes¡ªacross your mouth,¡± he replied. ¡°Now if you were a man, you would kill me.¡±


    He took the belt from her arm, freeing her. ¡°You bring me nothing but trouble!¡± he said wearily.


    With that, she moved aside to let him pass; he turned to the door, and as he lifted the tapestry, she dropped her belt.


    The Empress crawled along the floor, retrieved it, and stood still, panting.


    Before the rage had left her face, the hangings stirred again.


    One of her Chamberlains entered.


    ¡°Princess, there¡¯s a young doctor downstairs who wishes to see you. Constantine, from Frankfort College.¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± said Ysabeau; a guilty flush touched her pale cheek. ¡°I know nothing of him,¡± she quickly added.


    ¡°Forgive me, Princess, he says it¡¯s to decipher an old manuscript you sent to him; his words are, when you see him you¡¯ll remember.¡±


    The blood flushed her cheeks even more.


    ¡°Bring him here,¡± she said.


    But just as the Chamberlain moved aside, Edward¡¯s slim figure appeared in the doorway. He looked at her, smiling calmly, his scholar¡¯s cap in hand.


    ¡°You do remember me?¡± he asked.


    The Empress nodded in acknowledgment.

 CHAPTER 19

    <hr>


    Edward Bensouda set down the pen and pushed aside the parchment, lifting heavy eyes with a sigh of weariness. The midday heat bore down heavily, causing the witch¡¯s red roses to shed their petals, revealing their yellow hearts. The leaves of the great trees that shaded the house curled and yellowed in the fierce sun.


    From his spot at the table, Edward noticed these signs of autumn outside, yet his gaze seemed fixed on something within, perhaps evoked by his thoughts. He picked up the quill, bit the end of it, frowned, and then set it down.


    Suddenly, a light sound broke the sleepy stillness as the door opened, revealing Thomas. Edward¡¯s face flushed with a smile.


    ¡°Well met,¡± he greeted. ¡°I have much to discuss with you.¡± He rose, extending his hand, but Thomas only touched it lightly with his fingers.


    ¡°And I¡¯ve come because I also have much to say,¡± Thomas replied, his expression grave and cold. His attire was plain and careless, his demeanor serious as he frowned and played with the buttons on his doublet.


    ¡°Take a seat,¡± Edward offered.


    Thomas sat down, his manner tense. ¡°There¡¯s no need for ceremony,¡± he began, visibly struggling. ¡°I cannot continue with you...¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not continuing?¡± Edward repeated, his tone turning sharp. ¡°What are your reasons?¡±


    ¡°May God forgive me for what I¡¯ve done,¡± Thomas exclaimed in agitation. ¡°But I will sin no more¡ªI¡¯ve made up my mind¡ªand you cannot tempt me.¡±


    ¡°And all your oaths to me?¡± Edward demanded, his eyes narrowing but his composure intact. Thomas clasped his restless fingers.


    ¡°No one is bound to deals with the Devil... I¡¯ve been weak and wicked¡ªbut I won¡¯t be part of your evil plans anymore¡ª¡±


    ¡°This is for Jacobea of Martzburg¡¯s sake,¡± Thomas interrupted.


    ¡°It¡¯s for her sake¡ªthat¡¯s why I¡¯m here now to tell you I¡¯m done with it¡ªdone with you!¡± Thomas declared firmly.


    Edward dropped his hands onto the table. ¡°Thomas! Thomas!¡± he exclaimed, a mix of wildness and sorrow in his voice.


    ¡°I¡¯ve weighed the temptation,¡± said Thomas, ¡°I¡¯ve considered the gains and losses¡ªI¡¯ve turned away from it, with God¡¯s help and hers¡ªI won¡¯t assist you in the way you asked me¡ªnor will I see it done.¡±


    ¡°And you call that virtue!¡± Edward cried out. ¡°You¡¯re a poor fool¡ªall it means is that you, alas!¡ªlove the lady of the castle.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Thomas retorted hotly. ¡°It¡¯s because, having seen her, I refuse to be vile. You¡¯re planning something cowardly¡ªthe Emperor is an honorable man.¡±


    ¡°Ambrose of Menthon was a holy monk,¡± Edward countered sharply. ¡°Who silenced his piety? Joris of Thuringia was an innocent lad¡ªwho condemned him to a gruesome death?¡±


    ¡°I did!¡± Thomas exclaimed fiercely. ¡°But always with your prodding! Before the Devil sent you my way, I had never touched sin except in fleeting thoughts. But you, with your talk of friendship, led me away from honest company to poison me with forbidden knowledge, to lure me into hideous blasphemies¡ªand I won¡¯t have any more of it!¡±


    ¡°Yet you swore loyalty to me,¡± Edward said. ¡°Is your loyalty so easily swayed?¡± Thomas sprang up from his chair violently, pacing heavily across the room.


    ¡°You blinded me...I didn¡¯t know what I was doing...but now I do; when I¡ªI¡ªheard her speak, and learned that you had tried to ensnare her¡ª¡±


    Edward cut in with a low laugh. ¡°So she told you that! But I bet she didn¡¯t mention the true nature of her temptation!¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Thomas replied firmly. ¡°She¡¯s free from you now, just as I will be¡ª¡±


    ¡°As you promised her you would be,¡± added Edward. ¡°Fine, go your way¡ªI thought you had some love for me, but the first woman¡¯s face!¡±


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Thomas stopped in his tracks to face him. ¡°I cannot love that which¡ªI fear.¡±


    Edward went pale. ¡°Do you¡ªfear me, Thomas?¡± he asked softly.


    ¡°Aye, you know too much of Satan¡¯s ways¡ªmore than you ever taught me,¡± Thomas shuddered uncontrollably. ¡°There are things in this very house¡ª¡±


    ¡°What do you mean¡ªwhat do you mean?¡± Edward stood up, his eyes wide.


    ¡°Who is the woman?¡± whispered Thomas fearfully. ¡°There¡¯s a woman here¡ª¡±


    ¡°In this house, there¡¯s no one but Nathalie and me,¡± Edward retorted defensively, his eyes darkening.


    ¡°You lie to me; the last time I was here, I turned back swiftly upon leaving, but found the door bolted, the lights out, all except one¡ªin the little chamber next to this¡ªI watched at the window and saw a lavish room and a woman, a winged woman.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re dreaming,¡± Edward replied in a hushed voice. ¡°Do you think I have the power to conjure such apparitions?¡±


    ¡°I think it was some demon lover of yours from Hell¡ªwhere you came from¡ª¡±


    ¡°My love is not in Hell, but here on Earth,¡± answered Edward calmly. ¡°But we may end up in Hell together¡ªas for the woman, it was a dream¡ªthere¡¯s no lavish chamber there.¡± He crossed the room and opened a small door in the wall.


    ¡°Look¡ªold Nathalie¡¯s closet¡ªfull of herbs and charms¡ª¡±


    Thomas peered into the dimly lit room, filled with shelves of jars and bottles. ¡°The magic that could summon the woman could alter the room,¡± he muttered skeptically.


    Edward gave him a slow, intense look. ¡°Was she beautiful?¡±


    ¡°Aye¡ªbut¡ª¡±


    ¡°More beautiful than Jacobea of Martzburg?¡±


    Thomas laughed. ¡°I can¡¯t compare Satan¡¯s servant with an angel from Paradise.¡±


    Edward shut the closet door. ¡°Thomas,¡± he said hesitantly, ¡°don¡¯t leave me¡ªyou¡¯re the only one who can move me to joy or pain¡ªI love you, completely.¡±


    ¡°Enough with that love that would damn my soul¡ª¡±


    As Thomas turned away, Edward placed a hesitant hand on his sleeve. ¡°I¡¯ll make you powerful, very powerful...don¡¯t hate me¡ª¡±


    But Thomas looked fearfully at Edward¡¯s pale face. ¡°I want nothing to do with you.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know how much I value you,¡± Edward insisted in a trembling voice. ¡°Come back to me, and I¡¯ll leave your lady be¡ª¡±


    As Thomas walked away down the long room, Edward crouched against the wall, a mix of defiance and desperation in his voice. ¡°She can scorn ye...defy ye...as I do now!¡±


    Thomas turned back, his tone hoarse with resolve. ¡°For ever,¡± he declared firmly.


    Edward¡¯s demeanor shifted, a cruel gleam in his eyes. ¡°Or until Jacobea of Martzburg falls.¡±


    Thomas¡¯s response was fierce. ¡°That leaves it still for ever.¡±


    ¡°Maybe, however, only for a few poor weeks¡ªyour lily is very fragile, Thomas, so look to see it broken in the mud¡ª¡±


    Thomas clenched his fists. ¡°If you harm her, if you blast her with your hellish spells¡ª¡±


    ¡°Nay¡ªI will not; of herself she shall come to ruin.¡±


    Thomas turned toward the door with finality. ¡°When that is, I will return to you, so¡ªfarewell for ever¡ª¡±


    Edward couldn¡¯t let him go without a parting jab. ¡°Wait! What of this that you know of me?¡±


    Thomas paused, conflicted. ¡°So much I owe you¡ªthat I should be silent.¡±


    ¡°Since, if you speak, you bring to light your own history,¡± Edward taunted. ¡°But¡ªabout the Emperor?¡±


    ¡°God helping me I will prevent that,¡± Thomas vowed.


    Edward probed further. ¡°How will you prevent it? Would you betray me as a first offering to your outraged God?¡±


    Thomas rubbed his brow anxiously. ¡°No, no, not that; but I will take occasion to warn him¡ªto warn some one of the Empress.¡±


    Edward scoffed. ¡°Ah, begone, ye are a foolish creature¡ªgo and put them on their guard.¡±


    Thomas bristled. ¡°Ay, I will. I know one honest man about the Court¡ªHugh of Rosewood.¡±


    The mention of Rosewood caught Edward¡¯s attention. ¡°The Lord of Rosewood? I should remember him; his daughter was Balthasar¡¯s wife¡ªUrsula.¡±


    ¡°She was, and he is the Emperor¡¯s friend, and opposed to the schemes of Ysabeau.¡±


    Edward returned to the table, a sense of resignation settling over him. ¡°Warn whom you will, say what you will; save, if ye can, Melchoir of Brabant; begone, see, I seek not to detain you. One day you shall come back to me, when yon soft saint fails, and I shall be waiting for you; till then, farewell.¡±


    ¡°For ever farewell,¡± Thomas replied resolutely. ¡°I take up your challenge; I go to save the Emperor.¡±


    Their eyes met briefly, the unspoken tension thick between them. Thomas broke the gaze first, muttered a self-directed curse, and left.


    Alone again, Edward sank into his chair, looking dejected and vulnerable. Nathalie entered quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. ¡°He has gone? And in enmity?¡±


    ¡°Ay,¡± Edward murmured. ¡°Renouncing me.¡±


    The witch approached the table, her eyes fixated on the youth¡¯s passive hand as she caressed it with a twisted tenderness. ¡°Let him go,¡± she murmured in an insidious tone. ¡°He is a fool.¡±


    Edward¡¯s faint smile held a hint of confidence. ¡°Why, I have put no strain on him to stay. But he will return.¡±


    ¡°Nay,¡± pleaded Nathalie, her voice tinged with desperation. ¡°Forget him.¡±


    ¡°Forget him!¡± Edward echoed mournfully. ¡°But I love him.¡±


    Nathalie¡¯s touch on his fingers grew more anxious. ¡°This affection will be your ruin,¡± she warned.


    Edward¡¯s gaze drifted beyond her to the autumn sky and the withered red roses. ¡°Well, if it be so,¡± he breathed heavily, ¡°it will be his ruin also; he must go with me when I leave the world¡ªthe world! after all, Nathalie,¡± he turned to the witch with an unsettling intensity, ¡°it does not matter if she hold him here, so long as he is mine through eternity.¡±


    A flush of passion crossed his cheeks, his lashes casting shadows over his eyes. Then, a sudden smile twisted his features. ¡°Nathalie, he has good intentions; he hopes to save the Emperor.¡±


    The witch blinked, her mind racing. ¡°But it is too late?¡±


    ¡°Certes; I conveyed the potion to Ysabeau this morning.¡± Edward¡¯s smile deepened, a sinister glint in his eyes.

 CHAPTER 20

    <hr>


    In the dimly lit dining hall, the Emperor extended a sympathetic hand to his sullen friend, Balthasar. ¡°I¡¯ll send ye to Rome to negotiate with the Pope since ye seem so troubled to remain in Frankfort.¡±


    Balthasar, toying with his yellow hair, remained silent, his mood dark.


    The Empress reclined on a seat against the wall, dressed in a white and silver gown, a cluster of crimson roses resting by her side. Her maidens, seated nearby, worked diligently on scarlet silk embroidery. Beyond the windows, the red sunset sky cast an eerie glow over Frankfort.


    ¡°Come now, be of good cheer,¡± the Emperor urged, his arm draped around Balthasar¡¯s broad shoulders. ¡°Since I¡¯ve decided against Rome, I¡¯ve been met with nothing but sour looks, save from Hugh.¡±


    A flicker of optimism crossed Balthasar¡¯s face. ¡°Ye misjudge, my Prince; we can manage without Rome,¡± he declared, masking his disappointment. ¡°And who¡¯s to say ye won¡¯t change your mind yet?¡± he added with forced cheerfulness.


    The Empress observed them with bright eyes, though she yawned in feigned boredom. Rising slowly, she stretched her slender frame, letting the roses fall to the ground without a care. Her gaze remained fixed on the men, particularly on Balthasar, who felt the weight of her intense scrutiny.


    As the sunset¡¯s last rays danced across the hall, illuminating the opulent table settings and the delicate embroidery, the Emperor remarked on the lateness of the hour.


    ¡°Aye,¡± replied Balthasar, pouring himself a tankard of wine and draining it swiftly.


    Noticing the fallen roses, the Empress picked them up and placed them on the table. ¡°Will not my lord also drink?¡± she inquired, offering a gleaming flagon.


    ¡°As you wish, Princess,¡± replied Melchoir, distracted by the light filtering through the windows.


    ¡°You could have poured for me,¡± murmured Balthasar under his breath.


    Unseen by him, the Empress¡¯s hand brushed against a silver-bound glass as she poured the wine. ¡°Another time,¡± she said cryptically, filling the glass to the brim.


    Their fingers briefly touched as she handed him the glass, spilling a few drops. ¡°Take care!¡± she exclaimed.


    Curious, Melchoir asked, ¡°Why did you say ¡®take care¡¯?¡±


    ¡°We nearly spilled the wine between us,¡± she replied casually.


    Taking a sip, Melchoir frowned. ¡°It tastes peculiar,¡± he remarked.


    The Empress laughed, a sound that echoed hauntingly in the dimly lit hall.


    In the dimly lit dining hall, tension simmered beneath the facade of conviviality. As the servants brought in the meats and the guests settled at the table, an uneasy air hung over the gathering.


    ¡°Is it the cupbearer, perchance?¡± the Emperor queried, eyeing the wine with suspicion.


    ¡°The wine is good enough,¡± Balthasar interjected, though a shadow crossed his jovial demeanor.


    Undeterred, the Emperor took another sip and then set the goblet down with a puzzled expression. ¡°I say it is strange¡ªtaste it, Balthasar,¡± he insisted.


    Before Balthasar could comply, the Empress swiftly intervened. ¡°Nay,¡± she exclaimed, snatching up the glass in a movement quicker than the Margrave¡¯s, ¡°since I poured, the fault¡ªif fault there be¡ªis mine.¡±


    ¡°Give it to me!¡± demanded Balthasar, reaching for the glass.


    But with a deft motion aside, the glass slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor, the wine pooling darkly at their feet.


    As Balthasar bent to retrieve the goblet, the Emperor smiled knowingly. ¡°I warn you of that flagon, Margrave,¡± he remarked cryptically.


    Meanwhile, Thomas, the young secretary, observed the scene with keen interest. He noted the Emperor¡¯s demeanor, the Empress¡¯s swift actions, and Balthasar¡¯s reaction with a growing sense of apprehension. He knew he had to speak to Hugh of Rosewood after supper, as a sign of his final break from Edward Bensouda.


    As the candlelight flickered and the curtains were drawn, casting a somber glow over the company, Thomas¡¯s gaze shifted to Hugh of Rosewood. Something about the man¡¯s features intrigued him¡ªa resemblance to Edward that he couldn¡¯t quite place.


    Suddenly, the Lord of Rosewood turned his penetrating gaze towards Thomas, who felt a chill run down his spine. He recognized the intensity in those eyes, reminiscent of Edward¡¯s unwavering stare.


    The unsettling similarity made Thomas hesitate in his plan to warn Hugh. Instead, he considered approaching the Emperor directly.


    Before he could act on his decision, a gasp rippled through the room. All eyes turned to Melchoir of Brabant, who sat pale and frozen, his eyes wide with horror.


    The Empress leaped from her seat, clutching Melchoir¡¯s arm in a panic. ¡°Melchoir!¡± she cried out. ¡°He does not bear me!¡± Her voice rang out, filled with dread, echoing the dark undercurrents that had woven through the evening.


    In the wake of Melchoir¡¯s sudden collapse, the dining hall descended into chaos and despair. Thomas, the young secretary, stood frozen amidst the frantic commotion.


    ¡°My lord,¡± he rasped, addressing the Emperor, whose struggles seemed futile, akin to one drowning in dark waters.


    ¡°Balthasar!¡± The Margrave sprang into action, gripping his friend¡¯s cold hand. ¡°Can you not hear us? Speak!¡±


    ¡°Melchoir!¡± The Emperor¡¯s voice echoed as if from a distant realm. ¡°I am bewitched!¡± The Empress¡¯s shrill cries filled the air, a chorus of anguish.


    Melchoir slumped forward, his face contorted in agony, beads of sweat glistening on his pallid skin. A low, guttural moan escaped his lips as he collapsed across the table.


    The company surged forward in a panicked frenzy, but the Margrave¡¯s commanding voice cut through the tumult.


    ¡°Stand back! Do not suffocate him!¡± He lifted Melchoir¡¯s limp form, his own expression betraying fear despite his brave words. Melchoir¡¯s features had turned ghastly¡ªhollow eyes, sunken cheeks, and cracked lips as if consumed by internal fire.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    Hugh of Rosewood took charge, his authoritative tone ringing out. ¡°We must move him. Help me, Margrave.¡± With a determined effort, they carried the Emperor towards the stairway leading to his chamber.


    Meanwhile, the Empress, a vision of silver and white against the dark backdrop, lamented her helplessness. ¡°What shall I do!¡± she wailed, her eyes wide with terror.


    ¡°Stop your whimpering,¡± Hugh snapped, his gaze fierce. ¡°Fetch a physician and a priest!¡±


    Ysabeau recoiled, her violet eyes flashing with defiance, as the procession ascended with Melchoir¡¯s limp form.


    Left alone in the now-empty hall, Thomas surveyed the scene with a sinking heart. The flambeau cast an eerie light, illuminating the scattered remnants of a disrupted feast¡ªupturned cushions, discarded vessels, and a single red rose left behind.


    This solitary bloom, stripped of its petals, spoke volumes to Thomas. It confirmed his fears¡ªthe dark forces had prevailed, and Edward¡¯s defiance was now a bitter reality.


    Thomas, consumed by fear and guilt, resolved to remain silent about what he knew. What good could come of revealing the evil that had already transpired? The Empress and her allies would seize power swiftly, with Edward elevated to a position of favor.


    He retreated from the ominous red roses near the vacant throne, his mind racing with thoughts of self-preservation. His own safety, intertwined with his affections for Jacobea of Martzburg, consumed his thoughts. The suffering of the dying Emperor above did not register in his mind, nor did he ponder the ambitions of the Empress.


    As Thomas grappled with his fears and uncertainties, Hugh of Rosewood entered the hall, holding a lamp that cast eerie shadows. Thomas felt a pang of guilt, fearing that his knowledge might be written on his face for Hugh to discern.


    Hugh¡¯s stern gaze swept the room, noticing the crimson flowers and the unusual marks on the table. He approached Thomas, his expression grim.


    ¡°Look here,¡± Hugh commanded, pointing to two black marks on the table.


    Thomas, trembling, attributed them to candle burns, but Hugh¡¯s keen scrutiny suggested otherwise. He directed Thomas¡¯s attention to a scar on the floor, resembling a fire¡¯s aftermath.


    ¡°The flames that made this mark now consume Melchoir of Brabant,¡± Hugh declared, his voice low but firm.


    Thomas, frantic, urged him to quiet down, refusing to accept the grim reality. Hugh placed his lamp on the table, the flickering light casting eerie shadows as the truth of the horror began to sink in.


    Thomas felt a surge of hope as Hugh of Rosewood vowed to expose the Empress¡¯s treachery before she could claim power. If her guilt could be revealed publicly, perhaps she and Edward could still be thwarted.


    ¡°Then speak your mind, lord, before it¡¯s too late,¡± Thomas urged, his voice tinged with desperation. ¡°She may have ways to silence you even now, with her many allies.¡±


    Hugh regarded Thomas with newfound interest. ¡°You seem to know more than you¡¯ve let on. I¡¯ll have questions for you later.¡±


    Before more could be said, Balthasar, bearing the weight of impending loss and responsibility, stormed into the room. His armor clinked with every step, and his eyes blazed with emotion.


    ¡°Melchoir is fading,¡± he announced, his voice heavy with concern. ¡°I must attend to matters of defense or risk our town to invaders.¡±


    ¡°Dying?¡± Hugh echoed, his resolve hardening. ¡°Who¡¯s allowed at his side?¡±


    ¡°The Empress has barred all but herself and the bishop,¡± Balthasar replied bitterly.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go nonetheless,¡± Hugh declared, determined to defy the Empress¡¯s authority.


    Balthasar scoffed but left the decision to Hugh, departing with a resolute stride.


    Hugh turned to Thomas briefly, acknowledging his fear, before heading upstairs to the Emperor¡¯s chamber. He found a somber scene: courtiers, monks, and dark-clad mutes guarded the door, under the Empress¡¯s orders.


    ¡°What right keeps us from the Emperor¡¯s side?¡± Hugh challenged, his voice cutting through the tension.


    The gathered crowd murmured, citing the Empress¡¯s self-proclaimed medical expertise and possession of the chamber.


    Undeterred, Hugh pressed forward, met with silence and reluctance from those present. Melchoir¡¯s allies were few and powerless against the Empress¡¯s ascendancy.


    Defiantly, Hugh announced his intent to enter alone, disregarding the consequences. Some scoffed at his bravery, considering it folly to challenge the Empress¡¯s authority.


    ¡°Shall we all bow to a woman¡¯s rule?¡± Hugh thundered, his resolve unyielding. ¡°What claim does she have over Frankfort?¡±


    Hugh of Rosewood, driven by determination and defiance, pushed through the throng of onlookers, drawing his sword as he approached the door to the Emperor¡¯s chamber. The crowd hesitated, neither aiding nor hindering him, while the slaves signaled for him to reconsider. Ignoring their warnings, Hugh grabbed one by the collar and hurled him against the wall before forcing the door open and stepping inside.


    The chamber was cloaked in gold and brown tapestries, the air heavy and stifling. Melchoir of Brabant lay on the bed, his throat exposed and eyes wide with an unspoken horror. A lone silver lamp cast dim light, illuminating the grim scene.


    Ysabeau, draped in a scarlet cloak over her white gown, stood by the bed, her demeanor defiant as she faced Hugh¡¯s intrusion. She tried to bar his way, but Hugh remained undeterred.


    ¡°I demand to see the Emperor,¡± Hugh declared firmly.


    ¡°He will see no one,¡± Ysabeau retorted, her voice laced with arrogance. ¡°Leave at once; I know not how you forced your entry.¡±


    ¡°I have every right to be here,¡± Hugh countered. ¡°No one can keep me from my lord.¡±


    Ysabeau positioned herself protectively in front of Melchoir, casting a shadow over his face. ¡°Leave or be removed, for you disturb the dying.¡±


    Undeterred, Hugh pressed forward. ¡°Let me see him. He speaks to me!¡±


    Faintly, Hugh thought he heard a voice from the bed calling his name¡ª¡°Hugh, Hugh!¡±


    Ysabeau drew the curtains tighter, obscuring Melchoir further. ¡°He speaks to no one. Go away!¡±


    But Hugh wasn¡¯t swayed. ¡°Why is there no priest here?¡± he demanded.


    ¡°The bishop is on his way,¡± Ysabeau replied sharply.


    ¡°He¡¯s dying now, and monks are waiting,¡± Hugh insisted, springing forward and pulling back the curtains.


    ¡°Melchoir!¡± Hugh exclaimed, grasping the Emperor¡¯s shoulders.


    ¡°He¡¯s dead,¡± Ysabeau stated coldly.


    Undeterred, Hugh continued to examine Melchoir¡¯s lifeless face, pushing back his damp hair.


    ¡°He¡¯s dead,¡± Ysabeau repeated, now unafraid.


    As the reality sank in, Ysabeau retreated to the table, her posture collapsing with grief. The chamber filled with the distant tolling of bells, signaling prayers for the dying across Frankfort.


    In a final moment of clarity, the Emperor stirred in Hugh¡¯s arms, whispering, ¡°Pray for me... Balthasar. They did not slay me honorably¡ª¡±


    He touched his heart and lips, then sighed and drifted away.


    ¡°Quia apud Dominum misericordia, et copiosa apud eum,¡± he murmured.


    ¡°Eum redemptio,¡± Hugh finished, a somber acknowledgment of the fallen Emperor¡¯s passing.


    ¡°Amen,¡± moaned Melchoir of Brabant, and thus he passed into death¡¯s embrace. Silence descended upon the chamber, broken only by the relentless tolling of the bells. Hugh turned away from the lifeless form, his face drained of color, while Ysabeau trembled to her feet.


    ¡°Summon the others,¡± murmured the Empress, her voice strained with sorrow and disbelief. ¡°Let them bear witness to his passing.¡±


    Hugh stepped down from the bed with resolve. ¡°Yes, I will call them in, you sorceress from the East, and expose the man you have slain.¡±


    Ysabeau regarded him with icy composure. ¡°Slain?¡± she echoed, her features frozen in a mask of innocence.


    ¡°Slain!¡± Hugh¡¯s grip tightened on his sword. ¡°And it falls upon me to ensure your reckoning for this night¡¯s crime.¡±


    Ysabeau¡¯s facade shattered as she darted towards the door, but before she could escape, Balthasar of Nola burst into the room, his eyes ablaze with fury fixed on Hugh.


    ¡°You called?¡± Balthasar gasped, his gaze switching between Hugh and Ysabeau.


    ¡°Yes, Melchoir is dead¡ªslain by her hand!¡± Hugh accused, pointing at Ysabeau. ¡°Balthasar, bear witness!¡±


    ¡°Indeed!¡± Hugh¡¯s accusation incited Balthasar¡¯s wrath. He drew his sword and struck Hugh with the flat of the blade across his chest. ¡°You dare accuse her falsely!¡±


    Balthasar¡¯s command sent soldiers rushing in, drowning the somber toll of the bells with the clamor of their arrival. ¡°Seize this man on my command!¡±


    Hugh drew his sword, but before he could act, it was wrested from him. The soldiers closed in, dragging him away while Balthasar, flushed with anger, watched with satisfaction. ¡°I always despised him,¡± he muttered.


    Ysabeau knelt, kissing Balthasar¡¯s feet. ¡°Melchoir is gone, and you are my only defender.¡±


    Balthasar lifted her, his cheeks reddening with embarrassment. ¡°Ysabeau, my dear,¡± he stammered.


    She gently pushed away. ¡°Not now,¡± she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. ¡°Later, my lord! My lord!¡±


    She retreated to the bed, burying her face in her hands. Balthasar removed his helmet, crossed himself, and bowed his head in reverence.


    Melchoir IV lay motionless on the embroidered coverlet, surrounded by the mournful tolling of the bells and the monks¡¯ lamenting chant.


    ¡°De Profundis...¡± the chant echoed, a somber dirge for the departed soul.

 CHAPTER 21

    <hr>


    Jacobea, the chatelaine of Martzburg, found herself in the quiet of a wayside hostel, far removed from the chaos of Frankfort. Rain tapped on the windowpanes, and a chill wind rattled the signboard outside. Inside, Jacobea adjusted the lamp, drew the curtains, and paced the room. Her footsteps echoed in the eerie silence, interrupted only by the rhythmic patter of raindrops and the occasional gust of wind.


    The scenes from Frankfort played vividly in her mind¡ªa haunting tableau of the Emperor¡¯s downfall, Ysabeau¡¯s enigmatic beauty tinged with darkness, and the swift upheaval that followed. Hugh of Rosewood¡¯s capture and the blazing flambeaux added to the surrealness of her memories. Despite the physical distance, Jacobea couldn¡¯t shake off the sense of dread that seemed to follow her, as if the specters of Frankfort lingered in the shadows of her refuge.


    Venturing into the dimly lit bedchamber, Jacobea stared into a mirror, searching for signs of wickedness or weakness in her reflection. The howling wind outside intensified, casting dancing shadows across the room and stirring the worn tapestries. Her long, golden hair stood out against the somber surroundings, a stark contrast to her pale complexion and dark attire.


    As the wind grew fiercer, Jacobea paced the chamber nervously, her hands restless and her eyes darting around. The cold seeping through the walls reminded her of past nights and ominous encounters. Despite her desire for company and warmth, a strange lethargy gripped her limbs, making movement burdensome. She struggled against the heaviness, sinking into a worn chair by the fireplace.


    A creeping darkness enveloped the room, and the flickering lamp seemed distant and faint. The symphony of wind and rain morphed into haunting whispers, echoing her fears and uncertainties. Jacobea¡¯s attempts to reach for solace¡ªa crucifix¡ªwere thwarted by numbed fingers and a sense of impending doom.


    Memories and forebodings intertwined in her mind, blurring the lines between reality and nightmare. She felt herself slipping into a hazy abyss, where familiar sounds transformed into eerie echoes of a distant past.


    Jacobea whispered in a trembling voice, echoing the dying Emperor¡¯s words¡ª¡°I am bewitched.¡±


    The Knight, adorned with a glittering star above his brow, approached her with a goblet in hand. ¡°Sebastian!¡± she exclaimed, her horror evident as the chamber spun around her. The Knight¡¯s painted shield and outstretched hand holding the wine blurred in her vision, his visor concealing his face.


    With a mixture of screams and laughter, she pushed the goblet away, struggling against the surreal scene unfolding before her. A voice from the shadows spoke cryptically, questioning why she couldn¡¯t find happiness like the Empress and hinting at the ease of a woman¡¯s demise.


    In a haze of confusion and fear, Jacobea searched for her crucifix, only to find herself tasting the wine from the offered goblet. Its fiery warmth surged through her, granting her newfound strength as she stood up. The Knight¡¯s star faded into the lamp¡¯s flame, clearing the room¡¯s fog. To her astonishment, she saw Edward Bensouda standing before her, his smile sending chills down her spine.


    ¡°Oh!¡± she exclaimed, bewildered and disoriented, her hands clutching her head.


    Edward calmly inquired, ¡°Why did you leave Frankfort?¡±


    ¡°I do not know,¡± Jacobea replied, her eyes vacant and distant. ¡°I think I was afraid.¡±


    ¡°Of becoming like Ysabeau?¡± Edward probed.


    Confusion clouded Jacobea¡¯s mind as she struggled to comprehend her situation. The room fell into an eerie silence, illuminated only by the steady glow of the lamp.


    ¡°What of Sebastian?¡± Edward pressed, his gaze fixed on her.


    Jacobea, moving as if in a trance, confessed, ¡°I have no steward. I am going alone to Martzburg.¡±


    Edward persisted, ¡°What of Sebastian?¡±


    Silence filled the chamber as Jacobea, guided by the wall, moved slowly towards Edward. The wind whispered through the arras, adding to the haunting atmosphere.


    Edward placed the goblet beside the lamp, his gaze unwavering. ¡°The Emperor is dead,¡± he announced.


    ¡°Is dead,¡± Jacobea echoed, her voice hollow.


    ¡°Ysabeau knows how,¡± Edward continued.


    Jacobea¡¯s whispered response hinted at her suspicions. ¡°Ah! I think I knew it.¡±


    ¡°Shall the Empress be happy while you starve your heart to death?¡± Edward questioned, his tone urging her to confront her inner turmoil.


    Jacobea sighed, her mind lost in a haze of memories and fears. ¡°Sebastian! Sebastian!¡± she murmured, her words revealing her inner torment. ¡°What is Sybilla to you?¡±


    Edward¡¯s answer cut through the tense silence. ¡°His wife.¡±


    ¡°The dead do not bind the living,¡± Jacobea remarked with a distant laugh, her mind grappling with conflicting thoughts.


    Edward pressed on. ¡°A word from you can set him on the path to Martzburg.¡±


    Jacobea, in a trance-like state, nodded absently. ¡°Why not? Sybilla would be waiting, listening to the wind, and he would come...¡±


    The scene dissolved into a chilling uncertainty, with Jacobea¡¯s mind lost in a haunting labyrinth of memories, desires, and the looming specter of death.


    Edward interjected, ¡°Has the chatelaine spoken?¡± he would say, and he would make an end of it.¡±


    Jacobea¡¯s voice drifted dreamily. ¡°Perhaps she would be glad to die. I have thought that I should be glad to die.¡±


    ¡°And Sebastian?¡± inquired Edward.


    A flicker of emotion crossed Jacobea¡¯s face. ¡°Does he care for me?¡± she asked plaintively.


    ¡°Enough to make life and death of little moment,¡± replied Edward. ¡°Has he not followed you from Frankfort?¡±


    ¡°Followed me?¡± murmured Jacobea. ¡°I thought he had forsaken me.¡±


    ¡°He is here.¡±


    ¡°Here¡ªhere?¡± She turned, her movements still strangely unfocused, her golden hair catching the dim light as she faced away from it.


    ¡°Sebastian,¡± Edward whispered softly.


    With a gesture, Edward summoned the steward from the shadowy depths of the inner room. Sebastian¡¯s face betrayed a mixture of urgency and intensity as he scanned the room and approached Jacobea, who stood rigidly, her eyes devoid of life.


    ¡°Sebastian,¡± Jacobea uttered without change in tone or expression, her gaze seemingly distant.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    He knelt before her, his voice strained. ¡°Have you followed me?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± he replied hoarsely, staring at her ghostly pallor. He took her hand, feeling its lifeless touch.


    ¡°Shall we be free tonight?¡± Jacobea asked gently.


    ¡°You have but to speak,¡± Sebastian vowed. ¡°So much will I do for you.¡±


    She leaned closer, brushing his disheveled hair. ¡°Lord of Martzburg and my lord,¡± she murmured sweetly. ¡°Do you know how much I love you, Sebastian? Why, you must ask the image of the Virgin¡ªI have told her so often, and no one else; nay, no one else.¡±


    Sebastian¡¯s distress surfaced. ¡°Oh God!¡± he cried. ¡°I am ashamed¡ªye have bewitched her¡ªshe knows not what she says.¡± Edward¡¯s anger flared.


    ¡°Did ye not curse me when ye thought she had escaped? Did I not swear to recover her for you? Is she not yours? Saint Gabriel cannot save her now.¡±


    ¡°If she had not said that,¡± Sebastian muttered in turmoil, his eyes pleading with Jacobea, who remained impassive, her fingertips resting on the table, her gaze fixed ahead.


    ¡°Fool,¡± retorted Edward. ¡°And if she did not love you, what chance had you? I left my fortunes to help you to this prize, and I will not see you falter now¡ªlady, speak to him.¡±


    ¡°Speak to me,¡± pleaded Sebastian earnestly. ¡°Tell me if it is your wish that I, at all costs, should become your husband. Tell me if it is your will that the woman in our way should go.¡± A spark of defiance ignited in Jacobea¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°Yes,¡± she affirmed. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Jacobea!¡± Sebastian grasped her arm, drawing her closer. ¡°Look me in the face and repeat that to me; consider if it is worth¡ªHell¡ªto you and me.¡±


    She met his gaze briefly before burying her face in his sleeve.


    ¡°Ay, Hell,¡± she answered heavily, ¡°go to Martzburg tonight; she cannot claim you when she is dead; how I have striven not to hate her¡ªmy lord, my husband.¡± She clung to him like a sleepy child falling into oblivion. ¡°Now it is all over, is it not?¡ªthe unrest, the striving. Sebastian, beware of the storm¡ªit blows so loud.¡±


    He gently guided her into the worn old chair. ¡°I will come back to you¡ªtomorrow.¡± ¡°Tomorrow,¡± she repeated, ¡°when the sun is up.¡±


    The wind howled between them, causing the lamp-flame to dance wildly.


    ¡°Make haste!¡± cried Edward. ¡°Away¡ªthe horse is below.¡±


    But Sebastian lingered, gazing at Jacobea.


    ¡°It is done,¡± Edward urged impatiently. ¡°Begone.¡±


    The steward turned away, his thoughts racing.


    ¡°They are all asleep below?¡± he questioned.


    ¡°And they won¡¯t stir,¡± Edward assured.


    Sebastian opened the door onto the dark stairway and slipped out silently.


    ¡°Now, it is done,¡± Edward whispered with a sense of finality, ¡°and she is lost.¡±


    He raised the lamp, casting its light over Jacobea¡¯s drooping figure. Her head rested against the tarnished velvet, a serene smile on her lips. Even with Edward¡¯s intent scrutiny, she remained still.


    ¡°Gold hair and grey eyes¡ªand her little feet,¡± murmured Edward. ¡°One of God¡¯s own flowers¡ªwhat are you now?¡±


    He chuckled to himself and replaced the lamp. The storm¡¯s fury resumed, rattling the trees and howling through the room. Jacobea stirred in her seat.


    ¡°Is he gone?¡± she asked fearfully.


    ¡°Indeed, he¡¯s gone,¡± smiled Edward. ¡°Would you have him on such errands daily?¡±


    Jacobea stood, listening to the tumultuous wind outside.


    ¡°I thought he was here,¡± she whispered. ¡°I thought that he had come at last.¡±


    ¡°He came,¡± said Edward cryptically.


    The chatelaine¡¯s eyes widened with realization. ¡°Who are you?¡± she demanded, her calm demeanor shattered. ¡°What has happened?¡±


    ¡°Do you not remember me?¡± smiled Edward enigmatically.


    Jacobea stumbled back.


    ¡°Why,¡± she stammered, ¡°he was here, down at my feet, and we spoke¡ªabout Sybilla.¡±


    ¡°And now,¡± said Edward, ¡°he has gone to free you of Sybilla¡ªas you bid him.¡±


    ¡°The Pursuit of Jacobea,¡± he declared.


    ¡°As I bid him?¡± Jacobea¡¯s voice trembled with confusion.


    Edward secured his cloak tightly.


    ¡°At this moment, he rides to Martzburg on your behalf, and I must return to Frankfort where my fortunes await. For you, these words: should you encounter a certain Thomas, a handsome scholar, do not preach to him of God and Judgment, nor pretend to be a saint. Leave him be, for he is none of your concern, and perhaps some woman loves him as you love Sebastian, and will hold him, even without golden hair.¡±


    Jacobea let out a despairing moan.


    ¡°I told him to go,¡± she whispered. ¡°Did God abandon me completely when I told him to go?¡±


    She shot Edward a wild look over her shoulder, huddling on the floor in distress.


    ¡°You are the Devil!¡± she shrieked. ¡°I have delivered myself unto the Devil!¡±


    Her hands beat together, and she fell towards his feet.


    Edward leaned in, peering curiously at her unconscious face.


    ¡°Why, she is not so fair,¡± he murmured, ¡°and grief will spoil her bloom, and ¡¯twas only her face he loved.¡±


    He extinguished the lamp, embracing the darkness with a smile.


    ¡°I do think God is very weak.¡±


    Pulling the curtain aside, the moon¡¯s eerie light bathed the huddled figure of Jacobea of Martzburg, casting her shadow across the cold floor like a dark omen. Edward slipped out of the chamber and the hostel, his departure unnoticed amidst the raging wind.


    The storm outside howled and raged, masking any sounds of his movements. Edward paused in the wild night, gathering his bearings, then headed towards the shed where their horses were kept.


    The trees creaked in protest, the rain lashed fiercely, but Edward sang softly to himself, his joy a stark contrast to the turmoil around him.


    The moon, a furious sentinel in the sky, illuminated the wooden shed against the rocks. Inside, the horses slumbered peacefully, except for Sebastian¡¯s empty spot.


    Edward, his body shivering in the tempest, readied his horse to leave when a noise caught his attention.


    Someone was stirring in the straw at the shed¡¯s back.


    He listened intently until a moonbeam revealed a cloaked figure rising from the ground.


    ¡°Ah,¡± Edward spoke softly, ¡°who might this be?¡±


    The figure straightened up. ¡°I sought shelter here, sir,¡± he explained, ¡°deeming it too late to disturb the hostel¡ª¡±


    ¡°Thomas!¡± exclaimed Edward, laughter tinged with excitement. ¡°This is quite the coincidence¡ª¡±


    Thomas approached. ¡°Yes, Thomas; have you followed me?¡± His face bore the weariness of one fleeing a relentless pursuit. ¡°I fled Frankfort to escape you; what devil¡¯s trick brings you here?¡±


    Edward caressed his horse¡¯s neck, a touch of sorrow in his tone. ¡°Are you afraid of me, Thomas? There is no need.¡±


    But Thomas, backed into a corner, lashed out with the desperation of a trapped soul.


    ¡°Begone, I want none of you nor your kind; I know how the Emperor met his end, and I fled a city where such as you rise to power, just as Jacobea of Martzburg did¡ªI am following her.¡±


    ¡°And where do you think to find her?¡± inquired Edward.


    ¡°By now, she is likely at Basle.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you afraid to go to Basle?¡±


    Thomas trembled, retreating into the shadows.


    ¡°I want to save my soul; no, I am not afraid; if need be, I will confess.¡±


    Edward chuckled darkly.


    ¡°At Jacobea of Martzburg¡¯s shrine? Ensure she¡¯s not trampled in the mire by then.¡±


    ¡°You lie, maligning her!¡± Thomas¡¯ voice rang out in fervent defense.


    ¡°You are the Devil!¡± she shrieked. ¡°I have delivered myself unto the Devil!¡±


    Her hands beat together, and she fell towards his feet.


    Edward leaned in, peering curiously at her unconscious face.


    ¡°Why, she is not so fair,¡± he murmured, ¡°and grief will spoil her bloom, and ¡¯twas only her face he loved.¡±


    He extinguished the lamp, embracing the darkness with a smile.


    ¡°I do think God is very weak.¡±


    Pulling the curtain aside, the moon¡¯s eerie light bathed the huddled figure of Jacobea of Martzburg, casting her shadow across the cold floor like a dark omen. Edward slipped out of the chamber and the hostel, his departure unnoticed amidst the raging wind.


    The storm outside howled and raged, masking any sounds of his movements. Edward paused in the wild night, gathering his bearings, then headed towards the shed where their horses were kept.


    The trees creaked in protest, the rain lashed fiercely, but Edward sang softly to himself, his joy a stark contrast to the turmoil around him.


    The moon, a furious sentinel in the sky, illuminated the wooden shed against the rocks. Inside, the horses slumbered peacefully, except for Sebastian¡¯s empty spot.


    Edward, his body shivering in the tempest, readied his horse to leave when a noise caught his attention.


    Someone was stirring in the straw at the shed¡¯s back.


    He listened intently until a moonbeam revealed a cloaked figure rising from the ground.


    ¡°Ah,¡± Edward spoke softly, ¡°who might this be?¡±


    The figure straightened up. ¡°I sought shelter here, sir,¡± he explained, ¡°deeming it too late to disturb the hostel¡ª¡±


    ¡°Thomas!¡± exclaimed Edward, laughter tinged with excitement. ¡°This is quite the coincidence¡ª¡±


    Thomas approached. ¡°Yes, Thomas; have you followed me?¡± His face bore the weariness of one fleeing a relentless pursuit. ¡°I fled Frankfort to escape you; what devil¡¯s trick brings you here?¡±


    Edward caressed his horse¡¯s neck, a touch of sorrow in his tone. ¡°Are you afraid of me, Thomas? There is no need.¡±


    But Thomas, backed into a corner, lashed out with the desperation of a trapped soul.


    ¡°Begone, I want none of you nor your kind; I know how the Emperor met his end, and I fled a city where such as you rise to power, just as Jacobea of Martzburg did¡ªI am following her.¡±


    ¡°And where do you think to find her?¡± inquired Edward.


    ¡°By now, she is likely at Basle.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you afraid to go to Basle?¡±


    Thomas trembled, retreating into the shadows.


    ¡°I want to save my soul; no, I am not afraid; if need be, I will confess.¡±


    Edward chuckled darkly.


    ¡°At Jacobea of Martzburg¡¯s shrine? Ensure she¡¯s not trampled in the mire by then.¡±


    ¡°You lie, maligning her!¡± Thomas¡¯ voice rang out in fervent defense.

 CHAPTER 22

    <hr>


    Sebastian paused on the steep, dark stairs and listened. Castle Martzburg lay silent and foreboding, its ancient walls sheltering only a few slumbering servants. His cautious entry through the donjon door had been noiseless, yet he found himself stopping every few steps, straining to catch any hint of movement or sound.


    He carried a flickering light, shielding it from the drafts that threatened to snuff it out. He slipped the keys that had granted him entry into the bosom of his doublet to silence their faint jingling.


    Reaching the great hall, he eased the door open as if expecting to find something sinister lurking in the shadows. He stepped inside, his dim light barely penetrating the vast gloom. The hall was frigid, the rain outside pattering incessantly from the gargoyles¡¯ mouths, a sound that stirred dark memories.


    Crossing to the hearth, Sebastian set the lamp in a niche by the chimney-piece. He wished there was a fire to warm his chilled bones. The lamp¡¯s feeble rays revealed the hearth¡¯s cold ashes, the window-seat¡¯s cushions, and something gleaming with an unsettling fiery hue.


    He recoiled slightly, recognizing Sybilla¡¯s red lily, finished and vibrant on a samite cushion, with Jacobea¡¯s little grey cat curled up beside it. The sight provoked a curious and intent reflection¡ªhe had never truly spoken with his wife, nor had any fondness for her. Yet, if she had declared she hated him, he would not have been surprised. Love for her, he realized, would not have altered his course tonight. His thoughts turned towards his destiny¡ªLord of Martzburg, perhaps even with a chance at the imperial crown. No mere woman would stand in the way of such a fate.


    Thinking of Jacobea, he felt a pang of shame. Until tonight, she had been nothing more than a tool, her favor a mere means to an end. But her prayers and tender words had stirred something within him. His dark face flushed as he took the light from the niche, shadows gathering and pressing him forward.


    He found the small door by the fireplace open and ascended the steep stone steps to his wife¡¯s chamber. The silence was profound, broken only by his breathing and the thump of his heart. He had removed his boots, moving soundlessly, but could not still the anxious catch of his breath.


    At her door, he paused once more, listening intently. Nothing stirred. He opened the door and stepped into the small, low-ceilinged room. The unshrouded windows allowed fitful moonlight to dance across the floor. His gaze went straight to the bed on his left, its dark arras drawn back from the pillows.


    Sybilla lay asleep, her heavy hair spread out beneath her cheek. The moonlight rendered her flesh and the bedclothes a blinding white. The coverlet, adorned with dim yet sumptuous purple roses, had slipped halfway to the polished floor. Her shoes stood neatly on the bed steps, her clothes draped over a chair, and a crucifix with her breviary beneath hung against the wall.


    The storm outside was abating, its waning light casting faint shadows across the chamber. Sebastian placed the lamp on a low coffer inside the door and advanced to the bed, the air heavy with his resolve.


    A large, dusky mirror hung beside the window, reflecting his wife in an eerie glow, her ivory skin contrasted against the dark lines of her hair and brows. Sebastian approached the bedside, his shadow falling across her serene, sleeping face.


    ¡°Sybilla,¡± he whispered.


    Her steady breathing continued unchanged.


    ¡°Sybilla,¡± he called again, louder this time.


    A swift cloud obscured the moon, leaving the sickly rays of the lamp to struggle against the deepening darkness.


    ¡°Sybilla.¡±


    At last, she stirred, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she reluctantly woke from her dreams.


    ¡°Do you not hear me speak, Sybilla?¡±


    The rustle of her silk bedclothes filled the room as she sat up, wide awake, her eyes fixing on him.


    ¡°So you have come home, Sebastian?¡± she said, her voice calm. ¡°Why did you rouse me?¡±


    He stared at her in silence. She brushed her hair back from her eyes.


    ¡°What is it?¡± she asked softly.


    ¡°The Emperor is dead,¡± Sebastian replied.


    ¡°I know¡ªwhat is that to me? Bring the light, Sebastian; I cannot see your face.¡±


    ¡°There is no need. The Emperor had no time to pray; I would not deal so with you, so I woke you.¡±


    ¡°Sebastian!¡±


    ¡°By my mistress¡¯s commands, you must die tonight, and by my desire; I shall be Lord of Martzburg, and there is no other way.¡±


    She leaned forward, trying to see his face in the dim light.


    ¡°Make your peace with Heaven,¡± he said hoarsely. ¡°For tomorrow, I must go to her a free man.¡±


    Sybilla put her hand to her long throat.


    ¡°I wondered if you would ever say this to me¡ªI did not think so, for it did not enter my mind that she could give commands.¡±


    ¡°Then you knew?¡± Sebastian asked, gripping the bedpost.


    Sybilla smiled faintly.


    ¡°Before ever you did, Sebastian, and I have thought of it during these long days alone. It seemed I must sew it even into my embroideries¡ª¡®Jacobea loves Sebastian.¡¯¡±


    Sebastian¡¯s face twisted with a mix of emotions.


    ¡°It is the strangest thing,¡± she continued, ¡°that she should love you¡ªyou¡ªand send you here tonight; she was a gracious maiden.¡±


    ¡°I am not here to talk of that,¡± Sebastian said sharply. ¡°Nor have we long¡ªthe dawn is not far off.¡±


    Sybilla stood, her long feet touching the bed step.


    ¡°So I must die,¡± she said calmly. ¡°Certes! I have not lived so ill that I should fear to die, nor so pleasantly that I should yearn to live; it will be a poor thing in you to kill me, but no shame to me to be slain, my lord.¡±


    Standing against the shadowed curtains, her hair caught the lamplight, turning it into a halo of red gold around her pale face. Sebastian looked at her with a mix of hatred and terror, but she smiled at him strangely.


    ¡°You never knew me, Sebastian, but I know you well, and I scorn you so utterly that I am sorry for the chatelaine.¡±


    ¡°She and I will manage that,¡± Sebastian retorted fiercely. ¡°And if you seek to divert or delay me with this talk, it is useless, for I am resolved and will not be moved.¡±


    ¡°I do not seek to move you, nor do I ask you for my life. Have I not always been dutiful?¡±


    ¡°Do not smile at me!¡± he cried. ¡°You should hate me.¡±


    She shook her head slowly.


    ¡°Certes! I hate you not.¡±


    She moved gracefully from the bed, her slim, childish figure swathed in a long linen garment. She picked up a wrap of gold-colored silk from a chair and draped it around her shoulders. Sebastian watched her with sullen eyes, a dark shadow of guilt and determination clouding his features.


    She glanced at the crucifix, its weathered wood and tarnished silver seeming to absorb the dim lamplight.


    ¡°I got nothin¡¯ to say; God knows it all. I¡¯m ready.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want your soul,¡± Sebastian cried out, his voice tinged with desperation.


    Sybilla smiled, a serene expression amid the gathering shadows. ¡°I made confession yesterday. It¡¯s mighty cold for this time of year¡ªbut I ain¡¯t shiverin¡¯ from fear, my lord.¡±


    She slipped on her shoes, her brilliant hair catching a patch of fading moonlight as she bent down.


    ¡°Make haste,¡± Sebastian breathed, impatience in his tone.


    His wife raised her face, calm and resolute. ¡°How long have we been wed?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Let that be,¡± he snapped, his face paling as he bit his lip.


    ¡°Three years¡ªnay, not even three. When I¡¯m dead, give my embroideries to Jacobea. They¡¯re in these coffers. I finished the red lily¡ªI was sewing it when the two scholars came, that night she first knew¡ªand you first knew¡ªbut I had known a long while.¡±


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    Sebastian snatched up the lamp. ¡°Be silent or speak to God,¡± he said harshly.


    Sybilla moved gently across the floor, holding the yellow silk wrap to her breast. ¡°What¡¯re you gonna do with me?¡± she whispered. ¡°Strangle me?¡ªnay, they would see that¡ªafterwards.¡±


    Sebastian went to a little door beside the bed and pulled aside the heavy curtain. ¡°That leads to the battlements,¡± she said, her voice barely a whisper.


    He pointed to the dark steps. ¡°Go up, Sybilla.¡±


    He held the lamp above his haggard face, the light casting eerie shadows over the narrow, winding stone steps. She looked at them, then began to ascend. Sebastian followed, closing the door behind them. In a few moments, they emerged onto the donjon roof.


    The vast stretch of sky was clear, paling for the dawn. Faint clouds clustered around the dying moon, and the scattered stars pulsed wearily. Below lay the dark masses of the castle, and beside them rose the straining pole and wind-tattered banner of Jacobea of Martzburg.


    Sybilla leaned against the battlements, her hair fluttering in the wind. ¡°How cold it is!¡± she said, her voice trembling. ¡°Make haste, my lord.¡±


    He was shuddering too, the keen, insistent wind biting through his clothes. ¡°Will you not pray?¡± he asked again.


    ¡°No,¡± she answered, looking at him vacantly. ¡°If I shriek, would anyone hear me?¡ªWill it be more horrible than I thought? Make haste¡ªmake haste, or I shall be afraid.¡±


    She crouched against the stone, shivering violently. Sebastian put the lamp on the ground. ¡°Take care it doesn¡¯t go out,¡± she said, laughing bitterly. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t like to find your way back in the dark¡ªthe little cat will be sorry for me.¡±


    She broke off to watch what he was doing. A portion of the tower projected outward; here the wall was as high as a man, pierced with arblast holes. Through these, Sybilla had often looked, seeing the countryside below framed in stone like a picture in a letter of an hor?, so small it seemed, yet clear and brightly colored.


    Beneath the wall was a paving-stone, raised by an iron ring. When lifted, it revealed a sheer drop the entire height of the donjon, through which stones and fire could be hurled in times of siege upon the assailants below. Jacobea had always shuddered at it, nor had there been occasion to open it for many years.


    Sybilla watched her husband strain at the ring and bend over the hole. She stepped forward. ¡°Must it be that way?¡ªO Jesus, Jesus! Shall I not be afraid?¡±


    She clasped her hands, fixing her eyes on Sebastian as he raised the slab, revealing the black aperture. He quickly stepped back as stone rang on stone.


    ¡°So,¡± he said, ¡°I shall not touch you, and it will be swiftly over¡ªwalk across, Sybilla.¡±


    She closed her eyes, drawing a long breath. ¡°Have you not the courage?¡± he cried violently. ¡°Then I must hurl you from the battlements... it shall not look like murder.¡±


    She turned her face to the brightening sky. ¡°My soul ain¡¯t afraid, but... how my body shrinks!¡ªI don¡¯t think I can do it...¡±


    He made a movement towards her; at that, she gathered herself.


    ¡°No¡ªyou shall not touch me.¡±


    With a firm step, she walked across the donjon roof. ¡°Farewell, Sebastian; may God assoil me and thee.¡±


    She put her hands to her face and moaned as her foot touched the edge of the hole. No shriek nor cry disturbed the serenity of the night; she made no last effort to save herself but disappeared silently into the blackness of her death.


    Sebastian listened to the strange, indefinite sound of it, the eerie echo of Sybilla¡¯s fall, and drops of terror gathered on his brow. Then all was silent again, save for the monotonous flap of the banner.


    ¡°Lord of Martzburg,¡± he muttered to steady himself, ¡°Lord of Martzburg.¡±


    He dropped the stone back into place, picked up the lantern, and returned down the close, cold stairs. In her room, the pillow still bore the mark where her head had lain, her clothes draped over the coffer. Despite everything, he hated her no less than he ever had. To the very end, she had shamed him. Why had he taken so long? Too long. Soon someone would be stirring, and he had to be far from Martzburg before they found Sybilla.


    He crept from the chamber with the same unnecessary stealth he had used upon entering and descended the stairs to the great hall in a cautious manner.


    To reach the little door that had admitted him, he had to traverse nearly half the castle. He cursed the distance and the grey light that crept in through every window, revealing his own shaking hand holding the useless lamp. Martzburg, soon to be his castle, had become hateful to him. He had always found it too vast, too empty, but now he would fill it as Jacobea had never done. The knights and her kinsfolk who had always overlooked him would be his guests and companions.


    The thoughts that chased through his brain took curious turns. Jacobea was the Emperor¡¯s ward, but the Emperor was dead. Should he wed her secretly? How long need he wait? Sybilla was often on the donjon keep. Let it seem that she had fallen. None had seen him come, none would see him go. And Jacobea, strangest thing of all (he seemed to hear Sybilla saying it), loved him...


    The pale glow of a dreary dawn filled the great hall as he entered it. The grey cat was still asleep, and the shining silks of the red lily gleamed like the hair of the strange woman who had worked it patiently into the samite. He tiptoed across the hall, descended the wider stairs, and made his way to the first chamber of the donjon.


    Carefully, he returned the lamp to the niche where he had found it, wondering as he extinguished it if anyone would note that it had been burnt that night. Carefully, he drew on his great muddy boots and crept out by the little postern door into the court.


    So sheltered was the castle and situated in such a peaceful place that when the chatelaine was not within the walls, the huge outer gates, which required many men to close them, stood open to the hillside. Beyond them, Sebastian saw his patient horse, fastened to the ring of the bell chain, and beyond him, the clear grey-blue hills and trees.


    His road lay open, yet he closed the door slowly behind him and hesitated. He strove with a desire to go and look at her. He knew just how she had fallen. When he had first come to Martzburg, the hideous hole in the battlements had exercised a great fascination over him. He had often flung down stones, clods of grass, even once a book, to hear the hollow whistling sound and imagine a furious enemy below.


    Afterwards, he had noticed these things and how they struck the bottom of the shaft¡ªlying where she would be now. He desired to see her, yet loathed the thought of it. There was his horse, there the open road, and Jacobea waiting a few miles away, yet he must linger while the accusing daylight gathered about him, while the rising sun discovered him. He must dally with the precious moments, bite the ends of his black hair, frown, and stare at the round tower of the donjon, the other side of which she lay.


    At last, he crossed the rough cobbles, skirted the keep, and stood still, looking at her.


    Yes¡ªhe had pictured her, yet he saw her more distinctly than he had imagined he would in this grey light. Her hair and cloak seemed to be wrapped close about her; one hand still clung to her face; her feet showed bare and beautiful.


    Sebastian crept nearer. He wanted to see her face, to see if her eyes were open, to be certain if that dark red that lay spread on the ground was all her scattered locks... the light was treacherous.


    He was stooping to touch her when the quick sound of an approaching horseman made him draw back and glance around.


    Before he could even tell himself it was well to flee, they were upon him. Two horsemen, finely mounted, the foremost Edward Bensouda, bare-headed, a rich color in his cheeks and a sparkle in his eyes. He reined up the slim brown horse.


    ¡°So¡ªit is done?¡± he cried, leaning from the saddle towards Sebastian.


    The steward stepped back. ¡°Whom have you with you?¡± he asked in a shaking voice.


    ¡°A friend of mine and a suitor to the chatelaine¡ªof which folly you and I shall cure him.¡± Thomas pressed forward, the hooves of his striving horse making a musical clatter on the cobbles.


    ¡°The steward!¡± he cried; ¡°and...¡±


    His voice sank. He turned burning eyes on Edward.


    ¡°...the steward¡¯s wife that was,¡± smiled the youth. ¡°But, certes! you must do him worship now. He will be Lord of Martzburg.¡±


    Sebastian was staring at Sybilla. ¡°You tell too much,¡± he muttered.


    ¡°Nay, my friend is one with me, and I can answer for his silence.¡± Edward patted the horse¡¯s neck and laughed again, his laughter carrying a high, triumphant note.


    Thomas swung round on him in desperate, bitter fierceness. ¡°Why have you brought me here? Where is the chatelaine? By God¡¯s saints, that woman has been murdered...¡±


    Edward turned in the saddle and faced him. ¡°Aye, and by Jacobea of Martzburg¡¯s commands.¡±


    Thomas laughed aloud, the sound echoing off the cold, stone walls.


    In the eerie dawn, Sebastian faced Edward and Thomas amidst the chilling shadow of Castle Martzburg.


    ¡°The lie is dead as you give it being,¡± Sebastian declared, his voice heavy with the weight of his deeds. ¡°Nor can all your devilry make it live.¡±


    ¡°Sebastian,¡± Edward said, his voice clear and musical, ¡°has not this woman come to her death by the chatelaine¡¯s commands?¡± He pointed to Sybilla¡¯s lifeless form.


    ¡°You know it, since in your presence she bade me hither,¡± answered Sebastian heavily.


    Edward¡¯s voice rose in accusation. ¡°You see, your piece of uprightness thought highly of her steward, and that she might endow him with her hand, his wife must die¡ª¡±


    ¡°Peace! Peace!¡± Sebastian¡¯s cry was fierce, cutting through the tense air, and Thomas rose in his saddle in wild disbelief.


    ¡°It is a lie!¡± he repeated wildly. ¡°If ¡¯tis not a lie, God has turned His face from me, and I am lost indeed!¡±


    ¡°If ¡¯tis no lie,¡± cried Edward with an exultant edge to his words, ¡°you are mine¡ªdid ye not swear it?¡±


    ¡°An¡¯ she be this thing you name her,¡± answered Thomas passionately, ¡°then the Devil is cunning indeed, and I his servant. But if you speak false, I will kill you at her feet.¡±


    ¡°And by that will I abide,¡± smiled Edward confidently. ¡°Sebastian, you shall return with us to give this news to your mistress.¡±


    ¡°Is she not here?¡± cried Thomas, his desperation evident.


    Edward pointed to the silver-plated harness. ¡°You ride her horse. See her arms upon his breast. Sweet fool, we left her behind in the hostel, waiting for the steward¡¯s return...¡±


    ¡°All ways ye trap and deceive me,¡± exclaimed Thomas hotly.


    ¡°Let us begone,¡± said Sebastian, looking at Edward as if seeking guidance. ¡°Is it not time for us to begone?¡±


    Full daylight now, though the sun had yet to rise above the hills, cast a pale glow over the scene. The castle¡¯s towering walls and high towers loomed ominously, blocking out the sky and casting the three men in a shadow of uncertainty.


    ¡°Hark!¡± Edward lifted his finger delicately, drawing attention to the approaching sound of hooves on the long white road, the rhythmic trot starkly clear in the hard stillness.


    ¡°Who is this?¡± whispered Sebastian, his grip tightening on Edward¡¯s bridle as if seeking protection, his eyes fixed on the open gates.


    A white horse emerged from the misty background of grey country, a woman in the saddle¡ªJacobea of Martzburg.


    ¡°Now can the chatelaine speak for herself,¡± breathed Edward.


    Thomas gave a great sigh, his eyes fixed intensely on Jacobea, who seemed oblivious to their presence.


    ¡°Sebastian,¡± she cried, drawing rein and gazing at him, ¡°where is your wife?¡±


    Her words rang out like an ominous bell in the cold, clear air.


    ¡°Sybilla died last night,¡± answered Sebastian heavily, ¡°but I did nought. And you should not have come.¡±


    Jacobea shaded her brows with a gloved hand, her gaze distant.


    Thomas erupted in a trembling passion. ¡°In the name of the angels in whose company I ever placed you, what do you know of this that has been done?¡±


    ¡°What is that on the ground?¡± cried Jacobea suddenly. ¡°Sybilla¡ªhe has slain Sybilla¡ªbut, sirs,¡°¡ªshe looked around distractedly¡ª¡°ye must not blame him¡ªhe saw my wish...¡±


    ¡°From your own lips!¡± Thomas¡¯s accusation cut through the air.


    ¡°Who are you who speak?¡± Jacobea demanded haughtily. ¡°I sent him to slay Sybilla...¡± Her words trailed off into a hideous shriek. ¡°Sebastian, ye are stepping in her blood!¡±


    As she slipped from Sebastian¡¯s hold to her knees, her unconscious head came near to the stiff white feet of the dead.


    ¡°Her yellow hair!¡± exclaimed Edward. ¡°Let us leave her to her steward¡ªyou and I have another way!¡±


    ¡°May God curse her as He has me,¡± said Thomas in anguish, ¡°for she has slain my hope of heaven!¡±


    ¡°You will not leave me?¡± called Sebastian desperately. ¡°What shall I say?¡ªwhat shall I do?¡±


    ¡°Lie and lie again!¡± answered Edward with a wild air. ¡°Wed the dame and damn her people¡ªlet fly your authority and break her heart as quickly as you may¡ª¡±


    ¡°Amen to that!¡± added Thomas.


    ¡°And now to Frankfort!¡± cried Edward, his exultation palpable. They set their horses to a furious pace and galloped out of Castle Martzburg, leaving behind a scene steeped in betrayal and tragedy.

 CHAPTER 23

    <hr>


    Edward shed his riding-coat, taking in the eerie ambiance of the long, low chamber overlooking the witch¡¯s garden, now devoid of blooming roses, their thorny stems standing stark against the dim light.


    ¡°You¡¯ve brought him back,¡± Nathalie murmured, her hand caressing the soft fabric of Edward¡¯s sleeve. ¡°Pulled his saint out of her shrine and delivered her to the demons.¡±


    Edward turned, a beautiful glint in his eyes. ¡°Yes, I have brought him back,¡± he replied thoughtfully.


    ¡°You¡¯ve done a foolish thing,¡± grumbled the witch. ¡°He¡¯ll ruin you yet. Beware, for even now you hold him against his will; I saw it in his face as he entered his old chamber.¡±


    Edward sighed heavily as he seated himself. ¡°In this matter, I am resolute. And now, some food, for weariness clouds my thoughts. Nathalie, the toil of it all¡ªrough roads, delays, hours in the saddle¡ªbut it was worth it!¡±


    The witch set the table with ivory and silver, a rich display of opulence contrasting with the grim atmosphere.


    ¡°Worth risking your fortunes at such a time? You left Frankfort the day after the Emperor¡¯s death, and have been gone two months. Ysabeau believes you dead.¡±


    Edward¡¯s frown deepened. ¡°No matter, she shall know me living tomorrow. Martzburg¡¯s distance and the weather delayed us, but it was necessary. Now I am free to pursue my own advancement.¡±


    He eagerly drank the wine poured for him and began to eat.


    ¡°Have you heard,¡± Nathalie inquired, ¡°that Balthasar of Nola has been elected Emperor?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± smiled Edward, ¡°and is to marry Ysabeau within the year. We foresaw it, did we not?¡±


    ¡°They go to Rome next spring for the Imperial crown,¡± Nathalie added.


    ¡°I shall be with them,¡± said Edward confidently. ¡°But for now, rest. What a fool Balthasar is!¡± His smile held a hint of cunning.


    ¡°The Empress is no fool,¡± the witch replied, ¡°though she came here once seeking your whereabouts. I told her, for amusement, that you were dead. She showed no joy or relief, nor did she reveal her business.¡±


    Edward poured himself more wine elegantly. ¡°She is never betrayed by her puppet¡¯s face¡ªa cold-hearted fiend, that Empress.¡±


    ¡°But they say she dotes on Balthasar,¡± Nathalie remarked.


    ¡°Until she changes,¡± Edward mused.


    ¡°Perhaps you¡¯ll catch her eye next,¡± Nathalie teased. ¡°The crystals always foretell a throne for you.¡±


    Edward laughed. ¡°I have no intention of sharing my honors with any¡ªwoman. Build up the fire, Nathalie, it¡¯s cold.¡±


    As the fire crackled and the warmth spread, Edward¡¯s thoughts turned to darker matters.


    ¡°No suspicion has fallen on Melchoir¡¯s death?¡± he inquired.


    The witch, her face bathed in the flickering firelight, rubbed her hands together. ¡°Hugh of Rosewood.¡±


    ¡°The Lord of Rosewood?¡± Edward¡¯s interest piqued.


    ¡°Aye, on the night Melchoir died, he accused the Empress of murder to her face.¡±


    Edward¡¯s demeanor turned serious. ¡°I hadn¡¯t heard of this.¡±


    ¡°Nay,¡± Nathalie added with a touch of malice, ¡°you were preoccupied with separating that boy from his love¡ªa pretty distraction. Certainly, she¡¯s clever; she enlists Balthasar as her champion, and Hugh pays the price.¡±


    The witch¡¯s soft laughter mingled with the crackle of the flames. ¡°He wouldn¡¯t retract, and Balthasar and the Empress, they always despised him. He never stood a chance.¡±


    Edward stood, his hand pressed firmly against his temple, a mix of shock and urgency in his expression.


    ¡°What? Never a chance?¡± he exclaimed, his voice tinged with desperation.


    Nathalie, wide-eyed, observed his agitation. ¡°You seem moved,¡± she remarked.


    ¡°Tell me about Hugh of Rosewood,¡± Edward demanded, his voice now intense.


    ¡°He is to meet his end at sunset tonight,¡± Nathalie replied calmly.


    Edward let out a hoarse exclamation. ¡°Old witch!¡± he spat bitterly. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me sooner? I¡¯m wasting precious time!¡±


    He grabbed his cloak and hat, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within him. ¡°What is Hugh of Rosewood to you?¡± Nathalie asked, her voice trembling slightly as she clung to his garments.


    Edward shook her off fiercely. ¡°He must not die on the scaffold! While I was preoccupied with that boy and his love, this was happening!¡±


    The witch recoiled against the wall as Thomas¡¯s footsteps echoed from above. Edward stormed out of the room and into the quiet street.


    Pausing briefly, he felt the weight of the late afternoon pressing upon him. He had perhaps an hour or so. Clenching his fists, he drew a deep breath and set off toward the palace at a determined pace.


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Few were out due to the bitter cold and impending snow clouds. Edward¡¯s swift figure went unnoticed as he made his way towards the market-place, where Hugh of Rosewood was to face his fate.


    Arriving at the palace, heart pounding from his haste, Edward demanded to see the Empress.


    None of the guards recognized him, but his insistence led to a message being sent to Ysabeau that ¡°the young doctor Constantine¡± desired an audience.


    Admitted swiftly, Edward entered Ysabeau¡¯s private chamber, still catching his breath from the run.


    She stood by a high arched window, her luxurious draperies glowing in the firelight. Incense filled the room, adding to the ominous atmosphere.


    ¡°I returned to Frankfort today,¡± Edward began abruptly.


    Ysabeau, startled by his sudden appearance, questioned him. ¡°Where have you been? I thought you were dead.¡±


    Edward, pale and serious, cut to the chase. ¡°I have no time for pleasantries. You owe me a debt, do you not? I¡¯m here to collect.¡±


    The Empress, visibly uneasy, asked what he wanted.


    ¡°Hugh of Rosewood is to die this evening,¡± Edward stated bluntly.


    Ysabeau acknowledged this fact, her demeanor shifting.


    ¡°He must not die,¡± Edward insisted, his eyes betraying a hint of fatigue and emotion.


    ¡°Why should I grant him mercy?¡± Ysabeau countered, her tone tinged with bitterness.


    ¡°For speaking the truth,¡± Edward retorted with a sneer.


    The Empress¡¯s grip tightened on her embroidery. ¡°You know why he must be silenced,¡± she replied sharply. ¡°What¡¯s your real motive for sparing his life?¡±


    Edward¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°My reasons are mine alone. It¡¯s my will that he lives.¡±


    Ysabeau, defiant, crossed her arms. ¡°I may not grant your request. I¡¯m not afraid of you, and I despise this man. My secret is your secret, after all.¡±


    Edward¡¯s jaw clenched. ¡°You will grant his pardon, and quickly. I must take it to the market-place.¡±


    Ysabeau met his gaze with defiance. ¡°I think not. I¡¯m not so easily swayed by fear, and I have no love for this man. My secret remains safe with you.¡±


    Edward¡¯s smile was faint, a mix of confidence and menace in his eyes.


    ¡°I can destroy you as I did Melchoir of Brabant,¡± he spoke softly to Ysabeau, his tone carrying a dark promise. ¡°Do you think I fear your words? But¡±¡ªhe leaned closer, his voice lowering¡ª¡°what if I take what I know to Balthasar?¡± The mere mention of the Emperor¡¯s name silenced the Empress like a whip cracking in the air.


    She felt the weight of her powerlessness. ¡°So, I am at your mercy,¡± she muttered, her disdain for him evident.


    ¡°The pardon,¡± Edward insisted firmly, his eyes unwavering. ¡°Ring the bell and grant me a pardon.¡±


    Ysabeau hesitated, torn between her desire for vengeance and the fear of Edward¡¯s threats. ¡°Choose something else as a reward,¡± she pleaded. ¡°What value does this man¡¯s life hold for you?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re stalling until it¡¯s too late,¡± Edward hoarsely accused, stepping closer and grasping the hand-bell on the table. ¡°If you resist, I will go straight to Balthasar and expose Melchoir¡¯s poisoning.¡±


    Instinct and fury surged within Ysabeau, but she suppressed her rage, pressing her hands against the wall in frustration.


    Her Chamberlain entered the room. ¡°Write a pardon for the Lord of Rosewood,¡± commanded Edward urgently, ¡°and do it quickly.¡±


    As the Chamberlain left to fulfill the command, Ysabeau turned to Edward with a mix of anger and resignation. ¡°What will they think? What will Balthasar think?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s your concern,¡± Edward replied wearily, his patience wearing thin.


    The Chamberlain returned, and Ysabeau, with a trembling hand, took up the parchment and pen. Edward watched her every move, sensing her inner turmoil and resistance.


    ¡°Sign it,¡± he urged, his voice commanding.


    With a mix of fear and defiance, Ysabeau reluctantly wrote her name on the parchment. Edward, relieved, took the signed document and prepared to leave.


    ¡°Don¡¯t cross me again, Marozia Porphyrogentris,¡± Edward warned sharply as he departed, taking the parchment, his hat, and cloak with him.


    As he left, Ysabeau¡¯s rage erupted. She grabbed a dagger from her hair, sharpened it, and then, in a fit of anger, thrust it into the table, the blade snapping under the force.


    With a cry, she ran to the window, hurling the broken handle outside. Edward, already in the courtyard, saw it fall and smiled grimly.


    Showing the signed pardon, he commandeered the fastest horse and waited impatiently, his presence commanding silence among the onlookers.


    Finally mounted, Edward rode through the town with urgency, the bitter cold and falling snow adding to the grim atmosphere. People peeked out from windows as he passed, curious and wary.


    Reaching the market-place, crowded with spectators, Edward urged his horse forward, waving the parchment and shouting for attention.


    ¡°A pardon! A pardon! Make way!¡± he shouted, his voice cutting through the clamor. Some questioned the legitimacy of his message, but he pressed on, determined to reach the scaffold.


    As he approached, soldiers guarded the area, their colorful uniforms contrasting with the somber surroundings. Edward¡¯s arrival stirred whispers among the crowd, uncertainty hanging in the air.


    On the chilling scaffold stood two figures, silhouetted against the bleak sky; one knelt, his throat exposed, while the other stood poised with a sword in hand.


    ¡°In the name of the Emperor, a pardon!¡± Edward¡¯s voice pierced through the crowd, but the chaos around him hindered any swift action. The soldiers seemed deaf to his pleas, or perhaps chose to ignore them.


    Desperation gripped Edward as he rose in his stirrups, his hat and cloak falling away to reveal his determined face above the sea of bodies. Hugh of Rosewood caught a glimpse of him, their eyes locking in a moment of shared understanding.


    ¡°A pardon!¡± Edward¡¯s hoarse cry echoed, reaching the ears of the condemned man, who silently responded.


    The sword fell...


    ¡°A pardon!¡± exclaimed a monk on the scaffold, his words conflicting with the grisly reality unfolding.


    ¡°It was this youth, not a woman,¡± a soldier corrected the monk, pointing to Edward amidst the commotion.


    Forced to the scaffold¡¯s base, Edward demanded passage with a commanding voice. The guards relented, allowing him to ascend the steps, clutching the parchment that now felt like a weight of failure in his hand.


    ¡°Is it too late?¡± whispered the monk as Edward stood amidst the aftermath of death.


    ¡°Dogs! Is this the fate of a lord of Rosewood?¡± Edward¡¯s voice cracked with a mix of grief and anger, his hand pressed against his chest.


    The falling snow added a surreal layer to the scene as Edward handed over the parchment, his gaze fixed on Hugh¡¯s severed head.


    ¡°How heavy,¡± he murmured, feeling the weight of the life lost.


    As the executioner polished his blade, Edward sought answers from the lifeless face. ¡°What did he say before he died?¡±


    ¡°¡®Have you come for me, Ursula?¡¯ he asked,¡± the headsman replied dismissively.


    The mention of Ursula ignited a wild fury in Edward. ¡°She shall pay for this, that Eastern witch! May the Devil take you all!¡±


    Turning to the captain, Edward asked about Hugh¡¯s family and lands, learning of the wife and deceased son, as well as the transfer of lands to Balthasar of Nola through marriage.


    Setting down the head with care, Edward confronted the harsh reality of loss and betrayal. ¡°No justice in this,¡± he muttered bitterly.


    The officer suggested returning to the palace to explain the situation to the Empress, but Edward¡¯s resolve was firm.


    ¡°Nay, I¡¯ll bear this burden alone,¡± he declared, descending the scaffold with a heavy heart.


    Mounting his horse, Edward rode off into the snowy night, leaving behind a scene of death, deceit, and a bitter reckoning that even the falling snowflakes couldn¡¯t conceal.

 CHAPTER 24

    <hr>


    Nathalie stood at the door with a lantern, its feeble light casting long, eerie shadows across the snow-dusted ground. Edward approached, his figure emerging from the darkness. The witch lifted the lantern higher, trying to read his expression through the swirling snowflakes, and then, whispering under her breath, followed him inside.


    ¡°There¡¯s blood on your shoes and on your breast,¡± she whispered anxiously as they reached the dimly lit chamber at the back of the house.


    Edward collapsed into a chair, a low moan escaping his lips. Snow clung to his hair and shoulders, melting into icy droplets that mingled with the tears he buried in the crook of his arm.


    ¡°Zerdusht and his master have abandoned us,¡± Nathalie whimpered, her voice cracking with fear. ¡°I couldn¡¯t conjure any spells tonight, and the mirror showed nothing.¡±


    Edward¡¯s voice was muffled, his face hidden in his arm. ¡°What good is magic now? I should have stayed in Frankfort.¡±


    Nathalie gently removed his wet cloak. ¡°Haven¡¯t I warned you? Hasn¡¯t the brass head foretold that the young scholar would bring ruin and shame upon you?¡±


    With a sob, Edward turned to the fire. The dim lamp barely dispelled the cold darkness, and the feeble flames on the hearth flickered and died, leaving them in near darkness.


    ¡°Look at his blood on me!¡± Edward cried, staring at the crimson stains. ¡°His blood! Balthasar and Ysabeau revel in his lands, but my hatred will haunt them yet. I should never have left Frankfort.¡±


    He leaned his head against the mantel, his tears glistening in the sickly light. Nathalie peered into his face, seeing the sorrow in his wet eyes.


    ¡°Who was this man?¡± she asked, her voice trembling.


    ¡°I did all I could,¡± Edward whispered. ¡°The Empress shall burn in hell.¡±


    The sickly flames cast an eerie glow on his pallid face and the small hand clenched at his side.


    ¡°This is a cursed night,¡± moaned the witch. ¡°The spirits remain silent, the flames refuse to burn. Some dreadful misfortune looms.¡±


    Edward gazed into the half-dark room, his mind churning. ¡°Where is Thomas?¡±


    ¡°Gone,¡± Nathalie rocked back and forth on her stool.


    ¡°Gone!¡± Edward shivered. ¡°Gone where?¡±


    ¡°Right after you left, he slipped out, his face twisted with malice. He vanished into the street.¡±


    Edward paced the room, his steps uneven, his mind restless. ¡°He¡¯ll come back. He has to come back! My heart aches! You say Zerdusht won¡¯t speak tonight?¡±


    Nathalie trembled over the dying fire. ¡°No, nor will the spirits come.¡±


    Edward shook his clenched fist at the air. ¡°They shall answer me!¡±


    He strode to the window, flung it open, and peered into the black void outside. ¡°Bring the lamp.¡±


    Nathalie obeyed, holding the faint light to the window, revealing only the hastening snowflakes.


    ¡°Maybe they¡¯ll listen to me. Nay, they shall listen.¡±


    The witch followed him, the lamp swinging in her trembling hand. Together, they made their way through the darkness and snow, passing between the skeletal rose bushes, their feet sinking into the wet, cold earth. They reached the trap-door at the end of the garden, leading to the witch¡¯s kitchen. Nathalie paused as Edward heaved the stone aside.


    ¡°Surely the earth shook then,¡± Edward muttered, his voice trembling. ¡°I felt it quake beneath my feet¡ªhush, there¡¯s a light below!¡±


    The witch, Nathalie, peered over his shoulder, her eyes wide with fear. A faint glow rose from the open trapdoor, casting eerie shadows. Suddenly, Nathalie¡¯s lamp flickered and went out, plunging them into darkness.


    ¡°Will you dare descend?¡± Nathalie muttered, her voice barely a whisper.


    ¡°What should I fear?¡± came Edward¡¯s low, wild answer. He placed his foot on the ladder and began to descend. Nathalie followed, her breath catching in her throat. They found themselves in a chamber lit by an immense fire. Before it sat an enormous man in black, his back to them, a huge black hound stretched out at his feet.


    Snow dripped from their garments, hissing as it hit the hot floor. They stood still, the heat almost unbearable.


    ¡°Good evenin¡¯,¡± said Edward in a low voice.


    The stranger turned, revealing a face as black as his garments. Around his neck hung a collar of brilliant red and purple stones.


    ¡°A cold night,¡± the stranger replied, his voice deep and resonant. The earth seemed to rumble and shake again.


    ¡°You find our fire welcome,¡± Edward responded, though Nathalie shrank against the wall, muttering to herself.


    ¡°A good heat, a good heat,¡± said the Blackamoor, his voice almost a purr.


    Edward crossed the room, his arms folded on his chest, his head held high. ¡°What are you doin¡¯ here?¡± he demanded.


    ¡°Warming myself, warming myself.¡±


    ¡°What have you to say to me?¡±


    The Blackamoor drew closer to the fire. ¡°Ugh! how cold it is!¡± he exclaimed, thrusting one leg deep into the seething flames. Edward stepped closer, his eyes narrowing.


    ¡°If you be what I think you are, you got some reason for bein¡¯ here.¡±


    The Blackamoor plunged his other leg into the fire, the flames licking up to his knees. ¡°I have been to the palace, I have been to the palace. I sat under the Empress¡¯s chair while she talked to a pretty youth named Thomas¡ªah! it was cold in the palace, there was snow on the youth¡¯s garments, just like there is blood on yours, and the Emperor was there...¡± He spoke to the fire, not looking at Edward.


    ¡°Thomas has betrayed me,¡± Edward said through clenched teeth.


    The Blackamoor withdrew his legs from the fire, unscathed. The hellhound at his feet rose and howled.


    ¡°He has betrayed you, and Ysabeau accuses you to save herself. But the devils are on your side, for there is other work for you to do. Flee from Frankfort, and I will ensure you fulfill your destiny.¡±


    He finally glanced over his shoulder. ¡°The witch comes home tonight. The work here is done. Take the road through Frankfort.¡±


    The Blackamoor stood, his head brushing the ceiling. The gems on his collar emitted long rays of light. The fire dimmed, and the Blackamoor transformed into a thick column of smoke that spread throughout the room.


    ¡°Hell will not forsake you, Ursula of Rosewood,¡± his voice echoed as he disappeared.


    Edward fell back against the wall, thick vapors enveloping him. He covered his face with his hands. When he looked up, the room was clear, lit only by the dying fire. He searched for Nathalie, but she had vanished.


    With a sob lodged in his throat, he sprang up the ladder into the cold, outer air and rushed toward the desolate house.


    Desolate indeed; it stood empty, dark, and cold, the snow drifting through open windows, fires extinguished on the hearths, a dead place, never to be inhabited again. Edward leaned against the door, breathing hard. Here was a crisis of his fate¡ªbetrayed by the one he loved, deserted now that Nathalie had disappeared.


    The Blackamoor...he remembered him as a vision, a delusion perhaps. Oh, how cold it was! Would his accusers come for him tonight? He crept to the gate that led to the street and listened.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°Nathalie!¡± he cried forlornly.


    From the distant darkness came the sound of hurried commotion. Horses, shouting, eager feet¡ªa populace roused, hunting the dealer in black magic with fire and sword for the witches.


    Edward opened the gate, stepping from the witch¡¯s garden for the last time. He wondered if Thomas was with the oncoming crowd, though he doubted it. Probably Thomas was in the palace, perhaps already regretting his betrayal. But the Empress had seized her chance; her accusation falling first, who would believe his word against hers?


    He wore neither cloak nor hat, and as he waited against the open gate, the thick snow covered him from head to foot. His spirit had never known fear and did not know it now, but his frail body shivered and shrank back, as it had when the angry students confronted him at Basle.


    He listened to the noises of the approaching crowd, until another sound, nearer and stranger, caught his attention. He turned his head, the sound coming from the witch¡¯s house.


    ¡°Nathalie!¡± called Edward, a glimmer of hope in his voice.


    But the blackness around him erupted into flames. Swift tongues of fire sprang up, and a column of gold and scarlet enveloped the house and garden in a curling embrace. Edward ran out into the road. The fire¡¯s glare lit the swirling snow, casting a trembling circle of light. Shielding his eyes, he stared at the flames that devoured his books, his magic herbs and potions, the strange, rich, and beautiful things Nathalie had gathered over her long, evil life. Then he turned and ran down the street, away from the crowd surging in at the other end. They recoiled in horror before the mighty flames that mocked them with their destructive welcome.


    Dismayed and angry shouts echoed behind Edward as he fled through the snow, his pace quickening toward the eastern gate. The gate was not yet shut; light of foot and swift, he darted through before the guards could challenge him, perhaps even before they saw him. He was a fine runner, not easily fatigued, but he had already strained his endurance to the utmost. After he had cleared the city gates, his limbs failed him, and he fell to a walk.


    The intense darkness disoriented him, making him feel light-headed. He kept looking over his shoulder at the distant lights of Frankfort, reassuring himself that he was not unwittingly stumbling back toward the gates. Finally, he stood still and listened. He must be near the river, and after a while, he distinguished the sound of its sullen flow coming faintly out of the silent dark.


    Of what use was the river to him now? He was cold, weary, pursued, and betrayed. All he had were a few pieces of white money and a little phial of swift and keen poison that he always carried in his breast. If his master failed him, he would not go alive into the flames. But despite the hopelessness of his situation, he was far from resorting to this last refuge. He remembered the Blackamoor¡¯s words and dragged his numbed, aching limbs along. After a while, he saw a light glimmering ahead of him.


    It was neither in a house nor carried in a hand, for it shone low on the ground, lower than his own feet. He paused, listened, and proceeded cautiously, fearing the river, which must be close to his left. As he neared the light, he saw it was a lantern, casting long rays across the clearing snowstorm. A glittering, trembling reflection beneath it told him it belonged to a boat roped to the bank.


    Edward crept towards it, went on his knees in the snow and mud, and beheld a small, empty craft, the lantern hanging at the prow. He paused; the waters, rushing steadily and angrily, must be flowing toward the Rhine and the town of Cologne. He stepped into the boat, which rocked as the water splashed beneath him. With cold hands, he undid the knotted rope.


    The boat trembled for a moment, then sped with the current as if glad to be freed. An oar lay in the bottom, which Edward used to help himself along, fearful of pursuit. Then he let himself float downstream. The water lapped around him, and the snow fell on his unprotected, already soaked figure. He stretched out along the bottom of the boat and hid his face in the cushioned seat.


    ¡°Hugh of Rosewood is dead, and Thomas has betrayed me,¡± he whispered into the darkness. Then he began sobbing, very bitterly. His anguished tears, the cruel cold, and the steady sound of the unseen water exhausted and numbed him until he fell into a sleep that was half a swoon while the boat drifted toward the town.


    When he awoke, he was still in the open country. The snow had ceased but lay thick and untouched on the ground, stretching to the horizon. Edward dragged his cramped limbs to a sitting posture and stared around him. The river was narrow, the banks flat. The boat had been caught by a clump of stiff, withered reeds, and the prow was driven into the snowy earth.


    On either side, the prospect was wintry and dreary. A gray sky brooded over a white land. A pine forest stood dark and mournful in the distance, while a few bare, isolated trees nearby bent under their weight of snow. The very stillness was horribly ominous.


    Edward found it ill to move, his limbs frozen and clothes wet, clinging to his wincing flesh. His eyes smarted from weeping, and his head throbbed with giddy pains. For a while, he sat, remembering the horrors of yesterday. His face hardened, lips pale and set, as he painfully crawled out of the boat. Before him lay a sweep of snow leading to the forest, and as he gazed with dim, hopeless eyes, a figure in a white monk¡¯s habit emerged from the trees.


    The monk carried a crude wooden spade and walked with a slow, deliberate step toward the river. Edward waited. As the stranger neared, he lifted his eyes, which had been cast down, and Edward recognized him as Saint Ambrose of Menthon. Nevertheless, Edward did not despair; before the saint could recognize him, he resolved upon his course of action.


    Ambrose of Menthon gazed with pity and horror at the forlorn figure shivering by the reeds. It was not strange he did not immediately know Edward; his face was ghastly, eyes shadowed and swollen, hair lank and clinging to his small head, clothes muddy, wet, and soiled, his figure bent.


    ¡°Sir,¡± Edward said, his voice weak and sweet, ¡°have pity on an evil thing.¡± He fell to his knees and clasped his hands on his breast.


    ¡°Rise up,¡± answered the saint. ¡°What God has given me is yours; poor soul, you are very miserable.¡±


    ¡°More miserable than you wot of,¡± Edward said through chattering teeth, still on his knees. ¡°Do you not know me?¡±


    Ambrose of Menthon looked at him closely. ¡°Alas!¡± he murmured slowly, ¡°I know you.¡±


    Edward beat his breast. ¡°Mea culpa!¡± he moaned. ¡°Mea culpa!¡±


    ¡°Rise. Come with me,¡± said the saint. ¡°I will attend to your needs.¡±


    The youth did not move. ¡°Will you solace my soul, sir?¡± he cried. ¡°God must have sent you here to save my soul¡ªfor long days I have sought you.¡±


    Saint Ambrose¡¯s face glowed. ¡°Have you, then, repented?¡±


    Edward rose slowly to his feet and stood with bent head. ¡°May one repent of such offenses?¡±


    ¡°God is very merciful,¡± breathed the saint tenderly.


    ¡°Remorse and sorrow fill my heart,¡± murmured Edward. ¡°I have cast off my evil comrades, renounced my vile gains, and journeyed into the wilderness to seek God¡¯s pardon...and it seemed He would not hear me...¡±


    ¡°He hears all who come in grief and penitence,¡± said the saint joyously. ¡°And He has heard you, for has He not sent me to find you, even in this desolate place?¡±


    ¡°You feed me with hope,¡± answered Edward in a quivering voice, ¡°and revive me with glad tidings...may I dare, I, poor lost wretch, to be uplifted and exalted?¡±


    ¡°Poor youth,¡± was the tender murmur. ¡°Come with me.¡±


    He led the way across the thick snow, Edward following with downcast eyes and white cheeks. They skirted the forest and came upon a little hut, set back and sheltered among the scattered trees. Saint Ambrose opened the rude door. The inside was sparsely furnished, but warm, with a small fire crackling in the hearth and a simple cot pushed against the far wall. The saint motioned for Edward to enter.


    Edward stumbled into the hut, shivering and weak. ¡°I am alone now,¡± he said softly, as he entered. ¡°I had with me a frail holy youth, who was traveling to Paris; last night he died. I just laid his body in the earth, his soul rests on the bosom of the Lord.¡±


    Saint Ambrose glanced at Edward with a wistful look. ¡°Maybe God has sent me this soul to tend and succor in place of that He has called home.¡±


    ¡°If I might think so,¡± Edward whispered humbly, standing meekly on the threshold.


    The saint opened an inner door and said, ¡°Your garments are wet and soiled.¡±


    A sudden flush stained Edward¡¯s pale face. ¡°I have no others.¡±


    Ambrose of Menthon pointed to the inner chamber. ¡°There, Blaise died yester-eve; his clothes are there. Enter and put them on.¡±


    ¡°It will be the habit of a novice?¡± asked Edward softly.


    ¡°Yea.¡±


    Edward bent and kissed the saint¡¯s fingers with ice-cold lips. ¡°I have dared,¡± he whispered, ¡°to hope that I might die wearing the garb of God¡¯s servants, and now I dare even to hope that He shall grant my prayer.¡±


    He stepped into the inner chamber and closed the door.


    Inside, the small room was sparsely furnished, with a simple wooden bed and a small table. Blaise¡¯s habit lay neatly folded at the foot of the bed, a stark contrast to the desolation outside. Edward¡¯s fingers trembled as he reached for the clothes, their rough fabric a comfort to his numb hands.


    He stripped off his wet, soiled garments and donned the habit. The coarse wool scratched his skin, but he welcomed the discomfort as a penance for his past sins. As he dressed, he caught a glimpse of himself in a small, cracked mirror hanging on the wall. His face was gaunt, eyes shadowed with fatigue and sorrow, but there was a flicker of hope in his gaze.


    Edward stepped out of the chamber, now clad in the humble garb of a novice. Saint Ambrose¡¯s eyes softened with approval. ¡°Come, sit by the fire,¡± he said. ¡°You need warmth and food.¡±


    Edward obeyed, sinking onto a low stool by the hearth. The flames licked at the logs, casting flickering shadows on the rough-hewn walls. The warmth seeped into his bones, bringing a measure of relief to his frozen limbs.


    Ambrose busied himself with a pot over the fire, stirring a simple stew. The savory aroma filled the small hut, making Edward¡¯s stomach growl in response. The saint ladled a portion into a wooden bowl and handed it to Edward.


    ¡°Eat,¡± he urged gently. ¡°You need your strength.¡±


    Edward took the bowl with trembling hands and began to eat. The stew was plain but nourishing, and he ate with the hunger of a man who had not tasted food in days. As he ate, he glanced at the saint, who watched him with kind, knowing eyes.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Edward murmured between bites. ¡°For your kindness.¡±


    Ambrose nodded. ¡°God¡¯s mercy is boundless. You are not beyond redemption, Edward. You have taken the first step by coming here.¡±


    Edward lowered his eyes, tears stinging their corners. ¡°I have sinned greatly. I fear I am beyond saving.¡±


    ¡°No soul is beyond saving,¡± Ambrose said firmly. ¡°You must trust in God¡¯s forgiveness and strive to atone for your sins.¡±


    Edward finished his meal in silence, contemplating the saint¡¯s words. The warmth of the fire and the food in his belly brought a semblance of peace to his tormented heart. Perhaps, in this remote hut, under the guidance of Saint Ambrose, he could find a path to redemption.


    The storm outside raged on, but within the hut, there was a fragile sense of sanctuary. Edward knew the road ahead would be fraught with trials, but for the first time in a long while, he felt a glimmer of hope. He whispered a silent prayer of thanks, resolved to follow the saint¡¯s guidance and seek forgiveness for his transgressions.


    As the night deepened, the two men sat by the fire, the warmth of the flames and the promise of redemption their only comforts in the vast, dark wilderness.

 CHAPTER 25

    <hr>


    Edward and Saint Ambrose rested at Chalons on their arduous journey to Paris. Weeks of begging, sleeping in humble lodgings, and enduring the harshness of winter had forged a bond between the saint and his penitent follower, Edward. Despite his past transgressions, Edward¡¯s patience, courage, and deep remorse had earned him the saint¡¯s affection.


    Edward¡¯s demeanor had changed drastically. Once filled with sin and vice, he now displayed the gentleness of a lamb, the obedience of a faithful servant, and a profound devotion to prayers and penance. He found solace in Saint Ambrose¡¯s teachings about heaven and holy matters, especially in the stories of Blaise, the saintly youth whose life and death were recounted with reverence by the saint.


    Saint Ambrose often spoke of Blaise¡¯s origins in Salem, his noble lineage, his early family tragedies, his youthful age of twenty, and his dark, pale complexion. In contrast, Edward spoke little of himself, focusing instead on his shame, remorse, and the journey that led him to seek redemption at the saint¡¯s side.


    As they rested in a humble hut overlooking the Maine River, Edward, clad in a rough brown robe, read aloud from the writings of Saint Jerome. The cold seeped through the cracks in the walls, denying them the luxury of a warm fire. Edward¡¯s face, once marked by sin and excess, now bore the signs of penance and hardship.


    As he read, Edward noticed Saint Ambrose, slumped on a bench, exhausted from their travels. He had not slept for three nights, and now he either slept or had swooned, his fair head drooping forward.


    Edward, feeling a surge of bitter emotions, slowly rose from his stool. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, and the cold pierced his bones. Scorn and derision twisted his features as he regarded the sleeping saint. With cautious steps, he approached the door and looked out at the desolate landscape.


    The distant towers of Chalons pierced the wintry sky, and the river flowed silently between its snowy banks. Edward, now consumed by a mix of desperation and defiance, ventured towards the Maine River. The wind whipped at his thin frame, and he beat his chest in anguish.


    Standing at the riverbank, Edward surveyed the lonely expanse. No signs of life met his gaze¡ªno boats, no animals, no homes¡ªonly the stark beauty of land, sky, and water. He wandered among the gnarled willows, his mind a tumult of conflicting thoughts and emotions.


    Edward trudged through the snow, his breath visible in the frigid air. Ahead, he spied a black man and a black dog seated on the riverbank, both staring intently toward Chalons. Summoning his courage, Edward approached them.


    ¡°Good even,¡± Edward said, his voice barely more than a whisper. ¡°It¡¯s mighty cold.¡±


    The Blackamoor turned, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. ¡°Are you content with your journey, and your companion?¡± he asked, nodding slightly.


    Edward¡¯s face darkened. ¡°How much longer must I suffer this?¡±


    ¡°You must have patience,¡± the black man replied, his tone calm and measured. ¡°And endurance.¡±


    ¡°I have both,¡± Edward said, his voice edged with bitterness. ¡°Look at my hands¡ªthey¡¯re no longer soft, but red and hard. My feet are blistered and bleeding from these rough boots. I walk until I¡¯m ready to collapse, then pray instead of sleeping. I see no fire and barely taste food.¡±


    The hell-hound at the Blackamoor¡¯s side whined, its eyes gleaming like embers in the dark. The jewels in the man¡¯s collar sparkled, casting an eerie glow.


    ¡°You will be rewarded,¡± the Blackamoor said, ¡°and avenged too¡ªoh, ho, it is indeed cold, as you say, very cold.¡±


    ¡°What must I do?¡± Edward asked, his voice trembling with desperation.


    The black man rubbed his hands together, a malevolent smile playing on his lips. ¡°You know what you must do.¡±


    Edward¡¯s wan face grew determined. ¡°Am I to use this?¡± He touched his rough habit where he had hidden a small green phial.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Edward¡¯s voice wavered. ¡°Then I shall be defenseless. If anything should happen...I could not...oh, Sathanas! I could not be revealed!¡±


    The Blackamoor stood, towering over Edward. ¡°Do you trust yourself and me?¡± he asked.


    Edward covered his eyes with a thin hand. ¡°Yes, master.¡±


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°Then you know what to do. You will not see me for many years, but when you have triumphed, I shall come.¡±


    With that, the Blackamoor and his hound leapt into the waters of the Maine and vanished with a soft splash.


    Resolving himself, Edward reentered the hut to find Saint Ambrose still slumped against the wall, deeply asleep. Moving stealthily, Edward reached into his bosom and drew out the green phial. He broke the seal, his eyes never leaving the saint¡¯s peaceful face.


    Saint Ambrose¡¯s rosary hung beside him, each bead worn smooth from constant prayer. Edward lifted the heavy crucifix attached to it and carefully poured a single precious drop from the phial onto the holy symbol. The saint remained still, undisturbed by Edward¡¯s actions. Edward retreated to the wall, his eyes fierce as he cursed the biting wind.


    When Saint Ambrose awoke, Edward was again seated on the broken stool, reading aloud from the writings of Saint Jerome.


    ¡°Is it still light?¡± Saint Ambrose asked, bewildered.


    ¡°It is dawn,¡± Edward replied.


    ¡°And I have slept through the night.¡± The saint, his body stiff and aching, fell to his knees, overcome with misery and prayer.


    Dunk closed the book and watched the saint intently; watched his long fingers twining in the beads of his rosary, watched him kiss the crucifix over and over. Then Dunk, too, knelt, his face buried in his hands. He was the first to rise.


    ¡°Master, shall we press on to Paris?¡± he asked humbly.


    The saint lifted dazed eyes from his devotions. ¡°Yea,¡± he said. ¡°Yea.¡±


    Dunk began bundling their few belongings¡ªbooks, a wooden platter used to collect their meager food. This was all they possessed.


    ¡°I dreamt last night of Paradise,¡± Saint Ambrose said faintly. ¡°The ground was thick with tiny flowers¡ªred, white, and purple... and it was warm, like Italy in May.¡±


    Dunk swung the bundle onto his shoulder and opened the door of the hut. ¡°There¡¯s no sun today,¡± he remarked.


    ¡°How long it has been since we¡¯ve seen the sun,¡± said Saint Ambrose wistfully.


    They stepped out into the dreary landscape and made their slow way along the banks of the Maine. Until midday they did not pause, scarcely spoke. Then they passed through a small village where the charitable gave them food.


    That night they slept in the open, under the shelter of a hedge. Ambrose of Menthon complained of weakness; Dunk, waking in the dark, heard him praying... heard, too, the rattle of the wooden rosary.


    When dawn broke and they resumed their journey, the saint was so feeble he had to lean on Dunk¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I think I am dying,¡± he said. His face was flushed, his eyes burning, and he smiled continuously. ¡°Let me reach Paris,¡± he added, ¡°so I may tell the Brethren of Blaise...¡±


    The youth supporting him wept bitterly.


    By noon, they met a woodman¡¯s cart that helped them on their way. That night they slept in the stable of an inn. The next day they descended into the valley of the Seine, and by evening, they reached the gates of Paris.


    As the bells across the beautiful city rang for vespers, they arrived at their destination¡ªa grand old convent surrounded by vast gardens near the riverbank. The winter sky had finally cleared, revealing gold and scarlet hues against which the buildings stood in stark relief.


    The straight roof of the convent, the little tower with its slow-moving bell, the bare fruit trees, the herb beds sweet-smelling even now, and the red lamp glowing in the dark doorway, all appeared to Edward as he entered the gate. He looked at them intently, bitter memories darkening his hollow face.


    The monks were singing the Magnificat, their thin voices carrying clearly in the frosty air.


    ¡°Fecit potentiam in brachio suo: dispersit superbos mente cordis sui.¡±


    Ambrose of Menthon took his feeble hand from Dunk¡¯s arm and sank to his knees.


    ¡°Deposuit potentes de sede, et exaltavit humiles.¡±


    But Edward¡¯s pale lips curled in disdain, and as he gazed at the sunset flaming beyond the convent walls, a haughty challenge burned in his brooding eyes.


    ¡°Esurientes implevit bonis, et divites dimisit manes. Suscepit Israel puerum suum, recordatus misericordiae suae.¡±


    The saint murmured the chanted words, clasping his hands to his chest, while the sky brightened vividly above the wide waters of the Seine.


    ¡°Sicut locutus est ad patres nostros Abraham et semini ejus in saecula.¡±


    The chant faded into the still evening, but the saint remained kneeling.


    ¡°Master,¡± whispered Edward, ¡°shall we not go in to them?¡±


    ¡°I am dying,¡± he smiled weakly. ¡°A keen flame licks up my blood and burns my heart to ashes¡ª¡®Sustinuit anima mea in verbo ejus.¡¯¡± His voice faltered, and he slumped forward, his head falling against the grey beds of rue and fennel.


    ¡°Alas! alas!¡± cried Edward. He made no attempt to seek assistance, nor did he call out; instead, he stood still, gazing intently at the unconscious man.


    When the monks emerged from the chapel and walked in pairs toward the convent, Edward pulled off his worn cap.


    ¡°Divinum auxilium maneat semper nobiscum,¡± they chanted.


    ¡°Amen,¡± said Edward, before running forward and flinging himself before the procession. ¡°My father!¡± he cried, a sob in his voice.


    The priests halted, the ¡°amens¡± still trembling on their lips.


    ¡°Ambrose of Menthon lies within your gates, a dying man,¡± Edward said meekly and sadly.


    With murmurs of awe and grief, the grey-clad figures followed him to where the saint lay.


    ¡°Ah me!¡± murmured Edward. ¡°The way has been so long, so rough, so cold.¡±


    Reverently, they raised Saint Ambrose.


    ¡°He has done with his body,¡± said an old monk, supporting the dying man.


    The flushed sky faded behind them; the saint stirred and half-opened his eyes.


    ¡°Blaise,¡± he whispered. ¡°Blaise¡±¡ªhe tried to point to Edward, who knelt at his feet¡ª¡°he will tell you.¡± His eyes closed again, he struggled to pray; the ¡°De profundis¡± trembled on his lips. He made a sudden upward gesture with his hands, smiled, and died.


    For a moment, there was silence among them, broken only by a short sob from Dunk. Then the monks turned to the ragged, emaciated youth crouching at the dead man¡¯s feet.


    ¡°Blaise, he said,¡± one murmured. ¡°It is the holy youth.¡±


    Edward roused himself from what seemed a silent prayer, made the sign of the cross, and rose.


    ¡°Who art thou?¡± they asked reverently.


    Dunk lifted a tear-stained, weary face. ¡°The youth Blaise, my fathers,¡± he answered humbly.

 CHAPTER 26

    <hr>


    The evening service in the Basilica of St. Peter had concluded, and the grandeur of the Vatican chapel left the stranger breathless. The marble pillars, each uniquely carved and supporting a mosaic-covered roof, created a dazzling spectacle. Soft lights emanated from chapels, casting an ethereal glow amidst the shadows. The high altar, adorned with gold lamps and white lilies, stood like a radiant jewel.


    Leaning against a smooth column, the stranger took in the splendor with a mixture of awe and inspiration. The play of light and shadow, the sea-green hues of distant columns, and the rich colors of the surroundings enveloped him in a world of mystical beauty.


    As the novices extinguished candles and the church dimmed, the stranger moved towards the door. The bronze gates had closed, leaving only the entrance to the Vatican and a side street open. Monks departed through the side street, but the stranger lingered.


    Approaching one of the novices near a dazzling shrine, the stranger spoke in Latin with the air of a scholar.


    ¡°Sir,¡± he said softly, ¡°may I speak to you?¡±


    The novice studied him, taking in the splendor of the stranger¡¯s appearance. Tall and imposing, adorned with exquisite garments and jewelry, the stranger¡¯s sun-kissed complexion and Western eyes contrasted with his Eastern attire.


    The novice observed the stranger¡¯s face, nearly as perfect as a deity¡¯s mask, though marked by an air of indifference and troubled weakness. Despite this, the stranger¡¯s beauty was undeniable.


    ¡°I am a stranger,¡± the man continued. ¡°I want to ask you about Cardinal Caprarola. Did he officiate here today?¡±


    The novice responded, ¡°Well, I can tell you plenty about him. He¡¯s the top man in Rome¡ªespecially now that His Holiness is on his deathbed.¡±


    The stranger nodded thoughtfully. ¡°I¡¯ve heard of him, even back in Constantinople. I believe I saw him many years ago, before my travels in the East.¡±


    As the novice continued to extinguish candles, he shared, ¡°He might have been in Nola, but he¡¯s most known for being a follower of Saint Ambrose of Menthon from a young age. After the saint¡¯s passing, he joined the Convent of the Sacred Heart in Paris. Have you heard about that?¡±


    The stranger, in his magnificent attire, listened intently. ¡°I¡¯ve been away for many years and heard nothing. This Cardinal Caprarola¡ªis he considered a saint as well? Tell me more.¡±


    The youth paused, leaving some candles flickering, casting a mysterious glow over the stranger. ¡°He was born in Dendermonde as Louis, but took the name Blaise in the convent. He rose to prominence in Rome, becoming Bishop of Ostia and then of Caprarola, and now he¡¯s a Cardinal. He¡¯s highly revered here.¡±


    The stranger¡¯s eyes gleamed with wistful curiosity. ¡°Is he truly a saint?¡±


    ¡°He was known for his holy life in his youth, but now he lives in grandeur. Still, many consider him very holy,¡± the novice replied, finishing extinguishing the candles.


    The stranger sighed deeply. ¡°There was a grand service today?¡±


    ¡°Yes, many pilgrims were here,¡± confirmed the novice.


    The stranger¡¯s voice held a note of desperation. ¡°I seek peace. Will Cardinal Caprarola help heal my soul?¡±


    ¡°If your need is genuine, I believe he would,¡± the youth assured him.


    As they walked towards the exit, the stranger seemed to shake off dark thoughts, asking, ¡°Where can I find the Cardinal?¡±


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    ¡°He resides in the Via di San Giovanni in Laterano. Any local can direct you,¡± the novice informed him, opening the door.


    ¡°God be with you,¡± the stranger said, stepping into the night as the church door closed behind him.


    The twilight over Rome painted a purple hue, adding to the mystique of the ancient city. The stranger crossed the Piazza of St. Peter, feeling the gentle breeze and observing the bustling streets filled with monks and locals.


    Navigating through the vibrant crowds, he reached Via Sacra, where revelers and penitents mingled. His presence drew attention, especially from women, one of whom tossed a flower his way, eliciting a mixture of discomfort and flattery. Memories of past encounters with admirers stirred within him.


    Continuing his journey through the remnants of ancient Rome, he finally arrived at Via di San Giovanni in Laterano, on his quest to find Cardinal Caprarola.


    The stranger stood apart from the bustling crowd, casting his eyes over the darkening city. The Vatican and Castel San Angelo loomed in the distance against the Apennines, banners fluttering lazily in the warm air. St. Peter¡¯s glowed with soft lights, a beacon in the encroaching dusk.


    Turning to the throng, a mix of faces and languages, he tapped a young German on the shoulder. ¡°Which way to Cardinal Caprarola¡¯s palace?¡±


    The German pointed uphill to a magnificent building half-hidden by foliage. ¡°That one, sir.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± the stranger nodded, heading towards the Palatine.


    Soon, he arrived at Villa Caprarola¡¯s gates, opened onto a garden bathed in twilight hues. The white walls of the palace shimmered through the trees, captivating the stranger¡¯s gaze. Cardinal Caprarola, the greatest man in Rome, had intrigued him¡ªa man of humble beginnings now towering over an empire.


    With a heavy heart and hopes for redemption, the stranger approached the palace, envisioning the Cardinal as a beacon of purity and power. He yearned for absolution, for someone untouched by evil to hear his tale of sin and sorrow.


    Entering the marble vestibule, he encountered two imposing guards. One struck a silver bell, summoning a striking youth in black, identified as Messer Paolo Orsini, the Cardinal¡¯s secretary.


    ¡°Do I stand at Cardinal Caprarola¡¯s abode?¡± the stranger asked, his voice betraying a hint of unease.


    ¡°Yes, and I am his secretary,¡± Paolo replied with a bow. ¡°What brings you here?¡±


    ¡°I seek confession, not of political or worldly matters, but of my soul¡¯s burdens,¡± the stranger confessed.


    Paolo¡¯s eyes appraised him. ¡°The Cardinal hears confessions in the Basilica,¡± he informed courteously.


    The stranger, known as Thomas, awaited his audience with Cardinal Caprarola in the opulent vestibule. The marble walls, adorned with gold-encrusted Byzantine columns and violet glass mosaic ceilings, reflected the flickering light of gilt lamps. The air was heavy with the scent of aromatic incense, and a soothing melody trickled from the alabaster fountain.


    As Thomas paced the lavish space, he pondered the Cardinal¡¯s lifestyle. Could a man of such worldly splendor truly embody holiness? Yet, amidst the grandeur, Thomas sensed a divine presence, a promise of redemption that had eluded him in his worldly travels.


    When Paolo Orsini returned, Thomas was ushered up the grand staircase. The scarlet-hung landing, illuminated by crystal lamps, led to a hall adorned with bronze statues and fragrant flora. The rose-hued marble walls and intricate mosaic floor spoke of untold wealth and luxury.


    As Paolo guided Thomas into the Cardinal¡¯s chamber, he left with a bow, promising the Cardinal¡¯s imminent arrival.


    Thomas found himself in a chamber of dark ebony and shimmering mother-of-pearl. The walls were adorned with Ovid¡¯s tales embroidered in silken threads, casting eerie shadows in the dim light. A Persian carpet in muted shades of mauve and pink lay on the floor, while jasper and silver lamps hung overhead, casting a ghostly moonlight glow.


    In one corner, an ivory chair and table stood on an ebony step, adorned with peculiar items¡ªa blood-red glass of lilies, a sand clock, and a gold book with turkis-encrusted covers. A purple velvet cushion adorned the chair. Across from this setup, a crucifix hung with a scarlet light beneath it, the only holy presence in the otherwise unsettling room.


    Incense wafted from a gold brazier, its heavy scent filling the confined space and adding to the surreal atmosphere. A silver footstool and a low ebony chair completed the sparse furniture. Against the opposite wall stood a gilt shrine with closed, glittering wings.


    Thomas felt a strange excitement mingled with discomfort. This chamber, meant for sacred solace, seemed to stir up memories long buried. Scenes from his past flashed before his mind¡ªa room in Antwerp bathed in August sunlight, a witch¡¯s fire in Basle, and haunting visions from Frankfort¡¯s rose garden.


    As he murmured a prayer, a sense of giddiness overcame him. The blue light danced before his eyes, and he paced the carpeted floor in agitation. Suddenly, he stopped as the door creaked open, and Cardinal Caprarola entered, a storm brewing outside echoing the turmoil within.

 CHAPTER 27

    <hr>


    ¡°In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti, I give you greeting,¡± intoned the Cardinal in a low, grave voice. He moved to the ivory chair and seated himself, the silk of his robe cascading around the step.


    Thomas lifted his head, hope gleaming in his eyes as he beheld the man who he prayed would be his savior. The Cardinal was young, of medium height, and carried an air of slightness and delicacy despite his full and elegant form. His pale face, barely visible in the dim light, was framed by thick, curling chestnut-red hair peeking out from beneath a black skull-cap. He wore a robe of vivid pink and violet silk, adorned with costly rings on his beautiful hands, and his foot, encased in a gold slipper, peeked from under his gown.


    Seated regally on the ivory chair, the Cardinal grasped its arms and fixed his intense, dark eyes on Thomas. ¡°What matters bring you to me?¡± he asked.


    Words failed Thomas, a choking sense of horror and blasphemy clutching at his heart. He stared at the young Cardinal, feeling madness creep upon him. ¡°The air¡ªthe incense makes me giddy, holy father,¡± he murmured.


    The Cardinal rang a small bell by the sand clock and motioned for Thomas to rise. A beautiful boy in a white tunic appeared in answer to the summons. ¡°Extinguish the incense,¡± the Cardinal commanded, ¡°and open the window, Gian. It is very hot, a storm gathers, does it not?¡±


    Gian parted the painted curtains and unlatched the window. As cooler air wafted into the close chamber, Thomas breathed more freely. ¡°The stars are all hidden, your Eminence,¡± Gian observed, peering into the night. ¡°Certainly, it is a storm.¡±


    The youth removed the brazier, extinguishing the incense, and then knelt before the Cardinal before withdrawing backward. As the door closed behind him, Luigi Caprarola turned to the man standing humbly before him. ¡°Now can you speak?¡± he said gravely.


    Thomas flushed. ¡°Scarcely have I the heart...your Eminence abashes me. I have a sickening tale to relate. Hearing of you, I thought, this holy man can give me peace, and I came halfway across the world to lay my troubles at your feet. But now, sir, now¡ªI fear to speak. Indeed, I am scarcely able. Unreal and hideous it seems in this place.¡±


    ¡°In brief, sir,¡± said the Cardinal, ¡°you have changed your mind. I think you were ever of a changeful disposition, Thomas of Dendermonde.¡±


    ¡°How does your Eminence know that of me is, alas, true?¡±


    ¡°I see it in your face,¡± answered the Cardinal, ¡°and something else I see¡ªyou are, and long have been, unhappy.¡±


    ¡°It is my great unhappiness that has brought me before your Eminence.¡±


    Luigi Caprarola rested his elbow on the ivory chair arm and his cheek on his palm, the pale, dim light illuminating his face. Something powerful and intense shone in his eyes, and Thomas did not care to look at him. ¡°Weary of sin and afraid of Heaven, you have come to seek absolution from me,¡± said the Cardinal.


    ¡°Yea, if it might be granted me, if by any penitence I might obtain pardon.¡±


    Thomas, his gaze fixed on the ground, had an extraordinary vivid impression that the Cardinal was laughing. He looked up quickly, only to see Luigi Caprarola calm and grave. A peal of thunder sounded, and the echoes hovered in the chamber.


    ¡°The confession must come before the absolution,¡± said the Cardinal. ¡°Tell me, my son, what troubles you.¡±


    Thomas shuddered. ¡°It involves others than myself...¡±


    ¡°The seal of the confession is sacred, and I will ask for no names. Thomas of Dendermonde, kneel here and confess,¡± commanded the Cardinal.


    He pointed to the ivory footstool close to his raised seat, and Thomas came forward, humbly kneeling. The curtains fluttered in the hot wind, a flash of lightning slicing through the fabric and mingling with the eerie glow of the lamps.


    The Cardinal picked up the gold book, laying it on his knee. His pink silk sleeve almost brushed against Thomas¡¯s lips, exuding a strange and beautiful perfume. ¡°Tell me of these sins of yours,¡± he whispered.


    ¡°I must go far back,¡± Thomas began, his voice trembling. ¡°For your Eminence to understand my sins¡ªthey had small beginnings.¡±


    He paused, his eyes fixed on the Cardinal¡¯s long, fair fingers resting on the breviary¡¯s gilt cover. ¡°I was born in Dendermonde,¡± he finally said. ¡°My father was a clerk who taught me his learning. When he died, I came to Nola. I was eighteen, ambitious, and clever beyond other scholars of my age. I wanted, more than anything, to attend one of the colleges...¡±


    He sighed, a hot breath that seemed to recall the passionate throb of that early desire. ¡°To make a living, I taught the arts I knew. Among other things, I gave music lessons to the daughter of a great lord in Nola. Through this, I came to know her brother, a young knight with lusty desires.¡±


    The Cardinal listened intently, his breathing barely stirring his robe. His hand, adorned with rings, remained still on the gilt and turquoise cover. Thomas wiped his damp forehead and continued, ¡°He was restless and impatient with Nola, like me, but unlike me, he was innocent. For I...¡°¡ªhe moistened his lips¡ª¡°I began to practice black magic.¡±


    The thunder rolled somberly, triumphantly, around the seven hills, and the first rain dashed against the window.


    ¡°Black magic,¡± repeated the Cardinal, ¡°go on.¡±


    ¡°I read forbidden books I found in an old library in the house of a Jew whose son I taught. I tried to work spells, to raise spirits. I was desperate to better myself. I wanted to become like Alcuin, like Saint Jerome¡ªnay, like Zerdusht himself. But I was not skilled enough. I could do little or nothing...¡±


    The Cardinal moved slightly. Thomas, torn between the horror and ease of finally confessing these things, continued in a low, desperate voice, ¡°The young knight I spoke of was in love with a mighty lady who passed through Nola. He wished to follow her to Frankfort; she had given him hope that she would find him service there. He asked me to accompany him, and I was glad to go. On the journey, he told me of his marriage to the daughter of a neighboring lord. Though it matters not here, he did not know if she was alive or dead, but he knew of the place where she had last been seen. We went there¡ªto the old, half-deserted town of Antwerp...¡±


    ¡°And the young knight hoped to find she was dead,¡± interrupted the Cardinal. ¡°Was she, I wonder?¡±


    ¡°All the world thought so. It¡¯s a strange story, not mine to tell. We found the house, and there we met a youth who told us of the maid¡¯s death and showed us her grave...¡±


    Thunder, closer now, shook the palace, and Thomas hid his face in his hands. ¡°What of this youth?¡± asked the Cardinal softly. ¡°Tell me of him.¡±


    ¡°He ruined me. By night, he came to me and spoke of his studies¡ªblack magic! Black magic! He cast spells and raised a devil. In a mirror, he showed me visions. I swore with him faithful friendship...he ruined my soul. He sold some of the goods in the house, and we went together to Basle College.¡±


    ¡°You make him out to be your evil angel,¡± said the Cardinal. ¡°Who was he?¡±


    ¡°I know not. He was high-born, I think, dainty in ways and pleasant to look upon. My faltering soul was caught by his wiles, for he spoke of great rewards. I know not who he was, man or demon...I think he loved me.¡±


    A heavy silence settled in the chamber, broken only by the rumble of the storm outside. Then the Cardinal spoke again.


    ¡°Loved you? What makes you think he loved you?¡±


    ¡°Certes, he said so and acted so...we went to Basle College. Then, I also thought I loved him...he was the only one in the world I had ever spoken to about my hopes, my desires...we continued our experiments...our researches were blasphemous, horrible. He was ever more skillful than I...then one day, I met a lady, and I knew myself to be hideous. But that very night, I was drawn back into the toils again...we cast a spell over another student. We were discovered and fled the college.¡±


    A flash of lightning pierced the gloom like a sword rending silk; Thomas winced and shuddered as the thunder crashed overhead.


    ¡°Does your tale end here?¡± demanded the Cardinal.


    ¡°Alas, no; I fell from worse sin to worse sin. We were poor and met a monk, robbed him of God¡¯s money, and left him for dead...we came to Frankfort and lived in the house of an Egyptian hag. I began to loathe the youth because the lady was ever in my thoughts. He hated the lady bitterly because of this; he tempted me to do murder for gain, and I refused for her sake.¡±


    Thomas¡¯s voice grew hot and passionate. ¡°Then I found that he was tempting her¡ªmy saint! But I had no fear that she would fall, and while she spurned him, I thought I could too. And I did...but she proved no stronger¡ªshe loved her steward and bid him slay his wife: ¡®You staked on her virtue,¡¯ the Devil cried to me, ¡®and you¡¯ve lost! Lost!¡¯¡±


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    The sobs thickened his voice, and bitter tears gathered in his eyes. ¡°I was the youth¡¯s prey again, but now I hated him for his victory...we came back to Frankfort, and he was sweet and soft to me, while I was thinking of how I might injure him as he had injured me. I dwelt on that picture of her dishonored and undone, and I hated him, so I waited for my chance. The night we reached the city, I betrayed him for what he was, betrayed him to whom I had sworn friendship...well, half the town came howling through the snow to seize him, but we were too late. We found a flaming house...it burned to ashes, he with it. I had my revenge, but it brought me no peace. I left the West and went to the East, to India, Persia, to Greece. I avoided both God and the Devil. I dreaded Hell and dared not hope for Heaven. I tried to forget but could not. I tried to repent but could not. Good and evil strove for me until the Lord had pity...I heard of you, and I have come to Rome to cast myself at your feet, to ask your aid to help throw myself on God¡¯s mercy.¡±


    He rose, his hands clasped to his breast, his wild eyes fixed on the pale face of Luigi Caprarola. Thunder and lightning together were rending the hot air. Thomas¡¯s once-gorgeous dress, now glimmering in gold and purple, clung to his flushed and exalted frame.


    ¡°God wins, I think, this time,¡± he said in an unsteady voice. ¡°I have confessed my sins, I will do penance for them, and die at least in peace¡ªGod and the angels win!¡±


    The Cardinal rose; with one hand he clutched the back of the ivory chair, with the other he clasped the golden book to his breast. The light shone on his red hair, making it gleam against the ebony and mother-of-pearl wall. His face and lips were very pale above the vivid hue of his robe, his eyes, large and dark, stared at Thomas.


    Again, the lightning flashed between them, seeming to sink into the floor at the Cardinal¡¯s feet. He lifted his head proudly, listening to the following mighty roll of thunder. When the echoes had quivered into hot stillness, he spoke.


    ¡°The Devil and his legions win, I think,¡± he said. ¡°At least they have served Edward Bensouda well.¡±


    Thomas fell back until he crouched against the gleaming wall. ¡°Cardinal Caprarola!¡± he cried fearfully. ¡°Cardinal Caprarola, speak to me! Even here, I hear the fiends jibe!¡±


    The Cardinal stepped down from the ebony dais, his stiff robes rustling as he walked; he laughed, a cold, mirthless sound. ¡°Have I learned a mien so holy my old comrade knows me not? Have I changed so, I who was dainty and pleasant to look upon, your friend and your bane?¡±


    He paused in the center of the room; the open window, the dark beyond it, the waving curtains, and the fierce lightning made a terrifying backdrop for his haughty figure. But Thomas moaned and whispered in his throat.


    ¡°Look at me,¡± commanded the Cardinal. ¡°Look at me well, you who betrayed me. Am I not he who gilded a devil one August afternoon in a certain town in Salem?¡±


    Thomas drew himself up, pressing his clenched hands to his temples. ¡°Betrayed!¡± he shrieked. ¡°It is I who am betrayed. I sought God and have been delivered unto the Devil!¡±


    The thunder crashed so that his words were lost in the great noise of it, the blue and forked lightning darted between them.


    ¡°You know me now?¡± asked the Cardinal.


    Thomas slipped to his knees, crying like a child. ¡°Where is God? Where is God?¡±


    The Cardinal smiled, a cruel curve of his lips. ¡°He is not here,¡± he answered, ¡°nor in any place where I have been.¡±


    An awful stillness fell after the crash of thunder. Thomas hid his face, cowering like a man who feels his back bared to the lash.


    ¡°Cannot you look at me?¡± asked the Cardinal, his voice laced with a sorrowful scorn. ¡°After all these years, am I to meet you¡ªthus? At my feet!¡±


    Thomas sprang to his feet, his features twisted into an unnatural mask of despair and lifeless pallor. ¡°You do well to taunt me,¡± he spat. ¡°For I am an accursed fool. I have been seeking for what does not exist¡ªGod! Now I know there is no God and no Heaven. What matter for my soul? What matter for any of it, since the Devil owns us all!¡±


    As if to punctuate his words, the storm outside raged with renewed fury. Lightning illuminated the vineyards and gardens of the Janiculum Hill, casting them in an eerie blue glow beneath the black sky.


    ¡°Your soul!¡± cried the Cardinal, his voice cutting through the din. ¡°Always have you thought too much and not enough of that. You served too many masters and not one faithfully. Had you been a stronger man, you would have stayed with your fallen saint, not spurned her, and then avenged her by my betrayal.¡±


    He crossed to the window and closed it, the lightning framing him in a fierce flash. He waited until the thunder¡¯s after-crash had subsided, his eyes never leaving Thomas¡¯s horror-stricken face.


    ¡°Well, it is all a long while ago,¡± he said. ¡°And I and you have changed.¡±


    ¡°How did you escape that night?¡± asked Thomas hoarsely, hardly able to believe this man was Edward Bensouda. Yet his straining eyes traced the familiar features in the altered, older face.


    As the Cardinal moved slowly across the chamber, Thomas marked the likeness of the haughty priest to the poor student in black magic with horrible fascination. The straight dark hair was now curled and stained a deep red, eyes and brows remained the same¡ªkeen and heavy-lidded. His clear skin showed less pallor, his mouth fuller and more firmly set, the upper lip shaded with a dark down, the chin less prominent, but the jawline remained strong and clear. It was a more handsome face, a remarkable face, composed and imperious, with eyes to make one tremble.


    ¡°I thought you burned,¡± faltered Thomas.


    ¡°The master I serve is powerful,¡± smiled the Cardinal. ¡°He saved me then and set me where I am now¡ªthe greatest man in Rome. So great that if you wished a second time to betray me, you might shout the truth in the streets and find no one to believe you.¡±


    The lightning darted in vain at the closed window, and the thunder rolled more faintly in the distance.


    ¡°Betray you!¡± cried Thomas, wild-eyed. ¡°No, I bow the knee to the greatest thing I have met, and kiss your hand, Your Eminence!¡±


    The Cardinal turned and looked at him over his shoulder. ¡°I never broke my vows,¡± he said softly, ¡°the vows of comradeship I made to you. Just now you said you thought I loved you, back then, in the old days...¡± He paused, his delicate hand creeping over his heart. ¡°Well, I... loved you... and it ruined me, as the devils promised. Last night I was warned that you would come today and that you would be my bane... well, I do not care since you have come, for, sir, I love you still.¡±


    ¡°Edward!¡± cried Thomas.


    The Cardinal gazed at him with ardent eyes, the storm outside a fitting backdrop to the tempest within the room. The air seemed to thicken with the weight of unsaid words and unfulfilled desires. Thomas felt as if the walls themselves were closing in, pressing the very breath from his lungs.


    ¡°Do you suppose it matters to me that you¡¯re weak, foolish, or that you betrayed me?¡± the Cardinal asked, his voice heavy with a sorrowful scorn. ¡°You¡¯re the one thing in all the world I care for. Love! What was your love when you left her at Sebastian¡¯s feet? Had she been my lady, I would have stayed and laughed at all of it.¡±


    ¡°It ain¡¯t the Devil who taught you to be so faithful,¡± said Thomas.


    For the first time, a look of trouble, almost of despair, came into the Cardinal¡¯s eyes; he turned his head away.


    ¡°You shame me,¡± continued Thomas. ¡°I got no constancy in me. Thinkin¡¯ of my own soul, I almost forgot Jacobea of Martzburg¡ªand yet¡ª¡±


    ¡°And yet you loved her,¡± the Cardinal said, his voice softening.


    ¡°Maybe I did¡ªit was long ago.¡±


    A bitter little smile curved the Cardinal¡¯s lips. ¡°Is that the way men care for women?¡± he said. ¡°Certainly not in that manner would I have wooed and remembered, had I been a¡ªa¡ªlover.¡±


    ¡°Strange that we, meetin¡¯ here like this, should talk of love!¡± cried Thomas, his heart heaving, his eyes dilating. ¡°Strange that I, driven ¡®round the world by fear of God, comin¡¯ here to one of God¡¯s own saints, should find myself in the Devil¡¯s net again. Come, he¡¯s done much for you, what will he do for me?¡±


    The Cardinal smiled sadly. ¡°Neither God nor Devil will do anything for you, for you¡¯re not single-hearted, neither constant to good nor evil. But I¡ªwill risk everything to serve your desires.¡±


    Thomas laughed, a bitter sound that echoed through the dark room. ¡°Heaven has cast the world away and we are mad! You, famous as a holy man¡ªdid you murder the young Blaise? I will go back to India, to the East, and die an idol-worshipper. See yonder crucifix, it hangs upon your walls, but the Christ does not rise to smite you; you handle the Holy Mysteries in the Church and no angel slays you on the altar steps¡ªlet me away from Rome!¡±


    He turned to the gilt door, but the Cardinal caught his sleeve.


    ¡°Stay,¡± he said, his voice urgent. ¡°Stay, and all I promised you in the old days shall come true¡ªdo you doubt me? Look about you, see what I have won for myself...¡±


    Thomas¡¯s beautiful face was flushed and wild. ¡°Nay, let me go...¡±


    The last rumble of the thunder crossed their speech.


    ¡°Stay, and I will make you Emperor.¡±


    ¡°Oh devil!¡± cried Thomas. ¡°Can you do that?¡±


    ¡°We will rule the world between us; yes, I will make you Emperor, if you stay in Rome and serve me. I will snatch the diadem from Balthasar¡¯s head and cast his Empress out as I ever meant to do, and you shall bear the scepter of the C?sars, oh, my friend, my friend!¡±


    He held out his right hand as he spoke; Thomas caught it, crushed the fingers in his hot grasp, and kissed the brilliant rings; the Cardinal flushed and dropped his lids over sparkling eyes.


    ¡°You will stay?¡± he breathed.


    ¡°Yea, my sweet fiend, I am yours, wholly yours,¡± Thomas declared, his voice thick with despair and defiance. ¡°Weren¡¯t these rewards better worth crossing the world for than a pardon from God?¡± He laughed, a hollow, bitter sound, and staggered back against the wall, his eyes wild and reckless. The Cardinal withdrew his hand and moved to the ivory seat, his every step echoing in the dim room.


    ¡°Now, farewell,¡± he said, his voice soft but commanding. ¡°This audience has been overlong. I know where to find you, and soon I shall send for you. Farewell, oh Thomas of Dendermonde.¡± He spoke the name with great tenderness, his eyes growing misty with old memories.


    Thomas gathered himself, a tremor of madness flickering in his gaze. ¡°Farewell, oh disciple of Satan! I, your humble follower, shall look for the fulfillment of your promises.¡±


    The Cardinal touched a small bell, and a fair youth appeared, his presence barely disturbing the oppressive air of the room. The Cardinal bade him see Thomas from the palace, and without another word, they parted, Thomas bearing the look of a man on the edge of madness.


    When Luigi Caprarola was alone, he put a trembling hand over his eyes, swaying as if about to collapse. His breath came in ragged, tearing pants. With great effort, he steadied himself, clenching his hands over his heart, and began to pace the room, his Cardinal¡¯s robe trailing behind him, the golden rosary glinting against his knee.


    As he struggled for control, the gilt door opened, and Paolo Orsini bowed himself into the Cardinal¡¯s presence.


    ¡°Your Eminence will forgive me,¡± Orsini began.


    The Cardinal pressed a handkerchief to his lips, trying to regain his composure. ¡°Well, Orsini?¡±


    ¡°A messenger has just come from the Vatican, my lord¡ª¡±


    ¡°Ah! His Holiness?¡± The Cardinal¡¯s voice was a fragile thread.


    ¡°Was found dead in his sleep an hour ago, Your Eminence.¡±


    The Cardinal paled, his burning eyes fixing on the secretary. ¡°Thank you, Orsini. I thought he would not last the spring. Well, we must watch the Conclave.¡± He moved the handkerchief from his mouth and twisted it in his fingers.


    The secretary turned to leave, but the Cardinal called him back. ¡°Orsini, it is desirable we should have an audience with the Empress. She has many creatures in the Church who must be brought to heel. Write to her, Orsini.¡±


    ¡°I will, my lord.¡± The young man withdrew, leaving Luigi Caprarola alone with his thoughts.


    The Cardinal stood very still, staring at the gleaming walls of his opulent chamber. The flickering candlelight threw long, wavering shadows, transforming the room into a hall of dark phantoms. His mind drifted to the past, to the paths that had led him here, to the choices that had bound him to this moment.

 CHAPTER 28

    <hr>


    Ysabeau, wife of Balthasar of Nola and Empress of the West, waited with quiet impatience in the porphyry cabinet of Cardinal Caprarola. The sun, piercing through the scarlet and violet hues of the arched window, cast an intense, burning glow over the opulent furnishings and the striking figure of the Empress. She was clad in a dress of vibrant orange, her hair adorned with a chaplet of linked gold plates, and a purple mantle embroidered with green glass draped around her. Her eyes, normally full of regal poise, now held a hint of skepticism as she sat, chin resting on her hand, contemplating the man she awaited.


    At last, the Cardinal entered, his purple silks shimmering with an air of authority and self-assuredness. Ysabeau rose and offered a curt nod. ¡°It pleases you to make me attend on your pleasure, my lord,¡± she remarked, her tone tinged with thinly veiled annoyance.


    Cardinal Caprarola acknowledged her with a calm greeting. ¡°My time is not my own, lady. God¡¯s service comes first,¡± he replied, his demeanor poised and controlled.


    Returning to her seat, the Empress¡¯s voice dripped with disdain. ¡°Have I come here to discuss God with your Eminence?¡± Her fair features twisted into a scornful expression. ¡°This text was stolen from someone who worked hard to get it to you.¡±


    The Cardinal settled into his carved gold chair, a faint smile playing on his lips. ¡°It is of ourselves we will speak,¡± he said smoothly. ¡°Surely, your Grace expected as much.¡±


    ¡°Nay,¡± she retorted. ¡°What do we have in common, Cardinal Caprarola?¡±


    ¡°Ambition,¡± he stated simply, his eyes glinting with a hidden purpose. ¡°It is a trait known alike to saint and sinner.¡±


    Ysabeau¡¯s gaze sharpened, her violet eyes locking onto his. ¡°If your talk be of policy, my lord, it is to the Emperor you should go.¡±


    ¡°I believe you wield as much influence in Rome as your husband, my daughter,¡± he countered, his tone suggesting a depth of knowledge that unsettled the Empress.


    A play of light danced across the room as the Empress gestured with her jeweled hands. ¡°It is our influence you seek, my lord¡ªa matter for the Emperor.¡±


    The Cardinal¡¯s eyes remained fixed on her, his expression unwavering. ¡°Yes, you understand me.¡±


    ¡°Your Eminence desires our support in the Conclave now sitting,¡± she stated haughtily, her stance betraying a subtle defiance.


    ¡°But have you ever shown such duty to us that we should wish to see you in St. Peter¡¯s seat?¡± Her words carried a sharp edge, revealing her suspicion of his intentions.


    The Cardinal leaned forward, his voice low but commanding. ¡°I do not play for saintly fame, Your Grace. And as for a corrupted Conclave¡ªcorruption is not unfamiliar to you, given that your cunning secured Balthasar¡¯s ascent to the German throne.¡±


    Ysabeau¡¯s composed facade faltered for a moment, her gaze narrowing as she absorbed his words. ¡°Your Eminence shows some understanding,¡± she replied, a hint of tension creeping into her voice. ¡°But my influence will be against you, not with you, in the Conclave.¡±


    The Cardinal¡¯s hand rested lightly over his heart. ¡°Your Grace speaks boldly. But do you truly see me as your enemy?¡±


    ¡°You declare yourself hostile, my lord,¡± she retorted, her resolve evident in her tone.


    ¡°Nay, I may yet prove to be a good friend to you¡ªin St. Peter¡¯s,¡± he murmured, his eyes glinting with a subtle challenge.


    A smile tugged at Ysabeau¡¯s lips. ¡°The Conclave has not declared their decision yet, Your Eminence. You are a great prince, but the Imperial party wields considerable power.¡±


    The Cardinal sat with a rigid posture, his piercing eyes commanding attention and respect from Empress Ysabeau despite her inner resistance. ¡°Some power¡ªwhich I ask you to exert in my behalf,¡± he stated firmly, his voice carrying a weight of authority.


    Ysabeau¡¯s gaze faltered momentarily, a mixture of anger and begrudging admiration crossing her features. ¡°You have declared your ambition, my lord; your talents and your wealth we know¡ªyou are too powerful already for us to tolerate you as master in Rome,¡± she retorted, trying to regain her composure.


    ¡°Again you speak boldly,¡± the Cardinal remarked, a faint smile playing on his lips. ¡°Perhaps too boldly¡ªI think you will yet help me to the Tiara.¡±


    Ysabeau glanced at his pale, handsome face framed by red hair, suspicion and calculation flickering in her eyes. ¡°Do you seek to bribe me, my lord?¡± Her thoughts turned to the vast riches at his disposal and her own kingdom¡¯s depleted treasury.


    ¡°Nay,¡± Luigi Caprarola replied, his smile unwavering. ¡°I threaten.¡±


    ¡°Threaten!¡± Ysabeau¡¯s temper flared, her breath quickening, the jewels on her breast catching the light as she moved with agitation. ¡°I threaten that I will make you an outcast in the streets unless you serve me well,¡± the Cardinal continued, his tone calm yet loaded with implication.


    Ysabeau¡¯s demeanor shifted, her anger coalescing into a fierce determination, reminiscent of Marozia Porphyrogentris of Byzantium. ¡°I know that of you,¡± she retorted, her eyes glinting with a dangerous edge. ¡°That once revealed, would make the Emperor hurl you from his side.¡±


    The Cardinal¡¯s gaze shifted downward briefly, then returned with renewed intensity. ¡°Yea, that young doctor brewed the potion¡ªyou administered it,¡± he accused, his voice cutting through the tense air of the room.


    Ysabeau took a step forward, her posture defensive yet defiant. ¡°You lie...I am not afraid of you¡ªyou lie most utterly...¡±


    Luigi Caprarola rose to his feet, his presence commanding the space. ¡°Silence, woman! Speak not so to me! It is the truth, and I can prove it!¡± he declared, his voice ringing with authority.


    She crouched slightly, the golden plates in her hair trembling with suppressed emotion. ¡°You cannot prove it,¡± she countered, her voice strained with a mix of fear and defiance. ¡°Who are you that you should dare this¡ªshould know this?¡±


    The Cardinal stood tall, his demeanor unyielding. ¡°Do you recall a youth who was scrivener to your Chamberlain and friend of the young doctor of rhetoric¡ªThomas his name, born of Dendermonde?¡± he questioned, his eyes locking onto hers.


    ¡°Yea, he is now dead or in the East...¡± Ysabeau responded hesitantly, her mind racing with possibilities.


    ¡°He is alive, and in Rome,¡± the Cardinal revealed, his voice steady. ¡°He served you well once, Empress, when he came to betray his friend, and you were quick to seize the chance¡ªit suited him then to truckle to you...I think he was afraid of you...he is not now; he knows, and if I bid him he will speak.¡±


    Ysabeau¡¯s resolve wavered, her expression a mix of disbelief and calculation. ¡°And what is his bare word against my oath and the Emperor¡¯s love?¡±


    ¡°I am behind his word¡ªI and all the power of the Church,¡± the Cardinal asserted confidently, his eyes never leaving hers.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Ysabeau¡¯s defiance remained, her tone defiant. ¡°I am not of a nation easily cowed, my lord, nor are the people of our blood readily trapped¡ªI can tear your reputed saintship to rags by spreading abroad this tale of how you tried to bargain with me for the Popedom.¡±


    The Cardinal¡¯s smile took on a sinister edge. ¡°But first I say to the Emperor¡ªyour wife slew your friend that she might be your wife, your friend Melchoir of Brabant¡ªyou loved him better than you loved the woman¡ªwill you not avenge him now?¡±


    The Empress felt her heart pound against her chest as she raised her eyes to meet the Cardinal¡¯s intense gaze. ¡°My lord¡¯s love against it all,¡± she rasped out. ¡°He knows Melchoir¡¯s murderer perished in Frankfort in the flames, he knows that I am innocent, and he will laugh at you¡ªweave what tissue of falsehoods you will, sir, I do defy you, and will do no bargaining to set you in the Vatican.¡±


    The Cardinal leaned back, resting his fingertips on the arm of the chair, his smile deepening. ¡°You speak with admirable courage,¡± he remarked, his voice calm yet unwavering. ¡°But I have certain knowledge of what I say; come, I will prove to you that you cannot deceive me.¡±


    He recounted details of her past visit to a witch in Frankfort, painting a vivid picture of her actions that day. The Empress¡¯s hands flew to her lips in disbelief. ¡°How can you know this?¡± she gasped.


    The Cardinal fixed her with a piercing gaze as he settled back in his gold chair. ¡°Hugh of Rosewood died for accusing you, and so shall you die¡ªbasely¡ªunless you aid me in the Conclave.¡±


    For a moment, the Empress was silent, processing the weight of his threats. Then, she took a step closer, her hands tightly clenched but her eyes defiant. ¡°Cardinal Caprarola,¡± she began, her voice firm, ¡°you ask me to use my influence to bring about your election to the Popedom. But knowing you as I do now, I cannot fail to see that you are a man who would stop at nothing.¡±


    She challenged his intentions, questioning how long he would tolerate her husband¡¯s rule once he gained power. The Cardinal¡¯s smile remained, his confidence unwavering. ¡°I shall be no puppet Pope,¡± he declared.


    Ysabeau¡¯s expression hardened with resolve. ¡°But you think he can help you to the Tiara¡ª¡±


    ¡°Through you, lady,¡± the Cardinal replied, his tone smooth yet calculating. ¡°You can tell him I am his friend, his ally, what you will¡ªor you may directly influence the Cardinals, I care not, so the thing be done; what I shall do if it be not done, I have said.¡±


    The Empress¡¯s laughter rang out, a bitter edge to its sound. ¡°You wish me to deceive my lord to his ruin, you wish me to place his enemy over him¡ªnow, when we are harassed, here and in Germany, you wish me to do a thing that may bring his fortunes to the dust¡ªwhy, you are not so cunning, my lord, if you think you can make me the instrument of Balthasar¡¯s downfall!¡±


    The Cardinal regarded her with a keen gaze. ¡°Nevertheless, your Grace will do it¡ªsooner than let me say what I can say.¡±


    In defiance, she raised her head and offered a sardonic smile. ¡°Then you are mistaken; neither threats nor bribes can sway me¡ªsay what you will to the Emperor, I am secure in his affections; tarnish my reputation and turn him against me if you can, but I am not so base as to betray my husband and son.¡±


    The Cardinal¡¯s face paled, his eyes narrowing as he spoke with a hint of desperation, ¡°You dare face death¡ªa shameful death¡ªif my accusation is proven¡ªas it shall be.¡±


    ¡°Dare death!¡± she exclaimed, turning to meet his gaze squarely. ¡°You say I¡¯ve faced Hell for him! Shall I cower at mere death?¡±


    Luigi Caprarola¡¯s chest rose and fell beneath his vibrant robe. ¡°What do you fear, then?¡± he pressed.


    ¡°Nothing except harm to my lord,¡± she replied firmly.


    The Cardinal¡¯s gaze dropped, and he moistened his lips. ¡°Is this your final word?¡±


    ¡°Yes, your Eminence; all my power will be used to thwart your ascent to the throne you desire so much¡ªand now that you have my answer, I will take my leave; my courtiers grow weary in your halls.¡±


    As she moved toward the door, her limbs trembled, her brow grew cold, her hands clammy, but her demeanor remained regal, masking her fear.


    The Cardinal halted her departure with a soft plea, ¡°Please, give me a moment more, your Grace. I have something yet to say.¡±


    She closed the door once more, leaning back against it. ¡°Speak then, my lord.¡±


    ¡°You claim to fear nothing¡ªyet, I wonder,¡± he began, leaning forward in his chair. ¡°You defy me boldly regarding your guilt; will you be equally bold about your innocence?¡±


    She met his gaze head-on, her eyes challenging.


    ¡°You are fiercely loyal to your husband and son¡¯s legacy,¡± he continued. ¡°But will that loyalty waver when faced with the truth?¡±


    Her pride flared. ¡°I am not too proud to stand as the wife of Balthasar of Nola and the mother of Emperors¡ªwe are the architects of our dynasty, destined to rule.¡±


    The Cardinal¡¯s expression turned bitter and passionate. ¡°Here is the revelation that will humble your boasting¡ªyou are not Balthasar¡¯s wife, and your son¡¯s legacy is one of disgrace and exile.¡±


    Her strength faltered momentarily at this bombshell. ¡°Not his wife...you must be mad...we were wed in front of all Frankfort...not Balthasar¡¯s wife!¡±


    The Cardinal stood tall, his gaze intense. ¡°Your lord was already married.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I know...what of it?¡±


    ¡°This¡ªUrsula of Rosewood lives!¡±


    Her cry was one of disbelief and despair as she struggled to comprehend the weight of his accusation.


    ¡°She perished in a convent at Salem¡ªthat is the truth,¡± the Empress insisted.


    ¡°Did I not speak the truth before?¡± the Cardinal challenged. ¡°Regarding Melchoir.¡±


    A cry escaped the Empress. ¡°Ursula of Rosewood died in Antwerp,¡± she repeated frantically¡ª¡°in the convent of the White Sisters.¡±


    ¡°No, she did not. Balthasar knows she did not¡ªhe believes she died later, saw her grave, but it would be empty¡ªshe lives, in Rome, as his wife, Empress before God and man.¡±


    ¡°How do you know this?¡± She tried to maintain her composure, but the Cardinal¡¯s revelation had shattered her resolve; the horror of his words froze her blood and stifled her heartbeat.


    ¡°The youth who aided you once, the doctor Constantine...from him Balthasar learned of his wife¡¯s death; Ursula and he were apprenticed to the same master¡ªask Balthasar if this is not true¡ªwell, the youth lied, for his own reasons; Ursula lived then, and lives now, and if I choose, she will speak.¡±


    ¡°It cannot be,¡± the Empress shuddered. ¡°No¡ªyou aim to drive me insane, to torment me¡ªwhy did she not speak sooner?¡±


    The Cardinal smirked. ¡°She did not love her husband as you do, lady, and preferred her freedom; you should be thankful.¡±


    ¡°Alive, you say,¡± Ysabeau murmured, lost in her thoughts, ¡°and in Rome? But no one would recognize her, she cannot prove she is¡ªhis¡ªUrsula of Rosewood.¡±


    ¡°She possesses his ring,¡± the Cardinal replied, ¡°and her marriage documents, signed by him and the priest¡ªthere are witnesses at Rosewood who know her, though it¡¯s been nearly twenty years; she also has Master Lukas¡¯s statement that she posed as a nun but was truly Balthasar¡¯s wife; she can prove no one is buried in Master Lukas¡¯s garden, and other sisters from her Order can testify she did not die on her wedding day¡ªshe has ample evidence.¡±


    The Empress lowered her head and covered her eyes.


    ¡°She approached you¡ªsir, with...this story?¡±


    ¡°That is my knowledge to share or not.¡±


    ¡°She must be silenced! By the Mother of Christ, she must remain silent!¡±


    ¡°Secure me the deciding vote in the Conclave, and she will never speak.¡±


    ¡°I cannot, for his sake, for my son¡¯s sake¡ª¡±


    ¡°Then I will bring forth Ursula of Rosewood, and she will prove herself the Emperor¡¯s wife¡ªthen you must depart, or face excommunication together¡ªyour son will lose his title, be a nameless wanderer¡ªrejected and pitied by those who should be his followers¡ªand another woman will take your place beside Balthasar on the throne of the West!¡±


    The Empress braced herself against the door.


    ¡°And if my lord remains true to me, to us¡ª¡±


    ¡°Then he will be ousted from his throne, shunned by the Church and his subjects; will Lombardy not gladly turn against him, and Bohemia?¡±


    There was silence for a moment, the Cardinal studying her, then she met his gaze steadily, her resolve firm in her words.


    The Empress faced the Cardinal with steely determination. ¡°Lord Cardinal,¡± she began, ¡°you have succeeded; before you and the world, I proclaim myself as Balthasar¡¯s wife, unmoved by tales of this impostor. Yet, I fear you; I dare not engage in a direct confrontation with you, Luigi Caprarola. To secure your silence on these matters, I will ensure your election. Afterward, you and my lord shall see who holds the upper hand.¡±


    She gestured for him to remain silent and opened the door. ¡°No more, my lord,¡± she declared. ¡°Trust that I will honor my word when fear of breaking it restrains me...and let Ursula remain unmentioned.¡± The Cardinal approached her as she moved away.


    ¡°We part as foes,¡± he replied, ¡°yet I pay homage to your courage, Empress, as resolute as you are regal.¡±


    He gallantly kissed the hem of her purple gown. ¡°Above all, I admire steadfastness,¡± he added in a strangely gentle tone. Her expression remained icy and unchanged beneath her golden hair.


    ¡°But, alas, you hold me in disdain!¡± he suddenly laughed, meeting her gaze.


    ¡°Today, I can converse no longer,¡± she stated, moving away with effort. The chamberlains in the antechamber stood as she exited the cabinet.


    ¡°Benedictus, my daughter,¡± the Cardinal smiled, closing the door.


    Flushed with triumph, he gazed out at Rome¡¯s purple hues. ¡°How her love endures!¡± he mused aloud. ¡°Yet¡ªwhy am I surprised?¡ªis he not as handsome a man as¡ª¡±


    He paused, then added thoughtfully, ¡°And she, too, is beautiful.¡±


    His fingers toyed with his silk robes, producing a small mirror. He examined his darkened upper lip and tonsured head.


    A smile crossed his lips, turning into laughter after a moment.

 CHAPTER 29

    <hr>


    Thomas strolled amidst the magnificent ruins of Imperial Rome, the afternoon sun blazing down relentlessly. The Tiber river wound gracefully around the ancient stone structures, shimmering like molten bronze in the intense heat.


    He followed the river¡¯s course until it curved around the foot of Mount Aventine. There, he halted and gazed up at the Emperor¡¯s palace, perched grandly atop the hill. The German flag fluttered proudly against the azure sky, and Frankish guards stood vigilant at the imposing gates.


    Soract¨¦¡¯s majestic peak loomed in the distance, casting a watchful eye over the city and the surrounding landscape. Heat haze rippled over the distant Campagna, while boats on the Tiber drifted lazily, their sails drooping in the sultry air.


    Thomas observed the bustling crowd, a mix of Slavs, Franks, Jews, Greeks, and the occasional Roman aristocrat in a chariot or a German knight on horseback. Yet, his mind was preoccupied with Cardinal Caprarola.


    He had been in the city for days, awaiting a message from the Cardinal. Recalling his strange encounter at the Palatine Palace, he couldn¡¯t shake off the feeling of being promised the Imperial crown¡ªa notion both incredible and plausible in this realm of Edward Bensouda¡¯s rise to power in Rome.


    The contrast between Edward¡¯s past and present selves baffled Thomas¡ªthe transformation from a mere mortal to a Prince of the Church and a prominent figure in Rome. Black magic whispered its terrible and enticing promises, leaving Thomas pondering what more it could offer him if he had served the fiend with greater zeal.


    As he gazed at the Golden Palace on the Aventine, thoughts of becoming Emperor of the West danced in his mind. Why not him, with the Devil as his ally? In that moment, the existence of God seemed distant and irrelevant.


    His handsome features darkened with contemplation as he circled the base of the hill, drawing curious glances from those passing to and from the palace, impressed by his striking appearance and luxurious Eastern attire.


    A Byzantine chariot approached, adorned in gold with azure curtains, pulled by a pristine white horse. Seated inside was a lady in a green gown, her attendants guiding the chariot up the hill. The chariot passed Thomas at a leisurely pace, leaving an air of mystery and intrigue in its wake.


    <hr>


    Thomas stood transfixed as the unveiled lady passed by, her face illuminated by the unforgiving sun. It was Jacobea of Martzburg, a name from his past that stirred memories and emotions long buried.


    He had last seen her over a decade ago, in the embrace of her steward at Castle Martzburg, a scene that had shattered his illusions about her saintly nature. He couldn¡¯t help but wonder if she had married the steward, realizing how naive he had been to see her as anything other than human, flawed like everyone else.


    His journey to Rome had been fueled by misguided faith in Cardinal Caprarola¡¯s supposed divine connection. Instead, he found himself confronted with the harsh reality of a world where goodness and evil intertwined in unsettling ways. The sight of Jacobea, the woman for whom he had once harbored misguided affections, served as a bitter reminder of his past follies.


    Lost in his tumultuous thoughts, Thomas was startled back to the present by the sounds of cymbals and laughter. A group of performers approached, drawing a curious crowd. Among them was a girl in an orange gown, her face hidden behind a black mask, accompanied by a monstrous ape.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    The dancer¡¯s attire and demeanor intrigued Thomas. She exuded an air of mystery and allure, her movements captivating the onlookers. With brass cymbals in hand, she danced with fervor and skill, her every motion a testament to her passion and grace.


    The sun cast an ethereal glow on her, turning the cymbals into fiery discs and highlighting the beauty of her form. Despite the mask concealing her face, her dark eyes gleamed with a captivating intensity, drawing Thomas into her mesmerizing performance.


    The masked dancer¡¯s haunting melody filled the air as she sang of love and its weaknesses. Thomas couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that he knew her voice from somewhere, a memory buried deep within his past encounters with women both high and low in society.


    As the song ended with a clash of cymbals, the dancer¡¯s fierce demeanor returned. She commanded the attention of the crowd with her passionate performance, accompanied by the curious ape that added an unsettling element to the spectacle.


    Thomas, caught in a whirlwind of memories and thoughts, tossed a silver bezant to the ape and wandered off, his mind consumed by thoughts of the past and the lady in the gilt chariot.


    Amidst the chaotic streets filled with political fervor and unrest, Thomas sought out Cardinal Caprarola, the man who had promised him grandeur and power. But with the Conclave underway, the Cardinal was preoccupied, leaving Thomas to navigate the bustling streets and squares alone.


    As he made his way through the Via Sacra, he encountered the dancer and her ape once more. Despite her masked facade, Thomas felt her gaze upon him, an unnerving presence that followed him as he climbed towards the Palatine.


    The ancient ruins whispered tales of forgotten glory as Thomas and the dancer stood amidst the remnants of a bygone era. The city sprawled below, a mix of decay and splendor under the blazing sun. The dancer, now silent, leaned against a weathered column, her form a stark contrast against the backdrop of cypress and olive trees.


    The oppressive heat hung heavy in the air, casting a surreal glow over the scene. Thomas, clad in his blood-red robe, sank onto a marble seat, his gaze fixed on the distant cityscape.


    The dancer¡¯s actions mirrored his contemplation as she discarded her cymbals, the ape dutifully retrieving them. In that quiet moment amidst the ruins, a sense of foreboding hung in the air, as if the ancient stones themselves whispered warnings of unseen dangers lurking in the shadows.


    The masked dancer¡¯s song echoed through the ruins, her voice carrying both passion and mystery. Thomas, lost in bitter memories and dark thoughts, couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that her song stirred a distant recollection from his past.


    As she approached him, her presence seemed to taunt him with hidden knowledge. Their conversation turned to the impending announcement from the Vatican, but Thomas, more intrigued by her enigmatic nature, requested to see her dance instead.


    The dancer¡¯s response dripped with sarcasm as she challenged Thomas¡¯s indifference towards her performance. Their exchange hinted at deeper motives and secrets lurking beneath the surface.


    ¡°Why did you follow me?¡± Thomas¡¯s question held a note of disdain, to which the dancer cryptically replied about having reasons more significant than her dancing.


    Their conversation unfolded amidst the scorching sun, casting a surreal glow over the scene. The dancer¡¯s masked face and shimmering attire added to the air of mystery, contrasting sharply with the vibrant surroundings.


    Thomas¡¯s skepticism and bitterness clashed with the dancer¡¯s passionate defiance. She spoke of risking a dire fate and hinted at a world beyond the facade she presented.


    Their dialogue delved into philosophical questions about faith, beauty, and the allure of the worldly over the divine. The dancer¡¯s words carried a mix of melancholy and defiance, challenging Thomas¡¯s perception of reality.


    The mention of Jacobea of Martzburg sparked Thomas¡¯s curiosity and unease, hinting at a connection buried in his past. The dancer¡¯s cryptic revelations left Thomas unsettled, questioning his own desires and ambitions against the backdrop of a world teetering between darkness and light.

 Chapter 30

    <hr>


    Thomas recoiled from the dancer, his crimson robe contrasting sharply with the dark cypress trees surrounding them. Accusations of witchcraft hung in the tense air as he confronted her.


    ¡°You¡¯re some witch,¡± Thomas accused, his voice tinged with unease.


    ¡°I hail from Thessaly, where magic holds sway,¡± she replied cryptically, her yellow dress casting an eerie glow in the dimming light.


    She warned him with fervor, urging him to let go of his desires for Jacobea of Martzburg if he wished to achieve his ambitions. Thomas¡¯s face flushed with a mix of defiance and curiosity.


    ¡°Can I truly wear the Imperial crown?¡± he demanded eagerly, his eyes glittering with ambition.


    The dancer, dismissing any notion of sorcery, cautioned him to heed her advice about Jacobea. Thomas, defensive, denied any attachment to the woman.


    Their conversation danced on the edge of prophecy and warning, shrouded in the gathering darkness and the scent of impending rain. The dancer¡¯s cryptic words seemed to hint at a deeper understanding of Thomas¡¯s fate.


    ¡°How do you know these things?¡± Thomas pressed, his grip tightening on the cypress trunk.


    ¡°I read your fortune in your eyes,¡± she claimed, her gaze piercing through the mask. The ominous clouds above mirrored the uncertainty in Thomas¡¯s mind.


    As the storm approached, the dancer led Thomas towards the Piazza of St. Peter, promising strange revelations. Her touch and scent intertwined with the mounting tension in the air, evoking a mixture of fear and fascination in Thomas.


    The unexpected appearance of the ape added to the surreal atmosphere as they navigated through the crowd. The anticipation in the air was palpable, mirroring Thomas¡¯s inner turmoil and the looming storm.


    Under the shadow of the Vatican, amidst the murmurs of the crowd and the darkening sky, Thomas¡¯s encounter with the dancer took a surreal turn. A fleeting moment of physical contact between them sparked an intense, conflicting emotion within Thomas, leaving him shaken and bewildered.


    Thomas, swept up in the whirlwind of events, reached out to grasp the mysterious dancer once more. But the massive ape interceded, and the surging crowd shoved him aside, adding to the chaos.


    Cardinal Maria Orsini emerged onto a balcony of the Vatican, casting his gaze over the expectant throng below. The ominous sky mirrored the tension that hung in the air.


    In a voice that cut through the silence like a scythe, Cardinal Orsini announced the election of Louis of Dendermonde as the new Pope, who would reign as Michael II. The crowd¡¯s reactions were drowned out by a deafening peal of thunder, and lightning lashed across the heavens, striking the Vatican and Castel San¡¯ Angelo.


    The thunderbolt shattered the clouds above the temple of Mars the Avenger, crashing down into the Forum of Augustus. Panic seized Thomas as terror gripped the crowd, driving them to flee in disarray.


    Amidst the chaos, Thomas attempted to reach the dancing girl, but she slipped away, disappearing into the tumult. Rome trembled under the fury of the storm, the only illumination coming from the blinding flashes of lightning in the oppressive darkness.


    In the madness of the moment, Thomas¡¯s mind unraveled, and he cried out, ¡°The reign of Antichrist has begun!¡± Laughter, tinged with madness, escaped his lips as the storm raged on, a harbinger of dark times to come.


    <hr>


    The chamber within the Vatican exuded an air of opulence and secrecy, its dim illumination casting eerie shadows across the silver walls adorned with tapestries of violet and gold. Sea-green marble pillars rose like sentinels, their capitals gleaming with mosaic artistry. Above, a roof encrusted with jasper and jade added to the mystique of the place. Thomas, initially feeling alone, soon realized he was in the presence of someone¡ªor something¡ªtruly extraordinary.


    At the far end of the chamber, a dais draped in rich brocade commanded attention. Upon it sat Michael II, his regal attire and stillness reminiscent of an idol worshipped in distant lands. Thomas couldn¡¯t help but shudder in the presence of such magnificence.


    As Michael II stirred, intense eyes pierced through the shadows, fixing upon Thomas. ¡°Do you not recognize me?¡± The Pope¡¯s voice was low, resonating with power.


    ¡°You summoned me,¡± Thomas replied, his own voice sounding strained in the hallowed space. ¡°At last...¡±


    ¡°At last?¡± Michael II¡¯s tone held a hint of amusement.


    ¡°I have waited,¡± Thomas continued, stepping closer to the imposing figure on the throne. ¡°Thirty days you¡¯ve been Pope, and I have seen no sign of the promised favors.¡±


    ¡°Favors,¡± the Pope echoed, the play of light and shadow enhancing his enigmatic aura. ¡°You are bold to demand, standing where others would kneel.¡±


    Thomas recoiled. ¡°The Emperor is ignorant,¡± he muttered, his fear palpable. ¡°But I know¡ªand knowing, I cannot kneel. How dare you?¡±


    The Pope¡¯s voice cut through the silence. ¡°Your loyalty wavers¡ªfirst this, then that. What do you seek now, Thomas of Dendermonde? Do you still crave the Emperor¡¯s crown?¡±


    Thomas¡¯s hand trembled as he spoke. ¡°Yes, I seek it¡ªwhy do you prolong this torment? If darkness is to be my master, let me embrace it...and be rewarded.¡±


    Michael II¡¯s response was swift. ¡°I have never faltered in our friendship, nor will I shy away from aiding you, at any cost¡ªso long as you remain true.¡±


    ¡°How can I be false?¡± Thomas retorted bitterly. ¡°I am but a pawn in your game.¡±


    The Pope beckoned him closer, parting the embroidered brocade to reveal his face. ¡°I ask only that you let Jacobea of Martzburg be.¡±


    Thomas flushed with defiance. ¡°You have always despised her! Since my arrival in Rome, I have seen her once.¡±


    A hint of regret flickered across the Pope¡¯s features. ¡°She did not wed her steward,¡± he acknowledged.


    Thomas¡¯s laughter was tinged with sorrow. ¡°You have won! Mock me, if you will. I once risked everything for her, and lost! Ten years have passed, but seeing her again...I cannot help but think of her.¡±


    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    ¡°I will grant you the crown,¡± the Pope declared. ¡°But she shall not be your Empress.¡±


    ¡°Even if I loved her, which I do not,¡± Thomas retorted, ¡°I would cast her aside for the throne! Let me sin boldly now, and reap the rewards!¡±


    As Thomas spoke, a breath escaped Michael II, scattering the colored light of his jeweled adornments¡ªa silent acknowledgment of the dark pact being sealed.


    In the dimly lit chamber of Vatican¡¯s grandeur, a chilling atmosphere enveloped the encounter between Thomas and the enigmatic Pope Michael II. The Pope¡¯s presence commanded awe, his white hand heavy with gemmed rings reaching out to Thomas, beckoning him closer.


    ¡°Come closer, Edward,¡± the Pope commanded in a voice that echoed with authority. ¡°Do you not recognize our past in Frankfort? Our hearts, traitorous and fierce in their desires.¡±


    Thomas, with a mixture of fear and curiosity, approached the gold steps leading to the Pope¡¯s throne. As their hands touched, Thomas couldn¡¯t help but shiver at the coolness of the Pope¡¯s touch, laden with the weight of opulence.


    ¡°When they proclaimed your election, the storm that engulfed Rome...¡± Thomas¡¯s voice faltered with fear. ¡°Were you not daunted by it?¡±


    The Pope withdrew his hand, his expression unreadable. ¡°I was not present at the Conclave,¡± he replied cryptically. ¡°As for the storm...¡±


    ¡°It has not ceased,¡± Thomas interjected, his voice tinged with dread. ¡°Day and night, the clouds linger over Rome. Is there no God after all?¡±


    ¡°Silence!¡± the Pope¡¯s troubled voice cut through the air. ¡°You aspire to be Emperor of the West, do you not? Let us discuss that.¡±


    Thomas leaned against the throne, his eyes fixed on the Pope¡¯s intense gaze. ¡°Yes, let us discuss it,¡± he responded with a hint of madness. ¡°Can your dark dealings achieve it? Rumors in Rome suggest you rose to power through Frankish influence, pledging allegiance to Balthasar¡ªthey say you are in league with him...¡±


    The Pope¡¯s eyes gleamed with an unsettling intensity. ¡°Yet I shall bring him down and raise you in his stead. He comes today seeking aid against Lombardy and Bohemia; I have summoned you to witness this audience, to witness how I manipulate and outmaneuver an Emperor for your sake.¡±


    With a gesture, the Pope directed Thomas to conceal himself behind a rich curtain, instructing him to eavesdrop on the forthcoming conversation.


    As Thomas hid behind the tapestry, a heavy silence settled in the chamber. Paolo Orsini entered, announcing the Emperor¡¯s arrival. The anticipation was palpable, even behind the veil of secrecy.


    The Emperor entered, kneeling before the Pope¡¯s imposing presence. Michael II observed him silently, the weight of power evident in his gaze. The silver door closed, leaving them alone, save for Thomas, the hidden observer.


    ¡°Arise, my son,¡± the Pope finally spoke, his voice resonating with authority.


    The Emperor stood tall, clad in armor that mirrored a dragon¡¯s scales, his presence exuding dominance. Thomas, hidden but watching, felt a surge of envy at the sight of his former companion transformed into an Emperor.


    ¡°You sought an audience,¡± the Pope continued, ¡°and we can anticipate your concerns.¡±


    Relief washed over the Emperor¡¯s face, his eyes betraying his lack of political acumen. The Empress¡¯s intellect had often shielded him, but today, he stood alone before the Pope¡¯s cunning presence.


    In the opulent chamber of Vatican¡¯s Gothic grandeur, the confrontation between Emperor Balthasar and Pope Michael II crackled with tension and dark undertones.


    ¡°Your Holiness knows my aim is to unite Rome and Germany. I¡¯ve proved my loyalty to Holy Church,¡± Balthasar began, his voice resonating with earnestness.


    The Pope¡¯s interruption sliced through the air. ¡°And now you seek aid against your rebellious subjects?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Your Holiness,¡± Balthasar replied, a hint of frustration in his tone.


    A subtle smile played on Michael II¡¯s lips. ¡°On what grounds do you presume to ask for our aid to steady a wavering throne?¡±


    Balthasar, visibly flustered, pressed on. ¡°I counted on your friendship before the election¡ªthe Empress...¡±


    The Pope¡¯s interruption was sharp. ¡°Cardinal Caprarola is not the High Priest of Christendom as I am now. All men are equal in my eyes.¡±


    Balthasar¡¯s spirit surged. ¡°Your Holiness, there¡¯s no reason to refuse my alliance. Sylvester crowned me; we were allies¡ª¡±


    ¡°We are not Sylvester,¡± the Pope retorted sharply. ¡°Your obedience to the Church determines our support. Otherwise, we can uplift or condemn, raise or topple.¡±


    The Emperor bit back a retort, realizing the perilous ground he stood on. ¡°How have I offended, Your Holiness?¡± he asked, humbly.


    Michael II¡¯s expression turned stern. ¡°Your offenses against Heaven and the Church have left you outcast until penance is made.¡±


    ¡°Tell me how to atone,¡± Balthasar pleaded.


    The Pope¡¯s gesture was dismissive. ¡°None of your riches or lands can redeem you. One thing alone can absolve your sins.¡±


    ¡°Tell me,¡± the Emperor urged. ¡°I will undertake a crusade, after Lombardy is subdued.¡±


    The Pope¡¯s gaze turned piercing. ¡°We demand that you annul your marriage with the woman you claim as your wife.¡±


    Balthasar¡¯s shock was palpable. ¡°Saint George protect us!¡± he muttered. ¡°My wife?¡±


    ¡°Ysabeau, wedded to your predecessor,¡± the Pope clarified.


    The Emperor¡¯s hand instinctively went to his sword. ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    The Pope beckoned him closer, presenting a ring with a deep red stone. ¡°Do you know this?¡±


    Balthasar examined the ring, recognizing it with unease. ¡°It¡¯s Ursula of Rosewood¡¯s ring!¡±


    ¡°The woman to whom it was given in your name still lives,¡± the Pope declared with a piercing gaze.


    In the dimly lit chamber of Vatican¡¯s Gothic magnificence, the confrontation between Emperor Balthasar and Pope Michael II took on a chilling air of Gothic horror.


    ¡°Ursula of Rosewood, your wife,¡± declared the Pope.


    ¡°My first wife who died before I met her, Holiness,¡± the Emperor stammered.


    The Pope¡¯s face hardened, holding out the wedding ring as evidence. ¡°She did not die as you believed. She lived in silence, and the truth was hidden from you by a wicked youth.¡±


    Balthasar was speechless, realizing his secret was known to this man.


    ¡°The one who deceived you is long dead,¡± continued the Pope. ¡°Ursula herself confirmed her survival.¡±


    ¡°This cannot be!¡± Balthasar cried in disbelief. ¡°Why did she stay silent all these years? Why let me marry Ysabeau?¡±


    The Pope¡¯s eyes held a depth of knowledge and bitterness. ¡°Because she loved another man, and perhaps harbored a desire for revenge against you and Ysabeau.¡±


    The Emperor¡¯s anguish was palpable. ¡°Where is she now? She¡¯s an impostor!¡±


    ¡°She speaks the truth,¡± the Pope asserted firmly. ¡°And Holy Church will support her.¡±


    ¡°Nonsense!¡± Balthasar retorted. ¡°This is a lie!¡±


    ¡°Beware how you speak to God¡¯s Vicegerent,¡± warned the Pope, his tone sharp.


    ¡°I bow to your Holiness but will not hear evil of the Empress,¡± Balthasar declared defiantly.


    The Pope laid out his terms, demanding the annulment of Balthasar¡¯s marriage and the acknowledgment of Ursula as his wife and Empress.


    Balthasar stood firm. ¡°I will never renounce Ysabeau and our son.¡±


    The Pope reiterated his ultimatum, and Balthasar, facing the wrath of Heaven, left with defiance in his heart.


    Alone in the chamber, the Pope turned to Thomas, a dark figure emerging from the shadows.


    The scene shifted, taking on a cryptic air as Thomas delved into the Pope¡¯s secrets.


    ¡°Well,¡± the Pope asked, his eyes gleaming with triumph. ¡°Do I not stand on the brink of bringing down the Emperor?¡±


    Thomas swallowed hard, his voice edged with disbelief. ¡°How could you dare to use the powers of heaven for such purposes?¡±


    The Pope¡¯s smile remained, cryptic and knowing. ¡°The powers of heaven can be wielded by those who know how.¡±


    ¡°Was what you said true?¡± Thomas whispered, his curiosity mixed with confusion.


    The flickering light of the chamber danced over the Pope¡¯s face as he spoke of Ursula of Rosewood¡¯s existence.


    ¡°In the old days, you never mentioned her,¡± Thomas remarked, a sense of puzzlement in his voice.


    ¡°Perhaps I didn¡¯t know then,¡± the Pope replied, his voice tinged with weariness. ¡°But she lives, and she is here in Rome.¡±


    Thomas¡¯s curiosity piqued. ¡°Who does she love?¡±


    The Pope¡¯s demeanor turned somber. ¡°A man who, in my opinion, doesn¡¯t deserve her.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s here in Rome?¡± Thomas mused.


    The Pope revealed a hidden door behind the arras. ¡°The first step has been taken. Farewell for now. You shall hear of your fate soon.¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± Thomas exclaimed, trying to grasp the situation. ¡°I want to see her¡ªthis Ursula of Rosewood.¡±


    The Pope¡¯s smile was enigmatic. ¡°You have seen her already.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Thomas was taken aback.


    ¡°She masquerades as a masked dancer in orange,¡± the Pope revealed, pointing Thomas towards the hidden doorway before departing, leaving Thomas to contemplate the mysteries of Ursula and the unfolding events.

 CHAPTER 31

    <hr>


    In the eerie setting of the Aventine palace, Balthasar stood gazing out at the ominous sky over Rome. The heavy clouds painted a sickly yellow hue over the ancient city, while thunder rumbled and lightning cracked, casting eerie shadows across the landscape.


    A deep sense of dread consumed Balthasar. Ever since his bold defiance of the Pope, fear had gripped him like a vice. He feared Michael II, feared the power of the Church looming over him, feared the woman who seemed to have risen from the grave. The weight of his enemies and the looming threat of his downfall haunted his every thought, overshadowing even the turmoil in Rome and Germany.


    Alone in his chamber, Balthasar was interrupted by a familiar presence. Ysabeau, his Empress, approached him, her hand resting on his chest.


    ¡°Balthasar,¡± she implored, ¡°what burdens your heart so heavily?¡±


    Struggling to mask his turmoil, Balthasar replied, ¡°Nothing, Ysabeau, nothing.¡±


    Her sigh betrayed her worry. ¡°This is the first time you¡¯ve kept something from me.¡±


    Turning to face her, Balthasar¡¯s pale countenance revealed his inner torment. Despite his efforts to reassure her, the weight of their shared secrets hung heavily between them.


    ¡°You know my troubles,¡± he said, his voice tinged with sorrow. ¡°The discontent, the factions, and above all, the Pope.¡±


    ¡°The Pope,¡± Ysabeau echoed, her eyes reflecting her own fear. ¡°What will he do?¡±


    ¡°I know not,¡± Balthasar admitted, his tone heavy with uncertainty.


    Her concern deepened. ¡°He said more to you that day, didn¡¯t he? Something you won¡¯t tell me.¡±


    Attempting to lighten the mood, Balthasar quipped, ¡°A knight doesn¡¯t burden his lady with his troubles.¡±


    But Ysabeau was insistent, taking his hand in hers. ¡°I¡¯m jealous of your secrets, Balthasar. Don¡¯t shut me out.¡±


    His resolve softened at her touch. ¡°You¡¯ll know soon enough. But never from me.¡±


    Tears welled in her eyes as she held onto him. ¡°Aren¡¯t we strong enough to face this, Balthasar?¡±


    In the eerie silence of the palace, Balthasar stood near a window, his eyes fixed on the ominous sky hanging over Rome. The clouds seemed to bear down on the city like a heavy shroud, casting an unsettling yellowish glow over the marble structures. The air was thick and stifling, laden with an unspoken sense of dread and foreboding.


    Ysabeau, his Empress, approached him, her voice tinged with concern. ¡°What¡¯s troubling you, Balthasar?¡±


    He shivered involuntarily, a chill running down his spine. ¡°It¡¯s the Church, Ysabeau,¡± he confessed. ¡°Tomorrow, I must face the Pope at the Basilica. There¡¯s a weight on my heart, a dark premonition.¡±


    ¡°Why are you so afraid?¡± she pressed, her eyes searching his troubled face.


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing, just a sense of unease,¡± he replied, trying to dismiss his fears.


    But Ysabeau was not convinced. ¡°Who is this Caprarola that threatens us?¡± she demanded, her voice rising with anger. ¡°Why should we fear him?¡±


    Balthasar struggled to find words. ¡°It¡¯s not just him. It¡¯s the storm, the constant darkness that seems to cloud my mind. How long has it been since we¡¯ve seen a clear sky?¡±


    He abruptly left her side, his unease palpable. Ysabeau, left alone, leaned against a marble column, her mind racing with suspicion and fury. She had made a pact with Cardinal Caprarola, believing it would secure their safety. But now, faced with the Pope¡¯s looming threat and her husband¡¯s growing fear, she cursed herself for ever trusting in the Church¡¯s deceitful promises.


    As she pondered over the mysterious Ursula of Rosewood and the tangled web of betrayal surrounding her, Ysabeau¡¯s frustration grew. Opening the window for relief, she was met only with the stifling heat and the ominous sight of storm clouds gathering.


    Her thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of Jacobea of Martzburg and her son, Wencelaus. The boy, proud and defiant, refused to be comforted by his mother¡¯s gentle words, his anger mirroring the Empress¡¯s own turmoil.


    Desperate to shield her son from the looming danger, Ysabeau clutched his sleeve, her mind filled with a mother¡¯s fierce determination to protect her child, even in the face of looming darkness.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    In a quiet, somber tone, Jacobea assured the young prince, ¡°Indeed, you shall see him if he promised. I believe he is in the oratory. We will wait at the door until he emerges.¡±


    The boy, comforted by her words, kissed her hand, and a fleeting shadow passed from his otherwise lovely face. Jacobea noticed the Empress¡¯s gaze upon her son, filled with desperation and heartbreak. She couldn¡¯t help but wonder at the depths of anguish hidden behind Ysabeau¡¯s regal facade, yet she herself remained detached and untouched by such emotions. Her own heart had been broken long ago, rendering all feelings merely distant echoes.


    With a dismissive glance from the Empress, Jacobea left the palace and rode in a Byzantine chariot with blue curtains to the church of San Giovanni in Laterano. Each day, she attended a mass dedicated to the soul of someone who had long departed.


    A significant portion of her vast fortune had been spent on masses and candles for the departed soul of Sybilla, once the wife of Sebastian, her steward. Jacobea fervently believed that this offering of gold could pave Sybilla¡¯s way to Paradise.


    In her monotonous existence, devoid of meaningful connections, with a heart as lifeless as stone, Sybilla had become the most real presence in Jacobea¡¯s world. Neither the Emperor nor the Empress nor any member of the court held as much significance to her as the memory of Sybilla.


    For ten years, Jacobea had kept Sybilla¡¯s name a whisper, known only to the priest during confessions. The world had forgotten Sybilla, but to Jacobea, she remained a constant companion, an image carved in her mind¡¯s eye.


    As Jacobea entered the church amidst gathering thunder, she contemplated the ominous clouds that seemed to linger over Rome, casting doubt upon the city¡¯s fate in the eyes of the murmuring populace. She knelt in the chapel on a worn purple cushion, mechanically going through the motions of the mass as she had done for nearly a decade.


    The church was dimly lit, the air heavy with incense and the hushed prayers of the faithful. Jacobea, like a ghost among the living, joined in the Angelus with bowed head, her eyes fixed on the flickering purple light at the altar.


    In this surreal atmosphere, monks in brown habits entered the chancel, their presence adding to the mystic aura of the place. The bell tolled, and young novices sang hymns, their voices weaving a haunting melody through the sacred space.


    As the haunting hymns of the Angelus echoed through the dimly lit church, Jacobea knelt on a worn purple cushion, joining the monks in their reverent responses. The solemnity of the moment was disrupted by the soft opening of a side door, revealing a man stepping into the sacred space. Meanwhile, the priest continued the ritual.


    ¡°Ecce ancilla Domini. Fiat mihi secundum verbum tuum,¡± intoned the priest.


    A sense of being watched prompted Jacobea to turn her head toward the newcomer, whose gaze was fixed intently upon her. He was tall, clad in rich attire, his face partially obscured in shadow except for the gleam of long pearls adorning his ears. The rhythmic prayers and responses filled the air, accompanied by the man¡¯s faltering words.


    ¡°Ora pro nobis, Sancta Dei Genitrix,¡± murmured Jacobea, her voice mingling with the chorus of worship.


    As the service concluded, priests and novices departed, leaving Jacobea and the mysterious man facing each other. ¡°Ah, you!¡± Jacobea remarked coolly, recognizing him from their past encounters.


    ¡°You remember me?¡± the man, Thomas, asked faintly.


    ¡°I have forgotten nothing,¡± Jacobea replied calmly. ¡°Why do you seek to recall yourself to me?¡±


    Thomas hesitated, his emotions palpable. ¡°I cannot see you and let you pass,¡± he admitted.


    Their exchange was tinged with a sense of unresolved history and unspoken tension. ¡°Are you free of the devils?¡± Jacobea inquired, crossing herself.


    Thomas winced at the reminder of their shared past. ¡°Forgive me,¡± he murmured.


    Jacobea¡¯s response was stoic. ¡°You must not speak of the past. We might have been friends once, but the Devil was too strong for us.¡±


    Their conversation was interrupted by the sudden appearance of a masked dancer in orange. With mocking words directed at Thomas, the dancer¡¯s presence added an eerie layer to the already charged atmosphere.


    ¡°What does that mean?¡± Jacobea questioned, her curiosity piqued by the unexpected arrival of the dancer.


    The masked figure turned to her, eyes gleaming from behind the mask¡¯s holes, adding an unsettling aura to the encounter in the shadowed church.


    In a haunting whisper that cut through the solemn air of the church, the masked dancer¡¯s words sent chills down Jacobea¡¯s spine. ¡°What of one who drags his weary limbs beneath a Syrian sun in penitence for a deed ye urged him to?¡± The echo of her voice carried an eerie weight, causing Jacobea to step back with a quick cry of alarm.


    Thomas, sensing the ominous tone, grabbed the dancer¡¯s arm firmly. ¡°Begone,¡± he commanded, his voice tinged with a mix of threat and recognition. ¡°I know you, or who you feign to be.¡±


    The dancer¡¯s response wavered between laughter and unease. ¡°Let me go¡ªI have not hurt you; why are you angry, my brave knight?¡± Her words hung in the air, echoing eerily in the dimly lit church.


    A monk, disturbed by the commotion, approached sternly and ordered the masked figure to leave. ¡°Leave the church,¡± he demanded, his tone unwavering. ¡°And if you would worship here, come in a fitting spirit and a fitting dress.¡±


    The dancer¡¯s laughter persisted, a haunting melody in the somber setting. ¡°So I am flung out of the house of God¡ªwell, sir and sweet lady, will you come to the Mass at the Basilica tomorrow?¡± Her voice carried a strange allure, a promise of something both enticing and foreboding. ¡°Nay, do, it will be worth beholding¡ªthe Basilica tomorrow! I shall be there.¡±


    With a swift movement, she darted past them and vanished from the church, leaving behind an unsettling aura that lingered in the air. Both man and woman shuddered, a sense of unease settling over them without clear reason.


    As if in response to the eerie encounter, a peal of thunder rolled, shaking the very walls of the church. In a startling display of ominous symbolism, an image of the Virgin Mary was hurled from its place and shattered into fragments on the marble pavement, adding to the darkening atmosphere of uncertainty and dread.

 CHAPTER 32

    <hr>


    The Feast of the Assumption draped Rome in a veil of eerie grandeur. Heavy clouds clung to the sky, casting a somber pall over the city as intermittent thunder rumbled in the distance. Within the Basilica of St. Peter, a scene of bewildering splendor unfolded.


    The church gleamed with a bewildering array of colors and textures. Thousands of wax tapers and colored lamps illuminated every corner, casting a soft yet burning magnificence upon the marble walls, ceilings, and columns. Azure and silver adorned one part of the church, while cloth of gold draped the altar steps, nearly obscured by a sea of lilies. The mosaic capitals sparkled like jewels, adding to the opulent spectacle.


    The congregation knelt upon the marble floor, save for Emperor Balthasar and Empress Ysabeau, who sat under a violet canopy, a symbol of their imperial presence. Balthasar, though clad in imperial purple and the circlet of dominion, bore a pale and troubled countenance. Ysabeau, resplendent in gems and silver, exuded regal grace despite the heavy weight of jewels and crown.


    Their son, standing nearby in white satin, seemed overwhelmed by the grandeur surrounding him. Courtiers, knights, and nobles filled the space around the throne, creating a tapestry of power and opulence.


    Amidst the congregation, Thomas sought the familiar face of Jacobea of Martzburg but found her elusive amidst the vast and varied crowd. A faint chant rose as the monks and choristers prepared for the grand procession.


    Cardinal Orsini, a vision of brilliance, led the way towards the open bronze doors. The arrival of the Pontifical train signaled the climax of the ceremony. Pope Michael II entered, adorned in resplendent robes that shimmered with jewels and gold.


    As the Pope took his seat, a hush fell over the congregation. Ysabeau, her gaze fixed on Michael II, felt a strange mix of awe and trepidation. The Pope¡¯s regalia dazzled with its opulence, his delicate features contrasting sharply with his aura of authority and pride.


    The chanting of the boys and the murmured prayers filled the Basilica, punctuated by the occasional rumble of thunder. Ysabeau, overwhelmed by the weight of her jewels and the gravity of the occasion, could feel the tension mounting. Emperor Balthasar, casting secretive glances at their son, betrayed a hidden sorrow beneath his composed demeanor.


    The thunder outside seemed to echo the solemnity within, as if foreboding loomed over the magnificent spectacle, hinting at darker forces lurking in the shadows of this grand celebration.


    The Basilica pulsed with a strange energy as the rich voices of the choir soared in triumphant song.


    ¡°Alleluia, alleluia. Assumpta est Maria in Coelum; Gaudet exercitus Angelorum. Alleluia.¡±


    As the Pope descended from the dais and approached the high altar, Emperor Balthasar and Empress Ysabeau knelt in reverent silence, like all the others. The atmosphere crackled with anticipation, a prelude to an unearthly event.


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    When the Pope displayed the Host, a captured star in his hands, a deafening crash of thunder shook the very foundations of the church. Lightning streaked through stained glass windows, casting eerie shadows and adding to the ethereal spectacle.


    The choir¡¯s voices, now tinged with melancholy, echoed through the hallowed halls.


    ¡°Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison, Kyrie eleison.¡±


    Despite the thunderous interruption, the Pope¡¯s voice remained steady as he chanted the ¡°Gloria in excelsis Deo¡± with unwavering resolve.


    As Cardinal Orsini took up the prayers, a muffled response rippled through the crowd.


    ¡°Gloria tibi, Domine.¡±


    Every head bowed, every hand made the sacred sign.


    ¡°Laus tibi, Christe.¡±


    The Pope blessed the congregation, his gaze unwavering.


    As Emperor Balthasar and Empress Ysabeau rose, a soft, ominous sound filled the air. Ysabeau, sensing something amiss, grasped her husband¡¯s hand.


    ¡°Who is this?¡± she whispered, her eyes fixed on a tall monk clad in the garb of the Black Penitents.


    ¡°I thought Cardinal Colonna was to preach,¡± Balthasar murmured, his fear palpable.


    Ysabeau glanced at the Pope, whose serene demeanor belied the tension in the air. The monk in the pulpit seemed to cast a shadow over the congregation, his presence eliciting a sense of foreboding.


    As the monk unfurled a parchment and began to speak, his voice carried an eerie familiarity¡ªa voice from beyond the grave, stirring whispers of dread and mystery among the gathered faithful.


    ¡°In the name of Michael II, servant of servants of God and Vicegerent of Christ, I herewith pronounce the anathema over Balthasar of Nola, Emperor of the West, over Ysabeau, born Marozia Porphyrogentris, over their son, Wencelaus, over their followers, servants, and hosts! I herewith expel them from the pale of Holy Church and curse them as heretics!


    ¡°I forbid any to offer them shelter, food, or help. I hurl on their heads the wrath of God and the hatred of man. I forbid any to attend their sick-bed, to receive their confession, or to bury their bodies!


    ¡°I cut asunder the ties that bind the Latin people in obedience to them, and I lay under an interdict any person, village, town, or state that succours or aids them against our wrath! May they and their children and their children¡¯s children be blighted and cursed in life and in death, may they taste misery and desolation on the earth before they go to everlasting torment in hell!¡±


    With these chilling words, the cowled monk raised a candle high, its flame flickering in the dimness.


    ¡°May their race perish with them and their memories be swallowed in oblivion¡ªthus! As I extinguish this flame may the hand of God extinguish them!¡±


    He cast the candle onto the marble floor, snuffing out its flame in an instant. A slow smoke curled and vanished, a silent omen of doom.


    ¡°For Balthasar of Nola cherishes a murderess on the throne, and until he casts her forth and receives his true wife, this anathema rests upon his head!¡±


    Emperor Balthasar and Empress Ysabeau, gripped by terror, watched as the monk ended his proclamation. In a swift, startling move, the monk threw back his cowl, revealing the stern, pale features of Melchoir of Brabant, crowned with the imperial diadem.


    A frenzied shriek tore from Ysabeau¡¯s lips as she collapsed on the throne steps, her crown tumbling to the ground.


    Groaning in anguish, Balthasar rushed to lift her, but when he glanced back at the pulpit, it stood empty, as if the ominous figure had vanished into thin air.


    Ysabeau¡¯s cry jolted the assembly into chaos. People surged towards the door, driven by fear and disbelief.


    Amidst the turmoil, the Pontiff rose, his voice cutting through the panic as he calmly chanted the Gratias.


    Balthasar, wild-eyed and desperate, gathered his child and supported the Empress, who fought back to consciousness. With a determined stride, he led them out of the church, into the thunderous streets where he was no longer welcomed or revered.

 CHAPTER 33

    <hr>


    The Pope sat at a small table near the window of his private room in the Vatican, his face resting on his hand, deep in thought. The flickering light from a single candle cast long shadows across the room, adding to the eerie atmosphere. Leaning against the scarlet tapestries that covered the opposite wall stood Thomas, clad in chain mail and heavily armed, a stark contrast to the delicate figure of the Pope.


    ¡°You think I should be grateful?¡± Thomas asked in a low voice, his eyes half-frightened, wholly fascinated, fixed on the slender figure before him.


    Michael II, dressed in a simple gold-colored silk robe and a skullcap of crimson and blue, appeared almost fragile. His red hair made his pale face seem even paler, his full lips strikingly colored against the pallor. No jewels or pomp adorned him, yet his presence was powerful.


    ¡°Grateful?¡± Michael repeated mournfully. ¡°I think you do not know what I have done. I have dared to cast the Emperor from his throne. Lies he not even now without the walls, defying me with a handful of Frankish knights? Is not the excommunication on him?¡±


    ¡°Yea,¡± answered Thomas. ¡°And is it for my sake ye have done this?¡±


    ¡°Must you question it?¡± Michael replied with a quick breath. ¡°Yea, for your sake, to make you, as I promised, Emperor of the West. My vengeance had else been more quietly satisfied¡ª¡± He laughed, a sound both chilling and sorrowful. ¡°I have not forgot all my magic.¡±


    Thomas winced. ¡°The vision in the Basilica was proof of that. What are you who can bring back the hallowed dead to aid your schemes?¡±


    Michael II answered softly, ¡°And who are you who take my aid and my friendship, and all the while fear and loathe me?¡± He moved his hand from his face, revealing a deep red mark on his cheek where the palm had pressed. ¡°Do you think I am not human, Thomas?¡± He sighed deeply. ¡°If you would believe in me, trust me, be faithful to me¡ªwhy, our friendship would be the lever to move the universe, and you and I would rule the world between us.¡±


    Thomas fingered the arras beside him. ¡°In what way can I be false to you?¡±


    ¡°You betrayed me once. You are the only man in Rome who knows my secret. But this is truth: if again you forsake me, you bring about your own downfall. Stand by me, and I will share with you the dominion of the earth¡ªthis, I say, is truth.¡±


    Thomas laughed unhappily. ¡°Sweet devil, there is no God, and I have no soul!¡ªthere, do not fear¡ªI shall be very faithful to you¡ªsince what is there for man save to glut his desires of pomp and wealth and power?¡± He moved from the wall and took a quick turn about the room. ¡°And yet I know not!¡± he cried. ¡°Can all your magic, all your learning, all your riches, keep you where you are? The clouds hang angrily over Rome, nor have they lifted since Orsini announced you Pope¡ªthe people riot in the streets¡ªall beautiful things are dead, many see ghosts and devils walking at twilight across the Maremma... Oh, horror!¡ªthey say Pan has left his ruined temple to enter Christian churches and laugh in the face of the marble Christ¡ªcan these things be?¡±


    The Pope swept back the hair from his damp brow. ¡°The powers that put me here can keep me here¡ªbe you but true to me!¡±


    ¡°Ay, I will be Emperor,¡± Thomas grasped his sword hilt fiercely, ¡°though the world I rule rot about me, though ghouls and fiends make my Imperial train¡ªI will join hands with Antichrist and see if there be a God or no!¡±


    The Pope rose. ¡°You must go against Balthasar. You must defeat his hosts and bring to me his Empress, then will I crown you in St. Peter¡¯s.¡±


    Thomas pressed his hand to his forehead. ¡°We start to-morrow with the dawn¡ªbeneath the banner of God His Church; I, in this mail ye gave me, tempered and forged in Hell!¡±


    ¡°Ye need have no fear of failure; you shall go forth triumphantly and return victoriously. You shall make your dwelling the Golden Palace on the Aventine, and neither Heliogabalus nor Basil, nor Charlemagne shall be more magnificently housed than you...¡± Michael seemed to check his words suddenly; he turned his face away and looked across the city, which lay beneath a heavy pall of clouds. ¡°Be but true to me,¡± he added in a low voice.


    Thomas grinned wildly, a madness in his eyes. ¡°Strange love you got for me, Michael, and even less faith in my strength or loyalty. Well, you¡¯ll see. I march tomorrow, with many men and banners, to rout the Emperor completely.¡±


    ¡°Stay in the Vatican until then,¡± Michael II said abruptly. ¡°My prelates and nobles know you as their leader now.¡±


    ¡°Nay,¡°¡ªThomas flushed as he spoke¡ª¡°I must go to my own place in the city.¡±


    ¡°Jacobea of Martzburg is still in Rome,¡± Michael said quietly. ¡°Do you leave me to go to her?¡±


    ¡°No¡ªI don¡¯t even know where she¡¯s staying,¡± Thomas replied hastily.


    Michael¡¯s smile turned bitter. ¡°What is Jacobea to me?¡± Thomas demanded desperately.


    The Pope gave him a sinister glance. ¡°Why did you approach her after her devotions in San Giovanni in Laterano? Why speak to her and bring yourself back to her mind?¡±


    Thomas turned pale. ¡°You know that?¡ªAh, it was the dancer, your accomplice... What mystery is this?¡± he asked in a distracted manner. ¡°Why doesn¡¯t Ursula of Rosewood come forth under her true name and confound the Emperor? Why does she follow me, and in such a disguise?¡±


    Without looking at him, Michael answered, ¡°Maybe because she¡¯s very wise¡ªmaybe because she¡¯s a fool. Let her be; she has served her purpose. You say you do not go to palter with Jacobea, then farewell until tomorrow. I have much to do...farewell, Thomas.¡±


    He held out his hand with a stately gesture. As Thomas took it, a curious thought struck him: how rarely he had touched so much as Michael¡¯s fingers, even in the old days, such a proud reserve had always surrounded the youth, and now, the man.


    Thomas left the richly scented chamber and the vast halls of the Vatican, stepping into the riotous and lawless streets of Rome. The storm that had loomed unnaturally long over the city had affected the people. Thugs and assassins crept from their hiding places in the catacombs or the Palatine, brazenly roaming the streets. The wine shops were filled with mongrel soldiers of all nations, drawn by the declaration of war from the surrounding towns. Blasphemers openly mocked the processions of monks and pilgrims that roamed the streets chanting penitential psalms or scourging themselves in a futile attempt to avert divine wrath.


    There was no law; crime went unpunished; virtue became a joke. Many of the convents were closed and deserted, their former occupants rejoining the world they suddenly longed for. The poor were despoiled, the rich robbed. Ghastly and blasphemous processions paraded the streets nightly in honor of some heathen deity. The priests inspired no respect, the name of God no fear. The plague marched among the people, striking down hundreds. Their bodies were flung into the Tiber, and their spirits joined the devils that danced on the Campagna to the accompaniment of rolling storms.


    Witches gathered in the low marshes of the Maremma, creeping into the city at night, trailing grey, fever-laden vapors after them. The bell ropes began to rot in the churches, and the bells clattered from the steeples. The gold rusted on the altars, and mice gnawed the garments on the holy images of the Saints. The people lived with reckless laughter and died with hopeless curses. Magicians, warlocks, and vile things flourished exceedingly. All manner of strange and hideous creatures left their caves to prowl the streets at nightfall.


    And so it was in Rome under Pope Michael II, swiftly and in a moment.


    Thomas, like all others, went heavily armed. His hand was constantly on his sword hilt as he made his way through the city forsaken by God. With no faltering step or hesitating bearing, he passed through the crowds that gathered more thickly as the night came on and turned towards the Appian Gate. Here, it was gloomy, almost deserted; dark houses bordered the Appian Way, and a few strange figures crept along in their shadow. In the west, a sullen glare of crimson showed the sun setting behind the thick clouds. Darkness began to fall rapidly.


    Thomas walked long beyond the Gate and stopped at a low convent building, above the portals of which hung a lamp, its gentle radiance like a star in the heavy, noisome twilight. The gate, which led into a courtyard, stood half open. Thomas softly pushed it wider and entered. The pure perfume of flowers greeted him; a sense of peace and security, grown strange of late in Rome, filled the square grass court. In the center was a fountain, almost hidden in white roses; behind their leaves, the water dripped pleasantly.


    There were no lights in the convent windows, but it wasn¡¯t yet too dark for Thomas to make out the slim figure of a lady seated on a wooden bench, her hands resting quietly in her lap. He latched the gate behind him and softly crossed the lawn.


    ¡°You said that I might come.¡±


    Jacobea turned her head, unsmiling, unsurprised. ¡°Aye, sir; this place is open to all.¡±


    He uncovered his head before her. ¡°I can¡¯t hope you¡¯re glad to see me.¡±


    ¡°Glad?¡± She echoed the word as if it was foreign to her; then, after a pause, she said, ¡°Yes, I am glad that you have come.¡±


    He seated himself beside her, his splendid mail touching her straight grey robe, his full, handsome face turned towards her worn and expressionless features.


    ¡°What do you do here?¡± he asked.


    She answered in the same gentle tone, turning a white rose in her hands as she spoke. ¡°So little¡ªthere are two sisters here, and I help them. One can do nothing against the plague, but for the little forsaken children, something; tend something for the miserable sick.¡±


    ¡°The wretched of Rome are not your responsibility,¡± he said eagerly. ¡°It will mean your life¡ªwhy didn¡¯t you go with the Empress?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°I wasn¡¯t needed. I suppose what they said of her was true. I can¡¯t remember clearly, but I think that when Melchoir died, I knew it was her doing.¡±


    ¡°We must not dwell on the past,¡± cried Thomas. ¡°Have you heard that I lead the Pope¡¯s army against Balthasar?¡±


    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Nay;¡± her eyes remained on the white rose.


    ¡°Jacobea, I shall be the Emperor.¡±


    ¡°The Emperor,¡± she repeated dreamily.


    ¡°I shall rule the Latin world¡ªEmperor of the West!¡±


    In the now complete darkness, they could scarcely see each other; there were no stars, and distant thunder rolled at intervals. Thomas timidly reached out his hand and touched the fold of her dress where it lay along the seat.


    ¡°I wish you wouldn¡¯t stay here¡ªit is so lonely¡ª¡±


    ¡°I think she would wish me to do this.¡±


    ¡°She?¡± he questioned.


    Jacobea seemed surprised he did not understand. ¡°Sybilla.¡±


    ¡°O Christus!¡± shuddered Thomas. ¡°You still think of her?¡±


    Jacobea smiled, as he felt rather than saw. ¡°Think of her?... Is she not always with me?¡±


    ¡°She is dead.¡±


    He saw the blurred outline of the lady¡¯s figure stir. ¡°Yes, she died on a cold morning¡ªit was so cold you could see your breath before you as you rode along, and the road was hard as glass¡ªthere was a yellow dawn that day, and the pine trees seemed frozen, they stood so motionless¡ªyou wouldn¡¯t think it was ten years ago¡ªI wonder how long it seems to her?¡±


    A silence fell upon them for a while, then Thomas broke out desperately, ¡°Jacobea¡ªmy heart is torn within me¡ªtoday I said there was no God¡ªbut when I sit by you...¡±


    ¡°Yes, there is a God,¡± she answered quietly. ¡°Be very sure of that.¡±


    ¡°Then I am past His forgiveness,¡± whispered Thomas.


    Again he was mute; he saw before him the regal figure of Michael¡ªhe heard his words¡ª¡°Be but true to me¡±¡ªthen he thought of Jacobea and Paradise...agony ran through his veins.


    ¡°Oh, Jacobea!¡± he cried at last. ¡°I am beyond all measure mean and vile... I know not what to do... I can be Emperor, yet as I sit here, that seems to me as nothing.¡±


    ¡°The Pope favors you, you tell me,¡± she said. ¡°He is a priest, and a holy man, and yet¡ªit is strange, what is this talk of Ursula of Rosewood?¡ªand yet it is no matter.¡±


    His mail clinked in answer to his tremor.


    The night was pitch-black, no lights flickering in the convent windows. Yet, it wasn¡¯t so dark that Thomas couldn¡¯t make out the slender figure of a lady seated on a wooden bench, her hands resting quietly in her lap. He latched the gate behind him and softly crossed the lawn.


    ¡°You said that I might come,¡± he called out.


    Jacobea turned her head slowly, unsmiling, unsurprised. ¡°Aye, sir; this place is open to all.¡±


    He removed his hat and bowed. ¡°I can¡¯t hope you¡¯re glad to see me.¡±


    ¡°Glad?¡± she echoed, the word sounding foreign to her. Then, after a pause, she said, ¡°Yes, I am glad that you have come.¡±


    He sat beside her, his gleaming armor brushing against her plain grey dress, his handsome face turned toward her worn, expressionless features.


    ¡°What do you do here?¡± he asked.


    She answered in the same gentle tone, turning a white rose in her hands as she spoke. ¡°So little¡ªthere are two sisters here, and I help them. One can do nothing against the plague, but for the little forsaken children, something; tend something for the miserable sick.¡±


    ¡°The wretched of Rome are not your responsibility,¡± he said eagerly. ¡°It will mean your life¡ªwhy didn¡¯t you go with the Empress?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°I wasn¡¯t needed. I suppose what they said of her was true. I can¡¯t remember clearly, but I think that when Melchoir died, I knew it was her doing.¡±


    ¡°We must not dwell on the past,¡± cried Thomas. ¡°Have you heard that I lead the Pope¡¯s army against Balthasar?¡±


    ¡°Nay;¡± her eyes remained on the white rose.


    ¡°Jacobea, I shall be the Emperor.¡±


    ¡°The Emperor,¡± she repeated dreamily.


    ¡°I shall rule the Latin world¡ªEmperor of the West!¡±


    In the now complete darkness, they could scarcely see each other; there were no stars, and distant thunder rumbled. Thomas timidly reached out his hand and touched the fold of her dress where it lay along the seat.


    ¡°I wish you wouldn¡¯t stay here¡ªit is so lonely¡ª¡±


    ¡°I think she would wish me to do this.¡±


    ¡°She?¡± he questioned.


    Jacobea seemed surprised he did not understand. ¡°Sybilla.¡±


    ¡°O Christus!¡± shuddered Thomas. ¡°You still think of her?¡±


    Jacobea smiled, as he felt rather than saw. ¡°Think of her?... Is she not always with me?¡±


    ¡°She is dead.¡±


    He saw the blurred outline of the lady¡¯s figure stir. ¡°Yes, she died on a cold morning¡ªit was so cold you could see your breath before you as you rode along, and the road was hard as glass¡ªthere was a yellow dawn that day, and the pine trees seemed frozen, they stood so motionless¡ªyou wouldn¡¯t think it was ten years ago¡ªI wonder how long it seems to her?¡±


    A silence fell upon them for a while, then Thomas broke out desperately, ¡°Jacobea¡ªmy heart is torn within me¡ªtoday I said there was no God¡ªbut when I sit by you...¡±


    ¡°Yes, there is a God,¡± she answered quietly. ¡°Be very sure of that.¡±


    ¡°Then I am past His forgiveness,¡± whispered Thomas.


    Again he was mute; he saw before him the regal figure of Michael¡ªhe heard his words¡ª¡°Be but true to me¡±¡ªthen he thought of Jacobea and Paradise...agony ran through his veins.


    ¡°Oh, Jacobea!¡± he cried at last. ¡°I am beyond all measure mean and vile... I know not what to do... I can be Emperor, yet as I sit here, that seems to me as nothing.¡±


    ¡°The Pope favors you, you tell me,¡± she said. ¡°He is a priest, and a holy man, and yet¡ªit is strange, what is this talk of Ursula of Rosewood?¡ªand yet it is no matter.¡±


    His mail clinked in answer to his tremor.


    ¡°Tell me what I must do¡ªsee, I am in a great confusion; the world is very dark, this way and that show little lights, and I strive to follow them¡ªbut they change and move and blind me¡ªand if I grasp one it is extinguished into greater darkness; I hear whispers, murmurs, threats, I believe them, and believe them not, and all is confusion, confusion!¡±


    Jacobea rose slowly from the bench. ¡°Why do you come to me?¡±


    ¡°Because you seem to me nearer heaven than anything I know...¡±


    Jacobea pressed the white rose to her bosom. ¡°It is dark now¡ªthe flowers smell so sweet¡ªcome into the house.¡±


    He followed her dim-seen figure across the grass; she lifted the latch of the convent door and went before him into the building.


    For a while she left him in the passage, then returned with a pale lamp in her hand and conducted him into a small, bare chamber, which seemed mean in contrast with the glowing splendor of his appearance.


    ¡°The sisters are abroad,¡± said Jacobea. ¡°And I stay here in case any ring the bell for succor.¡± She set the lamp on the wooden table and slowly turned her eyes on Thomas.


    ¡°Sir, I am very selfish.¡± She spoke with difficulty, as if she painfully forced expression. ¡°I have thought of myself for so many years¡ªand somehow¡±¡ªshe lightly touched her breast¡ª¡°I cannot feel, for myself or for others; nothing seems real, save Sybilla; nothing matters save her¡ªsometimes I cry for little things I find dying alone, for poor unnoticed miseries of animals and children¡ªbut for the rest...you must not blame me if I do not sympathize; that has gone from me. Nor can I help you; God is far away beyond the stars. I do not think He can stoop to such as you and me¡ªand¡ªand¡ªI do not feel as if I should wake until I die¡ª¡±


    Thomas covered his eyes and moaned.


    Jacobea was not looking at him, but at the one bright thing in the room¡ªa samite cushion worked with a scarlet lily that rested on a chair by the window.


    ¡°Each our own way to death,¡± she said. ¡°All we can do is so little compared with that¡ªdeath¡ªsee, I think of it as a great crystal light, very cold, that will slowly encompass us, revealing everything, making everything easy to understand¡ªwhite lilies will not be more beautiful, nor breeze at summertime more sweet...so, sir, must you wait patiently.¡±


    She took her gaze from the red flower and turned her tired grey eyes on him.


    The blood surged into his face; he clenched his hands and spoke passionately. ¡°I will renounce the world, I will become a monk...¡±


    The words choked in his throat; he looked fearfully around; the lamplight struck his armor into a hundred points of light and cast pale shadows over the whitewashed walls.


    ¡°What was that?¡± asked Jacobea.


    Someone was singing outside: Thomas¡¯s strained eyes glistened.


    ¡°If Love were all! His perfect servant I would be. Kissing where his foot might fall, Doing him homage on a lowly knee. If Love were all!¡±


    Thomas turned and went out into the dark, hot night.


    He could see neither roses, nor fountain, nor even the line of the convent wall against the sky; but the light above the gate revealed to him the dancer in orange, who leant against the stone arch of the entrance and sang to a strange long instrument that hung round her neck by a gleaming chain.


    At her feet, the ape crouched, nodding himself to sleep.


    ¡°If Love were all! But Love is weak. And Hate oft giveth him a fall. And Wisdom smites him on the cheek, If Love were all!¡±


    Behind Thomas came Jacobea, with the lantern in her hand.


    ¡°Who is this?¡± she asked.


    The dancer laughed; the sound of it muffled behind her mask.


    Thomas made his way across the dark to her. ¡°What do you do here?¡± he demanded fiercely. ¡°The Pope¡¯s spy, you!¡±


    ¡°May I not come to worship here as well as another?¡± she answered.


    ¡°You know too much of me!¡± he cried distractedly. ¡°But I also have some knowledge of you, Ursula of Rosewood!¡±


    ¡°How does that help you?¡± she asked, drawing back a little before him.


    ¡°I would discover why you follow me¡ªwatch me.¡±


    He caught her by the arms and held her against the stone gateway. ¡°Now tell me the meaning of your disguise,¡± he breathed, ¡°and of your league with Michael II.¡±


    Thomas¡¯s breath came in sharp gasps, his hands trembling as he glanced around. The haunting echo of the dancer¡¯s laughter lingered in the air, taunting him. His eyes strained to adjust to the oppressive darkness that seemed to swallow the world around him.


    He took a step forward, the clang of his mail echoing ominously. ¡°Shut out,¡± he whispered, the words repeating like a desperate prayer. ¡°Shut out!¡±


    The convent door was closed, and Jacobea, with her gentle grace, had vanished. The night seemed even darker without her faint lamp¡¯s light, and Thomas turned towards the scattered lanterns lining the Appian Way. He spotted the dancer¡¯s orange gown flickering in and out of view, like a will-o¡¯-the-wisp leading him deeper into the night.


    Thomas¡¯s pace quickened, his footsteps clattering against the cobblestones. He could see the city gates looming ahead, a shadowy sentinel against the stormy sky. The dancer glanced back, her eyes glittering with mischief.


    ¡°Ah!¡± she taunted, her voice carrying on the wind. ¡°I thought you had stayed with the sweet-faced saint yonder.¡±


    ¡°She wants none of me,¡± Thomas panted. ¡°But I¡ªI mean to see your face tonight.¡±


    ¡°I am not beautiful,¡± replied the dancer, her tone mocking. ¡°And you have seen my face.¡±


    ¡°Seen your face?¡±


    ¡°Certes! In the Basilica on the F¨ºte.¡±


    ¡°I knew you not in the press.¡±


    ¡°Nevertheless, I was there.¡±


    ¡°I looked for you.¡±


    ¡°I thought ye looked for Jacobea.¡±


    ¡°Also I sought you,¡± Thomas said, his voice raw with desperation. ¡°Ye madden me.¡±


    The storm gathered, lightning slicing through the sky, casting eerie glows over Thomas¡¯s jeweled mail and the dancer¡¯s vibrant gown. The ruins around them loomed like dark sentinels, their ancient stones whispering secrets of forgotten times.


    ¡°Do you wander here alone at night?¡± asked Thomas. ¡°It is a vile place; a man might be afraid.¡±


    ¡°I have the ape,¡± she said simply.


    ¡°But the storm?¡±


    ¡°In Rome nowadays, we are well used to storms,¡± she answered in a low, haunting voice.


    He fell silent, struggling to find words. The silence was heavy, filled with unspoken emotions. A dark fascination pulled him towards her, an excitement that stirred his very soul.


    ¡°Where are we going?¡± asked Thomas. The lanterns had ceased, and he could see her only by the lightning¡¯s brief flashes.


    ¡°I know not¡ªwhy do you follow me?¡±


    ¡°I am mad, I think¡ªthe earth rocks beneath me and heaven bends overhead¡ªyou lure me, and I follow in sheer confusion¡ªUrsula of Rosewood, why have you lured me? What power is it that you have over me? Wherefore are you disguised?¡±


    She touched his mail in the dark, her fingers light as a whisper. ¡°I am Balthasar¡¯s wife.¡±


    ¡°Ay,¡± he responded eagerly, ¡°and I do hear ye loved another man¡ª¡±


    ¡°What is that to you?¡± she asked, her voice a dagger in the dark.


    ¡°This¡ªthough I have not seen your face¡ªperchance could I love you, Ursula!¡±


    ¡°Ursula!¡± She laughed, the sound cold and distant.


    ¡°Is it not your name?¡± he cried wildly.


    ¡°Yea¡ªbut it is long since any used it¡ª¡±


    The darkness twisted and writhed around Thomas, the air thick with a nameless passion. His heart raced, and he felt as if he were breathing in the very essence of the storm.


    ¡°Witch or demon,¡± he said, his voice trembling, ¡°I have cast in my lot with the Devil and Michael II, his servant¡ªI follow the same master as you, Ursula.¡±


    He reached out and grasped her arm, feeling the quiver beneath his grip. ¡°Who is the man for whose sake ye are silent?¡± he demanded.


    She remained silent, but her arm trembled, and he could hear the faint tinkle of her tunic¡¯s hems against her buskins. The air was suffocatingly hot, and Thomas¡¯s heart pounded with a fierce intensity.


    Finally, she spoke in a half-swooning voice. ¡°I have taken off my mask...bend your head and kiss me.¡±


    Invisible and potent forces drew him towards her unseen face; his lips met hers, soft and intoxicating...


    A deafening crash of thunder split the air, and Thomas sprang back, a cry of agony escaping his lips. He ran forward blindly, her presence gone from his side, lost in the darkness.


    The night was alive with malevolent spirits¡ªwitches and warlocks with swinging lanterns, imps and fiends cackling with glee. They gathered around Thomas, their shrieks and howls mingling with the storm¡¯s fury.


    Sobbing, Thomas fled down the Appian Way, his pace swift despite the weight of his mail, driven by terror and madness into the heart of the tempest.


    4o

 CHAPTER 34

    <hr>


    The Vatican garden lay shrouded in a sinister twilight, the air heavy with the scent of daisies and jasmine, yet tinged with an ominous foreboding. The Pope, flanked by Cardinals Orsini and Colonna, strolled amidst the marble paths, their footsteps echoing eerily in the quietude.


    Cardinal Orsini clutched a cluster of daisies, their petals stark white against the encroaching darkness, while Cardinal Colonna idly toyed with a ball of gold and blue silk. Their hushed conversation spoke of Rome¡¯s dire state, of storms that refused to dissipate, and of armies marching to quell an excommunicated Emperor. Michael II, cloaked in contemplative silence, listened but said nothing.


    As they wandered past the goldfish basin and under the fragrant yellow rose bushes, the peacocks strutted in their resplendent glory, a stark contrast to the brooding atmosphere. Oleanders and lilies whispered secrets among the laurel trees, while statues gleamed ominously beside the dark foliage.


    Cardinal Colonna¡¯s ball rolled away, and as he stooped to retrieve it, Michael paused, his gaze distant. His white robe billowed gently, his fiery red hair a stark contrast to his pensive expression. The Cardinals fell back, engrossed in their own conversation.


    Paolo Orsini, adorned with a sprig of pink flower, approached with urgency. ¡°Your Holiness,¡± he began, dropping to one knee, ¡°a lady, veiled and unnamed, demands an audience with you.¡±


    Michael II¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°What does this woman seek, Orsini? And why does she cloak herself in mystery?¡±


    ¡°She claims her plea may halt the impending war and begs not to be turned away,¡± Orsini explained.


    After a moment of contemplation, Michael II nodded. ¡°Bring her forth.¡±


    The sky momentarily broke into sunlight, casting a fleeting brightness over the Vatican gardens. Michael seated himself on a bench, flanked by the two Cardinals. ¡°Stand by me,¡± he instructed them, ¡°and hear what this woman has to say.¡±


    As the lady approached, her veil shrouding her features, Michael II¡¯s curiosity heightened. She knelt before him, and with a swift motion, she unveiled herself, revealing the sorrowful countenance of Ysabeau, the Empress.


    Michael¡¯s breath caught in his throat as he beheld her fair yet troubled visage. ¡°What brings you here, defying us?¡± he demanded, his voice tinged with unease.


    Ysabeau stood tall, her gaze steady. ¡°I come not in defiance but in surrender. I seek punishment for the crime you accused my lord of¡ªa crime I committed.¡±


    Michael¡¯s grip tightened on a crimson rose plucked from the nearby bush. ¡°You admit to the murder of Melchoir of Brabant?¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± she affirmed. ¡°Out of love for Balthasar, I confess my sin.¡±


    The fitful sunlight danced upon her, accentuating her beauty amidst the shadows. ¡°It was my sin to bear alone,¡± she continued. ¡°And I shall bear the consequences alone.¡±


    Michael¡¯s voice grew solemn. ¡°Murder invokes fire, both on earth and in hell,¡± he intoned. ¡°Yet you willingly accept the flames that await?¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± Ysabeau replied, her resolve unyielding.


    The garden fell silent, the weight of her confession hanging heavy in the air. In that moment, amidst the garden¡¯s gothic allure, the stage was set for an unfolding tragedy that would echo through the halls of history.


    The crushed rose fell from the Pope¡¯s hand, its crimson petals scattered on the ground like drops of blood in the fading light.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°Did Balthasar send you?¡± The Pope¡¯s voice was stern, his eyes searching hers for any hint of deceit.


    She smiled defiantly. ¡°I come of my own accord,¡± she declared. ¡°I left a letter for him, explaining my actions and my intentions.¡± Her hand trembled slightly as she spoke. ¡°But enough of that.¡±


    Michael II rose from his seat, his anger simmering beneath his composed exterior. ¡°Why have you done this?¡± he demanded, his voice echoing through the garden.


    Ysabeau¡¯s response was swift and resolute. ¡°To lift the curse from him,¡± she proclaimed. ¡°For my sin, you excommunicated him. But if I accept my fate, if I willingly face punishment, then you must absolve him of his sins and restore his honor.¡±


    Michael¡¯s face flushed with indignation. ¡°This is madness!¡± he exclaimed, turning to the Cardinals for validation. ¡°Is this not the folly of love¡ªto believe one can bargain with Heaven itself?¡±


    ¡°My hope is not to bargain but to atone,¡± Ysabeau retorted, her voice steady despite the tremors within. The dying sun cast a pale glow on her hair, framing her shadow that stretched toward the Pontiff¡¯s feet. ¡°If not for me, then for him.¡±


    ¡°This sacrificial gesture,¡± Michael interjected, ¡°cannot undo what has been done. If he did not willingly part from you, how can his sins be absolved?¡±


    Fear tinged her voice as she spoke. ¡°Perhaps he will despise me now,¡± she admitted.


    ¡°Would he have relinquished you to our judgment had you confessed to him?¡± Michael¡¯s tone was sharp, probing.


    ¡°No,¡± she replied firmly. ¡°It would have been noble for him to defend me. But since I am here of my own volition, I ask for justice¡ªfor myself and for him.¡±


    Michael examined the scratch on his finger caused by the rose¡¯s thorns, a drop of blood staining his skin. ¡°You admit your wrongdoing,¡± he stated, his gaze piercing. ¡°Why should I show you mercy?¡±


    ¡°I seek not mercy but fairness,¡± she countered. ¡°I bear the blame for the conflict, and with me in your grasp, you have no cause for vengeance against him.¡±


    He regarded her steadily. ¡°Do you repent?¡±


    Ysabeau shook her head, her hood slipping to reveal her yellow hair. ¡°No, for the gain outweighed the sin. I fear neither you nor Heaven. I am not of a timid lineage, nor do I easily bow to shame. In my own eyes, I have no shame.¡±


    Their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills. ¡°So you would die for him?¡± Michael¡¯s voice softened slightly.


    Ysabeau smiled wistfully. ¡°I believe I shall. Your mercy, Your Holiness, is not something I expect.¡±


    Michael¡¯s resolve hardened. ¡°This will not absolve Balthasar. Thomas of Dendermonde marches with an army, and victory will be his. Our curse on Balthasar remains, unmoved by your sacrifice.¡±


    He turned abruptly, signaling to Cardinal Orsini. ¡°Enough of this. We have indulged this Greek long enough.¡±


    Ysabeau fell to her knees, her plea desperate. ¡°Please, remove the curse! Balthasar will perish under your wrath.¡±


    ¡°What shall we do with her?¡± Cardinal Colonna whispered to Michael, his tone tinged with uncertainty.


    She clutched at the Cardinal¡¯s robes, her voice pleading. ¡°Have mercy. Balthasar¡¯s fate hangs in the balance.¡±


    In the midst of the Vatican gardens, Paolo Orsini forcibly escorted Ysabeau away as Michael II watched with a mixture of apprehension and disdain.


    ¡°Exile her beyond the walls¡ªher life is of no consequence to us under the weight of excommunication,¡± Michael decreed coldly. ¡°Oh, sirs!¡± Ysabeau¡¯s voice echoed, her desperation palpable. ¡°My lord is innocent!¡±


    ¡°Remove her,¡± Michael commanded, his gaze piercing. ¡°Expel her from Rome,¡± he added with a sneer, ¡°let her taste a fate worse than Hugh of Rosewood¡¯s. Let us be done with this.¡±


    With Cardinal Orsini supporting him, Michael strode away, leaving Ysabeau to the guards¡¯ mercy. Paolo Orsini signaled for her removal from the city.


    ¡°You must leave this place,¡± he stated firmly.


    Ysabeau rose slowly from the grass, her eyes fixed on the retreating figure of the Pope. ¡°Is this your Christian compassion?¡± she rasped, her voice filled with bitter scorn. As the guards closed in, she fell silent, resigned to her fate.


    As Michael II retreated into the Vatican, the storm outside mirrored the tumult within. Thunder rumbled ominously as he ascended the silver stairs to his private chamber, shutting out the chaos raging outside.


    In the height of the tempest, a messenger arrived at the Vatican, his appearance marked by blood and dust, a testament to his swift journey. He was ushered into the ebony chamber to face the Pope directly.


    ¡°News from Thomas of Dendermonde?¡± Michael inquired, his face as pale as his robes.


    ¡°Yes, Your Holiness,¡± the messenger replied wearily. ¡°Balthasar of Nola has been defeated. His army lies scattered and lifeless in the vale of Tivoli, and Thomas¡¯s triumphant forces march homeward today.¡±


    A flash of lightning illuminated Michael¡¯s ghastly visage, and a deafening peal of thunder punctuated the messenger¡¯s revelation, casting a shadow of doom over the Vatican.

 CHAPTER 35

    <hr>


    The orange marble pillars glowed in the flickering light of a hundred oil lamps, casting eerie shadows that danced across the chamber. The windows were draped in heavy scarlet silk curtains, and crystal bowls brimming with purple flowers adorned the serpentine floor, their scent mingling with the air of dread.


    Thomas sat on a low gilt couch against the wall, his gold armor partly hidden beneath a mantle of violet and ermine. A wreath of red roses encircled his dark, close-cropped hair, and long pearls in his ears shimmered with every movement he made. His eyes were wide with both wonder and fear.


    Opposite him, seated on a throne supported by basalt lions, was Michael II, garbed in gold and silver, over which he wore a dalmatica of orange and crimson brocade. His presence was both regal and terrifying.


    ¡°It is done,¡± Michael¡¯s voice was low, almost a whisper, but the eagerness in it was unmistakable. ¡°Tomorrow, I crown you in St. Peter¡¯s church; Thomas, it is done.¡±


    ¡°Our fortunes are indeed strange,¡± Thomas replied, his voice shaky. ¡°Today, when the Princes elected me¡ªan unknown adventurer!¡ªand when the mob of Rome cheered for me, I thought I had lost my mind!¡±


    ¡°It is I who have wrought this for you,¡± the Pope murmured, almost tenderly.


    Thomas shuddered in his resplendent mail. ¡°Are you afraid of me?¡± the Pope asked. ¡°Why do you so seldom look at me?¡±


    Thomas slowly lifted his beautiful face, marred by apprehension. ¡°I am afraid of my own fortunes¡ªI am not as bold as you,¡± he confessed. ¡°You never hesitated to sin.¡±


    The Pope shifted, his garments shimmering against the marble wall. ¡°I do not sin,¡± he smiled. ¡°I am Sin. I do no evil, for I am Evil. But you,¡± his face grew grave, almost sorrowful, ¡°you are very human. Better it had been for me never to have met you!¡±


    Placing his small hands on the smooth heads of the basalt lions, he leaned forward. ¡°Thomas, for your sake, I have risked everything. For your sake, I may have to leave this strange fair life and return whence I came. So dearly have I kept the vows we made in Frankfort. Can you not face with courage the destiny I offer you?¡±


    Thomas buried his face in his hands. The Pope flushed, a wild light sparking in his dark eyes. ¡°Did not your blood stir during the charge at Tivoli? When knights and horses fell before your spears, and your host humbled an Emperor? When Rome rose to greet you, and I came to meet you with a kingdom as a gift? Did not some fire creep into your veins that might serve to heat you now?¡±


    ¡°A kingdom!¡± Thomas cried. ¡°The kingdom of Antichrist. The victory was not mine. The cohorts of the Devil rode beside us, urging us to an unholy triumph. Rome is a place of horror, full of witches, ghosts, and strange beasts!¡±


    ¡°You said you would be Emperor,¡± the Pope replied. ¡°And I have granted you your wish. If you fail me or betray me now, it is over¡ªfor both of us.¡±


    Thomas rose and paced the chamber. ¡°Aye, I will be Emperor,¡± he declared feverishly. ¡°Thomas of Dendermonde crowned by the Devil in St. Peter¡¯s church. Why should I hesitate? I am on the road to hell, to hell...¡±


    The Pope¡¯s eyes burned into him. ¡°And if you fail me, you shall go there instantly.¡±


    Thomas stopped in his tracks. ¡°Why do you keep saying, ¡®Do not fail me, do not betray me¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Because I fear it,¡± Michael II answered in a low voice.


    Thomas laughed desperately. ¡°To whom should I betray you? It seems that you hold all the world!¡±


    ¡°There is Jacobea of Martzburg.¡±


    ¡°Why do you sting me with that name?¡±


    ¡°I thought you might wish to make her your Empress,¡± the Pope said with sudden mockery.


    Thomas pressed his hand to his brow. ¡°She believes in God. What is such to me?¡± he cried.


    ¡°The other day you lied, saying you knew not where she was, yet straightway you visited her.¡±


    ¡°This is your spy¡¯s work, Ursula of Rosewood.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± the Pope replied.


    Thomas paused before the basalt throne. ¡°Tell me of her. She follows me¡ªI¡ªI¡ªknow not what to think. She has been much in my mind of late since I¡ª¡± He broke off, staring moodily at the ground. ¡°Where has she been these years? What does she mean to do now?¡±


    ¡°She will not trouble you again,¡± Michael II replied. ¡°Let her go.¡±


    ¡°I cannot. She said I had seen her face¡ª¡±


    ¡°And if you have? Take it from me, she is not fair.¡±


    ¡°I do not think of her fairness,¡± Thomas answered sullenly, ¡°but of the mystery behind it all. Why did you never tell me of her before? Why does she haunt me with witches in her train?¡±


    The Pope looked at him curiously, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face.


    ¡°For one who has never been an ardent lover, you dwell much on women. I¡¯d rather you thought on battles and kingdoms. Were I you, neither dancer nor nun would compare with my coronation on the morrow.¡±


    Thomas replied hotly, ¡°Dancer and nun, as you call them, are woven into all I do. I cannot, even if I wished, forget them. Ah, that I ever came to Rome¡ªwould I were still a Chamberlain at Basil¡¯s Court or a merchant¡¯s clerk in India!¡±


    He covered his face with trembling hands and turned away across the golden room. The Pope rose in his seat and pressed his jeweled fingers against his breast.


    ¡°Would ye had never come my way to be my ruin and your own. Would you were not such a sweet fair fool that I must love you! And so, we make ourselves the mock of destiny by these complaints. Oh, if you desire to be king, show the courage to dare a kingly fate.¡±


    Thomas leaned against one of the orange marble pillars, the violet mantle falling away from his golden armor, the wilting roses lying slackly in his dark hair.


    ¡°You must think me a coward,¡± he said. ¡°And I have been very weak¡ªbut that, I think, is past. I have reached the summit of all the greatness I ever dreamed, and it confuses me, but when the Imperial crown is mine, you shall find me bold enough.¡±


    Michael II flushed and gave a dazzling smile. ¡°Then are we great indeed! We shall join hands across the fairest dominion men ever ruled. Suabia is ours, Bohemia and Lombardy, France courts our alliance. Cyprus, the isle of Candy and Malta town, in Rhodes they worship us, and Genoa town owns us master!¡±


    He paused in his speech and stepped down from the throne. ¡°Do you remember that day in Antwerp, Thomas, when we looked in the mirror?¡± he said, his voice tender and beautiful. ¡°We hardly dared then to think of this.¡±


    ¡°We saw a gallows in that mirror,¡± answered Thomas, ¡°a gallows tree beside the triple crown.¡±


    ¡°It was for our enemies!¡± cried Michael. ¡°Our enemies whom we have triumphed over. Thomas, think of it, we were very young then, and poor. Now I have kings at my footstool, and you will sleep tonight in the Golden Palace of the Aventine!¡± He laughed joyously.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Thomas¡¯s face grew gentle at the old memories. ¡°The house still stands, I reckon,¡± he mused, ¡°though the dust be thick over the deserted rooms and the vine chokes the windows. When I was in the East, I have thought with great joy of Antwerp.¡±


    The Pope laid his delicate, fragrant hand on the glittering vambrace. ¡°Thomas, do you not value me a little now?¡±


    Thomas smiled into the ardent eyes. ¡°You have done more for me than man or God, and above both I do you worship,¡± he answered wildly. ¡°I am not fearful anymore, and tomorrow ye shall see me a king indeed.¡±


    ¡°Until tomorrow then, farewell. I must attend a conclave of the cardinals and show myself unto the multitude in St. Peter¡¯s Church. You to the palace, on the Aventine, there to sleep soft and dream of gold.¡±


    They clasped hands, a hot color in the Pope¡¯s face. ¡°The Syrian guards wait below and the Lombard archers who stood beside you at Tivoli. They will attend you to the Imperial Palace.¡±


    ¡°What shall I do there?¡± asked Thomas. ¡°It is early yet, and I do not love to sit alone.¡±


    ¡°Then come to the service in the Basilica. Come with a bold bearing and a rich dress to overawe these mongrel crowds of Rome.¡±


    To that, Thomas made no answer. ¡°Farewell,¡± he said, and lifted the scarlet curtain that concealed the door, ¡°until tomorrow.¡±


    The Pope came quickly to his side. ¡°Do not go to Jacobea tonight,¡± he said earnestly. ¡°Remember, if you fail me now¡ª¡±


    ¡°I shall not fail you or myself, again. Farewell.¡±


    His hand was on the latch when Michael spoke once more. ¡°I grieve to let you go,¡± he murmured in an agitated tone. ¡°I have not before been fearful, but tonight¡ª¡±


    Thomas smiled. ¡°You have no cause to dread anything, you with your foot on the neck of the world.¡± He opened the door to the soft purple light of the stairs and stepped from the room.


    In a half-stifled voice, the Pope called him. ¡°Thomas! Be true to me, for on your faith have I staked everything.¡±


    Thomas looked over his shoulder and laughed. ¡°Will you never let me begone?¡±


    The other pressed his hand to his forehead. ¡°Ay, begone¡ªwhy should I seek to keep you?¡±


    Thomas descended the stairs and now and then looked up.


    Always, the gaze¡ªfierce and yearning¡ªof Michael II fixed upon him, Thomas felt its weight as he descended the gilded stairs, his glittering figure vanishing at last from view. Only when Thomas had completely disappeared did Michael II slowly return to the golden chamber, closing the opulent doors behind him with a resigned sigh.


    Thomas, splendidly attended, swept through the riotous streets of Rome to the palace on the Aventine Hill. The night air was thick with the scent of victory and decay, mingling in a way that was both intoxicating and repulsive.


    As he dismissed the knights at the palace gates, he spoke with a finality that brooked no argument. ¡°I shall not go to the Basilica tonight,¡± he declared. ¡°Go without me.¡± Shedding his golden armor and purple cloak, he donned a dark habit and a steel corselet. Tomorrow he would be Emperor, faithful to the Pope, but tonight, he had a different mission. The thought of seeing Jacobea one last time burned in his heart¡ªa secret he kept even from himself.


    Slipping away from the palace, he moved through the shadows towards the Appian Gate. The plague was rampant in the city, and he passed the death-carts, accompanied by friars clanging harsh bells. Several houses were sealed and silent, yet in the piazzas, the people danced and sang, celebrating the victory at Tivoli. The contrast was stark and eerie.


    The night was nearly starless, the air heavy with the promise of a storm. As he neared the less-frequented part of the city, Thomas kept looking over his shoulder, half-expecting to see the dancer in orange trailing him. But he was alone, and the silence was thick, the Appian Way hauntingly deserted.


    The only light he saw came from a small lamp above the convent gate. The stillness and gloom chilled his heart. She could not, must not stay here. He gently pushed the gate and entered.


    The hot dusk revealed dim shapes of white roses and the dark figure of a lady standing beside them. ¡°Jacobea,¡± he whispered. She moved slowly towards him, her presence ghostly in the twilight.


    ¡°Ah, you,¡± she responded softly.


    ¡°Jacobea¡ªyou must not remain in this place! Where are the nuns?¡± His voice was urgent, desperate.


    ¡°They are dead of the plague, days past. I buried them in the garden,¡± she replied, her tone calm and resigned.


    Thomas recoiled in horror. ¡°You must go back to Martzburg. Are you alone here?¡±


    Her answer came softly out of the twilight. ¡°I think there is no one living anywhere near. The plague has been very fierce. You should not come here if you do not wish to die.¡±


    ¡°But what of you?¡± His voice quivered with horror.


    ¡°Why, what does it matter about me?¡±


    He thought he saw her smile. He followed her into the house, into the chamber where they had sat before. A tall, pale candle burned on a bare table, casting a weak light that revealed her wan, pinched features. Her eyes, unnaturally blue against her pallid face, held a quiet resignation.


    ¡°Ye are ill already,¡± he shuddered.


    Again, she shook her head. ¡°Why do you come here?¡± she asked gently. ¡°You are to be Emperor tomorrow.¡±


    She moved with a slow, sickly grace to a bench against the wall and sank down. Her features were pinched and wan, her eyes unnaturally blue in the pallor of her face.


    ¡°You must return to Martzburg,¡± Thomas repeated distractedly, remembering her as he had first seen her, bright and gay in a pale crimson dress.


    ¡°Nay, I shall return to Martzburg no more,¡± she answered. ¡°He died today.¡±


    ¡°He? Who died, Jacobea?¡±


    A faint smile touched her lips. ¡°Sebastian¡ªin Palestine. God let me see him then, because I had never looked on him since that morning on which you saw us, sir...he has been a holy man fighting the infidel; they wounded him, I think, and he was sick with fever¡ªhe crept into the shade (for it is very hot there, sir), and died.¡±


    Thomas stood dumb, the mad hatred of the devil who had brought about this misery anew possessing him.


    Jacobea spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper. ¡°He was the only one who ever truly loved me, and now he is gone. I am alone, and the world is dark.¡±


    Maybe they have met in Paradise¡ªand as for me, I hope God may think me fit to die. Of late, it seemed to me that the fiends were again troubling me,¡± she clasped her hands tightly on her knees and shivered. ¡°Something evil is abroad... who is the dancer?... Last night I saw her crouching by my gate as I was making the grave of Sister Angela, and it seemed, it seemed, that she bewitched me¡ªas the young scholar did, long ago.¡±


    Thomas leaned heavily against the table. ¡°She is the Pope¡¯s spy and tool,¡± he cried hoarsely, ¡°Ursula of Rosewood!¡±


    Jacobea¡¯s dim eyes were bewildered. ¡°Ah, Balthasar¡¯s wife,¡± she faltered, ¡°but the Pope¡¯s tool¡ªhow should he meddle with an evil thing?¡±


    Then he told her, in an outburst of wild, unnameable feeling. ¡°The Pope is Edward Bensouda¡ªthe Pope is Antichrist¡ªdo you not understand? And I am to help him rule the kingdom of the Devil!¡±


    Jacobea gave a shuddering cry, half rose in her seat, and sank back against the wall. Thomas crossed the room and fell on his knees beside her.


    ¡°It is true, true,¡± he sobbed. ¡°And I am damned forever!¡±


    The lightning darted in from the darkness, and thunder crashed above the convent; Thomas laid his head on her lap and her cold fingers touched his hair.


    ¡°Since, knowing this, you are his ally,¡± she whispered fearfully.


    He answered through clenched teeth. ¡°Yes, I will be Emperor¡ªand it is too late to turn back.¡±


    Jacobea stared across the candle-lit room. ¡°Edward Bensouda,¡± she muttered, ¡°and Ursula of Rosewood¡ªwhy¡ªwas it not to save Hugh of Rosewood that he rode¡ªthat night?¡±


    Thomas lifted his head and looked at her; her utterance was feeble and confused, her eyes glazing in a livid face; he clasped his hands tightly over hers. ¡°What was Lord Hugh to him?¡± she asked, ¡°Ursula¡¯s father...¡±


    ¡°I do not understand,¡± cried Thomas.


    ¡°But it is very clear to me¡ªI am dying¡ªshe loved you, loves you still¡ªthat such things should be...¡±


    ¡°Whom do you speak of¡ªJacobea?¡± he cried, distracted.


    She drooped towards him and he caught her in his arms. ¡°The city is accursed,¡± she gasped; ¡°give me Christian burial, if ever once you cared for me, and fly, fly!¡±


    She strained and writhed in his frantic embrace. ¡°And you never knew it was a woman,¡± she whispered, ¡°Pope and dancer...¡±


    ¡°God!¡± shrieked Thomas; and staggered to his feet drawing her with him.


    She choked her life out against his shoulder, clinging with the desperation of the dying, to him, while he tried to force her into speech. ¡°Answer me, Jacobea! What authority have you for this hideous thing, in the name of God, Jacobea!¡±


    She slipped from him to the bench. ¡°Water, a crucifix... Oh, I have forgot my prayers.¡± She stretched out her hands towards a wooden crucifix that hung on the wall, caught hold of it, pressed her lips to the feet. . ¡°Sybilla,¡± she said, and died with that name struggling in her throat.


    Thomas stepped back from her with a strangled shriek that seemed to tear the breath from his body and staggered against the table.


    The lightning leapt in through the dark window, and appeared to plunge like a sword into the breast of the dead woman.


    Dead!¡ªeven as she uttered that horror¡ªdead so suddenly. The plague had slain her¡ªhe did not wish to die, so he must leave this place¡ªwas he not to be Emperor tomorrow?


    He fell to laughing.


    The candle had burnt almost to the socket; the yellow flame struggling against extinction cast a fantastic leaping light over Jacobea, lying huddled along the bench with her yellow hair across the breast of her rough garment; over Thomas, leaning with slack limbs against the table; it showed his ghastly face, his staring eyes, his dropped jaw¡ªas his laughter died into silence.


    Fly! Fly!


    He must fly from this Thing that reigned in Rome¡ªhe could not face tomorrow, he could not look again into the face of Antichrist...


    He crawled across the room and stared at Jacobea.


    She was not beautiful; he noticed that her hands were torn and stained with earth from making the graves of the nuns ... she had asked for Christian burial ... he could not stay to give it to her...


    He fiercely hated her for what she had told him, yet he took up the ends of her yellow hair and kissed them.


    Again the thunder and lightning and wild howlings reached him from without, as ghosts and night-hags wandered past to hold court within the accursed city.


    The candle shot up a long tongue of flame¡ªand went out.


    Thomas staggered across the darkness.


    A flash of lightning showed him the door. As the thunder crashed above the city he fled from the convent and from Rome.

 CHAPTER 36

    <hr>


    In a dilapidated villa, ravaged by invaders and eroded by time, sat Ysabeau the Empress, gazing out over the sunless Maremma. A sparse cluster of olive trees provided scant shade over the desolate expanse of marshy terrain, where murky pools veiled in noxious mists faintly shimmered under the oppressive clouds. Abandoned convent roofs and deserted palace pillars punctuated the desolation, devoid of any human presence.


    A few birds, harbingers of desolation, swooped low over the marshes, their cries piercing through the eerie silence that enveloped the forsaken landscape. Sometimes, one would venture into the villa, only to be met with Ysabeau¡¯s fierce repudiation, accompanied by hurling stones and harsh words.


    The villa¡¯s once-elegant marble, now stained and overgrown with reeds and wildflowers, bore witness to its decay. A vine, struggling for life, wound itself around two slender columns. And there, cloaked and huddled, sat the Empress, her gaze fixed upon the desolate marshes.


    For three days, Ysabeau had made this desolation her abode. Each sunrise brought a daring peasant girl, defying the excommunication, to bring her sustenance before fleeing in fear. Death loomed before Ysabeau, but she refused to succumb to the ignoble fate of starvation.


    Unaware of Balthasar¡¯s defeat at Tivoli or Thomas¡¯ ascension to the throne, Ysabeau¡¯s thoughts dwelled solely on her husband, pondering how she might yet serve him in his absence. She harbored no hope of reunion or return; leaving behind a confession upon fleeing his camp, she acknowledged the irreconcilable divide between them, exacerbated by their foreign origins amidst the Saxons.


    The stifling heat of the day became intolerable, prompting Ysabeau to seek refuge in the inner sanctum of the villa. There, amidst marigold roots breaking through the stone floor, and a remnant of the roof casting a feeble shade, she settled upon a broken column¡¯s capital, succumbing to a languid weariness that subdued her once-proud spirit, leading her into slumber.


    As the sun dipped low, bathing the landscape in a soft crimson glow, Ysabeau stirred from her rest. Her senses sharpened as faint voices and a man¡¯s tread echoed from the outer chamber. Holding her breath, she cautiously approached the shattered doorway, peering into the adjoining room.


    Seated beneath the vine-twisted columns, a colossal knight in battered armor attended to a slumbering child upon a crimson cloak. Ysabeau¡¯s voice quivered as she spoke, ¡°Balthasar.¡±


    Startled, he turned to face her. ¡°Tell me, my lord,¡± she implored, ¡°as you would a stranger, what misfortune has brought you here?¡±


    Rising softly, his face flushed with emotion, Balthasar confessed, ¡°I am ruined. Another has been elected Emperor. Now, it matters not.¡±


    Ysabeau¡¯s gaze drifted to the child, her heart heavy with unspoken questions. ¡°Is he unwell?¡±


    ¡°No, just weary from our travels since Tivoli,¡± Balthasar replied, his eyes fixed on her with a fervor that spoke volumes.


    ¡°I must depart,¡± Ysabeau declared.


    ¡°Must you?¡± Balthasar¡¯s laughter echoed through the desolation.


    ¡°I am an outcast¡ªI cannot share your trials,¡± she explained.


    ¡°I have sought you desperately, Ysabeau,¡± Balthasar confessed.


    ¡°Sought me?¡±


    In the eerie quiet of the moonless night, Balthasar and Ysabeau stood in the shadows of their forsaken home, a dilapidated structure haunted by echoes of their past. Balthasar¡¯s gaze drifted away from Ysabeau, his heart heavy with the weight of their shared sins.


    ¡°I thought my heart would burst when I found ye had gone to Rome,¡± he confessed, his voice tinged with sorrow.


    ¡°But you found the writing?¡± Ysabeau¡¯s voice trembled with urgency.


    ¡°Aye,¡± he replied solemnly.


    ¡°You know¡ªI slew him?¡± Her words hung heavy in the air, laden with the guilt of a life taken.


    ¡°I know you went to give your life for me,¡± Balthasar acknowledged, his tone carrying a mix of reverence and pain.


    ¡°I am accursed!¡± Ysabeau¡¯s anguish echoed through the desolate night.


    ¡°You have been faithful to me,¡± Balthasar reassured her, his voice a beacon of steadfastness amidst the darkness.


    ¡°Oh, Balthasar!¡ªdoes it make no difference?¡± Ysabeau¡¯s desperation was palpable.


    ¡°It cannot,¡± he said, his voice heavy with resignation. ¡°You are my wife¡ªpart of me; I have given you my heart to keep, and nothing can alter it.¡±


    ¡°You do not mock me?¡± Ysabeau¡¯s fear seeped into her words.


    ¡°I do not speak for Him,¡± Balthasar admitted hoarsely, ¡°but for myself¡ª¡±


    Ysabeau was at a loss for words, her turmoil too deep for easy expression.


    ¡°Ysabeau,¡± Balthasar¡¯s voice softened with tenderness, ¡°could you have lived apart from me?¡±


    ¡°Nay,¡± she whispered, her confession a bittersweet admission of their entwined fates. ¡°I meant to die.¡±


    ¡°That I might be forgiven!¡± Balthasar¡¯s anguish mirrored hers.


    ¡°What else could I do! Would they had slain me and taken the curse from you!¡± Ysabeau¡¯s lament was filled with regret.


    Balthasar drew her close, his embrace a shield against the world¡¯s judgment. ¡°There is no curse while we are together, Ysabeau.¡±


    As they stood in the ghostly moonlight, their bond forged anew amidst the ruins of their lives, Ysabeau¡¯s hand in Balthasar¡¯s was a symbol of their shared resilience.


    Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    ¡°Tell me of yourself,¡± Ysabeau¡¯s voice broke the silence, seeking solace in their shared history.


    And in the darkness, Balthasar recounted their defeats, their losses, and the ascension of Thomas of Dendermonde as Emperor¡ªa bitter reminder of their shattered dreams.


    Her eyes blazed with indignation. ¡°I have ruined you,¡± she confessed, her voice heavy with remorse.


    ¡°If you knew how little I care, for myself¡ªcertes, for you,¡± Balthasar¡¯s smile was tinged with sorrow.


    ¡°Could I have held a throne without you, Ysabeau?¡± His words carried the weight of a thousand regrets.


    Her fingers trembled in his, a silent acknowledgment of their intertwined destinies.


    ¡°Would I had been a better woman, for your sake, Balthasar,¡± Ysabeau¡¯s lament was filled with self-reproach.


    ¡°All I grieve for, Ysabeau, is¡ªGod,¡± Balthasar¡¯s voice wavered with uncertainty.


    ¡°God?¡± Ysabeau¡¯s wonder mingled with fear.


    ¡°If He should not forgive?¡± Balthasar¡¯s troubled thoughts spilled into the night air.


    Their shared destiny weighed heavily upon them, and yet, amidst the darkness, they found solace in each other¡¯s presence.


    In the fading light of the setting sun, Ysabeau and Balthasar sat in the desolation of their surroundings, shadows creeping over the worn features of their faces and the sleeping form of Wencelaus. The ancient marble whispered tales of forgotten glory as vine leaves rustled in the evening breeze, and distant cries of wild-fowl echoed across the eerie marshes.


    ¡°Who is this Pope that he should hate us so?¡± pondered Ysabeau. ¡°And who is this Thomas of Dendermonde that he should claim the throne of the West?¡±


    ¡°He is to be crowned in the Basilica today,¡± replied Balthasar.


    ¡°While we languish here!¡±


    ¡°I cannot fathom it. Nor do I now, Ysabeau,¡± Balthasar looked at her, ¡°greatly care¡ª¡±


    ¡°But you must care!¡± she exclaimed. ¡°If I mean everything to you, then I must see you reclaim the throne; we shall go to Basil¡¯s Court. This Thomas of Dendermonde shall not rest tonight in the gilded palace!¡±


    ¡°We have found each other,¡± the Emperor said simply.


    She lifted his hand, kissed it, and silence settled between them, broken only by the gathering mist that veiled the Maremma and drained the sky of its rich colors.


    ¡°Who is that?¡± Ysabeau suddenly pointed across the murky marshland.


    A figure, dark and spectral against the mist, darted frantically, a puppet of unseen forces, gyrating between the pools and throwing wild gestures towards the darkening sky.


    ¡°A madman,¡± declared Balthasar. ¡°See how he runs, aimlessly, as if pursued¡ª¡±


    Ysabeau drew closer, chilled by the sight. ¡°Is it a specter?¡± she whispered, ¡°I feel a strange horror creeping over me¡ª¡±


    The Emperor made the sign of the Cross. ¡°Perhaps part of the curse,¡± he muttered.


    As suddenly as it had begun, the man¡¯s frenzied dance halted, his figure etched against the dying sun until the thickening vapors obscured him from view.


    ¡°Why should we be surprised?¡± Balthasar mused. ¡°There are many souls wandering, both Saxon and Roman¡ª¡±


    ¡°Yet, his movements were unnatural,¡± she murmured, ¡°and in three days, I have seen no one else.¡±


    ¡°We must depart,¡± Balthasar decided firmly. ¡°This place is cursed.¡±


    ¡°At dawn, a girl brings food,¡± Ysabeau reminded him, her voice tinged with fear. ¡°Enough for Wencelaus.¡±


    ¡°I have provisions,¡± Balthasar said, ¡°given by one who did not know of our excommunication.¡±


    Ysabeau¡¯s senses sharpened. ¡°I heard a step.¡±


    Balthasar peered into the mist. ¡°The man,¡± he whispered.


    Out of the swirling mists emerged a figure, stumbling toward them, his clothes soaked and filthy, his eyes hollow and haunted.


    ¡°Thomas of Dendermonde!¡± Balthasar exclaimed.


    Ysabeau gasped, clutching Wencelaus protectively. ¡°The Emperor,¡± the newcomer croaked weakly.


    Balthasar¡¯s fury erupted. ¡°Am I still your Emperor? You, who were to be crowned today in St. Peter¡¯s church?¡±


    Ysabeau¡¯s eyes gleamed with vindication. ¡°Rome has rejected you; they rose against such a king!¡±


    Thomas shivered, his voice a whisper. ¡°I fled Rome willingly, that den of iniquity!¡±


    Balthasar stared, incredulous. ¡°Is this the man who shattered our forces at Tivoli?¡±


    ¡°Is this the one who dared aspire to the throne of the West?¡± Ysabeau¡¯s disdain was palpable.


    ¡°You are the Emperor,¡± Thomas conceded weakly, ¡°and I renounce these false honors, nor do I serve Antichrist any longer¡ª¡±


    ¡°He is mad!¡± Balthasar thundered.


    In the midst of the tempest, Ysabeau¡¯s voice cut through the chaos. ¡°Listen to him,¡± she urged.


    Thomas groaned. ¡°I have nothing to say¡ªjust give me a place to rest.¡±


    ¡°Through you, we have no place ourselves,¡± Balthasar retorted grimly. ¡°No shelter except these shattered walls you see; but now that you¡¯ve returned to your loyalty, you must tell us of this Antichrist¡ª¡±


    Thomas straightened, his eyes burning with a strange intensity. ¡°The one who reigns in Rome is Antichrist, Michael, who was once Edward Bensouda¡ª¡±


    ¡°He perished,¡± the Emperor said, his face drained of color, ¡°and the Pope was Blaise of Dendermonde.¡±


    ¡°That was the Devil¡¯s doing, black magic!¡± Thomas¡¯s voice rose to a feverish pitch. ¡°The youth Blaise died a decade ago, and Edward Bensouda took his place.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true!¡± Ysabeau exclaimed. ¡°By what he said to me, I know it¡¯s true¡ªnow I see it all so clearly.¡±


    But Balthasar remained puzzled. ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    A bolt of lightning tore through the broken wall, illuminating a solitary winged creature that flapped over the roofless villa.


    Thomas began his tale, his voice thick and devoid of emotion. He spoke of Edward Bensouda, omitting Ursula of Rosewood. As his words unfolded, the storm intensified until darkness shrouded them, broken only by the blinding flashes of lightning and the deafening roar of thunder that reverberated in the oppressive air.


    In the lulls between the strikes of lightning, they huddled together, unseen by each other, while Wencelaus sobbed on his mother¡¯s chest, and the owls echoed eerie calls through the marble crevices.


    Then, Thomas¡¯s voice gained strength. ¡°Rally against Rome, for all men will join your cause¡ªan army of Lombards marches from Trastevere, and Saxons gather beyond the city walls.¡±


    A blue flash revealed his strained face as he collapsed.


    Balthasar hurried to him through the darkness. ¡°He has fainted,¡± he said with fear, ¡°is he perhaps mad?¡±


    ¡°He speaks the dreadful truth,¡± Ysabeau whispered.


    Suddenly, at the peak of the storm¡¯s fury, it ceased. The air turned cool, carrying a faint fragrance, and a bright moon emerged from the retreating clouds.


    Its silver glow bathed the Maremma, the pools, the reeds, the ruins that sheltered them, revealing Thomas¡¯s pallid face against the marble floor.


    Balthasar glanced at his wife, neither daring to speak. Wencelaus, sensing the lifting darkness, spoke up. ¡°A company approaches from the marsh¡ª¡±


    A sense of awe and fear held them mute as the moon¡¯s radiance enveloped them like a spell.


    Slowly, two knights and two ladies advanced, seeming to glide without movement across the marshland. The knights¡¯ armor gleamed like glass, and the ladies wore silver garments adorned with wreaths of red and white roses.


    As they reached the villa¡¯s threshold, a cold, pure breeze swept in. The lady with golden hair and white violets spoke, her voice echoing like the sea in a conch shell.


    They paused, casting a brilliant light that made Balthasar retreat and Ysabeau shield her eyes, recognizing some of them.


    On earth, they had been known as Melchoir, Sebastian, Jacobea, and Sybilla.


    ¡°Balthasar,¡± the foremost knight said, ¡°we come from the courts of Paradise to urge you to march against Rome. Evil reigns there, allowed to chastise a sinful populace, but its time has come. Proceed to Viterbo, where you will find the Cardinal of Narbonne, ordained by God as Pope, and an army. Lead them to storm Rome, and all will join in dismantling Antichrist.¡±


    Balthasar fell to his knees. ¡°And the curse?¡± he cried.


    ¡°It¡¯s not God¡¯s curse upon you,¡± the knight reassured. ¡°Therefore, be comforted, Balthasar of Nola, and hasten to Viterbo at dawn.¡±


    With that, they faded into the radiant light that transformed the Maremma.


    Balthasar rose, shouting, ¡°I am no longer excommunicated! I will be Emperor again. The curse is lifted!¡±


    The moonlight dimmed, the clouds returned...


    Balthasar seized Thomas¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Did you see the vision? The angels?¡±


    Thomas, trembling from his faint, muttered, ¡°I saw nothing¡ªUrsula...Ursula...¡±

 CHAPTER 37

    <hr>


    In the dark confines of the Vatican¡¯s ebony cabinet, Michael II sat with a visage of deep torment etched upon his features. The chamber, adorned with opulent splendor, revealed its richness under the dim, stormy light of midday seeping through painted curtains.


    Upon a gold table lay books and parchments, a testament to the weight of his responsibilities. His gaze shifted occasionally to the small sand clock, marking time in a world fraught with uncertainty.


    Paolo Orsini entered, his presence barely stirring the Pope from his contemplation. ¡°Any word?¡± Michael inquired, his voice carrying the weight of unanswered questions.


    ¡°None of Lord Thomas, your Holiness,¡± Orsini replied, his tone tinged with concern.


    The Pope moistened his lips. ¡°Have they scoured every corner of Rome?¡±


    ¡°Indeed, your Holiness,¡± Orsini affirmed, ¡°yet the city¡¯s lawlessness makes disappearance easy.¡±


    ¡°He left armed,¡± the Pope mused, ¡°have they checked St. Angela¡¯s convent beyond the Appian Gate?¡±


    ¡°Aye, your Holiness,¡± Orsini nodded, ¡°but they found naught save a deceased woman.¡± His words hung heavy in the air.


    ¡°And what became of her?¡± the Pope inquired, his gaze drifting away.


    ¡°She was cast into the plague pit, your Holiness,¡± Orsini explained, ¡°that quarter is a place of death.¡±


    A heavy silence settled between them as the Pope absorbed the grim reality. ¡°He¡¯s vanished,¡± he concluded, ¡°though I doubt he¡¯s met his end.¡±


    ¡°The game is over, then?¡± Orsini sought clarification.


    ¡°We concede,¡± the Pope declared, his voice tinged with resignation. ¡°This puppet Emperor has abandoned us, leaving us vulnerable.¡±


    ¡°Cardinal Narbonne¡¯s defiance grows,¡± Orsini added, ¡°and the populace turns against us.¡±


    A sardonic smile curved the Pope¡¯s lips. ¡°Our forces dwindle, and Rome teeters on the edge of chaos,¡± he remarked. ¡°Prepare a summons for the Cardinals; we must convene and devise our next move.¡±


    As Orsini withdrew, the sounds of unrest from the city below pierced the walls of the chamber. Lightning streaked across the dark sky, and thunder rumbled ominously.


    Michael II paced the chamber, his once-mighty authority slipping away like sand through fingers. The city had revolted, and his own powers waned in the face of adversity. The dark arts he once commanded failed him, leaving only silence and darkness in their wake.


    Hours passed, the storm outside mirroring the tumult within the Vatican. Orsini returned, his demeanor grim.


    ¡°Half the Cardinals have fled,¡± he reported, ¡°and those remaining refuse allegiance.¡±


    The Pope¡¯s smile was bitter but resigned. ¡°As anticipated,¡± he muttered.


    ¡°Word has arrived,¡± Orsini continued, ¡°that Thomas of Dendermonde stands with Balthasar¡¯s forces¡ª¡±


    ¡°Expected,¡± the Pope interrupted, his voice tinged with desperation.


    ¡°And they accuse you,¡± Orsini pressed on, ¡°branding you as an imposter and a practitioner of dark arts, stoking the populace against you.¡±


    ¡°The treachery runs deep,¡± the Pope murmured, his gaze fixed on some unseen horizon.


    As a single knock reverberated through the grand gilt door, the secretary swiftly ushered in an Eastern chamberlain, his face etched with fear.


    ¡°Holiness,¡± he exclaimed urgently, ¡°the people have ignited flames at your palace on Palatine Hill. Cardinal Colonna and his brother Octavian have seized Castel Sant¡¯Angelo for the Emperor, defying your authority.¡±


    Amidst the gathering darkness, lightning illuminated the chamber, echoing the tumultuous howls of the mob outside the Vatican walls.


    ¡°My loyal guard,¡± the Pope responded, ¡°will know what to do. Inform me of Balthasar¡¯s approach, and depart.¡±


    As the chamberlain departed, the Pope stood in solemn contemplation, absorbing the ominous sounds that filled the air. With a swift motion, he activated a hidden panel, revealing a secret chamber.


    Closing the panel behind him, the Pope surveyed the confined space, illuminated by a blood-red lamp. Cupboards lined the walls, and a massive globe adorned with mystic symbols hung above.


    Breathing heavily, the Pope muttered, ¡°Is this the end, Sathanas?¡±


    The echo of his words reverberated hauntingly, confirming, ¡°The end.¡±


    Clutching his robes, the Pope continued, ¡°Must I die swiftly?¡±


    Amidst muffled laughter, the echo responded, ¡°Swiftly die.¡±


    In a frenzy, the Pope paced the chamber, lamenting, ¡°I staked my fortunes on that man¡¯s faith, only to be forsaken and lost!¡±


    Laughter mingled with his words, echoing his despair.


    ¡°At least she died,¡± he exclaimed, ¡°but what was all my skill if I could not keep him faithful?¡±


    Silence enveloped the chamber as the lamp dimmed, and the globe overhead seemed to writhe with dark energy.


    ¡°You promised to halve the world,¡± the Pope accused the darkness, ¡°but now, utterly forsaken?¡±


    The echo whispered, ¡°Utterly forsaken.¡±


    As the lamp extinguished, the globe shattered, casting fragments at the Pope¡¯s feet. A wail emerged from the darkness, followed by sighs that filled the air.


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Feeling for the secret exit, the Pope retreated to the ebony cabinet. Night descended outside, candles casting a dim glow as incense wafted through the chamber.


    Sinking into a chair, the Pope¡¯s facade crumbled. Tears traced his weathered cheeks as he faced the weight of his forsaken power amidst the chaos of Rome¡¯s streets.


    The tolling of the Angelus bells echoed through the city, their once numerous chimes now dwindled. As the last echoes faded, a nearby clock struck with ominous finality.


    The Pope remained motionless, lost in the weight of impending doom. Paolo Orsini reentered the chamber, prompting the Pontiff to turn away.


    ¡°Holiness, Balthasar¡¯s forces advance on Rome,¡± Orsini announced gravely, ¡°the mob rallies to his cause, and the Vatican stands vulnerable to their fury.¡±


    The Pope¡¯s voice cut through the tense silence, ¡°Will they breach our defenses?¡±


    ¡°Aye, Holiness,¡± replied Orsini, ¡°the Vatican¡¯s gates are no match for their fervor.¡±


    With a pallid face, the Pontiff inquired, ¡°What course of action do you propose?¡±


    ¡°The captain of the guard urges negotiation with the Emperor, a submission to spare your life,¡± Orsini suggested.


    ¡°That I cannot accept,¡± the Pope declared firmly.


    ¡°Then, Holiness, it may be wise to flee through the secret passages,¡± Orsini urged, his own fear palpable.


    ¡°Neither shall I do,¡± the Pope countered, steeling himself against the looming threat.


    Orsini¡¯s voice quivered, ¡°You risk falling into the hands of Balthasar and his followers, who speak of... unspeakable acts.¡±


    The Pope stood, his resolve unyielding, ¡°Do they dare lay a hand on me?¡±


    ¡°It is a possibility I dread,¡± Orsini admitted.


    ¡°Such a fate would be shameful,¡± the Pope remarked bitterly.


    ¡°You have my unwavering loyalty, Holiness,¡± Orsini replied, a mix of fear and devotion in his eyes.


    The Pope turned to the window, the howls of the mob echoing through the chamber. ¡°Their clamor grows louder as Balthasar draws near,¡± he observed grimly.


    Suddenly, he changed his tone, ¡°I will dine here tonight, Orsini. Ensure everything proceeds as usual.¡±


    With a bow, Orsini left through the gilt doors. The Pope approached the dais, retrieving a scroll of parchment from the table.


    Unfurling it, he read aloud, his voice tinged with bitterness, ¡°If Love were all...¡±


    The words trailed off as he contemplated the futile sentiment. With a bitter smile, he muttered, ¡°But Love is weak.¡±


    Tearing the parchment into pieces, he scattered them on the floor, a symbolic act of defiance against the impending chaos.


    As the chamberlain entered with a herald¡¯s grim message from Balthasar, labeling the Pope as Antichrist, the Pontiff¡¯s defiance flared.


    ¡°And you shall hang the herald,¡± the Pope proclaimed, his authority a last bastion of defiance.


    Yet, amidst the storm of rebellion, another message arrived, this one from an unexpected source¡ªThomas of Dendermonde.


    ¡°From whom?¡± the Pope inquired sharply.


    ¡°Thomas of Dendermonde,¡± the chamberlain confirmed.


    Taking the sealed packet, the Pope¡¯s wild demeanor shifted to curiosity, ¡°Let the herald live, but cast him into the dungeons.¡±


    Alone once more, the Pope broke the seal, unleashing a torrent of curses and accusations that would further plunge him into the abyss of his own making.


    The Pope¡¯s hands trembled as he read the letter, a missive filled with despair, madness, and a desperate plea for escape. The words painted a picture of torment and longing, of a love that transcended betrayal and darkness.


    As the parchment blackened in the candle¡¯s flame, the Pope¡¯s heart sank with it. Thunder rattled the Vatican walls, a symphony of chaos that mirrored the turmoil within his soul.


    With a determined air, he crushed the ashes beneath his heel, extinguishing the last remnants of a plea for salvation. A sumptuous supper was served, the opulence of the moment juxtaposed against the impending storm.


    Paolo Orsini returned, his concern evident, ¡°Will not your Holiness flee before it¡¯s too late?¡±


    But the Pope¡¯s resolve was unwavering, his gaze steely, ¡°I shall stay here; let those who seek safety, seek it.¡±


    Alone in the darkening chamber, he penned a final letter, sealing it with purple wax and his thumb ring, a symbol of authority now mingled with despair. The documents tied with orange silk were consigned to flames, their secrets consumed in fire.


    As he gazed out over Rome, a blazing meteor illuminated the night sky, a portent of impending doom. With steady hands, he prepared a final act, retrieving a bottle of yellow jade, its ruby stopper gleaming in the dim light.


    Thunder crashed, lightning flashed, and the Pope stood in solemn contemplation. Then, with a resigned breath, he extinguished the candles, plunging the room into darkness.


    Silently, he entered his bed-chamber, closing the door behind him with a finality that echoed through the empty halls. The thunderous symphony outside reached its crescendo, mingling with the sound of a key turning in a lock, sealing the fate of the once mighty Pontiff in a shroud of darkness and despair.


    <hr>


    The Vatican was besieged by an angry mob, their rage fueled by the storm that still rumbled ominously overhead. Octavian Colonna, accompanied by Thomas of Dendermonde, led the charge up the marble staircase, the echoes of battle cries and clashes of steel filling the air.


    The courtyard was a scene of carnage, with papal guards strewn lifeless and the once grand entrance hall now a chaotic mess. As they ascended, Thomas muttered to himself, ¡°I shall know, she did not come; I shall know, she did not come.¡±


    In the early morning haze, with the remnants of the storm casting eerie shadows, the Lord Colonna hesitated. He sent Paolo Orsini to demand the Pope¡¯s submission and promise him safety, but the response from the Pope¡¯s apartments was silence and locked doors.


    ¡°Break down the doors!¡± commanded Colonna, his fear palpable despite his bravado.


    A monk offered to reveal a secret passage, while Thomas, consumed by a different purpose, followed the group to the ebony cabinet. They found only torn parchments, a pile of ashes, and a solitary ruby ring.


    ¡°Dare not enter,¡± whispered the attendants, their fear of the Pope transcending even his absence.


    But Thomas, driven by something beyond fear, ventured into the chamber. The dim light revealed the Pope¡¯s regal form on the bed, adorned in symbols of his office. A letter and a jade bottle lay nearby.


    As Thomas read the letter, the weight of finality descended upon him. The Pope¡¯s words spoke of defiance and resignation, of facing his fate on the heights without descending into ignominy.


    The room seemed to hold its breath as Thomas stood by the bed, gazing at the once powerful figure now still in death. The jeweled crown and chasuble mocked the morning light, their sparkle a cruel reminder of past glory.


    ¡°Ursula,¡± Thomas whispered, a mixture of longing and regret in his voice, as the thunder outside muttered its own lament for the fallen Pontiff.


    As Thomas stood over the Pope¡¯s lifeless form, a morbid curiosity consumed him. He reached for the dead Pope¡¯s arm, feeling an eerie lightness beneath the stiff silk of the robe. Dropping the sleeve, he unclasped the heavy chasuble, revealing perfumed samite, soft and white.


    An unsettling sensation coursed through him, a creeping dread that beneath these luxurious garments lay nothing but ashes. He hesitated, his fingers trembling with a mixture of fear and morbid fascination. But the need to know overpowered his apprehension.


    With a trembling hand, he lifted the fair crowned head of the Pope, peering into the once proud features. It came away in his hands like decaying wood, maintaining its shape only until disturbed. The Pope¡¯s head crumbled into ashes before his eyes, leaving only the tiara rolling on the floor, a fleeting image of smoke.


    Thomas recoiled in horror, staring at the remnants of what was once the Pope¡¯s head. The realization of the macabre scene engulfed him, and he sank onto the bed, whispering, ¡°Must I follow you to know, follow you to hell?¡±


    With a resolve born of desperation, he opened the rich garments further, only to find emptiness and dust within. The potent perfume clouded his senses, and he felt as if the fiends were coming to claim his soul.


    Hiding his face in the purple silk robes, Thomas succumbed to a chilling numbness spreading through his body. The room seemed to darken, and he felt himself being drawn into an abyss of eternity. With a final sigh, he slipped from the bed onto the floor, his last breath escaping him.


    As the meteor vanished and the thunder-clouds parted, revealing a serene blue sky and a glorious sunrise, the reign of Antichrist met its end. Through the Pope¡¯s chamber, the triumphant notes of silver trumpets heralded Balthasar¡¯s march into Rome, marking the definitive conclusion of a dark chapter in history.


    THE END