Ferenc was intrigued by this Cardinal Oddone de Monferrato. His eyes seemed to be in a permanent state of gaping. Helmuth had explained to him how much this man had been through, what he had seen and survived, especially far away from here in the little island nation of England. But to Ferenc, he looked like a deer startled by everything happening to him and around him.
They were a motley little group, returning to the city: Lena, the Cardinal, and the soldier named Helmuth; Ocyrhoe and Ferenc, in clothes much too big for them-like children dragged along on a family outing. Helmuth was there as the eyes of the Emperor, to keep Monferrato in line and in view. Lena had requested permission to go with the party, and her reasons had not been made clear to the others, but Ocyrhoe suspected she wanted to ascertain for herself what had happened to the other Binders in Rome.
Ocyrhoe looked so happy to have her company that Ferenc was actually a little jealous. His primary sense of purpose since arriving in the city was to be of use to her; now he had to share that purpose with somebody else. He noticed Ocyrhoe going out of her way to pay attention to him, to let him know that she was still glad of his company, but that struck him as condescending. He had drained his face of expression as they began their journey back toward the city walls; he stopped signing to her or even speaking to Helmuth.
He decided he did not respect Helmuth. The Holy Roman soldier had an arrogance that Ferenc did not think was justified. Not that arrogance was ever justified, but he could abide it in people who were clearly in some way superior. Helmuth was ugly and large, and seemed preoccupied with appearing as subservient as possible to Emperor Frederick. This, perversely, seemed to be the root source of his arrogance, which made no sense to Ferenc.
Lena-to Ferenc’s mind-was similarly suspect. She was standoffish, and Ocyrhoe seemed so desperate to make a good impression on her, to demonstrate that she was not foolish or inadequate. He did not like to see his friend embarrass herself this way. Even before they had departed, he had tried to warn her about Lena.
She is going to Rome to replace you, Ferenc had signed to her. You will be useless in Rome if Lena is also there.
She had given him an impatient look and waved him off. But then, about an hour later, as they approached the gates of the city, Ocyrhoe slowed down to let Helmuth and Monferrato pass her, joining Ferenc as he brought up the rear.
Hello, she signed on his arm, smiling.
Hello, he signed back, fingers lax.
Soon we will save Father Rodrigo, she signed again, heavily tapping his forearm, as if to focus his attention.
He made a doubtful face.
This Cardinal will vote and break the tie, and then they will all be released, and Father Rodrigo will be with you, she signed.
He shrugged in grudging acknowledgment.
And then what will you do? Tell me please, she signed, with an intense look.
Ferenc withheld his answering fingers. He had never stopped to think about this, not once since Mohi. Everything had been an unwelcome quest for him, from the moment of his mother’s death at the hand of the Mongols. First with Father Rodrigo to get to Rome; then with Ocyrhoe to free Father Rodrigo. The priest had never wanted anything but to get close to the Pope; surely, after all this time sequestered with the high-up Church authorities, that would be easy for him now, whoever the Pope was.
So what would Father Rodrigo do next? That would determine Ferenc’s course. Months ago he had stopped thinking about wanting anything for himself. Everyone and everything he knew and loved had died or been destroyed. He had no reason to go back, and nothing to go toward. The more he thought about this, the more it felt as if the hard dirt road beneath his feet was giving way like quicksand.
He felt tapping on his forearm and realized Ocyrhoe was trying to communicate with him. Are you all right all right all right? she kept asking.
All I know is useless, he signed back.
Ocyrhoe nodded solemnly, and he was sure she understood exactly what he meant. They ran forward to catch up with the others, but at that moment, the others stopped.
“We approach the gates,” Lena announced from the front, turning to face them. “From here we need our tracker and our native to get us to the Septizodium.”
Our turn to be in charge, Ocyrhoe signed with a small smile, and then grabbed his sleeve and pulled him forward.
Rodrigo had had no difficulty convincing his new chaperone, Brother Lucio, that there had been some mistake-he was merely supposed to be treated well and made comfortable, but not actually guarded. And so, when he explained that he dearly missed his native city and wanted the liberty to explore his old haunts, especially around the basilica, he was allowed to go, with only a young page boy, Timoteo, shadowing him.
Rodrigo remembered the city so clearly, although he was not used to approaching it from this side of the Tiber. From where he stood, a broad bridge, hundreds of strides long, led to the northwest corner of the city proper. This was the only part of the city that relied on water rather than walls to protect it.
He crossed the bridge and strode along the broad avenues. There was a vague memory of passing through here while he was feverish and wounded-how disturbingly loud and confusing everything seemed then… just a few days ago, was it? He knew where he was now, and he did not mind the bustle. He followed one road that led him almost due southeast, as Timoteo silently followed at his heels, lugging a water skin and saying nothing.
Rodrigo recognized certain buildings-merchants’ shops, this intersection, that ruined shrine… a pleasing familiarity washed over him with the soft autumn warmth of the sun.
After walking the distance of several bowshots-he was still thinking in terms of battle! — Rodrigo paused in the crowded avenue and turned to the boy. “Do you see that wall?” he asked, pointing to an entire city block hidden behind an unbroken stone barricade. Distinctive rooftops rose up beyond the wall, interspersed with thick tree tops, carefully trimmed. Timoteo nodded. “Do you know who lives there?” Rodrigo asked. The boy shook his head.
“That,” said Rodrigo, as if sharing the secret to a magic trick, “That is the home of the Orsini family. When I was a child, they were like powerful kings… in my imagination. But now I have actually met Orsini, in the flesh, and he is just a regular man like me.” Rodrigo smiled. “Perhaps even more regular. And should we move another thousand paces, along this street, on the left, we will come to an even larger and more magnificent palace. That is the home of the Colonna family. When I was your age, they too were great as kings in my estimation, and I feared them. But now I have met Cardinal Colonna, and he too is just a mortal man. In fact, he is friendlier than most men.”
Timoteo stared at Rodrigo without speaking, probably baffled as to a proper response.
“And when I was a child, everyone in Rome knew that those two families absolutely despised each other.”
“They still do, Father,” said the boy. “Everyone knows that.”
“Well then, my wise one, I will tell you something both enlightening and entertaining,” Rodrigo said, smiling beneficently. “Yesterday, I saw Cardinal Colonna and Senator Orsini in the same room, forced by circumstance to be civil. It was like watching actors in a play. I felt as if I was in the audience of a very subtle, special comedy. I thought, all those stories I heard when I was a child-and here are these two characters, acting them out, for our amusement!”
The boy smiled sheepishly. “What did they do?” he asked.
“Cardinal Colonna kept making jests at Orsini’s expense,” said Rodrigo. “It was not very Christian of him, but he was rather witty. And Orsini kept growling at him like this.” Here Rodrigo attempted to imitate the throaty rumble of a bear. The page boy grinned. “They were in front of lots of people they thought were important, and so they could do no more than that.”