Under the stiff layers of a pristine white cassock, under the embroidery, the gold, the jewels, and the majesty, was a man who stank of decay. Pinched jowls sagged over a collar, as if his jaw had melted slowly from the room’s stifling heat.
A quantity of phlegm was caught in Pope Heptus’s grumbled greeting. I could not make out a word of it, but the lesser priest at his side leaned down, put an ear to the pope’s lips, and listened intently.
A great, hacking cough wrapped the pope’s unheard soliloquy in disease before his priest announced, “Our holy father welcomes the daughter of our trusted friend, the Duke of Arermici. Lady Agnese, step forward to receive his blessing.”
Eyes downturned, gaze flowing over the beauty of cold marble floors, the golden throne, the beautiful cloth wrapping the earthly body of God’s highest servant, I approached. Measured steps, a flawless curtsey, and I tried not to cringe when a claw-like hand heavy with rings set itself upon my veiled curls.
“She is beautiful.” His slurred praise… the roundness of the words… I was sure if I looked up I’d find spittle dangling from the corner of his holiness’ mouth. “The very look of the Mary.”
I should have been ashamed of my disgust, for God himself had chosen this man. But he stank of piss up close, he was greased with unguents and powders, a body already gone to decay preserved whilst somewhat alive.
Death hovered over his form and even the white of his cassock could not hide its shadow.
This great man I had prepared my whole life to meet, and all I wanted was to press a scented kerchief under my nose and rush from his presence before I gagged on the smell.
“Yes, Your Eminence.” Cardinal Beluni, now standing at the side of the Pope’s throne, declared to all gathered, “She is pure, as innocent as her mother claims. Venice will be greedy for the attention of such a bride, or I do not know my cousin at all.”
I was accustomed to others speaking over me as if I were a vase to appraise, or a painting one might purchase. I knew to remain docile and meek. But that was not why my eyes were downcast or the reason I shrank. It was the way some of these holy men laughed.
“And she is untouched? A virgin?” That question was not directed toward me, though I did flinch to hear it bandied about before a room of strangers.
Spanish accent, guttural and quick, another cardinal scurried forward to speak softly of something that left my cheeks flaming. “The devil will know what we are about. Women are unclean, vile sinners tainted by the snake. We cannot afford to make a mistake in this when there were two other noble ladies to consider for such a glorious honor. I say they should be brought here at once for the conclave to see with their own eyes.”
“Your niece, Lady Juanica, was tempted, Archbishop.” The coldness of Beluni’s tone struck me, and my eyes darted up under my brow to see him snarl. “I pierced her myself and there was no blood. She had had others before me.”
“So says Beluni! I demand Lady Juanica be examined.”
This bickering and snappish retorts… the room was full of vicious argument beyond shocking in its implication. Already rising to my feet, backing away from the circling wolves dressed in red, I found no savior as the uproar increased.
Ladies names were shouted, demands were made, all while the pope wheezed and stared at me. I swear he licked his lips before raising his hand and silencing the room with one gesture.
“Your Eminence.” Again Cardinal Belini interjected his presence into the center of negotiation. Passionate in his announcement as if advocating not for me, but for himself. “The nuns have yet to confirm Lady Agnese’s virtue. Let us see that rectified immediately. In fact”—he gestured to the room—“I believe we will all be set at ease to witness the inspection so there can be no suspicion or lack of trust.”
“Here, here.” The red satin ribbon of ordained men skirting the room converged into a formation that encroached ever nearer to the throne. To where I stood. All in agreement.
They could not mean what I thought they meant! I knew husbands could demand that ladies of rank prove their purity before the wedding, but such things were private. Such things were not discussed by men in cassocks, who crowded about me as if I were a caught rabbit.
Beady eyes hard with dislike met my startled gaze, the Spanish Cardinal sneering. “She is trembling! You see that, Your Holiness. The sign of a sinner caught.”
Where was the blessing of a loving godfather to his dedicated goddaughter? Where was the holy presence of God?
Smiling as if gentling a lamb, Cardinal Beluni slithered down the dais to my side. His beauty beside the staring pope’s hideous form made greater by comparison. “You’re frightening her.”
“A virtuous woman has nothing to fear!” My arm was grabbed in a bruising grip. Yanked bodily away from the throne, the Spanish stranger barked, “Call the nuns and let’s have this done.”
Chapter Three
I didn’t know it was possible to cry so hard one couldn’t breathe. Choking on terror, tangled in limbs and the bruising clutch of cruel hands, it felt as if the world moved under me.
Ready to swallow me whole.
Shoved to polished marble before the throne of the Holy See when I refused to lift my skirts so all might witness, I was pinned down by relentless men. They worked in unison, as if they had done this before. Down I went, head smacking the floor, my skirts lifted. No matter how hard I’d kicked, my legs were restrained, painfully jerked apart, and bent so my knees kissed my ears. Voluminous skirts bunched under my chin, but not enough to spare me the view of two dozen men dressed in the raiment of high holy orders, shoulder to shoulder to stare between my legs.
An ancient nun had been summoned. The coarse stuff of her habit scratched at exposed flesh, the crone crouching forward, gnarled fingers dishing out a volley of stinging slaps to redden my inner thighs.
It wasn’t until she reached forward and pinched delicate, unseen skin that I ceased my struggles.
Frozen, gripped by a cold sweat, my labored breaths were louder than even the pope’s.