Curse of Stigmata (The Judas Reflections) Page 9

  “Can we have a meal, Senora?” Juan asked, politely. “We’ve traveled a long way and are in need of sustenance.”

  She studied us carefully, Rachel in particular, whose hair wildly hung over her face. All of us dirty from the journey, we might have appeared suspect. I opened my purse in the hope she’d see we had means to pay. As was the custom, she took my money before leading us inside.

  “If you need to board for the night I have room. There’s rabbit stew and cabbage. Take it or leave it. I have nothing else to offer.” She motioned to the hearth.

  “Rabbit stew will do fine,” I assured her, offering an endearing smile.

  We were so hungry, even boiled nettles would have been enticing. She introduced herself as Maria, a widow woman who was anxious to feed and send us on our way. She claimed not to be the social type and her brother, who was overprotective, would arrive soon. Not wanting to be involved in yet another confrontation, we ate quickly determined not to stay a moment longer than necessary.

  Throughout the meal, Rachel had been a mute. Her head bowed, she’d eaten her food in silence doing her best to be unobtrusive and not provoke my wrath. Juan and I did most of the talking. It was a most pleasant experience, as if she had ceased to exist.

  aving been focused only on reaching safety, I’d forgotten what day it was and Juan informed me it was Wednesday.

  “Do you think we’ll reach an inn by nightfall, Juan? Look at the sky, it’s ominous.” I pointed out the dark, low-hanging clouds as we made our way.

  “We’re descending now; it won’t be long before we find a place. According to the map, we’re on course, so you can relax. Rachel, are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m okay.”

  “Why so short on words considering you always have an opinion?” I asked.

  “There is nothing interesting to comment on, including the company. Besides, you told me not to utter another word, and as soon as we reach the port or somewhere I can find a carriage. I’m leaving.”

  She sounded furious. But if anyone should be furious, it was me, considering I’m missing a coin with no knowledge of its whereabouts. Not to mention, my chances of safely returning to France for many years remained in doubt. In my eyes, I was the one who had the right to bark, not her.

  Rachel bore such a similarity to Sidonia von Borcke. I swore they were twins in evil who gained pleasure in plotting and scheming their way through life with great velocity. Unlike Rachel, Sidonia was a noblewoman from the Duchy of Pomerania, put to death in 1620 for supposedly being a witch. Drifting through the Baltic lands around the time, I was introduced to the iron woman. Her flaming long red hair and low cut bodice was enticing, but I knew she was a viper and best to be avoided.

  Using what little self-control I had with the fairer sex, I kept my distance. It turned out to be a wise move, less I’d be tarred with the same brush, unlike many others who succumbed to her charms.

  After a lengthy trial, she was found guilty and decapitated, and her body burned. Whether Sidonia murdered all the people she was accused of killing, no one knows for certain. It would remain a mystery, and in spite of her madness and trouble making, I never believed she’d been responsible.

  Rachel could easily suffer the same fate if not careful, convinced she can get away with everything and more, regarding herself as invincible. I’d seen it all before, including the inevitable miserable end.

  I now focused on making way to Comte’s other residence, where we would leave the horses and secure a carriage ride to Santander. The less I thought about Rachel’s likely fate, the happier I became.

  Snow clouds continued to loom, and yet the weather Gods were kind. Not a flake fell, making our journey easier and giving us a chance to gather headway. I breathed a sigh of relief when, finally, we arrived at the Spanish residence in one piece.

  “This is it, Juan,” I said. “Now we can take the last part of our journey in the comfort of a carriage. After a good night’s sleep.”

  “I hope the servants have plenty of wine and good food. I need both,” he joked.

  Comte and Racco had houses all over Europe, each one maintained in constant readiness for their appearance or that of special guests. I was never quite sure how they amassed such a fortune from one profession, suspecting Comte was not only selling mushrooms but other questionable goods on a grand scale.

  His home stood regal at the base of the mountain in Santa Marina, a building large enough to sleep twenty people or more, but mostly housed only servants. The St. Germaine flag was down, a signal he wasn’t in residence. Sadly, Rachel’s eyes lit up as we reached the door, like an animal sniffing out her prey, she detected more wealth than she could ever imagine.

  “Don’t even think you can get your talons into Comte’s wealth. He prefers the company of only the finest and richest women, and if they’re married, even better. You’d be little more than one hour of cold lust, discarded afterward as if you never existed. I don’t jest,” I assured her.

  “If I ever have the pleasure of meeting Comte again I will let him be the judge of my suitability. I see it as none of your business who I take up with.”

  “I make it my business when I see a friend embroiled in problems because of a worthless woman,” I replied, determined to let her know I knew who and what she was.

  The door was opened by a manservant who accepted us only upon a letter I handed him, signed by Comte. Clicking his fingers to summon help for the horses, he beckoned us inside.

  “I expect you would like to wash and have something to eat,” he said.

  It was music to my ears. I was stinking from days of travel, as being immortal didn’t make me immune from body odors, hunger, or fatigue. The hospitality was beyond my expectations. A wonderful meal of soup, roast lamb and fruit pudding was laid out before us. Rachel hadn’t bothered to tidy her newly washed hair, appearing like an untamed gypsy girl.

  “I could get used to this,” Juan remarked. “Comte and Racco are the most generous of hosts. I must return the hospitality one day.”

  “They wouldn’t expect you to. I’ve noticed Comte gains real pleasure from his wealth, it’s what keeps him happy,” I said. “I admire and respect his intelligence and generosity. I should strive to gain as much as he has. I know it’s possible.”

  “Life doesn’t revolve around how much you acquire Emmanuel. Before I was immortal, I thought the same as you. Now I know different, other things are more important,” Juan replied.

  Was he wrong, or simply naive? The pleasures of drinking wine and helping those less fortunate was not for me. My views on life were very much in black and white. God only helped those who helped themselves.

  “If it wasn’t for the wine and occasional women being your weakness, I’d say you should become the first immortal monk,” I teased.

  “A monk? That would never appeal to me. Besides, my guilt isn’t wretched enough to drive me to the gates of a monastery.”

  “Then let it be said you have monk-like qualities. I wouldn’t be surprised when we arrive in Santander to see you take Rachel under your wing. I expect her to leave you broken when she’s done, but you’ll still believe you did the right thing.”

  Meanwhile, Rachel disappeared only to return wearing a beautifully beaded long dress. She swished it around her legs, encouraging Juan to give his opinion on how she looked. Instinct told me she couldn’t possibly have owned such a garment.

  “Where did you get it?” I demanded.

  “It belongs to me; I packed it before we left. It’s mine,” she replied, smugly.

  “You’re a liar. Where did you get the dress?”

  “Arrêté, mon Dieu!”

  “I won’t stop Rachel. Now, tell me where you got the dress, or I swear I’ll tear it from your body and leave you naked!”

  “That will be a sight to see,” Juan said, the wine talking.

  “All right, I found it upstairs in one of the box chests,” she confessed.

  “Again you steal. What is wrong w
ith you, girl? My coins, the chalice, and now this? Comte would be wild with anger if he knew you had taken something from his home. Go, take it off!”

  “Can’t she take it off here, by the warmth of the fire?” Juan was drunk, and for that, he was excused. Rachel was about to follow his instructions until I intervened, ushering her firmly upstairs to change with orders to return the dress precisely where she had found it. I didn’t want to fall out of favor with Comte now or anytime in the future.

  “Where’s my other coin?” I asked, upon our arrival upstairs. I watched her every move.

  “Do you ever give up? Surely, you know I don’t have it and besides, why are these coins so important to you? Is it money, or are they worth a fortune in the right hands?”

  “They are my redemption… it has nothing to do with money.”

  “Oh, I see,” she replied, slipping off the dress. “You expect a few coins will save your wretched soul. What kind of magic is that?”

  “There is no magic or sorcery in my world, unlike yours,” I replied.

  Was it possible to revile someone as much as I did Rachel? Many women had crossed my path, and had successfully made my blood boil to the point of insanity. But why I allowed a girl so young to get the better of me was beyond my comprehension. Not only did I despise her, I didn’t trust her in the least. She would betray me in heartbeat if it were to her advantage. Like a piranha, Rachel could devour any man who crossed her path until he bored her enough to be spat into the nearest gutter.

  “Stop undressing yourself in my presence. Do it privately and don’t take too long either. I don’t want you wandering alone up here.” I knew I sounded like a stern demanding father, yet it worked. She took off the dress and put it back exactly where she’d found it….

  Forced to stay where we were until the weather improved, days passed slowly. Juan spent most of them drinking while Rachel found a female servant to tend to her every need. There was no sign of her stigmatic episodes as she languished in baths and relished in having her hair plaited by servant girls. But I had become paranoid, resulting in a daily search of the entire house to make sure nothing was missing.

  “I wish I hadn’t done what I did. Maybe now I’d be long gone and not suffering constant immortality. Everyone I’ve known and loved is dead; everyone I meet dies before me.”

  I had become accustomed to Juan’s repeatedly depressive speeches when under the influence of alcohol, most of them not remembered the next day when I chide him for irritating me. On this evening, he was particularly morose.

  “I fear the future more than anything,” he confessed. “I see each new century becoming less appealing than the last. Haven’t you noticed how many more bastards and bitches there are?”

  “I can’t say I have, Juan. Bad people have been around since we stood up straight. For me, each new century brings more wealth and advantage amongst the trials and tribulations.”

  “I’m still suffering the effects of the Thirty Year War. Fighting over religion and territory. For what? Lawlessness and arguments continuing long after it was over. If I have to keep suffering wars in every new century, I think I’ll cut my own head off.”

  Unlike Juan, who lingered in the past with sadness and feared the future, I tended to put painful memories aside and refused to worry too much about the future. While Juan drowned his sorrows in a bottle, I remained ever optimistic. By the third day of watching Rachel being indulged and Juan wandering around in a drunken stupor, I concluded I’d had enough. My prayers were heard. The weather changed, making it feasible for us to journey on. I couldn’t leave fast enough.

  “Hurry,” I told them. “While the sun still shines.”

  I left Comte and Racco a letter of gratitude and with caution in mind did a final check to be sure nothing was stolen and everything was in its place. Our carriage was luxurious. My saddle-sore ass was grateful to be sitting on soft cushioned seats as I enjoyed watching the Spanish countryside go by.

  “What are you doing?” I asked Rachel who was rubbing her foot shamelessly against Juan’s lower leg.

  “I have cramp, do you mind?” she tersely replied.

  “Yes, I mind. Don’t take me for a fool.”

  “Now, why would I do that?”

  I held my breath and counted to five in the hope of controlling myself and not throwing her out in the middle of nowhere. Juan was busy sleeping off days of drinking and, as he rarely slept, I hated to wake him just to say she was up to her devious tricks again. Defiant, she continued to flirt, looking directly at me with a broad smile, enjoying every minute of her sick game. Isabella all over again.

  It took a whole day and two rest stops before we reached Santander late in the evening. Juan was something of a drifter, his home rented out to a teacher of music and his ailing wife giving enough of an income to enable my companion to spend much of his time in Italy. I expected him to return there, once I’d remunerated his expenses.

  “Where do I go now?” Rachel asked, looking forlorn, a small bag of belongings her only possessions. People passed and stared at a girl whose hair was worn scandalously down. Enjoying the attention, she slipped her shawl off one shoulder despite the cold and seductively posed, enticing passion in each and every man.

  “A franc for your thoughts, Emmanuel,” she asked.

  “I know what you’re doing. Searching for another fool or two who’ll give you food and shelter till something better comes along.”

  “Oh no, I want to come away with you, to America,” she replied.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I need your help to get to there. Please, if you have an ounce of humility, you’ll do what you can for me, regardless of what I’ve done. Everyone must be given a second chance.”

  “Do you ever think to leave me alone?”

  Juan had gone to find rooms for the night while Rachel continued to plead and beg. Taking shelter from the windy dock in a noisy inn full of sailors and captains searching for crew, I was parched. The sight of a large pitcher of strong Spanish ale placed before me was very welcome. Unlike Rachel, who’d followed me in like an unwanted puppy. Reactions upon the sight of her were to be expected; drunken men whistled and called out lewd suggestions.

  “Now you have all the attention you need, mademoiselle,” I said.

  “Do you really think I would stoop so low as to desire men of this nature? You know very little of me, and nothing of my preferences.”

  It was a strange irony to be back in Santander where I’d endured an acrimonious goodbye with Isabella. Now burdened with Rachel who for all her bleating and blustering, still hung on my coat strings. I dreaded yet another messy confrontation with Juan at her beck and call. He’d more than likely devote his time working hard to find her passage out of Spain while she sat with her feet up.

  I ordered two portions of food, chicken with garlic and potatoes. Rachel acted near-starved and ate like the peasant girl she was. I picked at mine, wondering what on earth to do next. I could stay for a while or travel hot on Rachel’s heels in the hope my psychic sense returned, leading me to the whereabouts of the coin. But I was surely in the right place for an adventure: a sea dock, surrounded by Captains always on the lookout for wealthy paying passengers. The more I paid, the less I had to do on board. In my case, paying enough to be treated as a gentleman. Rachel started a conversation with a man close by, laughing and joking as if he was a close acquaintance. Weakened by her presence, he played with her hair as she flirted seductively.

  “Rachel, what are you doing?” I asked.

  “You must talk with him, it’s fascinating,” she cooed. “He’s traveled to so many far off places, with names I’ve never heard before, exotic lands with hot sun and sand that’s white.”

  His breeches were of the highest quality, the brown and silver cloak he wore expertly trimmed with the finest and very expensive silver lace. Gold jewelry on his fingers and around his neck spoke only of one thing. Pirate. Rachel eyed him with sheer admiration. Was she rea
lly unaware of what he actually was?

  “Are you looking to journey?” he asked me.

  “Who are you?” I replied cautiously.

  “I am Captain Dirk Chivers. I hail from the Netherlands, but I speak good English and even some Spanish.”

  “My name is Emmanuel Ortiz, citizen of the world.”

  “Well then, I’m due to leave in a day or two for the Indian Ocean. My boat is moored a little way out. Certainly, you know how it is… I need to keep low. If you’re interested, I’ll be sailing to the Indian Ocean. I’ll take you on a fine adventure for a good price and… the little lady is debatable. It’s not fitting for women to board a pirate ship.”

  I laughed at his absurd suggestion. To go on a wing and a prayer aboard a rusty old pirate ship to the far corners of the world, only to find myself in danger, would be ludicrous.

  “I can come with you,” Rachel said, much to my horror. “It sounds exciting. Maybe I can cook for you, Captain? I don’t have much money to pay for my passage. Please?”

  “Normally I can’t abide whining women on my boat, but for you, maybe… I’ll make an exception. Of course, I can’t guarantee the men will keep their hands to themselves.” He laughed, sending a chill down my spine.

  I continued to listen in disbelief. Rachel had begged me to take her to America for a new life. The next moment, she’d been enticed into crossing a vast unknown Ocean with a dangerous pirate. The sight of Juan saved me, searching inn after inn until he found me. Surprisingly, he was still sober.

  “I might have found a way to dispose of Rachel. I can sell her to pirates,” I whispered. Juan took a hard look at the Captain, and seemed to recognize him. He took me to one side. “That’s Captain Dirk Chivers, the Dutch pirate. He’s a legend in these parts and beyond. Rumor has it he ordered a sailor’s lips to be sewn together to stop his constant complaining. He’s amassed a fortune from stealing boats and ransoms, a force to be reckoned with. Not a man to anger,” Juan explained.