Plague of Angels

  Theodora smiled. “I see.”

  “If we are going to arrange the next pope,” said Theophylact, “we may as well make it someone we can control. And take Marozia with you. You can stop in at Speleto on your way home.” He groaned, then grabbed her and rolled on top of her. “But first things first!”

  In Caere, thirteen-year old Marozia walked through the halls of Sergius’s villa, bored and lonely. They’d been there a week, and Marozia was mostly being ignored as her mother spent time in private with the man she wanted to be pope.

  Marozia had already explored every corner of the place, had watched the scullions at work, had visited the gardens and the animal pens, talked to the guards and the servants, and generally made a nuisance of herself to he point where her mother had given her a stern lecture on proper behavior and a dozen licks of a leather strop borrowed from Sergius’s blacksmith to back it up.

  Now, smarting and sore, Marozia walked alone through the palace grounds, hoping a couple of the servants would do something wrong and get whipped themselves, just so she could watch it. Unfortunately, all the servants seemed to be annoyingly good at their jobs, and no one had cause to complain about their actions or behavior. She wondered how she could get one of them into trouble.

  “You shouldn’t waste your time with servants,” said someone. “Not when you could be in charge of all of them in a few years.”

  Marozia turned around. The speaker was a girl a bit taller than Marozia herself, with black hair and brown eyes and dark skin. She smiled at Marozia, and there was something in her smile that was both wicked and trustworthy. Marozia at once wanted to like her. “Besides,” said the girl. “It’s not them you want to get even with, it’s your mother.”

  The fact that the other girl knew what she was thinking irritated Marozia to no end. She drew herself up as tall as she could, which was still not as tall as the other girl and that was even more irritating. “Who are you to speak to me like that?” she said haughtily. “I could have you whipped for speaking about my mother that way.”

  The other girl laughed. “No you couldn’t.” And despite herself, Marozia found herself laughing as well. “Besides, if you try, I won’t help you become the most powerful woman in Italy.”

  “You can’t do that!” said Marozia.

  “Sure I can,” said the girl, twirling one of her black curls between two fingers. “First thing is to replace your mother as Sergius’s favorite.” The other girl walked around Marozia, looking her up and down. “You’re going to have to grow a bit first. Sergius likes them curvy and you have no boobs as all.” She walked behind Marozia. “No real bum either.”

  “Stop it!” said Marozia, giggling.

  “Come on,” the other girl said, capturing her hand and tugging her down the hallway. The girl smelled like rose petals with a hint of something muskier. “The afternoon show is about to start and we can hide behind the curtains and watch if we go now.”

  “Wait! What afternoon show?” demanded Marozia, running up to keep up with the other girl.

  The girl turned and flashed a smile, teasing and merry. “In Sergius’s room. Or don’t you want to see why he likes your mother so much?”

  That made Marozia pause, but the charm of the other girl held sway. “All right,” she said. “But I don’t even know your name!”

  “Ishtar,” said the girl.

  “That’s a strange name.”

  “It’s very old,” said Ishtar. “It came from Babylon.” She pulled Marozia along faster. “Now hurry up! If you want to be the most powerful woman in Italy, first you have to know how to hold power!”

  Together, the two girls ran down the hallway, giggling.

  That evening, Marozia sat in the villa’s orchard, watching the sun set through the leaves of the apple trees. Her mind was whirling, choked with obscene images. Her stomach was upset and she had had to excuse herself from eating dinner at the same table as her mother and Sergius. Ishtar and she had spent the afternoon watching them engaging in the most carnal of activities. Ishtar wouldn’t let her leave when she’d had enough—which was very soon—and the sights and smells and sounds had imprinted on her memory. She wasn’t stupid. She knew what men and women did, and she knew that babies came from it, but the things that her mother had done…and liked doing…

  He’s not even my father, Marozia thought. How could she let him do those things?

  Marozia shuddered, and tried to turn her attention to the vivid hues of the sunset.

  “Hello,” said Ishtar, stepping out from behind a tree. Marozia didn’t look at her.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Ishtar, smiling. “Never seen a woman take it like a boy before?”

  “No, I haven’t,” snapped Marozia. “And I never wanted to see my mother do it! Ever! It was disgusting!”

  “Your mother’s been doing that and much more since before you were born,” said Ishtar calmly, sitting beside her. “And you’ll be doing it soon enough.”

  Marozia stood up and stomped away from Ishtar. “My mother is a whore! I’ll never be like her!”

  “Wrong,” said Ishtar. “A whore is paid to give the man what he wants. Your mother uses her body and mind to get her whatever she wants. And the reasons she does that with Sergius is so that Sergius will serve her when he becomes Pope. And unless you want to spend the rest of your life serving her, you’d better learn how to do it better than she does.”

  “Eww.” Marozia looked away. She was angry and confused and not at all happy about the prospect. “I don’t want to do… that. I won’t.”

  “You don’t have a choice,” said Ishtar, her voice suddenly very hard and much, much older than her appearance. “Your mother is taking you to Speleto to show you off to Alberic. Didn’t you know? If he likes you and agrees to ally himself with your father against Benedict, you’ll be married to him, and you can either spend your life doing what your mother was doing the way he wants for the reasons he wants. Or you can do it the way you want for the reasons you want. And right now is when you get to pick.”

  “But…what if I don’t want to do any of it?”

  Ishtar laughed. “You don’t get to do what you want, girl. You get to do what your mother and father tell you. Nothing else.”

  Marozia pouted. “It’s not fair.”

  “No,” said Ishtar. “It isn’t. But it’s the way it is. Now what do you want? To be your mother’s slave and Alberic’s whore? Or to learn how to rule over both of them?”

  Marozia took a long look at Ishtar, who suddenly looked much older and wiser than the girl she had been before. “Who are you? Why do you care?”

  Ishtar smiled. “I have been in your position, girl,” she said. “And in every position your mother was in this afternoon. I have been in those positions of my own volition, and because others have made me do it, and let me tell you it is far, far better when it’s by your own choice. If you have the brains and the daring, I can make you more powerful than any other woman in history. If you don’t…” Ishtar shrugged. “Then you can see what it feels like to be taken by a man you don’t want touching you. I hear Alberic prefers it when a woman resists. It gives him an excuse to hit them.”

  “You’re disgusting!” shouted Marozia. “You’re horrible.”

  “I’m right,” said Ishtar, and this time she poured the full strength of her Angelic power into the words. Marozia froze where she stood, her eyes wide.

  “What… what are you?”

  Ishtar smiled and let her wings show, though she did not change any other part of her form. Marozia fell over backwards, scrabbling against the dirt to get away until she fetched up against a tree. Ishtar stepped forward and knelt before her “I’m an Angel, Marozia,” said Ishtar. “And I can make you so much more than you are. You just need to trust me, and know that everything I do will make you powerful and strong, and give you control of the nobility and the papacy if you want it. But you have to choose now.”

  “But… but… I don’t know what I want!?
??

  “Choose,” said Ishtar. “Now.”

  “But…”

  “NOW!”

  “All right! I’ll do it! I’ll do what you ask.”

  “You’ll do what I say,” said Ishtar, and her eyes flashed red. “Everything I say, when I say and how I say.”

  “Yes!” cried Marozia. “I will! I swear I will!”

  “Good!” The wings vanished, the red faded from her eyes, and Ishtar once more appeared as a slightly older, slightly taller girl. She held out her hand. “Now come one. It’s time to go to the stables.”

  “The… the stables?” Marozia was confused.

  “Haven’t you looked at the stable hands?” said Ishtar. “They’re delicious. And they are excellent to practice on.” She smiled again. “So vigorous and so eager. But remember, no giving up your virginity. We need it intact for your lover-to-be.”

  “Lover?” Marozia took Ishtar’s hand and stood up. “You mean Alberic?”

  Ishtar laughed. “Of course not. Alberic will be your husband. Sergius is going to be your lover.”

  Pope Benedict IV sat at the head of the table, alone. It had been a long and trying day, and he had chosen to have dinner alone in his apartments, rather than face another delegation of Italian nobles who wanted something from him. They do not understand what the church is here to do, he thought, as he took another spoonful of the almond-flavored pudding he had asked for dessert. It was one of his favorites, and on days like this one, he was especially fond of it.

  “Is it good, Papa?” asked a woman.

  The Pope looked up, startled. The woman was clad in black from head to foot, though somehow her clothes – or is it armor?– managed to reveal every part of her body while showing none of it. She was taller than he, and her hair and skin were both white. Her eyes, though, glowed red. The pope rose, nearly knocking over his chair from surprise.

  “I had to put in lots of sugar,” said Nyx. “Otherwise the bitterness comes through.”

  “What…what are you?”

  In his chest, it seemed that a massively strong hand had made a fist with his heart inside it. He gasped, but no air or sound would come.

  “It had to seem natural,” said Nyx. “And since you liked to dine alone, this seemed the best time.” She looked down at the bowl as Pope Benedict clutched at his chest. “Shouldn’t leave any lying around, though.” So fast she seemed to blur she was beside him at the table, and picking up the bowl. She ate the rest without qualm, then smiled at him. “It only works on mortals, of course. But it is delicious.”

  He stumbled backwards and she caught his arm, steadying him and easing him back into his chair. “Shhhh…” she whispered as he tried to grab at her, the movements sharp and spasmodic. “Shhhh. It will be over in a moment.”

  Benedict’s mouth opened and closed a half-dozen times, then fell open and stayed there. His head slouched against his chest, and his hands stopped their struggling. Nyx stepped back and waited as his soul pulled free of its body. To her surprise, it began ascending.

  I guess he was one of the good ones. Nyx waved at him, and she saw in his soul the anger and helplessness he felt at the sight of his own body. She watched him until he rose out of sight.

  “Well,” said Nyx, patting the corpse’s head, “now that you’re finished, time to see what we can manage.”

  In the brothel south of the papal palace, Nyx and Ishtar sat drinking wine.

  “This,” said Ishtar, “is very disappointing.”

  “The wine, or the election of Leo V?” asked Nyx, tossing back her own glass.

  “Both,” said Ishtar. “Especially the wine. If this is what Tribunal was drinking before he died, no wonder he hated them all.”

  “Don’t make fun of Tribunal,” warned Nyx, feeling rage and the need to lash out all humanity, and a desperate urgency to finish her mission fill her mind at the mention of her beloved’s name.

  “Apologies,” said Ishtar, enjoying the effect that mentioning the name was having on Nyx. “I meant no disrespect to Tribunal.” She took another sip of the awful wine. “Do you think Leo is going to be our man?”

  “No,” said Nyx. “The cardinals elected him because the other choices were repugnant.”

  “What, no call for Sergius?”

  “Not yet,” said Nyx. “The Roman nobility has been too greedy too long. They want someone from outside.”

  “Of course they do,” said Ishtar.

  “And what have you been up to?” asked Nyx. “You certainly haven’t been with me.”

  “Papal politics aren’t interesting me right now,” said Ishtar airily. “I’m looking further afield for ways to bring our pope into power.”

  “I thought you enjoyed corrupting Rome.”

  “Oh, I do,” said Ishtar. “But then, there’s so many ways to corrupt it, I thought I would try a different one.”

  Nyx’s eyes narrowed, and her voice echoed in Ishtar’s head. “Why is your mind closed to me?”

  “Because I want it to be a surprise,” replied Ishtar, praying that the blocks stayed in place. “You’ll see the results soon enough.”

  “I hope so,” said Nyx. “Time is beginning to run short, Ishtar. We need to be ready to move on Jerusalem.”

  “Not for another hundred years or more,” said Ishtar. “There’s still plenty of time.”

  “We thought that during the Empire,” said Nyx. “Let’s not make the same mistake again.”

  The mistake was leaving you in charge, thought Ishtar. “Don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten any of the lessons from the Empire.”

  “Good.” Nyx finished her wine. “I must speak with Theodora. They need to cement the alliance with Alberic if they’re going to gain enough sway to put Sergius in charge.”

  “And what will happen to Leo V?” asked Ishtar.

  “You’ll get rid of him,” said Nyx. “Before the end of the year.”

  Ishtar smiled. “My pleasure.”

  That night, Marozia lay in her room in her father’s house, crying. She had sent her maids away, wanting to be alone. The lessons that Ishtar had taught her were harsh, and practicing them was even more so. She did not like the men, did not like the way they touched her, and did not want it to continue. It left her feeling dirty and demeaned. If only Ishtar would let me stop…

  “You can’t stop, child,” said Ishtar. “You’re only now beginning to show signs of improvement.”

  Marozia curled up into a ball, huddling in on herself so she would not have to face the Angel who hovered over her bed. A gentle hand landed on her shoulder, and the pain in her body and her mind faded away. The horrible empty feeling in her stomach disappeared, replaced by warmth and a sense of joy.

  “That’s better, my dear,” crooned Ishtar. “Now come. You are needed, tonight.”

  “Wha… where…Where are we going, Ishtar?”

  Ishtar flexed her wings. “To give an annoying little man a vision and gift of flesh.”

  “A gift of….” Marozia’s face fell. “My flesh?”

  “Yes, my dear,” said Ishtar. “But not your virginity. Let him think he can have that later.”

  “Why?” Marozia felt tears rising anew. “Why do I have to?”

  “Because you are a delightful young thing, when you are not whining, and that is what he prefers,” said Ishtar. “His name is Christopher, and with the right incentive, he will do exactly as I wish.”

  Christopher was alone in his garden when the Holy Virgin appeared to him. She wore blue and white, and her halo glowed brilliant white. She had appeared out of nowhere, and she wept as she looked at him. “Oh, Christopher,” she said. “How can you sit here, when Rome needs you?”

  “My lady?”

  “The papacy is corrupted,” said the Holy Virgin. “It has been betrayed from within, and only you can set it right.”

  “Me?” Christopher shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Look upon this child,” said the Holy Virgin, and a young girl dressed
in white appeared beside her. “It is her destiny to be yours.”

  “But… the pope cannot…”

  “Leo will take her,” said the Virgin. “He will despoil her. And her virginity must belong to you alone.”

  The girl stepped forward and bowed her head. “It is my destiny,” she said “I have been shown by an Angel that I am to bear a pope’s child, a child who will become pope himself.”

  “Truly?” said Christopher.

  “Truly,” said the Virgin. “She is to be yours, to take pleasure with as you will.”

  “When?” asked Christopher, his desire naked on his face.

  “Only after you have taken Rome,” said the Virgin. “Then may you have her as yours, so that she may perform her holy duty.” Ishtar let her halo glow brighter as she laid a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “For now, she may give you but a taste of what pleasures will await you, once Rome is in your hands.”

  The girl stepped forward and knelt in font of him as Ishtar had to force herself not to grin. Christopher would do exactly as he was bid.

  “It is too far!” declared Theophylact to the council of Roman nobles around him. “Too far for any of us to tolerate!”

  “Too far for you to tolerate, you mean,” shouted one of the Vincentii whose noble house had long opposed Theophylact.

  “He claims rights to my daughter,” snapped Theophylact. “Based on vision of the Holy Virgin.”

  “Well, if the Virgin sent him, who are we to deny it?”

  “The Virgin is not a panderer!”

  “Unlike your wife!”

  The laughter went around the room, ending at Alberic. The big man rose to his feet and looked over the others. “Marozia has been promised to me,” he said. “Not to this foul little man. Nor will I allow him to give Italy over to those who do not have its best interest at heart.” he crossed the floor to Theophylact. “I will stand with my brother, and defend our church against those who would turn it into a whorehouse.” He looked over the other nobles, who knew that between them Alberic and Theophylact controlled enough men and arms to decimate Rome and half of Italy besides. Alberic knew it, too. “Now, who will stand with me?”