Chapter Thirty-Four
The sun was well past noon when Elias paused at the edge of the woodland that bounded his estate. The view that greeted him could not be more dispiriting. The blackened ruins of his home still smoldered – the place he had worked so very hard for, his small piece of paradise. Part of him wanted to weep.
Benjamin slept at his chest, cradled in the sling he’d fashioned from the piece of canvas in his pack.
This was a nightmare. Who else survived? Did anyone? Smoke from still glowing embers within the villa drifted lazily skyward in the breezeless air. The back of the house, around the kitchen, still stood but it was badly damaged. Laura’s studio cottage was utterly razed. Masonry and charred beams from the blast were scattered far and wide across the lawn. She had saved him and Benjamin with her volatile artist’s turpentine.
He glanced up toward the olive grove, still intact. The silence disturbed him. Did Matteo and the others escape down to the village? Were they safe in the shed? The thought of finding them slaughtered by the assassins made his already delicate stomach sour further.
He rubbed his hand across his baby son’s cheeks.
What was he going to do? What could he do?
Elias heard his name called. Matteo was running toward him, with Pasquale close behind.
“Thank the Blessed Virgin, you’re safe, Mr. Elias!” Matteo said. “We’ve been worried sick about you and Benjamin. Angelo and Donato have been searching everywhere.”
“Serafina and Gina? They’re safe?”
Pasquale nodded affirmatively. “They are with my father and mother in the village.”
Elias turned to Matteo whose grim face had not lightened.
“What’s wrong?”
“We found a stranger’s body.”
“I had to kill two of them in the house.”
Both young men looked at one another in surprise.
“You’ve not been in the house yet have you?” Elias asked.
“Just the kitchen. It was the only room not seriously damaged, and we wanted to get some food.”
“Where did you find this body?”
“On the lawn between the terrace and Miss Laura’s studio,” Pasquale answered. “I think his horse threw him and he broke his neck.”
Elias glanced about. “Where is he?”
“In the shed behind the barn. We didn’t know what else to do with him.”
“Show me.”
His own horses, which had been released out into a paddock, looked at him as he approached the stable yard. The building itself was more scorched than burned, thank God. The water troughs about the yard and stable had been close enough that the blaze could be extinguished before it took hold.
Elias handed Benjamin over to Pasquale who understood without being told to keep the baby away from the grim sight.
The dead man was face up, arms raised above his head which canted sideways at an awkward angle. The boys had dragged the body in out of the sun and just dropped him in here.
Matteo hung back as Elias examined the corpse. He was looking for something specific – a pouch that might contain some information as to the identity of this assassin – or perhaps even his employer. He found it. He used his knife to slit the belt around the dead man’s waist, stood up and opened the drawstring.
The first thing to come to hand was a small, corked bottle. He part opened the stopper and sniffed the bitter odor of opiates. The bag yielded some coins – enough for a night’s accommodation and a meal, nothing extravagant. The final items were two pieces of paper. One was a thin strip of vellum wrapped tight. He recognized the flowing Arabic script as a Koranic verse. He had seen them before on the corsairs, a talisman of sorts for protection, but he couldn’t read it. The only two people he knew who could were Kit and Jonathan, and they were two thousand miles away.
The second paper looked like a receipt of some kind, but again it was written in Arabic. He dropped the opium bottle and prayer scroll onto the man’s chest and pocketed the receipt. He turned his back on the corpse and headed toward the stables.
“Let’s find Donato and Angelo,” he said. “We’ll need to dig graves for this one and the two in the villa.” He didn’t envy the youths their first sight of a burned corpse but there was no other choice.
“Do you think those other men will be back?” asked Matteo.
“I think we can be certain of it.”
Elias knew he was still considered somewhat of a stranger to Villagrazia in many respects, even though he had called it home for nearly four years. And he accepted it would take another twenty years before he stopped being referred as “the new owner of old Mineo villa”.
But here, in the home of Serafina’s brother, dozens of people had stopped by to express their dismay, and to bring food and clothing. Some were angry at the arson, and he did not doubt that some of their concern was self-serving.
Who did this? Would they be next?
Elias wished he had answers for them, but he did not. The only thing he could say for certain was Selim Omar would not stop until he had Benjamin, and Elias was equally determined to prevent him.
It was late when the last person left. Elias slumped forward on the table, his head in his hands, unable to quell a soul-deep yawn. Sleeping a whole week would do for a start but he couldn’t afford that luxury. Still, he couldn’t think like this. Then, when he closed his eyes, he relived the entire previous day. He wasn’t sure how much he could stand.
Raffaele’s hand rested heavily on his shoulder. “Go to bed, Son. No man could have done more than you.”
“It’s not enough.”
“Believe an old man when I say it is enough. Your family is safe. That is enough.”
The next morning, Benjamin’s cry of “Papa!” and the sight of him waving his arms lifted Elias’ spirits.
The boy bounced up and down on Serafina’s knee. They sat in the family kitchen while Gina helped Serafina’s sister-in-law prepare breakfast for the extra guests.
“Coffee, Mr. Elias?” Gina asked.
“Tea?” he asked hopefully.
“This is a Sicilian household, Mr. Elias – only coffee here.”
“Then coffee will be fine.”
“One more spoonful, little man,” Serafina coaxed but the baby turned his head away, refusing another spoonful of food. He watched Elias intently.
“Let me try.”
As if he understood every word, Benjamin chortled, reaching out his own arms as Elias took him.
“Where are the boys?”
“They’re at your villa looking to see if there is anything to salvage,” the housekeeper answered.
“Then send one of the lads from here to fetch them back. I have something important to say and I want you all to hear it.”
Gina placed a rich, black coffee on the table before him, but she did not meet his eyes.
“News? You’re leaving us?”
“I’m not going to discuss it now, Gina.”
“But I have lost everything! And to lose you, too…” The girl burst into tears and fled from the kitchen. Benjamin watched her go, unconcerned by her tears, and even waved goodbye before looking back up at Elias for another spoonful of porridge.
“I have absolutely no success with women. Did you know that, Serafina? All I do is make them cry and run away from me.”
Serafina stood slowly, not hiding the aches and pains caused by her dramatic escape, nor her frustration. She dismissed his self-pitying joke with a wave of her hand.
“She’s a foolish young girl,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ll send one of the boys to the villa to bring the others back. And don’t you worry about Miss Laura, either. She’ll come back, mark my words. She will return with the Calliope, ready to be your bride.”
“Ah, the second sight, eh?”
Serafina gave him an enigmatic smile in return.
“You keep your secrets and I’ll keep mine, eh?”
Elias raised his coffee mug.
“It’s a deal.”
Soon, Elias was alone in the kitchen with Benjamin. The boy was no longer content just to sit on his knee, so he lowered the babe to the floor and found a pair of battered, old, copper saucepans and a wooden spoon. Benjamin stared at the new objects placed on the floor before him. Elias tapped the spoon on the side of one saucepan, then the other – the different sizes causing different tones. The boy looked fascinated, so Elias did it again and again. Each time, the action was greeted by giggles from Benjamin who now reached out for the spoon. The child flailed wildly with it and quickly found the best way to make the biggest noise.
He laughed and Elias laughed with him.
He loved this boy.
And Selim Omar had demonstrated two nights ago how much he was willing to pay to take him. He’d sent assassins – and a man of his wealth and power could send wave after wave of them. Elias knew it was only by the grace of God that none of his household had been killed.
So what now?
Benjamin’s safety came first of all, then that of the members of his household, followed by that of the village folk.
Kit had once told him that, whenever he planned for battle, he would go to sleep and wake up in a strange dream world where he could stop time and make different choices, take different approaches, and let them play out to see if they ended in victory or death.
People would talk to him in his mind, Kit said – both friend and foe alike. They would tell him things and give him clues.
No wonder Kit had needed the laudanum.
Last night, Elias had tried ignoring his body’s aches and pains to close his eyes and run through every scenario in the same way Kit had described. It didn’t work. All he could visualize was the inevitable bloodshed and death. He was helpless against it.
The ideas he had were dull and ordinary. They could rebuild Arcadia as a fortress; the villagers could form a militia; they could inform the authorities and hope troops would arrive in time – or that he would be taken seriously at all. None of them solved the root of the problem, and it was one that needed solving now. Time did not stop for him.
He fought the terror of overwhelming odds as Saint George warred with the dragon –before falling into a deep, real, and dreamless sleep of exhaustion.
When he awoke before dawn, there was understanding but no happy answers.
The man has a harem for God’s sake – he must have plenty of sons. Why does he care so much about this one?
Elias had asked himself the question more than a month ago, but now he realized his error. He only assumed the man had plenty of sons. What if he didn’t? What if something had happened to the male heir? What if all the other women at his disposal had borne only daughters?
The question had unlocked a door – which opened onto a gasping chasm.
It was not masculine pride or so-called “honor” that forced Selim Omar to this. It was desperation. If he did not produce an heir, his wealth would be given to another who had earned the Sultan’s favor. Cousin or not, blood ties mattered little when power was at stake.
And a desperate man was a dangerous man.
And a dangerous man would do everything in his power to claim Benjamin. He would kill however many people it took, destroy anything and everything that got in his way. So, in the end, Elias found the way forward simple.
To protect his household and the village he’d grown to love, Elias would have to leave with Benjamin and make the boy disappear to keep the child safe and give himself time to end this madness.
By the time the sun emerged, Elias felt a strange sort of peace despite his exhaustion. This was the way it had to be done. It was logical. It involved the least amount of risk to everyone he cared about. There was just one catch…
If he failed, Laura would never be able to find her son.
While Benjamin played on the blanket under a weeping willow tree, Elias took off his boots and examined his feet. Satisfied with the way they were healing, he rewrapped the bandages and put his boots back on.
This was day two of their pilgrimage. Benjamin seemed to like being carried in a sling on his back, as Elias had seen the Tuareg women do, but this afternoon he carried the child in front. He wanted to look at him, take in the boy’s face, and remember him and his mother.
Tomorrow would be the last time he would hold Benjamin, possibly – probably – forever.
Tonight, he would set up camp outside the town of Monreal. An incongruous place, it was nothing more than a little old hunting village, although oranges and almonds by the acre were now cultivated on the southern face of Monte Caputo, the mountain on which it was located. Yet Monreal had one of the most beautiful cathedrals Elias had ever seen and attracted visitors from all around.
He could not think of a better place to take his son for protection. The building was as much a defensive keep as it was a cathedral. It seemed plain on the outside to serve just that purpose. But on the inside, the glass mosaics – dating back to the twelfth century and the reign of the Norman king William the Good – were magnificent.
He prayed he had bought himself enough time. Based on how long it had been since his first encounter with Tito and the arrival of the assassins, Elias figured he had a couple of weeks to set things in motion before Selim Omar learned about the failure of his men and plotted his next move. By that stage, Elias planned to be on the offensive.
As unpleasant as it was, he had examined the corpses of the men who died in the house. The one in the hall was burned beyond recognition; that of the man in the bedroom had fared better – in fact, well enough to retrieve his assassin’s pouch from underneath his body which had protected it from the flames. The pouch, like that of the man who died on the lawn, would prove useful – he just wasn’t sure how yet.
Red sky in the morning, sailor’s warning.
The rosy, pink tint to the sky was beautiful rather than threatening, but old habits died hard. Elias had woken before dawn. He scrubbed his hands through a week’s worth of beard, knowing he looked and smelled like a beggar.
Benjamin slept on his back, his tiny mouth open slightly as he dreamed. Elias had put the boy to bed dressed. He pulled out Laura’s gold locket and worked the hinge until the locket snapped in two. Using one of the nappy pins, he attached the back half containing the portrait of Laura’s mother to the boy’s clothes. A letter he had written and sealed earlier, he tucked into the babe’s clothing.
My name is Benjamin and the beautiful woman is my grandmother, the very image of my mother. Maman had to go away but one day she will come back for me. Hopefully, soon. This is how you will recognize her when she comes.
My papa has gone to war. He may not return.
Please care for me.
Although Elias was not a Roman Catholic, he had attended enough churches over the years to know the ritual. The first of the masses would be said soon and he wanted to be sure that someone would find Benjamin.
By rote, Elias made the sign of the cross and mouthed the responses, all the while looking down into the trusting blue eyes of the boy he called his son. No, damn it – Benjamin was his son. And he was going to settle the matter for good.
He had positioned himself apart from most of the congregation. He kissed Benjamin and put him down on the pew beside him, then waited until the child’s attention was caught by one of the altar boys carrying the censer along the aisle. Elias stood and the ache in his heart felt like a physical blow. He slipped into the shadows, his eyes still on the child.
Then he turned around and walked out of the cathedral to make the long, lonely walk to Palermo, hating himself and what he had to do when his ears filled with Benjamin’s hiccoughing cries behind him.