Opus One
by Edward Kyle Stokes
Chapter 8
Shifting Tides and Secret Missions.
The initial excitement and slight unease which had permeated Maestro Bellini's workshop after Signor Ricci's commission gradually subsided, replaced by the steady rhythm of artistic creation. The large canvas depicting the hunt, the first tableau, was now a hive of activity, Enzo and Enrico, the young apprentice who witnessed the bacchanal, diligently layering paint, bringing the scene to life under Maestro Bellini's watchful eye. Étienne, Giovanni, and Alessandro continued to pose, their bodies becoming accustomed to the stillness required, their conversations during breaks returning to lighter topics, though a subtle undercurrent of unspoken tension remained.
One crisp morning, a liveried footman arrived at the bottega, bearing a sealed message adorned with Signor Ricci's personal crest. Maestro Bellini, after breaking the seal and reading the contents, addressed Étienne and Enzo.
"Signor Ricci requests your presence at his palazzo," the maestro announced, his tone neutral but his eyes carrying a hint of something unreadable. "He wishes you to stay there for a few days. He has arranged for transport."
Étienne's brow furrowed immediately. A sense of unease prickled his skin. "Stay at his palazzo? For what reason?" He glanced at Enzo, seeking an explanation.
Enzo, however, seemed far from surprised. A knowing look flickered in his honeyed eyes. "Perhaps," he mused aloud, his gaze drifting towards the window as if contemplating something beyond the Florentine rooftops, "it has to do with the arrival of the Cardinal."
Étienne's confusion deepened. "The Cardinal? What would Signor Ricci want with us in relation to a Cardinal?"
Enzo shrugged, a subtle smile playing on his lips. "Ricci moves in elevated circles, Étienne. The arrival of a high-ranking cleric like a Cardinal often brings with it… social obligations, artistic commissions, shall we say… opportunities." His tone suggested a world of unspoken understandings, of favours and influences exchanged in the privileged echelons of Florentine society.
The question which troubled Étienne was if more of Signor Ricci's "wild sex games" were on the horizon, this time perhaps with the added layer of religious or political intrigue? The memory of the bacchanalian tableau, the blatant display of desire and power, was still vivid.
Giovanni's reaction, when he learned of this, was immediate and instinctual. His face paled, his eyes fixed on Étienne with a look of wounded apprehension. "Stay at his palazzo? Both of you?" His voice trembled slightly. The thought of Étienne, especially in Enzo's company, residing under Ricci's roof filled him with a renewed wave of jealousy and a deep-seated fear of what might transpire. He reached for Étienne's hand, his grip tight, his unspoken plea evident in his worried gaze. The fragile equilibrium they had tried to maintain since the tableau seemed in danger of shattering once more.
Alessandro, his thoughtful nature often leading him to observe beyond the confines of their immediate circle, struck up a conversation with a young apprentice named Aldo from the bottega of a renowned painter near the Ponte Santa Trinita. During a shared break, amidst talk of brushstrokes and the temperamental nature of pigments, the conversation drifted to the comings and goings of prominent patrons in Florence.
Alessandro, with carefully veiled curiosity, steered the discussion towards Cardinal Santino, whose arrival had been the rumoured reason for Ricci's summons to Étienne and Enzo. Aldo, eager to share what he considered privileged information, lowered his voice conspiratorially.
"Ah, the Cardinal," Aldo said, a knowing glint in his eye. "A powerful man, indeed. And… he has certain… tastes. It is whispered, though one does not speak of such things loudly, that he enjoys the… company of beautiful young boys. Not just for artistic appreciation, if you understand my meaning." Aldo offered a sly wink. "He has been known to 'favour' certain youths who serve him during his stays in Florence."
Aldo went on to explain the Cardinal's significant political sway, noting his close alliance with Ferdinand, the King of Naples. "They are like this," Aldo said, intertwining his fingers. "What benefits one often benefits the other. The Cardinal's favour can open many doors in the Neapolitan court, and vice versa."
Alessandro listened intently, the pieces of Enzo's cryptic remark about "opportunities" clicking into place. The invitation to Ricci's palazzo might indeed have less to do with artistic endeavours and more with the Cardinal's arrival and Ricci's desire to curry favour.
Later that day, Alessandro found Giovanni brooding by the river Arno, his usual cheerful demeanour replaced by a cloud of worry.
"Giovanni," Alessandro said gently, sitting beside him, "I spoke with Aldo today. About the Cardinal."
Giovanni looked up, his expression anxious. "And? Is it… is it as bad as I fear?"
Alessandro placed a reassuring hand on Giovanni's shoulder. "Perhaps you are letting your worries run away with you. Enzo is… ambitious. He likely sees this as a way to gain influence, maybe even secure future commissions through the Cardinal's connections with the Neapolitan court. And Étienne… Étienne is simply caught in the middle."
He hesitated, then added softly, "Besides, Giovanni… you still have me, don't you?"
The simple statement seemed to pierce through Giovanni's preoccupation with Étienne. He looked at Alessandro, truly seeing him for the first time in what felt like weeks. He saw the quiet loyalty in his eyes, the steadfast presence that had been a constant in his life long before Étienne's arrival. He remembered the shared laughter, the whispered secrets under shared blankets, the countless ways Alessandro had supported and understood him. Alessandro had taught him so much, about art, about the city, about… well, about the intimacies they had once shared in a bed, intimacies that had been a source of comfort and exploration in their younger years.
A wave of guilt washed over Giovanni. In his intense focus on Étienne, on the blossoming and now seemingly threatened connection, he had largely ignored his best friend, the person who had been his anchor. He had taken Alessandro's unwavering presence for granted.
"Alessandro…" Giovanni began, his voice thick with emotion, a dawning realisation in his eyes. He reached out, taking Alessandro's hand, his grip firm. "You're right. I… I've been a fool." He looked at his friend, a genuine warmth returning to his gaze. "You're still here. You've always been here." The unspoken acknowledgment of their shared history, the bond that predated Étienne's arrival, hung between them, a silent promise of renewed attention and affection. The fear over Étienne hadn't vanished, but a path towards mending his neglected friendship with Alessandro had finally opened.
Alessandro watched the dawning understanding in Giovanni's eyes, the flicker of guilt and the renewed warmth in his gaze. He squeezed Giovanni's shoulder gently, a silent acknowledgment of the bond between them. The air by the Arno seemed to soften, the gentle murmur of the water a soothing balm to the tension that had gripped them.
"Giovanni," Alessandro began, his voice low and thoughtful, "there are… different ways people connect, different needs they seek in others. When it comes to… intimacy between boys… I've observed there are often patterns. Dominante, Sottomesso, Versatile."
Giovanni listened intently, his gaze fixed on Alessandro's face, a newfound curiosity replacing his earlier worry.
"You and Étienne," Alessandro continued, "you are too much alike in some ways. Both of you… lean towards sottomesso. Étienne, perhaps more so than you realise, or maybe he is only just beginning to understand this about himself."
He paused, his gaze softening as he recalled their first encounter. "When we first met, Giovanni, when you arrived at Maestro Bellini's, you were barely thirteen, a whirlwind of nervous energy and bright eyes. But even then… your personality held a certain… yielding quality. A desire for reassurance, for someone to take the lead."
Alessandro's gaze drifted back to the flowing Arno, a hint of a smile touching his lips as memories surfaced. "Do you remember that first night we shared a bed in the tiny bedroom? You were so unsure, so… adrift. I had been there awhile, knew the routines. You clung to me, sought my guidance in the simplest things."
He turned back to Giovanni, his eyes filled with a gentle affection. "And later… when our closeness deepened… sexually… it was the same. You… you responded to my direction. You seemed to find comfort, even pleasure, in yielding control. You sought my… dominating role, Giovanni. You would look at me with those wide eyes, a silent invitation for me to take charge."
A faint blush rose on Giovanni's cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and a stirring of those earlier sensations. He remembered the tentative touches, the hesitant explorations, and the way he had instinctively looked to Alessandro for guidance, for permission. He recalled the surprising thrill he had found in surrendering, in the feeling of Alessandro's stronger hand leading him.
Alessandro continued, his voice soft, almost a whisper. "You would murmur my name, your body tense with anticipation, waiting for my touch, my lead. There was a vulnerability in you, Giovanni, a trust that allowed you to… submit to my will. It was a part of our connection, a language we both understood."
He reached out, gently touching Giovanni's face, his thumb stroking his cheek. "Étienne… he seems to possess that same inclination, perhaps even more profoundly. Enzo… Enzo has that natural air of dominance, that quiet strength that Étienne seems drawn to. It doesn't negate what you and Étienne shared, Giovanni. It simply… reveals another facet of who Étienne is."
Alessandro's words rang true, a gentle explanation of the complex dynamics at play. He had painted a picture of Giovanni's own submissive nature, a truth Giovanni had perhaps not fully acknowledged, and offered a possible understanding of Étienne's attraction to Enzo. The path forward remained uncertain, but the conversation had opened a new avenue for Giovanni to understand not only Étienne but also himself and the intricate tapestry of his shared history with Alessandro.
The relative calm within Maestro Bellini's workshop was a fragile bubble, existing in stark contrast to the growing political unease that permeated Florence. Whispers of looming hostilities between the Republic and the Kingdom of Naples were becoming louder, casting a shadow over the vibrant artistic life of the city. King Ferdinand, a shrewd and ambitious ruler, was perceived by many Florentines as increasingly aggressive, his territorial ambitions and heavy-handed policies causing significant friction.
Alessandro, with his network of contacts among the apprentices and even some of the more politically aware artisans, gleaned snippets of information that painted a worrying picture. Ferdinand was leveraging old claims and perceived slights, his military forces reportedly mobilising along the borders of Florentine territory. The powerful merchant families of Florence, while loath to disrupt the lucrative trade with the south, were beginning to murmur about raising militias and seeking alliances with other regional powers. The mood in the taverns and marketplaces was sombre, thick with speculation and apprehension.
The arrival of Cardinal Santino in Florence was viewed with considerable suspicion by many. While ostensibly a visit of religious significance, his close and well-known alliance with King Ferdinand left lots of unanswered questions. Alessandro's conversations suggested several possible reasons for the Cardinal's presence, all intertwined with the looming threat from Naples. After all the chatter and several unbelievable theories, the truth was nobody truly knew why the Cardinal was in Florence.
Nevertheless, Alessandro shared his concerns with Giovanni, his usual quiet demeanour tinged with a worried frown. "The Cardinal's presence, coupled with Ricci's sudden interest in hosting Étienne and Enzo… it feels like more than just artistic patronage, Giovanni. Especially given what Aldo told me about the Cardinal's… inclinations."
Giovanni, though still troubled by the implications for Étienne, was beginning to grasp the larger political context. The potential for war put in perspective their personal dramas, making their individual desires and jealousies seem almost trivial in comparison to the looming threat to their adopted city. The riches of Ricci's palazzo, where Étienne and Enzo now resided, might well be a stage for political manoeuvering as much as personal indulgence, with the Cardinal's arrival a significant piece in a much larger and more dangerous game.
Upon their arrival at Signor Ricci's palazzo, Étienne and Enzo were greeted by a servant named Sandro, a lad of perhaps eighteen with a bright smile and an engaging manner. Sandro, clearly accustomed to the comings and goings of various guests, led them through the opulent halls to a secluded wing of the palace, their allocated accommodation for their stay. Sandro's attention, however, seemed particularly drawn to Étienne. He couldn't seem to suppress a charming smile whenever their eyes met, lingering a moment longer as he explained the amenities of their rooms.
Enzo, ever focused on the underlying purpose of their visit, displayed a subtle impatience with Sandro's cheerful attentiveness. He kept his responses brief, his gaze often drifting towards the main part of the palazzo, a silent inquiry about the patron and his esteemed guest.
Their meeting with Signor Ricci occurred shortly after they had settled into their respective chambers. Ricci received them in a richly decorated study, the scent of expensive incense filled the room. True to Enzo's prediction, the patron's first announcement concerned the Cardinal.
"Welcome, my young friends," Ricci said, his gaze sweeping over them. "As you may have surmised, I have the distinct honour of hosting a most esteemed guest: His Eminence, Cardinal Santino." He emphasised the title with a respectful nod. "You will, of course, extend him the utmost respect and… accommodate His Eminence with whatever requirements he may have during his stay."
Étienne felt a flush creep up his neck. The word "accommodate," in this context, carried a weight he now understood all too well. His mind flashed back to the bacchanalian tableau, to Ricci's possessive touch.
Ricci's smile, as he observed Étienne's reaction, was knowing. "Étienne, my dear boy, His Eminence may have… specific needs during his visit, but his demands of you I am sure are quite different. You will wait to be summoned and he will inform you about what may be required."
Enzo, standing slightly behind Étienne, remained silent, his handsome features betraying a flicker of something akin to perturbation. Ricci's direct address to Étienne, the explicit mention of things being different, did not go unnoticed. A subtle tension tightened around Enzo's jaw, a hint of displeasure that he was not included in this initial directive. The dynamic between them, already complicated by shared desire and unspoken power plays, seemed to be shifting once more under the influential shadow of the Cardinal.
Later that evening, Étienne and Enzo were served supper in a small, private dining room adjacent to their wing. Sandro, his earlier charm undiminished, attended to their needs, his gaze frequently resting on Étienne with an almost doting infatuation.
Enzo's mood, however, remained distinctly subdued. He picked at his food with little appetite, his usual easygoing demeanour replaced by a quiet irritability. He observed Sandro's lingering glances at Étienne with growing displeasure. Finally, his patience snapped.
"That will be all, Sandro," Enzo said, his tone curt. Sandro's smile faltered. "But… are you sure, sir? Perhaps more wine?"
"No. We require nothing further. You may leave," Enzo insisted, his voice leaving no room for argument. Sandro, looking crestfallen, bowed and retreated.
Once they were alone, Enzo's gaze turned to Étienne, a flash of annoyance in his honeyed eyes. "You certainly have a way with the servants, don't you?" he remarked, his tone laced with a hint of sarcasm.
Étienne flushed, unsure how to respond. "I… I didn't do anything. He was just being… friendly."
"Friendly?" Enzo scoffed. "He was practically drooling over you and you seemed to be rather enjoying the attention."
"That's not fair," Étienne protested, a knot of defensiveness tightening in his chest. "I was just being polite."
"Polite? Or encouraging?" Enzo's stare was sharp, accusatory. "I know how these things are. You invite that kind of attention."
Étienne felt a surge of anger. He hadn't invited Sandro's admiration, and he certainly hadn't encouraged it. Enzo's jealousy, simmering beneath the surface since Ricci's ignoring him, was now boiling over, unfairly directed at Étienne.
The tension between them remained thick as they retired to the bedroom later that night. The usual unspoken desire that often filled the space was replaced by a brittle unease. Enzo moved with a rough urgency, his touch lacking the tenderness of their encounter in the olive grove.
He pulled Étienne close, his grip firm, almost possessive. There was a stark contrast to the gentle exploration of their previous intimacy. Tonight, Enzo's kisses were demanding, his hands moving over Étienne's body with a forceful claim.
Étienne, still smarting from Enzo's unfair accusations and sensing his displeasure, offered little resistance. A part of him recognised the shift in Enzo's demeanour, a subtle payback for the perceived slight, for the attention Étienne had unwittingly garnered.
Enzo's dominance in the dim candlelight was absolute. He took possession of Étienne with a raw intensity, his movements bordering on rough. Étienne, though not entirely unwilling, felt a different dynamic at play. It was less about shared desire and more about Enzo asserting control, a physical manifestation of his wounded pride.
As Enzo forcefully took him, Étienne felt a familiar stirring, a response to the dominating intimacy. Any tenderness was absent, replaced by a stark, brutal claiming. In the aftermath, as they lay side by side, the silence was heavy with resentments and a lingering sense of imbalance in their relationship. The events of the day, from Ricci's summons to Sandro's admiration to Enzo's jealous outburst, had cast a cloud over their intimacy, leaving Étienne feeling used and confused, and Enzo seemingly having exacted a silent, physical retribution.
The following day, Sandro, his smile brighter than ever, arrived to escort Étienne to the Cardinal. As they walked through the opulent corridors, Sandro couldn't resist commenting on Enzo's absence. "Such a shame the maestro didn't request Enzo's presence as well," he said, his gaze lingering on Étienne. "He's a handsome one, but you, signor, you have a certain… allure."
Étienne flushed slightly, a mixture of embarrassment and a strange sense of power. He couldn't deny the effect he seemed to have on Sandro, but the servant's open admiration made him uneasy.
The room where Étienne met the Cardinal was a study in ecclesiastical opulence. Cardinal Santino, a man of imposing presence and shrewd eyes, was seated at a table laden with delicacies. Two beautiful young Italian boys, perhaps a little younger than Étienne, served him with quiet grace, their movements carefully choreographed. One offered the Cardinal a cluster of grapes, the other poured wine into a delicate goblet. The scene was a carefully constructed tableau of wealth, power, and subtle sensuality.
The Cardinal gestured towards a plush velvet chair near the window. "Please, young man, make yourself comfortable."
Étienne remained standing, his hands clasped nervously in front of him. The opulent surroundings, the Cardinal's piercing gaze, and the hushed movements of the serving boys combined to create an atmosphere that was anything but relaxing. "Thank you, Your Eminence," Étienne murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
The Cardinal chuckled softly, a sound that didn't quite reach his eyes. He took his time, dabbing his lips delicately with a linen napkin before addressing Étienne again. "I understand you may be… apprehensive. Young men often are, in the presence of their elders." He paused, his gaze sharp and assessing. "Despite anything you may think you know, or may have heard about me…"
He suddenly reached out and gently slapped the closest young server on the buttocks. The boy flinched almost imperceptibly but continued his task, pouring more wine with a steady hand. The Cardinal watched Étienne's reaction, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Whatever you think you know," he continued, his tone now more serious, "it is not why I have summoned you. And it has nothing to do with being… entertained."
The Cardinal leaned forward, his voice dropping to a confidential murmur. "I have need of a young man with… specific qualities. Discretion, intelligence, and a certain… adaptability. A mission of some importance, one that requires a delicate touch and unwavering loyalty. A mission that, I believe, only you can truly accomplish."
The Cardinal steepled his fingers, his gaze intense. "I have arranged passage for you, young man. Not through the usual channels, which might attract unwanted attention. No, this needs… discretion."
Étienne stared, his mind struggling to keep pace with the Cardinal's pronouncements. "Passage? Where… where am I to go?"
"Across France," the Cardinal stated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "With a gypsy."
Étienne was dumbfounded. "A gypsy? But… I don't understand."
The Cardinal waved a dismissive hand. "This particular Romani… he leads a travelling band. Musicians, dancers, a few… practitioners of illusion. They move freely, unquestioned. It is the perfect cover. You will travel with them, unnoticed amidst their colourful entourage. It is most discrete, I assure you."
He leaned back in his chair, a hint of satisfaction in his expression. "From France, they will cross to England. There is to be a grand summer fair in Winchester. Entertainers will be arriving from across the continent, perhaps even beyond the known borders of Europe. The King himself is expected to attend. The most talented will perform for his pleasure."
Étienne was speechless, his mind reeling from the sheer audacity of the plan. Travel across France with a band of gypsies? Perform for the King of England? It seemed a fantastical tale, plucked from the pages of a romance. Yet, the Cardinal's unwavering gaze held a chilling conviction.
Despite the shock and confusion, one thought pierced through the fog in Étienne's mind, sharp and clear: Charles. The summer fair in Winchester… if he could somehow reach England, perhaps… perhaps he could find him. A flicker of hope, fragile yet persistent, ignited within him.
"Étienne," the Cardinal began, his voice low and deliberate, "your mission is to find Prince Charles. I am aware of your… history. It should not be difficult for you to gain an audience with him, given your past association."
Étienne's breath hitched. The mention of Charles, of their shared past, sent a jolt of both hope and apprehension through him.
"Once you are alone with him," the Cardinal continued, his gaze unwavering, "you are to hand him this." He produced a letter, sealed with the papal arms, the symbol of immense power and authority. "This letter… it is worth more than your life. Do not lose it. Do not let it fall into the wrong hands. It is of utmost importance that it reaches Prince Charles, and only him."
Étienne stared at the letter, his mind racing. What secrets did it hold? What influence did it wield? The weight of the Cardinal's words, the gravity of the mission, settled heavily upon him.
"Gio!" the Cardinal called out, his voice echoing through the room.
A figure emerged from the shadows, a strong-looking man with a thick, dark beard and piercing eyes. He moved with a quiet efficiency, his presence radiating an aura of unwavering loyalty.
"Gio will take you tonight," the Cardinal stated, his gaze fixed on Étienne. "He will deliver you to the Romani camp. They depart for France at dawn. Do not fail me, young man. The fate of many rests upon your success."
There was no time for farewells, no opportunity to seek out Giovanni or Alessandro, to offer a whispered explanation or a lingering touch. The Cardinal's urgency was absolute. In the deep velvet of the night, Gio, the strong, silent man with the watchful eyes, materialised in Étienne's chamber. Without a word, he guided Étienne through the silent corridors of the palazzo, out into the deserted Florentine streets, and beyond the city walls.
Their journey was swift and purposeful, Gio's hand a firm pressure on Étienne's arm. The air grew cooler as they left the warmth of the city behind, the only sounds their footsteps on the dusty track and the distant chirping of crickets. After what felt like hours, they reached a small clearing where three brightly painted wagons stood in a rough circle, huddled around the faint, orange glow of dying embers. Figures stirred in the shadows, their voices low and melodic, speaking in a language Étienne didn't understand.
Gio delivered Étienne to the edge of the camp, where a young boy emerged from beneath the belly of one of the wagons. The darkness was thick, obscuring the boy's features, making it impossible to discern his age or the details of his face. His voice, however, was soft and surprisingly gentle.
Moving closer, the boy took Étienne's hand and pulled him towards the wagon. He gestured towards a thin mattress laid directly on the ground underneath the wooden frame. Étienne lay down, the earth cool beneath him. The boy then pulled a rough, woven blanket over them both, the shared closeness a sudden, unexpected comfort in the alien surroundings.
"Sleep," the boy whispered, his breath warm against Étienne's ear. "There are still a few hours until dawn." The weariness of the day and the suddenness of his departure finally caught up with Étienne. Despite the strangeness of his situation, the proximity of the unknown boy, and the looming journey ahead, he closed his eyes and drifted into a troubled sleep.
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