Contessa’s villa, the Cardinal summoned him to ask if he needed any particular assistance now that the opera season would soon begin.
He assured Guido he would be at the theater this year, though he’d never rented a box in the past. And after the opening performance, he would hold a ball at his house if Guido so desired.
Guido was as always deeply touched by the Cardinal’s kindness. But then he asked in a spare and straightforward manner if it were within the Cardinal’s power to provide Tonio with a pair of armed guards.
He explained in the same manner that Tonio had been banished from the Veneto when he became a castrato three years before. His was an old family; there was some mystery surrounding it all, though Guido knew nothing about it. And a great many Venetians were coming to Rome.
The Cardinal thought about this for a moment and then nodded.
“I have heard these stories.” He sighed. It would be no problem whatsoever to have a pair of bravos accompany Marc Antonio wherever he went. The Cardinal knew little of such matters; but there were many gentlemen about him who knew a great deal. “We will manage this without consulting Marc Antonio,” he offered. “And that way, he will not become alarmed.”
Guido couldn’t conceal his relief as it was his strong suspicion that Tonio would refuse such protection were he asked.
He kissed the Cardinal’s ring and struggled to express his thanks.
The Cardinal was always considerate and kind. But before dismissing Guido, he put to him this question:
“Is Marc Antonio likely to do well on the stage?”
When he saw the consternation in Guido, he hastened to explain he knew nothing of music. He could not judge Tonio’s voice.
Guido told him confidently, almost stridently, that Tonio was at this time the greatest singer in Rome.
But when Guido returned to his rooms, he was more than disappointed to find that Tonio was not at home.
He needed Tonio just now. He needed the comfort of his arms.
Paolo was sound asleep. The rooms were full of moonlight, and Guido, too weary and anxious to work, merely sat for a long time by himself.
Tonio had gone directly from the Cardinal’s rooms to the fencing salon, where after a few inquiries, he learned the address of the Florentine, Count Raffaele di Stefano, who had been his fencing partner so often in the past.
It was dark when he reached the house, and the Count was not alone. Several of his friends, all of them obviously wealthy, idle, and full of recklessness, were dining with him, while a young castrato, got up as a woman, sang and played the lute.
This was one of those creatures with the breasts of a woman, and they were showed to superb advantage by the cut of a gawdy orange dress.
The table was littered with roast fowl and mutton, and the men had the belligerence of those who had been drinking for days on end.
The castrato who sported hair as long and full as a woman’s challenged Tonio to sing, saying he was sick of hearing about Tonio’s voice.
Tonio stared at this creature. He stared at the men. He stared at Count di Stefano, who had stopped eating and was watching him almost anxiously, and then Tonio rose to go.
But Count di Stefano came after him at once. He gave his friends leave to stay the night in the banquet hall if they wanted to, and then he urged Tonio up the stairs.
* * *
When the door of the bedchamber had been bolted, Tonio stood very still looking at the bolt. The Count had gone to light a candle and now the lights swelled evenly throughout the room. It showed the massive bed with its heavily worked posts. Beyond the open windows hung the giant moon.
The Count’s round face had a maniacal seriousness to it, his glossy black curls making him look Semitic, his heavy shaven beard a veritable crust on his chin.
“I’m sorry my friends offended you,” he said quickly.
“Your friends didn’t offend me,” Tonio answered calmly. “But I suspect that eunuch downstairs has engendered some expectations I cannot meet. I want to go now.”
“No!” the Count whispered almost desperately. His eyes were glazed and strange, and he approached Tonio as if propelled to do so, drawing so close that some touch was inevitable, and then he lifted his hand and let it hover in the air, the thick fingers spread out.
He looked half mad. As mad as the Cardinal had ever looked,