Page 45 of The Vagabond Viscount
Serafina grinned as Augusta raised her eyebrows. “Sunday morning at Easter and every Roman and pilgrim is out on the street. And they are all going to the same place, Saint Peter’s square at the Vatican.”
Their bodyguards drew closer, politely shoving other people out of the way if they got anywhere near Serafina. The de Luca family was well known in Rome, and its immense wealth was not a secret. It wouldn’t take much for someone to attempt to kidnap Serafina and hold her to ransom. The sharp halberds and swords which the guards displayed were meant as strong deterrents to anyone foolish enough to try.
Augusta had never experienced anything like Easter Sunday in Rome. London was a city of order and carriages, whereas this was something entirely new—a wave of devout worshippers sharing the excitement of spending the day as one, celebrating the rebirth of Christ.
I could almost get used to this, to the passion of these people.
Her gaze traced over the crowd. Without thought, she slipped into a familiar habit. Something she had been doing for the better part of a year.
Searching. Seeking for the signs of a familiar face. For him.
In Rome, her heart didn’t quite skip a beat as often as it did when she had done the same thing in the streets of London. All around her was a sea of jet-black manes. If she slipped the hood of her cloak from her head, her brown hair would stand out in the crowd.
Continuing to look for Flynn was a fool’s errand; he was dead. But her heart still spoke of its deep longing to see him once more. Just one last time.
There were moments when Augusta realized what she had been doing and tried to stop herself, but her heart had always had its way. No doubt, in time it would eventually heal, and the pain lessen. But she sensed she would always be searching for his face in the crowd.
A flash of light brown hair caught her eye, and she snapped to attention. Through a gap in the multitude of people, she could just make out the figure of a man. He had his back turned to her.
His coat was grubby, and his hair had been badly cut. Whoever this poor pilgrim was, he certainly couldn’t afford more than the basics in life.
Turn around, let me see your face.
A large body moved between her and the man she had been observing. The flash of a sharp sword had Augusta coming to a sudden and violent halt. The people who had been following her, now crashed into her back, and a good deal of swearing and cursing reached her ears.
“Sorry! Scusi!” she exclaimed.
She glanced at Serafina standing beside her, but her friend’s attention was focused on the bodyguard in front of them. He had a street urchin by the scruff of his neck and was violently shaking the young boy. Augusta caught a few words, then, to her surprise, the pickpocket handed over a small purse. It was Serafina’s.
“How on earth did he get hold of that?” she muttered.
“They are professional thieves. Even with our armed bodyguards standing so close, they managed to get under my cloak and relieve me of my money. I hadn’t realized what had happened until our guard grabbed hold of him,” replied Serafina. Augusta caught the note of shock mixed with a tinge of admiration in her friend’s voice. The borseggiatori certainly knew their illicit trade.
The pickpocket put on a tearful show, and Augusta’s heart went out to him. From what she understood, thieves, petty or not, didn’t tend to receive kind treatment in Rome. In London, the boy would have been dragged to the nearest water pump and received the punishment of a ducking, with his head held under water for a lengthy period. From the look of fear on the boy’s face, she suspected he was in for a similarly unpleasant experience this morning.
“Couldn’t we just let him go?” she gently pleaded.
Serafina gave a brief shake of her head. “That is not how things are done here. I will ask the guards not to turn him over to the authorities, but the rest of it is out of my hands. He has not stolen from me; rather, he has offended my family.”
She spoke a few brief words to the guard, which Augusta did not quite catch. The man seemed to consider them before loosening his hold on the boy, but he didn’t let him go. Augusta suspected the lad was in for some sort of corporal punishment.
“At least he will get to go home tonight,” said Serafina.
The guard and the pickpocket disappeared into the crowd. When the man returned a short time later, he gave Serafina a nod but said nothing. He fell in behind them, and from her friend’s stony silence, Augusta concluded that the matter was now considered closed.
At the bridge, all the various streams of pilgrims merged into one. Augusta and Serafina linked arms and walked in step with one another. It was slow going. A low chant rose through the gathering. It took Augusta a moment or two to realize that it wasn’t a chant; it was a song. As more people began to join in, the song grew in volume.
“It’s Victimae paschali laudes, the Easter sequence. It’s part of the official Easter liturgies. They are singing in Latin, which is probably why you don’t understand the words,” explained Serafina.
Augusta didn’t understand them, but she could feel them. Sense the joy and reverence of the crowd. There was an undercurrent of anticipation that had tears pricking her eyes. Easter at home had never been this powerful.
Then again, I haven’t been at the center of the Catholic world before. This is quite emotional. I really am going to weep.
Serafina leaned in and gave Augusta one of her knowing smiles. “Don’t be surprised if you spend a good deal of today feeling emotional. Rome at Easter tends to have that effect on people, especially those coming here for the first time.”
“Oh good, that is a comfort. I was beginning to worry that I was on the verge of becoming hysterical.” She let out a strangled laugh. “With the way my mother is behaving at the moment, is it any wonder I am familiar with that particular Latin word?”
They shuffled over the bridge, along with hundreds of other people, slowly making their way to Saint Peter’s Square. This wasn’t Augusta’s first visit to what was widely considered the greatest church in all of Christendom, but her previous trips had been in the comfort of a carriage and without being stuck in the middle of the Easter crush.
