The earl saw that each word was a great effort for him. “You must rest now, Joseph. We will speak more after you have regained your strength.”
“There is no more strength, my lord. I beg you not to blind yourself to my fate.” He fell silent for several moments. When he spoke again, the earl saw determination shining through his dulled eyes. “I have tried to speak to her about what happened. You must heal her, my lord. She has a courageous spirit and pretends that her desire for revenge has erased her fear. But it is not true.”
“I know.”
“If Maria had had her spirit perhaps my life would have spun itself out in a different way. Do not let her go, my lord. She does not as yet realize it, but her freedom lies with you and of course within herself.”
The earl nodded slowly. “Joseph,” he began and stopped, for his throat constricted.
“I thank you for pleasuring the fair Zabetta. I would not have relished being a eunuch in Khar El-Din’s harem. Addio, my lord.”
“No!” The small word roared in the earl’s mind, but it emerged from his lips as a whisper. He looked numbly down at Joseph’s hand, now lying limply in his own.
Joseph’s eyes were clear and sightless, free of pain. Very gently, the earl closed Joseph’s eyes. He sat for many minutes gazing at him, words he wished he had spoken lying heavy in his mind.
Finally, he rose and pulled the cover over Joseph’s face.
“Good-bye, old friend,” he said, and snuffed out the lone candle. He walked into the garden, a quarter moon lighting his way, and sat down on a marble bench. It was dawn when he stood again and stretched. He looked up at his bedchamber, its long windows bathed in the gray light of dawn, and drew a deep breath.
“Cassandra.” He shook her shoulder.
Her eyes flew open, and she stared up at him in the dim morning light, as if afraid to speak, as if she knew why he was awakening her.
“It is over, cara. Come with me now and say your good-byes.”
“When?”
“About an hour ago. He died peacefully, Cassandra, his last words of you.”
He helped her to rise and to put on her dressing gown. He had expected tears, but her face was closed and set.
He left her alone with Joseph. When she finally emerged from his room, there was no expression at all upon her face.
“You will help me go to Joseph’s funeral, will you not?”
“Yes, Cassandra,” he said, and carried her back to their bedchamber.
Cassie pulled her black velvet cloak more closely about her, but the damp chill still seemed to penetrate to her very bones. She leaned heavily on the earl’s arm, for she felt wretchedly weak. We all look like black crows, she thought, staring about her. Even the priest. Mr. Donnetti and the entire crew of The Cassandra stood with heads bowed around Joseph’s new grave. Caesare, present, she suspected, out of respect for his half-brother, for he had scarce known Joseph, shifted his weight first to one leg and then the other, some three feet from her. The earl stood beside her, his eyes straight ahead. Signore Montalto was sniffing with a cold, and looking miserable. There were other men she did not recognize. She listened to the droning words of the priest, but the Latin had no meaning to her. She felt stifled by the black veil over her face, and pulled it back over her bonnet, unaware that in the eyes of the priest, it was an act of disrespect. She had eaten little the past several days, and for a moment, as she gazed at the fresh earth piled atop Joseph’s grave, the earth blurred and seemed to rise toward her. She gulped and took a step back. She felt the earl’s hand upon her arm, and stared stonily ahead of her, wishing the pale-skinned priest would finish with his Latin. She had always thought that priests were ascetic men who had little liking for things of the flesh. Yet this one was fat as a flawn. She shook her head, chiding herself for unkind thoughts. She should be thinking of Joseph, but somehow, she simply could not relate the mound of earth covering the oak casket to the Joseph she had known.