----------------------------------------
Thomas strolled amidst the magnificent ruins of Imperial Rome, the afternoon sun blazing down relentlessly. The Tiber river wound gracefully around the ancient stone structures, shimmering like molten bronze in the intense heat.
He followed the river’s course until it curved around the foot of Mount Aventine. There, he halted and gazed up at the Emperor’s palace, perched grandly atop the hill. The German flag fluttered proudly against the azure sky, and Frankish guards stood vigilant at the imposing gates.
Soracté’s majestic peak loomed in the distance, casting a watchful eye over the city and the surrounding landscape. Heat haze rippled over the distant Campagna, while boats on the Tiber drifted lazily, their sails drooping in the sultry air.
Thomas observed the bustling crowd, a mix of Slavs, Franks, Jews, Greeks, and the occasional Roman aristocrat in a chariot or a German knight on horseback. Yet, his mind was preoccupied with Cardinal Caprarola.
He had been in the city for days, awaiting a message from the Cardinal. Recalling his strange encounter at the Palatine Palace, he couldn’t shake off the feeling of being promised the Imperial crown—a notion both incredible and plausible in this realm of Edward Bensouda’s rise to power in Rome.
The contrast between Edward’s past and present selves baffled Thomas—the transformation from a mere mortal to a Prince of the Church and a prominent figure in Rome. Black magic whispered its terrible and enticing promises, leaving Thomas pondering what more it could offer him if he had served the fiend with greater zeal.
As he gazed at the Golden Palace on the Aventine, thoughts of becoming Emperor of the West danced in his mind. Why not him, with the Devil as his ally? In that moment, the existence of God seemed distant and irrelevant.
His handsome features darkened with contemplation as he circled the base of the hill, drawing curious glances from those passing to and from the palace, impressed by his striking appearance and luxurious Eastern attire.
A Byzantine chariot approached, adorned in gold with azure curtains, pulled by a pristine white horse. Seated inside was a lady in a green gown, her attendants guiding the chariot up the hill. The chariot passed Thomas at a leisurely pace, leaving an air of mystery and intrigue in its wake.
----------------------------------------
Thomas stood transfixed as the unveiled lady passed by, her face illuminated by the unforgiving sun. It was Jacobea of Martzburg, a name from his past that stirred memories and emotions long buried.
He had last seen her over a decade ago, in the embrace of her steward at Castle Martzburg, a scene that had shattered his illusions about her saintly nature. He couldn’t help but wonder if she had married the steward, realizing how naive he had been to see her as anything other than human, flawed like everyone else.
His journey to Rome had been fueled by misguided faith in Cardinal Caprarola’s supposed divine connection. Instead, he found himself confronted with the harsh reality of a world where goodness and evil intertwined in unsettling ways. The sight of Jacobea, the woman for whom he had once harbored misguided affections, served as a bitter reminder of his past follies.
Lost in his tumultuous thoughts, Thomas was startled back to the present by the sounds of cymbals and laughter. A group of performers approached, drawing a curious crowd. Among them was a girl in an orange gown, her face hidden behind a black mask, accompanied by a monstrous ape.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
The dancer’s attire and demeanor intrigued Thomas. She exuded an air of mystery and allure, her movements captivating the onlookers. With brass cymbals in hand, she danced with fervor and skill, her every motion a testament to her passion and grace.
The sun cast an ethereal glow on her, turning the cymbals into fiery discs and highlighting the beauty of her form. Despite the mask concealing her face, her dark eyes gleamed with a captivating intensity, drawing Thomas into her mesmerizing performance.
The masked dancer’s haunting melody filled the air as she sang of love and its weaknesses. Thomas couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew her voice from somewhere, a memory buried deep within his past encounters with women both high and low in society.
As the song ended with a clash of cymbals, the dancer’s fierce demeanor returned. She commanded the attention of the crowd with her passionate performance, accompanied by the curious ape that added an unsettling element to the spectacle.
Thomas, caught in a whirlwind of memories and thoughts, tossed a silver bezant to the ape and wandered off, his mind consumed by thoughts of the past and the lady in the gilt chariot.
Amidst the chaotic streets filled with political fervor and unrest, Thomas sought out Cardinal Caprarola, the man who had promised him grandeur and power. But with the Conclave underway, the Cardinal was preoccupied, leaving Thomas to navigate the bustling streets and squares alone.
As he made his way through the Via Sacra, he encountered the dancer and her ape once more. Despite her masked facade, Thomas felt her gaze upon him, an unnerving presence that followed him as he climbed towards the Palatine.
The ancient ruins whispered tales of forgotten glory as Thomas and the dancer stood amidst the remnants of a bygone era. The city sprawled below, a mix of decay and splendor under the blazing sun. The dancer, now silent, leaned against a weathered column, her form a stark contrast against the backdrop of cypress and olive trees.
The oppressive heat hung heavy in the air, casting a surreal glow over the scene. Thomas, clad in his blood-red robe, sank onto a marble seat, his gaze fixed on the distant cityscape.
The dancer’s actions mirrored his contemplation as she discarded her cymbals, the ape dutifully retrieving them. In that quiet moment amidst the ruins, a sense of foreboding hung in the air, as if the ancient stones themselves whispered warnings of unseen dangers lurking in the shadows.
The masked dancer’s song echoed through the ruins, her voice carrying both passion and mystery. Thomas, lost in bitter memories and dark thoughts, couldn’t shake the feeling that her song stirred a distant recollection from his past.
As she approached him, her presence seemed to taunt him with hidden knowledge. Their conversation turned to the impending announcement from the Vatican, but Thomas, more intrigued by her enigmatic nature, requested to see her dance instead.
The dancer’s response dripped with sarcasm as she challenged Thomas’s indifference towards her performance. Their exchange hinted at deeper motives and secrets lurking beneath the surface.
“Why did you follow me?” Thomas’s question held a note of disdain, to which the dancer cryptically replied about having reasons more significant than her dancing.
Their conversation unfolded amidst the scorching sun, casting a surreal glow over the scene. The dancer’s masked face and shimmering attire added to the air of mystery, contrasting sharply with the vibrant surroundings.
Thomas’s skepticism and bitterness clashed with the dancer’s passionate defiance. She spoke of risking a dire fate and hinted at a world beyond the facade she presented.
Their dialogue delved into philosophical questions about faith, beauty, and the allure of the worldly over the divine. The dancer’s words carried a mix of melancholy and defiance, challenging Thomas’s perception of reality.
The mention of Jacobea of Martzburg sparked Thomas’s curiosity and unease, hinting at a connection buried in his past. The dancer’s cryptic revelations left Thomas unsettled, questioning his own desires and ambitions against the backdrop of a world teetering between darkness and light.