Title: Country (1/1)

Series/Sequel: The first in the Reincarnation Series.

Author: Vera

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Through the centuries of human history, two souls are bound

together. This first tale takes place in the middle of the 17th century. The

timeline may skip, but it will end in the present.

Disclaimer: The boys belong to Sandra, I just like to mess with them.

Notes: Each title will tell you what separates the souls. I don't know if I

believe in reincarnation or not, but it makes for fertile story telling

ground. This was not written with the intent of offending any religion.

*****

Coast of Spain, 1638

*****

The King stood silent, watching the shore as the last of the boats

unloaded. He was a formidable figure on horse, long dark hair waving behind

him like a banner and his huge black war horse standing stock-still beneath

him.

A messenger arrived at the foot of the great beast and handed up the

bundle of letters that had arrived with the ship. With a hand that rarely

trembled, the King took the letters and slowly leafed through them.

There was nothing. He looked again, but he knew deep in his heart, that

there would be nothing there. The letters that had flowed so regularly for

the last seven years had come to an end and no doubt that the sender was gone

as well. Slowly, the King turned the horse around and whispered into it's ear,

"Fast as you can." Kicked it sides and the mammoth beast took off,

leaving all the bodyguards in the dust.

The wind ripped through his fine clothes and tore the tears from his

eyes. He rode hard and fast without thought. His lips formed the shape of

words again and again,

"We will meet again."

*****

Off the coast of Italy 1630

*****

The waves lapped at the rocky coast of the distance shore. A month's

journey by boat and at long last reaching the destination. Home had never

felt so very far away. Reluctantly, the Prince turned from the coast to head

back down below where his mother would doubtless be waiting for him.

It was she who was the author of this trip, having felt smothered in the

castle, longing for a change of pace. So, together they were making this

pilgrimage that led them far from home and hearth. The King, the Prince's

uncle, sat on the throne now and there was little chance of him passing it on

to anyone in the near future. So the Crown Prince was free to go.

At first he had been eager. Delighted to get away from the endless wars

and bickering of his own country. For months before hand, he had spoken only

in Latin, to better grasp the tongue of Rome. The ship voyage had only

somewhat dampened his excitement. Neither he nor his mother experienced any

ill effects of the rocking boat, but the smells of the court entourage who

were affected....

Well, it was almost over now and the Prince felt sick with nerves. Before

him stretched an unknown world and outside of this small fleet of boats, no

familiar faces.

***

Streets of Rome, three days later

***

Nimbly, the urchin threaded through the streets of the city, narrowly

avoiding collision with several shoppers and horses. He threaded between the

gathering crowd until at last he reached the edge and could gaze freely on

the parade.

How odd these people looked!

Their skin so much darker, sitting high in their litters pressed with

gold. Dark dark skin and black midnight hair. There eyes were brown, intense

and darting. The women's garb was also inlaid with gold in wild festive

patterns. The necklines of the women were slightly higher then those of the

ladies he had seen at court. Trying to keep his eye on all the beautiful

things passing by, he reached deep into his ragged costume to pluck out a

well of ink, a quill and a piece of parchment. Swiftly, he took notes, trying

not to be overbalanced by the crowd behind him. This was the skill he had

been bred for, to ink quickly and bring the information to one man alone.

In the middle of fervent scribbles, he glanced up to catch the royal

litter being carried past. His heart stopped beating. The Spanish Queen

herself was lying among the embroidered cushions, but it was not this fine

beauty to whom his eyes were drawn. Her son, the Crown Prince of Spain, was

riding next to her on a fine beast. The white of the horse that could have

been any in Rome, further contrasted to the dark exotic beauty of the Prince.

Sitting straight up and eyes ahead, the Prince looked wild. His light

armor glittered in the sun, a dress sword was slung low on his left hip,

whispering of danger. The ramrod posture and quick, intelligent eyes chilled

the urchin and he sat frozen. The smell of foreign lands whispered into his

nostrils as the horse went by. The crowd began to depart, sensing an end to

the parade that would eventually make it's way to the Vatican. It was all the

urchin could do to turn his eyes away from the slim receding back.

****

Vatican City, two months later

****

He was bored. It should have been impossible in this brilliant new

country with so many different sights and sounds, but there it was. Boredom.

Most of the time was spent on his knees, praying to a God that he wasn't sure

he believed in anymore, the rest in boring discussions with the local ruling

families. It was like being at home without the comforts of home. No friends,

no lessons and no hoard of sisters to entertain.

The nights here even felt different. The darkness of home had a different

texture, he was sure. The food sat oddly in his stomach, thick and gooey

strands of pasta that seemed to pave his insides in muck. He missed the meals

of home, lighter and spicier. The herbs here were odd to, giving strange

flavors.

All in all, it made for yet another sleepless night spent in his given

room, buried deep in the sprawling local ruling family home. Tomorrow was

Sunday which meant extra praying and less talking. The paste in his stomach

rolled over.

"If there is a God he hates me." The Prince decided.

***

Three Floors above

***

"What news of the North then?"

"Just bits and pieces, lord. Consolidation continues. The invaders are

doing their jobs well." It was the urchin again, though now he looked more li

ke a beggar. A beggar who could easily be lost in the crowd, just another

faceless face.

"Full report?" The rotund ancient head of the clan held out his hand and

a sheaf of papers filled it. Tight woven script, decorated with pictures and

maps.

"All there." The beggar assured. "With detail."

"Good, good." The fat man mumbled, flipping through the pages. He could

not read. The papers were for others in the counsel, who needed to be

apprised of what was what.

"I can return there if you wish, but I feel that I have learned much of

what there is to know."

"No, no, no..." The elderly man tuttered. "I think I have another

assignment for you..."

"What is that, milord?"

"The royal family of Spain is here, as you know. There is some talk that

the queen and her entourage have come to do more then pay a trip to the

Vatican. There is talk of digging for a suitable man for one of her litter of

brats. Not to mention that little war that the Spanish. Rome must be kept

clear of further conflict. I'd like you to keep a close eye on the family."

"The family is well guarded, my liege." The beggar implied.

"The Prince, I think, needs a companion. Perhaps, you could provide that."

The beggar stared at the old man for a long hard minute.

"I will not take up the mantle of this house again." He ground out

finally.

"I have not asked you to do so. You will be the son of an old family

friend. Your time as a part of this house ended many years ago,"

****

The DiAngelo dinning room, dinner, the next day

****

The table was a long rectangular one that could seat thirty people

easily. This night, as it had been every night since the Spanish visitors

arrived, there was barely enough room for the servants to get by and serve

food. The Spanish courtesans who attended the queen were flattered with the

attention and readily told stories of their native land in broken Latin. The

Queen and her son, both seated at the head of the table with Father DiAngelo

and his children, were silent for vastly different reasons. The Queen because

she was listening, as she always listened and learning things to take home.

The Prince because he was absolutely bored.

"Your highness?" The Prince jerked his head up to find himself looking

down to the floor. Another noble come to be introduced no doubt.

"You may rise." He said mildly in Italian. The language was still

somewhat foreign to him, but thanks to his extensive training in Latin and

his own native tongue, it was easier to pick up then German and he was

already halfway fluent.

"This is, Giovanni, the son of Duke Farringo, your highness." Came the

voice of the venerable Father DiAngelo. " He has traveled a long way to tell

me some trivial news, but most likely now will stay a fortnight and help to

eat me out of house and home."

"I will do my best, sire." The teen said from the floor, a trace of

humor and irritation in his voice.

"Wonderful." The Prince said in his best court voice, ready to turn his

attention back to his plate.

Until the boy rose and it felt as if all the air and people had flown f

rom the room, leaving just the two of them. Brown eyes locked and a shiver

ran down the Prince's back so fast he hardly dared to breathe. It was as if

the world had altered subtly and there was no going back.

He found himself whispering.

"Do I know you, sirrah?"

"No, your highness. I do not think so. But I feel..."

The spell was broken by a large belch on the part of Father DiAngelo.

"Let's have some entertainment while we dine!" The old man called and

soon music started up to deafen.

In a huge breach of etiquette which luckily no one noticed, Giovanni

leaned down to talk into the Prince's ear.

"I was wondering if your highness has seen the country outside of the

city walls?"

The Prince mutely shook his head.

"In that case, I shall win permission to take you horseback tomorrow.

Will you come with me?"

Again the nod, a warm breath in a dark ear and the young man was gone

again, leaving the Prince to wish fervently for the morrow.

****

The day had been worth the short weight. With the combination of false

freedom and companionship, the Prince managed to forget the entourage of

guards who followed him and his new friend.

Together they talked about all manner of things from horses to politics.

It had been a long time since the Prince had had someone to talk to and he

had forgotten how pleasant it could be. Between them a bond was being formed

of words, but also of quick glances and just the slightest bit of tension.

Lord Giovanni was a distracted youth, the Prince decided. But somehow,

also acutely observant. Both extremes past during that first day and the

Prince was decidedly in favor of both.

The Prince was in turn being scrutinized. Giovanni was reminded of his

first thoughts regarding the Prince. The man was somewhat wild, like a falcon

who has been taught to hunt, but must be kept on a reign, lest it fly off

with prey and never return.

Together they began the slow ride back, reaching the gates of the

DiAngelo household by dusk.

"Would your highness be agreeable to another ride on the morrow?"

Inquired Giovanni lightly.

"Extremely. And please stop calling me your highness. It's distracting."

"What then should I call you?" A flash of humor in light brown eyes and

the beginning of a smile.

"Not my Christian name," Mused the Prince, " nor the name of my birth.

Call me as my sisters do and be like a brother to me. Call me Cyanide."

"I would be honored. And you must call me Gio."

They shook on it and even through thick riding gloves the contact caused

a shiver. There was something powerful between them, the Prince was sure. He

almost believed it might be God, showing up for the first time in his life.

The next week was much easier to endure then the first month of Rome had

been. The two roamed the countryside together nearly everyday after mass.

Soon the Prince became familiar with the land and found new things in it to

show Gio. He pointed out things about local animals that the young lord would

never have noticed had he lived here for the rest of his days.

For the most part, they avoided populated places, preferring the meadows

and fields. When they did pass through towns and the city, people fell to

their knees, breaking the spell and reminding the Prince of exactly who he

was. His lady mother would cast odd looks at him at the dinner table, where

he no longer sat subdued, but participated in the long winded talks.

It wasn't until the end of the week, Friday night, that things came to

their inevitable conclusion. They were riding home in silence now, the hooves

of the horses resounding on cobblestone. The guards were ten paces in front

and in back, leaving some privacy for their lord and his companion.

"Cyanide?" The light whisper broke the air.

"Yes, my friend?"

"Would you be adverse to spending more time with me?"

"Of course not! You are my only entertainment here." Cyanide affirmed

gaily, but all to aware that Gio was proposing something vastly different.

"At night....there are guards?"

"Two in front of my door."

****

The knock when it came was at the shutter of the rooms only window.

Cyanide rose from his bed, clasping his dressing room over his silk pajamas

and opened the wooden shades. A long lanky figure, wrapped in a cloak,

dropped to the floor in a crouch.

"You are here." The Prince said inanely. The hood was drawn back to

reveal his smiling friend and they were closer then they had ever dared to be

while the guards rode with them.

"Yes, And I ask you now, do you believe in God?" It was the question

neither had dared discuss. Not in this most holy of places. Cyanide sucked in

a breath and exhaled slowly.

"You know I do not."

"And neither do I. Which means this isn't wrong."

Gio pressed his body close, generating heat and shyly the Prince kissed

his friend, enjoying the warmth that poured through his body. Together they

moved towards the thick mattress and coverall, dispatching of clothes. They

were twinned then, the bond between them full and thick as Gio lay beneath

his prince and accepted everything given to him.

The Prince was a master of animals and the human being was no exception.

He rode his friend with all the skill he possessed, coaxing him to new

heights as the evening waned into the earliest morning. They rocked against

each other, locked against the new day, entwined in a glorious dance. When at

the very last, the Prince slept, Gio pressed a kiss on his sweaty brow and

whispered low,

"I love you since before and after and now. We will meet again."

"S'pretty." The Prince muttered, half-asleep. "Did you make it up?"

"It just came to me. Sleep now, love."

Whatever the odd words meant, they became ritual. For the six months that

the Prince spent in Vatican City, he spent the days praying, eating, talking

and sneaking away for country rides. His nights were spent in much more

exciting way, memorizing the body of his lover. It seemed that Gio had no end

of resource when it came to entering the Prince's chambers and would often

surprise him by showing up in unexpected places.

"Love, you must stop doing this to me. I will keel over in shock soon

enough."

Gio only shrugged as he shimmied out from under the bed.

"It's either this or both our beds are cold this night. They have boarded

up your windows to keep the winter chill from bothering your delicate skin."

The Prince snorted.

"They must think Spain is a paradise. We have our winters, though they

may be more mild then this."

"Come, let me warm you, sire."

"If you insist, sir."

And afterwards.

"I love you since before and after and now. We will meet again."

"I love you too, now shut up, so I can sleep."

*****

1631, the docks outside of Rome

*****

They had truly said their last good-byes the night before. It has seemed

as though the Spanish entourage would have stayed forever, but only a year

had been allowed for the pilgrimage and the time to leave had come.

The Prince wished in his deepest heart of hearts to stay here and remove

the mantle of power that lived with him and instead, remain with Gio. He knew

now, what the man truly was: A spy for the family powers, himself the outcast

sun of Father DiAngelo. It didn't matter to him anymore. He would simply

miss his friend and lover, more deeply then sorrow.

"My son, please help me onto the ship and then make your final good-byes,

please. Remember that Father DiAngelo gave you that lovely dagger."

"Yes, Mother."

He helped his Mother on board, then returned to where the DiAngelo's

stood arrayed. With one important member missing. He shook hands and said all

the right things, all the while his heart breaking for one last...

"Good-bye, love." Gio was there suddenly, at the end of the line and

whispering to him. "Remember always: We will meet again."

****

The Spanish Coast 1638

****

The King continued his flight for what seemed like days, but was most

likely only a matter of minutes. Finally, he reached a place where the

cliffs jutted over the sea and there was no where left to run to. That's

when he began to scream. The guards who followed him heard it, though they

were several miles away.

It ricocheted through the cliffs, echoing back the cry of pure pain. Slow

ly, the noise died and became a mourning song, one the King had learned at

his mother's knee. The keening wail of the music brought tears to the eyes of

his bodyguards and slowed there horses. They say that is why they could not

make it to stop the King from plunging to his death.

Plunge he did, falling the four hundred feet to the ocean below, his body

washed to sea. His nephew got the crown and his grave was empty of a body.

****

Same Day, Italy

****

There was a prison in the bowels of the church, though Gio could not

imagine how they were built in secret. The town was small and must have heard

the work that went into the creation of torture. Maybe they knew and did not

care.

For countless days now, he had been kept here below the earth and knew

with certainty that every one was his last. Today was no exception. His body

was riddled with cuts and bruises from the men who attempted to wrench

information from his weakened frame. This was his end, one he had expected to

meet eventually. Caught at last and soon to be ended, he had nothing of value

to tell and knew that that meant his last breath drew near.

Each day was more then physical torture, but the mental as well. He felt

the pain in his mind that his lover, thousands of miles and seven years

separating them were no matter, was dying each day with no news. For seven

years they had kept correspondence. Every three months he sent a letter,

every six he would receive one. Only fourteen precious packets that he kept

close to his heart, pouring over each one when he was alone in the night.

These, at least, he had managed to throw into the fire before being dragged

to this hell.

"We will meet again." He had said it countless times, but meant it each

and every one. Deep down, where he could still believe in the infinite

kindness of the angry One God, he knew that he had met his King before and

that one day, they would find each other again. Countless times until they

had what they craved: a lifetime together.

Steps on the stairs and whispered voices, Gio thought, they are coming

soon and today they will kill me. Today they will end it.

Please God.

His screams came in time with those half an ocean away, but his did not

end. They went on and on in the buried labyrinth until at last he died from

the sheer exhaustion of pain. In the end, he could not remember anything.

Only the vague feeling that the end had come at last and perhaps, all would

soon be well again.

*************