Chapter 14
The Spanish Steps Lead to a Sinking Ship
Meanwhile, in Piazza Trinità dei Monti
For all of five minutes, neither David nor Vittoria said a word. The air between them crackled with a sort of energy that could only be described as invigorating in the worst possible way.
Vittoria glanced up at the Obelisco Sallustiano, a Roman obelisk made to imitate those in Egypt and erected directly in front of the doors to the Chiesa della Santissima Trinità dei Monti. Even its hieroglyphic inscription was copied from another obelisk.
“I can only imagine what you’d like to do with that should you be able to lift it,” David commented dryly.
Blinking in confusion, Vittoria allowed her gaze to go from the bottom to the peak of the structure, her attention lingering on the cross that crowned a fleur-de-lis at the very top. “I do not know of what you speak,” she claimed.
“Impale me with it?” he hinted, remembering what the statue of Apollo had done to Don Luciano the night before.
She gave him a quelling glance. “I would not do so with a cross,” she countered. Her eyes narrowed. “Are you quite sure you don’t require a confessional?” she added. She and David followed the others in their party into the Catholic church for which the plaza was named.
David countered her quelling glance with one of his own.
“I am happy to wait outside should you wish to unburden yourself,” he countered, his gaze taking in the interior of the late Renaissance church.
Knowing the structure had been home to Minim Friars for most of its existence, he expected to see more of a French influence in its interior.
He also knew Napoleon had it looted of its original decorations, though.
The Bourbons had restored it nearly a quarter of a century ago, and although it was quite beautiful, it struck him odd that the ceiling was entirely white.
When Vittoria didn’t provide a reply to his last comment about waiting while she went to a confessional, he glanced in her direction. He suddenly regretted his words, for she appeared to be on the verge of tears. “Apologies. That was unkind of me,” he said.
“I thought it rather knightly,” she countered.
Blinking, David struggled to sort her meaning. “Knightly?” he repeated.
She nodded. “Chivalrous,” she stated, pronouncing the word slowly in her Italian-accented English.
“Oh,” he replied. “Then... I will wait for you. There is certainly much to see in here, if we’re allowed to linger,” he added.
She shrugged and lifted a handkerchief to the edge of one eye. “I am not sure why, but I always have the urge to cry when I come here.”
“Well, it is beautiful,” he said. As far as churches were concerned, he had been in a number of them during their Grand Tour.
None stood out as particularly jaw-dropping, although he was looking forward to the Church of St. John on Malta.
They planned to stop in Valletta on the way back to England to see the co-cathedral’s art and its exquisite Baroque interior.
“But it is not the most beautiful of all the churches in Rome,” she said in a whisper. “Wait until you see St. Peter’s Basilica.”
The two gave a start when they realized someone was directly behind them.
“Are we ready to descend the steps?” Donald asked in a hoarse whisper.
David glanced over his shoulder at his brother, surprised to discover the rest of their party were already making their way out of the church and down its double staircase. “The Spanish Steps?” he asked.
“Indeed,” Nicoletta said happily. “But first allow me to show you where your English poet John Keats lived,” she added, pointing to a house to her left. “He died there, too, when I was a young girl.”
“I admit I am not terribly familiar with his works,” Barbara said.
“That’s because you and I were recently married and busy with two boys and the farm,” Will reminded her.
“How many steps are there?” Barbara asked as they made their way across the piazza. She stopped short upon seeing the terraced stairs leading down to a fountain. “Oh!” The steep decline from the double staircase in front of the church to the terraced steps below resulted in momentary vertigo.
“One-hundred-and-thirty-five,” Donald stated.
“My knees are already causing me pain,” Will quipped, but he led Barbara down the first set of stairs, pausing at the landing to allow the others to join them.
“The view from here is quite spectacular,” Diana breathed.
“Because you want to dig it up?” Randy asked, grinning.
She directed a grimace at him and shook her head. “It feels as if it’s already been dug up and is on display,” she said happily, bouncing down the stairs as she held onto her husband’s arm.
Tom and Helen joined them, the younger couple serpentining their way down to the Piazza di Spagna in an effort to avoid the stairs that had been damaged or were crumbling from the effects of time.
“Shall we?” David asked, glad Vittoria once again threaded her arm through his. He couldn’t imagine how she would be able to descend so many stairs given the bell-skirted gown she wore. “I promise to catch you should you stumble. These stairs are not in very good condition.”
“I will be fine,” she replied, “but I do prefer climbing them instead of going down them.”
“Won’t we be doing that later?” he asked, glancing back to see how far down they had come from the church.
She gave him a quelling glance. “Nicoletta has carriages following us for a reason. We’ll walk all the way to the Pantheon, but we’ll be riding home.”
He chuckled softly as he led them down a path of stairs that were mostly intact. “Such a shame they are so damaged.”
“That’s because they’re French,” she replied with derision.
“What?” David scoffed softly.
“The Bourbons had them built. They’ve been here since seventeen-twenty-five,” she explained.
“Well, I think their age has something to do with their condition,” he countered. “Tell me about what we’re heading towards,” he added, lifting his chin to indicate the fountain below them.
“That is the Fontana della Barcaccia,” Vittoria replied.
“It’s shaped like a boat,” David remarked.
“Indeed. Papa told me it was designed by Pietro Bernini—”
“The pope’s architect for the Acqua Vergine?” David interrupted.
“The very same,” she replied, her arched brow indicating she was impressed he knew of the aqueduct that fed several fountains in Rome. “He designed it in honor of a boat that was left shipwrecked here in the piazza when the Tiber flooded in fifteen ninety-eight.”
David glanced in the direction he thought the river might be and frowned. “That must have been some flood,” he murmured.
When they finally reached the Piazza di Spagna, David rushed them to the edge of the fountain.
For the briefest of moments, he once again imagined Vittoria in the structure, wet but for her head.
For some reason, the idea of her in a sinking boat had him realizing he would go in after her.
Save her from drowning, for surely her gown and petticoats would drag her under the surface.
“If I remember my readings about the aqueduct, the fountains along it are all gravity-fed,” he mused.
Vittoria appeared confused. “Gravity-fed?” she repeated, shaking her head slightly.
“Oh, the, uh, the water in the aqueduct is essentially running downhill, which means these fountains are able to spout their water simply due to gravity.” He glanced around. “The next fountain on the line is probably in that direction,” he said, pointing toward the south.
“We’re headed there next,” Donald said, joining his brother. Nicoletta stepped up alongside him, a small flask held in one gloved hand. “The water here is drinkable if you’re thirsty,” she said.
“Really?” David asked in awe.
“Most of the fountains feature fresh water,” Donald said. He held out his own flask and David took a sip while Vittoria saw to filling her own. The silver mensa had obviously been in her pocket, for she didn’t carry a reticule.
“Very refreshing,” David remarked.
“Even more so if you douse yourself in it,” Vittoria teased.
David blinked. “Careful, my lady, or you shall be taking your second bath of the day,” he warned, although his grin was wide.
Vittoria’s eyes rounded. “How is it you know I took one already?”
Seeing her shock had David smirking. “I could say it was a lucky guess, but you smell of lemons and something lightly floral,” he murmured, only loud enough for her to hear.
Inhaling softly, Vittoria turned away from him before her blush was evident.
“We had best be on our way,” Nicoletta said. “The next fountain we’ll see is my favorite of all.”
“Mine, too,” Donald said, offering her his arm as he surreptitiously bussed her on the cheek.
Shrieks of delight had them turning to see their cousins splashing water on each other and on Will and Barbara.
“The sooner the better,” David said.
Chuckling, the four of them led the others out of the piazza and in a southerly direction.
“Downhill all the way,” Vittoria murmured.
When David glanced in her direction, he saw she displayed a pleasant expression. Something about seeing her happy seemed to put him in a much better mood.
He had come to realize he really didn’t like a shrew.