The Emancipation of Josef Kostan (part 3 of 3, PG-13, J)

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redwinter101
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The Emancipation of Josef Kostan (part 3 of 3, PG-13, J)

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Title: The Emancipation of Josef Kostan, part 3
Author: redwinter101
Rating: PG-13/slash
Disclaimer: I don't own Moonlight or any of its characters
Note: Nothing really - I just hope you like it!

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--- The Emancipation of Josef Kostan ---


Paris, March 1661

His body was not even cold and the legends were already being written. Cardinal Jules Mazarin, Chief Minister of France, right hand of Louis XIV, was dead. Apparently he had been propped up in his chair, aware of his looming and inevitable demise, still signing proclamations right up to the end and it was only when the pen slipped from his hand that his attendants realised he had died.

A tall tale, Giuseppe thought. Mazarin was far more likely to have been ensuring that his wealth and power were distributed according to his wishes than wasting time on matters of state that would be undone as soon as his body was stiff.

Their final meeting had been both moving and revealing and Giuseppe was still pondering the words of counsel his mentor had imparted. In all the years Mazarin had controlled the machinations of the French state since taking over from his own mentor, Richelieu, he had never had a moment's peace. The quest for power, for ultimate control, for the elimination of all dissent, had left him with enemies too numerous to mention. That, he had said, was the problem with absolute power: it meant everyone else had a reason to hate you. Born Giulio Mazzarino, he had remade himself into the ultimate French subject; he had accumulated riches beyond reason and then squandered his talents on the quest for political supremacy. Too late he had realised that too much power was never enough and had urged Giuseppe not to make the same mistake.

Giuseppe had no intention of following the Cardinal's path. Devoting his significant energies to the well-being of another, even if in this case it was no less than the King of France, seemed wasteful in the extreme. And he most assuredly could not see a future within the Church; the mere thought made him shudder. Without Mazarin's influential protection, he would find doors starting to close to him. There was discord in the fetid air at court; revolt was rife and it was definitely time to be moving on. The Cardinal has ensured that his protégé was well provided for. He had riches beyond his dreams and letters of introduction to noblemen across Europe; he could go anywhere, do anything, be anyone.

Yet there was still the pull of home. He thought he had broken those shackles long ago but they reared up to confront him with wearying regularity; he was disappointed and a little bewildered at his own need to belong. He wanted to be Giuseppe Costanza, citizen of the world, but there was still a bond that he had to break.

Mazarin's was not the only death that night and the other was even more significant to Giuseppe: his brother, Paolo, his last direct link to the family line and the last excuse for avoiding the city of his birth. It was definitely time for the prodigal to return.

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

Rome, 17 July 1661

Giuseppe arrived in Rome, preceded by his reputation. He had been sure to send ahead to secure appropriate lodgings and put those letters of introduction to good use. There was no-one of note in the city to whom his name would have meant anything as a Roman; but as a confidant of Mazarin, he was a man to be reckoned with, albeit a man of indeterminate means. That is to say he was wealthy and well-connected enough to ensure entry into the higher echelons of Roman society but no-one was precisely sure where his wealth came from. He liked it. An air of mystery added so much to one's enjoyment of life's little pleasures.

On reaching the city confines, everything was instantly familiar: the smell, the throb, the noise, the feel, the heart of this magnificent city. He felt like a traveller completing a Grand Tour, yearning for the chance to lay down in a familiar bed, with family and friends close at hand and a well-ordered world surrounding him. He couldn't help but be disappointed that he still felt it so keenly. After all he had seen and done, this place still held dominion over him, like a parent over a child.

The palazzo that he had secured was in the most fashionable part of the city. Recently vacated by a fleeing nobleman, caught in the wrong bed by his wife's angry kinsmen, it was lavishly attired, with plenty of rooms to house his entourage and to welcome the inevitable curious guests; and it had a wonderful cellar. He had brought his four French girls with him, at considerable expense, because he had not lived in this city as a vampire; he had no contacts, no suppliers and no desire to draw unnecessary attention to himself. With a little good fortune, he would not remain here long enough for it to be a problem.

Even as he rode up to the entrance, he could feel curious eyes on him. Dismounting, he swept into the main hallway, issuing instructions as he went, ensuring that the resident staff knew immediately that there was a new master at hand. He surveyed the main drawing room with pleasure. Rich tapestries hung from two walls, one an unidentifiable biblical scene of little interest, the other an exotic Persian tableau, filled with mystery and wonder. While his family home was by no means impoverished, neither was it luxurious and he was struck by how far he had travelled since his first leaving of this city. The private courtyard to the rear was lush and cool, the gentle trickle of the fountain, an oasis against the heat of the rising sun. Oh yes, this would do very nicely. Turning on his heel, he almost fell over the chamberlain who hovered nervously and perilously close, awaiting orders.

"Welcome, sir. All the advance preparations you instructed have been made. I hope you find everything to your liking." A small bow that he held, waiting for Giuseppe to speak.

"Everything seems perfectly acceptable, except that I already have one shadow. I really don't need another. For God's sake man stand up straight and take a few paces back. Now what's your name?"

"Vincenzo, sir."

"Well, Vincenzo, your first priority is to see my ladies settled and rested. They are new to this city and I am entrusting their contentment to you. Whatever they need you are to ensure they have it. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." Vincenzo was not so old that he didn't relish the prospect. He had been given worse assignments. "There are some communications for you, sir." The proffered tray held three pieces of correspondence, each sealed with its own ornate crest.

"Thank you, Vincenzo. That will be all. For now. But don't go far."

The first letter held the news he had been hoping for. It was a response to one of his letters of introduction and an invitation to a private viewing at the Villa Borghese. A soft smile; sweet memories of another place and another time.

The remaining two letters were invitations to society gatherings, one that very evening, the other seven days hence. He hoped that he would have left Rome within the week but the first invitation was interesting enough to tempt him. A Vatican banker no less, with close ties of commerce and family to the Medicis. Now that was a useful contact. Although he was tired after the long journey, he would definitely attend. The appropriate instructions were given to Vincenzo and Giuseppe's thoughts turned to rest. It should be an interesting evening.


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


His years at the French court had given Giuseppe an enviable ability to make an entrance and his skills did not desert him that evening. He arrived at the mansion late into the evening when the party was well under way and swept into the ballroom, Solange on one arm, cloak swirled over the other, making just enough show to draw the eyes of the other guests, then pausing at the top of the sweeping staircase like a performer awaiting his audience's attention. It worked, of course, and all eyes were on him by the time he reached the throng below.

He could hear the whispers, familiar cadences, welcome after years of Francophone sing-song, mingling with the other sounds in the room; the crystal sound of wealth and influence: cold, transparent and fragile.

"Who's that?"

"Costanza."

"Who?"

"Don't know about the girl."

"Mazarin's pup."

"He's not wasting any time."

"Who?"

"He's only a boy."

This last comment caused Giuseppe to snap his head round to glare at the speaker. There were times when he knew that his youthful looks were a considerable hindrance. He knew what they were thinking. How could one so young have made such influential and powerful friends? Well, it only added to the intrigue; he was sure he could start a convincing rumour about being Mazarin's illegitimate son without too much effort. He started a circuit of the room, picking out the high stakes players with practised ease. A snippet of conversation here, a compliment on the lady's finery there, the rituals and routines of politesse. Giuseppe should have been enjoying himself but he felt strangely absent and disengaged. The wine tasted bitter, the music stale and the dancing stilted. This was a new room, a new challenge but he had no appetite for it; he was all in favour of decadence for its own sake but there was an incestuousness here that he had never noticed before. It festered like a burr under a saddle, itching away at him. There was no point to this soiree except to see and be seen, no deals to be done, no favours to be gained; the fluctuations of power in this city were so clearly defined by wealth and Vatican politics that everything else was just amusement for the bored and feckless.

He dragged Solange away from the enticing sweetmeats and strode down the centre of the ballroom, heading for the staircase. He realised that he would actually cause more of a stir by leaving so soon after his arrival, giving the gossips more to chew over. He had thought he would be in his element here; instead all he got was affirmation that Rome was no longer alive for him. Home, rest, nourishment, perhaps a dalliance with Solange, that was what he craved now.

As their carriage made its way through the tight streets towards the palazzo, his mind raced, calculating options, and by the time they arrived his mind was made up, his course of action set.


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


Rome, 18 July 1661

It was early evening when he arrived at the Villa Borghese. Much had changed in the nearly 50 years since his last visit but he still remembered the sense of awe and trepidation of that hot summer's day. This was no longer a home but was now solely devoted to the glorification of art and landscape. As he climbed the main staircase to the entrance, he was struck by how much smaller everything looked; maybe it was the influence of the grand palaces he had seen in the intervening years or perhaps just the deceptive memories of a child that made it seem less than he recalled.

He was greeted and shown through to the main reception room to be met by a functionary; the latest Borghese would not be attending personally, with regret. Josef was irked but it was not the man he had come to see. He accepted the offer of a private tour, with a request that they save the Cardinal's study for last.

There were many wonders to appreciate here and although Giuseppe was filled with restless anticipation, he enjoyed the opportunity to view the grand collection. It was a marvellous tribute to the genius that his countrymen, and others, had produced from the Renaissance to the present day. Bernini's wondrous sculptures, including one of the old Cardinal himself, Titian, Lorenzo Lotto, Correggio, Raphael, the list went on and Giuseppe revelled in the artistry and elegance. Borghese certainly had the eye of a true devotee; there was nothing here that spoke of fad or fashion, just a love for the beauty that he had to rely on others to create.

Finally, they reached the study and the guide threw the door open with a flourish. Giuseppe stepped in and breathed deeply, as though the works themselves would conjure the scent of their creator. Caravaggio had long since fallen out of fashion with all but the most ardent scholars but Borghese had left instructions that the four paintings were not to be moved from his study under any circumstances; and Giuseppe loved him for it. They belonged here sharing the room with the sense memories of the man who loved both the paintings and the painter.

Giuseppe stepped forward towards the "David". Its ability to shock had not been dulled by time, by experience or by personal acquaintance with Goliath; Giuseppe was mesmerised and horror-struck once again, just as he had been all those years ago. As he had involuntarily moved forward, he now found himself forced to take a step back, such was its power. The other three paintings were of a similar calibre and while he could appreciate the skill, the beautiful light work, the evocation of setting, the humanity of the characters, it was this one painting that kept drawing him back. Eventually, he became aware of the slightly petulant sighs of the guide. He turned to face him.

"Am I keeping you from something?"

"I'm sorry, sir, it is just that we are preparing that space," he motioned to a blank space on a side wall, "for a new acquisition. A recently authenticated Caravaggio to add to the collection in this room. It is due to be hung this evening."

"What is the painting?"

"It is called 'The Street Fighters'".

"I don't know it. Could I stay and watch the hanging?"

"Certainly, sir. May I leave you a moment while I tell the artigiano to get started?"

"Of course, of course." With a waft of his hand, Giuseppe dismissed the man and turned his attentions to the rest of the room. There, in a display case on top of the credenza, was the crucifix that had been the cause of his first and only meeting with Scipione Borghese. It was just as beautiful as he remembered; his father's artistry was breathtaking. A small, wry smile as he examined the commemorative scudo placed next to it, an indicator of the craftsman who had created this memorable piece. His father's bloodline may be dead, but something of him would live on in his work.

The bustle behind him signalled the hanging ceremony was about to commence and Giuseppe moved to inspect this new work. Caravaggio was well-known for only ever signing one of his works and authentication was tricky and often time-consuming and Giuseppe wondered idly who had performed the task as he moved towards the painting.

A gasp was followed by a long, deep chuckle that turned into a hearty guffaw. There was no doubt that this was a genuine Caravaggio but the provenance must be truly suspect as it had been painted long after his death. Giuseppe turned to leave, still laughing, leaving the officials confused and shrugging. They had not expected a canvas as bloody and violent to induce such a reaction. If they had taken a moment to look closer, they would have realised the cause of Giuseppe's mirth: the faces of the two brawlers. One was unmistakably Caravaggio; the other was Giuseppe Costanza.


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


Rome, 21 July 1661

Having concluded his business in the city and finalised his affairs at the palazzo, Giuseppe had one final pilgrimage to make and then his observances would be complete.

It was past dusk by the time he arrived, mounted and alone, at the Costanza residence and workshop, now abandoned and awaiting a buyer. It was a valuable plot of land, with easy access to supply routes, fresh water and the main thoroughfare into the city. It would fetch a good price. He had arranged to meet the agent engaged by a distant relative, and he was running late, but it had taken longer than expected to arrange for transport back to France for the four freshies, to pay off his household staff and separate out the belongings that he wished to carry with him. Everything else of value was deposited with his new-found banker with strict instructions on how to transfer it to his destination. Wherever that might be.

He called for attention and a servant came to see to his horse, motioning him towards the house where he presumed the agent was waiting. He paused in the courtyard to assess the changes since his last visit. In truth, there were not many. Wandering into the workroom, all was neatly ordered, tools oiled and carefully stowed it was almost as though he had just walked out, aged fourteen, on his way to his first meeting with his father. He closed his eyes and remembered that day once more; the pride mixed with fear in his father's voice as they set off; his own excitement. He took one final look around and left, closing the door firmly behind him.

The agent was irritated and doing his best not to show it. If this visit were purely speculative then he would have a late-night trip back into the city along increasingly dangerous roads for nothing. With a heavy sigh, he extended his hand and made his introductions. Giuseppe shook his hand and got straight down to business.

"How much for the whole plot plus all the contents?" He stared straight at the agent to ensure that his intentions were understood to be serious.

Flustered, the agent quoted a price that Giuseppe knew was exorbitant. He didn't care.

"Deal." He retrieved his money purse from within the folds of his cloak and counted out the agreed fee there and then while the agent flapped his mouth like a landed pike.

"There is an additional fee there for one final service."

"Certainly. Name your command, sir."

"Raze it. Nothing is to be left standing. Donate the land to the poor house of your choice. And lest you consider re-selling any items from the property, I shall know if my wishes are not carried out."

"Of course, sir."

Giuseppe re-mounted and turned the horse northwards. He had had so many new beginnings in his long life but generally forced through circumstance or imminent discovery. This was different. This was his choice, his final valediction to his old life. He shook the last of the Roman dust from his shoes and prepared to head off. The ancient maps denoted uncharted territories with the legend "Here be dragons." Well so be it.

The agent called after him, "I didn't get your name, sir."

Thoughts of Mazarin returned. Giulio Mazzarino had become Jules Mazarin and in doing so had remade himself. Time to decide who he was going to be because Giuseppe Costanza was no more.

He kicked his horse into action, his voice trailing behind him as he headed off to new horizons.

"It's Kostan. Josef Kostan."
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Re: The Emancipation of Josef Kostan (part 3 of 3, PG-13, J)

Post by darkstarrising »

And so come to understand the 'emancipation' aspect of the story (I'm a little slow). Giuseppe has been away from Rome for years, yet is drawn back to his home. Once there, however, he sees his plans for himself shrivel before him. The city is dead to him, as much as his family is and it is time for him to re-invent himself for the first time. The past holds him no more, and Josef is willing to take all the world has to offer.

And he will.

Thanks, red, for this view of how the man we know as Josef Kostan came into being.
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Re: The Emancipation of Josef Kostan (part 3 of 3, PG-13, J)

Post by redwinter101 »

Thanks, dsr. This was such a fun story to write - I'm glad you enjoyed it.

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Re: The Emancipation of Josef Kostan (part 3 of 3, PG-13, J)

Post by Phoenix »

Giuseppe re-mounted and turned the horse northwards. He had had so many new beginnings in his long life but generally forced through circumstance or imminent discovery. This was different. This was his choice, his final valediction to his old life. He shook the last of the Roman dust from his shoes and prepared to head off. The ancient maps denoted uncharted territories with the legend "Here be dragons." Well so be it.
I just love that on so many levels...
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Re: The Emancipation of Josef Kostan (part 3 of 3, PG-13, J)

Post by redwinter101 »

:teeth:

Thanks, Phoenix.

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Re: The Emancipation of Josef Kostan (part 3 of 3, PG-13, J)

Post by librarian_7 »

Hmmm. The vampire has to re-invent himself endlessly...that's one of the curses of living so long, while remaining outwardly unchanged. But the inward changes take their own toll, in rootlessness...

I've always wondered why the ML vampires lost the tie to native ground that figures in so many vampire mythologies, but perhaps it was meant to emphasize the loneliness of immortality, the disconnect from humanity.

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Re: The Emancipation of Josef Kostan (part 3 of 3, PG-13, J)

Post by redwinter101 »

librarian_7 wrote:But the inward changes take their own toll, in rootlessness...
ITA - and some, like Josef, seem to revel in it, whereas others, like Mick, seem to try to recreate 'home' in as many ways as possible.

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Re: The Emancipation of Josef Kostan (part 3 of 3, PG-13, J)

Post by allegrita »

Although Giuseppe didn't intend to stay long in Rome, he did seem surprised and somewhat dismayed to find that he no longer felt any sense of belonging there. You can never really go back to a place you've left behind, and recapture the feeling you had before. (Just ask Thomas Wolfe.) :laugh: I've had that feeling myself, wandering through a familiar scene that's filled with people I don't know, feeling like a ghost haunting the place. How much more eerie must that feeling be for a vampire, whose memories can be of a time long passed - of people who are dust? But rather than being disheartened by that feeling, Giuseppe seems to have been invigorated by it. And in selling and destroying his father's business, he broke that last tie to his human life and was free to embark on a new journey, free of any fetters to his humanity.

I love the scene at the Villa Borghese. How deliciously ironic that the paintings Caraveggio did as a human were joined by one he had done as a vampire - and featuring our hero in a co-starring role! Giuseppe saw his life and his unlife staring at each other across the Cardinal's study... and somehow I think that seeing the undead Caraveggio's painting freed him in a way, just as his night of exploration with the Master himself so many years ago had freed him from the confines of human-style sexuality. Caraveggio truly did inspire Giuseppe, even though they met only once.

And so Giuseppe became Josef, and went riding off to find out what was on the parts of the map that hadn't been drawn yet. He went off to slay dragons. Or maybe to become one... :brow:
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Re: The Emancipation of Josef Kostan (part 3 of 3, PG-13, J)

Post by redwinter101 »

allegrita wrote:You can never really go back to a place you've left behind, and recapture the feeling you had before.
I wanted this to be the key lesson Josef learned - and learned early in his vampire life - because that's the character I saw in the show. Forward-looking, determined, still shocked at the ability of love to give him pause, but pressing on, all the while wishing Mick would do the same. I'm not sure if he actually achieved all those things, but I certainly think that's the persona he created for himself - and this was my imagining of how and where it all began.

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