The Burden of Choice (Second Son Chronicles Book 9), page 15
“That should work. As for the fresh clothes, I have one change of clothes in my satchel, but there are other items in there that I can’t risk losing so I don’t want to leave it unattended. Can you arrange that?”
“Leave it to me.” I follow her to the door where she calls for her steward. “Alphonse, this is my cousin.” She makes for the staircase, the steward close at her side, as I bring up the rear. “I’m going to put him in the big corner room on the first floor. He’s had a long ride, and I’m sure I don’t have to tell you he’s in need of a bath.” At the top of the stairs she turns left. “And maybe you could get the servant to trim his beard and hair – tidy things up a bit.” She opens the last door on the right, and we enter a spacious bedchamber. I lay my satchel on the bed and walk to the window, which overlooks the magnificent gardens at the back of the manor. “Oh, and Alphonse,” she drops her voice conspiratorially, “my cousin’s always been a bit of an eccentric. Prefers simple clothing and simple food. His family’s always chided him for not dressing well, but it’s just his way, so don’t be put off by whatever he chooses to wear.”
“Of course, my lady. Now, with your permission, I’ll go get things underway . . . and see to his horse. May I ask . . . is riding bareback another of his eccentricities?”
I come to Lucia’s rescue. “No, my good man, just an unfortunate bit of bad luck. I stupidly chose to have my horse swim across a river rather than going the extra mile to the bridge. The cinch broke midstream and I slid off the horse. Then I had to choose between catching up to my horse or trying to get to the saddle that was quickly washing downriver.”
“Ah, I see,” says the steward and makes his exit.
“Get your clothes out of the satchel, then give it to me,” says Lucia. “I’ll take it up to my apartment where I can hide it away.” My task completed, she hugs the satchel to her chest and makes for the door. “When you’ve freshened up, join me in the garden. We can speak freely there without being overheard.”
A half hour later – clean for the first time in over a week and with my beard neatly trimmed and hair properly combed, though a bit longer than I usually wear it – I find Lucia reading a book in a little pavilion at the center of the garden. “I must say, you look ever so much better.” She closes the book and sets it aside. “You know . . . if someone didn’t know you well, they’d be hard-pressed to be certain who you are, in those clothes and with the beard.”
“You should see my imitation of an old man who’s hard of hearing and doesn’t get around as fast as he used to.”
“Well, it’s served you well if it’s gotten you here in secrecy. Gwen’s missive did say secrecy was essential. And I’ve burned her message, just in case you were wondering. So . . . tell me what this is all about and how I can help.”
It takes most of an hour for me to bring her into the picture on the state of the war, what I’ve decided I must do, and how she can help me. Her expression grows first sad and then seriously determined as she listens. When I finish, she’s silent at first, but it’s clear she’s thinking things through.
“It sounds like there’s no time to lose, so we should leave tomorrow.”
“Can you be ready so soon?”
“We’ll leave just after the midday meal. That will give me time to pack and make the arrangements. We’ll take the small carriage – it’s not as comfortable as the large one, but with four horses pulling it, we can travel much more quickly. And my coachman will know where we can change horses so we can keep moving without having to worry about overtaxing the animals. The story that you brought an urgent message gives us all the reason we need to travel fast. And your being my cousin is a much better explanation for you to be traveling inside the carriage than the notion of a manservant being allowed to do so.
“That takes care of getting there. And when we arrive, I’ll summon my cousin, the cardinal, straightaway. I don’t really know why, but I have a feeling he’ll be able to help us with more than just arranging the audience. Of course, you’ll have to have much nicer clothes for the audience. You have to be dressed as a king.”
“But I don’t have time to wait for a tailor to make something suitable. I have a crown in my satchel and that will just have to suffice.”
“Hmmm . . . it’s a shame I gave away all of Charles’s clothes. On the other hand, they were really much too flamboyant for you and for such a serious business. But I may have another solution. We’ll have supper in the small sitting room in my apartment – the double doors to the left at the top of the second staircase. I should know by then if my idea will work. In the meantime, amuse yourself here in the gardens or walking around the grounds or perusing my little library. It’s the door just opposite the room where you were first shown in.”
“There’s one thing I’d really like to do.”
“Oh?”
“Do you think Alphonse could find me some carrots and show me to the stable? That horse I rode in was just an ordinary mare I bought in a village stable, but we seemed to form some sort of connection. I’d like to thank her for getting me here quickly before I leave her in her new home.”
“Of course.”
“And, Lucia . . . see that she’s not misused. She has a really uncomfortable trot, but the rest of her gaits are nice and she’s remarkably willing.”
“You can count on it, Alfred.”
When I join Lucia for supper, there’s a rather elegant set of clothing arrayed on her bed. “Where on earth did you come up with that?”
She laughs softly. “Well, it isn’t quite as fine as it looks, but I think it might just do – if it fits.” She holds the shirt up to my back, checking the width of the shoulders, then holds the trousers to my waist. “You might have to cinch them up a little. And they’re definitely a bit short, but since they’ll be tucked into your boots, I don’t think there’ll be a problem.”
“So where on earth did you come up with this?” I ask again.
“There’s a troupe of mummers who play here and in the village rather frequently in the summer. One of their plays features a bumbling aristocrat who gets a lot of laughs. Earlier in the summer, they lost a couple of their members to a different troupe. They asked if they could leave their trunks of costumes and props here until they found some new actors or got their plays reworked for the smaller group.”
“Fortune certainly seems to be favoring this venture . . . so far, at least.”
“Now, let’s go in to supper. It’ll just be potage and bread. Simple fare for my eccentric cousin.” She laughs and leads the way into the sitting room.
On the journey to Rome, we spend the nights in remote country inns – one night we even sleep in the carriage – to avoid Teuton spies. When we reach the Eternal City, Lucia takes rather sumptuous lodgings in a large house just across the river from the Castel Sant’Angelo. We have the entire first floor to ourselves. “Quite grand,” I tell her when our host leaves after showing us around. “Unfortunately, what little money I brought with me was spent on my horse. I’ve only a couple of plain coins to contribute.”
“Come now, Alfred. I’m a very wealthy woman. With my husband’s fortune, my mother’s, Charles’s personal fortune, and the income from the duchy . . . I can easily afford for us to stay here in comfort.”
She wastes no time sending a message to the cardinal, nor, it seems, does he, arriving less than half an hour later. The moment he walks through the sitting room door with his arms outstretched, Lucia brightens and calls out “Uncle Lorenzo!” as she hurries into his embrace.
“Bambina mia!” He breaks the embrace and holds her at arm’s length. “You are more lovely than ever. And it has been far too long since you were last here.” She seems about to offer some comment, but he waves her off. “Oh, I know it has only been two years, but at my age . . .”
Judging by the gray in his hair and the lines around his eyes, I would guess he’s well into his sixth decade. But he stands straight and tall, with no hint of an old man’s posture or halting movement. His countenance, however, is his most striking feature. Rarely have I seen such an expression of utter kindness and benevolence.
“And you have a guest,” he says to Lucia.
“All in good time, Uncle.”
He extends his hand to me, and I kiss his ring. “Eminence.”
The cardinal crosses the room to a chair opposite where Lucia had been sitting. “May I, my dear?”
“Of course, Uncle.” She resumes her own seat. “I’m afraid, Uncle Lorenzo, this visit isn’t entirely one of pleasure. There’s something of urgency and importance we must talk with you about, but I’ve no way of knowing – in a strange house – where listening ears might be lurking. Might we come with you back to your home?”
“Not a good idea, I’m afraid. In a cardinal’s home, there are always spies. And one never knows if they belong to the Pope, a fellow cardinal, or some scheming nobleman . . . or even if all three are represented at once.”
“Perhaps a nearby church then?”
“In Rome, my dear, even the churches have ears. But I do know of a place we can talk in complete privacy. There’s what must once have been a lovely villa a couple of miles out in the countryside – it would have been much farther from the city walls in ancient times. It’s a ruin now. The story is that, as the barbarians approached, the family fled to the city, thinking they’d be safer there. But, of course, we all know how that turned out. If your coachman could be troubled to take us there . . .”
“I’m sure he could, but isn’t your own carriage already waiting outside?”
“If my carriage were to be seen leaving here with strangers aboard, tongues would be wagging even before we reached the Porta Aurelia. No, I’ll dismiss my coachman and tell him I’ll walk home. That’s not unusual, so he’ll think nothing of it.”
. . . . .
When we reach the ruined villa, it’s obvious why the cardinal chose this spot. Wherever we might choose to sit, we can see all our surroundings – no one could approach surreptitiously to eavesdrop. As we settle on the remains of what were once much taller walls, the cardinal says, “Now tell me, my dear, what’s this urgent business that brings you and your companion here?”
“My companion, as you call him, Uncle Lorenzo, is actually King Alfred – my cousin from my mother’s family. And, Alfred, though the cardinal is technically my cousin once removed, as a child, I could never figure out what that meant, so I’ve always called him Uncle.”
“I’m honored indeed, Your Grace. Welcome to Rome. But why all the subterfuge?”
“It will soon become clear, Eminence. But first, let me ask you a question, if I may.” He nods. “Do you play chess?”
“Now and then. But every day I play a game that is even more complex and filled with real risk. One with no rules, shifting alliances, frequent backstabbing, and, in the end, every man for himself.” I look at him quizzically. “Church politics, my son. Not a game for the faint-hearted.”
“Not unlike the game I’ve been forced to play against my will, it would seem, though my alliances are steadfast and my commitment to them resolute. It’s the stakes, however, that trouble me deeply, involving, as they do, the lives of thousands of innocent men.”
“Would I be correct in deducing you refer to this war that currently consumes three kingdoms?”
“More than three, Eminence. You’ll recall I spoke of steadfast alliances.”
“You did indeed. Yet I struggle to understand how I can be of any help in a military conflict that doesn’t threaten the Church.”
“Perhaps not directly, no. What I need is an audience with the Pope – an opportunity to speak with him face-to-face about joining forces to stop the madness.”
“And why do you believe the Holy Father has any more influence than I might?”
“Because he’s already interfered by preventing one of our allies from rallying to the cause.”
“Our homeland, Uncle Lorenzo,” says Lucia softly.
“If you know that,” says the cardinal, “then you must also know that His Holiness is quite unlikely to grant you an audience.”
“But would he be so reluctant to grant one to the Duchess of Lamoreaux?”
“Especially if you were to make the request on my behalf, Uncle. And then, on the day, Alfred could accompany me and make his case.”
“I wish it were that easy, my dear. Most likely the Pope would have you removed from his presence straightaway for springing such a surprise on him. And without any doubt, his anger would be turned on me and I would lose any influence I may have for a very long time – perhaps even for the rest of my life. I doubt he would strip me of my appointment – the offence would not warrant such grave punishment – but there are other ways in which he can effectively banish me from the papal court.”
“I’m sorry, Uncle. I’d never want to put you in that position.”
“Think nothing of it, Lucia. But perhaps if I understood more about the nature of what you wish to discuss, Alfred, I might be able to help devise a means to achieve your goals.”
I hesitate. Lucia is confident I can trust this man. And yet he, himself, has made it abundantly clear that the machinations of the Church hierarchy are not a trifling matter. Once I go any further, I’ve put my fate and that of everyone else involved in the hands of someone I’ve only just met and who is bound by a code I know nothing about. Is that a risk worth taking?
Lucia takes the decision out of my hands. “Tell him the rest, Alfred.” She pauses, hoping, I suppose, that I’ll speak. When I still hesitate, she adds, “If you don’t, I will.”
“Very well. What do you know, Eminence, about this Pope’s background? Surely it’s unusual for someone who’s a mere archbishop to be raised to the papacy.”
“Anyone who knows how long the last conclave lasted could reasonably guess that it was more contentious than most. So I can say without violating my oath, that we were all rather relieved when a candidate was proposed who was independent of the many factions vying for supremacy in the voting.”
“And it would be my guess that the proposal was made by a Teuton cardinal.”
“Surely you know, my son, that the secrecy of the conclave is sacrosanct.” The faintest hint of a smile – one that never completely curves his lips – one that would easily be missed if you weren’t watching for it – tells me I’ve struck a chord.
“What would you say if I told you the Pope is not a scion of the noble family whose name he bears? And that I have intimate knowledge of this from one who knows all the details of the matter.”
It takes me by surprise when the cardinal relaxes and offers a broad smile. “Ah, that. Let me tell you a story, Alfred. When I was a seminarian here, my studies almost complete and waiting for my first assignment to a parish, the gossip of the day throughout Rome was Count Angellini’s dismay over his lack of an heir. He had seven daughters but no one to inherit his wealth and title – though one wonders how much wealth would be left after providing seven dowries. That aside, the big news that summer was Angellini’s adoption of a boy child. One couldn’t go anywhere in society without hearing him boast of it. But by the New Year, Rome had moved on to whatever was the next scandal or scheme or high-profile marriage.
“Some twenty years later – having risen to become a bishop – I was recalled to Rome to serve as secretary to a cardinal who has long since passed into the next world. It was then I learned that the young adoptee had given up his title – passing it on to the eldest daughter’s son – and entered the priesthood. We heard nothing more from Father Angellini for several years, and then he began a meteoric rise through the hierarchy to eventually become Archbishop of Gniezno in the eastern reaches of the Teutonic kingdom. It was from there he was plucked to be considered for the papacy.”
“It sounds as if someone was pulling strings.”
“That isn’t out of the question.” He pauses a moment before continuing. “There were three of us in the conclave who knew of the Archbishop’s history. The rest were either too young or from a different country and wouldn’t have been aware. We three were curious, I’ll admit, about his adamant insistence on keeping the truth of his birth a secret. But the adoption was properly done – he was legally an Angellini – so we went along with him. After all, what harm could come from it?”
“I’m afraid a great deal.”
“Then I think you should be more specific, my son.”
“I’m sure you recall the inquisition launched against me a couple of summers ago.”
“Of course. Quite a number of us thought it unwarranted, but the Holy Father would brook no dissent. And it all came right in the end.”
“Ah, but do you know how it came right?”
“Patrasso concluded you were innocent of all charges.”
“But not of his own volition. The outcome was ordered by the Teuton king.”
“What leads you to that conclusion?”
“The king himself told me. He revealed who it was that coerced the Pope to launch the investigation. He revealed his power over that person and the action he’d taken against him. And he also told me the truth of the Holy Father’s birth – that he was born out of wedlock and that the adoption by Angellini was arranged to protect the honor of the birth family. Which I’ve come to believe is the Teuton king’s own family. The Pope is either a half-brother, a cousin, or a nephew of the king.
“In the case of the inquisition, the harm was no more than a temporary threat to my people’s confidence in their monarch and has long since passed without ill effects. But I’m convinced beyond any doubt that, just as he ordered the end of the inquisition, the Teuton also ordered the Holy Father to prevent one of our allies from entering the current conflict. And the harm is happening every day in the form of loss of innocent lives in battles that should never have happened in the first place.”
“That’s quite a serious accusation, my son. And yet somehow it rings true. His Holiness consulted no one before issuing that proclamation. His privilege, of course. But in matters of such gravity, it is quite different from the usual practice of the pontiffs I’ve served.”
