Back at the inn, yesterday’s Brother Daniel, the younger, thinner one, was sitting on the edge of the bed with a document case beside case behim. His head jerked up as if he had been close to falling asleep.
Wulf’s dreams of food faded. “Long hours?”
“Thirty hours a day, eight days a week,” the friar said ruefully. “You are doing well, Sir Wulfgang. The Spider is not easily impressed and rarely gives his trust.”
“The Greeks said we should not judge a man until we know how he dies.”
The friar conceded the point with a sigh. “And that is especially true of Speakers. Open the way, please.”
Wulf extended his hand.
Daniel frowned and then gripped his wrist.
Wulf led him into limbo and closed the gate. “How far does this contract differ from the terms of the Frenchman’s last offer, do you know?”
“Very little. My brother took the Spider’s dictation and wrote the draft for him to edit; I just copied it out in fair. His Eminence altered the order of the clauses, which makes comparison harder. The only change I noticed was omission of a provision that the couple will reside in Jorgary. There’s no prohibition against them choosing to do so, though.”
Except the cardinal’s future displeasure.
“And the dowry kickbacks?”
The friar smiled. “He was quite generous-for him. He rarely settles for less than one hundred per centum. A draft on the Fugger bank for one-quarter of the amount will be supplied as soon as the terms are accepted. The rest will be due on the wedding day, but I am authorized to mention that there may be delays in payments. Likely no one will ever know who pockets what.”
So goes the world. “Then let us see if it is acceptable.”
“Why should it not be?”
“Because the omission you noticed was deliberate. Cardinal d’Estouteville is anxious that his nephew live in Jorgary. Cardinal Zdenek is anxious that he not. Please do not draw attention to the change and pray fervently that the Roman scribes are less observant than you.”
Wulf opened a gate into d’Estouteville’s study. There was no one present.
D’Estouteville was asleep somewhere. So there would be no immediate decision. An old man deserved his nap. The fire had been banked and a warm sun shone beyond the windows. Brother Daniel wandered over there to look out at the city. Wulf eyed the books heaped on the big table and wondered if he dare pry.
Before his conscience and curience andosity could decide on a winner, the door opened to admit two priests, so mismatched that they might have been chosen for comic relief: one tall and cadaverous, the other short and pudgy. The first was a workaday, as was the servant who followed them in. The plump priest was Father Giulio, the Speaker who had fetched Wulf from Cardice to Rome. He wasted no time on formalities.
“Brother,” Giulio said, “we have been sent to examine the documents you bring. We assume that you will wish to be present while we do so.” Taking the friar’s consent for granted, he turned to Wulf. “And I am told that you, my son, have had no chance to eat yet today. If you go with this man, you will be fed.”
Obviously a very detailed watch had been kept over him for the last twenty-four hours, but food was an irresistible offer. He accepted, following the servant out and along a corridor with walls painted in a jarring red above oak wainscot. Their destination was a small, stark room containing only a rectangular table and six chairs. Most likely it was designed for meetings, and it was easy to imagine clerks spreading their exchequer cloth there to tally money. At the moment it was being fitted out as a private dining room, with four men laying out dishes and jabbering among themselves in fast Italian, but never addressing him. He was given water to wash his hands, and offered dishes to accept or refuse. Once his platter was loaded and his goblet filled, the servants departed, leaving him alone with his thoughts and dishes for seconds. The fare was cold and largely unfamiliar: rice and pasta, two fish of unknown species, roast goose, beans, and fruit.
He had eaten little when his appetite was seriously wounded by the arrival of an elongated, skeletal Dominican. He closed the door in silence and came on silent bare feet to the table, taking the place opposite Wulf. He made no sound even as he moved the stool on the tiled floor. Of course he was Brother Luigi, prior of the Roman Inquisition. He rested his forearms on the table and stared across at Wulf with the austere, accusatory face of a dying Christ, even to the glowing nimbus, lacking only the crown of thorns. He was younger than Wulf remembered.
He did not speak.
Such tricks were intended to frighten Wulf into speaking first, so he carried on with his meal, however hard it was to summon up saliva. He could probably magic enough spit to drown a horse, but then his own nimbus would brighten and give him away. He avoided the drier dishes and concentrated on the fish, which was salty and came with sauce.
“You commune with Satan, Wulfgang.” Luigi’s voice was soft and seductively gentle.
Wulf finished chewing and swallowed. “No I don’t.”
“Then how did you come here from Jorgary today?”
Another mouthful. Eating did give one time to think between comments.
“The same way you left the cardinal’s room yesterday.”
“Even if that were true, it would no, it wout excuse you, Wulfgang. I have ordered a woman’s nipples ripped off with pincers. If you did such a thing, you would be hanged. I did it for the woman’s salvation and the glory of God. I did it in the name of, and with the blessing of, Holy Mother Church.”
There was no way to argue with such madness. The Church defined good and evil, and to even question its definitions was heresy. Wulf carried on eating, and now his saliva flowed more freely. Anger worked better than fear.
“Tell me about Father Azuolas,” Luigi murmured, his voice still sweet as a viol.
Well, Wulf could argue that he had merely come to the aid of Magnus when he was physically assaulted by two men, both much larger than he. He could assert that his shot had only wounded the Dominican, and either he or Brother Lodnicka could have healed him, had Lodnicka not rejected Wulf’s protests and insisted on trying to subdue him. By the time the fight was over, Azuolas had been beyond saving.
Such excuses would be admissions of guilt.
He continued eating.
Luigi continued to stare at him with very dark, somber eyes and an expression of deep sorrow. “You have broken the first commandment.”
Wulf acknowledged that remark with a frown while he chewed. When he had swallowed, he said, “I do honor the Lord. I try to obey His commandments, yet I sin, like all men.”
“I do not mean the first commandment of the ten given to Moses, but the devil’s first commandment.”
“What’s that?”
“That you must use the powers he gives you in secret.”
Any response to that would damn a man. Denial was useless when mere suspicion allowed the use of torture, and confessions extracted by torture were accepted as true. Accusation was as good as proof.
Luigi let the silence drag on a long time before he spoke again. “It is possible that the Holy Father will give you absolution today, Wulfgang.”
“Bravo il papa!”
“And perhaps even an indulgence, also, to remit your penance. He may not, of course. But even if he does, he will not abso lve your future sins. Can you go and sin no more, as Our Lord commanded the woman taken in adultery?”
“Could you?”
“We are discussing the peril to your soul, not mine.”
“I see you love your fellow men, Brother. But your love is so overwhelming that it would destroy them restroy tather than tolerate any deviation from perfection. I don’t think you understand what love truly is.”
Wulf stood up and stepped to the water basin to rinse his hands. He had taken the edge off his hunger and would have to be satisfied by that. What Luigi was hinting, but would never put in words, was that even if the pope
