Secretum

from the entrance: as the Abbot had observed, Benedetti welcomed his visitors with grapes, the Christian symbol of rebirth.

'We're standing on the prow,' said Atto.

In the naval architecture of the Vessel, that hanging balcony did indeed correspond to the upper deck.

Like two admirals on the bridge, we looked towards the Vatican Hill, that custodian of things imperishable. The Vessel dared point its bows towards the apostolic palaces, as though it were claiming: I too possess a fragment of eternity. Then I thought to myself, was not the Vessel perhaps a place of rebirth, where the broken threads of past and present again came together? Had this not perhaps happened when I had been able to witness the apparation of the young Louis and his beloved Maria and their dalliance? Likewise, when we beheld in the garden the image of Superintendent Fouquet, serene, free, untouched by disgrace or calumny. Those apparitions in that garden had recreated for us what history had denied them. The theatre of what should have been but never was: such was the Vessel.

It was on the strength of that very high office that this galleon claimed its place near the Vatican Hill. Saint Peter's, rock of the Faith and, near it, that other guardian of things eternal: the Vessel, fortress of justice, banished from the pedestal of history.

So it was that, standing on that little terrace suspended above infinity, with the wind raising the laces of my shirt, for an instant I felt like an intrepid sailor on the deck of a new Ark, a miraculous craft able to salvage just Fate and to stand guard over it in another time.

While I was thus wandering off into my daydreams, Atto suddenly called me back to things present.

'Perhaps you will have formed a precise image of it.'

I knew at once to what he was referring.

'No,' I replied. 'It is a monster; that is the only thing I have understood. If the forecast is correct, a monster with four legs is about to succeed to the Spanish throne. That really doesn't seem to make much sense, does it?'

'I know. I've not stopped thinking of it for a moment, but nothing else comes to mind. Until your wife gets hold of the book that Romauli saw, I fear we shall not be able to make head or tail of it.'

'I hope that Cloridia is as quick as usual.'

'Let us go back down,' said Atto at length. 'I want to go and take another look at the picture.'

It was then that we made the discovery.

'Look!' said Atto. 'That is where they get through.'

It could be seen only from there, at that particular angle. No other observation point anywhere in the Vessel was high enough or faced in the right north-westerly direction like the steps on which we stood. From here we could descry a little gate in the boundary wall of the garden through which one could pass unseen into a street adjoining the Vessel. This exit was cleverly concealed by a barrier of plants and brambles. It was quite impossible to locate unless one already knew of its existence. Once out, where did one go? That, we could see for ourselves: a furtive little group, perhaps the escort of one of the three cardinals, was entering a similar gate in the wall of a villa further down the road, the property of a Genoese nobleman by the name of Torre.

Peering more closely, I could make out a little further off the three cardinals of our acquaintance as they strolled undisturbed in Torre's garden.

'So that's why Spada, Spinola and Albani always make their appointments at the Vessel,' said Atto. 'They confound anyone who might wish to follow them, including us, by entering here then mysteriously disappearing. In actual fact they meet at Torre's villa. For your master Cardinal Spada, that is an ideal solution. At a short distance from his own estate he has a safe house in which to hold secret meetings, Torre's villa, and a place to muddy the waters, namely the Vessel. It is not by chance that until this moment he has always succeeded in shaking us off.'

As he spoke, Abbot Melani did not take his eyes off the trio for one moment. I saw him suddenly stretch out his neck and screw up his eyes as though trying to see better what was going on; but the distance was too great. Our lookout point may indeed have been exceptional, but it would soon be useless. It was then that the Abbot suddenly slapped his forehead.

'What a fool I am. Fortune assists me and I neglect it!'

He reached into his jacket and drew out a long, fine cylinder: the telescope. He had kept it on his person ever since we had located Romauli in the garden of Villa Spada, as thence we had gone directly to the Vessel.

Fie looked briefly, then handed me the spyglass.

'Take a look yourself; it will be a useful experience.'

I brought the eyepiece to my pupil and looked.

Cardinal Spinola was shaking his head gently, as though he were hesitating, while Spada and especially Albani were deep in conversation. The thing really did not last long; following a few words from Albani, Spinola assented with a somewhat unwilling nod, or so it seemed to me from that distance. Then Albani took him by the arm with visible pleasure and the three continued their stroll. Atto then took the telescope back from me and resumed his observation.

In the light of what I had learned the evening before from reading the exchange of letters between Atto and the Connestabilessa, the episode had no more mysteries, even for me. The three cardinals had to provide His Holiness Innocent XII with an opinion on the question of the Spanish succession, so that the Pope could respond as best he could to the request for help put to him by the King of Spain, Charles II. The three eminences had therefore to agree on a common line: a gesture of immense political importance which could make the fortune of the trio or be their ruin. It was quite clear that Spinola was not of exactly the same opinion as the other two prelates.

I looked once again at Atto as he spied avidly on the meeting between the three cardinals. He was worried, and I knew why. Were those meetings, at which the election of the future Pope would almost certainly be decided, impartial? Barely two days before, we had learned that Albani was in cahoots with the Imperial Ambassador, Count von Lamberg. As for Spada, being the Secretary of State of a Neapolitan pope, he was naturally pro-Spanish. Spinola, as I had read in the Abbot's last letter, was pro-Empire. French interests, or so it seems, were not represented. This could certainly not please Atto. As though that were not enough, Lamberg and Albani had got hold of the treatise on the Secrets of the Conclave and probably intended to use it against Atto.

'And now, what are we to do?' I asked.

'There's no point in sticking our noses in over there and being seen by Torre's guards.'

'So?'

'I declare myself defeated. By now the festivities at Villa Spada are at their last gasp and tomorrow all the guests will leave. We shall never know what those three were confabulating about.'

The seraphic resignation with which Atto had replied to me only reinforced my conviction. I already knew that, opinion or no opinion, conclave or succession, something quite different lay behind his presence at the Villa Spada: the mission of love with which the Most Christian King had entrusted him, in the hope of persuading Maria Mancini to see him once more.

'Let us go and take one last look at the picture,' said he at last, 'even if I despair of getting anything more from it; then let us go and see whether Buvat has found Cloridia.'

We descended the little iron staircase, but just as we were about to enter the service stairs once more and descend to the second floor, we heard that voice:

T his work I call a looking-glass

In which each fool shall see an ass.

The viewer learns with certainty;

My mirror leaves no mystery.

It was Albicastro's inimitable timbre, although slightly muffled. It came from within the little penthouse from which the balcony was suspended.

'Again that Dutch lunatic,' moaned Abbot Melani. 'As if that fiddle were not enough, now he must needs pester us again with his damned Sebastian Brant. But what's Albicastro up to in there and how did he get in?' he asked, thoroughly vexed.

'Oh, to the Devil with him,' said Atto, opening the door to the little penthouse which we had not even noticed before that. It was then that it all happened.

The penthouse was empty. Albicastro was not there. Curiously, the light was very dim. It came from two windows on the side facing Saint Peter's. The glass was partially blackened, so as to reduce the light drastically and