The Mongoliad: Book Three

you ever want to ask either of us for advice, we are here, but we will never impose our will on you, overtly or covertly. We merely beg you to hold others at a similar distance.”

Rodrigo considered this. “Is there anyone in particular whose influence I should suspect?” he asked.

A pause. “Is Your Holiness asking for our advice?” Colonna said carefully.

“Yes,” Rodrigo said plainly.

“I seek only to offer guidance,” Colonna said.

“Of course,” Rodrigo said.

Capocci looked down at his hands, as if to extricate himself from this conversation.

“You must be very wary of Cardinal Sinibaldo Fieschi,” Colonna said.

After sunset, Orsini’s carriage finally managed to cross the bridge. Orsini had had second thoughts, which then twisted into third, fourth, and fifth thoughts; the two men had argued the entire way, and the less-than-cordial debate continued even as they were led through the receiving chamber.

Orsini was still questioning Fieschi’s plan as they strode into the shadowy central hall, lined on both sides by heavy oaken doors leading to adjoining rooms, as well as entrances to other corridors.

In one of those rooms, Fieschi knew, Father Rodrigo was being held.

“The man has lost his senses,” Orsini said. “Most societies bar syphilitics or other diseased heirs from taking the reins of power-so too should the Church. It is a disservice to Christendom to let a simpleton be Bishop of Rome.”

“You mean it’s a disservice to you, because you cannot control him,” Fieschi retorted. “But I can. You must trust me.”

“Well, that’s easy to do, as you’ve proven to be such a man of your word so far,” Orsini muttered. “You will go down in the balladeers’ books as consistent, reliable Fieschi.”

“I will go down in the chronicles of the ages as effective, efficient Fieschi,” the Cardinal corrected. “Or rather, I will not go down in the chronicles at all. I am so effective as to be invisible. Where is the priest? Po-Father Rodrigo?” he demanded of a waiting servant, a willowy ostiarius who hovered near the interior door.

The slender man bowed. “He is in the room the Cardinals put aside for him when he was carried… when he returned from the Colosseum. He is holding an audience with two of the Cardinals.”

“Take me there,” Fieschi ordered.

“Both of us,” Orsini amended.

Fieschi looked askance at him. “This is my realm, Senator Orsini, not yours. Civil authority has no place here. I thank you for the use of your carriage, but you may return it to your palace now.”

Orsini’s face darkened to sunset purple. “Do not ever talk to me that way.”

Fieschi smiled coldly. “Do you see how upset you have just become? So very easily? You have just displayed the very reason I will not have you come with me to see him. I require absolute and total calm to get and keep his attention. Anger and suspicion? He will sense them with the fine-tuned perception of a madman. Stay away from him until I tell you that he’s fit for you. And that you are fit for him.”

“If you were capable of swordplay I’d throw a gauntlet at your feet this moment,” Orsini said between clenched teeth. “But you, oh, elevated prelate, you would never condescend to something as barbaric as fencing. You just strangle and burn your victims.”

If he said it to cause trouble for Fieschi in front of the help, he was not successful. Fieschi’s face stayed absolutely calm; in fact, he glanced at the ostiarius with an expression of conspiratorial condescension as if to say, Such a shame these laymen are so misguided. The ostiarius-knowing well who his true master was-then shot Orsini a subtly disapproving look.

“Come, then,” Fieschi said to the Vatican doorkeeper, who gestured toward a small door nearby. As they began to cross the hall, Orsini followed, deliberately close to the Cardinal. “Senator, you are not invited,” Fieschi said without looking back at him.

“Inform the Cardinal I will enter,” Orsini directed the ostiarius.

The slender porter seemed to shrink a little at this contretemps. “My sincere apologies, Senator Orsini, but the Cardinal is correct that ecclesiastical law holds here. His word outweighs yours. If he does not wish you in the chamber, you may not enter.”

“It’s for your own good, friend Bear,” Fieschi said, still not looking at him.

“Very well then,” Orsini said, the words almost strangling him. “I shall wait just outside.”

They were nearly at the door, which opened suddenly. Colonna and Capocci exited, closing the oak door quietly behind them. Not noticing the newcomers in the dim light, the two men paused to confer.

“That did not go at all as I expected,” Capocci said heartily. “But I must say I am not displeased.”

“Agreed,” Colonna said. “He’ll change the course of history, but I think he’ll do it quietly.”

Fieschi released a groan of annoyance. Capocci started and stared at him, then at Orsini, several paces off.

“The two of you have already gotten your claws into him?” Fieschi demanded, in the tone of a chastising parent.

Colonna and Capocci recovered quickly. “Claws?” said Colonna, the venerable uncle. “Are you suggesting that we have just come from unduly influencing the man who is to be our next Pope?”

“Tried,” Capocci corrected. “That we have tried to unduly influence the man.”

“Yes, of course,” Colonna corrected himself. “Tried. How could we possibly corrupt a man as pure and uncorruptable as that one?”

“I don’t think such a thing is possible,” Capocci agreed.

“Enough!” Orsini snapped. “You two make a mockery of your offices.”

Capocci regarded the Senator with an unruffled expression. “I have suffered recently for my office, Senator Orsini,” he said quietly, all traces of humor gone from his voice. “While I do not tempt God as readily as you-”

“Why are you not with the other Cardinals?” Fieschi interrupted coldly.

“They are over in the Castel Sant’Angelo,” Colonna answered. “Poring over codices and scrolls that various clerks and acolytes have found for them. They are not convinced we should go forward installing Father Rodrigo as Saint Peter’s heir. Of course they are mistaken, for he has been duly elected, and we were all witness to it.”

“This is all most irregular,” Orsini said uncomfortably, his voice hollow in the long, dark hall.

Colonna gave him a murderous look. “Not half as irregular as what we were subjected to in the Septizodium,” he said. “Senator, you are out of place here, and I strongly recommend you escape back to your side of the Tiber.”

“He’s leaving now,” Fieschi said firmly, as Orsini prepared to add his own imprecations. “Aren’t you, Senator?”

“I have come to pay my respects to the new Pope,” Orsini said brusquely, but he turned this way and that, indecisive, uncomfortable-very like an embarrassed youth.

Colonna sneered. “You have no respects to pay,” he growled, his tone withering, his voice like a lion’s. The doors seemed to hum and flex along the hall. He advanced toward Orsini, hands balled into fists. “You, Senator, are a man without respect. You have no power here. Leave immediately or I shall ask several of our larger priests to haul you out bodily, like the sack of manure you are, and dump you into the river.”

Orsini glared at Colonna, but did not move.

The tall Cardinal inclined his head a fraction. “Good evening, Senator,” he said, his brusque tone making it clear the conversation was over.

Orsini blinked, and with a snarl creasing his lips, he spun on his heel and stalked out of the hall.

Fieschi watched the Senator go, briefly admiring Colonna’s brash dismissal of him. “If you two are finished attempting to coerce the priest-” he started.

“His Holiness,” Capocci corrected.

Fieschi waved a hand to indicate how little he cared about such niceties. “May I have a word with him?” he asked. “Or are you going to threaten me like you did the Senator?”

Colonna glanced at Capocci. “Did I threaten the Senator?” he asked.

Capocci shrugged. “That felt more like a warning than a threat.”