had recently in Coverley the pleasure of becoming acquainted with your excellent son. I read today in Observator Romanus that your honoured self and he are to haveanaudience with His Holiness the Pope. I should estimate it a great favour if afterwards you and he would care to call upon me in my lodging. I send this by my valetto Giulio, who will conduct you to me if you are so minded. The distance is no more than a few minutes on foot. With the profound respects of your servant in God, honoured Sir... Federicus... Mirabilis.' Well, my son?'
While Giulio, hands behind back, politely kept his eyes turned away, Hubert explained as much as he could explain. He was surprised at first when his father's frown was quickly displaced by a look of amiable tolerance, then reflected that good humour was to be expected in someone who, now that the Pope's wish had been revealed, must be feeling rather like a boy being given the largest slice of his favourite cake he had ever seen.
'What a pleasant and courteous offer.—Buono, andiamo.'
Giulio led them across a corner of the piazza and into a narrow street empty of vehicles but full of strolling foot-passengers and hung with artisans' and traders' signs. Hubert saw little of anybody or anything: he was too intent on the strange thought of living his life in this city. In time, he would own a house in it, furnish the place after his own wishes, keep servants, entertain friends, speak the language, visit England and no doubt many other places, but always return here as to his home; most likely this was where he would die and be buried. Yes, that was how it would be.
He did not start to notice his surroundings until he was crossing a cobbled yard and entering a squat marble portico. Inside, it was dark and cool, with a noise of water dripping into water. The valetto knocked at a door covered in green leather. A high-pitched voice sounded from within, and the two visitors were shown into a long narrow room with a balcony at the end of it. Polished tables on which silverwork was carefully arranged, cushioned couches, and screens covered with small pictures took up a great deal of space. There was an unfamiliar sweetish odour in the air. As Hubert had expected, the writer of the note, Mirabilis, had his friend with him. Both wore long, brightly-coloured silk gowns gathered by cords at the waist, Mirabilis brought forward the other man, Viaventosa, who seemed in rather worse physical condition than before, his skin as well as his eyes and mouth exuding moisture. Bows were exchanged. Tobias declined refreshment but accepted a seat, though not quite fully, in the sense that he stayed on its edge. His answers to questions about the journey from England, his experience of Rome and so forth were brief, if civil. There was not much left now of the geniality with which he had agreed to come here. His glance moved round the room in restless jerks. After a little, Mirabilis turned to Hubert.
'You have seen the Holy Father, then, my dear. May I know his purpose? Such audiences are somewhat out of the common.'
'His Holiness invited me to join the choir of St Peter's, master.'
Mirabilis gave Viaventosa a slow nod. 'It's a great honour, Hubert, no? You must be so joyful. And your good father too.'
'Oh yes, master,' said Hubert after a brief pause. 'May I ask you something?'
'Surely.'
'It was you and the other master here who recommended the Pope to send for me, wasn't it, sir?'
'In effect-yes.'
'Did you... was it part of the reason you were in Coverley, to hear me sing in the Requiem?'
'Not part. The whole reason. Yes, Hubert, you're of great mark already for one of your years.'
'Master: when you came to the Chapel, did you confer on me with the Abbot?'
'Yes, and also with your other preceptors.'
'Did you tell them the Pope had sent you?'
'No. I wasn't asked.'
'I see.' Hubert hesitated again. 'What did you tell them?'
'That your voice and your musician's qualities were of the finest.'
'And therefore I must be altered.'
'That did not-'
Tobias had been fidgeting: rubbing his face and twisting his feet from the ankle. Now he broke in abruptly. 'What was your authority, sir?'
'I must be clear, Master Anvil. My lord the Abbot asked Viaventosa and me to tell our opinion of your son's gifts, and for that we had the authority of our experience. To what use his lordship puts our information is not in our control. Exactly the same holds for our commission from the Holy Father.'
'I understand.'
'Thank you, master. So: may I ask you?—your honoured self and Hubert will be kind enough to sup with us this evening? I ask now because my cook—'
'Thank you, but I regret that I'm tired and we depart early tomorrow.'
'Just an hour or so—there's so much to talk of, touching Hubert's future. We can arrange his—'
'I regret...'
Viaventosa, who had followed the last few remarks with ease, pulled and pushed his bulk upright. 'Please, Master Anvil,' he squeaked, 'sup with us. It will be very good.'
Tobias stared at him for a second and jumped to his feet. 'I must go at once. Come, Hubert.'
'Also I must speak now.' Viaventosa had risen almost as quickly and was making snuffling noises. 'I say to you: no... Anderung, altering. No altering for Hubert. No no no. You see me, master, I'm altered. H'm, h'm. Not this for Hubert.'
'Sei ruhig, Wolfgang!'
Tobias, with Hubert's hand in his, was making for the door, but Viaventosa, waddling to and fro, impeded
