“Perhaps His Holiness would consider more gifts—” started de Acuña.
“More parrots?” Leo laughed out loud. “Let’s not fool ourselves, dear de Acuña. Young Charles needs all the money in the world right now if he wants to sway the election in his favor. And as far as I have heard, the Fuggers are divided over the question of advancing any more funds to the Habsburgs.”
The pope nibbled on grapes and signaled for the musicians to play on, allowing him to close his eyes and think. There were things that were more important to him than the imperial election. Only that morning a messenger had arrived with a new letter from his representative, reporting that Viktor von Lahnstein was still looking for Johann Georg Faustus and that they were following a lead west. Leo still struggled to believe how that crafty doctor had managed to escape at Altenburg Castle—in front of half the empire! Faust had thumbed his nose at all of them. Since then, Lahnstein was in pursuit of the doctor, who seemed to have gone into hiding in France, of all places. Leo’s time was running out. And instead of the distraction he so direly needed, he was forced to listen to de Acuña’s greasy flattery.
“Have you heard of the events at Bamberg?” asked Don de Acuña now. He tried to sound casual, but Leo heard the glee. “This Doctor Faustus everyone is talking about, he made a right fool of you. The beast from the apocalypse will soon rule in Rome.” He chuckled. “The nerve of it!”
“This doctor will receive his just punishment,” hissed Leo. “Don’t you worry about that.”
“Are you sure? I hear he has vanished without a trace—just like a real magician. And apparently that isn’t the only skill he has mastered,” added the Spaniard ominously.
“What . . . what do you mean?” Leo’s head spun around; the music and the laughter of the others suddenly seemed far away.
What do you know?
Don de Acuña shrugged his shoulders innocently. “Faust is a magician, an astrologer, and an alchemist, too. Someone like that is difficult to catch. His skills are manifold.” He rose and bowed low. “Please excuse me. It’s been a long day.”
Leo held out his fleshy fingers, and de Acuña kissed his ring. As the Spanish ambassador walked away past the silver lion cages and aviaries, the pope’s gaze followed him.
What do you know? What do the Habsburgs know?
Damn, it was high time for Lahnstein to find that doctor before someone else did. Time was running out. He needed the doctor here in Rome—now!
Leo fell back into his cushions with a sigh. He craved diversion, and something better than that silly dance. The tune had sounded rather heathen—not to mention the way she had twisted her body. Though he had to admit that the girl had a pretty figure. Those small, firm breasts, almost like lemons.
“Why do you throw a tantrum when such a cute little thing dances just for you?” said a voice behind him. “Is your formerly proud manhood waning? Are you angry because nothing stirred underneath the papal gown but hot air?”
“How dare you!” Outraged, Leo turned around only to realize it was his jester, Luvio, who had sneaked up to him from behind and now waved his tambourine.
The jester bowed low, making his absurdly large hunchback and the ridiculously garish costume stand out even more. “Always at your service, Your Holiness, with jest and foolishness.”
Leo smiled for the first time that day. At least good old Luvio had recovered. He’d been worried the wart-covered ugly fool would die from that marsh fever that had brought half of Rome to a standstill over the winter. There had been hundreds of deaths, and Luvio had spent several weeks in the hospital. But his jester always bounced back.
Just like me.
The pope took a deep breath and listened to the music, a cheerful rondo played with flutes, harps, and violins, and much more familiar than those shrill tunes from earlier. The gentle notes soothed him. His fate was prescribed—he would enter history as the pope who led Rome back to its former glory. And neither Habsburg nor France could change that. Surely, he had been mistaken. Don de Acuña knew nothing. How could he?
He leaned down to Luvio. “You’re right, my fool,” he said quietly. “I was overpowered by anger.”
Luvio grinned. “Fools always speak the truth, Your Holiness. Just like whores.”
“Make sure that little whore is brought to my bedchamber tonight. I will prove to you and her that a mighty storm still rages beneath my gown. You will hear her screams right through Castel Sant’Angelo.”
The jester jingled his bells and bowed once more. “Oh, I don’t doubt it.”
The music ended with one last beat of the drum.
Holding a well-used deck of cards, Greta sat on a chest at the rear of the boat and let the cards slide through her fingers. She only ever moved one card, and the rest seemed to follow as if by magic. Then Greta picked up the entire deck, bent it, and let it go so that the cards went flying through the air with a hissing sound. She cleverly caught the deck with her other hand.
“Not bad. I used to be able to do that. I believe I was one of the first. I used to perform it for your mother. There weren’t many printed playing cards around then, but the church screamed bloody murder, calling it the devil’s
