When the Saints

CHAPTER 34

Wulf’s ordeal was ended by a polite tap on the door. The visitor was the same dumpy little priest who had brought him to Rome-the same black cassock, jeweled pectoral cross, and Speaker’s halo shining bright. And the same oily little smile.

“Good day to you, Wulfgang. You slept well?

“I did, thank you, Father.” He could have slept on sharp rocks, but he would not sleep as well again until he received some answers. He was encouraged to note that the man had left the door open behind him.

“I apologize for leaving you here so long. Your host is a very busy man, as you can understand.” He was taunting.

“I do not know the name of my host, or yours. Or why I am here.”

Again the smile. “I am unimportant, but my name is Giulio. Come and meet His Eminence. He will be happy to answer all your questions.”

Maybe he would or maybe he wouldn’t, but he would be Guillaume Cardinal d’Estouteville without a doubt. Wulf nodded acceptance and followed his guide out to a simple, plain corridor, then down a narrow, plain, and quite steep staircase to a more majestic corridor, with paneled walls and tiled floor, and then down grander stairs. And eventually to a large, high chamber.

It was the room of a scholar, with books everywhere, covering two walls, stacked in corners, heaped among the litter of papers on a large table in the middle. Despite its size, it was cozy, with a fire crackling in a marble fireplace, thick Flemish carpet underfoot, a few battered fragments of classical statuary scattered around, and heavy velvet drapes hanging ready to hide the watery wintery afternoon that lurked beyond the mullioned windows. The man in the big chair by the fire was elderly, the hair around his red skullcap silver, and his scarlet robes buttoned up under his chin to hide his neck. His face had once been fleshy, even sensual, but now it sagged in pleats. His nose was long and prominent. He was a workaday, of course, not a Speaker. Speakers lurked in shadowy corners, not on thrones.

He extended an age-spotted hand to let Wulf kiss his ring. His smile was too mechanical to seem sincere. How well did those filmy eyes see?

“Wulfgang! I am honored to meet a man who has achieved so much in so little time. You almost restore our faith in youth. Rise, rise! Sit there, my son.” He indicated a chair as large and heavy as his own, on the far side of the fire. Beside it stood an inlaid table bearing a carafe and a goblet of cut crystal. “Help yourself to some wine, please. I cannot join you, I’m afraid, because my doctors regard all pleasures as unhealthy.” He shrugged. “Your glorious victory over the schismatics yesterday bears the stamp of a holy miracle.”

“Indeed it does, Your Eminence.” Wulf made himself comfortable and poured out one mouthful of wine. “No one knows that better than I. All I did was try to burn a wagon I thought carried gunpowder. Everything that followed was the Lord’s work.”

D’Estouteville nodded approval. The odor of hypocrisy grew stronger. “And now what? The Lord has granted you great powers, so to what purposes will you put them?”

Trap? “I have heard it said, Your Eminence, that powers such as you attrh as youibute to me are sent by the Father of Lies.” Wulf thought he had worded that rather well.

Evidently his host did also, for his next smile seemed more genuine. “I would not be entertaining you at my fireside if I believed so, my son.”

Wulf blurted, “Then they are sent by God?”

A penniless, juvenile esquire should be much more respectful to one of the senior figures in all Christendom. He should let the older man guide the conversation and not bark out impertinent questions like that. Yet d’Estouteville merely smiled that mechanical smile again.

“You are a healthy young man, Wulfgang, are you not?”

Wulf nodded, then remembered that the old man might not see well. “Yes, Your Eminence.”

“And a strong one?”

“Yes.”

“And where did you get your health and strength?”

“From God?”

The cardinal nodded. “You have flaxen hair. I am told you have golden eyes. Where did you get that coloring?”

“The hair from my father, Your Eminence. I never knew my mother. I am told I had an uncle with yellow eyes.”

“All these are gifts from God, and yet black sheep bear black lambs, white sheep white lambs. Talent runs in your family, does it not?”

“So they say.” Wulf thought of Whitetail, the canine companion of his childhood, and the time he and Anton had thought it humorous to lift him over the gate into the compound where the hound bitches were confined when they came into heat. Whitetail had enjoyed his visit much more than his human accomplices had enjoyed their subsequent beatings, but ever since then the Dobkov hunting pack had sported a high proportion of white tails.

He realized that the silence was aging. “But what is talent, Your Eminence?”

“It is just a talent, my son. Some people sing well, others have quick wits. Some have good looks, some are ugly. Gifts from God. Sometimes He seems capricious, but He has His own purposes that we cannot know. Your talent is an ability to make your wishes come true, that is all. Whatever you want, within limits, comes to pass. Like strength or beauty or any other talent at all, it is a gift from God that should be used to His glory and purpose. Yes, you can do the devil’s work if you wish, just as you can kill men with crossbows or seduce girls with good looks and a glib tongue, but you can also use all your attributes to serve Christ.”

Wulf wondered if he dared ask for a written or a writestimonial to that effect but decided it would be a waste of time. The Church’s official position could be denied only in private. Your wishes come true! It described his powers exactly, the powers he had now given to Madlenka for safekeeping. D’Estouteville must know about that, though, for Wulf could not have been confined in a servants’ bedroom otherwise. And obviously the conversation was reaching the point where he would be “invited” to put his abilities at the disposal of the Church.

“Your hospitality and shelter are very welcome, Eminence, but you must have summoned me for some purpose. How may I demonstrate my gratitude for your hospitality?”

“You have not met Cardinal Zdenek, I understand?”

“I have not had that honor.”

A flick of the cardinal’s eyebrows implied that Wulf had suffered no great loss. “But you are aware that your noble king will shortly go to meet his Creator, as we all must in time. He will be succeeded by his grandson, whose heir presumptive will be his sister, Princess Laima. To put the matter in a nutshell, Zdenek has been peddling her around the courts of Christendom. He has been offering a dowry comprising estates that he values at three hundred thousand florins, plus a further two hundred thousand florins’ worth of gold and jewels.”

Wulfgang pursed his lips. All Dobkov would not be that much.

The age-dulled eyes studied him for a long moment. “The unwritten part of the offer is that the dowry goes back to the cardinal.”

Deep breath. “All of it?” When money changed hands, some of it always stuck to fingers, but not usually that much.

“All of it, so it is probably worth much more than he admits. We offered the gems and the gold, while retaining the estates, and our offer was rejected out of hand.”

“‘We,’ Your Eminence?”

“Agents negotiating on behalf of my nephew, Louis of Rouen. Louis is a fine young man, a year or two older than you, cultured, personable, and related to the king of France. He is well qualified to be consort to a princess, and will even consent to live in Jorgary.”

“I do not doubt his merits, my lord, but how…” Wulf was currently feeling very stupid, but not stupid enough not to guess where this was going.

“But how does it concern you? When your brother the baron warned the cardinal that you would need support in your dealings with the Wends, Zdenek appealed to the woman known as Umbral, who runs an international coven of witches. No offense intended. She saw the chance to gain my favor and set the Louis-Laima match as her price. Zdenek absolutely refused. He claimed the marriage contract was already signed, but that was a lie. He is still dealing with at least three rival parties. That was our third refusr third al, in effect.”

So now Wulf’s life, freedom, and service were going to be offered in a fourth attempt?

“Last night,” d’Estouteville said with a faint smile, “while you were sound asleep upstairs, your cadger, Countess Madlenka, went to call on Cardinal Zdenek.”

“She did?” Wulf damned himself to the pit for ever having involved Madlenka in this.

“She did. I am told she acquitted herself amazingly well.”

Half the Speakers in Christendom were watching every move in this game, no doubt. Listening even now and laughing at him.

“She is a determined lady,” Wulf murmured. He remembered the first time they met and how she had climbed up on his bed to help him sit up, gripping his bare arm. For an unmarried noblewoman, that had been a stunning breach of decorum. Madlenka refused to be bound by convention and let nothing faze her; that was why he loved her. He forced the memory away to concentrate on what d’Estouteville was saying.

“… offered you as a hireling for at least one year. Zdenek rejected the offer without hesitation. But he did make one interesting concession.” The ensuing pause was carefully calculated as only a preacher would know how. “He said he would be willing to take you as his falcon, but he would negotiate only with you personally. What do you suppose the Spider had in mind there, mm?”

D’Estouteville was an old hand at these snaky games and Wulf an absolute tyro. He wet his lips with the wine to gain a moment’s thought.

“Why he wants me as his falcon, not his hireling?”

“Yes, why should that make a difference?”

Trickier…

“I am a beginner at this, Your Eminence, but I would guess that His Eminence may foresee a need to have a Speaker perform some unsavory tasks for him. He does not wish a third person to be able to intervene and override his orders.”

The old man nodded. “That is my conclusion. You, I believe, are an honorable young man, who would not be easily led into serious crimes.”

Wulf could counter that with some of his own agenda. “I have a great need to confess major sins at the moment, Your Eminence.” No mere parish priest would have authority to absolve Satanism and mass murder, but a cardinal could.

“I would hear your confession, my son, but at present we have other matters to discuss.”

Absolution but not yet. And when the Inquisition arrested him in Joted him rgary? Would it accept his word that his sins had been forgiven? It might take long enough to refer the question back to Rome and for d’Estouteville to respond; the old man might die in the meantime or insist that all confessions were secret.

As if guessing Wulf’s doubts, the cardinal said, “Francesco della Rovere and I have been friends for a great many years.”

Who? Oh, yes, the pope, Sixtus IV.

“Yes, Your Eminence?”

“Were I to ask His Holiness to issue a decretal absolving you of any blame in the death of the late Brother Azuolas of the Dominican Order and stating that you are under no suspicion of dabbling in Satanism, I am confident that he would sign it, as a personal favor to me. And of course we should be well disposed toward helping with any lesser problems you might wish to discuss.”

Now the threats and bribery were piling up. In fact, the air was so thick with hints, nuances, and subtleties that Wulf could hardly breathe. Any promise by Zdenek to bring pressure to bear on Archbishop Svaty could be discarded as worthless; the Vatican would overrule it. An annulment of Madlenka’s handfasting would be available if Wulf cooperated, but if he didn’t he would be in the Inquisition’s cells by nightfall. The Inquisition would be eager to avenge one of its own, and would soon have him begging them to take him out and burn him.

Just why was it so important to marry Laima of Jorgary to Louis of Rouen? Was this just the cardinal’s pique at being thwarted in his efforts to place his son in a royal family, however inconsequential? Never mind what Zdenek was up to-what was d’Estouteville up to? “May I ask, Your Eminence, who the three rival candidates are?”

The old man’s shaggy eyebrows shot up. His surprise might be either a compliment or a warning. “I forget their names, but one is a middle-aged blind Italian with the coughing sickness, one a twelve-year-old Catalan, and the third a Polish nobleman who is also a congenital idiot. Why do you ask, Wulfgang?” The question was accompanied by a very foxy smile.

“Sieur Louis must feel quite insulted at being ranked behind those three.”

“Oh, he is. But why did you ask?”

When in doubt, be as truthful as possible. “Because my father was both a warrior and a diplomat, and he taught us that more wars were won across a table than on a battlefield. He also said that the first thing one should know was what the other side really wanted.”

“Indeed? And what do you think Cardinal Zdenek really wants?”

“I think he is definitely up to no good, Your Eminence. As a loyal subject of King Konrad the Fifth, and our future Konrad the Sixth, I think he must be stopped.”

That was clearly thas cleare right answer, but if d’Estouteville asked what Wulf thought he was up to, then some very creative lying would be required. He didn’t.

“Are you willing to stop him, my son?”

Wulf drained the mouthful of wine in his glass. “I am willing to try, Your Eminence.” What choice did he have?

“Excellent! Then you have until vespers tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Wulf straightened up in alarm. “With respect, Your-”

The old man’s face was suddenly as hard as baked brick. “You will return to this room before sunset tomorrow. If you have real progress to report, we may extend you some additional time, but if you have not succeeded by then, I doubt that you will succeed at all. Speakers are renowned as fast workers. That is why you are known as falcons.”

“I am a very inexperienced Speaker, Your Eminence. I had no handler to train me, and my cadger knows much less than I do.”

D’Estouteville shrugged. “All you need is your cadger’s permission. She has agreed to provide it, but for this limited time only.”

They had Madlenka! Of course they would hold her as hostage for his good behavior. That was undoubtedly one of a cadger’s purposes. Wulf should have seen that last night.

Now he had no choice at all. “Then I shall return here before sunset tomorrow.” And if he didn’t return voluntarily, he could be fetched. “You will, I am sure, monitor my actions while I am gone.”

“Many people will, I expect.” The cardinal’s brown-splotched hand lifted a small handbell and jingled it. The door opened so promptly that the newcomer might have been waiting right outside. Or he might have been waiting in the land of Prester John, because he bore a shining nimbus. He was a gaunt man of about thirty, with a hard, ascetic face; he wore the white habit and black cloak of a Dominican friar.

“This is Brother Luigi,” d’Estouteville said, “prior of the Roman Inquisition. Bring in the countess, if you please, Brother.”

Brother Luigi acknowledged the order with a nod, but then did nothing at all except stand there and stare intently at Wulfgang, whose mind madly chased its own tail and caught nothing. Any attempt to snatch Madlenka and carry her off to freedom would be absolutely useless. He could fly with her to the realm of the Great Mogul, but the Inquisition would follow.

A gate opened in the bookshelves, wide enough to reveal two women standing there. One of them was Madlenka, who smiled with relief at the sight of Wulf as he sprang to his feet. The other had a nimbus. Three’s dangerous. For a moment he thought the second girl was a nun, for her black gown was sek gown wxless and shapeless, and her wimple hid her hair, exposing only her face. Then he recognized Sybilla, whose involvement in promoting family affairs was only to be expected. Her own jessing having been arranged, her half-brother’s marriage was now the business of the day. She, too, smiled at him, but his attention was on Madlenka.

Obviously she had been rehearsed and had consented to follow the playbook. She raised a paper and carefully read off the words: “Wulfgang Magnus, I freely and voluntarily give you my permission to use your talent in any way you please from now until sunset tomorrow, except that you may not spy on me or try to locate me or communicate with me in any way. You will not break the first commandment under any circumstances.”

Wulf said, “Wait-”

Brother Luigi stepped through the gate in front of the women and it closed behind him.

Wulf’s talent was back, though. Otto was standing at a window, staring out at the bailey in Castle Gallant, watching men clearing snow. Vlad was striding along the battlements.

“Well, you must be on your way,” d’Estouteville said wearily. “Forgive me for not rising to see you out, Wulfgang. About the only consolation of old age is that it lets us pander to native laziness.” He held out his ring to be kissed. “May the Lord go with you and aid you.”

“Amen to that, Your Eminence.”

As Wulf straightened up, he decided that the key to his problems must be Marquessa Darina. Justina first, though. Justina was in the kitchen of her cottage at Avlona. He opened a gate to go there.