Grantville Gazette.Volume XVII (ring of fire) Read online

  Dal Pozzo raised his eyebrows in surprise. Giulio couldn't help smiling. Whenever Carlo took a job as a bodyguard, he kept his mouth shut and ears open. Many employers didn't take notice of the hired help and didn't think twice about what they said in front of them. One underestimated Carlo Belzoni's brains at their own peril.

  Giulio thought for a moment. He didn't have Carlo's brains, but even he could see there was only one place they could go. Somewhere both the Gentileschis and dal Pozzo had long-standing ties and where they might be reasonably out of the reach of the Spanish. But was Florence that sanctuary? Or were they merely delaying their capture?

  Dal Pozzo grimaced and groaned. He was clearly in a great deal of pain.

  "We will leave this until the morning," Carlo said. "Now, we'll all rest. Cavaliere dal Pozzo, you will drink this." This time, dal Pozzo did not resist. He drank what Carlo called "Lethe," a concoction Carlo's grandfather, also a barber-surgeon, had come up with: watered-down mulled wine with a few drops of opium. A strong but effective painkiller. Dal Pozzo was asleep within moments.

  "Now, let us do the same. We'll be getting little enough sleep in the days ahead."

  II

  Florence, June 1635

  The tiny chamber in the Tuscan Grand Duke's palace was checked regularly, to make sure that there were no spy holes and no unexpected places for unwanted ears to listen in. A rose carved in relief in the wood paneling opposite the secret door was a not so subtle reminder that everything said in this room was secret, not to be spoken of- sub rosa. Others used the chamber as well, for discreet discussions and meetings. Right now Grand Duke Ferdinand II's minister of state and Lord Bailiff, Andrea Cioli, and the Grand Duke's eighteen year-old brother, Leopoldo, sat across a chessboard from each other.

  "It didn't take long for Borja's Folly to land on our doorstep," Cioli grumbled dourly. "Don de la Mer's voice is almost as irritating as his constant demands. I could happily drown him in the very wine he sells."

  "My brother still dithers?" asked Leopoldo.

  "He sees himself in the hollow of Philip's mailed fist on the one hand and as the champion of Tuscany on the other. Don de la Mer offers no hard proof that Cassiano dal Pozzo and his would-be rescuers are here. I believe Ferdinand believes dal Pozzo is in Florence, and he can neither betray dal Pozzo nor refuse the Spanish demands outright."

  Leopoldo made his move. "I wish to remain in ignorance of this matter. If you're going to try to ensnare me in a plot against my own brother I'd as soon go back to my books."

  "I am not seeking to replace your brother or even undermine his rule. Quite the opposite, as it happens. History will not remember His Grace Ferdinand II as a clever man, but he is a fairly good one. If anything, Leopoldo, I am hoping to get him out of a difficult position." Cioli made his move.

  The scholar-prince sighed, surveying the board. "I cannot fault your logic, Lord Bailiff. Would that Ferdinand would be bold and choose the Cardinal-Infante's course. With our brother Matteo to lead our forces, I even believe he could pull it off."

  "One step at a time, Leopoldo. Let us focus on the problem at hand, that of smuggling Cassiano dal Pozzo, the lefferto Belzoni, Giulio Gentileschi and Gentileschi's woman safely to the USE through very hostile territory. All without your brother officially knowing, so he may in good conscience plead ignorance in the face of the howling Ambassador de la Mer."

  "If they are here, Andrea."

  "As you say, Leopoldo. If they are here."

  "You are forgetting an important detail," said Leopoldo as he mated Cioli's king. "My other brother. Giancarlo."

  Cioli grunted sourly, and not because he'd lost the game. Giancarlo de' Medici was twenty-four, with the sex drive of a bull elephant in rut and less restraint. He was being groomed for a career in the church.

  The cough from the room's third occupant seemed very loud. Leopoldo had forgotten the man's presence entirely. He was a priest approaching middle age, even if his youthful looks belied the fact. Officially the man was secretary to the Grand Duke's confessor. Unofficially, Father Giuseppe had a nose for secrets and gossip, and a willingness to pass on information to the Grand Duke or those working on his behalf. A very useful man to have around.

  "If His Grace the prince and the Lord Bailiff will forgive my interruption, it pays to remember that Giancarlo is ruled by his genitals. Especially in this case."

  "He seeks to tumble Esperanza de la Mer?" asked Cioli.

  "Exactly so. Giancarlo believes he knows how to get His Grace the grand duke to give in, and hopes by advancing the Spanish cause to advance into Dona de la Mer's bed. However, I believe I can arrange for a suitable distraction. Meanwhile, I would draw both of your attentions to a piece of correspondence that crossed my desk by a regrettable accident. A letter from an artist His Grace's blessed father held in some esteem." It was plain even to Leopoldo that it was no accident Father Giuseppe had seen this particular letter. Naive Leopoldo might be, mostly by his own choice, but he was still a Medici. And he was curious.

  "Which artist would this be, Father Giuseppe?" He asked.

  "Artemisia Gentileschi, my lord. She writes of the betrothal of her elder daughter to a young up-time man. One proficient in the arts of what the up-timers call 'television.' I seem to recall that His Grace expressed a wish for a demonstration of this strange art to young Signore Bartolli during his trade mission last year. Perhaps it is time for that demonstration to take place."

  Cioli's frown slowly gave way to a smile. He nodded slowly. "Yes, Father Giuseppe. An outstanding idea. I will propose it to Ferdinand right away."

  "No need," said Leopoldo. "I will have the Accademia del Cimento sponsor a series of lectures by Signore McDougal." Leopoldo also had a burning desire to see this strange device and the art it displayed. When Ferdinand established the Accademia del Cimento last summer-some twenty years ahead of schedule by the up-timers' history-the Grand Duke had asked Leopoldo to assume a leading role, along with Leopoldo's mentor Galileo. In the other time line, Leopoldo had also been a leader of Accademia del Cimento. Even at the tender age of eighteen Cosimo II's youngest son-who was never without a book to read in a spare moment-was the obvious person to be the ruling family's choice to lead the new academy and help Tuscan scholars break free of the stifling preconceptions of the Aristotelian method.

  "And while he's here, he can see to family business as well. We'll make a politician out of you yet, Leopoldo," said Cioli. "I'll send a courier to Venice to deliver a radio message."

  "Perhaps the Accademia del Desegno would like to be involved," suggested Father Giuseppe. "Artemisia Gentileschi is the Academy of Design's only woman member and they are sure to be curious about her new son-in-law."

  "Yes," said Cioli. "Very good. And Father Giuseppe… if you should hear of gossip involving unusual goings-on at Casa Buonarotti, feel free to apprise me of them. An important citizen such as Signore Michaelangelo should not be the subject of common rumor. Do you understand?"

  "Perfectly, Your Grace. It will be as you say. In fact, I have it on good authority that a rider left Casa Buonarotti in a great hurry. Heading for Venice. A popular place, it seems, from which to send messages, though I'm sure it's but the basest of whispers."

  III

  Rome, June 1635

  Father Diego was a hard man unaccustomed to soft surroundings. And his rooms in the Lateran Palace of Rome were certainly soft surroundings. He accepted them, however, as the respect to which he was due after a lifetime of service to Mother Church and her greatest defender, His Most Catholic Majesty Philip IV. Cardinal Borja had made a dog's dinner of his attempted takeover, however pious his intentions may have been. It would be up to Father Diego and those like him to clean up the mess.

  Of course, if those who had installed Father Diego in these luxurious surroundings had divined the true purpose to which he'd lately dedicated himself, he would not be in the Lateran Palace. He would be in a dungeon, or at the center of an auto da fe, ending up a charred lump ti
ed to a stake. That thought didn't bother the old priest. Church and crown would ever be foremost in his heart.

  Even so, he wasn't completely sure of the one he was about to meet. This young man was rumored to possess a prodigious intellect and a gift for discovering secrets and making sense of them. Father Diego's superiors-his true superiors in The Cause-believed this man was ripe for recruitment. That remained to be seen. Meanwhile, he had a man to find, a man that had nothing to do with The Cause, and whatever else happened, Father Diego would make use of this man's skills.

  In due course a young Dominican friar was shown into the chamber. Just the man Father Diego wanted to see. Irrevocably committed to Holy Mother Church and Spain's role as her most ardent defender, Fra Andres believed that the Spanish Inquisition was crucial in maintaining Spain's purity. Purity of faith, purity of blood. And even though the young Dominican had moved on to other assignments-as was customary for inquisitors-Andres still held the ideals of the Spanish Inquisition dear in his heart. At least, according to everything Father Diego had been able to find out. This is what made him a prime candidate for The Cause.

  The friar would be an asset. Andres had a top-notch legal mind and knew canon law and procedure by memory. He did not allow his passions to rule his intellect and approached investigations with rigorous logic. He had not been afraid to suspend proceedings if he could not prove charges, which proved he believed in laws over men. Most importantly, however, Fra Andres had a burning hatred for the United States of Europe and the up-timers in particular. That hatred had led him to study them, particularly their methods of law enforcement and investigation, to strengthen the Inquisition and to better oppose the radical heresies the Americans had brought with them from their infernal future. Just as those of The Cause hoped to ensure Spain's greatness by making up-timer philosophies and learning serve to glorify His Most Catholic Majesty and the Holy Church he defended.

  Father Diego looked up at the young monk; Andres couldn't be much beyond his mid-twenties. The old priest smiled thinly.

  "Tell me, Fra Andres-why have you been sent for?"

  "I can only assume that there is an assignment which requires my services, Father Diego."

  "And why would I require your services?"

  "I do not know. I only seek to be used as God wills." Unlike many ambitious young men, Fra Andres looked as if he meant it.

  "You are correct, Fra Andres. I have read much about your time as an inquisitor. Your unorthodox methods are perfectly suited for what I have in mind." Diego motioned to a chair. "Sit, please."

  Andres sat. "If by 'unorthodox' you mean the investigative methods used by the up-timers, then I would say that they have proven singularly successful in my small efforts to advance the defense of the Church by His Most Catholic Majesty," the monk said, a little defensively.

  Diego raised his eyebrow. Andres took that as a signal to continue. "To effectively fight the enemy, you must think like the enemy. How can one ever discover a secret Jew, for example, if one does not know all the ruses they employ? To combat the up-timers we must learn to think as they do. Anticipate their tricks and use them to our own ends. Such thinking might have saved us from the humiliation at the Wartburg and those heaped on us since." Diego didn't pursue the latter point. Aside from the slaughter of inquisitors at the Wartburg, the Americans had introduced a popular comic figure to the Germans: the bumbling Cardinal Ximinez, who always proclaimed that no one expected the Spanish Inquisition. And of the Jewish comedian Brooks' comical singing Torquemada, the less said the better.

  The old priest nodded. Andres was right, of course. One of the officers who'd escaped the flames of the Wartburg and had been paroled by the Americans brought back a copy of the procedures used by their police force. Amazingly, he hadn't even had to pay any bribes. He'd asked for a copy and received it. The manual had been duly translated back in Madrid and a few copies made, most of which gathered dust. Only a few enterprising young men like Fra Andres bothered to look at them. But it paid off. Using these new procedures to gather evidence, Andres had built such convincing cases of heresy that sometimes torture wasn't even necessary to gain a confession.

  Father Diego drew out a sheaf of paper and shuffled through them.

  "As you know, Fra Andres, we're already starting to receive accusations from pious Romans eager to purify God's one true Church." He slid several sheets over to the young Dominican. "I and my superiors were hoping you and your talents could help us with one particular case."

  Fra Andres quickly skimmed the papers in front of him. "Cavaliere Cassiano dal Pozzo. Noted scholar and patron of the arts, and well-known ally of Francesco Barberini. Accused of heresy, sodomy, solicitation… there's a space here to add charges." Fra Andres looked up at Diego and the old priest gave him another one of his thin, spidery smiles. "I'm assuming there is evidence to support these charges and add more?"

  "Of course. I'm confident you will prove them beyond, ah, what's the up-timer phrase becoming popular in law schools? Beyond a reasonable doubt? That is why I've summoned you. Also because, regrettably, Signore dal Pozzo seems to have fled the city. With your reputation for gathering evidence and deducing conclusions, it is my hope you will be able to narrow down where dal Pozzo might seek sanctuary."

  Fra Andres didn't appear to be listening. He seemed to be engrossed in a section of the file Father Diego had given him.

  "You've found something already, Fra Andres?"

  "Has anyone talked to Giulio Gentileschi, Father?"

  "Not that I am aware of. He has little significance."

  "Maybe not so little. Dal Pozzo is a known friend and patron of Artemisia Gentileschi, Signore Giulio's elder sister. She stayed at dal Pozzo's residence during Galileo's trial."

  "Yes. That is, I believe, the basis of the sodomy charge. Artemisia has a reputation for unnatural lusts, as testified in open court by Agostino Tassi."

  "We'll see. That testimony is tainted by the fact that Tassi was found guilty of the charges against him. Be that as it may, I will need whatever can be found on Giulio Gentileschi, his ties and habits. I am confident that if I can find him, I can find dal Pozzo."

  ***

  The Vatican curia was nothing if not thorough in its record-keeping, and for now that apparatus was under Cardinal Borja's control. Fra Andres had begun his investigation by questioning neighbors and known associates of Giulio Gentileschi. The matter was more difficult than he would have liked; Francisco de Quevedo, with Cardinal Borja's approval, had instituted a smear campaign against the Barberini, which insinuated-among many other things-that Artemisia Gentileschi had traded sexual favors for Barberini patronage and that Antonio Barberini the Younger, in his depravity, had taken full advantage of the offer. Artemisia made a convenient target herself because in accepting commissions from the Barberini, shortly before her move to Grantville, she cut her ties with King Philip IV.

  Like so many of Borja and Quevedo's machinations, this had backfired. A backlash, probably encouraged by the pope's pet sculptor and architect Gian Lorenzo Bernini, made it hard for anyone allied with the Spanish party in Rome to hire decent artists. Of more immediate concern to Andres, it made people reluctant to answer questions from someone helping the Spanish. Fortunately, he'd learned that he could gain a great deal of information by establishing a rapport with those he was questioning, make them feel safe, and as if they were not betraying anything by talking to him. And when that failed, most people could be bought.

  Andres wasn't able to find out a great deal, but it was enough. Giulio Gentileschi was last seen on the day Spanish forces arrived in Rome, nearly a month ago, in the company of a notorious lefferto named Carlo Belzoni. He had not been seen since.

  Reluctance to answer questions did not extend to gossip. Andres found out that Giulio had a lover, a woman named Lucia di Lazio. She was a former artist's model and sometime prostitute who'd married a farmer and left Rome about five years ago. Her association with the Gentileschis dated back nearly ten yea
rs, when she modeled for one of Artemisia's paintings. A search of the curia' s census rolls gave him a reasonably exact location for the farm of Lorenzo di Lazio, about a half-day's journey outside Rome.

  Fra Andres had paced the small cottage any number of times and was confident he'd gleaned what clues he could from it. First, it was clear that the cottage had been abandoned for some time, weeks probably. What little food there was in the house was rotten and the hearth cold.

  Further, if Signora di Lazio was gone, it was not in the company of the husband and daughter the census rolls claimed she had. Two weathered gravestones in back of the house said as much. It seemed logical to conclude she had left in the company of Giulio Gentileschi, but that did not have to mean that Cassiano dal Pozzo was with them. And there was nothing in the house to indicate in which direction they might have fled.

  "Fra Andres!" Sergeant Perreira, hard-faced leader of the small squad Father Diego sent with him into the countryside, stepped into the doorway of the small house.

  "Yes, sergeant?"

  "One of my scouts found a wrecked cart with a grave next to it just a few miles down the road."

  "Take me there."

  It was clear that whatever the upset cart had held, most of it had been pillaged. The grave nearby was relatively fresh, certainly no more than a few weeks old.

  "Sergeant, have your men dig up that grave."

  "Yes, Fra Andres."

  While the soldier set about exhuming the grave, Andres examined the wreck. Not much was left, but a scrap of cloth with a badge on it caught his eye. The badge was the coat of arms of Cassiano dal Pozzo. A shout from Sergeant Perreira told him the grave was open.

  Andres stepped up to the body and opened the cloth wrapping. The body was badly decomposed and at least one of the soldiers spewed his breakfast on the ground. Looking at what was left of the face, Fra Andres could at least tell it was not Cassiano dal Pozzo.