1635 The Papal Stakes (69 page)

Grumbles of assent made Don Vincente’s stomach churn; so, this was the flower of manly intellect in Imperial Spain? Centuries of war, conquest, and sacrifice had all been endured to produce this? He did not know whether to laugh, cry, or vomit. At any rate, he lost his appetite; he signaled the cook for a very small portion.

A more composed voice rose up in contention, speaking in pure Catalan, not Mallorquin. “You Mallorcan dolts understand nothing of politics. You might as well be capering around like a bunch of Moors, invoking the spirits of your ancestors to ward off ill omens.”

“Is that so, Corporal? And what is your lofty understanding of this situation?”

“This is politics, fool, plain and simple. You bring the child into the world and use it to control the parents. They’ll do anything to make sure it stays alive. Meanwhile, although you don’t let them know, you give the child the best of everything. Bring ’im up in Court, even.”

“Why? So the demon-child can kill the king?”

“Yokel. The only demons and witches are the ones in your imagination and your grandmother’s drunken dreams. Look: you bring the boy up in court to make him feel that it is his home. In time, you can use him as an agent against the USE, against his own grandfather, who’s becoming wealthy beyond any one’s dreams. Once the boy reaches the age of majority, a little intervention from a subtle assassin could put all that money at the grandson’s, and thus our king’s, disposal. That might even solve Spain’s money problems in a one fell swoop.”

Don Vincente felt the food thump on his plate, did not see it. This voice—belonging to one of the soldiers he and Ezquerra had drawn from the garrison at Fort San Carlos—was far more learned, but no less horrific, than the first; the same grasping cruelty was there, simply converted into a godless format.

One of the other soldiers from Fort San Carlos was disputing the corporal’s scheme. “That’s bullshit, Enrique. The USE would never allow it: they’d seize Stone’s firm, first.”

The corporal’s voice was unperturbed. “They may. But that has other costs. Political costs due to the hypocrisy of that action: so much for the vaunted up-time ‘rule of law’ and ‘free markets.’ Yes, they wouldn’t stay very popular if they nationalized the company right after its new grandson-owner announces that the business will allow investors to buy shares in it.”

The youngest of the Mallorcans—the son of a good family who had bought him a commission as an ensign—sounded dubious. “If it was to become known that we had so manipulated and twisted a child, it will make us—make Spain—more despised, even by our own allies.”

“Nonsense,” argued the corporal. “This is simply a matter of returning to more traditional and effective means of statecraft. This growing trend of considering children to be ‘innocents’ who must be shielded against the harsh realities of the world is a Reformation decadence, brought on by their fascination with Greek political debaucheries such as ‘democracy.’ All fueled by the up-timers. Who are already the basest of hypocrites, you know. ‘Spare the innocents,’ they all cried in their up-time world. And then their most civilized lands slaughtered millions of children with bombs dropped from flying machines.

“And besides, if the rest of Europe disapproves that we have groomed Thomas Stone’s grandson to be both our instrument of vengeance, and our means of refilling our coffers, how does that concern us? We are Spaniards: the fate of the Church is in our hands. We have done harder things. We just recently removed countless corrupt cardinals and strove to accomplish the same with the heretic Pope Urban—my apologies: the anti-Pope Urban. So of what concern is a little old-fashioned hostage-taking to our accumulated reputation? Our lot is infamy among the decadent: so be it.”

Don Vincente let his plate fall with a clatter. The soldiers looked up, stunned to see him at their margins. They never suspected that an officer would dine from the same pot, or come to the same queue to be served from it. “Acts that earn us infamy among the decadent is desirable—unless they also earn us infamy among the just. But of course, there are no just men or virtuous women beyond the borders of Spain, so my words are pointless.”

The captain turned his back on them, stalked away, hands behind his back, head lowered in thought, trying—very hard—to rediscover the lost threads of righteousness he had once associated with both the nation and king to which he had sworn allegiance so many years ago.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

When Sharon arrived at the Garden Room, Ruy was already there. Being married to him, she could see the telltale signs of—well, not anxiety, exactly: more like highly sharpened focus. The most noticeable physical sign was in his posture; although he always sat erect, there was also always a hint of serpentine fluidity about Ruy, even when he was perfectly still. That fluidity was not evident now; his spine seemed to be an inflexible vertical rod.

He moved to make room for Sharon as she glanced at the empty seats beside them. “Where is Sherrilyn? She planned on being here, this time.”

“She is walking the perimeter. She fears laxity and so is making a surprise inspection.”

“I see. And of course you didn’t say anything that might have prompted her.”

“I may have mentioned something about the danger of repetitive patrols without any surprises to test alertness. I do not remember.”

“Sure you don’t. You are just a forgetful old man.”

“How very right you are, my dearest love. By the way, this morning, before I left to walk the perimeter at dawn, did I forget to—?”

“You did not forget to do anything. In fact, you did it twice. Vigorously.”

“Ah. See the infirmities of age? Here I was, thinking I had failed in my spousal duties to you, and was happily anticipating making up for them tonight. Making up for them twice, in fact.”

“You know,” mused Sharon with a slow smile, “maybe
I’m
the one who’s forgetting. Maybe I’m remembering what you did
yesterday
morning—”

“Ah, so I may need to make up for a pre-dawn oversight after all? How wonderful. I assure you, dear wife, that when I make recompense three times for this oversight in attending to your wifely needs—”

“Three times? I thought you said twice?”

“Did I? See how forgetful I have become. It is—”

Vitelleschi entered and waited for the other clerics to find their places; their collegial banter diminished quickly. Although adversaries in the evenings, even Wadding and Mazzare had drifted slowly into a friendship, first based on mutual respect, but ultimately, growing out of a shared celebration of a life of the mind.

But there were no glimmers of that amity present this evening, and Sharon grasped Ruy’s hand hard. “Here we go. I sure hope Larry’s got his game on.”

“Indeed,” Ruy said, and she could tell from the way he said it that he was more interested in listening than talking—which was understandable: this night’s debate might well define the fate of the papacy, and the immediate fate of the embassy, too.

Vitelleschi raised his hands once Urban had taken his seat before the fire. “Today we examine the present exigencies of the Church in light of the enduring mandates of God. We must answer this question: where should the pope go next? We already know the safest course of action”—Vitelleschi’s eyes shifted to Sharon—“and we are in our hostess’ debt for making further, better asylum available to us, merely for the asking. However, it is incumbent upon us to explore if, in accepting such a generous offer, the path of holy grace lies parallel to, or departs from, that mundane prudence. We must ensure that our concern for the physical safety of the Church does not lead us to compromise its autonomy and its spiritual survival. Father Wadding, you shall speak first.”

Wadding rose slowly. “In speaking of gratitude to hosts, Father-General Vitelleschi touches upon the core issue before us: not the nature of our prospective host, but of our responsibilities and duties as a guest. The first and foremost of which must be: never accept a courtesy which you must not repay.

“Note that I say
must not
repay. I choose the word
must
quite intentionally. A courtesy that one
cannot
repay implies a lack of adequate resources. I do not say
may
not
repay, because this speaks to manners: we receive the courtesy of kings, as we receive the grace of Christ, knowing full well that it would be an insult to our host to even attempt repayment in kind. And I do not say
should not
repay, because the word ‘should’ indicates that this is a recommendation, not a dictum.

“So when might a prospective guest foresee incurring a debt of gratitude that he
must
not repay? Simply answered, when the host is likely to use the guest’s sense of obligation to compromise his honor.”

Wadding raised a hand, as if indicating an invisible heavenly multitude. “In every culture, the same wisdom is axiomatic: never be beholden to another. On occasion, this is presumed to be a reflex of vainglorious pride. It is not; it is a resolve to maintain absolute sovereignty over one’s own priorities and commitments. This is why we should always ask ourselves this question before crossing a host’s threshold: in this house, might my duties as a guest conflict with my original oaths and loyalties?”

“Consider our special quandary as the terrestrial children of God and the Virgin Mary: what
must
we be prepared to endure if we enter into the house of a known heretic? For surely, that host will question whether our virgin mother is worthy of veneration, will insult our pontifical ancestors, will challenge whether those forebears rightfully inherited the property they passed down to us, and ultimately, will contend that we do not therefore possess the holy titles, privileges, and duties which are our God-given legacies. What sane man—what moral man—would enter into such a house as a guest, no matter how warmly the invitation is proffered to him?” Wadding spread his arms. “How is our situation any different as we contemplate the invitation of the Swede to shelter in lands that owe fealty to him?”

Mazzare leaned forward; Vitelleschi nodded toward him. “You have something to interject, Your Eminence?”

“This is a false analogy, Father-General. Organizations are not people. Furthermore, rival sovereigns can host each other in amity, even though they maintain contending claims upon the same tract of land. Disagreement does not necessarily predict or imply disrespect, derogation, or conflict.”

Wadding shook his head sharply “My analogy seems false only to minds so fixated upon the world of kings that they have lost sight of the differences implicit when one is discussing the King of the World. Rival kings are rival men; there is no perfection in their relations, nor their judgments. They struggle—even when it is for mutual justice—in the dark.

“Our Heavenly Father has illuminated our path with the Light of His Truth. Our pope is not merely a ruler; he is the living representative of Christ. He possesses the Sacred Magisterium of infallibility in matters of faith and morals. When he enters a house—any house—he should be considered its master; any who deny him this demonstrate, by that denial, that they are estranged from Christ.”

Wadding raised a pausing palm in Larry’s direction. “Save your objections, Cardinal Mazzare. Your time to speak is coming. For now, I would ask you to consider if your own analogy, which likens this matter to affairs of state among congenial kings, truly applies in this case. Can the Swede be considered an amicable monarch, given how his defamations of ‘papists’ have given aid and encouragement to his Protestant allies? Has he recanted? Has he apologized? Has he sent an envoy to the pope?”

Sharon cleared her throat very loudly.

Wadding could not help a brief smile. “I except Grantville and its representatives from these accusations. They speak no ill of Mother Church, have given us the inestimable Cardinal Mazzare as a colleague, and did us the signal honor of sending us their own envoy in the form of Ambassador Nichols, without whose kind intercession none of us would be alive to debate this topic. However, Grantville can barely compel the down-time natives of State of Thuringia and Franconia to obey its laws of religious toleration. Furthermore, the Swede did not send his greetings along with this embassy, or even give it his explicit imprimatur. So far as we know, and so far as we have seen, Gustav Adolf ‘tolerates’ the toleration espoused by his Grantville allies: no more.”

Mazzare stood. “He has mandated the equal practice of religions, and enforced it throughout the United States of Europe in Germany.”

“So it is said. But still: is he a Catholic king? Does he receive the sacrament of confession? Is he in a state of grace—and may he even return to one, should he wish it? Has he not made war upon the Catholic states of France, Bavaria, and Spain? And nearly so with Austria? Is this, then, a king that is in any conceivable way, congenial to our Church, its allies, or its interests?”

Wadding sighed and seemed to sag, suddenly tired and old. “I will assume that you, my brothers in Christ, are incarnations of the perfect will and resolve of the martyrs. I also assume that you would therefore be impervious to the subtle, as well as the great, seductions and coercions of dwelling with such a powerful host, who also has the power to derail or delay both the discussion and dissemination of whatever decrees our pope might make. For let us be frank: if you are Gustav Adolf’s guest, it is the work of a moment for him to make you his hostage, instead.

“However, even assuming that he would not be a faithless host, I am still a weak man. I may be strong in Christ, but I am not so proud as to believe that I possess the moral fiber of the martyrs. What if, in Gustav’s house, I falter in my resolve? What if I do not object to heresy when the Holy Spirit tells me I should? What if I once nod in agreement against my conscience, simply because my host has worn me down with an endless round of entreaties, arguments, and embargos? I ask you,” urged Wadding, coming from around his table, “can the future of the Church be safely planned in such a place?