Fieschi sat upright and said sharply, “Do not refuse this course simply because you don’t want to agree with Colonna. That is childish. The entire Colonna-Orsini feud is childish. Do you even remember what your ancestors first argued about?”
Orsini made a dismissive gesture. “If you genuinely believe that you can bring this man under your sway, so that he will be my tool, then I will consider—but only consider—ensuring that all civic authority in the city is dedicated to carrying out his enthronement.”
“That is the only sane way to persevere in this,” Fieschi said, feeling a wave of relief that he was careful not to show. Let Orsini think Father Rodrigo was to be Orsini’s tool.
He knew better.
A dried, charred smell wafted toward the five as they approached the alley that ran behind the Septizodium. “We turn left here,” Ocyrhoe announced. “There is a hidden entrance that only Ferenc can find.” Ferenc glanced at her and smiled with sheepish pride, knowing what she was telling them. “Then there is a series of dark passages. We will need at least a candle. Do you still have the candle from this morning?” she asked Monferrato. “The one you used to irritate the Emperor?”
Every time she spoke to him, he seemed startled and slightly annoyed. She wondered how many girls other than servants ever spoke to him, Cardinal as he was. “That was part of the excommunication ritual,” he said. “I gave it to my colleague.”
“Well, we’ll need to get a candle from somewhere else, then, or a lantern,” she said. “But first we’ll show you the doorway. It’s just... Oh!”
They had turned the corner as she spoke. The charred smell hit their faces, wafting on languid curls of smoke that emanated from a large, ragged opening in the rock face, a few dozen paces away.
This was the secret entrance to the Septizodium, but it stood wide open—in fact, the hinged rock that served as the actual door had been lifted away, as if by the hand of God, and lay in the street. Amazed, she turned to Ferenc, who was already staring at her.
“That’s the entrance. Something has happened,” she said, as calmly as she could.
“I think there has been a fire,” the Cardinal said in a concerned voice. Ocyrhoe rolled her eyes. She was not prone to sarcasm, but this man was just too easy a target.
“Let’s take a closer look,” Léna calmly intervened.
“Yes, absolutely,” Helmuth said, so quickly that Ocyrhoe suspected he was embarrassed he was not the first to suggest it.
They walked toward the entrance. Ocyrhoe glanced up at the surrounding rooftops but saw no guards—no one at all. The alley was deserted. As they approached the entrance, preparing to enter with Ocyrhoe in the lead, an echoing, percussive sound issued from the darkness. And then, softer, the sounds of footfall, coming closer to them.
A low, blocky form emerged from obscurity: a small, hunched man, a shovel slung back over his shoulder, wearing the ill-fitting livery of a low-ranking servant. His face was wrinkled, furtive, sad. He stepped through the doorway and paused with disinterest, lowering his jaw slightly when he saw them all gathered. “No entry allowed,” he said, sounding bored. “There are guards back there, they’ll just chase you out.” He took another step to move past them.
“Can you tell us what happened?” the Cardinal asked.
The old man shrugged. “Fire. Someone died.”
“Who died?” Ocyrhoe demanded.
Again the old man shrugged. “Cardinal.”
“Which one?” Monferrato demanded shrilly.
“Foreigner. English, I think.”
Ocyrhoe gasped before she could catch herself. Ferenc tapped her arm. She ignored him and turned to Léna. “The man who sent the message is dead.” She tried to push aside the strange upwelling of emotion—she’d only met Somercotes once, yet she found herself disoriented by the news. “How do I fulfill my obligation now?” she asked, almost childlike. “I was to bring the Emperor’s men to Cardinal Somercotes, but he... no longer lives.”
Léna gave her an understanding look. She reached for Ocyrhoe’s right hand, lifted it, gently pressed the hand into a fist, and rested the fist against Ocyrhoe’s breastbone. “You are like the fox, unbound here and unencumbered,” she prompted.
Ocyrhoe began to echo the phrase before Léna had even finished. Then she heaved a huge sigh, both saddened and relieved that her mission was over. She saw Ferenc watching the two Binders with a wary, envious look.
During their exchange, Helmuth had continued to question the worker, who met the soldier’s demands with a series of shrugs and other signs of stolid disregard—and only a few mumbled words. After releasing the old man with a disgusted kick at his backside, Helmuth informed the rest of the group, “The other Cardinals were escorted to the Vatican compound yesterday.”
“I knew that,” Ocyrhoe said matter-of-factly. Helmuth glared at her. Ocyrhoe had never encountered so many fragile men in her life. They must feel very insecure indeed if a girl talking back caused such unrest.
“Let us go there,” said the Cardinal.