The Mongoliad Book Three

“If you were capable of swordplay I’d throw a gauntlet at your feet this moment,” Orsini said between clenched teeth. “But you, oh, elevated prelate, you would never condescend to something as barbaric as fencing. You just strangle and burn your victims.”

 

 

If he said it to cause trouble for Fieschi in front of the help, he was not successful. Fieschi’s face stayed absolutely calm; in fact, he glanced at the ostiarius with an expression of conspiratorial condescension as if to say, Such a shame these laymen are so misguided. The ostiarius—knowing well who his true master was—then shot Orsini a subtly disapproving look.

 

“Come, then,” Fieschi said to the Vatican doorkeeper, who gestured toward a small door nearby. As they began to cross the hall, Orsini followed, deliberately close to the Cardinal. “Senator, you are not invited,” Fieschi said without looking back at him.

 

“Inform the Cardinal I will enter,” Orsini directed the ostiarius.

 

The slender porter seemed to shrink a little at this contretemps. “My sincere apologies, Senator Orsini, but the Cardinal is correct that ecclesiastical law holds here. His word outweighs yours. If he does not wish you in the chamber, you may not enter.”

 

“It’s for your own good, friend Bear,” Fieschi said, still not looking at him.

 

“Very well then,” Orsini said, the words almost strangling him. “I shall wait just outside.”

 

They were nearly at the door, which opened suddenly. Colonna and Capocci exited, closing the oak door quietly behind them. Not noticing the newcomers in the dim light, the two men paused to confer.

 

“That did not go at all as I expected,” Capocci said heartily. “But I must say I am not displeased.”

 

“Agreed,” Colonna said. “He’ll change the course of history, but I think he’ll do it quietly.”

 

Fieschi released a groan of annoyance. Capocci started and stared at him, then at Orsini, several paces off.

 

“The two of you have already gotten your claws into him?” Fieschi demanded, in the tone of a chastising parent.

 

Colonna and Capocci recovered quickly. “Claws?” said Colonna, the venerable uncle. “Are you suggesting that we have just come from unduly influencing the man who is to be our next Pope?”

 

“Tried,” Capocci corrected. “That we have tried to unduly influence the man.”

 

“Yes, of course,” Colonna corrected himself. “Tried. How could we possibly corrupt a man as pure and uncorruptable as that one?”

 

“I don’t think such a thing is possible,” Capocci agreed.

 

“Enough!” Orsini snapped. “You two make a mockery of your offices.”

 

Capocci regarded the Senator with an unruffled expression. “I have suffered recently for my office, Senator Orsini,” he said quietly, all traces of humor gone from his voice. “While I do not tempt God as readily as you—”

 

“Why are you not with the other Cardinals?” Fieschi interrupted coldly.

 

“They are over in the Castel Sant’Angelo,” Colonna answered. “Poring over codices and scrolls that various clerks and acolytes have found for them. They are not convinced we should go forward installing Father Rodrigo as Saint Peter’s heir. Of course they are mistaken, for he has been duly elected, and we were all witness to it.”

 

“This is all most irregular,” Orsini said uncomfortably, his voice hollow in the long, dark hall.

 

Colonna gave him a murderous look. “Not half as irregular as what we were subjected to in the Septizodium,” he said. “Senator, you are out of place here, and I strongly recommend you escape back to your side of the Tiber.”

 

“He’s leaving now,” Fieschi said firmly, as Orsini prepared to add his own imprecations. “Aren’t you, Senator?”

 

“I have come to pay my respects to the new Pope,” Orsini said brusquely, but he turned this way and that, indecisive, uncomfortable—very like an embarrassed youth.

 

Colonna sneered. “You have no respects to pay,” he growled, his tone withering, his voice like a lion’s. The doors seemed to hum and flex along the hall. He advanced toward Orsini, hands balled into fists. “You, Senator, are a man without respect. You have no power here. Leave immediately or I shall ask several of our larger priests to haul you out bodily, like the sack of manure you are, and dump you into the river.”

 

Orsini glared at Colonna, but did not move.

 

The tall Cardinal inclined his head a fraction. “Good evening, Senator,” he said, his brusque tone making it clear the conversation was over.

 

Orsini blinked, and with a snarl creasing his lips, he spun on his heel and stalked out of the hall.

 

Fieschi watched the Senator go, briefly admiring Colonna’s brash dismissal of him. “If you two are finished attempting to coerce the priest—” he started.

 

“His Holiness,” Capocci corrected.

 

Fieschi waved a hand to indicate how little he cared about such niceties. “May I have a word with him?” he asked. “Or are you going to threaten me like you did the Senator?”

 

Colonna glanced at Capocci. “Did I threaten the Senator?” he asked.

 

Capocci shrugged. “That felt more like a warning than a threat.”

 

“That is what I thought too,” Colonna said.

 

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