“I’m not,” Rodrigo admitted and then actually bit his tongue to keep from speaking further, despite the questions, fear, and confusion whirling within.
A new voice brought a welcome distraction. “Good morning, my fellow brothers in Christ!” The hall, beyond Capocci, which Rodrigo had barely noticed, led to a sunlit opening, a neat and rectangular portal. Approaching them was a tall and lanky priest with a head of thick black hair. As he neared them, Rodrigo examined his face and immediately thought of a fox. His eyes, darting from face to face to Capocci’s hand on Rodrigo’s arm, missed nothing. “What sort of debate engages you so resolutely this morning?” he asked with a canted, obviously false smile.
Colonna let loose a sharp laugh, like a dog’s bark, and quickly interposed himself between Rodrigo and the fox-faced man. “Debate?” he snorted. “Rainiero examines our new friend like he inspects his horses. In a moment, I am sure, he’ll pry open his mouth to peer at his teeth.”
Capocci jerked Rodrigo closer, and the younger priest stumbled into the bearded man’s arms. “Indeed,” Capocci said, “the best measure of a man is in the muscles of his jaw.” He put a hand under Rodrigo’s chin and lifted his head. “Is he a talker or an eater?”
From the corner of his eye—Capocci’s extremely firm grip prevented him from actually turning his head—Rodrigo could see the fox-faced man trying to step around the imposing bulk of Colonna. “What have you learned?” the new cardinal asked Capocci, finally relenting to the game the others were playing.
Capocci’s fingers dug into Rodrigo’s cheeks near the jaw-line, forcing the priest’s mouth open; Capocci put his face close, his whiskers tickling Rodrigo’s nose. “It’s very dark in there,” Capocci announced. He twisted Rodrigo around, ostensibly so that the morning light would better illuminate the back of the priest’s throat, but the change in position meant that Capocci now stood with his back to the sharp-faced cardinal. “Whose man are you?” Capocci demanded in a ferocious whisper, right into Rodrigo’s ear. “Here all is discord and intrigue. Your vote may well decide the election, so do not make it rashly.”
Rodrigo’s eyes widened in shock, and a strangled noise rose in his throat. Capocci released his grip and delivered an open-handed slap across the priest’s face. Rodrigo staggered, more from surprise than pain.
Colonna, head turned to better watch the antics of his friend, laughed. “He’s a talker, that one.”
Capocci turned toward the other two men. “Useless as a horse. He’d spend all day trying to convince me that he was no good at the plow, that he couldn’t walk in a straight line.” He gestured toward Rodrigo. “Listen to him now. Whining already.”
Rodrigo hadn’t said a word. Holding his hand to his stinging cheek, he was still trying to process what Capocci had whispered. The questions buzzed around in his head, making him dizzy, and when he took a step back, Capocci grabbed his arm and pulled him farther away from the open pit. Shrugging off the bearded man’s aid, he wandered forward until he could lean against the wall.
His face was warm. He feared the fever was back.
The fox-faced man stepped around Colonna and approached Rodrigo; he laid one hand on the priest’s shoulder, almost sycophantically. “Are you all right? These two are buffoons, unworthy of the robes they wear, and they cannot help themselves. Nothing more than degenerates who play with their own filth.”
Behind the fox-faced man’s back, Colonna made eye contact with Rodrigo and wagged a finger in caution. The cardinal saw something in Rodrigo’s face and spun to look; Colonna immediately shoved the finger up his nose, digging for something hidden in his nasal cavity. Capocci leaned against the opposite wall, twirling the end of his mustache, studying Colonna’s exertions with exaggerated gravity.
“It is best to ignore them,” the dark-haired cardinal said. As Colonna withdrew the finger and began examining the results of his exploration, the cardinal shook his head and turned Rodrigo toward the brightly lit doorway. “Come, let us find the others and engage in more civil discourse.”
“Yes,” Rodrigo managed, allowing himself to be led again. “Some civility would be a pleasant change.”
“I am Rinaldo,” the fox-faced man said as they walked away from the pair. “Conti de Segni. Perhaps you know my family?” The civility of noble families, of castes where children did not perform like monkeys in front of their parents, said his tone.
Rodrigo shook his head, more concerned with keeping track of the names of these strange new men. After several months of only Ferenc as his constant companion, he found this sudden deluge of new faces—new names, new voices, new factions—overwhelming.
Deus Pater, orationem mean confirma, et intellectum mum agiue et memorial... The prayer came to mind, one of the many lessons offered by Brother Albertus during the journey so long ago—Padua to Cologne—that began his education. Ad suscipiendum, he remembered. Strengthen my understanding and memory.
Thus, Capocci, the builder of walls, had a capacious beard and was capable with his hands. Capacious capable Capocci. Childish, but it worked; here was one name and one face solidly cemented to each other in Rodrigo’s mind. And the first cardinal, the one who had met him in the tunnel—Colonna. He was as tall and solid as a column. Columnlike Colonna. Capacious capable Capocci.
It is through humble reflection upon Names and Virtues and Words that a man may understand God, he reflected, recalling more of the memorized lesson.
“Where have you come from?” de Segni asked, mistaking Rodrigo’s silence as social awkwardness. “The journey was difficult, yes?”