A Candle For d'Artagnan Read online

  Olivia placed her tall cane at the edge of the mud and used it for balance. “Lend Avisa your arm, Guido,” she said as she stepped over to the pathway. As she waited for her maid, she squinted up at the lowering clouds. “Well, what do you think? Will there be more rain today, or is it over?”

  Uberto was unbuckling the Hungarian reins so that he could guide each horse independently. He looked away from his task long enough to measure the sky once. “Nothing more today, I think. There are fewer clouds to the south and west.”

  The off-wheeler tried to rear and this set the other three horses plunging in harness; Uberto struggled to restrain the team as Avisa tripped in her hurry to get away from the coach.

  “Here.” Olivia held out her hand to her maid and kept her from falling into the mud. Guido watched in bemused surprise as mistress helped servant to her feet.

  “Many thanks, Madama,” Avisa said breathlessly. She looked back at the coach, shaking her head.

  “Let them tend to their work,” said Olivia, a bit wistfully; she wanted to help Uberto but knew her coachman would be dreadfully chagrined if she came to his assistance.

  “Those horses are so wild,” whispered Avisa as she moved away from the coach. Her wooden zoccoli left deep prints in the soft earth of the footpath.

  “They’re frightened,” said Olivia, following Avisa, thinking of the many, many times she had come down this road, for it joined with another that led to the Villa Dacia, sometimes called the Villa Vecchia, but had once been known as Villa Ragoczy.

  “That Spanish lord has planted more vineyards,” Avisa observed as she quickened her pace.

  “Yes,” said Olivia, looking toward the new vines on the rolling hills. “He will have a bountiful harvest in a few years, if there is no blight or drought or war.”

  “He wishes to curry favor with the Church, by giving them his wine for Sacraments.” Avisa sounded very disapproving, but her expression changed as Olivia spoke.

  “I do the same thing myself,” she reminded her servant. “But perhaps not quite for the same reason. The Spanish lord has men fighting in the Low Countries, against the Protestants, and he wishes to keep Papal favor, in case the war goes against his forces, for the Crown will not support him then, and he will have to come to the Church for allies.”

  “That is another matter entirely. You are not like that Spanish lord.”

  “No, I am not,” said Olivia. “But many are, and some are caught up in that war. Which is why the Cardinals want to establish Mazarini’s embassy before he arrives, so that he will have a modicum of protection if the war extends to France. It hasn’t so far, but that is because Richelieu has kept the Protestants on the run and why he wants an Italian Catholic to succeed him.” She looked ahead. “Ah, see, there is the old road. Not far now.” Her steps were careful, for though the path was not as muddy as the road the footing was precarious. “Uberto will meet us at the crossroad. What do you say, Guido?” she called back to the footman behind them.

  “I say it is not appropriate for a landed lady to stand at the side of the road like a peasant.” He tried to keep the contempt out of his voice but could not disguise it entirely.

  “Ah,” said Olivia with a faint smile.

  Avisa took Olivia’s part, speaking emphatically. “How dare you speak to the Bondama that way?”

  “If she has no concern for her station, it is for us to have it for her,” said Guido stiffly, casting a quick, uneasy glance at Olivia as he spoke. “I do not mean to give offence; a lady of rank sent to attend the Pope must be careful in everything she does if she is not to bring scandal on herself and her family.”

  “I take no offence,” said Olivia.

  Two large carriages drawn by teams of six horses came down the Via Flaminia; both vehicles had arms blazoned on their doors and their drivers and footmen wore Colonna livery.

  “Bound for Assisi as well,” said Guido as the carriages lumbered by. “And if they notice you, Madama, it will not be to your credit when we arrive.”

  “You saw the livery?” Olivia asked, ignoring the criticism. “Colonna is Mazarini’s family. They are supporting his efforts with the Pope. It is a dance and a chess game together, this meeting. They would be pleased to have one of their … blood be Richelieu’s deputy. Doubtless we will have to listen to them at Assisi.”

  “They have estates to the east,” said Guido.

  “They have land everywhere,” said Olivia. “And you are right. There are other reasons to be on this road, and other places to go other than the Pope’s retreat, but still—” She looked down at the mud spattered on her woolen skirts. “This will have to be cleaned as soon as we reach the inn.”

  “Of course,” said Avisa, a hint of offence in her voice.

  From the other direction came a man leading a mangy donkey laden with baskets of cut wood and singing scraps of the plaintive folk song “Non lo sai” as he trudged along, cracking on the higher notes and humming where he forgot the words.

  Guido narrowed his eyes. “There are many cutthroats who pretend to be harmless wanderers.”

  “And there are many harmless wanderers,” said Olivia, thinking back to the times she might have described herself that way. “You have your pistol, and I have…” She tapped her leg, reminding the footman that she had a knife strapped below her knee.

  “That would not stop a cutthroat,” said Guido with gloomy satisfaction. “They would shoot you and then rob you.”

  “Perhaps,” said Olivia, recalling times such plots had not worked.

  Avisa’s features were harsh with disapproval. “How can you take such risks so lightly?” she demanded, forgetting to show proper respect.

  “I?” Olivia asked in sad amusement. “It is my age, I suppose. I am inured to risks.” She looked back and saw that Uberto had brought the coach much nearer. “Ah. Lightening the load has helped, I see.”

  Guido waved exuberantly, as if they might not otherwise be noticed. “In buon punto!” he called out.

  “It does not seem so to me,” Uberto grumbled as he brought the coach onto the Via Flaminia. “Were I come in good time, you would not have had to walk.” He indicated the state of the team. “We will be brushing mud out of their coats for three days.”

  Guido was not troubled since it was not his task. “We can resume the journey properly,” he told the two women. “Our travels will be easier now.”

  Uberto laughed nastily as Olivia and Avisa got into the carriage and Guido climbed up behind, next to the older footman. When he set the team in motion, Uberto yelled out praises to San Antonio on behalf of the horses.

  “When do you plan to stop for the night, Madama?” Avisa asked as she pulled off her zoccoli, wrinkling her nose in distaste at the mud caking them.

  “It has been arranged,” said Olivia, who had left such plans to Niklos. “Uberto knows where we are to go, and it is a place others of the Papal Court have gone, so you need not fret about my reputation.” She stared out the small window, her attention suddenly very far away.

  “Madama?”

  Olivia did not respond at once, and when she did, she spoke as if to someone else. “You’d think I’d had enough of Popes, wouldn’t you? Urbano VIII is just one in a long, long parade—a thought more capable than some, I suppose, and not as bloodthirsty. He’s craftier than some, though. He probably has to be, given the German war and the Spanish.”

  Avisa crossed herself. “The Throne of San Pietro is a glorious honor and the triumph of faith.”

  “Not always,” said Olivia after a brief hesitation. “Worldly policy and God do not always accommodate one another very well. We are going to Assisi for worldly reasons, Avisa, not for the Glory of God. The Catholic Church is at war and we are being calling into the lines.” She bent to fasten the laces on her heeled kid shoes. “In a way, the zoccoli are more comfortable. Certainly they’re more sensible.”

  “Madama!” Avisa protested, uncertain whether she should laugh or be shocked.

 
At that Olivia relented. “Pay me no mind, Avisa. Travel always turns my thoughts to peculiar matters.” She stretched out her legs, letting the toes of her shoes poke out from her skirts. “When I was … oh, half my age … I would have got astride one of the horses, thought nothing of it, and would have ridden with Niklos and one man-at-arms for escort. Now I must sit in this thing.”

  “A hoydenish trick, not suitable for a respectable widow,” said Avisa with determination. “You would certainly not do so now.”

  “I suppose not,” said Olivia wistfully.

  “The Pope must have correct conduct when you answer his summons,” said Avisa. “No matter what you say, he defends all that is right and moral, and those who serve him must do so, too.” Avisa smiled suddenly and the sternness faded from her face. “I have never before been to the Papal Court. My sister will be amazed when I tell her of it.” Her face showed an innocent smugness at anticipation of her sister’s envy.

  Olivia shook her head. “When we leave you must let me know what you thought of it.” She gestured mock dismay. “Perhaps then I will know which of the Cardinals are supporting the Germans. Bichi will not tell me.”

  “Why are you convinced that it was not the Pope himself who called you to his retreat court? Surely you are of a rank and position to merit such an offer—”

  “Oh, Avisa,” said Olivia with deep weariness, “Popes do not ask widows to so public an occasion as a retreat, and you know why since you are so worried about conduct. His Holiness has been persuaded to invite me, and I am determined to learn the reason.”

  “But surely you are of a rank and position that could gain you such an offer—” Avisa persisted.

  “I am a Roman widow, which presents a difficulty. But,” she continued briskly, “I have lands and money, and most are unencumbered but for the trustees the Church demands, and that elevates my worth.” She tapped her toes, the only indication of her irritation. “But the Cardinals want more than lands and money just now—they want discretion and assistance and observance and who knows what else?—and so they are prepared to overlook my widowhood, or turn it to their advantage.” Her mouth smiled but her eyes were grim. “Who knows what else?” she repeated softly to herself.

  “Surely you don’t assume that there is anything … improper in their proposals, do you, Madama?” It was a hard question to ask; Avisa knew the rumors as well as any Roman servant did, and she could not entirely forget all she had heard whispered of secret agreements and concealed influence being the stock in trade of those nearest the Pope. “Why would the Cardinals need one such as you?”

  “For my appropriateness, I’ve been told. For my invisibility, perhaps?” Olivia suggested with a lightness she did not feel. “I am not part of the Church, I am not part of any powerful family. I am not known to harbor Protestant sympathies. I have no allegiances that could be awkward. Giulio Mazarini has been a guest at my house, without scandal. Therefore I might provide a cloak of respectability for Mazarini which would allow him to do those things he must and still appear without reproach. And he will have much to do with the French pulling at him from one side and the Church from the other. Providing, of course, that the French are willing to have me in their country, and that will depend on Richelieu.” How absurd the notion was, Olivia told herself, that she, of all Romans, should be chosen to appear staid and ultimately proper. “We may guess ourselves foolish from here to Assisi and be not a mote the wiser.”

  “What is there to guess?” Avisa said, trying to find solace in her piety, for there were doubts in her now that had not arisen before, and which she did not like.

  “I wish I knew.” She frowned, her hazel eyes thoughtful. “I trust I will learn more shortly.”

  Avisa folded her hands once more, and looked down at her fingers as if they were entirely new to her. “You make it seem that the Church is as venal as any earthly King may be. It is distressing to think that the Cardinals spend their time trading influence and discrediting rivals. They are the Princes of the Church. They are not supposed to deal with Kings for earthly gain and for advancement. Shouldn’t they be above that, Madama?”

  Olivia said nothing in answer to Avisa’s question. “I wish Uberto wouldn’t trot the horses. They’re tired enough as it is and what little time it saves us now it might well lose us tomorrow.”

  “Perhaps he wishes to arrive where we are expected before sundown. It isn’t safe to be—”

  “Abroad after that,” Olivia finished for her. “Yes, I know. It is still foolish to press the team.” As if in reaction to her admonition, the vehicle slowed as the horses were pulled back to a walk.

  “They know your mind,” said Avisa, trying to make a joke of this observation.

  “I would like to think so,” said Olivia quietly. Her hazel eyes darkened for an instant, and then she chuckled. “Do you mean Uberto or my horses?”

  “You, Madama.” Avisa was puzzled when Olivia grinned. “What have I said?”

  “Nothing, nothing,” said Olivia, amusement making her eyes dance. “I misunderstood.” She looked away out the window and remained silent until Uberto swung the carriage off the road and drew up in a flagged innyard.

  Shouts and the first-lit evening lanthorns and torches greeted the arrival of Olivia’s coach. The innkeeper himself opened the passenger door and placed the steps for Olivia’s descent, bowing deeply as she did.

  “I pray God gave you a swift and safe journey here, Bondama Clemens,” he said, addressing her shoes.

  “My coachman certainly did his best to make it so,” Olivia said lightly. “If God will do something about the mud, all will be well.”

  The innkeeper was slightly taken aback by her words, but recovered himself quickly and laughed. “The reputation you enjoy for your wit is surely much deserved,” he said, indicating the door to one of the two private parlors of his inn. “Your major domo has ordered that this room be set aside for your use. He has also provided bedding for you and seen your quarters prepared.”

  “Excellent,” said Olivia, pausing to be sure that Avisa had got out of the coach safely. “You have prepared everything for me, I trust?”

  “Of course, Madama.” The innkeeper snapped his fingers imperiously. “It was done hours ago.”

  Olivia nodded her acceptance. “I am grateful to you for your labors. Now, there are a few things I require of you: my servants will want their evening meal as soon as possible. I hope you will attend to them.”

  Again the innkeeper bowed. “And you, Madama? What am I to have the honor to do for you?”

  “Provide me a half-barrel of hot water and some drying sheets,” she said crisply. “I am smirched with mud and cannot retire until I have washed the worst of it away.” She held out a golden angel. “For your good service.”

  The innkeeper took the coin and bowed again, this time with real satisfaction, for the donation was lavish. “To do other than my best for you, Bondama Clemens, would disgrace my family for three generations.”

  Olivia smiled briefly. “Would it?” Without waiting for the innkeeper’s effusions, she passed through the door into the private parlor, Avisa trailing after her and muttering like a hen on a clutch of eggs.

  Text of a note from Alessandro, Cardinal Bichi to Giulio Mazarini, written in code on crossed lines.

  To my dear colleague and great hope, blessings and favor from Heaven accompany these words.

  I have called upon the widow at Senza Pari again, and have discussed the plans we have all striven to bring to fruition. She has heard me out most courteously and has said that if approval is given to bring you into service of the French Crown, she will consider joining your suite at Parigi and there will act in your service. What that service may be is not specified.

  She has agreed to allow her stud farm at Tours to be used as a remount station for your messengers if their tasks take them in that direction. She has also said that she will place twenty of her horses at your disposal for the time she lives in Parigi. We have assure
d her that a minor misunderstanding she has had with Milano will be swiftly resolved, for which she has owned herself properly grateful.

  The fortnight she attended His Holiness at Assisi, I had several opportunities to converse with her and have found her to be, as we have heard before now, a woman of superior sense. She is not as devout as might be wished, but in this instance I must believe that her pragmatism might serve us better than too intense a devotion would.

  She has indicated to me that she is not interested in marrying again, that her husband left her with a distaste of marriage, and so we need not fear overmuch that she will spend her time in Francia searching for a sufficiently wealthy and noble partner. It may be that we will wish to arrange such a union for her in the future, for she has indicated that she is not adverse to men and has taken lovers before, but at present there is no reason why this would be advisable until you are established at Louis’ court. Certainly it would be worthwhile for you to talk with her on this matter, but I think you will discover, as I have, that we have no grounds for anxiety on that issue. Keep in mind that she is a woman without family, and therefore she will be the more at your service than if she had other interests to serve.

  With my prayers and my hope that we will succeed in this venture, I am in all ways your friend,

  Alessandro, Cardinal Bichi

  On the 2nd day of May, 1638, traveling north.

  Destroy the code key.

  3

  Though his study was hot, the west-facing windows bringing in the enormous afternoon sun, Antonio, Cardinal Barberini felt cold. It was not the tally of years that chilled him as much as the risky enterprise he and his fellow French-supporting Cardinals had undertaken. He stared at the letter he had just received, knowing that now none of them could turn back.

  A knock at the door did not cause Barberini to turn; without taking his eyes from the sheet he held, he said, “Enter,” in a distracted tone.