"Doesn't say much, does he?" said Jones when he had finished reading. "Would be honored to make your acquaintance, interested in discussing matters theological. There's more?"
Mazzare grinned, although there was no humor in it. "Tell him, Father Heinzerling."
"The monsignor is a diplomat. He hath seen implications in Grantville"—he gave it the French pronunciation—"and Sweden. He would have correspondence with Grantville in the hope of a present peace."
"You'll raise this with Rebecca?" Jones looked to Mazzare for that.
Mazzare nodded. That was a given. "There's more, though, Simon. Tell him, Father."
Heinzerling nodded. "Richelieu has sent his man Servien to Wien and thence to Grantville. Thereafter to Bruxelles. The monsignor believes his Eminence seeks to do Spain a mischief by provoking more general war in the Germanies."
Jones nodded. "Definitely one for Rebecca. Larry, I think your hopes of tidying up your hierarchical headaches are still faint."
"Maybe," said Mazzare, "on the other hand, Mazarini works for the pope. Something might come of it, after all."
4
"Your Eminence." Mazarini began to kneel, feeling slightly silly doing so for a cardinal younger than himself.
"Come, Giulio, we are in private. My esteemed uncles may have fine ideas about the dignity of cardinals, but I am not so grand. Come, sit by me. Come." Cardinal Antonio Barberini the Younger might disavow his grandeur of station but, like the rest of his family, he had done well out of his uncle's securing of the Vatican.
Mazarini took the chair he was waved to. An easy conversational gambit—"How is the cardinal finding Avignon?"
"Now that I am here? As ever I did. Charming. Rustic. Alas, French. Come, Giulio, you have not sought a private audience to inquire after my health and pleasure, eh? Out with it, Giulio, out with it."
Mazarini smiled. "The cardinal finds me transparent."
Barberini snorted. "Not only this cardinal. I was met at the border by one of Richelieu's intendants." The warmth had gone from Barberini's face.
"Your Eminence?" Mazarini made himself ask the question, although he knew what was coming.
"If you think our esteemed brother in Christ at Paris does not see and hear everything in this town you are not the man who was recommended to me."
Mazarini nodded. "I was waiting for a response."
"From Richelieu? You have it. His Eminence is displeased. Speaking for Rome, so is His Holiness. Speaking for his Holiness, perhaps helping pry apart France and Spain is no bad thing. Speaking for my dear uncle Maffeo, it would be good work but your timing is execrable."
Mazarini slumped in his chair. "Such was not my intention. I had thought France and Spain were about to be at each other's throats again."
Barberini smiled again. "Come, events make fools of us all, sooner or later."
"As they have of Richelieu." Mazarini grinned. "He would have had more for France by doing nothing."
"Or by helping the Swede." Barberini's moustaches twitched as he said that, as if he smelt something vile.
Mazarini nodded. "Although there he—he is helping the Swede?" He frowned.
It was Barberini's turn to grin. "No, I doubt it. I read your appreciation, good work, good work. Come, Richelieu is not so stupid as to think he can sway the Swede now the Swede has the Jew money, no?"
Mazarini sucked at his moustache for a moment. "I am pleased the cardinal finds my work useful. Has His Holiness any further directions as to my actions in Thuringia?"
Barberini pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, deeply. "I cannot speak in detail, you understand? Uncle Maffeo may have raised me to the purple but he still expects me to be his little nephew. I think you should take care. When I left Rome my uncle was considering two million in subsidy to Wallenstein. Just, you understand, to balance the Swede. Olivares' lapdogs were snarling as usual about our lack of enthusiasm for the Habsburg cause. And the French army has yet to stir out of its winter quarters. Much could happen before springtime."
"So I may continue making preparations to open formal discussions later in the year?"
Barberini chuckled. "No, if you would be a peacemaker, you must wait for war. Best to wait for the die to be cast before you work your charms in the Germanies."
Mazarini felt his jawline grow numb with the effort of maintaining his face. He kept his voice slow and careful, his manner that of the patient, polite uomogalanto. "And while the cardinal awaits the development of the implications, how free a rein is Wallenstein to have to rape his way across the Germanies? How many converts for the Lutherans will satisfy the cardinal? How far past the right time to act does the cardinal wish me to wait?"