The Cannon Law—ARC(172)

Padua, Italy



"Well, that's that," said Tom Simpson, demonstratively slapping his hands together, as if clearing them of dust.



"What's what?" demanded Melissa. She was glaring at the Venetian soldiers who were barring the road to Venice—and doing so just as demonstratively.



Tom gave her a sage look. "We've done what we can, come as far as the road takes us. If you give me a minute or two, I can probably drum up a few more clichés."



"Very funny," snapped Melissa.



"He's got a point, hon," said Dr. Nichols. He nodded toward the soldiers. "On the positive side, they've got ten times as many troops guarding the road into Padua. I figure the pope's safe enough for the moment, now that we're in Venice's terraferma."



"Don't call me 'hon,' " Melissa snapped.



Nichols rolled his eyes. "Sure, babe, whatever you say."



Sharon couldn't suppress a gurgling laugh. Just . . . couldn't. Melissa's face had practically turned purple.



Melissa started to glare at her, but halfway through started a gurgling laugh of her own.



"Okay, I surrender!" she exclaimed. " 'Hon' it is. Anything's better than 'babe.' For God's sake, James, I'm sixty years old."



"Don't look a day over fifty-five, hon," Nichols assured her.



"Indeed so!" boomed Ruy, who had just emerged from the door of the very big taverna they were standing not far from. He gave Sharon a smile and a little nod. Then, swept off his hat and gave Melissa a sweeping bow that would have dazzled the court at Madrid. "I, Ruy Sanchez de Casador y Ortiz, swear it is true!"



That was good for a real laugh, and from everybody.



When that was over, Melissa asked: "So now what?"



"At a guess," replied Rita, "Italy starts going up in flames. A good chunk of the rest of Europe as well. With those two over there"—she wiggled a thumb in the direction of the pope and his nephew, who were engaged in some sort of negotiations with three Venetian senators—"pouring on the gasoline."



Tom studied them. The pope and the cardinal were enjoying the shade next to the taverna's wall. Also enjoying a bottle of wine.



"I say we join them," he proposed.



"By all means," said Sharon. "You do so."



"You're not joining us?" asked Rita.



"No. Maybe tomorrow. For the moment . . ." She took Ruy by the hand. "My husband has made arrangements for a room."



"Rooms for everyone," Ruy added. "Separate rooms."



Seeing that everyone was staring at her, Sharon sniffed haughtily. "The stresses of the past period may have scrambled your brains and made you forget everything. But not me. Our wedding was interrupted, remember?"



And she was off, Ruy in tow.



"Well, that's that," said Tom.

Madrid, Spain



Philip IV had been staring out the window of the Alcazar throughout the count-duke of Olivares' report on the situation in Rome. Now, his hands still clasped behind his back, he hunched forward a bit. As if he were looking for someone in the gardens below.



"How many assassins do we have in our employ, Gaspar?"



The count-duke had been afraid of that royal reaction. He inhaled, preparatory to launching a little speech on the virtues of caution.



"However many there are," the king of Spain continued—there was a snarl coming into his voice now—"I want each and every one of them dispatched to Rome immediately. With firm and clear instructions to bring me back the head of Cardinal Gaspar Borja y Velasco. Note carefully—make sure to pass this along to the assassins—that I used the title Cardinal."



The explosion finally came. The king unclasped his hands and slammed the palm of the right hand against one of the window panes. Fortunately, the glass was thick and well made. "We'll see how much that bastard likes the title 'pope' when he stares down at his severed neck impaled on a pike!"



"Better if we could have him brought back alive," said Don Jerónimo de Villanueva.



Olivares gave him a warning glance, but the Protonotario of the Crown of Aragon was too furious to notice. His own words had been said in a snarl.



"We could then entertain ourselves at leisure, with his torture," he finished.



Fortunately, the other two members of the hastily assembled council present, José González and Antonio de Contreras, were more phlegmatic by temperament—and, unlike Villanueva, had been keeping an eye on their patron's reaction. They knew the count-duke of Olivares quite well, and interpreted the expression on his face correctly.