"True. But we face many months of Borja's actions, and given time, the presence of an organization which concentrates the minds of the mob on ills which can be remedied will prove useful. In the longer term, we would have to deal with them more directly."
"Surely such things take time? The reports I have seen on the Committee—"
"We should have time. The present unrest is sporadic, and small. There has been little call for the militia. It will take time to build to a serious problem. By then, with a guarantee of the Inquisition's restraint, it may be that the Committee will be working against the machinations of Quevedo's agitators. They do something very much like it in the Germanies."
"I am unconvinced of the value of such a stratagem, Father-General."
"I would ask Your Eminence to cultivate the contact nevertheless. It will be some time before I can meet with His Holiness without attracting comment. Please pass to him that this is my recommendation also."
Barberini sighed. "I feel sure that he, too, will not think well of a plan that involves inviting revolutionaries, anticlerical revolutionaries at that, in to Rome. But, be that as it may, I shall speak with Dottoressa Nichols in any event. Her presence at my salon will be stimulating."
"I thank Your Eminence for the consideration."
Barberini reached for his drink again, and saw the handbill on the table. "Of course, I will be accused in print of inviting her in order to fornicate with her. I had better invite Bedmar's man as well. He is her intended, and I have heard stories about that man."
Chapter 19
Rome
Frank wasn't liking the atmosphere in his club one little bit. It wasn't that the place was rowdy, at all. If anything, the number of people in the place was a bit light for a Saturday night. It was quiet, too. The usual pick-up band—some combination of French André, Martino, Andreas and Fabrizzio plus whoever wanted to join them—weren't in and no one seemed to be ready to take up the slack. And the people who were in were largely sitting quietly and talking well below the usual drunken Italian volume.
"Anyone saying what's up?" he asked Benito when he came back to the bar. "Seems quiet tonight."
Benito shrugged. "Looks like we only got the real regulars, Frank. I'll ask Piero, he usually knows what's going down."
Frank looked over, and indeed Piero was there. Usually he had a girl with him—and usually a different one each week and one or two of them obviously hookers, but Frank figured that wasn't any of his business. "I'll go over and have a chat, actually," he said. "Mind the bar for me."
Piero nodded as Frank dragged up a stool. "You've heard, then?" the lefferto said.
"Heard what? I was kind of wondering what was up, like, where is everybody?"
Piero heaved a deep sigh, and shrugged. "You haven't seen the handbills, then?"
"Well, I've seen a couple—" Frank began, and then stopped. "There's another one out today?"
"Yesterday, actually. I figured it was false, since you denied the earlier one and it just plain doesn't sound like you."
"Don't leave a guy in suspense, Piero, what does it say?" Frank had a sinking feeling in his guts. He'd thought that whoever was printing the things was trying to get him in trouble with the Inquisition, and he'd been going in and making a nuisance of himself denouncing whoever it was to the Inquisition himself.
Sharon and Ruy Sanchez were certain it was the Spanish but Frank didn't know enough to be sure. So he'd been going back and writing letters demanding to know if they'd caught the guy, which he'd thought was a nice touch, to the point where the junior priest who met him whenever he went over there looked visibly alarmed whenever Frank showed up. Frank liked that. Turnabout was fair play, after all.
"I can do better," Piero said."I kept mine." He dug inside his jacket somewhere and brought out a rumpled and stained piece of cheap rag paper.
Frank looked at it. It was badly printed, and the type looked it had slipped a bit, blurring the letters. He read it closely. It started with the usual stuff ripped off from old broadsides by Massimo—who would probably be pleased to hear that he'd made at least that much impact. Then it went on to—Frank groaned. "We'd never say any of this stuff, Piero."
"That's what I thought," Piero agreed. "I mean, you don't want to end up in jail, right? I figure you don't want to die either. I mean, we're allowed to make nasty cracks about the city, but you're still a foreigner. As for the suggestion we all hold our women in common, well, you could maybe say I don't get too attached to any particular one, but I—Frank?" Piero looked concerned.