3 - Cruel Music Read Free Page B

Venice’s ambassador to the Papal States. Again and again, the industrious Montorios had distinguished themselves from the usual run of charming wastrels who made up the current bulk of Venetian nobility. A Montorio on St. Peter’s throne? Why not? Lesser men had certainly been elevated to the role.
    But why had the senator ordered my arrest? I swallowed hard and asked that very question.
    Montorio straightened and eyed me narrowly. Then he ordered Messer Grande to find two glasses of wine as if the chief of police were his personal footman. If only the circumstances had been different, how I would have relished that moment.
    The wine was fetched, as well as several lanterns with brightly burning wicks to hang from wall hooks. Smiling amiably, Montorio sat one hip on the edge of the table and set his free leg swinging back and forth. I recognized the parts we were to play. Just two men having a friendly chat over our glasses. I touched my lips to mine but found I couldn’t drink. I waited for his next words with gritted teeth.
    “Allow me to elaborate,” he began. “The next papal election is by no means a foregone conclusion. When the pope’s infirmities confined him to bed, he appointed Lorenzo Fabiani as the Cardinal Padrone to act in his stead. That makes Fabiani one of the most powerful men in Rome, if not all of Italy. Though he’s collected a few enemies along the way, Fabiani has enough cardinals in his pocket to control who will be the next pontiff.”
    “Will he back Cardinal Montorio?”
    “We thought so. Certain promises were made, certain favors given.” Montorio regarded me thoughtfully, rolling the stem of his glass between his fingers. “Don’t be shocked. That is the way papal elections have been decided for centuries.”
    I wasn’t shocked. Only an infant could fail to understand that the Church was as much about politics as salvation. No, what Montorio saw in my expression was the dawning realization that my long rest in Venice was threatened by forces far beyond my control.
    He went on. “The election was looking good for Stefano. We’d secured the loyalty of the Spanish cardinals and were prepared to reward Fabiani most handsomely for all the other votes he could swing our way. We were assured of the Cardinal Padrone’s loyalty. But…” Montorio dropped his companionable manner and stared into space with a clenched jaw.
    “But?” I prompted.
    “Besides Stefano, there is another that is often mentioned as a contender for St. Peter’s throne. A Cardinal Di Noce.” Montorio seasoned the name with a liberal helping of venom. “He’s an upstart from some insignificant village in the Alban hills, with no family connections to speak of. Lucky coincidence seems to have advanced his career more than anything else. Yet, Di Noce has his supporters. He administers the poorhouses and charity hospitals of Rome. Quite liberal he is with the beggars. So, of course, the populace loves him.”
    “Has Cardinal Fabiani switched his allegiance to Di Noce?”
    “Ah, Signor Amato, you’ve hit upon the question of the hour. It shouldn’t be so damned difficult to answer, but the situation has become…murky. In public, Fabiani is scrupulously careful to favor both candidates in equal measure. We still have his private assurance that all is well, but his promises have become rather feeble. Combine that with information that Prince Pompetti, Di Noce’s most influential supporter, has been visiting Fabiani’s villa at all hours, and you see why we are beginning to question the strength of the alliance.”
    He paused to stare intently into the dwindling candle flame, then flicked his slack, red-rimmed eyes back to me. “That is where you are going to help us. Cardinal Lorenzo Fabiani is a great music lover. He keeps a box at every opera house in Rome and rarely misses a performance. As a goodwill gesture, the Republic is going to make Fabiani a present of Venice’s finest singer.” He dipped his