Read Online Ariosto by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
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mask.
“That’s true,” Damiano said tersely.
“Spying is ugly work,” Sir Thomas muttered.
“War is uglier,” Damiano snapped. “You’ve thrown yourself on my mercy, Sir Thomas. All right, I will take you in, though the Saints alone know how I will deal with my Papal cousin over it. But you’ve revealed a nest of demons where I thought there were only discontented children. And by God, Sir Thomas, you will aid me now.” His soft voice was urgent as he spoke. “If you need a sop to your conscience, consider what might happen if you remain here. Henry will realize that you have thrown in your lot with me, and he will have to press for more forceful arguments. If you continue on with the mission, and return by way of Italia Federata, what can he suspect? Particularly since I will send him my official request that you do so, and tell him that I look forward to your return.”
Sir Thomas regarded Damiano, respect in his angular face. “You make it difficult for me to refuse,” he said grudgingly.
“I should hope I make it impossible,” Damiano answered at once. “I meant what I said, Sir Thomas: I am in your debt. I trust you will forgive me what I ask of you.” Suddenly his grand manner was gone, and Damiano faced the Chancellor of England without any artifice at all. “Do you know what Italia was like before the federation? It could be like that again—a collection of petty kingdoms and dukedoms and counties and republics, all yapping at one another’s heels like curs in the street. The civil war in Germany is a good reminder of what could occur here. I love this country to the point of idolatry, and I would sacrifice myself, or you, or Lodovico or any other one I love before I would allow her to be torn asunder by war. If that means that I must make you a spy and myself a hypocrite, I will. If it’s any consolation to you, my wife and two of my daughters have been my spies before now, and Pia is a nun, Sir Thomas.” He spoke of his younger daughter, who had taken the veil some three years before. “If she could risk eternal damnation for the unity of Italia, why should you balk at a sensible mission like this one? You are known to be an intelligent man, Sir Thomas.”
“You possess a strange humility, Primàrio,” Sir Thomas said with a sour smile. “You give me no choice, which is doubtless what you intended.”
“Until you spoke, I had no reason to ask anything of you,” Damiano protested with perfect civility.
“I wonder.” Sir Thomas stood slowly and gave Damiano one long, measuring look. “I will go to Muscovy for you, and I will be your tool, Primàrio. When I return I will tell you what I have learned. In exchange, I expect you to send for my family at once, so that I will find them here when I return. I’m certain you can find a plausible excuse to offer my King for your invitation. If they are not here when I return…”—he put one hand to his head, as if to touch his thoughts and give them shape. “I would think that the Pope would find my story enlightening.”
“I see,” Damiano murmured. “Then we understand each other, Sir Thomas.”
“And may God have mercy on us both,” Sir Thomas answered heavily, and crossed himself.
Damiano kicked at the embers with the toe of his soft leather boot. He had said nothing in the half hour since Sir Thomas More had left the library of the Palazzo Pitti. Lodovico had sat watching him, compassion and distress struggling within him. He could find no words to express his emotions adequately, and kept his uneasy silence as the room grew cold.
Finally Damiano looked up. “He’s right. I had intended to ask him to gather information for me.” He struck the mantel with the flat of his hand, disgust marking his strong features. “He has contempt for me, but that’s deserved.”
“He doesn’t understand, Damiano,” Lodovico said, feeling the terrible superficiality of his words.
“And you do?” Damiano very nearly laughed.
“That’s true,” Damiano said tersely.
“Spying is ugly work,” Sir Thomas muttered.
“War is uglier,” Damiano snapped. “You’ve thrown yourself on my mercy, Sir Thomas. All right, I will take you in, though the Saints alone know how I will deal with my Papal cousin over it. But you’ve revealed a nest of demons where I thought there were only discontented children. And by God, Sir Thomas, you will aid me now.” His soft voice was urgent as he spoke. “If you need a sop to your conscience, consider what might happen if you remain here. Henry will realize that you have thrown in your lot with me, and he will have to press for more forceful arguments. If you continue on with the mission, and return by way of Italia Federata, what can he suspect? Particularly since I will send him my official request that you do so, and tell him that I look forward to your return.”
Sir Thomas regarded Damiano, respect in his angular face. “You make it difficult for me to refuse,” he said grudgingly.
“I should hope I make it impossible,” Damiano answered at once. “I meant what I said, Sir Thomas: I am in your debt. I trust you will forgive me what I ask of you.” Suddenly his grand manner was gone, and Damiano faced the Chancellor of England without any artifice at all. “Do you know what Italia was like before the federation? It could be like that again—a collection of petty kingdoms and dukedoms and counties and republics, all yapping at one another’s heels like curs in the street. The civil war in Germany is a good reminder of what could occur here. I love this country to the point of idolatry, and I would sacrifice myself, or you, or Lodovico or any other one I love before I would allow her to be torn asunder by war. If that means that I must make you a spy and myself a hypocrite, I will. If it’s any consolation to you, my wife and two of my daughters have been my spies before now, and Pia is a nun, Sir Thomas.” He spoke of his younger daughter, who had taken the veil some three years before. “If she could risk eternal damnation for the unity of Italia, why should you balk at a sensible mission like this one? You are known to be an intelligent man, Sir Thomas.”
“You possess a strange humility, Primàrio,” Sir Thomas said with a sour smile. “You give me no choice, which is doubtless what you intended.”
“Until you spoke, I had no reason to ask anything of you,” Damiano protested with perfect civility.
“I wonder.” Sir Thomas stood slowly and gave Damiano one long, measuring look. “I will go to Muscovy for you, and I will be your tool, Primàrio. When I return I will tell you what I have learned. In exchange, I expect you to send for my family at once, so that I will find them here when I return. I’m certain you can find a plausible excuse to offer my King for your invitation. If they are not here when I return…”—he put one hand to his head, as if to touch his thoughts and give them shape. “I would think that the Pope would find my story enlightening.”
“I see,” Damiano murmured. “Then we understand each other, Sir Thomas.”
“And may God have mercy on us both,” Sir Thomas answered heavily, and crossed himself.
Damiano kicked at the embers with the toe of his soft leather boot. He had said nothing in the half hour since Sir Thomas More had left the library of the Palazzo Pitti. Lodovico had sat watching him, compassion and distress struggling within him. He could find no words to express his emotions adequately, and kept his uneasy silence as the room grew cold.
Finally Damiano looked up. “He’s right. I had intended to ask him to gather information for me.” He struck the mantel with the flat of his hand, disgust marking his strong features. “He has contempt for me, but that’s deserved.”
“He doesn’t understand, Damiano,” Lodovico said, feeling the terrible superficiality of his words.
“And you do?” Damiano very nearly laughed.
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