Read Online The Psalter by Galen Watson - Free Book Online Page B

tartlets. Pietro filled the goblet from the pitcher and emptied it in two long swallows. He poured again and took another draft. Breathing a deep sigh, his anxiety waned a little. He remembered the tartlets and stuffed one in his mouth. Truly , he thought, Theophylact with his unrefined palate doesn’t deserve such a cook as this Frankish one. There’s not the like in all of Rome. Pope Gregory is far more deserving, although he’s too austere of manner to consider the culinary delights . He bit into another pastry. The intermingling of its sweetness with the tart earthiness of the wine created a sublime mix on his sensitive tongue.
    Just as he began to feel a warm glow, the door burst open and the Count of Tusculum, a youthful giant, roared into the room. “Ah uncle, you’re here. The man I wanted to see.”
    “Yes, nephew. You sent for me, remember?”
    “Of course I do. Do you take me for an idiot?” Theophylact stood next to the Archpriest, waiting for a proper greeting, but Pietro sat frightened, cup in one hand and a tartlet in the other. “Well…?” The count lengthened the word expecting a response. He got none and barked, “Get up you fool and let me kiss you.”
    The priest bolted upright, knocking his chair backward and Theophylact kissed him gruffly on both cheeks. The steward rushed forward, righted Pietro’s chair, and placed a chalice in front of the young patriarch of the Tusculani clan. He started to pour from the pitcher of wine, but Theophylact stopped him with his hand. “Bring me some water.” Appraising the portly priest, he grinned—although no mirth showed on his face otherwise. He patted the Archpriest’s belly. “You don’t put much stock in fasting.”
    “Alas, nephew, I pray often yet receive little inspiration.”
    “Your profession was well chosen then and you’ve gone far, thanks to the patrons who paved the way for your remarkable advancement.”
    Pietro di Porca was not so drunk or panicked that he didn’t notice the count was about to demand something of him. “I hope you’re not implying that my promotions were arranged by the family and not God’s will.”
    Theophylact pierced the priest with a glare of malice. “Don’t feign piety with me, and don’t deceive yourself, either. I receive word of your little vices. You’re an archpriest and cardinal because we nobles wish it so. Give to God what you must, but never forget that your allegiance is to the family and, above all, to me. Gregory forgot his obligation, despite our having made him Pope. Our dealings with him are not finished, however. He’ll pay for his betrayal.”
    The priest was broken. He couldn’t resist. Whatever boon his nephew might ask, he must obey. Nonetheless, he made one last feeble attempt. “Are not the dealings with the Holy Father within the province of Emperor Louis or at least his son, Lothair?”
    “That nest of scorpions? They spend too much time fighting one another to take note of what happens in Rome. When Louis divided the empire among his sons, he should have realized he would lose power. Now his eldest, Lothair, fights to get back his own lands. To make matters worse, our Pope ignores us, spending all of his time away from the city, trying to patch up the Imperial mess. No, Uncle. We Romans shall enforce the law, and you’ll help.”
    “I’m not the Pope. What can I do?”
    “When the time comes, you’ll do my bidding, then you will be Rome’s Pontiff. Now, what’s this news about a librarian buying hides from the Jews?”
    “You called me here to talk about animal skins?” The Archpriest’s shoulders slacked and he exhaled a breath of relief. “Nephew, I assure you I know nothing of hides. That’s the province of the Archives.”
    The count glowered. “Well, I suggest you learn.” He pulled a square of parchment from an inside pocket and slapped it on the table.
    Pietro examined the uneven scrawl. Grinning, he said in a wry singsong voice, “You have a