Read Online Winter's Reach (The Revanche Cycle Book 1) by Craig Schaefer - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Craig Schaefer
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Carlo and then some. Most of it nothing but fantasies and lies.”
Amadeo didn’t say anything for a moment. He thought to the night before and the discovery of the dead merchant’s ledger.
No
, he thought,
no need to burden him with that
.
Benignus patted his hand. “
Most
of it. I may be losing my vision, but I am far from blind. Carlo has neither the maturity nor the piety that this post demands, but did I, when I stepped into these shoes? I was wild once, too. Your father molded me. Taught me. Cultivated me like the Gardener himself, trimming away my weeds and strengthening my roots.”
“Where are you going with this, Bene?”
“The groundswell in the College is the work of a few ambitious schemers. Most of the cardinals are undecided. You are respected, Amadeo. People listen to you. If you make a strong show of support for Carlo—”
Amadeo shook his head. “I’m just a parish priest with a very special job. Nobody’s leader.”
“Yet the people flock to hear you speak. The cardinals are, whether some of them like to admit it or not, beholden to the people. The problem is Cardinal Accorsi. He’s plotting something.”
“What do you think he’s after?”
“I think,” Benignus said, “he wants to be wearing my slippers five minutes after my feet go cold. Accorsi has always been an ambitious viper. The College would not choose him, though, even if he did force through a succession challenge and remove my son from the running. He cannot get the votes. So what does he gain from all this?”
“Perhaps,” Amadeo said carefully, “he honestly believes that Carlo isn’t the right choice.”
“What do you believe, Amadeo?”
Papal guards in white tabards, their chests emblazoned with the silhouette of the iron tree, hauled open the garden doors and stood sharply at attention as Benignus and Amadeo walked inside. Amadeo led his friend down a long vaulted corridor lined with oil paintings, holding his arm.
“I believe that a father’s love is unconditional,” Amadeo said. It was the kindest answer he could manage.
“And I believe that you can do for Carlo what your father did for me. You can reach him, Amadeo. You can bring out his inner greatness, chisel away his weakness like a sculptor finding a statue inside a shapeless block of marble.”
Amadeo smiled sadly as they walked into the audience chamber. A throne of carved ivory stood at the end of a long green rug, flanked by tubs where shrubs and wildflowers grew in beds of rich black loam. Sunlight streamed though arched windows thirty feet above their heads, casting crisscross shafts of light and shadow across the vast chamber. Courtiers, scribes, and minor cardinals flocked to one another in tiny clusters, whispering their petty intrigues. No heads turned as Amadeo helped Benignus into his throne.
“I am as a ghost,” the pope said with a wan smile. Amadeo set a small velvet pillow behind Benignus’s head.
“You are alive and well,” Amadeo said, “and as far as your son goes, I fear you think too highly of me.”
“You have such kind words for everyone but yourself. I think…oh, hello.”
Amadeo turned his head. A few feet behind him and off to one side, Rimiggiu the Quiet knelt down on one bended knee.
Rimiggiu was a short, swarthy man with a neat black beard, hailing from the southern crescent of Carcanna. He dressed in simple cotton workman’s clothes. Most thought him a mute, but Amadeo knew the man could speak. He just preferred not to. He also knew that Rimiggiu was no ordinary servant. He had a special purpose in Benignus’s household, just as Amadeo did, but from a decidedly different angle—an angle Benignus took great pains to keep Amadeo isolated from.
Even the Gardener’s ambassador needs a spy
, Amadeo thought.
Rimiggiu handed Benignus a folded letter. He unfurled it and read it over, holding it inches from his fading eyes.
“Winter’s Reach?” he said to Rimiggiu. “You’re sure?”
Rimiggiu
Amadeo didn’t say anything for a moment. He thought to the night before and the discovery of the dead merchant’s ledger.
No
, he thought,
no need to burden him with that
.
Benignus patted his hand. “
Most
of it. I may be losing my vision, but I am far from blind. Carlo has neither the maturity nor the piety that this post demands, but did I, when I stepped into these shoes? I was wild once, too. Your father molded me. Taught me. Cultivated me like the Gardener himself, trimming away my weeds and strengthening my roots.”
“Where are you going with this, Bene?”
“The groundswell in the College is the work of a few ambitious schemers. Most of the cardinals are undecided. You are respected, Amadeo. People listen to you. If you make a strong show of support for Carlo—”
Amadeo shook his head. “I’m just a parish priest with a very special job. Nobody’s leader.”
“Yet the people flock to hear you speak. The cardinals are, whether some of them like to admit it or not, beholden to the people. The problem is Cardinal Accorsi. He’s plotting something.”
“What do you think he’s after?”
“I think,” Benignus said, “he wants to be wearing my slippers five minutes after my feet go cold. Accorsi has always been an ambitious viper. The College would not choose him, though, even if he did force through a succession challenge and remove my son from the running. He cannot get the votes. So what does he gain from all this?”
“Perhaps,” Amadeo said carefully, “he honestly believes that Carlo isn’t the right choice.”
“What do you believe, Amadeo?”
Papal guards in white tabards, their chests emblazoned with the silhouette of the iron tree, hauled open the garden doors and stood sharply at attention as Benignus and Amadeo walked inside. Amadeo led his friend down a long vaulted corridor lined with oil paintings, holding his arm.
“I believe that a father’s love is unconditional,” Amadeo said. It was the kindest answer he could manage.
“And I believe that you can do for Carlo what your father did for me. You can reach him, Amadeo. You can bring out his inner greatness, chisel away his weakness like a sculptor finding a statue inside a shapeless block of marble.”
Amadeo smiled sadly as they walked into the audience chamber. A throne of carved ivory stood at the end of a long green rug, flanked by tubs where shrubs and wildflowers grew in beds of rich black loam. Sunlight streamed though arched windows thirty feet above their heads, casting crisscross shafts of light and shadow across the vast chamber. Courtiers, scribes, and minor cardinals flocked to one another in tiny clusters, whispering their petty intrigues. No heads turned as Amadeo helped Benignus into his throne.
“I am as a ghost,” the pope said with a wan smile. Amadeo set a small velvet pillow behind Benignus’s head.
“You are alive and well,” Amadeo said, “and as far as your son goes, I fear you think too highly of me.”
“You have such kind words for everyone but yourself. I think…oh, hello.”
Amadeo turned his head. A few feet behind him and off to one side, Rimiggiu the Quiet knelt down on one bended knee.
Rimiggiu was a short, swarthy man with a neat black beard, hailing from the southern crescent of Carcanna. He dressed in simple cotton workman’s clothes. Most thought him a mute, but Amadeo knew the man could speak. He just preferred not to. He also knew that Rimiggiu was no ordinary servant. He had a special purpose in Benignus’s household, just as Amadeo did, but from a decidedly different angle—an angle Benignus took great pains to keep Amadeo isolated from.
Even the Gardener’s ambassador needs a spy
, Amadeo thought.
Rimiggiu handed Benignus a folded letter. He unfurled it and read it over, holding it inches from his fading eyes.
“Winter’s Reach?” he said to Rimiggiu. “You’re sure?”
Rimiggiu
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