1635_ Cannon Law - Eric Flint [54]
Barberini nodded. "Does Your Holiness want me to make any kind of contact? My youth and inexperience and reputation for flightiness have proven valuable in such contexts before."
Both his uncle and the father-general frowned and looked at each other. Barberini could almost hear the churning of ideas, sense the crackle of intellects that routinely thought four, five and six moves ahead. One day, he thought, I shall have to play at this same table. It was a daunting thought.
After a while, His Holiness nodded. "Make no business contact," he said. "I am sure, however, that there are innovations in the arts in Thuringia these days. By all means, receive Her Excellency and see what luminaries you can patronize."
Barberini nodded. "There are occasions, Your Holiness, when a reputation for interior design is of great advantage."
"Interior design?" Vitelleschi asked, clearly able to understand the individual words but not knowing what the phrase signified.
"An expression for all the arts of beautification of indoor places," Barberini said. "Brought to our times by the Americans. You see, I have already been in correspondence with acquaintances of Cardinal Mazzare for the very purpose His Holiness suggested."
"Ah," Vitelleschi said, understanding immediately.
"Although," Barberini went on, "I am less than impressed with their Martha Stewart."
Chapter 12
Naples
Don Vincente found himself missing his company's pikes and halberds sorely. The newfangled bayonets that had been promised, the ones that did not plug the muskets, had simply not been provided; the output of the Toledo factory had gone to the units heading directly for France first. Many of the men had knives or short swords or other close weapons, but they were going to be of limited use.
The crowd that gathered in the piazza whatever—Don Vincente hadn't been here long enough to learn the names, although he could find his way about—was certainly excitable and unruly but those present weren't actually rioting yet. A firm and resolute advance with cold steel would dampen their enthusiasm without anyone getting hurt. And people getting hurt would be sure to make the next mob that little bit angrier and harder for him, Don Vincente, to deal with.
He swore under his breath.
"The men are forming up, Don Vincente," Ezquerra said, quietly, from behind him.
"I could wish we did not have to open fire," Don Vincente said, just as quietly. There had been trouble before this in Naples, but now it was Don Vincente's company's turn. He wondered if any of the other captains had had to lead a musket-only company against people expressing their anger? Probably not, or the grapevine that Ezquerra seemed to be at the root of would have carried the news to him already. There were agitators galore all over the kingdom of Naples, and they were thick as lice in the city of Naples itself. The place was as ready to explode as Vesuvius, whose glow lit the night sky outside Don Vincente's billet window.
If there were anything that might be called a massacre, they would have word of it to every corner of the kingdom faster than lightning. And Don Vincente truly, truly did not want to spend the next few years of his career acting as a glorified constable if the trouble flared up. If nothing else, the opportunities for loot would be terrible. "Go and bring the men up, Sergeant. We should get this over with."
Ezquerra nodded and ambled off to carry out the order. Doubtless he would break in to a jog the moment he was certain his captain's back was turned.
Don Vincente had left the company a little way back down the street and come ahead alone to assess the situation. There were