1635_ Cannon Law - Eric Flint [62]
Lacking a cathedral, Mazzare had apparently decided to do without a palace as well. He was using his cardinal's stipend—which was, Don Francisco understood, substantial—to rent two fine, but not too grand, townhouses in the middle of the city, one of which he had had fitted out as offices.
They were, however, heading for the one Mazzare lived in, since this was purely a social call. Or, at least, as social as the prime minister of the USE and his chief spymaster could ever get with the head of the Catholic church in their nation. Which, Don Francisco reflected as they mounted the steps to the front door, was not very social at all. There was a substantial Protestant propaganda mill—now much more aboveboard and respectable than it had been—which would make a great deal out of the prime minister formally receiving the cardinal or vice versa. Not to mention the USE's Catholic propaganda mill, a sizeable minority of which wasn't happy at all with the latest pronouncements from Rome, still less with the appointment of an up-timer as cardinal over them all.
"Modest? Compared with a prime minister who works in an office that would humiliate a senior clerk in the Ottoman Empire?" Francisco had initially found the Americans' unpretentious ways amusing, but lately more than a bit exasperating as the shock of their arrival wore off and Europe's power-brokers lapsed back into old habits of confusing ostentation with authority. Being underestimated was all very well, when it came to military strategy, but in diplomacy and espionage an ounce of bluff was worth a pound of credibility, to paraphrase one of Mike's sayings.
The staff was efficient, mostly lay personnel, and they hardly had to wait at all for Mazzare to see them. Long enough, Nasi judged, that there would be small wait for coffee and pastries and, indeed, this was the case. "Good evening, Mike, Don Francisco," Mazzare said when he came to sit with them. "Thank you, Dieter," he said to the servant who brought the tray, "that will be all for the time being."
Once the coffee had been poured—excellent stuff, Nasi found, to his surprise, it seemed there was at least one American who didn't like his coffee weaker than a schoolboy's excuses—Mazzare came straight to the point. "Well, Mike? What exactly about the situation in Rome seems to be the problem?"
Stearns chuckled. "What isn't?" He waved a hand. "Oh, it's not that it affects us much one way or the other. Papal neutrality is a bit of a help but we managed without it before and no doubt we will again, and the political hay Wilhelm is going to make over it makes no odds either. It's just, well, predicting what Borja might do and how the college of cardinals is going to react to it. Since you're the nearest cardinal, I figured I'd come right out and ask."
It was Mazzare's turn to chuckle. "Second newest cardinal, as it happens. Father Joseph got his hat and ring shortly after I did, since my appointment made His Holiness' excuses for not elevating the man look pretty thin, and it wasn't like an extra French cardinal more or less makes much difference these days. And probably about to be the third newest, if rumors about Giulio Mazarini being appointed in pectore have any truth to them. And what I know about the internal workings of the cardinals in Rome, frankly, you could fit on the head of a pin and still have room for a troupe of dancing angels doing a Busby Berkeley number. You see, I'm not really much of a political cardinal. There are a few of us like that, you know."
"Yeah," said Stearns, "I figured