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With a considerable effort the Sea Wolf looked away from the barrel of the pistol pointed at him and studied the man holding it. He was an ill looking pock marked fellow, pale and rather nervous. The two stood across from each other saying and doing nothing for what seemed an eternity but it was only less than ten Hail Maries before the Sea Wolf spoke:

"Well, shall we sit and talk about our sins?"

The words made the fellow visibly recoil, but he held the pistol firm even though the ground beneath his feet seemed to shift for a bit and he had to find his bearing. The Sea Wolf did not move, backwards or forwards, but the middle and index finger of his left hand pointed to a set of chairs by the bay window.

The fellow blinked and spared a side glance.

The Sea Wolf did nothing.

The fellow suddenly gave a weary nod and gestured with his non pistol hand.

The Sea Wolf went towards the chair furthest from the fellow.

"No, stop. Sit there."

The Sea Wolf gave a nod and took the chair closest to the fellow.

"Will you not sit as well?"

"No, I prefer to stand."

"As you wish."

"Why are you not afraid?"

"Oh but I am. I just do not show it. A habit. When storm smashes against your hull, and low on food and drink, and you have no idea where you are or how to get back home, while the eyes of your woman and your crew rest are upon you, you learn how to not show your fear true."

The fellow gave a nod after a moment and asked:

"You spokes of sins. What are yours?"

"Oh they are manifold. Too many to list now. What of yours?"

The fellow had begun to dry swallow, but somehow became interrupted, stopped and gave a nod again.

"Same for me."

They then shared a silence.

The Sea Wolf spoke first again:

"So what shall we talk about then, if not our sins?"

"Why do you think I am here to talk?"

"Because had you merely wanted to kill me, you would have already done it."

The words came out even and the one good eye was steady. Idly, the fellow, who today has picked the name Jepp, wondered if the milky eyed man who was send to end him near Albano felt as queer as he did now, standing before a man who showed no fear of death. Then, remembering how that encountered ended, Jepp gripped his pistol tighter still and focused on the task at hand:

"You killed a man."

"Men, not man. An entire ship lost to a storm. Then those lost to disease and lack of..."

"No, this one you shot yourself. Then stabbed."

"The French Comte. An officer in the King's Guard. Ensign d'Artagnan. Yes, I recall."

"You killed him, and you did it for nothing. Merely to make your crew fear and respect you."

"No, there were other reasons."

"Do not tell me it was to prevent people from seeing you as French agents!"

"That was part of it as well."

"You hardly touched a land ruled by Spain."

"More happy accident than an intended plan. Spanish and Portu'gee colonies are more numerous than those of Dutch or other fair weather friends of France on either shore washed by the Atlantic. We, that is I, could not be sure we would not land upon a Spanish fort, bereft of water or of food or in need of medicinal assistance."

"And for this you killed a man."

"Yes, for over a hundred souls were under my care. If they did not respect me, they would oppose me and were they to do that in open seas, they would be lost and I along with them. So, to ensure their safety by establishing my authority, I shot a man in the stomach, then stabbed him to death, after goading him into flashing his blade so I would have a lawful excuse, if pressed by magistrates."

All this was also said quiet even and without raising a voice. As was:

"Have you never killed for reasons that may seem opaque to others, but made good sense to you?"

Jepp nearly stumbled again, but the barrel of his pistol never wavered and stared at the Sea Wolf straight.

"That is why I am here. Have you heard of the massesacch?"

"Yes. The murders and the robberies perpetuated against Jews."

"Yes. That. I gave a thought to those. To their true origins. It did not start off there though, my thoughts I mean. No, no, no, they did not. They started with the Roman ghetto. The dead there. It started with them. They... I found the man who was the cause for their deaths. But it did not end with him. No, it did not. It did not. It did not end. The pain. The oscillation. And… It led to me think of the other massacres. All of them. The ones that came with the War of Castro, and did not just happen at the ghetto of Rome."

The Sea Wolf regarded the now quite nervous fellow opposite him coolly and gave a slight nod.

The now freely perspiring Jepp, fueled by a brief pause and that nod, rambled on:

"The Germans. They changed the war. Made it worse. The man who brought the Germans here, he was one and the same as who caused the deaths at the Roman ghetto. So it seemed the circle was complete, but as I said, it did not end with him. I felt it did not end with him. I knew it did not end. It was not him who was... It was not him. He was not the cause of misery."

Jepp's eyes now took on a glaze and bore into the one good eye of the Sea Wolf. The Sea Wolf frowned. Thought on the matter for as long as it took to say ten Hail Maries. Then spoke:

"Who was it then?"

"You."

"I?'

"Yes, you. The man who brought the Germans here..."

"Francesco Barberini. Let us not drown in pronouns, if you please."

"Yes, yes, him. He brought the Germans because he feared the Medicean credit would overlap that of his own family and thereby the conflict would be lost. His own secretaries confirmed it. He explained his thoughts to some. And that credit, the Medicean credit that is, he thought would be extended by rumors of the gold from the Mines of King Solomon returned. You. You are the cause for change. You changed everything. You. You brought this all about. You."

"And now I fear you lost me. Please elaborate."

"The..."

The Sea Wolf withdrew a pistol from the cushion of the chair upon which he sat and pointed it at Jepp, who in a rush to explain himself had gestured with both hands, in an Italian and Gallic nature, and since one of those hands held a gun, he swung the barrel away from the Sea Wolf in his animation, leaving himself open to mischief.

The Sea Wolf fired without aiming, for at such a distance he could not miss. But missed he did. For Jepp, from a lifetime of instinct, ducked upon the flash of iron wrought in the Sea Wolf's hand.

The Sea Wolf's shot went over Jepp's head and scored the wall.

Jepp now fell back, stood straighter and brought up his own gun. He made no effort to hide or duck or to evade, for he knew that with the shot now wasted from the pistol in the Sea Wolf's hand, he had time enough to act in leisure. The Sea Wolf would not have the necessary time to reload his weapon nor reach for another gun.

But the Sea Wolf did try to do either thing. He merely reached out with his left hand and adjusted the curious pomegranate in the midst of his pistol's barrel where the trigger met the cock. The pomegranate then revolved. And the Sea Wolf's right index finger pressed down on the trigger.

The pistol ball tore through Jepp's left cheek. His hands reflexively came up to shield his bleeding and now hurt face, exposing his slim, and twisted by pain, torso to the Sea Wolf.

The Sea Wolf's left hand turned the pomegranate again. The right hand made shot.

Jepp's chest took the ball and he was slammed against the wall, at an angle most odd.

The Sea Wolf's left hand turned the pomegranate yet again. The right pulled the trigger a fourth time.

Jepp's chest took another ball and his body slid down the side of wall.

The Sea Wolf fired one last shot. This one aimed with both hands at Jepp's heart. The ball went true.


The servants ran into the room, armed with staves, swords and (to Sea Wolf's mirth) a fire poker.

The Sea Wolf spoke with them as he reloaded his newfound toy, a twin of the one he gifted to Olympia.

"Get that body out of here, and do so in a haste. Then send someone to clean up the mess. Oh and let us try to not speak of this to the lady of the house. For should she learn that a madman, armed, was able to sneak into my rooms past all of you..."

The servants shuddered and threw themselves into their assigned tasks with a manic speed.

The Sea Wolf slipped the lethal toy into his belt and walked out. He kept walking til he got to his twin sister's chamber (formerly his own). The room was unattended as his sister was out by docks, examining the new art being brought inside the town, for old habits die hard. He found her chamber pot. Took off his silks. Put the pot before a stool. Sat on the backless chair and aimed his face over the pot. Then, and only then, did he get sick. Once done, he tossed the pot, contents and the receptacle itself into a bin by the upper kitchens and walked off, feeling a tad jittery, but no longer sick.


The deception did not last an hour. Olympia was told of the whole affair by her spies in the house. Thus, the Sea Wolf faced the ministrations of his quite emotional beloved, and bore them well, all people involved considered. He was as stoic as called upon and even managed to be laconic on the substance of his tale. But Olympia, who now knew him better than any human being alive, saw easily past the first layer of the mask. And so the Sea Wolf had to be most deft avoiding probing questions, while putting on a second mask and third in quick succession. And still those layers were torn down and soon a fifth mask was called upon and it was being torn to shreds, when suddenly, the logic bent to anger once again and the inquest moved on from the Sea Wolf to the horror stricken servants. Here Olympia vented her full spleen and who knew where it would all end, and with how many people beaten and mayhap butchered in blood hot, had not the Sea Wolf came into the common room while Olympia shook with rage and said:

"The conclave shall start tonight, my lady."

At this Olympia blinked, nodded and went off to change her dress. And the servants contemplated falling to their knees and declaring the Sea Wolf their new patron saint.

***


"My lord Cardinal Mazarini, what brings you this shop?"

"You, my good lady Ashley. I was wondering if we could speak still of the estate you had wanted on Ligurian coast?"

"Oh that was in the distant past."

"I see."

"My lord Cardinal, if I may offer this bit of advice. Whatever you may think of me, and no matter what you have heard, I set a great store by loyalty. I have but one piece of flesh and blood who cares for me upon this shabby coil. He has a plan. You must treat with him to learn of it, or to amend it, and please be so good as to not seek me as an in-between. When I had feared he might be lost, and you were a man on the rise, I was prepared to deal with you and indeed did as such. Now, things have changed, and though the ides of fate came, but have not gone, I shall not treat with you here and now regarding conclave."

"I see."

"But surely my lord does not require such as me. The men of the French party easily outnumber Spain's inside the college. And as for this nonsense of Genoa being Spain's plaything... No one in this fair town forgets what it was meant when Spanish troops came and occupied it for more than a few years."

"Nor do they forget what happened when the French troops came to, uh, liberate and lingered."

"There is a difference between pox and chillbains. Both cause pain, but only one lingers for a lifetime."

"And you say Spain...?"

"I say now, mind. Me and I, alone. None else."

"Yes, yes."

"Spain is the pox of Italies, now."

"I have never be so glad to be called my adopted nation chillbains in all my life."

"I often leave men happy, my good lord."

And with that, the twin sister of the Sea Wolf sashayed away, forcing the good cardinal to sit down, despite the hour growing near to him having to depart to the conclave himself.

***


The cardinals arrived in dribs and drabs to the Cathedral of Genoa (that is the Cathedral of Saint Lorenzo). Some came alone. Others sought safety in numbers. Still others wanted to show they had a grouping of their peers and were its lead. But by dusk all 55 now in town arrived. Some were greeted by cheers from the mob outside, and some were showered with boos, and still others got stony silence and awkward murmur. "Roman cardinal, you say? Which one? They have sixteen in town now. Lante? Ah, I see. Well, I do not. No. Who is Lante? Oh, Marcello Lante della Rovere. Why did you call him Lante then? He is a della Rovere. Hush, there is a Medici. By Jesu, he is ugly! Check the odds on him."

Lante, or Marcello Lante della Rovere as the fellows insisted, was the Dean of the College of Cardinals and it fell to him to pretend to organize the event, though all knew his role was to count the votes and try not to get denounced for it by the losing party. Still, he appeared sober, responsible and severe. There was an oration, prayer and all sorts of rituals which while quite important to all playing part would bore most of us to tears. Let us then get to the heart of the matter, the first round of voting.

Two hours of the most vicious horse trading followed before the first vote. The kind that would make most gypsies blush and even the most vicious tradesmen walk away in sheer disgust. Coin, houses, land and courtesans were offered and withdrawn. Threats were made. And all this while the conclave was "sealed." In this case, the seal could be, uh, set aside for a palm of silver, if you were a mere diplomat or an idle rich man, but a fistful of gold was required if you were a known agent of the His Most Catholic Majesty or His Most Christian King. All did agree, however, that such convention would only last the first day and the first round of votes. After that, the price would go up mighty steep and only the most curious, rich or agents of Kings would be able to afford transgressions against the mighty seal.

For his part, the Sea Wolf stayed away from the hustle and bustle and was seen at prayer in the Church of St. Augustin, asking for the cardinals to deliver a new pontiff soon. While Olympia made her way through the seal of conclave at will to ensure the next pontiff was to her, and thereby the Sea Wolf's, liking. The five Genoese cardinals huddled as a group at first, but it was hard, for Grimaldi expressed such a total French party line that he was soon shunned for being Mazarini's painfully obvious agent. The Romans, though most numerous, were most hopelessly divided between differing strains of Spanish parties and the French ones. Pamphili did little, for as we have said, he thought it was his vote to lose. While Bentivoglio d'Aragona did even less, for he wanted to be the conciliatory anti-Spanish candidate, as opposed to the more virulently anti-Spanish one, such as Giulio Cesare Sacchetti.

And of the other cities and states, there were too few cardinals to form true blocks. Even the Florentines were not as one, for Antonio Barberini (Sr.) was one of them, having been born there and stressing the French faction beliefs, while Leopoldo feign neutrality and countered with his Spanish views. Of the French party from France, there were too few, but Mazarini, though Italian born, had them well in hand. And as for Spain, Cardinal Gil de Albornoz led his trio as if a pack of dogs, but it was a small pack, and when he struck first blood, he did not use them, but performed quite another trick entire.

Before the all-important first vote could take place, the Spanish bulldog Albornoz stood on his hind legs, cleared his throat quite unnecessarily and produced a sheaf of notes, which he then proceeded to fan about while he delivered an oration which caused as much damage to the conclave as an infernal device.