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"My good lady Ashley, I hope I do not interrupt?"

"Lady Maidalchini, to what do I owe such pleasure?"

"Permit first to say it was so good of you to see me on such short notice, that is, no notice at all. For I merely barged in here, accompanied by a retinue of brutish guards. And you were so sweet to let your guards let me pass and arrange for us to talk in private."

"It seemed a Christian thing, my good lady."

"Yes, indeed. May I speak plain? The hour grows most late and I shall have a busy morning on the morrow."

"As you wish, my good lady."

"Thankee. I have no wish to speak so direct, but my mind is most weary."

"As you have said, my good lady."

"I am told you collect art in advance of artists you think close to expiring, so that when they pass, you may sell at a profit from resulting fame of their death which may at times elude them in their life."

Ashley frowned at that, but gave a nod. If this was speaking 'plain' and 'direct,' she could only imagine what would happen to the Tuscan tongue when Olimpia Maidalchini chose to be opaque.

"Well, then may I give an advance warning? A certain artist of good fame from Tuscany shall be unwell. It would be good of you to prepare for that, and take advantage. For I will. Good night."

Before Ashley could register that, the widow quit her rooms.


The body of Cardinal Maculano, born of Tuscany, was found in his room when he had missed the morning prayers. He was alive, but barely thus. He was covered in several layers of vomit and feces. The doctors were called and begged for the man to be taken to his rooms outside the conclave's walls and to be treated there. They disagreed on the cause of his ailment and the potential of his miasma spreading to the other at the building, but all thought it be best to be safe than sorry. The cardinals fearfully huddled in cliques and there was talk of abandoning Genoa for a safer clime.

That news did not as yet leak out to the good people of Genoa, but nonetheless rumors ran wild. They knew two sets of vote were held and that no pontiff was as yet elected and that the second most likely candidate was dead. Then the whole business of the vetoes was found out, and the market adjustments followed swift and fierce. Odds were revised, but not across the board and syndicates were in disarray.

There was fear of disturbances by the men pretending to be in charge of the Most Serene Republic, but outside of a new wave of pickpocketing and robberies of men made insensible by drink at having lost moneys bet on vetoed d'Aragona and Pamphili, there were none, nor any rebellion organized.

Yet a most pernicious rumor made the rounds and Olympia hastened to the Sea Wolf to alert him of it.


"Olympia, pray sit, are you unwell?"

"Maculano has been poisoned."

"So it has been said. Odd. Who do you think…?"

"That is why I came here. There are rumors of French doing him in..."

"That would make no sense."

"It gets worse. There is talk you were involved."

"What?"

"Maculano was the chief prosecutor of Galileo. There is talk you, as Galileo's disciple..."

"By Jesu…!"

"I know, beloved. Thus I'm here."

"Do we issue a denial?"

"No. For a start, none would believe it, and it would help the rumor spread. And second, it would set bad precedent. Deny one rumor, and you must deny them all. For if you fail to deny one after you denied half dozen and all will think it true for you did not deny that one."

"So what we are we to do?"

Olympia looked sideways and the Sea Wolf's guards made themselves scarce.

"It was that bitch Maidalchini."

"That… makes sense."

"I am glad you see it."

"I hardly could not. She accosted Ashley last night and told her and warned her of this."

"What? Why did you not tell me then?"

"Ashley did not understand the import of the message until after the report of sickness."

"She failed to tell us of what…!"

"Olympia, please."

"Right. As I have said. It was Maidalchini."

"So what would you have me do?"

"Stay as sweet as you are now."

"I say, did you just tell me to smile, look nice and not worry my pretty little head about it?"

"I suppose. How did it feel?"

By this point both of them were grinning. Then the Sea Wolf was not.

"If you cannot tell me what you will do, then I cannot help."

"If you do not know what I am about to do, you cannot talk me out of it."

"Fair enough." And here the Sea Wolf gave as yet another wholly non-English embrace and held. Olympia allowed herself to go slack in his arms, but for a moment and no more. Then she gathered.

***


"Good day, Brother Pamphili. Pray, be so good to sit."

"Thankee, Brother Albornoz."

"Tell your woman no more Roman shit."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I have not the time nor inclination to wear white gloves before you, my lord cardinal. Your woman did this. Be quiet and sit. This is not the time for remonstration. Sit, please. She poisoned Maculano. I said, sit. You may be one of the elect, but should my sovereign pull his support, you would be quite done. So sit now and listen, though you wish not. Sit. Thankee.

"As I said, your woman poisoned Maculano to deny Spain a worthy candidate that was an alternative to you in the vote, but as a toss of a bone to a dog, she also now allows us to point the accusing finger at the French faction and gives us invective against Maculano's personal enemy - Mazarini. And I may use that to our advantage still. But, what she did, was heedless and quite dumb.

"We are balanced a knife's edge. And this provocation - and what better word would one use to describe an alleged Spanish supporter poisoning a Spanish candidate to discredit the French cause but a 'provocation' - will breed retaliation. And a retaliation will in turn bring about an escalation. We need not that. Nod to signal understanding of what I have just said. I said 'nod,' not speak. The time for your speeches have not as yet come. Just nod. There. That is better.

"Tell your woman to not do this sort of thing again, or I shall have to be unpleasant. And we have no wish for that, do we? Nod once to signal understanding and obeisance. Close your mouth and nod. There. Thankee. Now depart. Good day."

Pamphili seethed all the way to his room and had he been a man of less temperate feeling, he would declared for the French right there and then, but Albornoz chose his victim well. Pamphili was of the Spanish party and with it he would rise or fall, and he could not and would not hurt the Madrid cause. But neither this abuse could he make himself forgive nor forget. And the time of reckoning would come.

***


The officials from Madrid were pathetic and unprepared, thought Olimpia Maidalchini not entirely inaccurately. She was seated at the table with a trio of them now, swaggering toughs wearing leather corsets underneath their stern black clothes to appear tough and manly. It was enough to get sick. How easy it all would have been if Barberini were Spanish playthings. Then she and her dearest brother-in-law would gather the flower of the Roman aristocracy and oppose these dullards with full force. She would then be on the same side as the Sea Wolf. The thought made her smile, on the inside, where she hid. It would have been quite a triumph. With the gold and machinations of the brave and not entirely unhandsome barbarian standing by her faction, oh the things she could have done. But it was not to be. The Sea Wolf opposed Spanish interests. As did the remains of Barberini clan, excluding turncloak Antonio (Jr.). That meant, Pamphili and his wonderful array of ancient bloods were on the side of Spain. And she found herself in a room with principal agents of Madrid and its official parties. They were fools. Jesu, they were fools, she thought. Their master plan was to exclude d'Aragona and thereby cow the rest of cardinals into submission. There the plan did end. No backup, never mind a tertiary plot, nor a fourth. One plan. Just one plan, disguised with the all the cunning of a drunkard with a pair of shaking hands and piss stained breeches.

They repulsed her, Widow Maidalchini had realized. These three bloodless, pale lipped creatures acting as if their family names were as ancient as her own. Dear me, such delusions among these dons, she mused. The one on her left for instance could trace his heritage to Christian clans fighting the Moors in the mountains since the Song of Roland. That his grandfather could not eat pork escaped the official scroll. But such evidence was preserved in her cabinet and ready to be used, should it be called upon. Or the fool on her right had predilection for young boys dressed as milk maids. Despite that, he once condemned a man to death for committing sodomy with a woman. A woman. Dear me. Hypocrisy did not disgust her, she knew it was a necessity in these cruel times, but there was no reason to kill the sodomite. He was from a weak family and had no gold. To destroy someone small spoke of a smallness. And that cannot be forgiven. As for the idiot sitting directly opposite, he gambled in cards, and did so badly. His vice of choice, an Irish game called poque. Chief trait of said game was to be able to bluff. One would think a skill found easily in diplomats, to say nothing of a diplomat in charge of the affairs of His Most Catholic Majesty. But, no. He was as terrible across the table felt as he was now across one laden with fruits and sweet liquors.

"Do not concern yourself, good widow. We shall punish those pernicious frogs as yet for their vile poisoning of the good cardinal Maculano."

The Widow gave a nod, and hid a smile. A child could have caught what she was all about, but these three were much worse than children. The rest of the conversation was perfectly banal. She smiled through it all, including the excruciating parting, with the degenerate gambler making a meal of her hand when he leaned to give it a kiss. She suppressed a shudder. She had worse paws.

She rode in a palanquin in silence to her rooms. The impious and improbable thought reappeared again. She would go to the Sea Wolf and explain that Pamphili could be his agent still. The veto dropped, her man installed. Such vanity and nonsense should have left her at first blood, but here she was a mature woman in full juice of life and still she thought as such. That was the extent of desperation she felt, after meeting her so called allies. The only other unworthy thought, to scheme to get a doddering old man elected and then work on advancing Pamphili at next conclave after the next pope pegs out. Except, more than a few old men had turned sudden spry upon setting their bony behinds on the throne of St. Peter. Such was the power the seat held. Such was the power she herself too wanted, for her dearest brother-in-law, mind.

Inside her rooms, the Widow was given the Arab wine, called coffee, by her silent servants, sprawled on a cushion and thought more. Then when the bath was drawn, she went to it, even though she did not feel sick at all. When the door closed, she felt queer and turned. Before her stood a hulking brute in ill-kempt clothes with glassy eyes and crooked smile. She backed up and nearly fell into the bath. She opened her mouth and the brute struck with his fist into her side. She fell to her knees and let loose and noiseless scream, all of her body seeming hurt and left without a breath. The brute then grabbed her by the hair and dunked her head into the bath, held her underwater til her lungs near gave out, jerked her spluttering, shocked and sobbing body out of water and gave a bigger smile still. Then he dipped her head under the waters of the bath again, and so on and so on, until the widow was half past dead. Then he grinned wide, still holding her by hair, made her kneel, pried open her slackened mouth and poured the same poison down her gullet that was fed to the more unwitting Maculano.

The widow had by this point already voided her bowels and got sick, but she would get sicker still when her servants found her quite alone, stark naked, sobbing, shuddering and yelping on the wet floor of her bath.


The brute sailed off in a skiff into the open seas that every night, his pockets full of gold. His departure was overseen by as nearly hulking Turk, who then came to Olympia and nodded. Olympia could not bring herself to nod back, and merely walked off. She thought of doves, for some reason, and puzzled at that. Then gave a sigh, gave order to her thoughts and went off to the cathedral. She had a peace to broker and a pontiff to elect. The doves would have to wait.