Rinaldo Leonardo Amadeo de Gregori

Rinaldo is 18 and will turn 19 in April of 1514. He is the second son of Jacopo and Giulia dei Gregori, of Fiorenza (Florence). Specifically, their gonfalon is in the quarter San Giovanni. In addition to their town house, they of course have a villa at some remove, though they do not spend an unfashionable amount of time there.

Not that it matters much to Renaissance merchantry, except as a potential political or economic tie, but Rinaldo has two sisters, one older than he and long married, and one younger and being married this year (1514).

Although they are Florentines, they of course maintain close ties to the Gregori of Milan, and have some ties to the Sforza as a result.

They also maintained relations with the Medici, even when the latter lost power in Florence. Jacopo could not believe that the Medici star would not rise again. It was one of the best predictions he ever made.

Jacopo is a noted member of the major "arts" Guilds, to wit a druggist. In addition to medicinals, druggists of course trade in spices and rare gems. A brother is a furrier to the nobility, and thus the extended family has diversified interests.

Rinaldo was born in April, 1495, the same year that Florence began its efforts to regain Pisa. This was also the year that the Hall of the Five Hundred, in the Palazzo Vecchio of Florence, was constructed by Simone del Pollaiolo (known as Cronaca, in the time of the Republic of Savonarola). Savonarola, incidentally, was ordered, by the Pope, in this year, to stop preaching. He did not, and was later excommunicated and finally executed in the Piazza della Signoria, in 1498. 1498 was also the year that Macchiavelli entered the Florentine chancery (although the two events are not connected.)

Only a few days before Rinaldo's birth, the League of Venice was created by several Italian states to defend Italy against the French invasion under Charles VIII, and in June they appointed Francesco Gonzaga as commander of their army. Soon after, they had a Pyrhhic victory against the French.

Rinaldo is some 5 years older than an acquaintance of his, one Benvenuto Cellini, destined to become a famous goldsmith and sculptor.

When Rinaldo was 6, a man 20 years his senior was asked to create a statue to be placed high on one of the buttresses of the Florence Cathedral. The statue was to become the David of Michelangelo Buonarrotti, already a famous co-citizen. It was completed three years later, in 1504.

In 1509, the year that Rinaldo became of marriageable age, Pisa was finally surrendered back to Florence, and there was general rejoicing. Well, perhaps not in Pisa, initially.

Unfortunately, in the following year, an artist friend of Rinaldo's passed away. Now, some 5 years later, Rinaldo still misses Sandro Bottecelli.

Not two years ago, in September, of 1512, the Medici were restored to all of their former glory in Florence. 6 months later, Giovanni de' Medici was elected Pope and took the name Leo X.

For about the last four years, the well-educated Rinaldo has assisted with the family business, in addition tocontinuing with his higher studies. However, being a second son, his prospects were not great,and he did not have the temperament to always work in the shadow of his elders. His Rhetoric teacher highly recommended him as a potential churchman, however, and his family added grooming in the lessons of politics to his repertoire. It is his father's hope, in his waning years (Jacopo is now 38), that Rinaldo will make contacts that will ensure his family's prosperity for generations to come.

August, 1515. Retrospective Rinaldo. Excerpts from his first 18 months since arriving in Rome.

January, 1514:

Rome! The centre of the civilised world and of the Church.
Rinaldo turned to his servant, as they stood upon the crest of the hill and looked down at the city.
"Think of it, Giuseppe. It is a new age, a new world. The sixteenth century. 1513! A little more than a dozen years into this new age, and think of the marvels men have already seen. The Arts have achieved heights never before contemplated--why the savages that went before us did not even have the revelation of divine Perspective!"
"Si, Maestro."
...
"And only seven years since the first stone of the greatest basilica that will ever be. Truly, the beginning of an age of marvels. I am fortunate to be a second son, fortunate, I say. What some would lament, I welcome. A second son, condemned to find some place in the cloth-- nay! In Rome, in the Church, lies true power, both in this world and in the next."
"Absolumente, Maestro. Can we go down, now? There is still time to take your lodgings and order a decent supper."
"Ai! How can you think of your belly. Think of the firmament!"
"My belly is as empty as if it held the firmament, Maestro. Can we not go down?"
"Ah, fah, go to."

"So, Rinaldo," inquired Francesca, "have you decided to which faction to lend your support, at least for the near future?"
"It is a pretty problem," acknowledged de' Gregori, "for one wishes, of course, to make the best impression on the Papal Court while accumulating the least number of enemies."
"Or, in any event, the least number of capable enemies," suggested Francesca.
"By no means, by no means. Incompetent enemies are the very worst. They get jealous; they panic, they do unpredictable and stupid things that very often get people killed or, worse, humiliated. Give me an enemy who knows his business and I'll give you an enemy who can be reasoned with and who knows when he is outclassed. Just look at the mercenaries. They understand. What's the point of being a soldier for pay if you get yourself killed doing it? Only an idiot gives himself any chance of dying in a war."
"But what of bravery, of valour for one's country? Is there no room for that?"
"Certamente. Out there, past that building and down the road to the left-- you will come to the cemetery presently."
Francesca laughed.

In March, Rinaldo made his first moves towards joining a Faction, considering both the Borgia and the Farnese. The latter accepted him. He also entered into fierce argument with one Marco Armani over the nature of Carnevale, when he announced his intention to host a costumed gathering for the occasion.
Fortunately for Rinaldo, both his party and the debates generated by it were successes. The former presented just the right balance of sophisticated dinner entertainment and debauchery to appeal to the tastes of Rome of the time.

Deacon Amadeo di Gregori
I have now sufficiently sobered to be able to put pen to paper and congratulate you on your Carnevale celebrations that in my experience were worthy of Venice.
Thank you for the time and expense that you obviously went to. Should you ever entertain on such a lavish scale again please be sure to invite me as I should rather be exiled than miss such celebrations.
With sincere regard
Lucio Malvezzo

In the Spring, Rinaldo accompanied the Farnese to France, to serve in the Papal Mission. There the redoubtable Comte de Mercure made mincemeat of most of the delegation, but newly-advanced Padre Rinaldo managed a creditable showing, despite his inability to manage an appointment within his Faction. This inability maintained for over a year, as shall be seen.
In France, Rinaldo began the first of many peccadilloes while attempting to prepare some really bold stroke against the Comte, to ensure Rinaldo's own notoriety.

"Here are the summaries of the reports and the revenue accounts for Roma," said Rinaldo, placing the neatly ordered papers on the Secretary's desk. "It is my hope that the Cardinal will find the information useful as the discussions continue. I believe that he will find this page, and this, especially supportive in his arguments regarding the division of revenues. This one, he may wish to refer to, when the talks move to proselytization and reclamation of those towns and cities where the critics have swayed the populace against Mother Church."
"Ah, um, I see-- very comprehensive. I shall, ah, mention your efforts to His Eminence."
"Not at all, good Pere. You are his Secretary and coordinate all efforts. We but humbly labour as part of the mission."

"Well, at least convey my appreciation to the members of your Chapter."
"You are too kind, sir. I will, thank you."
Rinaldo withdrew. A slight smile appeared on his face as he headed back for the scriptorium. He had his supporters making sure that the work of his Chapter would not go unnoticed, nor the work of their Chapter leader. Humility was all well and good, but was not false modesty a sin, and a sham like unto the passage about the rich Pharisees, who made a great noise about rending their robes?
Better to be competent, efficient and indispensable. Modesty was fine, as long as enough people knew what you were being modest about.

Rinaldo watched from the narrow window of his room, as the Farnese Bishop and Canon left for Italy, in disgrace. Pro tem, he was now the senior member of the Farnese in France.
There had been some rumour that the Mission for the Summer would be to Spain, but Rinaldo was not displeased to be remaining here. The climate was much better and the people suited his disposition.

"My nerves are simply terrible and I think that this French food is ruining my bowels," said the older man.
"I quite understand," nodded Rinaldo soothingly, "considering that this mission is turning into the Black Pit of Humiliation, you have good cause for the strain upon your temperament, signor."
"But what can I do? As long as our Coalition Leader is here, so must I be."
"It is a thorny problem," agreed Rinaldo, with a sigh. "If only there were some way that I could be of help--"
"But that's it! You could. Perhaps you could take my place. You have already performed much of the research; I have only been collating."
Rinaldo contrived to look mildly alarmed.
"I am not ready for so important a position, signor."
"Nonsense, it's not the secretarial position, after all. More like a personal runner, sometimes. But. Ah, alas, no, it will not work. I am too nervous. I would not wish this taken as lack of faith, or lack of determination."
"Who could say so? You have been so stalwart. But, certes, it must be your decision..."

--and once more, although the incumbent left, Rinaldo was not appointed in his place.

His research had been conducted in four libraries, two monasteries and three bedrooms. He had read the Comte's writings, tracts, records of debates and oratory, as well as those of his confreres. He had studied all of the accumulated information regarding the historical precedents and the arguments against which the opposition had prepared-- and, he hoped, against which they had not prepared.
Rinaldo murmured into his empty room.
"As the great Caesar did not say, 'Alea jacta est'. Except that I do not hope to take Roma via the Rubicon, but, in these first steps, by the Via Franca."

August, 1514. The French mission comes to a close, and Rinaldo has his first measure of real success, with a medal being struck for his efforts. Still, he chafes in that he has not managed to advance himself or truly take centre stage in the proceedings. Though self-centred, he has also attempted to gather some reliable friends and also to advance those within his own Faction, with some success.

In September, Rinaldo attended Papal Court and entered a poetry competition. Not for the last time, he found that his path to advancement seemed to be arduous in inverse proportion to his effort. His love of the arts made poetry and writing fairly natural for him, and indeed, he managed to take two of the prizes. Still his leviathan efforts in research and oratory had not borne fruit.

Rinaldo spent the balance of the Fall in heavy study, occasionally surfacing at Court or social events, including a party hosted by himself at the Aventine in late November. He was duly advanced to Canon in October, in recognition of his months of service. In December, in response to requests from members of his Faction, he delayed volunteering his Chapter to Spain, and studied and attended the Masses and celebrations. An application to become an Advisor was unsuccessful.

"Espece de salope! Cabron! Saltatrix tonsa!" finished Rinaldo, in a vicious whisper. While he was fluent in only four languages, aside from the obvious Latin, he could swear vehemently in no less than eleven. Although he had finished in Latin, he found that tongue unsatisfying for the pursuit, as Latin made almost anything sound too polite and erudite, and to the uninitiated, like a blessing.
Giuseppe could not understand all of the terms, but he certainly apprehended the sentiments, and even he knew enough smatterings of gutter-Latin to know what a "barbered dancing-girl" was. Moreover, he knew the reason that his master had mewed himself up in study for a fortnight and a half. Still in Roma.

Then, in January, it was off to the mission in Spain, after winning a pair of debates for his Faction. Once more, Rinaldo applied for an advisory position and once more, he was not accepted. Could sinister forces be at work? Like his ego? Or perhaps those wishing to retard his progress?

Spain turned out not to be sunny or inviting, as the mission was centred in Burgos and the austere, severe and Inquisition-beloved Cardinal Jiminez seemed determined to do nothing but blockade anything like real progress. Rinaldo's own contribution was noted and appreciated, but again he had failed to make any sort of real impression.
Rinaldo decided to apply to the Martial School of Eloquence, as his renown as an undefeated debater was not inconsiderable, and also, just in case, as an Oratory instructor. Of course, he was unsuccessful at both. By now, he was becoming somewhat jaundiced about the whole thing.
Also, Rinaldo responded to a Papal solicitation for plays with the themes of "Pasquino Speaks" and "Distant Lands". He penned these as a diversion to himself while in the gloomy cloisters of Burgos, and sent them off hoping to at least garner a few distant "bravos". Again, Fortuna Artis took a hand.
In February, he was again rejected as an Etiquette Instructor. However, while in either a blue funk, a black depression, or some other sombre shade of adversity, he received a bolt form Roma.

"I am going to fling myself into the moat, Giuseppe."
"There is no moat, principe."
"I will have you dig one and fill it and then I will fling myself into it."
"Something vexeth thee, signore?"
Rinaldo turned a gimlet, if somewhat bleary, eye, upon his faithful manservant.
"I stagnate. I rot. I fester. I accomplish nothing. I--"
"Dona Esmerelda?"
"That is not why I am here, Giuseppe. I am here to represent His Holiness, to add lustre to his Court and to procure agreements and win debates."
"A little recognition would not hurt either, eh, maestro?"
"Do not be a mushroom, or I will beat you."
"Me? I only wish that you had something to report, as you say, to send to Roma. But come, I have heard that the dispatches are in. Shall I go down? Perhaps there is news of home."
"Yes, yes, of course! Anything to occupy me, while I watch my life steadily diminish, while dithering and fearful old ..."
Rinaldo's voice faded behind the heavy wooden door, as Giuseppe scampered down the stairs.
'Madonna,' he murmured to himself, 'let there be something to distract him, before he drives me to distraction. He would have been happier to trade blows with the Spaniards.'
Minutes later, Giuseppe was watching his master look over the letters.
"Fiesole."
"Pardone?"
"Fiesole."
"It is a nice enough place, I suppose, maestro. The ancient cathedral of St. Romulus, with St. Donatus' tomb. Many wonderful artists. St. Alexander's shrine, in fact many miraculous sites--"
"A palazzo. In Fiesole. His Holiness has granted me a palazzo there, for 'The Nuncio'. Do you understand, Giuseppe? Finally, it has begun. It has begun!"
"Maestro! I am so happy!" Giuseppe clapped his hands together, at the same time breathing a prayer of thanks. Now his master would not do something crazy that would destroy them both. At least, not for a while.
"What a wonderful souvenir from the Revel," continued Rinaldo, grinning. "Ah, what will I give up for Lent?"
The Canon caught a glint in his servant's eye.
"Go on, you devil. Say it; I absolve you; I give you an Indulgence-- what should I give up for Lent?"
"Humility?"
Even through the closed door, the roar of mirth could dimly be heard down the corridor...

March saw him studying in Rome and April found him once more in Spain, this time in Madrid. Having persuaded the Farnese Bishop to retire, Rinaldo managed to perform well enough to be advanced to that rank and became Bishop de' Gregori.

Rinaldo looked out of his window. He had spent the last week at his palazzo in Fiesole, much pleased with the way that the decorations had turned out.
Now, however, it was time to get back to Castille. It was unknown whether Cardinal Jimenez would be remaining in the Vatican precincts or returning to Spain, this month, but Rinaldo had some hopes that he would be able to produce at least some agreements of worth, or engage in something at least remotely resembling intelligent debate. Dona Esmerelda was distracting, but there could definitely be too much of a good thing.
He turned back to his guest.
"Perhaps just a little drop of wine, Bishop Entertius? 'For thy stomach's sake'?"
"Ah, well, yes, then, my stomach..."
Privately, Rinaldo reflected that to ameliorate such a gut would likely take a tun, but he forbore to share his observation.
"So, Excellency. Have you come to the end of your deliberations?"
"Hmouah, yes, well, that is to say, no, not really."
"Ah?"
"Definitely it would be more to my personal qualifications to be doing research in the Library--"
'What,' thought Rinaldo, 'do they keep recipes for food there?'
"-- but I am not sure that our faction can do without my guidance, you know, would not wish to be seen as self-indulgent."
"O, what a minor worry. Who could possibly think that? Just look at you. Positively worn out from your exertions in our behalf. A well-deserved sabbatical from service, say I. Gathering your strength for your next cross."
"Oh, I like that."
'I'd like it too, except you'd likely snap any tree they tried to crucify you on, you great tub of lard,' reflected Rinaldo, smiling sweetly.
"I will give it thought in your absence," finished the Bishop.
"Would it could be so," mourned Rinaldo, "but I have heard certain rumours."
"Rumours?"
Small, alarmed eyes peered out of folds of fat.
"Yes. You know how unreasonable some people can become. How they can misinterpret that you have not bestirred yourself from the table in over a year--"
"Eh?"
"The table in your study, where you work so hard."
"Oh, oh yes."
"And I hear there is a, hm, a certain subtle movement that would like to see you demonstrate your oratorical mettle in Spain."
"In Spain!"
"Indeed. You know, from whence Cardinal Jimenez hails."
"Save us! The man's a devil."
"Oh, how could he be? Such austerity. Such reserve. Such hatred for pomp, for excess, for the fripperies of life. The man positively thrives on vinegary wine and gruel. An example to us all."
"Eh, what? But surely the guests are not expected--"
"Oh, no, no. He does not demand quite so zealous a demonstration. I remember a grape, once, quite fondly."
"A. Grape?"
"Yes, indeed, it was very flavourful. Well, sourness is a flavour, too. And once, a wedge of apple with my bread and water."
"Madonna. They tortured you there?"
"Hardly. To suffer in this life is to store up riches in the next. I am sure that the Cardinal will increase our store of celestial riches a thousand fold."
"Ah. Ah. I feel weak."
"Here, another drop-- no, of course, take the bottle. Giuseppe has some roasted capons awaiting us downstairs, I think."
"Thank the Lord. Let us go down directly, I am faint."
"I admire your resolve to stay on and serve, to gird your loins and travel into austere, gloomy, privation, Excellency."
"Agh. Do stop. No more until the capons. I must reconsider."
"Of course, of course."
Rinaldo heaved mightily under one of the Bishop's arms and began to lever his bulk towards the dining room. Once more, he gazed out of the window, where the cart was nearly finished loading.
'It is time,' he thought. 'I cannot waste more precious months, especially after this one, which ushers me into middle age.'
It was early April, 1515, and Rinaldo Leonardo Amadeo dei Gregori was on this day, twenty years of age.

Rinaldo stood in front of the mirror. His had been confirmed as a Bishop. A Bishop.
He wore his Ordinary ring, rather than his Pontifical one, which had to be worn either with a keeper, or over his gloves of office.
There would likely be some sort of confirmatory service once back in Roma, but it now looked as if, at best, they might detour to Roma briefly at month's-end-- it certainly would not be a convenient detour on a trip to Lyons, not with all those mountains and forests in between Madrid and Italia. And it wasn't as though they were convenient to shipping.
Still, the Archbishop had conducted the confirmatory service in the little chapel, adorned Rinaldo with the mitre and presented him with the symbolic crozium, his staff with which to guide his flock.
The pallium had been offered and donned later-- it certainly was cool enough, though not truly cold.
Giuseppe looked upon his master with pride. Still, an innate irreverence could not be completely constrained.
"So, maestro, your Excellency-- I have often wondered, for the ceremony is so fine-- alas that I could only watch from the corner-- do you feel more holy, now?"
Rinaldo took his eyes away from the mirror. The look on his face gave Giuseppe pause.
"Oddly enough," murmured Rinaldo, "-- yes."

On the heels of his triumph, May was a quiet and unproductive month, with, once more, a somewhat fatalistic application-- this time for the post of Advisor to the Delegation Leader, for the Summer, since the Farnese had been informed that they were to continue on to the Summer Mission to France. Not surprisingly, he was unsuccessful.

My dear Capitano del Carnivale,
Your kind sentiments are warmly received. It is always a nice thing when one's personal goals also have a general benefit; I am surrounded by well-wishers.
It is my hope to be of some aid to others who seek to move into positions where they can best benefit the Mission and Mother Church.
For now, all is in the hands of the Lord, and so we are, of course, content.
Pax vobiscum,
Bishop de' Gregori
--and so we are, of course, content, finished Rinaldo.
Giuseppe watched as his master sanded the letter, neatly folded it, and passed it to him to see to.
Then his master flung the sand dish bodily out the fortunately-open window, where it disappeared into a hedge.
'Ah, yes,' thought Giuseppe, 'the old sense of contentment is back...'

Once more, Rinaldo's flair for research and oratory served him well enough, but once more, he was unable to be effective in bringing success on a large scale. His personal efforts were always recognised, in some way, but without the ability to advise the mediocre leaders of the delegation, a huge, wet blanket descended upon progress. Then, of course, events contrived to teach Rinaldo a little more humility: the almost incompetent leader managed a coup.

The Farnese in Lyons supped at the long tables which had been set for their dinner.
"They say he showed uncommon insight into the mood of the court," said Deacon Annacinque, the Secretary to the Assistant Delegation Leader.
"Indeed, and his advice was helpful, one might almost say instrumental, to the success of the Third Coalition," agreed Padre Enquartus, Advisor to the Third Coalition Leader.
"None could deny it; we are blessed by his presence," added Deacon Insextus, Rinaldo's own "advisor"--
-- at which point, Bishop de' Gregori really did not feel that he could remain aloof much longer. He approached the tables from the archway in which he had been standing.
"Ah, Your Excellency," simpered Enquartus, "we were just talking of Bishop Entres, of the Chigi!"
"Yes. I know."
"Was not his orchestration of our Coalition's efforts a masterful thing?"
"Virtually miraculous."
"The Coalition is ablaze with admiration for him."
"Yes. I know."
"Though his oratorical star is not perhaps recognised for its brilliance, that is doubtless because he hides it under a basket," mused Annacinque.
"He is a past master at hiding his political and oratorical acumen," agreed Rinaldo, somewhat woodenly.
"I hear that his grasp of the situation was appreciated as much as your own, Your Excellency."
"Yes. I know."
Enquartus was, perhaps, somewhat more perspicacious than the Deacons. He hastened to interject.
"Of course, your own presentation was, ah..."
"Also masterful?"
"Yes!"
"Also luminous?"
"Most assuredly! And, and..."
"And?"
"And such a lovely goblet!"
"Yes. I know. But please, please, allow me to excuse myself. I go to thank God for keeping Bishop Entres as Advisor to the Delegation Leader for one more month."
"Ah, we will add our prayers to yours, Bishop!" they more or less chorused as he left, appetite banished.
'How can Enquartus manage to hang onto his bread with all the oil that oozes from his every pore?' wondered Rinaldo silently, as he tiredly entered his quarters and let Giuseppe divest him of his layers of vestments and accoutrements.
Giuseppe, balancing deviltry with self-preservation, murmured, "After I have seen to all here and brought you a private supper, Maestro, may I be excused to go pray in the chapel?"
A jaundiced eye fixed upon him, under a slightly-raised eyebrow.
"To pray, Maestro, in thanks for the miracle. You know, Bishop--"
Giuseppe cut himself off, noting the rise of colour to de' Gregori's face. The he quickly hurried on.
"Since I lost good money betting that he'd blather himself into disgrace in the first fortnight here, and since obviously the Lord decided to favour the Bishop specially, it seemed to me only fair to say thank you-- and to suggest that others might need the Lord's favour, since it seems unfair to shovel it so profusely on one man."
"You shovel well yourself, Giuseppe."
"Shall I go in a corner and flagellate myself, Signore?"
"Just bring me some wine. And, after supper, my scriptorium. I have letters to write."

And write he did. Marshalling every well-wisher and even those who might simply have wanted him not to apply for Inquisitor, Rinaldo finally managed a successful application and achieved his first-ever appointment, as Advisor to the Delegation Leader.

In July, he was able to add some support for the Delegation, though, of course, this allowed his immediate superior to maintain his own appearance of competence. Rinaldo looked to August for a chance to shine. All his machinations and exertions had been poised and refined for this opportunity. All of his fellow Farnese had been briefed on his hopes for advancing them all, and he had spent a river of gold over the past year to try to garner enough support for his bid for an appointment, any decent appointment. He felt "poised", as never before.
Now the only question that remained was: poised for success, or disaster?

"Maestro, maestro," called out Giuseppe, as he entered Rinaldo's sumptuous quarters to thank him. Then, he stopped short. The curtain was not quite drawn on the little alcove wherein Rinaldo performed his daily series of prayers, and Giuseppe could see that he was just rising from his knees. But why now? This was not even one of the manifold times where prayers were customary, if not absolutely required.
Rinaldo came into the main chamber and Giuseppe could see signs of redness about the eyes. Had he been up late, working by candlelight again?
"Maestro? Is all well?"
"Well? Oh, yes. Quite well. Beyond hope, in fact, Giuseppe. Ah, did the tailor come by?"
"Si, si, that is why I wanted to--"
Rinaldo was already waving off the thanks.
"Long overdue. I have just been so busy over the last few months, and with so many-- with so much to do."
"What is it, maestro?"
Rinaldo smiled, briefly.
"I have been accepted as Advisor to the Delegation Leader. At last."
Giuseppe was about to burst into jubilation, but something about Rinaldo's fey mood kept his emotion to a broad smile.
"But that is wonderful, wonderful! It is about time that they recognised that they should actually have someone who can do the job there, eh? And with all this new prestige, will come parties, new connections and new, heh, liaisons, mayhap? Your treatise can be continued?"
Rinaldo smiled again.
"And so they will, Giuseppe, so they will. But for now, I must redouble my efforts in work. This will be the first month in which I hold the Advisor's position. Those who do not hope for the progress of either the Farnese or myself will be hoping that it will be the month that I will fall flat on my face. It must not be so. The Faction, and the mission, must prosper. July is a 'biding' month in the Summer mission-- I have no doubt that we will be told to set the stage and to be submissive and to curry favour. Be it so, then, but we must be poised to make some gains in August. Mark my words, Giuseppe, the French have designs on some of the border cities of Italia, yet again."
Giuseppe considered. Was that it? Had he simply been worried that he would not do the job well, praying for guidance, so unlike him? He was always utterly confident that-- that was it.
His master Rinaldo had not been sure of this appointment, in the first place. He moved now in circles where ability was only a minor qualification, where influence was all.
He had not been sure that he would eventually get it.
Giuseppe nodded.
"To work, then, and in a week or two, the first of Giuseppe's lovely new feathers will arrive and he will flit back and forth for his even-more-important maestro, a peacock, a phoenix, such as will make these French popinjays laugh."
Rinaldo, shook his head.
"Not laugh, Giuseppe. They will be jealous that I have so loyal and clever a companion. Let them be.
"Now, get me the second and fourth piles of documents, there, and the packet of Papal instructions. I must prepare a summary with recommendations for the Cardinal, forthwith..."

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