Joan of the Sword Hand Part 65

All save one--and he, a tall stern-faced dark young man in a plain black soutane, walked up and down in the sun, with his eyes on the ground and his hands knotting themselves behind his back. The fingers were twisting nervously, and he pursed his lips in meditation. He did not waste even one contemptuous glance on the riotous crew in the arbour.

"Aha--you came to consult me about your marriage," chuckled the Holy Father. "Well, what have you been doing? Young blood--young blood! Once I was young myself. But young blood must pay. I am your father confessor. Now, proceed. (This may be useful--better, better, better!)"

And with a wholly different air of interest, the Pope poured himself a gla.s.s of the rich wine and leaned back, contemplating the young man now with a sort of paternal kindliness. The thought that he had certain peccadillos to confess was a relish to the rich Sicilian vintage, and created, as it were, a common interest between them. For the first time Pope Sixtus felt thoroughly at ease with his guest.

"I have, indeed, much to confess, Holy Father, much I could not pour into any ears but thine."

"Yes--yes--I am all attention," murmured the Pontiff, his ears p.r.i.c.king and twitching with antic.i.p.ation, and the famous likeness to a goat coming out in his face. "Go on! Go on, my son. Confession is the breathing health of the soul! (If this young man can tell me aught I do not know--by Peter, I will make him my private chaplain!)."

Then Conrad summoned up all his courage and put his soul's sickness into the sentence which he had been conning all the way from the city of Courtland.

"My father," he said, very low, his head bent down, "I, who am a priest, have loved the Lady Joan, my brother's wife!"

"Ha," said Sixtus, pursing his lips, "that is bad--very bad. (Bones of Saint Anthony! I did not think he had the spirit!) Penance must be done--yes, penance and payment! But hath the matter been secret? There has, I hope, been no open scandal; and of course it cannot continue now that your brother is dead. While he was alive all was well; but dead--oh, that is different! You have now no cloak for your sin! These open sores do the Church much harm! I have always avoided such myself!"

The young man listened with a swiftly lowering brow.

"Holy Father," he said; "I think you mistake me. I spoke not of sin committed. The Princess Joan is pure as an angel, unstained by evil or the thought of it! She sits above the reach of scandalous tongues!"

("Humph--what, then, is the man talking about? Some cold northern snowdrift! Strange, strange! I thought he had been a lad of spirit!")

But aloud Sixtus said, with a surprised accent, "Then why do you come to me?"

"Sire, I am a priest, and even the thought of love is sin!"

"Tut-tut; you are a prince-cardinal. In Rome at least that is a very different thing!"

He turned half round in his seat and looked with a certain indulgent fondness upon the gay young men who were conducting a battle of flowers with the laughing girls beneath them. Two of them had laid hold of another by the legs and were holding him over the trellised flowers that he might kiss a girl whom her companions were elevating from below for a like purpose. As their young lips met the Pontiff slapped the purple silk on his thigh and laughed aloud.

"Ah, rascals, merry rascals!" (here he sighed). "What it is to be young! Take an old man's advice, Live while you are young. Yes, live and leave penance, for old age is sufficient penance in itself. (Tut--what am I saying? Let his pocket do penance!) He who kissed was my nephew Girolamo, ever the flower of the flock, my dear Girolamo. I think you said, Prince Conrad, that you were a cardinal. Well, most of these young men are cardinals (or will be, so soon as I can get the gold to set them up. They spend too much money, the rascals)."

"These are cardinals? And priests?" queried Conrad, vastly astonished.

The Holy Father nodded and took another sip of the perfumed Sicilian.

"To be a cardinal is nothing," he said calmly. "It is a step--nothing more. The high road of advancement, the spirit of the time. When I have princedoms for them all, why, they must marry and settle--raise dynasties, found princely houses. So it shall be with you, son Conrad.

Your brother was alive, Prince of Courtland, married to this fair lady (what was her name? Yes, yes, Joanna). You, a younger son, must be provided for, the Church supported. Therefore you received that which was the hereditary right of your family--the usual payments to Holy Church being made. You were Archbishop, Cardinal, Prince of the Church.

In time you would have been Elector of the Empire and my a.s.sessor at the Imperial Diet. That was your course. What harm, then, that you should make love to your brother's wife? Natural--perfectly natural. Fortunate, indeed, that you had a brother so complaisant----"

"Sir," said Conrad, half rising from his seat, "I have already had the honour of informing you----"

"Yes, yes, I forgot--pardon an old man. (Ah, the rascal, would he?

Served him right! Ha, ha, well smitten--a good girl!)"

Another had tried the trick of being held over the balcony, but this time the maiden below was coy, and, instead of a kiss, the youth had received only a sound smack on the cheek fairly struck with the palm of a willing hand.

"Yes, I remember. It was but a sin of the soul. (Stupid fellow! stupid fellow! Girolamo is a true Delia Rovere. He would not have been served so.) Yes, a sin of the soul. And now you wish to marry? Well, I will receive back your hat. I will annul your orders--the usual payments being made to Holy Church. I have so many expenses--my building, the decorations of my chapel, these young rascals--ah, little do you know the difficulties of a Pope. But whom do you wish to marry? What, your brother's widow? Ah, that is bad--why could you not be content----?

Pardon, your pardon, my mind is again wandering."

"Tsut--tsut--this is a sad business, a matter infinitely more difficult, forbidden by the Church. What? They parted at the church door? A wench of spirit, I declare. I doubt not like that one who smote Pietro just now. I wonder not at you, save at your moderation--that is, if you speak the truth."

"I do speak the truth!" said Conrad, with northern directness, beginning to flush again.

"Gently--gently," said Sixtus; "there are many minutes in a year, many people go to make a world. I have never seen a man like you before. Be patient, then, with me. I am giving you a great deal of my time. It will be difficult, this marriage--difficult, but not impossible. Peter's coffers are very empty, my son."

The Pontiff paused to give Conrad time to speak.

"I will pay into the treasury of the Holy Father on the day of my marriage a hundred thousand ducats," said Conrad, blushing deeply. It seemed like bribing G.o.d.

The Vicegerent of Christ stretched out a smooth white hand, and his smile was almost as gracious as when he turned it upon his nephew Girolamo.

"Spoken like a true prince," he cried, "a son of the Church indeed. Her works--the propagation of the Faith, the Holy Office--these shall benefit by your generosity."

He turned about again and beckoned to the tall young man in the black soutane.

"Guliano, come hither!" he cried, and as he came he explained in his low tones, "My nephew, between ourselves, a dull dog, but will be great. He choked a ruffian who attacked him on the street; so, one day, he will choke this Italy between his hands. He will sit in this chair. Ah, there is one thing that I am thankful for, and it is that I shall be dead when our Julian is Pope. I know not where I shall be--but anything were preferable to being in Rome under Julian--purgatory or----Yes, my dear nephew, Prince Conrad of Courtland! You are to go and prepare doc.u.ments concerning this n.o.ble prince. I will instruct you as to their nature presently. Await me in the hither library."

The young man had been looking steadily at Conrad while his uncle was speaking. It was a firm and manly look, but there was cruelty lurking in the curve of the upper lip. Guliano della Rovere looked more _condottiere_ than priest. Nevertheless, without a word he bowed and retired.

When he was gone the Pope sat a moment absorbed in thought.

"I will send him to Courtland with you. (Yes, yes, he is staunch and to be trusted with money.) He will marry you and bring back the--the--benefaction. Your hand, my son. I am an old man and need help.

May you be happy! Live well and honour Holy Church. Be not too nice. The commons like not a precisian. And, besides, you cannot live your youth over. Girolamo! Girolamo! Where is that rascal? Ah, there you are. I saw you kiss yonder pretty minx! Shame, sir, shame! You shall do penance--I myself will prescribe it. What kept you so long when I called you? Some fresh rascality, I will wager!"

"No, my father," said Girolamo readily. "I went to the dungeons of the Holy Office to see if they had finished off that ranting philosopher who stirred up the people yesterday!"

"Well, and have they?" asked the Pontiff.

"Yes, the fellow has confessed that six thousand pieces are hidden under the hearthstone of his country house. So all is well ended. He is to be burned to-morrow."

"Good--good. So perish all Jews, heretics, and enemies of Holy Church!"

said Pope Sixtus piously. "And now I bid you adieu, son Conrad! You set out to-morrow. The papers shall be ready. A hundred thousand ducats, I think you said--_and_ the fees for secularisation. These will amount to fifty thousand more. Is it not so, my son?"

Conrad bowed a.s.sent. He thought it was well that Courtland was rich and his brother Louis a careful man.

"Good--good, my son. You are a true standard-bearer of the Church. I will throw in a perpetual indulgence--with blanks which you may fill up.

No, do not refuse! You think that you will never want it, because you do not want it now. But you may--you may!"

He stretched out his hand. The blessed ring of Saint Peter shone upon it. Conrad fell on his knees.

"_Pater Domini nostri Jesu Christi benedicat te in omni benedictione spirituali. Amen!_"

EPILOGUE OF EXPLICATION