1635: The Papal Stakes

CHAPTER SIXTY

Mike Stearns came into the headquarters tent of his Third Division, peeling off his gloves. As he did so, he bestowed an almost baleful gaze upon his two visitors.

“Ed Piazza, President of the State of Thuringia Piazza, and my once-spymaster Don Francisco Nasi,” he stated. “Come all the way here from such distant parts. No doubt you dropped by unexpectedly to bring me tidings of good cheer.”

Nasi smiled. Piazza shook his head.

“Tidings of tension, I’m afraid,” said Ed. “And it is rising everywhere.”

Stearns sat down. “I take it you’re referring to the backlash from Urban’s rescue?”

“He most certainly is, Michael,” answered Francisco. “The reactions have been pouring in over the last few days, and there are some twists that you should know about. The evolving situation could even catch up with you out here-particularly since you are getting close to Poland.”

“What do you mean?” said Stearns.

“The latest information is that the leading clergy of Catholic nations have been much more swift in responding to the news of Urban’s survival than we expected, probably because he is also calling for a papal council next spring.”

“Well, I expected that eventually-but next spring? Where?”

“That’s part of the kicker,” Ed added. “Urban isn’t saying where-yet. But he has already announced that one of the items on the council’s agenda will be the state of relations among Christian nations, which will necessarily involve a close and critical assessment of the conditions that warrant having the Church declare other religious practices to be heretical, and more importantly, what conditions-if any-necessitate that it must take action against such practices.”

Stearns looked at the other two. Then he took a deep, slow breath while he gazed out at the flat Saxon countryside visible through the still-open tent flap. The sun was setting. There was still enough light to see by, but his batman had already lit the lamps inside the tent.

He now understood why Ed and Francisco had come all this way to discuss the matter with him, despite the fact that he was no longer the USE’s prime minister. He wasn’t even a member of Parliament any longer, since he’d resigned from his seat when he accepted his commission in the army. They were probably violating at least twenty rules of political protocol, but…

Political protocol be damned. He looked back at his two visitors. “He’s going to do a down-time version of Vatican II.” The statement was flat and certain.

Francisco nodded. “Which has triggered responses from the clergy of every major nation. Mind you, their statements are not always declarative-there are a lot of carefully muted reactions-but it seemed that no one wanted to remain silent.”

Stearns leaned forward. “So how does it shake out?”

Ed scratched his head through his thinning hair. “Well, with the exception of a couple of whacko Calvinist sects that even the mainstream Calvinists avoid, every single major Protestant clerical figure or council has come out with either strong or guarded support for Urban’s initiative. That includes most of the major voices in Switzerland and England.”

“No surprise, there,” observed Mike, who eyed the small bottle of up-time whiskey that Ed was slowly edging out of his pocket.

“A similar level of support is looked for from Gustav, who we suspect will be in touch with you about a joint statement, given how prominently Larry Mazzare’s name has figured in all this.”

Mike rolled his eyes. “Make my day.”

“Other regions declaring for Urban include the entirety of the Low Countries and, conspicuously, every one of the USE’s Catholic provinces. Bohemia and Austria are being a bit more circumspect. They are careful to say nothing about Borja, but both express their relief to learn that ‘the pope is alive’ and look forward to his further messages.”

Mike shrugged. “Still, that’s about as overt as they can be without spitting in Borja’s-and therefore Philip’s-eye.”

“Yeah,” said Ed, “and while we’re on the topic of spitting in Philip’s eye, there was one real shocker among the Catholic nations: one of them made an almost militant statement averring Urban’s legitimacy. The bishops who signed it even called directly upon Borja to vacate the cathedra which he had-and I quote-‘brutally usurped from the true pope.’”

“Whoa. Dem’s fightin’ words. Where’d they come from?”

Francisco smiled. “Ireland. If you can believe it.”

Mike frowned. “Not so hard to believe, really. As I understand it, with the prohibitions against Catholic colleges there, most of their clergy gets educated in Rome or the Low Countries. They used to go to Spain a lot, but not so much any more. Guess they got tired of being second-class Spanish citizens.”

Ed nodded. “Yes, and some of them get educated in France, now, too. Which brings up what might be the trickiest of all the reactions: the ones coming out of France. The French cardinals that really matter-the ones who belong to the Consistory-all welcomed the news of ‘our pope’s continued survival and future safety.’ No surprises that they slipped in that affirmation of Urban’s continued legitimacy; he has a lot of friends in that quarter. However, Gaston has rallied a lot of hard-line bishops to support his claim that, as a true defender of the faith, Borja’s attack was justified because Urban destroyed his own legitimacy by tolerating and giving papal imprimatur to heretics.”

“Meaning us.”

“Among others-although with Urban’s rescue and safety being openly attributed to up-time intervention, I think it safe to assume that we head the list of the aforementioned ‘heretics.’”

“Along with Venice,” added Nasi, “which also declared strongly for Urban. The papal lands that aren’t under direct Spanish control are making similar, if less vehement, noises.”

Mike nodded. “Okay. You’ve pumped me up with the good news. So hit me with the bad.”

“Well, obviously Spain and all its associated satrapies and client states are firmly behind Borja. That includes Milan and Naples-although the popular sentiment there is for Urban, building on the extant desire to evict Philip’s tercios from Italy.”

“As you said, no great surprise. Who else, Ed?”

“Poland and Bavaria are Borja country, also. Strongly so.”

Stearns looked from one to the other. “That can’t be all. I’m not saying it’s not reason enough to come out here to update me-but I know you guys; you’ve still got something else up your sleeve. What is it?”

Nasi smiled. “Michael, are we really that transparent?”

“Entirely. Now, what gives? More trouble?”

“More detailed news from Venice. Including some new considerations that should not be communicated by radio,” amended Nasi with a sly look.

“Okay, stop building the suspense, Francisco. What’s the news from sunny Italy?”

“All good, except that the casualties at Molini have been confirmed: the number was not in error. Otherwise, the various parties have arrived in their various destinations safely. Our expanded papal envoy “-you mean, The Traveling Pope Show?” put in Mike.

“-yes, them-are, according to Sharon’s report from Chur, evolving nicely as a team. Tom Stone’s report from Venice is one long paean of praise for how Estuban Miro handled his part of the rescue and protection planning. According to Tom, Miro apparently possesses-among other as-yet-undemonstrated skills-the ability to walk upon water, too.”

“And Miro’s own report?”

Nasi smiled. “As unpretentious and brief a document as I have ever seen. After itemizing the expenses incurred, and summarizing the actions undertaken-in which he indicates that Harry Lefferts was the prime architect of the final attack plan-he concludes with the most terse summary I have ever seen: ‘objectives were achieved; all operations may be considered nominally successful.’”

Stearns looked at Francisco narrowly. “Okay, Francisco, I know that smug look and tone of voice. What’re you holding back?”

“Nothing-except that, as I suspected at the outset, Miro performed admirably. Most admirably.”

“And you were right. So what?”

Ed coughed. “Mike, I really don’t have a chief of intelligence, with Francisco gone. Cory Lang is a good field man, a good observer-but damn it, he’s not cut out to run an intelligence-and counterintelligence-group. You need a chess master for that-and that’s Miro to a tee.”

Mike frowned. “You sound like this is an urgent decision.”

“Mike, I think it is, because if Miro is the guy we ultimately want doing that job, we’re going to have to commit to it now. Even if we don’t tell him.”

Mike’s eyes went briefly to Ed’s bottle as the former principal of Grantville High School produced three shot glasses as well. “Tell me why.”

Francisco sighed. “Politics: what else? First, this council Urban is calling is going to be a powder keg of continental proportions. Anyone who goes to it is effectively drawing a line in the sand in front of Philip. I doubt Philip supports what Borja has done, but his pride and Spain’s are now inextricably entwined with the would-be pope. And certain matters-family matters-are going to come to a head, as a result.”

Mike nodded. “Ferdinand in Austria and Fernando in the Low Countries.”

“Yes. Particularly the latter. Austria is a completely separate state, and its completely separate monarchs can agree to disagree; they have before. However, the Low Countries’ position in relation to Madrid is nebulous, and this is going to the defining moment of Fernando’s autonomy.”

Ed picked up the thread. “So far, both brothers have been careful not to get into a show-down, but this situation could force them into it. And here’s what could make it unavoidable: Fernando is going to send Cardinal Bedmar, Ruy Sanchez’s old boss and a member of the Consistory, to the papal council. It’s a cinch he’s going to affirm Urban’s legitimacy. And he’s going to have to do it in front of the entirety of Europe. And everyone will know that he couldn’t do so without Fernando’s support.”

Nasi shook his head. “Philip can’t afford to have that happen, and does not want to go to war with his own brother. So we must anticipate that Philip will attempt to derail the council, and that he might even try to sabotage it.”

Mike nodded. “And Ruy-although he will be an excellent security chief-should not have to wear the second hat of overseeing and planning the intelligence and counterintelligence activities both before and during the council. I’m sure Ruy is quite good at chess, but-”

Nasi nodded. “But it’s not his game of preference, or his greatest skill. This job is for Miro. But we can’t simply appoint him right away.”

Mike nodded back. “Yeah, I see the problem. Miro’s still pretty much an unknown quantity to our people in Grantville, and is a total stranger to the rest of the USE. So our people will have to get used to him, first.”

Ed opened the whiskey. “It’s a pain in the neck, but yes. And then there’s the appearance-false-of nepotism if we appoint him: he comes to our attention through Francisco and then who replaces that selfsame outgoing spymaster? Why, his very own golden boy. It’s not how it happened, but it’s how it will appear.”

Mike shrugged. “Look, let’s not make a problem where none might exist. Miro’s now got a business to run, right? Just before I left Magdeburg, I think you mentioned something about him and Tom Stone going into business together.”

Ed nodded. “Yup. Building some balloons in both Venice and Grantville. And some related chemical processes, I think.”

“Well,” said Stearns with a shrug, “Let Miro tend the Grantville end of that garden for half a year or so. By handling purchasing and negotiation up in the USE, he’ll naturally have contact with all the regional power-players through legitimate commerce. It will also get rid of any suspicions that his performance in the Mediterranean was solely because he had a huge home court advantage. Meanwhile, Ed, if any of your intel people feel that they just have to spend some time sniffing Estuban’s ass before they let him into their pack, they’ll have ample opportunity to get a nose-full while Miro oversees the case files on who’s coming to the council. He’ll be working up the operational planning on the intelligence at night, running his own business by day. And if he can handle all that, we’ll know he’s good for the long haul as our intel chief, and our people will have adopted him.”

Nasi nodded as vigorously as Ed had ever seen. “It’s a good plan. Simple and effective. If we help groom his contacts properly-make sure he is invited to the right parties, participates in the right negotiations-he could be present at Urban’s upcoming papal council for completely legitimate reasons. It would be the perfect cover.”

Mike Stearns leaned back. “That’s what I’m thinking. And it gives Gustav Adolf absolute plausible deniability if anything goes wrong with Miro’s operations. In fact, with the exception of a few of the folks under Sharon and back in Grantville, no one even needs to know Estuban is handling this for us.”

Ed Piazza plunked his bottle down on the tent’s small field table. “Mike,” he said, “you are starting to sound like the people you always hated most, up-time.”

Mike started. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, think about where terms like ‘plausible deniability’ come from; you hated those institutions and the entirety of the intelligence apparatus.”

Mike shook his head. “No, Ed. I didn’t hate the institutions; I hated what they became.”

“Not to rain-or maybe piss-on your parade, Mike, but isn’t that just a bit facile?” Ed cocked his head. “I seem to recall you asserting-convincingly-that because of what intelligence agencies are tasked to do, and therefore, how they must recruit and structure themselves, that they have innate tendencies to become exactly what you hated. As you said, ‘honestly, can you whelp a tiger and then hope it grows up to be a vegetarian?’ Doesn’t that worry you about what we’re doing now?”

Mike looked at the hard packed earth between his feet. “It worries me every damned hour of every damned day. But do you have any better ideas?”

Piazza shrugged. “Not a one. Other than maybe we should all sit in a flower-power circle, passing around a jug, and singing ‘We shall overcome.’”

“Huh. You’ve heard me massacre a few tunes, Ed, so you’ll be pleased to know that I’m going to take a pass on the singing. But if you happen to have a jug with you…” Stearns eyed the up-time whiskey meaningfully.

Nasi smiled as Ed filled the shot glasses and pushed them to their respective destinations. “Actually, there was one last reason to come out and visit you here, Mike.”

“Which was?”

Nasi lifted his shot glass. “To do this.”

Stearns looked at his own glass before taking it up. “Yeah. Seems like old times.”

Ed Piazza, raising the whiskey, reflected that, with Stearns soon to go into battle in the vicinity of Zwenkau, and Nasi heading off to Prague to help Morris Roth forestall one of the most infamous pogroms in history, it was all too possible that this time might be the last time they all lifted a glass of cheer together. Indeed, fate had been improbably kind to them, thus far.

Ed Piazza did not share this thought, but instead, joined them in sipping the whiskey in silence, as old friends often do when they reflect on the uncertainty and peril of coming days.