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Chapter 10


For all that I had a purpose now, I was in no great hurry to be about it. The sun was shining and the day was neighboring on to warm, I’d just eaten a flavorful and filling lunch, and had a mug of what was, if not the best beer in Jena, certainly one of the better ones. I stuffed my hands in my belt, and walked broadly down the street, smiling at all I passed and exchanging nods of greeting with those I knew and some as I didn’t.

I kept an eye out for the tomcat, but didn’t see him on the walk back. I always liked animals like that, full of the joy of life and taking it as it came to them. That’s one of the reasons I liked my warhorse Cortana, which I still had at that time. On the field, he was as fierce as a mount could be, and I was alive today because more than once he’d had the saving of my life in battle. But away from the field, he was a lively mount that enjoyed being ridden and enjoyed a manger of sweet hay and a good roll in the grass.

I arrived back at the front door to Master Titus’ dwelling. For Jena, it qualified as a mansion, being three stories tall and having more rooms in it than my mother’s clan could fill. Yet the outside of it was…ordinary, I’d say was the best word. It was nowhere nearly as elaborate as houses and manors I had seen in France that were owned by families who were not of a place to even hold the head of Master Titus’ horse, much less speak to him as an equal. But it fit where it was placed on the broadest street in town, and no one seemed to look at it as overdone or overweening. In fact, more than one of the passersby on the street before it seemed to look at it with a quiet pride, which I could understand.

I waited for a matron and her maids to pass before I stepped up and entered the house. I took my hat off, but before I could do anything with it Ephraim plucked it from my hands, gave it a quick dust-off with a small brush he plucked from his belt, and placed it atop the knob of the hallway coat stand. “Good afternoon, Master Archie,” he said as he stepped back to view his handiwork, to which he bestowed a nod.

I sighed. I did. “How many times must I tell you, Ephraim, that I’m not a master? Calling me just plain ordinary Archie is good enough for the likes of me.” We had this discussion at least once a week, we did.

Ephraim smiled and nodded. “I understand, Master Archie, but the master of the house…” that would be one Tiberius Claudius Titus Wulff, my current employer, “…feels otherwise, and as long as that is his practice, it shall be mine as well. It makes him happy, which makes me happy, and it does, despite your feelings, in fact accord you your due. Now if you ever manage to convince Master Tiberius to change his practice, then I shall consider changing mine.” He took his brush and flicked it across the shoulder of my jacket, undoubtedly consigning some speck of detritus visible only to his butler’s vision to the floor where it would be swept up by his broom at a later time. He leaned forward a little and said in a confiding voice, “Good luck with that.” And at that, he tucked his brush back in his belt and resumed his rounds.

I sighed again. Once again I had lost the volley. I should be used to it by now. “And where is the master of the house?” I called out.

“Where he always is at one of the clock in an afternoon,” Ephraim’s voice floated back down the hallway.

“In his library,” we finished together.

Before I began the trek to the library lair of my friend and employer whom I knew as Titus rather than the more pompous Tiberius that Ephraim foisted on him, I looked at my hat, and mused on the fact that I can almost always tell if a man has served on the field of battle simply by the style of hat he wears. If he wears a narrow-brimmed high-crowned hat, he is a city creature, or even worse, an inhabitant of one of the courts of the nobles and high-ranked clergy. But if he wears a wide-brimmed hat, one made to shade the eyes in sun and rain, he has almost undoubtedly been a man who followed orders or gave orders in the field. I’ve met a few exceptions in my years, but not many. So my hat suits me, and it pleases me that Titus allows it pride of place in his entryway.

It also pleased me to find that I could still walk the two flights of stairs up to the library on the second floor without sounding like a wheezing bagpipe.

The door to the library was standing open, and I peered in to see Master Titus intently examining a page in a codex with a magnifying glass. A moment later, a very broad grin spread across his face. “Hah! I was right. It is a chi and not a gamma. That makes so much more sense.”

Since my employer seemed to be in a good mood, I tapped on the doorframe. He looked up. “Oh, hello, Archie. Come in and be seated.”

I followed his directions, placing my nether regions in the very fancy but surprisingly comfortable chair placed directly before his desk. He never seemed to be concerned about the possibility of dirt being deposited on the magnificent embroidery of the chair by the seat of my so-common trouser-clad self. “And what has you so happy on this fine afternoon?” I asked.

“My new magnifying glass is just the thing I needed.” Titus brandished it in my direction. “I was so confused by what appeared to be a random word in this codex,” he laid his hand upon it, “because argo was the name of Jason’s ship in the Argonauts legend, but it made no sense in this text. But with this,” he held up the magnifying glass, “I can see that what I thought was a gamma letter was really a bit of sloppy scribe work. It’s actually a chi letter, only one of the pen strokes of the chi is rather faint—the scribe’s pen was probably running dry and he was too lazy to stop and dip it, and the other penstroke is misplaced a little too far down. Both errors worked together to make it look like a wobbly gamma, but it’s actually a chi. That means the word is actually arxo, which means “I rule,” more or less. That makes much more sense.” He placed a marker in the codex and closed it, then laid the magnifying glass atop it. “And on that note,” he said, “I believe I shall take some wine.”

He stood and moved to a small side table against the wall between two bookcases. He picked up a decanter, poured two small blown Venetian glasses of very dark wine, and returned to his desk where he set one before me. “Celebrate with me, Archie.

I picked up the glass, lifted it in his direction, and took a sip. I was sure it was good wine—it had to be, to be in Master Titus’ house—but it was beyond my ability to appreciate it. I drank it with respect, nonetheless, and smiled at Master Titus over the glass. I had finally moved beyond the point of being nervous when holding a glass that was worth more than my horse and my pistols put together. But every time he handed me one of those glasses, I was reminded just how different the very rich were. Even my father in his prime years, or my younger brother now that he had reached his own, would never have used glassware that was actually high art for such casual purposes. I did not even try to guess how much wealth the man had amassed. But I was certain it was more than I could imagine; aye, and more than I could understand, as well.

For all that, the man had a modest demeanor. Not particularly humble, mind you, but sober in appearance and not a braggart, which I appreciated. God knows that riding in a company of Scots horsemen for fourteen years had brought me up against more than a single braggart. I had been convinced a time or thrice to reason enough with such so as to convince them that humility was indeed a blessed virtue—particularly if it spared them bruises and kept their teeth guarding their tongues.

“So, Archie,” Titus said as he set his empty glass on his desk, “what news from the city of Jena? Does Satan yet walk to and fro in its streets, and walk up and down in them?”

That spurred a laugh from my lips, indeed it did. “Reading Job, are we?” I replied. He smiled and spread his hands a bit. “Nay, as to that, I’ll not deny his presence, but at the moment I’d have to say he’s either bored or distracted, for he seems to have left his work to the apprentice demons, who are all thumbs. Other than a stupider than usual pimp beating his only girl and a few older lads sneaking out of grammar school, there’s not much to be had. I may have to take up a trade to keep my horses in hay.”

“Surely things are not that dire?” Titus said with a smile.

“Perhaps not,” I said. “But if Satan is not getting bored, I am.” I finished my own wine and placed my glass next to his on his desktop. “I need something to do. It’s been two months since we dealt with the tinker and his debased coinage.”

Titus sobered and looked at me. “Hmm. On that thought, would you be willing to travel for me?”

I looked at him, and he appeared to be serious. “I could do that. Mind you, I wouldn’t want it to be for too long or too far. I’m getting old enough I’m afraid that I’d rather not be wearing out my trousers on a saddle.”

He laughed at that, then sobered again and pulled a page out of a drawer. “I received this yesterday. Honor me with your thoughts about it.”

I took the page, and immediately recognized it was written in Master Titus’ hand. I raised my eyebrows, turned the page to face him, and looked at him. He chuckled, then said, “I spoke poorly. I should have said I received the original message yesterday. When I decoded it, it yielded what you have in your hand.”

“Ah,” I replied. “Thank you. That is rather more sensible than my first thought that you had a simulacrum somewhere sending you letters. Titus chuckled again as I began reading the page.


THE GREAT BOOK FROM THE EAST HAS LEFT V. THEY ARE CERTAIN IT DID NOT GO SOUTH, OR TO THE SEA. THEY FEAR IT HAS GONE NORTH. SO MANY ARE DEAD GONE. THEY DO NOT KNOW FOR CERTAIN, BUT THEY ARE LOOKING.


“I know not what to make of it, to be truthful.” I held the page up. “Even in plain language, it still seems to read much like a code.”

“Yes, well, my correspondent is a fearful man,” Titus said. “And that might be understandable, since he lives in the shadow of the Vatican in Rome.”

“Ah. Now that,” I said, “makes things a mort clearer. Something has left the Vatican?”

“The current lords of the Vatican,” Master Titus said dryly, “have apparently discovered that they have lost a great treasure. It has been well known among certain select bibliophiles that the Vatican possessed a great codex of the entire Bible. It has been in their library for nigh on to two hundred years, but is certainly much older than that. The most educated guess that it came to Italy from Constantinople just before the Turks took that great city, and it found its way to the Vatican. It was the pearl of the Vatican’s library. But now, after the Spaniards’ assault and the death and disappearance of so many, it appears that they cannot find it.”

“And the Jesuits are searching for it, thinking that it is going or has already gone over the Alps?” I said, jumping after my own conclusion.

He pursed his lips. “At least some Jesuits are probably looking for it. Keep in mind that Pope Urban and Father General Vitelleschi appear to have escaped. The Father General will certainly have his own concerns, but I also doubt that he would approve of any of his order delivering such a prize to Cardinal Borja.”

I nodded. “If they can get word out.”

Titus quirked his mouth for a moment. “They are Jesuits. Do not doubt their competence and adaptability.”

“True.” A thought came to me. “And that may actually have a bearing on the one piece of interesting news I gathered this morning.” And so I related to him Heinrich’s observations about the insurge of clergy in Jena.

Titus leaned back in his chair and placed his fingers together before his chin. “He was certain that those not in cassocks were Jesuits?”

I grinned at him. “Yes. He said they had that ‘certain air’ about them.”

Titus snorted. “I dare say. Most likely Spanish or Poles, then. Those would be the ones who would chance to follow Borja rather than Urban and Vitelleschi. Possibly some French or a few renegade Walloons. But even if these aren’t, some of them will be, and soon. So, to reconsider my original question, would you be willing to travel for me?”

I looked around the office. “The problem with peace is that it’s boring. No one has assaulted me for months. No one has tried to swindle you in ages. And I cannot remember the last time someone fired a pistol at me. I have barely been earning my princely stipend. So a good long ride may be the best thing for me. When, where, and for how long?”

“I have agents in Vienna, Innsbruck, Munich, and Nürnberg.” Titus made a face, pressing his lips together. “But the man I had in Füssen watching the Reschen Pass had the temerity and ill fortune to die.”

“How dare he?” I exclaimed. “No Epiphany gift for him.”

Titus chuckled for a moment, then sighed. “All levity aside, he was a good dependable man, and I haven’t found another to replace him.”

“So you want me to go south?”

He nodded. “If you would.”

“Now?”

Titus tilted his head to one side. “I think the day after tomorrow will be soon enough. That will give you time to prepare, and enjoy at least a couple of Estéban’s dinners before you leave.”

“Indeed.” Titus’ cook was a wiry little Catalan who had followed him home from a merchant trip years ago—long before I arrived. The man was a wizard among his pots and pans. He could make even turnips taste good. Being away from his kitchen would be one of the great hardships of the journey, without a doubt.

“So what is my charge? Besides looking for this wandering book, that is?”

Titus shrugged. “Certainly keep eyes and ears open for the codex, but don’t let that be your sole focus. Keep your eyes open. Make note of who you see traveling. Make note of any interesting stories or rumors. Feel free to spend money on messengers. Turmoil in Italy could be bad news in more than one way.”

“It’s your silver I’ll be spending,” I said. “Finding messengers most likely won’t be too hard. Finding reliable messengers, now…” I let my voice die away.

His mouth quirked. “Granted. I’ll see what I can do about that.”

“Well,” I said as I rose to my feet, “if I’m going to be riding toward Füssen in two days, I have some work to do. I’d best be after that.”

“Well enough,” Titus said. “I’ll have traveling funds for you tomorrow.” I turned toward the door. “And Archie?” I looked back at him. “Buy an additional pistol. I insist.”



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