The King's Diamond (34 page)

With a long gasp she fell back against the sacks. I kissed her again and again, on the face, on the shoulders and neck. She lay and looked at me with her amused smile. She was laughing at me again: but for what? It was then that I looked up and listened. The guns had stopped. Over Rome there hung a deep and deathly silence.

I let Hannah step out of the storeroom first. When I left a few minutes later, with my casket safe again beneath my shirt and my sword at my side, a Papal official who had been lingering at the foot of the tower came up to me.

‘Messer Richard Dansey? His Holiness wishes to see you.'

I blinked in surprise. ‘You must be mistaken.'

‘There is no mistake.'

I followed him, hardly knowing where I went. The touch of Hannah's skin was fresh upon me. I was still in a world of glory, far above mortal concerns such as war, sieges, death. But as I stepped inside the outer hall of the Pope's apartments, I began to be a little afraid. I could not conceive the purpose of this summons.

We passed through into a second barrel-vaulted room, where knots of bishops and cardinals stood around the walls, whispering. At the next door, a low opening in the monumental stone walls of the castle, two Swiss guardsmen stood with their halberds. A chamberlain with a gilt staff stepped out, took my sword, and motioned me in. I entered a modest-sized hall with a painted ceiling. At the far end sat Pope Clement VII, in his scarlet cope and skullcap. His fingers,
bare of jewels, rested on the arms of his throne. His face above the fresh straggle of his beard was drained and grey. Standing close to him was Cardinal Farnese. He was a crafty old man who had lived a wild life in his youth. He had fathered a flock of bastards, and even spent time in the dungeons beneath our feet for forging a Papal bull. He had advised the Pope months ago to flee from Rome, and for that, perhaps, Clement was the more inclined to listen to his advice now.

I saw also the sad, old bloodhound face of Cardinal Campeggio. He was one of those who spoke loudest for conciliation, rather than further acts of war. The younger Cardinal Salviati, Pope Clement's cousin, stood beside him. There was no one else in the room. I advanced towards the Holy Father, prostrated myself before him in the proper manner and kissed his scarlet-slippered feet. He gestured to me to rise. Tears were in his eyes. He tried to speak, but his voice choked. He closed his eyes. Then he said, ‘I have signed the capitulation.'

My stomach sank. I had everything: I had the world. The richest gems ever to be seen in London; and I had Hannah. All this I was about to lose. Pope Clement waited for some moments with his eyes closed. Then he looked at me again. The curve of his mouth still spoke of his old, cold cunning. I saw that after all this man was far from having given up the fight. He said, ‘You are intimate, I believe, with Stephen Cage?'

I said, ‘While he was in Rome I had the honour to see him often, and dine with his family.'

Clement nodded. ‘Mr Stephen is gone: perhaps dead. But you, you have survived. Cardinal Campeggio tells me he believes you are a most unusual young man. So: are you ready to serve me? And serve Mr Stephen's cause?'

I bowed. ‘I am at Your Holiness's command.' My heart was pounding. I could not conceive what was coming next.

Pope Clement leant forward. ‘Signor Casale leaves tomorrow for Venice, and after that for England, bearing letters from us and from Cardinal Farnese, to Cardinal Wolsey and your King.' He paused. ‘In
the midst of these terrible crimes committed against God and the Church, we look only to England. Would that we had never trusted to the promises of our other allies.'

He fell silent again. His nostrils flared in an expression of unqualified hatred. I said, ‘My master, the King of England, is conscious of the title Your Holiness's predecessor conferred on him. He will act as becomes the Defender of the Faith.'

What was I saying? I was talking like an ambassador: as if I came in the King's name, with the King's own instructions and credentials. The Pope's eyes flicked upon me.

‘You understand, then, the full nature of Messer Stephen's errand?'

It would not do to hesitate. I had advanced this far into the business of princes and kings, and I was not about to turn back. I bowed. Meanwhile my mind raced, trying to piece together a clue here, a word there.

‘Then you will know that he left Rome discontented, without receiving an answer. This was remiss of me.' Suddenly his eyes beneath their drooping lids took fire. ‘English neutrality in this war must end. It must!' He slammed the arm of his throne with his hand. ‘My friends desert me. Heretics mock me in the streets of the Holy City. And I must pretend to treat with them; pay their war expenses, speak with mildness. They even demand that I rescind my excommunication and pardon them all from Hell. And that,' he murmured, his fist tightening, ‘is a thing I shall never do.'

My spine shivered as I listened to him. His hand unclenched; his face became once more without expression, hanging between a smile, a scowl, and the curled lip of disdain.

‘Find Mr Stephen, if he still lives,' he whispered to me, ‘and tell him this: “The time may soon come.” Exactly those words. Nothing more. You understand me?'

My mind was racing. Stephen's mission, undoubtedly, was to press Pope Clement to consent to King Henry's divorce; or rather,
to ask him to agree that the marriage to Queen Katherine had been null from the very start. Clement had temporised, delayed answering, kept Stephen kicking his heels in Rome for week after week in disappointed hope, until finally, just too late for safety, he had left. This divorce was a thing Clement could not easily agree to. It would be a harsh blow to the papacy to concede that a Brief of Dispensation granted by a former pope was a gross error, without validity. Only his desperation for the English alliance could drive him even to consider it.

And then I thought about Stephen, the secrecy in which he wrapped himself, the pilgrim's badge in his cap, the absence of any official status as ambassador from the King. Wolsey feared Stephen. Why, if he was labouring for the divorce just the same as Wolsey himself?

And then I saw it. It came to me in an instant, with Bennet's words before me, announcing the name that very soon all England would know. Anne Boleyn, Stephen's cousin. Stephen Cage was not Wolsey's emissary, but Anne's and the King's. Stephen's presence in Rome was a sign that King Henry no longer trusted Cardinal Wolsey to push through the divorce. Why not? Because when Henry obtained his freedom from Queen Katherine, he would not be looking to the French King's sister for a wife, but to Wolsey's deadly enemy and his own true love, Mrs Anne.

A thrill ran up my back. This truly was, as Wolsey called it, a Great and Secret Affair. And I found myself at the heart of it. If I was right, I understood more of this matter than either Wolsey or Pope Clement. Stephen Cage must have talked to His Holiness about the powers of popes to dispense, the division between divine law and Papal jurisdiction, the interpretation of Scripture. He would not have told him that King Henry was in love: in love with a woman dark-eyed, slender, with a flashing wit and temper; a woman who was not his wife. No, in all these secret debates, the name of Anne Boleyn must have remained the deepest secret of all. And so Wolsey
laboured for the divorce, believing in his French match but fearing and half-guessing he was only playing into the hands of his enemy, Anne. Meanwhile King Henry had told the truth of his intentions only to the closest members of the Boleyn clan. I felt my face flush, and I fought to keep my mouth from curving into a smile. My own chances were opening up, richer and grander than I had ever imagined. I was carrying love-gifts for no mere royal mistress, but for a woman who would be queen. I looked up at the Pope. His face, expressionless, waited for my reply.

I said, ‘I understand Your Holiness. But if Mr Stephen should be dead? To whom should I deliver the message then?'

Pope Clement lifted one eyebrow. ‘Naturally, to your King.'

Richard Dansey, emissary to King Henry. The style of that pleased me. But all of this was nothing unless I could escape from the Castle. The Pope took up a large sheet of paper from a table at his side.

‘These,' he said, ‘are the terms of the surrender. I am bound to pay four hundred thousand ducats to the Imperials. Until it can be raised, hostages will remain in the Castle, under guard. But the garrison, and most of those who took shelter here, are free to go.' He looked at me with a slight smile. ‘Your name, Richard Dansey, is among those who will be permitted to leave.'

I could hardly ask: ‘And the Cage family?'

‘They too: of course. But Mrs Grace: sadly, her wits … She cannot carry a message such as this. That is why I need you. You have nothing of value?'

‘A few tokens,' I said, ‘to offer as gifts to my King.'

He nodded. ‘Your goods will be respected. You will leave tomorrow. And I trust you will take the quickest road you can to England.'

I knelt before him. In true gratitude and relief I said, ‘Holy Father, I swear it.' He made the sign of the cross over my head and murmured a blessing. I kissed his feet again, rose and withdrew.

 

I came out into the courtyard in a daze of victory. I hurried to the Cages' chamber, bursting to tell. I imagined Hannah's bright eyes turned up towards me in gratitude as she foresaw the many days of our journey together: yes, and the many nights. I rushed in, and there, sitting on one of the low box beds with the three Cages round him, was John. Hannah turned from him, her face wearing that look of animation which I, by rights, should have been the one to summon.

‘Is the news not marvellous?' Hannah exclaimed. ‘We are free to go!'

I glanced at John, and my face must have shown how stung I was to have had my triumph taken away. He waved a hand in modesty and said, ‘So you have found out too? Yes, I saw the whole thing when they were drawing it up. In fact, I am the one you should thank for it. I found out yesterday that a new Imperial army is on its way from Naples, and if the Pope did not sign now, the Castle would very soon fall.' He glanced round at the ladies. ‘But today it is no longer a secret. Today everybody knows. Three bands of Imperials to escort us beyond the walls, and the Prince of Orange present to make sure no outrages are committed against us. After that, we all go wherever we please. His Holiness is to hand over Ostia, Modena, Parma and God knows where else. Some hundreds of thousands of gold to be paid, and all excommunications lifted. But the Imperials are poor simpletons if they expect Pope Clement to keep his promises.'

He folded his arms and smiled. I felt a stab of resentment: foolish, for I ought finally to feel secure in Hannah's love.

I said to John, ‘You are leaving too?'

‘Of course.' He glanced at Mrs Grace. ‘We were discussing, as you came in, the chances of finding a ship at Ostia. We are determined to try. You are coming with us?'

Hannah's smile danced from John to myself, then back to John. My old friend's expression was mild, honest, open. He waited, eyebrows raised, for me to reply. I forced aside my annoyance, turned
to Hannah and said, ‘Then we shall all leave together. I will meet you tomorrow, early, in the courtyard. By the armoury.'

Her smile spread, showing her teeth, and her eyes glinted with the knowledge of our shared wickedness. She said, ‘Tomorrow. By the armoury.'

I turned away. I was angry: with John and with myself. But there was no time to indulge my feelings. Before tomorrow Benvenuto and I had a pair of rings to finish. When I got back up to the Angel, Cellini was already at work on the emerald. He had cut the table, and was holding it over the wheel to polish its sides. He too had heard the news. ‘Tomorrow we go our ways,' he said. ‘But never let it be said Benvenuto left a job undone.' I watched as the stone gradually shed its mysteries and unfolded like a tight bud into a brilliant summer green. But even when it was cut it kept a dark heart, a place from which shafts of forest light sprang suddenly and then crept back into shadow. It was deep night when Cellini bent the clasps round it that would set it fast in the ring. I stretched, and took the wine Martin offered. Almost I wanted to release Cellini from finishing the last piece; but the fire was in his eyes, and he would stop for nothing. He lifted the flat, uncut ruby I had bought from da Crema.

‘Now for the passion.'

Martin at my side leant forward. He was as avid for the glories of these stones as I was. I thought of when we first came to Venice, and the attempts he had made to deflect me and haul me back home to the Widow. His loyalty to her had slipped a good deal since then. I pictured my return to Thames Street, and my mother's look when I laid before her my treasure. I could not expect her to be pleased. No, there was a battle there still remaining to be fought. And Thomas: I resolved at that moment that I would force him to give me his trust, and I would make him my ally.

Outside the small window, over the terrace with its silent cannon, the light of dawn began to show. No guns fired, and across Rome not a bell rang and barely a bird made a sound. In the prisons the
noblemen and ladies, priests and cardinals stirred in their chains. The soldiers, thousand upon thousand, waited for daybreak in expectation. Tomorrow all Rome would at last be theirs. Cellini held up the ruby.

‘What do you say to that?'

It was alive. However you held it, the fire in it burned, and cast out streams of blood. It was a gem for a dark enchantress, a seducer of kings. I embraced Cellini. ‘If you could only come with me to England, and see King Henry.' It was much for me to say: I needed his goldsmith-work, but I was jealous of it too, as a rival to my stones. I had always wished for my triumph to be alone. He shook his head.

‘No, I shall go to Florence. My father is there. I must see how he has weathered the wars. Perhaps after that I may go further. Wherever there is a love of beauty and of gold.'

He sat down at the bench and began fitting the gem into the ring. I took out my casket. Not a loose stone remained. From beneath the packets that held the various pieces, the Ship, the Garden, the Cross and the Heart, I took out my roll of bills. I paid over to him seven hundred ducats: more by a bit than we had agreed, and it left me with little. But he had earned it. Martin nudged my arm. From the lower parts of the Castle there was already the murmuring of large assembling crowds. It was time for us to be gone. The three of us descended from the Angel for the last time.