City of God Read Online Free PDF Page B

Bruni’s chambers, Angela Borgia’s little page Piccolo clattered down the corridor on his painted high-heeled shoes. Nicholas made him wait. He left the letter with Bruni, who was reading. Pretending that the key was in his desk, he left the little silken boy outside the door and went in to open and shut a few drawers. There had to be some way to discover why the Borgias wanted a secluded place for one night. He was afraid to spy directly on them; she had warned him, and the Borgias dealt finally with spies. He determined to follow the page back to the Leonine City and see where he took the key. He fingered the key from his purse and went back to give it to the page.
    Piccolo did not take the key to the Leonine City.
    Nicholas followed him easily; the rose and azure costume was visible for a whole street’s length in the quiet afternoon, and the boy’s short legs carried him at a pace well under Nicholas’s customary walking speed. In their long tandem, they crossed the city away from the Tiber, heading west and south, and passed through a ruined gate in an old broken wall. Halfway down the next little street, Nicholas stopped, his instincts warning him, and watched the little boy go through the gate in a wall.
    Nicholas withdrew into the mouth of an alleyway. He knew this wall, that gate: behind it was the chapter house of an order of Spanish monks.
    For several moments he watched the gate, until the little pink and blue figure came out again. The boy looked tired. He went on down the street toward Nicholas, but just before he would have passed by, he turned into another lane and went that way down the hillside. He was going straight back to the Leonine City.
    Nicholas remained in the alleyway for some time, watching the gate. No one else appeared, going in or out. There were back gates, of course, posterns, easy places to scale the wall. The key could be on its way elsewhere and probably was. Yet it was enough for Nicholas that its route had taken it through a house of monks loyal to the crown of Aragon. The Borgias were Aragonese. The crown of Naples rested at the moment on the head of a prince of Aragon.
    The French king disputed that, of course, and the Pope and the Pope’s son were supposed to be allied with the French. Nicholas went back down the street toward the embassy.
    He had his private letter yet to write. While he was bent over his pen worrying out phrases there was a knock on the door. He ignored it. He was working at the edge of his desk, where the light was brightest; the sun would set within moments behind the building to the west.
    After a moment the door behind him creaked.
    â€œMesser Nicholas.”
    It Was Ugo, Bruni’s junior aide. Nicholas did not raise his head from his work. “Yes.”
    â€œI wonder if I might ask your advice, Messer Nicholas?” Ugo shut the door behind him. He squeezed into the space between the edge of the desk and the wallshelf overflowing with books. “It’s about Giambattista, Messer Nicholas.”
    Giambattista was Bruni’s other junior aide.
    â€œI caught him reading his Excellency’s privy daybook.”
    With Ugo before him and talking, Nicholas finally raised his head and looked into the broad swarthy face. Ugo’s eyes gleamed with a feral shine.
    â€œWhy are you telling me this?” Nicholas said.
    â€œI thought you would want to know.”
    Nicholas jerked up on his feet. He was so angry the words rushed together in his throat and he sputtered like a fool. Then he shouted, “No! I don’t want to know!” He dropped down into his chair. His cheeks were hot. He swiped with his hand at Ugo. “Go away.”
    â€œMesser Nicholas—”
    â€œGo away!”
    The young man fumbled open the door and left. Nicholas sat with his pen over the paper. They were always trying to draw him into their petty feuds. He could fritter away his time as Bruni did, on nothing, if he allowed them to