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Chapter Four

My Dearest Jacqueline~

Your note has come at an opportune time.

The arquebus was indeed my weapon of choice in Pavia. I realized that was two years ago. Too long to be away from my son. I will leave Rome and be at the summer house to teach Laro how to wield it.

The lines between the Holy Roman Empire and my home have been blurred beyond recognition.

You know that I no longer fight for or against the Papacy.

I have resigned my position. I will continue to tithe so that you will be able to show your face.

Whatever crimes you think I’ve committed will be erased by Holy Penance.

My real punishment may be banishment from your bed, and I accept that as any man must. But do not attempt to keep me from our son.

This is a crime against myself and the boy you are so passionate to protect.

It is a grievous sin. You will not turn your back on God.

There is not enough priestly indulgence to expiate this guilt.

I trust you will again see the face of your good sense before I return home.

~ Carmine

The letter goes out in the morning. I don’t mention her beloved, broke uncle’s presence on the walls of Rome, heading an army for France’s enemy.

By afternoon, Tinoro and I are on the roof again. He’s taken a shot at the white cloak and missed. The rifle is still warm in my hands when I take aim. If I hit him, Jacqueline will banish me from more than her cunt, but she never has to know.

“We should just go.” Worry threads my friend’s voice. “Let Clement’s men take care of it. We’ve been retired since Pavia. This isn’t our fight anymore.”

“The Holy Empire is interrupting the good time I paid for.” Having loaded the arquebus with powder and pellet, I take aim. Tinoro puts the lit fuse in the lock. “And I don’t like being interrupted.”

Paolina was on her way out of Rome to find her fortune up north. Her friends needed food, coin, and a place to stay. I convinced her to stay another few weeks for them.

There’s plenty of everything to go around for a few more days. Then I have to go home to Jacqueline and Laro. I’ll have to explain to my father why I’ve left the Papal Army, and why I’m not living under a roof with my wife. I am not eager to have that conversation.

Spanish and Papal arquebusiers who have been populating the whorehouses on this street kneel on neighboring roofs, rifles recoiling with loud cracks.

Charles’s white cloak still billows with the sea breeze that’s pushing the fog inland.

Never has there been an easier target, but I don’t take my shot.

When my wife was just a child who was ignored by her parents and raised to marry for an unwritten treaty, he brought her gifts and did puppet shows for her. She called him Oncle Fantouche , and when he betrayed France, the rest of the kingdom called him a puppet too.

When the fuse spits out, I stand.

“You had him,” he says.

“If he’s going to die today, I don’t have to be the one to do it.”

We’re looking right at him with his shining white cape when, in the middle of the pop and crack of bullets, a flower of blood appears just above his cazzo . He twists and falls off the wall.

With my right thumb, I draw a cross on my forehead, then sling the rifle over my shoulder.

“Maybe.” Tinoro yawns and stretches. “Without their commander, they’ll ran away like little vacca .” He makes a running motion with two fingers.

“I’m glad we left all this.” I swat away the annoyances of the military. “We go where we want. Eat when we want.”

“Now I’m hungry.”

“We’ll send the girls out for something.” I have a light step back to the apartment. “And Lucia will get more of that cream.”

My mind turns to more important things. A sore dick. An empty belly. A desire in my heart that I’m too stupid to name—but may be called purpose.

The hoards at the gate are forgotten because—outside of battle—I cannot conceive of a disaster personal enough to give my emptiness a name.