Dürer went off to bed. Naturally, he had commandeered the large one. He was, after all, the Count. How would it look, he said, if palace servants came and saw him in one of the lesser beds? It would give away the game.
The Landsknechte also went to sleep. It had been a long day, and it was very late.
Dismas stayed up, alone, his mind febrile with evil visions. What if Urbino forced himself on her?
• • •
Toward dawn, he heard the door open. He rushed to her and hugged her as if she’d been gone years.
“What’s got into you?” she said.
“I’m glad you’re safe.”
“I’m all right. Tell you later. Too tired.”
In bed she fell fast asleep in his arms.
• • •
When she awoke some hours later, Magda told them about the scene in Urbino’s bedchamber.
The majordomo Caraffa made one of his servants taste her potion. When the servant did not die, she was permitted to administer it to the Duke. Almost immediately, his chest pains abated.
“He was very happy for that.”
“Why were you there so long?” Dismas asked.
“I tried to leave, several times. The Duke would not let me go.”
“He didn’t . . . ?”
“No. No, he wanted only for me to hold his hand.”
Dürer made a face. “You did?”
“I wore gloves, Master Dürer.”
“Still.”
“You cannot contract the pox just from touching. Unless it’s an open wound. Or the contact is, well, intimate.”
“You’d stake your life on it?”
“If Paracelsus tells me so, yes.”
“Let her speak, Nars,” Dismas said. “What else?”
“They are giving him ladanum for the pain. Drops, in the handkerchief. But too much weakens the brain. When I said this, the Duke’s physician became angry. He called me a meddling fool. He was angry because I had helped his master. The Duke then became angry with him and ordered him from the bedchamber.”
“There’s another enemy we’ve made,” Dismas said. “Not your fault, Magda. Just keeping tally of everyone here who hates us.”
“I remained all the night. He was dreaming, with his eyes open. Ladanum does this. He talked. All night, he talked.”
“Gibberish?”
“Perhaps. He spoke about people and things I do not know. But he knows that he is dying. And he does not want to die.”
“There’s a surprise,” Dürer said.
“He talked about the Shroud,” Magda said. She looked troubled.
“What is it?” Dismas asked.
“Caraffa, the majordomo. I don’t like him.”
“Did he . . . ?”
“No. It was just the three of us in the room. All night. Caraffa never once took his eyes off me. But it was not lust, or whatever you would call it.”
“He’s Italian,” Dürer said. “ ‘Lust’ is the word.”
Magda considered. “I don’t think he is capable of that.”
“Ah, a eunuch,” Nutker said.
“No. I don’t think he cares for women.”
“A sodomite.”
“No. I don’t think he cares either for women or men, in that way. He was watching me always. Like he thought I would any moment take out a knife and kill his duke. They could not search me, because I’m a nun. But every time the Duke would say something in his delirium, Caraffa became very nervous. His eyes, intense. It was . . .”
“Go on.”
“Like he was afraid that the Duke would say something he did not want me to hear.”
Dismas considered. “He is the ruler of Florence and Urbino. Sure, he’s fat with secrets a chamberlain wouldn’t want a stranger to hear.”
Magda stared out the window, deep in thought.
“What is it?” Dismas said.
“It’s nothing.”
“Why do you look troubled?”
Cunrat said, “Come on, Little Sister. Let your tongue come out to play.”
Magda hesitated. “Perhaps we are not the only ones who have come to Chambéry to steal the Shroud.”
They stared.
“Did he . . . say something to suggest this?”
“No. It is only a feeling. Because of the way Caraffa became so nervous when his master spoke. Finally the Duke went to sleep. True sleep, not ladanum sleep. I left.”
Cunrat clapped his hands on his knees. “Well, lads, competition!”
Nutker snorted. “From Italians?”
“Not at fighting, Nutker. Stealing. At thievery, the maccheronis excel.”
“This is true,” Unks said. “In the Bible, it says so. The maccheronis invented stealing.”
“Where in the Bible does it say this?” Nutker demanded.
“No, no,” Cunrat corrected. “The Jews invented stealing.”
“No,” Nutker said, “the Jews invented moneylending. The Italians invented stealing.”
Dismas sought refuge from this torrent of Landsknechte babble in a quiet corner of the apartment.
He wondered: Could Magda be right? He examined the possibility from every angle, each time concluding that it made no sense. A duke—an important duke—stealing a relic, from another duke? Sure, not.
He said to Magda sternly, “It cannot be true.”
“I did not say it was true, Dismas. Why do you speak to me in this tone?”
“I am only trying to establish if it could be true.”
“But I told you that I don’t think it’s true.”
“Yes”—he wagged a forefinger at her—“but you thought it could be.”
Magda threw up her hands. “Yes. All right. I confess. This thought went through my head. Then it went out of my head.”
“Did Urbino say anything that could suggest—?”
“Dismas. If you continue, I will have to take digitalis. You are giving me chest pains.”
He pondered further and announced, “Perhaps it is the True Shroud after all.”
“Why?”
“Well, if two parties have come to Chambéry to steal it . . . you have to wonder.”
Magda groaned.
“Consider,” Dismas went on, thoughts racing ahead like a hound. “Let’s suppose that it is the True Shroud.”
“Very well. Suppose.”
“I have been sent to steal it—to translate it—by a corrupt cardinal. Yes?”
“Yes.”
“Now, if you were Jesus—”
“What a thing to suggest. I am not Jesus.”
“Yes, but—look, ask yourself: Would Jesus desire for his shroud to be translated for the benefit of a corrupt cardinal? Or would he prefer it to be translated by a . . . ?”
“Italian duke with pox? These are Jesus’s choices?”
“Or . . .”
“You are making me dizzy with these ‘ors.’ ”
“I am a professional relic hunter, Magda. This is my field. Here are the considerations that we must consider. If the Shroud does not desire to be translated to Mainz, then it might allow itself to be translated by Urbino. Don’t you see? A preemptive translation, you could call it. True, Urbino has the pox. But he is also the nephew of the Pope of Rome.”
“Why would Jesus want his shroud to be translated by anyone, when it is kept with reverence and care in a holy chapel by someone who is called Charles the Good?”
“This, too, we must consider.” Dismas nodded.
“But you don’t think it’s real.”
“Perhaps God wants me to think it’s a fake. Hm?”
“You are spinning cobwebs in your head, Dismas. Any moment now, spiders will come out of your ears.”
“I wish they would come out. So I could step on them.”
33
Very Awkward
Later in that morning there was a knock on the door. Chamberlain Rostang, beaming.
“Your master made quite an impression on my master last night. Mm!”
/> “As did yours on mine,” Dismas replied.
“Is Count Lothar in residence?”
“Yes, but still abed. After such a night, one needs rest.”
In fact, Dürer was in his room, painting, with the door closed. Dismas thought it best not to apprise Rostang of his lordship’s hobby.
“I bring an invitation. Mm! His grace invites Count Lothar to a private viewing of the Holy Shroud.”
“Well, what an honor!” Dismas said.
“Today. Twelfth hour. After the viewing, his grace asks if the Count will join him for refreshment. Mm!” He added, “Just the two of them. Urbino and d’Aragona will participate in the viewing. But the Duke would like some private time with the Count. He has some matters he would like to discuss. In confidence. Mm!”
“My master will be overwhelmed at such a delightful prospect.”
Rostang looked over Dismas’s shoulder into the apartment. “The arrangements are satisfactory?”
“Indeed, yes. But where are my manners? Won’t you come in and take a glass of wine?”
Rostang wavered but then said he would be glad of a noontime restorative. Mm!
Dismas installed him in the dining room and scurried off to tell Magda to tell Dürer that they had a visitor and for God’s sake not to emerge with titian all over his hands and reeking of terebinth.
He poured his guest a glass of roussette de Savoie.
“The tableau vivant,” Dismas said. “It was very pleasant.”
Rostang chuckled. “What can I tell you, Master Rufus? My master loves his tableaux. As a little boy, he would make them with little figures of carved wood. I have seen—mm!—many, many tableaux in my years of service here. They are good sources of revenue.”
“Yes?”
“His grace sells—offers—roles in the tableaux to our prosperous citizens of Chambéry. And our Savoyard nobles. The girl in last night’s tableau who played the Virgin Mary is the daughter of the mayor. Mm! Her husband, Joseph, is the owner of one of the vineyards here. This could be his wine we are drinking. It’s very good, by the way. Thank you. The donation for each role is according to how big is the role. Joseph paid five florins to play the father of Jesus. The shepherds, two testons only. The magi each paid ten florins. Mm!”
Dismas smiled. “Very enterprising.”
“Did I not tell you that I am a practical man? Mm!”
“The camels were a marvel.”
Rostang rolled his eyes.
“They are not native to Savoy, camels. Procuring them was . . . a nightmare. And you must empty their bowels before the performance so they won’t . . . And now we are left with three camels. Would your master like a camel to take home to Schramberg?”
“You are too kind.”
“I would be happy if you took them all back to Schramberg. I tremble for the day when his grace will announce his desire to mount a tableau of Hannibal crossing the Alps. Mm!”
“Perhaps Pope Leo would lend you his white elephant. Hannibal, is it not called?”
“Hanno,” Rostang corrected.
“That was quite a banquet at the Vatican the Cardinal of Aragon described.”
“Yes,” Rostang said with an air of exhaustion. “To be candid, Master Rufus, I find extravagance of that degree distasteful, anywhere. But in the Vatican! Mm! One must continually remind oneself that his holiness is a de’ Medici. Do you know what he said when he assumed the mantle of Saint Peter?”
“No.”
“ ‘God has given us the papacy. Let us enjoy it.’ ”
“He appears to be living up to his vow.”
Rostang made another of his little high-pitched grunts. “Last night during the dancing I saw you conversing with Caraffa, Urbino’s man. Tell me, what is your opinion of him?”
“I should not like to find myself in his disfavor. He’s very severe.”
“Mm! Be grateful he is not your guest. He treats our servants like his own, which is to say, very badly. His title may be Signore, but he is not a gentleman. No, I do not care for Signore Caraffa. Mm!”
“At his request,” Dismas said, “I sent our apothecary, Sister Hildegard, to tend to the Duke. She, too, did not find Caraffa congenial.”
“Congenial? Mm! The man is a viper in human form.”
“In the event Sister continues to attend to Urbino . . . should I be concerned for her? Would Caraffa . . . take liberties?”
“Caraffa? No. He has no carnality. It would be better if he did. Then at least he would be human. If I were you, it’s Urbino who would concern me, for your Sister.”
“But he’s dying.”
“He is not dead yet. Mm! Five of our girls so far, this visit he has attacked. Maidservants. Yet what can one do? It is awkward, let me tell you. Very awkward.”
“Yes, I should think,” Dismas said, reeling.
“I am like a father with our girls. They look to me to protect them. With the aristos, all right, you expect a bit of”—Rostang squeezed two imaginary breasts—“that sort of thing. But when you are oozing with the pox, it’s not right to inflict it on an innocent girl.”
Rostang smiled. “Do you know what I have done? I have changed their duties. Mm! Now the only maids who enter his bedchamber are old women without teeth.” He laughed with delight. “His ardor is much quenched. As for your sister . . . take care, Master Rufus. She is a nun, but she is a lovely girl. How I count the hours until Urbino leaves for Paris. I should not say such things. Mm!”
“Did Urbino come to Chambéry in hopes of a miraculous cure by the Shroud?”
“I don’t think he came for the tableaux vivants. Mm!”
They laughed. Rostang said, “Speaking of which, I will tell you a secret. His grace, my master, is arranging something very special for the night before the Shroud is exposed.”
“Ah?”
“I must not ruin his surprise. But I will tell you that it will be a significant source of revenue. Mm! Now I must go. I thank you for your hospitality, Master Rufus.”
“The viewing tonight. Might I attend, with my master?”
Rostang hesitated.
“Mm! Normally, these viewings are only for the principals. But since your master has made such a good impression, yes, all right. But hang back, yes?”
“Too kind.”
“I think you will like our Shroud. It’s—mm!—unusual.”
34
Ecce Sindon
They convened in the Court of Honor at six o’clock in the evening.
“The Holy Chapel was constructed between the years 1408 and 1430 by Amadeus the Eighth. This Amadeus was the first Duke of Savoy, so of course I am very fond of him. He became also the Anti-Pope Felix V. But since the Cardinal of Aragon is with us, we will not talk about that, eh?”
Duke Charles chuckled. “Amadeus was my ancestor from eight generations ago—or is it six? I can never remember—but of course we are very grateful to him for making us such a beautiful chapel. As you can see, it was built in an ornate style . . .”
Dismas was charmed by the Duke’s candid and boyish delight in playing the role of docent. Dürer found it a bit much. He kept looking at Dismas and crossing his eyes.
“Now, if you will follow me, we will proceed into the chapel proper. This way, please. Mind your step, Eminence. They can be slippery.”
“The path to Heaven often is,” Aragon quipped.
Dürer groaned.
Archdeacon Quimper—he whom Count Lothar had caused to be evicted from his home—awaited them at the front door. He was extravagantly vested under such a quantity of brocade that Dismas wondered he did not topple over. He was flanked on each side by three pikemen, also resplendently attired, wearing the conquistador-style helmets that were now all the rage. Their tunics bore the noble crest of Savoy, white cross on red shield beneath the banner of St. Maurice. They looked to Dismas like crusaders who’d spent all their spoils money on personal adornment. The Landsknechte would have been jealous. But for all the finery, Dismas saw thes
e were hard men, not mere ornaments.
“Archdeacon Quimper.”
“Most beloved grace.”
Church and state bowed to each other and embraced. The Duke introduced his illustrious guests. Archdeacon Quimper knelt—with some difficulty underneath his vestments—and bussed the proffered hand of the Cardinal of Aragon. The Duke of Urbino received a bow but not a kissed hand. The formalities observed, they processed into the chapel as the Duke continued with his singsong monologue.
“In 1502, the Duchess of Savoy, Marguerite of Austria, daughter of the late Emperor Maximilian, and widow to my half brother Philibert—God rest their souls—decided that the Holy Shroud must have a permanent home, here in the Chapel Royal. And so it became the Holy Chapel. It has been thus for now almost two decades. And of course we are very pleased by this.”
Dismas tuned out the Duke’s narration to focus on more relevant details, such as the location of doors. The one that interested him most was to the left of the main altar as he faced it—it must lead to the balcony from which the Shroud would be displayed to the crowds.
“Of course, there are some who have suggested that the Holy Shroud is not genuine. That it is a fraudulency. But of course the Shroud is real. How do we know this? Not only because it is unique. Not only because of the many miracles which it has caused. But we know this also because over the many years since it was first displayed by the knight Geoffrey, it has been tried. Yes. Tried by fire. Tried by being boiled in oil. Tried by being washed—many, many times. But it refuses to burn. It refuses to melt into the oil. And refuses to come out in the wash. The image of the crucified Jesus remains, as you will see shortly.”
Dismas noted another door as he faced the altar—to the right. This one would lead to some room in the adjoining wing. As they moved closer to the altar, he examined the curtained, recessed area on his left. Behind the curtain would be the sacristy, where the vestments and altar vessels used in the mass were kept, and where the celebrants would robe.
“And now let us sit.”
Chairs had been set out to accommodate the noble and eminent guests. Those who were neither could stand.
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