Free Tom Swan and the Head of St. George Part Four: Rome by Christian Cameron Page B

leaned forward. ‘I was thinking of other money.’
    ‘Father Ridolpho’s gold?’ Swan asked sweetly. ‘In French francs and Genoese gold mixed? Is that what we’re looking for?’
    Bessarion nodded. ‘So you admit it?’ he began loudly, and then paused. ‘French francs? That’s odd.’
    ‘I thought so, too,’ Swan said. He put the bag on the table – most of the bag. ‘I confess I spent some of it, but I promise it was in a good cause.’
    Bessarion sorted through the coins. ‘Sweet Saviour, but the French debase their coins.’
    Swan shrugged. ‘Eminence, I freely confess to you that I’d have spent more of them if anyone would take them.’
    Bessarion sat back again. ‘Englishman, you are incorrigible. You confess to stealing from my steward.’
    Swan smiled. ‘Eminence, he insulted Messire Di Brachio, accused the two of you of sodomy, and is obviously being paid to spy on you.’ Swan waved his hand in dismissal – a gesture he’d learned from his father, closing the subject as unimportant. ‘May I hire another soldier? I have a Frenchman below who saved my life last night.’
    ‘That falls in with my wishes very well, my boy, as I cannot send Giannis with you – I need him with my Greeks. And Di Brachio is better, but he will not be sailing this week or next. Hire this Frenchman by all means.’ He was unrolling a scroll as he talked – a Greek play. ‘You saved some wonderful things. Go and save more.’
    ‘What of Monemvasia?’ Swan asked.
    ‘If I am Pope …’ Bessarion made a very Greek motion with his head – neither yea nor nay. ‘I would take the city for the Holy See. But others do not feel as I do, and Genoa and Venice are putting fingers into the pie. I will make sure that your galley touches there – you’ll want your man back.’
    ‘But the other men are Venetians …’ Swan rubbed his chin.
    ‘Leave them,’ Bessarion said. ‘Unless you can make the lion lie down with the lamb.’ He waited for Swan to understand and gave up with a shake of his head. ‘At any rate …’
    Understanding hit Swan – a heraldic joke. The Lion of St Mark and Venice, the lamb of the Order of St John – and Genoa. He laughed as people do when they are late to a joke.
    Bessarion winced. ‘Listen, my young thief,’ he said. ‘I need you to be able to reach certain people and act in certain ways. You have good manners and your Italian is virtually flawless.’
    ‘Your Eminence should try my Arabic or my Turkish!’ Swan bragged.
    Bessarion smiled the smile of the older man recognising something he didn’t like in himself. ‘Yes, I’m sure,’ he said. ‘I’m sending you on a galley of the Order of Rhodos. You know them?’
    Swan nodded. ‘The Knights of St John? They put on all the best plays in London. My mother says they are good to the poor.’ He smiled. ‘There were two of them at Madame Lucrescia’s a few nights ago.’
    Bessarion nodded. ‘Yes – I imagine some of them are men like other men. I am arranging for you to be accepted as a Donat – a volunteer – with the order. This will allow you to serve on their galleys. Our Pope has just signed a bull stating that service on the order’s galleys will win remission of your sins.’
    Swan nodded. ‘That’s … good,’ he said slowly.
    Bessarion laughed out loud. He threw his head back and roared, and for a moment, with his long beard and bushy white eyebrows, he looked like the Silenus Satyr that Swan had seen in Florence. He laughed for several ticks of his enormous German clock.
    ‘My boy, there are few men in Christendom who need remission of their sins more than you do, and few with less interest. In a way, you are the perfect exemplar of – of …’ Bessarion shook his head.
    ‘Foolishness?’ Swan ventured.
    ‘Youth!’ Bessarion said. ‘Here’s a note for the prior – he’s the senior officer of the order in Rome. He’ll take your oath. Thomas, do me an enormous favour, and do not dishonour your oath to