Free The Secret of Santa Vittoria by Robert Crichton Page A

underlined two and three times, and some of these were in different colors, with all kinds of notes written in the margin.
    One read: “No, not true in Santa Vittoria.”
    Others Fabio could see said, “How very true” and “Try and tell that to the Fascists.”
    â€œOh,” Bombolini said. He closed the book.
    â€œI didn’t mean to scare you.”
    â€œWell you succeeded.”
    Fabio came around in front of the new mayor.
    â€œYou were reading your Machiavelli.”
    â€œI’m going to need him now. He’s going to have to tell me what to do.”
    Fabio sat down on a large wooden bench, one of the pieces the Band had left behind.
    â€œI want to stay here for the night if I may.”
    â€œFabio. You may stay here for the rest of your life,” Bombolini said.
    â€œNo. Just for the night. I am very tired.”
    Bombolini picked up the light and took Fabio upstairs to a room where several blankets and an old coat were stretched out on the floor.
    â€œI want you to take my bed,” he said, and when Fabio refused he forced him to lie down on it and went away with the light. Fabio has no idea how long he was there before the mayor returned.
    â€œFabio? Are you awake? Listen to this.” He thumbed through the book he held and held up a hand with one finger extended, a gesture Fabio was to recognize later as the sign that Bombolini was about to quote from Machiavelli.
    â€œâ€˜The wise ruler ought never to keep faith when by doing so it would be against his interests!’”
    Fabio sat up. “Who says that?”
    â€œThe Master,” Bombolini said. “The wise fox, Niccolò Machiavelli.”
    â€œWhy are you asking me?”
    â€œDo I have to keep those promises I made?”
    â€œYou gave your word,” Fabio said. “Your sacred word.” Bombolini closed the book with a loud noise.
    â€œI knew I should have asked Babbaluche,” he said.
    There was darkness, and Fabio slept. But when he woke again there was a light in the room once more.
    â€œJust one other sentence, Fabio. An interpretation.” The mayor held up his hand. “‘Men must be either caressed or annihilated. They will revenge themselves for small injuries, but they can’t do so for great ones. The harm the leader does must be such that he need not fear revenge.’ What do you make of that?”
    Fabio did not want to be part of any bloodletting, but he was tired and the words seemed to have only one meaning. “I think it means you’re supposed to kill them.” Bombolini thought about that for a while, and before he said anything else Fabio was asleep.
    â€œI think you are right,” he said sadly, because he had little stomach for blood and at the same time a respect for the words of The Master. The next time Fabio awoke, the room was light again, but this time the light came from the piazza. He had been able to sleep for several hours, and he felt better because of it.
    â€œFabio della Romagna, I want you to join my cabinet,” Bombolini said to him. “I want you to be a minister in the Grand Council of the Free City of Santa Vittoria.”
    â€œI am flattered,” Fabio said, and it was the truth. “I am proud you ask me, but my place is in Montefalcone. I have to finish my studies at the academy. It would not be good to quit now.”
    â€œJust for the emergency,” Bombolini said. “For the duration. I need you. I need educated men. That’s what you will be, Minister of Education. No. Minister for Advanced Education. You can live right here. We’ll get a bed for you and a desk, and Angela will bring us something in the morning and make us supper at night. It won’t be bad.”
    It was the thunderbolt again. It was all at once the most amazing idea that Fabio had ever heard—Angela carrying his breakfast; Angela meeting in doorways, saying good morning and saying good night;