WSIM24B Ch. 12

I wanted as many handguns and cannons as we could get. Even if they didn't cause casualties, like at Fornovo, their impact on enemy morale was significant. I also wanted to mix sword and buckler men into the pike formations.

He didn't agree to everything I was asking for, but the Pope was impressed.

- "You've obviously given this some thought. But how are you going to get everything done all by yourself?"

- "I won't be alone. Miguel de Corella, the Ramires brothers, Ramiro de Lorqua, Ugo de Moncada... that's a good start on an officer staff. I'll recruit more, and take them with me so that they understand how I intend to operate, and what I expect of them."

My boss poured himself a cup of wine, and took a sip. He was simply taking the time to absorb what I was telling him.

- "I'm guessing that there are more items on your wish list." he said.

- "Some. Leonardo da Vinci is in Milan. Hire him." Alberini had let me know that Leonardo had just finished a huge painting for Ludovico Sforza: The Last Supper.

- "The artist?"

- "Artist, inventor, and military engineer. You should also consider setting up a forge and grinding mill, somewhere on your territory."

Maximilian von Hapsburg, the Holy Roman Emperor, had had to re-equip his army in 1483: he ordered 600 helmets, 400 arm guards, and 1,000 suits of body armour. Obviously, it was difficult - and expensive - to get that much equipment. In 1495, Maximilian hired two brothers from Milan to set up a forge and mill on his territory, to make equipment exclusively for him.

- "That would cost a fortune!"

- "Not as much as buying what you need at short notice, and then transporting it from a hundred different places. Besides, you could sell surplus equipment, and recover part of your investment."

- "For fuck's sake, Pilgrim. What's next: uniforms?"

I laughed. I'd actually thought of that, and rejected the idea. Army uniforms hadn't come into use in Europe until Louis XIV. During the crusades, the different Christian contingents had started the tradition of wearing crosses on their surcoats: red for the French, white for the English, green for the men of Flanders. Later on, the English took red from the cross of St George, and the French switched to white.

Some Kings (and even towns) sometimes equipped their troops identically, clothing them in the town's colours. The Burgundians of Charles the Bold had distinct shapes and sizes of banners and pennons for each company - an idea I intended to replicate.

- "If you need to prioritize, Boss, the first thing we need is a body of reliable troops. Spanish troops, if you can get them. You saw how quickly Ostia fell. We can't re-take the Romagna if we have to depend on mercenaries alone."

- "You think that Ferdinand of Aragon is just going to give me troops?"

- "Let's say 'lend'. Perhaps as part of some sort of quid pro quo."

- "You've seen the Spanish ambassadors! Getting anything from them is like squeezing blood out of a stone! Ferdinand acts like I'm the one who owes him a favour!"

- "What does he need? Is there something we can get for him?"

- "He needs a swift kick in the ass." grumbled the Pope.

We ended our first meeting there. I had quite a bit more to suggest, but I'd given him enough to think about for one day.

We met again two days later.

- "Okay." he said. "A lot of what you said made sense. That doesn't mean that I'm ready to grant any part of what you proposed... but I want to hear what else is on your mind - especially why you think that you could lead an army."

I took a deep breath. This was the key part of my pitch, as far as my future was concerned.

- "You're wondering how I could lead an army, here and now. But you said it yourself: I have presence. I also have the skills, and the military knowledge. I've been studying military technology and Italian geography since I got here. I know far more about those than Juan did - or ever would."

- "But Juan was family. As far as he knew, I'm his father."

- "Yet you know that you can absolutely rely on me." I didn't mention the fact that I'd saved his life. At the time, I hadn't even known who he was. "We're both stuck here until the Sim ends, but I literally have to be standing next to you on the last day, or I could get left behind. That's a pretty strong claim to my loyalty."

Admiral D'Onofrio was impassive. I wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know.

"Teck and his crew are still out there. I need your protection. But I'm convinced that I can be more useful to you than Juan. Or Joffre, for that matter. He may never grow into what you need."

- "Should've made him a priest." growled the Pope. "Never mind: go on."

- "There's one thing I am lacking." I admitted.

- "Oh?"

- "Status. I'm your bodyguard. Your advisor. That's it."

- "What do you expect? A title?"

- "Yes."

My boss just looked at me.

"The only thing I'm missing is rank. It would be a sign that I had your blessing, too. Of course, there are other ways to achieve that, and other benefits."

- "What are you talking about?"

I took another deep breath. In for a penny...

- "You could acknowledge me... the same way you did your sons."

The Pope's eyes narrowed.

I didn't give him an opportunity to cut me off. "You make a simple written declaration stating that I am not your son, but rather the offspring of a woman you used to know and some other man. Then, in a private document, you record that I am in fact your son. You're covered by the public declaration, but we both know that the private one will be leaked, and the secret will come out."

My boss knew exactly what I was talking about. It was the very same thing he'd done for Cesare and Juan, and eventually for Joffre (even if he'd never been one hundred percent sure that Joffre was his).

- "Why would I want to do something like that?" His voice was pitched low, and he spoke softly, but it was much more menacing than when he shouted and yelled.

- "There are multiple benefits. First, I would have immediate credibility as a commander, far beyond what a simple title could give me. Second, you could arrange a marriage alliance. I don't actually need a wife, but you could dangle the possibility and field offers - find out who seriously wants your alliance and what they're prepared to offer."

Admiral D'Onofrio was still glaring at me. He didn't say a word.

"Finally, we could play the wayward son game. I could 'appear' to disobey you on occasion, whereupon you could reprimand me, disown me, disavow my actions, make apologies for my errant behaviour..."

He didn't say anything for the longest time. Finally, he spoke.

- "We'll talk again tomorrow." he said.

***

The next day came and went. I had no way of knowing if I'd crossed the line. Scratch that - I had. I just didn't know how he was taking it.

I'd originally considered a different approach, which I called the Joffre variant. It involved the annulment of Sancia's marriage (on the grounds of non-consummation), and then pushing her former husband into a Church career. Eventually, he could be made a Cardinal, to bolster his father's control of the electoral college. If the Pope wanted to acknowledge me as his son, he could arrange a new marriage for Sancia - to me.

But the more I thought about that idea, the more I saw its flaws. Alexander already had Sancia for a daughter in law, with the connection to Naples. Why dissolve her first marriage, which would cause another major scandal, only to get the same results? The same went for making Joffre a Cardinal; another scandal, possibly magnified if the boy couldn't manage a passable imitation of a Churchman.

There was a further weakness to that plan, from a more personal perspective. I intended to be in the field, at the head of an army. Obviously, I couldn't take Sancia on campaign. She was hot-blooded, and admitted that she'd been tempted by Juan Gandia. If I was away for long stretches of time, what were the odds that she'd remain faithful?

That was when I began to consider the advantages of letting the Pope negotiate marriage alliances for me - and those options only made sense if I was known to be his son.

I didn't need to be told that I was gambling for high stakes. But I was a good poker player. There are times when you have a really good hand, and you're not completely sure what another player is holding. You calculate the odds, read your opponent, and make your decision.

He kept me waiting for a week. When he finally sent for me, we met in his private apartments.

- "You made some good points." he said, in English. "Both the military ideas, and the... political ones. But I kept thinking that you're not family - not actually related to me. Oh, I know it's a Sim. Juan and Lucrezia aren't really my children, either. But they believe - believed - that they are."

Admiral D'Onofrio seemed to be getting a little emotional. I could understand loving Lucrezia as a daughter. But Juan?

"Whereas you, Pilgrim... you're an adventurer. Yes, yes, I know... you're an ISEC agent. But there's no ISEC here in Italy for the next twenty years. You have a good head on your shoulders, and a useful set of skills. I admit that you're tied to me by self-interest. But needing to stay close to me so that you can get out of the Sim... that's not quite the same as absolute loyalty."

- "You don't need unquestioning loyalty, Boss."

- "That's not what I'm talking about. I don't mind your questions, as long as you're prepared to do what I ask, at the end of the day. Even if it might involve getting your hands dirty..."

- "A test?"

- "You could call it that. Interestingly enough, it involves politics just like the ones you were suggesting to me the other day. You see, Pilgrim, I'm negotiating a new marriage for Lucrezia. A much more advantageous one. But my daughter may have been... indiscreet."

The Pope stood up, and turned away from me.

"You know Pedro Calderon - one of my chamberlains. They call him Perotto. It would be... inconvenient, if he were to start telling tales. Lucrezia has retired for a time, to the convent of San Sisto. In the meantime, I need to find someone who will... solve this problem for me."

My boss turned again, to look at me. This was his test. He was offering a bargain.

I bowed to him. "Consider it done, your Holiness."

- "Oh: there is also one of Lucrezia's women, Pantasilea. She acted as a go-between."

- "Understood. I'll take care of it."

***

Well, I hadn't been planning to commit a couple of murders, but when in Rome...

You're not really surprised, are you? I killed a couple of men in prison, on my first ISEC mission, and I'd had no qualms about killing Anna. Nor would I hesitate if I found Captain Teck with his back to me.

Remember the attack I organized on King Charles' Swiss mercenaries? That wasn't war: it was payback. Perotto and Pantasilea were threats to the Pope's family, and to Lucrezia, who was a sweetheart.

Yes, I can see the irony. I was going to kill the guy who'd seduced Lucrezia, even though I had seduced Sancia (though it's probably more accurate to say that she seduced me). I had to wonder if Sancia's example had encouraged her friend Lucrezia to have a love affair of her own.

Regardless, this Perotto was a danger to her, and to her father. He also stood between me and a possibly glittering career. Well, I distinctly remembered my ISEC recruiter saying that I had a 'flexible ethical system'.

I strangled Perotto from behind, with a leather strap, while Michelotto held his arms. I needed an accomplice to help me dispose of the body, and big Miguel was a good friend - and as ruthless as they come.

I also snapped Pantasilea's neck. Miguel helped me load the bodies on a mule, and we disposed of them in the Tiber, in two separate locations.

***

The bodies were eventually found, and recognized. Tongues wagged in Rome, and all over Italy. The rumours spread all the more when a little baby boy was delivered, and christened Giovanni Borgia.

Years later, the Pope recognized the little boy as his own, through Giulia Farnese, but there were many who suspected - and whispered - that the baby was Lucrezia's.

As with all scandals, though, it was soon surpassed by a much juicier story that was not merely rumour, but unvarnished fact. And we had Savonarola to thank for it.

The Florentine monk had adopted a lower profile after his excommunication. He withdrew from preaching, and devoted himself to writing 'The Triumph of the Cross', his own exploration of what it meant to be a Christian. In it, he hinted that he had performed miracles, evidence of his divine mission.

A rival Franciscan preacher challenged him to prove it by walking through fire. Savonarola wasn't that stupid, but he had definitely lost the initiative in the war of words. Without telling him, his friend Fra Domenico da Pescia offered to act as Savonarola's surrogate.

It was on. There was no avoiding or side-stepping a challenge like this. All of Florence was eager to see the first trial by ordeal in the city for hundreds of years. The date was set: April 7th. A huge crowd gathered in the square to see God's verdict.

Understandably enough, the two main participants were nervous. Delegations from both sides consulted and dragged out the proceedings. There was a sudden rainstorm; officials of the Signoria cancelled the whole thing.

The crowd was soaked, and furious. They blamed Savonarola. A mob attacked the convent of San Marco. Savonarola, Fra Domenico and another monk were arrested, and then 'put to the question'. Yes, that means they were tortured. Savonarola confessed to having made up his visions and prophecies, then recanted his confession, and then confessed again. On May 23rd, 1498, the three monks were condemned as heretics, and were hanged while fires were set beneath the separate gallows to consume their bodies.

Local officials had the ashes swept up under guard, so that souvenir and relic hunters couldn't get their hands on them.

***

The Pope was smiling more often; his mood had improved, and everyone could see it. Some ascribed it to Savonarola's demise, others to the death of Charles VIII, the King of France. Charles had been on his way to watch a game of tennis when he struck his head on the lintel of a door. He fell into a coma, and died hours later.

My boss wasn't celebrating Charles' death (though he had been pleased by Savonarola's, and especially by the manner of the monk's passing). No, he was happy because he was plotting and scheming, negotiating a new marriage for Lucrezia - and for me.

Once I'd eliminated Perotto and Pantasilea, Alexander came to a rapid decision; I could be even more useful to him as a son. He had the document denying any relation to me drawn up and released. That led to considerable comment and many, many questions. Why deny a connection that no one had ever suspected?

Then word of second, secret document, in which the Pope acknowledged me as his natural son, was leaked. Rome was in an uproar.

Sancia just grinned at me.

- "You rascal! All this time, and you couldn't tell me? You let me argue with Juan about the virtues of the noble-born, when you could have just told me who you were?"

- "I'm not a real nobleman, Sancia." I said.

She was no fool. She remembered perfectly well that she had told me she wasn't a real princess.

Elena was easily the most impressed. The next time I saw her, she almost swooned. She was almost hyper-ventilating at the thought that she'd been fucking a Prince.

- "Elena - it's just me."

- "I know. I know." She nearly passed out when I kissed her.

Gina didn't say a word; I had to raise the subject.

- "Are you angry that I didn't tell you?"

- "No." She seemed surprised. "After what happened to the Pope's other sons? Just promise me that you'll be more careful."

She wasn't the only one concerned with my safety. Miguel and Ramiro de Lorqua spoke to the Pope, and he agreed with them.

- "No more visiting your mistress in Prati." he told me. "I know it's close, but... it's too dangerous. You can invite her here whenever you want."

- "Hmm." He was almost certainly thinking of what had happened to Juan. I, on the other hand, was wondering how Sancia and Gina would take it if Elena slept over in the Palace.

When my Spanish friends learned of my supposed parentage, their reactions were... interesting. Pedro Ramires kept looking at me as if I was a complete stranger. Diego, his brother, apologized to me.

- "For what?" I asked.

- "You know... for those times I... slapped you on the back, or punched you in the shoulder."

I'd lost count, myself. Diego was a very 'touchy' person, in both senses of the word.

- "Diego." I said. "It's just me." Then I punched his shoulder.

He probably got over the surprise quicker than anyone. Ramiro de Lorqua, on the other hand, pretended that he had suspected it all along.

- "You were too intelligent, too accomplished in every field." he said. "There had to be a reason." He would touch his finger to the side of his nose, and walk off nodding his head.

Big Miguel merely looked at me, almost accusingly. He'd known from the very beginning that there was something odd about me. I'd played innocent, and he hadn't quite been able to put his finger on it.

- "If it makes you feel better," I told him, "I wasn't entirely sure, myself."

The Spaniards all treated me much the same. I'd already won their respect, and had assumed a leadership position among them. I didn't have a title, or anything like that, so they simply continued to call me Pilgrim.

***

My boss also decided to take a hand in my education. And who better to teach me statecraft than the Borgia Pope?

- "What's better," he asked, "to be loved, or to be feared?"

- "Loved is nice. Feared is better."

- "Good! Cruelty, in small doses, only affects a few directly, but make an example here and there and everybody gets the message. Don't be too lenient. It's dangerous. And if you have to be ruthless later, they'll resent it twice as much. Men are fickle and ungrateful. Remember what you said about mercenaries? That applies to all men. They're loyal and promise the moon when times are good, but when you really need them, good luck finding them."

I remembered the French occupation of Rome. The Pope had been basically alone.

"Fear works. They're less likely to betray you if they fear the consequences. Just don't take their land, or their women. Fear is one thing; you don't want to be hated."

- "Understood."

- "Now what about generosity?"

The Pope loved ostentatious display; in that sense, he understood Renaissance Italy. But I'd made a start at simplicity, and even austerity, with my black clothing. I wasn't about to start throwing money around unnecessarily. Besides, I wanted every ducat I could scrape together for the army.

"Okay." he said. "That fits. If you give too lavishly, everyone around you will have their hands out all the time. And if you ever run short, what then? It's not a good idea to raise taxes so that you can keep giving gifts. Remember: your subjects will consider you generous if you don't rob them."

- "What about sharing the loot?"

- "Of course. Your soldiers will expect it. I don't have to tell you what happened to Crassus on his Parthian campaign."

- "No. We learned about that one at AFOTA."

- "Right. Next: don't overdo it with honesty. Crafty is often better. You have to be part fox, and part lion. If you're all lion, you won't see the traps they're setting for you. Too much fox, and you can't scare off the wolves. And don't be too trusting; nobody keeps their word. Take Ferdinand of Aragon: no one talks more about peace and good faith than he does - and no one believes it less than him."