Grantville Gazette.Volume XVII (ring of fire)

by Eric Flint

  ***

  As soon as he realized that dal Pozzo hadn't been killed in the wagon accident, or at least not killed outright, Andres knew where he had to go next. Ever meticulous, however, he spent the next two days carefully reviewing his notes and gathering new information on Giulio Gentileschi, Lucia di Lazio and their lefferto companion. What he learned only reinforced his conclusions. He presented himself at the Lateran Palace and was taken to Father Diego immediately.

  The withered priest reviewed Andres' notes. Diego's sharp eyes showed that however old his body, his mind retained its youthful vigor. He turned those eyes on Fra Andres.

  "You're sure?"

  "I had a hunch all along, Father Diego. But the more I reviewed, the more I realized that the hunch was the only logical conclusion. Gentileschi and Cavaliere dal Pozzo are too desperate not to flee to where they feel certain of sanctuary. However, just to cover all possibilities, I'd recommend sending agents to Venice. And perhaps Livorno as well."

  "I agree. I will pass this report along to my superiors. Be prepared to leave for Florence at a moment's notice."

  Almost as an afterthought, the old priest handed Andres a sealed letter. "Please take this letter with you. Senora de la Mer, our ambassador's wife, is expecting it."

  IV

  Magdeburg, June 1635

  Some people called this summer "The Golden Summer." Flush with victory, there was a feeling that anything was possible. Jabe McDougal wondered, as he sat chatting with his guests in the sitting room, if this is what his grandparents felt during the days of Camelot and the presidency of John F. Kennedy. Prosperity was all around and war felt farther away than it had in a very long time.

  It wasn't as far away for some, though, especially in the McDougal-Gentileschi household. The war and chaos in Italy was always there, in the back of their minds, with the as yet unknown fate of Artemisia's brother Giulio, the last living member of Artemisia's family aside from her daughters. On afternoons such as this, though, in the company of friends and family after a large and successful block party and comfortably settled into their new home in the Artist's Block of Magdeburg, it was possible to put worries aside for a while.

  A question from Martin Riddle- Father Martin Riddle, now-brought Jabe's mind out of its reverie.

  "Have you had any reaction to your proposal yet, Jabe?"

  "Same as always. That the government has more pressing concerns."

  Jabe's cousin Brandy, sitting next to the Russian prince Vladimir Petrovich, looked interested.

  "What proposal is this?"

  "Ideas for a comprehensive policy for radio and television. It's the sort of thing the government needs to think about now and get settled. Otherwise it'll cause a huge fight down the road, I just know it."

  Prince Vlad nodded knowingly. He knew what it was like to battle an entrenched bureaucracy.

  "So what exactly are you proposing?" Martin asked.

  "Standard stuff, really, rules for frequency allocation, licensing, protection of freedom of expression on the airwaves. The biggest thing is going to be deciding who owns the airwaves. I won't bore you with the details, but I've been working with a few of Father Smithson's people, some CoC folks and some others Count Ludwig Guenther suggested to iron out what I think is a reasonable compromise. Janice Ambler keeps telling me I should just turn us into a formal think tank."

  "Maybe you should," Martin said. "If you have anything on paper, I'd love to read it." Jabe nodded. In addition to Martin's duties as a priest of the Celtic Christian Church (the first one ordained in centuries as far as Martin's bishop, Aidan of Oban, knew) he was a lawyer. With the offices of the law firm of Fricke, Fricke and Riddle located in the Artist's Block, Martin and his partners were interested in any developments in the area of intellectual property rights and had been lobbying for a USE copyright law for months now.

  Jabe looked up as the door opened. Prudentia, his wife of two weeks, entered. She looked windblown and radiant. She was also very pregnant, about 6 months along. Jabe's mother had warned him that she would be getting more tired and uncomfortable as the summer wore on but for now she was enjoying herself.

  Prudentia gave him a peck on the cheek. "Not overdoing it, I hope," he asked her.

  "Of course not. You worry too much, husband."

  "Well, that's Jabe for you," said Brandy, causing a round of chuckles. Jabe joined in. When he and Prudentia celebrated their betrothal in December, they hadn't intended for her to become pregnant. But the forms of birth control available to them now required a fair amount of self-control in order to be reasonably effective, and Jabe and Prudentia didn't have it. The reaction from Artemisia and from Jabe's parents had been pretty sanguine, much to his relief. Betrothals were as hard to break as marriages in the seventeenth century, so Mama Gentileschi had no concerns that Prudentia would be left with the burden and shame of an illegitimate child. And Jabe's parents were practical, and knew that pregnant brides hadn't exactly been uncommon up-time, either.

  Prudentia chatted away happily. "The exhibition was wonderful. Mama tells me that it was a bit of a departure from the way things are usually done to attract patrons, but it worked!"

  Prince Vlad smiled. "Buy low, sell high, isn't that what they say at OPM? I was glad to get a few paintings before theses students became sought-after masters in their own right. I would have liked to have bought Artemisia's new canvas too, but it was out of my range."

  Brandy blew a raspberry. "That one would have gone over really well at court in Muscovy. Talk about shocking!"

  Artemisia's new canvas had created a huge stir. Called The Birth of Wisdom, it depicted the myth of the birth of Athena from Zeus's forehead after Hephaestus splits it open with an axe. It wasn't so much the subject as the models; Rebecca Stearns as Athena was entirely appropriate, but Mike Stearns as Hephaestus splitting open the forehead of a Zeus with the face of Gustavus Adolphus made the painting more than a little shocking, just as Brandy said. From what Vladimir had described of Muscovite court culture, it almost certainly wouldn't have gone over well there. It was causing enough controversy in the USE.

  "I would, however, like to discuss with you the possibility of painting several copies of Goodnight Moon with Russian text," Vladimir said. Prudentia smiled happily.

  Jabe laughed out loud. "Artemisia was skeptical about that project."

  Prudentia produced new artwork for the classic book primarily as a way to distract herself from the nausea of morning sickness early in her pregnancy. Jabe's old commanding officer in the press corps, Kurt von Kessel, had decided to start his own publishing company and Jabe had bought a 10% share in the new firm. Both of them thought Goodnight Moon would be an ideal first release for Herald Press, as the new company was called, and so it proved. Income from that, from numerous commissions, and from Jabe's oral history of the Ring of Fire more than made up for what they lost with the fall of the Barberini in Rome.

  "Those royalties will make a nice nest egg, cuz, and not to mention the books you've got in the pipeline," said Brandy. "Now I want to know the important stuff. That baby… settled on any names yet? And you better not be stealing any of the ones I want."

  Jabe grinned. Brandy had really turned her life around and her relationship with the Russian prince was helping her keep the new leaf turned over. They had been friends growing up and he'd missed her as she drifted away during high school.

  "Well, we've pretty much settled on Peter Orazio if it's a boy and Artemisia Scholastica if it's a girl. It feels right to name it after our parents."

  "Lucky for you your dad and father-in-law are both named Peter."

  "And what will the future hold beyond the child's arrival?" asked Vladimir.

  "We're very seriously considering taking Morris Roth up on his offer to move to Prague, at long last," said Prudentia. "If the birth goes well and the child is healthy enough to travel next year. And if it proves safe to travel. Mama encouraged me to take it, she said it was far too good an offer to refuse
, to be artist-in-residence at Don Morris's new women's college." Grantville's former jeweler, now one of Europe's richest men and a leading patron of the arts and sciences, had made the offer over a year ago and had left it open-ended after Prudentia declined.

  "Your mother is correct, of course," Vlad said. "Even if educating women is a mad enterprise." It was clear from the smile on the prince's bearded face he was joking, but the remark still earned him an affectionate (but quite hard) poke in the ribs from Brandy.

  They talked long into the evening, on every possible subject. Vladimir entertained them with stories of growing up in Muscovy and of Bernie Zeppi's exploits there since leaving Grantville. Martin regaled them with the ongoing saga of his grandmother Veleda Riddle's efforts to undo his ordination as a Celtic Mission priest.

  "She's petitioning William Laud to convince Aidan to join the Church of England and become the Presiding Bishop of the Anglican Communion of the USE. As if Laud could do it even if he wanted to. Besides, there are all sorts of sticky theological issues they could probably never work out. But she's my grandma and I love her."

  They toasted family and fell into smaller knots of conversation. Martin soon left for home and Vlad and Brandy went to their rooms. Prudentia went to bed and Jabe to his desk. Party or no party he had letters to answer and investment proposals to review. Even with a personal secretary-well, a part-time one, anyway-who did a good job at weeding out the junk, Jabe still spent hours at his writing desk.

  Part of him still couldn't get his head around having even a part-time personal secretary. Gerard Spencer was an Englishman who'd dropped out of several medical schools. His parents were at their wits' end and it was an old friend of Artemisia's, Nicolas Lanier, who'd contacted them on the Spencers' behalf. Gerard was very knowledgeable about anatomy and surgical techniques. Dissecting and examining cadavers didn't bother him, but the sight of live, flowing blood made him pass out. Spencer had a real talent for anatomical drawings, though, enough so that he helped teach Artemisia's beginning students the proper proportions and structure of parts of the human body. He also helped Jabe get by in Latin, which Jabe was still learning.

  Jabe wasn't sure when he'd fallen asleep, but a piercing scream from downstairs woke him up. He rushed out into the hall and opened the door to his and Prudentia's bedroom. He wasn't surprised to find the bed empty; the baby often decided to play soccer with her kidneys in the middle of the night. But he was hoping to find her. That would have meant she hadn't screamed. A million horrific pictures flashed through Jabe's mind as he flew down the stairs.

  He found Prudentia huddled in Brandy's arms at the front door.

  "Prudentia! What's wrong? Is it the baby? Should I get Mina?" Wilhemina Schultz was their midwife and lived just a few doors away.

  Prudentia looked up at him, and she was crying. But it was with tears of joy, not pain.

  "He's alive, Jabe. Uncle Giulio is alive!"

  ***

  In all the excitement, the deliveryman from the Imperial Radio Messenger Service stood at the doorway, forgotten. Military and diplomatic traffic had top priority on the airwaves but the quasi-governmental IRMS accepted private messages for transmission as traffic and conditions permitted. The radiogram from Venice was C.O.D. Jabe dug up some money and paid the man, with a generous tip. Looking at the letter he could see that, except for the first sentence, it was in code.

  He was on his way up to wake his sister-in-law Constantia, who had the decoder wheel, when she and most of the rest of the household greeted him at the top of the stairs. Only the cook and house matron Sherry Murray's three month-old daughter Phyllis slept through the commotion.

  "Everything's all right," Jabe said. "We got a radiogram from Venice. Connie, could you get the decoder pin?"

  Artemisia's younger daughter raced off to her room and everyone else crowded down the stairs and into the sitting room, where Prudentia told them the happy news. Vlad left and returned from the kitchen with a bottle of wine, and Sherry went to get glasses.

  Jabe could have sworn he heard a sonic boom as Constantia returned with the decoder pin and codebook. The cipher Giulio used for the radiogram was Constantia's invention; she'd found an old decoder pin that had belonged to Jabe's Grandpa McDougal, a memento of one of his favorite childhood radio shows. Constantia used it as a model to make a decoder pin of her own, and added a second code based on her favorite episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation, the one where Picard meets an alien who speaks in metaphor. The coded messages began as a game between niece and uncle but it sure had come in handy this time.

  The sitting room buzzed with murmured conversation as Constantia decoded. She finished quickly and handed the decoded message to Jabe. He read it aloud.

  "Fled to Florence with Belzoni, made it safely to B. the Y.'s house. He's a great host. The Dubious Diplomat's secretary is with us, as is my new wife Lucia. Love, Giulio."

  Even to Jabe, the message was enigmatic. He knew "B. the Y." referred to Michaelangelo Buonarrotti the Younger, namesake and grandnephew of the Sistine Chapel artist and a leading arts patron in Florence. He'd given Artemisia her first important commissions. But who was the Dubious Diplomat, never mind his secretary?

  "So… he has Cassiano dal Pozzo with him," Artemisia mused out loud.

  "He was secretary to the Dubious Diplomat?" Jabe asked.

  "That refers to His Eminence Francesco Cardinal Barberini, the Pope's brother. No one would call him that to his face, but Francesco was sent to treat with Richelieu, oh, about ten years ago, and the mission ended up being something of a disaster. Dal Pozzo was his personal secretary at the time. Apparently Richelieu played Francesco like a lute."

  "That doesn't sound like Richelieu at all," said Jabe sarcastically. More out of a need to say something than anything else. "And who's Lucia?"

  "If it's who I think it is, she's an old model of mine. Giulio's lucky our father's dead-he wouldn't have approved."

  "What are we going to do, Mama?" Prudentia asked, wiping away tears. "We must bring them here."

  "They may not be able to come," said Vlad. "Granted, I'm no expert on the Italies, but I know something of how difficult politics may tie a ruler's hands. The grand duke may not be able to let them leave their hiding place. Perhaps if someone were to parlay for their safe passage?"

  All eyes turned to Jabe. As head of the household, at least technically, he was the logical choice for the mission.

  "I'm not saying no, but how can I miss the baby being born? My first? Can it wait till September?"

  Artemisia, wisely, tabled the discussion. "We don't have to decide anything tonight. Good decisions are best made on rested wits and full stomachs. Tomorrow night at dinner."

  The discussion went on for a week. Irrationally, Jabe dug in his heels and refused to consider any other option. As they got ready for bed one night, Prudentia sat down and looked at Jabe with a very serious expression.

  "Uh-oh. I know that look."

  "I know being here when the baby is born is very important to you-even if wanting to be in the room with me during the birth is.. . unusual. But is it so important? I wouldn't hold it against you if you weren't here. Not for this."

  Jabe fought down a momentary flare of anger. How many times had he been through this in the last week?

  "Pru, it's not that I don't want to go. But travel isn't exactly safe, not to Italy anyway, with the war still alive and well to the south of us. And if I make it to Florence safely, what then? I may be stuck there with your uncle and dal Pozzo. Hell, the Inquisition could toss me in a dungeon next to Frank and Giovanna Stone. And I'd never get to meet my child."

  "Jabe, beloved," Prudentia said, taking his hands in hers, "my mother's life has been defined by loss. Loss of her honor, thanks to Tassi; loss of her reputation in Florence, thanks to my father's drinking and gambling. Uncle Giulio is the last piece of her family left alive, and Cassiano dal Pozzo helped Mama get back on her feet and re-establish herself in Rome when she had to leave
Florence a step ahead of Papa 's creditors. She would go herself if she could. If you went, it would mean more than the world to her."

  Jabe considered this. It seemed incredible to him that he'd actually known Artemisia Gentileschi personally for less than a year. He'd grown to love and respect her a great deal, and it seemed almost impossible that there was ever a time when he didn't know her. In the world Jabe had grown up in, living into old age was something he took for granted. Tragedies happened, sure, but always to other people. Even after the Ring of Fire, he could maintain the illusion that that was still true.

  The death of Daisy Matheny shattered that illusion for him. He hadn't known the Mathenys, or little Daisy, until after her death from tetanus. Prudentia had accepted a commission to paint a portrait of the little girl, and they'd gotten to know the family. Tetanus was one of those things Jabe never thought about, something cured by a shot and then you were fine. Seeing what happened when there were no more shots was a wrench.

  Still, within the USE Jabe felt safe. Under different circumstances he would have gone to Florence without a second thought. But the prospect of leaving behind a child he would never meet… could he risk that?

  ***

  Jabe was still debating the timing of his departure when a second radiogram came from Italy, this one from Leopoldo de' Medici, inviting him on behalf of both the Accademia del Cimento and the Accademia del Desegno to lecture on the art and science of television. There was now no question of waiting until September before leaving.

  This time, the deliveryman was not an IRMS employee but a moon-faced, bearded man who bore a vague resemblance to Balthazar Abrabanel. Simon Abrabanel was a Florentine and represented the interests of the Tuscan branch of the far-ranging Sephardic family. He was also Grand Duke Ferdinand's residente in Magdeburg.