In High Places

by Bonny G Smith

  “And Ridolfi?” she asked.

  “Released from the Tower,” he said. “Between us, we have devised a plan for Your Grace’s redemption.” Footsteps outside in the corridor caused them both to start; they drew closer. “I fear me I must soon away, Your Grace,” he whispered. “Here is the plan that Ridolfi and I have devised; listen…”

  The Vatican, Rome, February 1571

  Thousands of tiny dust motes danced in a shaft of golden light as the sun made its inexorable journey across the sky. The sunbeam had just peeked through the first of the tall windows of the pope’s audience chamber when Roberto Ridolfi arrived; it was now shining in through the third of seven magnificent embrasures. He had been waiting for almost an hour.

  But Roberto Ridolfi did not mind waiting; he was a patient man. He had learned patience from his wily uncles and from his mother, a formidable Italian matriarch. He had learned, from a young age, that much could be accomplished with the practice of patience, but that without it, much could be lost. So he could wait.

  He had been born into a wealthy Florentine family of bankers who, like the Medici, were worshipped like Gods in their native city of Florence, but were despised outside of it. Had not the daughter of the rich and powerful Lorenzo, Catherine de’ Medici, been taunted when she first went to Paris to marry with the dauphin? And this only for her lack of royalty, of nobility. Merchant’s daughter, they called her, whose money had bought her a crown. And now she was the Queen Mother of France! Her son Charles might sit on the throne and be called king, but all knew who really ruled.

  This was an attitude that he had never understood; did not the world revolve around money? Oh, it was all very well to genuflect and say one’s rosary, to demonstrate that one believed that the world revolved around God; but for one who had been raised to believe that money was paramount, God came second. But of course, he could never tell anyone that he felt this way, especially the pope!

  Roberto studied his hands, soft, bejeweled, well-kept, as if he had never seen them before. The sunbeam disappeared behind the space between the third and fourth windows, and the dust motes ceased their endless swirling. The room would be in shadow until the sun gained the next window.

  He had been a curious, inquisitive boy growing up in fascinating Florence. He was not always attentive at Mass, and sometimes he arrived late for his lessons, due to pursuit of some more interesting flight of fancy. This had resulted in frequent punishments, but to the chagrin of his mother, and the barely concealed amusement of his uncles, this never seemed to bother him very much, and the penalties he suffered and the penances he was set often did not have the desired effect of altering his behavior. Roberto used the time he patiently sat in corners facing the wall, or saying his rosary like a parrot, simply to think. Roberto was a great thinker. He was always dreaming up romantic stories or pretending that he was a great knight, or an eastern potentate.

  This, combined with his keen observation of how patient waiting could result, for his uncles, in exactly the business deal they wanted, cultivated in young Roberto an infinite capacity for waiting for just about anything. As he grew to manhood, this had stood him in good stead, and he could have been quite successful had he simply stayed in Florence and entered the banking business with his uncles. But he had plenty of cousins who would enter the family business. No, he wanted something more. He had an innate sense of adventure that would not be quelled, and so, with the blessing of his mother and the backing of his uncles, he had set out to try his hand at providing financial services to foreign courts.

  When the time came for him to leave Florence, far from clinging to him tearfully and begging him not to go, his mother had declared herself to be very proud of her venturesome son. She, who had barely crossed her own threshold in her own lifetime save to attend Mass in Florence’s magnificent cathedral with its famous Duomo, was fascinated by Roberto’s desire to fearlessly leave his home and travel the world. She was certain that he was destined to be a great man; it was ordained that he would accomplish some great feat, something very significant, something that would be remembered always. But before he embarked upon this great adventure to foreign countries and courts, his mother was adamant that he must do one thing; he must go to Rome and seek the blessing of the pope.

  The name of Ridolfi had given him entre into the Vatican; one never knew when a loan might be needed, and the Ridolfis were bankers of power, with sums at their disposal second only to the Medici. Pope Julius had been favorably impressed with the handsome young Florentine. Not only had he bestowed his blessing upon the young man, but he had trusted him, since he was on his way to the French court, with several papal commissions.

  Subsequent popes had come to rely upon him and had continued using his services, both financial and diplomatic. Pope Paul IV had seen in Roberto himself as a young man, had he not abandoned the secular life for the religious; he was a Medici and so had shown a fellow Florentine especial favor. But it was Pope Pius V who had made Ridolfi a clandestine agent of the Vatican, and then Roberto’s life had taken on a new and definite purpose...the crushing of the Protestants and their Reformation, and the restoration of the true faith to ravaged Scotland and England. Pius had given him twelve thousand crowns for the support of the Northern Rebellion in England in 1569. Roberto had distributed the funds to the Catholics on the pope’s behalf, but the uprising had been forced and ill-timed, and had failed. No fault of his!

  But for Roberto it was the realization of his dream; he had to conceal the fact that he was no religious fanatic and had little interest in Pius’s goals. What he did find stimulating was the intrigue, the danger, the romance of it all. Although he had never met the lady, he became obsessed with the idea of freeing the Queen of Scotland and restoring her to her throne. As her deliverer, he would become her closest advisor, much as Sir William Cecil said to be to Queen Elizabeth. He would be the power behind the throne, king in all but name.

  Oh, of a certainty, the Queen of Scots must needs marry the Duke of Norfolk; His Grace was the premier peer of England and doing so would consolidate Queen Mary’s position in that country. But Norfolk, whom Roberto had recently met for the first time, was, in his opinion, a fool, and no leader of men. He would gladly wear the crown and enjoy the queen’s favors, but it would be Ridolfi who ruled, and unless he missed his guess, Norfolk would be glad of it!

  The duke at first refused to have anything to do with the plot; his spell in the Tower had truly shaken him. Ridolfi had had to rely upon Mary’s devoted servants to smuggle letters for the captive queen in and out of Sheffield Castle, imploring Norfolk to remember his promises to her, before he finally gained the Duke’s agreement to support and participate in the plan. Mary had written at first enthusiastically, then urgently, and finally with no little exasperation and annoyance. Norfolk had been released from the Tower the previous fall into house arrest, but only on the agreement that he sign a bond promising Queen Elizabeth that he would never, henceforth, have anything further to do with the Queen of Scotland or her affairs; and he had taken a solemn oath not to marry her. Norfolk had informed Mary that he meant to sign the bond; house arrest would give him far greater freedom than confinement in the Tower afforded, to pursue their cause. Mary agreed that this was best, and the Duke signed the bond.

  So now Mary wondered at her fiancé’s reticence to take part in Ridolfi’s scheme; had he changed his mind? Did he not want to marry her…? She sent the Bishop of Ross to speak to him, and finally, between them, he and Ridolfi had brought the reluctant duke around to their way of thinking. In the end, Ridolfi had had to threaten the duke that if he would not pursue their plans, then Mary would marry King Philip’s half-brother, Don Juan of Austria. Don Juan was known to be a devout Catholic, and his head itched for a crown; Philip would certainly support the match. And then it would be Don Juan, and not Norfolk, who would sit on the throne of England by Mary’s side.

  This had decided Norfolk; between his burning desire to possess the enigmatic Queen
of Scots and his overweening pride, he had capitulated. Ridolfi had then presented him with a list of instructions in Mary’s own hand, that he was to endorse; this would serve as Ridolfi’s carte blanche to the Continental powers to begin putting their plan in motion. But again, the duke balked and refused to put his name to it. Ridolfi had taken the liberty of signing for the duke; when the day was won and all was in place, Norfolk would have good reason to be grateful to Roberto for his initiative on his behalf. He was sure of it…

  As an agent of the pope, Roberto had, over the years since his departure from Florence, made it his business to ingratiate himself in France, Spain and England; but so far, his contacts had not risen to direct interactions with royalty. He dealt with ministers, assistants, minor nobility in positions of trust and power. But now all that had changed; upon his release from the Tower he had begged Cecil for an audience with Queen Elizabeth herself; he claimed to have a proposal of the greatest importance, for the queen’s ears only. Elizabeth admired his audacity, and like many others before her, thought she saw a little of herself in Ridolfi’s boldness. She agreed to see him, and had accepted his proposal.

  It was simple; he proposed to act as mediator between Elizabeth and the Duke of Alva to restore trade between England and the Low Countries. The rift that had resulted from Elizabeth’s seizure of Philip’s loan from the Genoese bankers had never been fully healed. Ridolfi would make good on a portion of the loan with his Florentine connections, and smooth the still-ruffled Spanish feathers. Trade would be resumed, to the benefit of all. Elizabeth had even offered to pay his travel expenses to Brussels, as a token of her earnestness to heal the breach. Roberto had remarked wryly to himself, as Cecil handed him the bag of golden sovereigns, that the heretic queen would have been much less accommodating had she known what his true purpose was! It was a delicious irony.

  The sun broke through the glass of the fourth window; the dust motes danced merrily once again. Roberto lifted his head and gazed about at the sheer opulence of the room in which he sat. Priceless Flemish tapestries adorned the walls, all of which depicted religious scenes. Gold leaf gleamed from the pilasters and cornices, and the ceiling was painted with exquisite cherubim and seraphim. The marble of the floor was a kaleidoscope of color, and had been laid so as to seem intriguingly three-dimensional. A truly beautiful place in which to await a pope.

  The pope was like a puppet master; he held the strings of all the rulers of Europe, and strove to make them dance to his tune. Soon Roberto would be just such a puppet master. He would hold the strings of England and Scotland, and this would make him a powerful and respected force on the Continent.

  For Roberto Ridolfi, ambition had replaced dreams.

  ###

  The tall double doors opened on silent hinges, and Pope Pius entered the room. He seemed to glide beneath his shimmering white robes. His deep-set eyes squinted with pleasure; the pope’s pale, sallow face, a network of wrinkles, collapsed into a smile.

  “Roberto, Roberto, my son!” he cried, holding out his arms. “How good it is to see you again!” They embraced and exchanged a double kiss. This gesture of the pope’s indicated especial favor; it was only after this fatherly embrace that Pius permitted Roberto to kneel and kiss his ring. Just as he did so, the sun was about to disappear behind another space between the great windows; its slanting rays found the great ruby in the pope’s ring and caused it to glow as if it were on fire. Roberto took this as a sign.

  “Your Holiness,” said Roberto. “I hope I see you well.” The rheumy eyes swam with tears; for all his aplomb, the pope did not look well.

  Pius drew Roberto to the hearth where they sat in front of the fire.

  Roberto took the chair facing the great windows; he liked to watch the dust motes dancing. But the pope’s time was valuable, and even a good friend could not get much of it. There was no time to lose. At any moment a harried secretary was certain to come hurrying into the room, ending their interview on one pretext or another.

  Roberto leaned forward earnestly; Pius did likewise. Their discussions were never made privy to outsiders, not even to those closest to the pope. Secrecy was vital, and it was in this way that Pius was assured that none knew of his clandestine operations. Roberto had proven himself to be completely trustworthy; no other person was needed.

  “The Bishop of Ross assures me that the English Catholics are ripe for insurrection,” said Roberto. “The failure of the previous revolt was unfortunate, but this time, we shall not fail. I have put before the Duke of Alva a plan to seize the usurper Elizabeth and all her heretic Council. Simultaneously, in Scotland, the Protestant Lords shall be seized and executed for the heretics they are. Alva is to send ten thousand soldiers, half to Edinburgh, half to London; he will supply the guns and ammunition. Once the usurper is dead, Mary Stuart will be proclaimed Queen of the British Isles, and to consolidate her position, will marry the Duke of Norfolk. The Catholic faith shall be restored to both countries, which will, henceforth, be ruled as one land, along with Wales and Ireland.” Roberto’s eyes shone with enthusiasm. The dust motes twirled in the last sunbeam that would find the audience chamber that day.

  Pius knew all about the plan; but he wanted to hear it from Roberto’s own lips. The Duke of Alva, in a moment of blind panic, had sent a messenger posthaste to the Spanish ambassador to the Vatican, as soon as Ridolfi departed Brussels for Rome, in an attempt to maneuver around Good Roberto’s plan. The messenger had arrived days ahead of Roberto, and the Spanish ambassador delivered Alva’s messages. The duke had several excuses for why he did not want to support the plot; he had his hands full in the Netherlands; there was a danger to the Queen of Scots if the plan failed; it could wreck the newly agreed resumption of trade between England and the Low Countries; he thought Ridolfi a babbling, chattering fool who did not have the wits to execute such a bold plan. Alva begged the pope to neither bless nor encourage Ridolfi’s harebrained scheme to depose Elizabeth of England.

  What Alva could not have known was that Roberto was Pius’s protégé, one whom he loved almost as a son. But more importantly, at last here was someone who was willing to act upon the bull of excommunication that he had so cavalierly promulgated against the bastard Elizabeth. He had expected the Catholic kings to rise up and wage war on England to reclaim its lost souls for the true faith; but what had the knaves done instead? They had shaken their heads, grumbled at the expense, the timing, the upheaval. King Charles of France and King Philip of Spain had even gone so far as to almost castigate him…him! …for his initiative in seeking to depose the sham Queen of England. And since when did the Holy Father, Christ’s Vicar on Earth, have to seek the permission of mere mortals…? But he was ignoring Roberto, who sat waiting so patiently to hear his reaction to the plan, the dear boy!

  “And the Scots queen and the Duke of Norfolk have agreed to this plan?” he asked.

  “Of a certainty,” replied Roberto. “Most enthusiastically, Your Holiness. I have the queen’s carte blanche to proceed as necessary to effect the revolt. And a list of instructions endorsed by the duke, who is the ostensible leader of the conspiracy.” Of course, he, Roberto was the real leader; the duke was but a reluctant figurehead. No matter. When Mary Stuart sat on the throne of a united Britain, he would be there to ensure her success.

  “And how did the Duke of Alva receive the request for his assistance?” Pius’s eyes took on the intent quality they had when discussing affairs.

  Roberto shifted in his chair. “His Grace was not as enthusiastic as I would have liked,” he said, pursing his lips. “But of course, he is reluctant to commit to such an enterprise without King Philip’s specific mandate. That is understandable.”

  Pius tilted his head to one side fondly, and smiled at Roberto. “And so now you go to Madrid to seek His Majesty’s directive?”

  “I do. Will Your Holiness sanction the plan, and provide a fiat that I may add to the queen and the duke’s carte blanche?” And, he thought, money would not come ami
ss, either, especially if Alva proved stubborn…Roberto had funds in plenty, but they were not unlimited; money was always welcome.

  “Certo, Roberto,” said Pius. “You go to Madrid with my blessing.” And as if the pontiff had read Roberto’s mind, he added, “And I trow that some financial support would be helpful?”

  “Money is always useful, Your Holiness,” Roberto replied with a smile and a sparkle in his eyes. “Else, where would the Ridolfis and the Medicis be, eh?”

  Pius arose; it was the signal that the interview was over. He placed a fatherly arm about Roberto’s shoulder. “You will dine with me this evening?”

  “Of course, Holy Father,” said Roberto. It was a signal honor.

  He had the pope’s ear, and was to dine with His Holiness at the Vatican; he had had personal interviews with Queen Elizabeth, the Bishop of Ross, the Duke of Norfolk, and the Duke of Alva, as cool as he had been to the plan; and soon he would be on his way to see the King of Spain, with the pope’s blessing, and his official sanction in writing, to proceed with the plans to invade England. His cup was full.

  At the door, Roberto and the pope exchanged the double kiss once again. Roberto knelt and kissed the great ruby, and just as he closed the door behind him, the sun finally deserted the last window of the pope’s audience chamber.

  Madrid, Spain, April 1571

  The journey from Rome to Madrid had been long and leisurely; what was the hurry, after all? Summer was the time for war; there was plenty of time. Roberto had no doubt that King Philip would be most enthusiastic about his plan to rid England of the Bastard Elizabeth and place Queen Mary on the throne. Mustering troops and arranging ordnance and supplies took time. If Alva knew what was good for him, he ought to be at this very moment anticipating Philip’s command to get all in readiness for an invasion of England and Scotland.