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.Nicholas laid it down.He knew Soderini well, by reputation: a clever man, honest, astute, but uninspired.The Republic having suffered much from flights of fancy in the recent years, such a stolid man might serve well.At least the contrast would be refreshing.Nicholas folded the letter up and put it away in his desk.As he was doing this there was a knock on his door.He went to answer it and a young man in a fashionably flat hat invited him down to the workroom, where the young man’s master waited.This was a banker from Florence, a member of the Albizzi bank.Nicholas shook his hand.They exchanged the usual greetings and Nicholas escorted the rich man down to Bruni’s office, where he would have room to sit down.Nicholas himself stood before Bruni’s desk, a sort of proxy.“What may I do to help you here in Rome?”The banker removed his hat, and the young man took it to hold for him.“Messer Dawson, I have been in Naples, and for reasons obvious to us all I am eager to return to Florence as soon as possible.I have certain letters to be delivered here in Rome and elsewhere.If you will do me the great favor of seeing to their delivery, I shall be the sooner on my way to Florence.”“I shall do as you require, Excellency.”The banker took a thick packet of papers from his coat and gave them to the young man, who conveyed them to Nicholas.The banker folded his arms over his chest.“There are five letters.Four are a simple matter of taking them on to the name written on the front.The fifth requires a certain delicacy.”Nicholas made a noncommittal sound in his throat.He laid the packet down behind him on the desk.The banker stared at him a moment.“The Orsini are great enemies of our Florentine state, as you well know.”Nicholas made another throaty noise, this one signifying understanding.He said, “I have contacts with the Orsini.”“We know that,” the banker said, acidly, “which is why I have trusted you.However, it’s not so simple as that.If Florence hates the Orsini, the Orsini are none too pleased with Florence.It might prove embarrassing to the recipient of my letter if his family knew of this correspondence.”“I understand.”“I happen to know that Gravina will be at San Leo Fortress in Urbino within the month.You will arrange to have the letter sent there.”“Gravina,” Nicholas said, stupid.“Yes, the letter is for the Duke of Gravina.”“I shall see that it arrives there,” Nicholas said.“Very good.” The banker rose.Again he and Nicholas shook hands, and this time Nicholas shook the hand of the young man, who turned out to be the other man’s son.They left.Nicholas shut the door behind them and let out his breath in a windy sigh.“Has Gravina any reason to visit San Leo, sometime in the next month?” Nicholas asked.“Any good reason?”Miguelito frowned at him.“San Leo.The fortress in Urbino?”Nicholas nodded his head.They were standing off to one side of the Pope’s sitting room, where surrounded by their familiars the Borgias were playing cards.Directly under a clump of blazing candles was Stefano’s burnished head.He was playing tarocco with the Pope himself, and smiling, obviously winning.Miguelito was pulling on his moustaches.His wrist was flea-bitten above the frayed cuff of his shirt.“He has not been assigned there, if you mean that.”“I have been told to send a letter to him there.By a Florentine with Orsini connections.”“You think this has something to do with the La Magione meeting?”“I put that color on it, yes.San Leo is a key fortress.I think they are conspiring to drive Valentino from the Romagna.”“They.Who are they?”Nicholas shrugged his shoulders.“All his captains seem to be implicated.Whoever is the ringleader would have offered the suggestion to them all, and not one of them has come to Valentino to report it.Has anyone come?”“No.” Miguelito scratched furiously at his wrist, his face drawn tightly into a frown.“Who is the ringleader? Gianpaolo?”“I do not know the man.Nor any other of Valentino’s captains.”“The meeting is on Monday,” Miguelito said.Nicholas looked across the room again at Stefano, in time to see Valentino just settling himself into a chair at the table, and he took in a deep breath.He hoped Stefano had the sense to lose.He yearned to go over and watch the playing.Miguelito was eying him unpleasantly.“Your logic is flawless, as usual,” Miguelito said.“But what does it stand on—three letters with no address and one letter with the wrong one.”Nicholas was edging away from him.“By your leave.” He started across the crowded room toward the gaming table, and Miguelito sauntered after him.Stefano was sitting there with the Pope, Valentino, the Pope’s friend Adriano Corneto, and a Spanish Cardinal far along in his wine.Valentino had the cards and was dealing them.Nicholas took up a place behind Stefano, where he could watch the play as Stefano saw it.He knew the game very little.The gaudy cards were meaningless to him.Other elements of the game fascinated him: the deft economy of the gestures of the players, the repetition of the sounds, of cards sliding on one another, coins clinking.The players spoke in a sort of code.Nicholas enjoyed the purity of this form, a ritual in and of itself, like mathematics.He understood why folk believed the cards could tell the future.It was hard to believe such an intricate miniature world could have no purpose but to rearrange a supply of money.Valentino dealt several times
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