The Bell Tolls for Me 41: Like Father, Like Son

“Knight-Commander Gaspar. Approach for questioning,” Duke Brett said.

At that, Gaspar walked forth among the assembly of countless nobles from across the realm. The assembly chamber of the royal diet was a hall of sober dignity. Each noble’s seat was marked with their family’s crest, some carved into the wood centuries ago and weathered by generations of attendance. At the center sat Duke Brett, aged and stooped but unshakably composed, his voice carrying with the clarity of one long practiced in fairness.

At the far end, half-shrouded in the gallery’s gloom and flanked by silent holy paladins, King Claude observed from an elevated throne-like chair—not seated in judgment, but as an observer. His presence, though silent, weighed on the room. One hand drummed faintly on the gold head of the armrest while his eyes flicked between barons, bishops, and burghers.

“Your Grace,” Gaspar said, dipping his head to Duke Brett in deference.

“You have been put forth by Archbishop Pius to speak to his merits,” Duke Brett said. “He claimed to wish to set the tone for this adjudication.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” the knight-commander answered.

“Very well then. Speak to the assembled.” Duke Brett gestured behind Gaspar.

The knight commander turned on his heel, facing the tremendous crowd of power mongers in the kingdom. He took a deep breath, gathering his courage. He had stood in judgment of tribunals such as these, but never endured the scrutiny of one. It was enough to make any man waver.

“The archbishop…” Gaspar’s gaze met Pius’. He closed his eyes second later, and took a few deep breaths to calm himself. Nobles watched curiously. “…does not deserve his title,” Gaspar declared loudly.

There was immediate muttering among the nobility. People had expected many vague platitudes, not a condemnation of the very person that they had been sent forward to protect.

“Pius has turned the church into a marketplace, where offices are sold to the highest bidder and justice is bartered for gold. Every decision serves his ambition rather than the gods’ will. No doctrine was sacred, no sacrament untainted—only power, hoarded and traded like any other commodity.”

“What is the meaning of this?!” Pius shouted, rising to his feet in a fury.

The diet immediately fell into chaos, has countless around beta serving of what precisely was happening. Duke Brett’s gavel struck loud and hard, but it was insufficient to quiet it. The first person sent in Pius’ defense turned out to be one of his most vocal strongest opponents. Gaspar kept his eyes fixed on Pius.

Gaspar’s thunderous commander’s voice silenced the hall. “Pius filled the ranks of the cardinals with sycophants and kin, and silenced dissent through fear and bribery. Beneath his rule the flock was milked dry for coin to fund his ambitions, his mistresses, and his bastard's rise. Let no one speak of divine right here—only the rot that festers when faith is used as a ladder by men who never once looked up to the heavens for guidance!”

As the room exploded into chaotic shouting, the knight-commander kept his gaze fixed only on the archbishop. There was a depth of emotion that could scarcely be described. It wasn’t hate—it was something deeper, more complex. But above all, it was acknowledgement. Gaspar was employing the ruthless methods that Pius himself had taught. He’d been watching what Pius had done rather than what he said.

What Gaspar said today was unthinkable to him only weeks ago. He recalled the conversation that had begun all of this.

***

Isabella stared at Gaspar thoughtfully. “Do you want change, Gaspar?” she asked, trying to sound as though they were familiar with one another. It came easily. In another life they were, somewhat.

Gaspar narrowed his eyes. “What prompts that question, Your Highness?”

Isabella didn’t break her gaze. “Change is, by itself, a neutral term. It could signify a time of great advancement, or a time of great hardship. The outcome relies on how you position yourself to weather the supremely powerful winds of change. Change can’t be denied, can’t be resisted. The only thing that you can do is decide how you react to it.”

“I am satisfied with the current arrangement,” Gaspar said, stiff and practiced as if he was used to being solicited in such a fashion.

“Please don’t lie to me,” Isabella said flatly. “If you were satisfied, you wouldn’t have come to Valerio asking for his help in saving those printing houses.” She leaned in.

“I dislike the tenor of this conversation,” Gaspar said, continuing to draw a firm line.

“The fact is, this incident has become too large to be resolved without change. As I mentioned, change is a neutral term. It can be negative, or it can be positive.” Isabella peered into his eyes. “How would you prefer for the church to change?”

Gaspar didn’t respond any longer, standing there rigidly and silently.

“Would you prefer the church to engage in a long and vicious struggle against people that have grievances so legitimate that you would defend them? Or… would you prefer the church admit fault, and acknowledge that there is an infection in the church—an infection that can be cleansed.”

“Pius raised me. He took me from the streets, and brought me up to the position I stand up now.” Gaspar shook his head. “I will not act against him.”

“And do you think that he would extend to you the same courtesy were the roles reversed?” Isabella shook her head decisively. “I know him. He has shown on countless occasions that he is a cruel and ruthless man. He’ll stand by as misery is wrought to thousands if it suits his agenda.”

“And you would have to become him?” Gaspar retaliated fiercely, dormant conflict bubbling to the surface in this moment of confrontation.

“I would ask for nothing more than your help in speaking sense to the cardinals.” Isabella shook her head. “Despite my status, I have far less sway among the people of the church. Their obligations to me are little. You, however, have spent your entire life mired in the church.”

“And why would I do that?” Gaspar shook his head.

“The winds of change are here. Positive, or negative?” Isabella asked. “Which would you desire?”

“I’ve verified your health,” Gaspar said. “I’ll be returning.”

Even though he left hurriedly, Isabella could tell just from a look on Gaspar’s face that the seed had been planted. This was essentially what he had done in her last life—puppeteered the church when it was vulnerable. Now, perhaps, with his character less staunchly pragmatic… good could yet be done.

***

Days passed by, and in visit after visit, Gaspar found himself unable to muster sufficient counters to Isabella’s suggestion. Now…

“We need to act. The winds of change are here. Do we want that change to be positive, or negative?” Gaspar looked between those assembled. “We still have the luxury of choice. The longer that Pius insists on standing up in the middle of this storm, the more that luxury withers away.”

A heavy silence settled over the chamber, thick as incense and twice as stifling. No one moved. A few cardinals sat rigid, their hands folded over decadent rings that suddenly felt too heavy.

“The crowd does not call for justice. They call for blood,” the cardinal declared, looking between several of his fellows. “If we shield him now, we don’t protect the church—we bury it beneath the weight of his sins. For too long, the people have seen the smoke of his feasts while their children starve. To preserve what holiness remains, we must cast out the disease. Better to sacrifice one man than let the people lose their faith.”

“I agree,” one cardinal spoke boldly. “If we don’t give the people this reckoning, they’ll take it for themselves—and they won’t stop at him.”

“I propose that we form a coalition,” Gaspar proposed. “A theocratic faction, to ensure that the rot is purged from our church before it is too late. To ensure that this incident doesn’t damage the authority of the church irreparably. And… to be sure the interests of the faith are represented sufficiently to King Claude.”

***

“The fact is, my father is on his way out.” Cesare said, resting an ankle on his other leg’s knee. “I wanted to let you know that this doesn’t need to be the end of our arrangement. I think I’ve amply proven that anything that you want me to do, I can do. My father’s fall from power… is immaterial.”

“I agree.” Albert gave a curt nod. “The sins of the father are not the sins of the son. You’re very talented at making use of the resources that I provide, and thus, I intend on making good use of you. If it’s just that, we don’t have anything more to discuss.”

Cesare leaned in. “The fact is, I think that we can profit greatly from my father’s downfall. I can handle being the center of attention, and there’s a great deal of wealth that he’s accrued over the years. Wealth… just ripe for the taking.”

“Will this be a laborious endeavor?” Albert inquired. “I need to prepare everything that I have for a slugging match.”

“As a matter of fact, I think that it’ll be of great benefit to you in your fight against Valerio and Archduke Felix.” Cesare smiled boldly. “You can think of it as helping me claim the inheritance of my father intends to leave for me. And given the dire straits that he’s in, he’s in no position to defend himself.”

Albert contemplated that quietly. “And you have no issues working against your father?”

“Not a one,” Cesare said decisively. “He taught me quite well. I like to think he’d be proud of me, but I know him. Someday, he can look down proudly from the heavens. Or the hells, as the case may be.” He smiled, quite pleased with himself.

***

Isabella walked through the wide-open space of the auction house. She looked around, drinking the atmosphere in. The auction house stood just shy of completion, yet already exuded opulence. Dark walnut paneling lined the high walls, interrupted only by tall, arched windows draped in crimson velvet. She studied the gallery boxes above. There, select nobles would soon lounge, drinking wine until they bid to unwise prices.

“That sanctimonious slab of righteousness is approaching,” Randolph complained to her, even though the hall was still.

Isabella looked back to her guard. “Gaspar,” she said, and Randolph nodded to confirm. “How can you tell?”

“Why does the sun rise? Randolph countered. “I simply can.”

Isabella looked around once more. "How do you think this place looks?"

“Like a cathedral built by people who can still drink. Impressive, overdone, and just self-important enough to make you feel poor the moment you walk in,” he remarked. “I’d wager the velvet cost more than my first love. All in all, it’s perfect—gaudy enough to impress, but not so tasteful that it scares away the fools with money.”

Isabella looked at Randolph perplexedly. “You’re very well-spoken.”

“You’re among the first of my employers to appreciate that fact,” Randolph said. “Knowing classic literature doesn’t endear you to men who can’t spell their own names. I've had more than one bunkmate try to brain me for ‘talking like a lord.’ They think I’m mocking them.”

“You probably were,” Isabella remarked.

“Probably,” he agreed. “But only because they made it so bloody easy. In fairness, I also mock myself twice as often… and with better vocabulary. I mock out of habit, not intention. It comes to me like breathing, or disappointing my ancestors.”

The double doors to this grand auction chamber swung open, and the knight-commander walked through alone. He cast a glance at Randolph, then walked to Isabella.

“The coalition is assembled. When the questioning begins, we’ll be ready to…” he looked over to Randolph, hesitant to divulge more

Randolph shook his head. “It’s the same each time—big talk starts, eyes shift toward me, and suddenly I’m being asked to ‘check the perimeter.’” He said mockingly, then turned and walked away. Isabella heard him mutter distantly, “I should start charging by the secret I’m not allowed to hear. Be a bloody lord by now…”

“Your guard is insolent,” Gaspar remarked. “I could arrange a holy paladin to follow you.”

“No thank you. Continue,” Isabella said, gesturing toward him.

“When the questioning begins, Pius’ world will crumble around him, and I will become the face of the theocratic coalition.” Gaspar studied her face. “There’s something I don’t understand. Why are you doing this? How does it serve you?”

Isabella smiled cryptically. “Would you believe me if I said it was for the good of the church?”

Gaspar hesitated a few moments. “No.”

“I believe you’ll be a more… amenable person than Pius,” Isabella said. “All else, I’ll keep to myself.”

Gaspar sighed, nodding. He looked around. “What is this place? Why meet here?”

“Most of the prominent nobles throughout the kingdom are in attendance at this royal diet,” Isabella said. “I believe that it would be a fine time to open the doors of this auction house, welcoming in a very discerning clientele…”

Isabella smiled as all of the pieces fit into place. Gaspar would take the limelight, casting Pius down quickly. She’d gain a very powerful, somewhat friendly person in power. The auction house would open under amazing conditions. And the church would experience upheaval—upheaval that could be capitalized on quite effectively, for someone prepared.

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