Eleazaro Justo San Martin y Sobrano stood in the middle of the printing room of Eclipse Press, his arms folded, his sword swinging at his side. His doublet was of black suede piped in gold, his hose were mid-thigh length, of studded, stiffened black-painted linen, his leggings were gunmetal-gray, his shoes were black and buckled in gold. "You claim that you have not broken the law, Senor?"
Saint-Germain achieved a partial smile, addressing him in Castillian Spanish. "I am properly addressed as Grav, Capitan, and I am certain I have not broken the law; not any law in Amsterdam, in any case, which, I recall, you do not control." He, too, was in black, but his clothing-today in the Venezian style to emphasize his foreignness-gave an impression of elegance instead of threat. Rather than his silver-linked collar with its pendant eclipse in silver and black sapphire, he had fixed a single, square ruby at the base of his soft Italian ruff; the left hand was gloved, the right bore only his signet ring on his Mercury finger.
"Not specifically, no, but we do control Antwerp, where you have another press, and that one has suspended publication while their works-your works, Grav-are investigated, and your men questioned about your practices," said Capitan Sobrano. He nodded toward the window and the east-southeast, in the general direction of Antwerp. The high window was open to let in the timid warmth of the day, and to provide a fair quantity of limpid northern light; the tools and equipment were all clean and in order and the stacks of paper near the press were so luminous they seemed to glow from within.
"Yes; so I was informed by private courier yesterday morning. And to think the Antwerp press has only just released The Life of Frederick the Wise, Elector of Saxony; the first copies went on sale six days ago. Come now: the Church could hardly object to the life of a man who so admirably upheld his faith, since his namesake is about to rule there." Saint-Germain inclined his head slightly, as if to respect the late ruler. "Frederick the Wise deserved his cognomen."
"He also supported Luther and other Protestants," the Spanish officer observed. "If you intend to promulgate tolerance for heresy it is hardly surprising that you have no one-"
"I have no such intention, although I do admire Frederick's permissiveness, for he would have had war with his own subjects had he been more strict, a prudential stance Charles' brother would do well to emulate," Saint-Germain said, glancing around his printing room and turning his palms up to show he had nothing to do or say about the lack of industry there.
"Better for his soul had he stamped out the heresy before it took root. As it is, his people may be lost to the Protestants." The Capitan's pointed beard angled outward to emphasize his intention.
"I fear most of your censure stems from a misunderstanding of Eclipse Press," said Saint-Germain, doing his best not to stray into matters of dogma. "If my printers and binders were here, they could confirm the plans I have for the future; they certainly know which books we are preparing for sale, and which are planned to be prepared during the next year-assuming we can find sufficient paper for our needs. The warehouse that burned last week had just received eleven bales of paper-but I suppose you know that?"
"A great misfortune," said the Capitan, gloating.
Saint-Germain let this pass. "You may take my future plans from what I have done in the past: if you would look about you, you would see that I have no titles more outrageous than a collection of variations on folk tales, which is planned for this spring, and which contains nothing more offensive than the stories peasants tell. After that, I am considering a book of maps of the Papal States and the Two Sicilies." He did not add that he had drafted the maps himself.
"Yes," said Capitan Sobrano with a faint, unpleasant laugh. "If they were here."
"This amuses you?" Saint-Germain's self-composure concealed his alarm.
"It must, for, as you say, it bears so directly on your plans." He actually laughed aloud. He walked down the length of the printing room, touching the press as he passed. "You see, on the authority of the Emperor and the Pope, your men have been detained: pressmen, binders, typesetters, compositors, leather-workers, embossers, goldsmiths and gilders, the lot of them. For the sake of public security, they will be subjected to examination, and if we are satisfied that they have not contributed to civil unrest or to religious error, they will be released."
Saint-Germain kept his temper in check, knowing this man wanted to goad him into ill-considered remarks. "I am surprised that you were allowed to do so."
"Why should that be? The Church is strong here, and there are so many Protestants that they are at one anothers' throats: Calvin's adherents, disciples of Luther, Anabaptists, and even a few followers of Hutter-all of them competing to corrupt the most souls. God and the Pope must be rejoicing to see such folly, for surely these heresies will end through mutual antagonism. Our garrison is here in support of the Church, sparing the city's officials the need to endorse what we do." He stopped next to the bindery tables and picked up an awl. "There are some ignorant men who might mistake this for a weapon."
"They would have to be very ignorant indeed," said Saint-Germain, able to remain affable in spite of his increasing dismay.
"A man like you has the wherewithal not to have to remain here. Your printers and binders and the rest will probably be released, but who knows what accusations they may lay at your door, Senor Grav, in exchange for their liberty and the liberty of their families? There is always work for an honest tradesman, but the activities you have undertaken may cast doubts upon them, and they will not want that, for themselves, their families, their Guilds, and their city." He set the awl down again, not bothering to align it with the other tools. "If you close this business and leave, no smirch would stick to your character, for, as you say, the Crown has compromised authority here."
"Except such flight would sting me mercilessly-worse than anything you might persuade the courts to do to me. I would deplore my lack of integrity, and that would cause me great anguish, so I fear I must remain here until I am satisfied none of my workers will face punishment on my account," said Saint-Germain. "Your warning is much appreciated, as is your intent, but I fear I must remain, to see that no injustice is visited upon those who work for me; I have no wish for anyone to suffer on my account." He indicated the door that led out into the small shop at the front of the printing room. "I thank you for your concern, Capitan. I will take all you say into consideration, and I will be at pains to see that those in my employ are afforded the full protection of the law."
This had not been the Capitan's purpose at all, but he did his best to reclaim what he could of his offensive. "You might want to tend to your own situation first: these men may not be worthy of your support."
"I will not know until I support them, will I." Saint-Germain began to draw on his fine Italian glove, the black leather supple and glossy. "You have acted on your purpose, and I have listened to what you wished to tell me. Unless you have something more to say, our business is concluded. Now all that remains is for each of us to proceed as we think best." He held the door for the Capitan-an almost unheard-of courtesy-adding, "I will send a note to your superiors, commending you for coming to me."
Capitan Sobrano glowered. "There is no need for you to do that, Senor Grav."
"That, I believe, is for me to decide," said Saint-Germain, making a gesture to indicate the cramped shelves of the shop. "While you're here, if you wish to make an inventory of what I offer for sale, I will be willing to wait while you do; if you would prefer to attend to this another time, you must pardon me, but I had best be about the task of finding other printers and binders. I have a schedule to maintain." He had gone to the front door to close the shutters on the front windows.
"You may find that a more difficult task than it was before, given the state of publishing in Amsterdam, and the desires of Emperor Charles and the Church. As to the inventory, I will attend to that later; one of the clerks will come to inspect your shelves; I haven't the time for such tasks," said Capitan Sobrano, his gaze flicking contemptuously about the room; Saint-Germain realized that the Capitan was very nearly illiterate for he made no attempt to read any of the titles in front of him, not even the two in Spanish.
"Then I will detain you no longer," said Saint-Germain, opening the door to the street.
The Capitan stepped onto the narrow street fronting the canal. "You have given me much to think about."
"As you have given me," said Saint-Germain, fixing the lock on the door-latch before turning away from the Spaniard and striding along in order to conceal the vertigo the nearness of the canal caused him, and the general disorientation he suffered surrounded by so much running water. He was aware that the Capitan was watching him, looking for any weakness he might report; this was more than Saint-Germain was willing to concede, and so he kept on steadily, taking advantage of the first corner to go left, down the alley along the flank of the new little church dedicated to the Holy Trinity. Once certain that the Capitan was not behind him, he slowed down to a strolling pace and began to review the short discussion in his thoughts; why had the Capitan visited him, beyond the desire to gloat? Why had his workmen been detained, and what help could he provide them without increasing their danger? Who had reported his press to the Church, or had the Church been watching him as a matter of course, as it had many others? So preoccupied was he that he nearly walked into a tall, portly man in a stained and patched leather doublet and Italian-style hose. "Pardon," he said in Dutch, and then in French. He could not make out the man's features, which were partially obscured by the wide brim of his leathern hat and the general disorder of his hair.
The big man seemed nonplussed. "E niente," he said-it's nothing-in a Venezian accent, backing up as if to get away from him.
Saint-Germain was startled to hear that tongue spoken in this place, and began to apologize for not using his language. "I have offended you; I ask your pardon for it. I should have noticed your shoes-only Veneziani wear such shoes, or has that-"
"The Grav is mistaken," the man muttered brusquely in dreadful Flemish.
"Let me assure you that I meant no insult," Saint-Germain persisted, wondering suddenly how this stranger knew his rank and now determined to learn more. "I'll stand you a drink for-"
But the man faded back into the shadows of the alley, slipping away in a silence that was unnerving in such a large fellow.
Saint-Germain watched him go, his night-seeing eyes less hampered by the darkness than most living men's; he saw the big man enter the church by the narrow door usually reserved for clergy. "Strange," he whispered in his native language. Little as he wanted to admit it, he was as much disquieted by the discovery of this Veneziano as he was by the threats of Capitan Sobrano. He resumed his walk homeward, arriving there five minutes later, feeling slightly queasy from crossing three bridges on his way. Ordinarily he would have taken a slightly longer route that would have spared him one of the bridges, but today speed seemed more essential than comfort.
He entered the house using his key without bothering to raise the knocker. Stepping into the vestibule and then into the long corridor, he found his steward, Bogardt van Leun, bringing a tray with fresh hand-rolls, butter, and a large cup of ale to the front parlor. "Van Leun," said Saint-Germain, startled to see his steward on this errand.
"Grav," said van Leun, almost equally startled. "I beg your pardon. I didn't hear you knock."
"Because there was no knock to hear. I used my key," said Saint-Germain, then indicated the tray van Leun was carrying. "I gather from this bounty that there is company?"
"Yes; an advocate has called. He says that you have retained his services," said van Leun.
"Rudolph Eschen," said Saint-Germain. "I had not expected to see him so soon."
"So he told me," said van Leun. "Your man Ruthger instructed me to admit him and get him some refreshment, and then he left to go to your-"
"To Eclipse Press," Saint-Germain finished for him.
"I should have thought you would have encountered him on your way," said van Leun.
"I came by different streets than I usually do," said Saint-Germain, nodding to the parlor door that was slightly ajar. "Let us not keep Advocate Eschen waiting."
"As you say, Grav," van Leun responded, using his elbow to open the door. "Grav Saint-Germain," he announced as he stepped through the door.
Rudolph Eschen was an imposing man: tall, broad-shouldered, crag-faced, with keen, clever eyes the color of Chinese turquoise. He was well-dressed in somber dark-brown; the broad collar of his chamarre was of marten-fur, but lacked any fripperies of fashion that would detract from his dignity. At thirty-seven, he was at the height of his powers, and he knew it. Rising to his feet, he offered Saint-Germain the suggestion of a bow. "Grav. I am relieved to see you."
"If you mean that some of my employees have been detained by Church officials, I share your relief." He gestured to his steward to put down the tray, then said, "Thank you, van Leun."
Van Leun obeyed the implicit dismissal, and withdrew from the parlor.
"Please." Saint-Germain indicated the tray. "I am not presently hungry."
"Very kind of you," said Eschen, sitting once again on the straight-backed settee. "I heard about the detention not an hour ago, and as soon as I was at liberty, I came here, to offer my services." His eyes crinkled. "I have accepted your payment, so it is fitting that you avail yourself of my talents."
"Very true," said Saint-Germain. "I am worried for the safety of those in my employ-all of them, not just those working at the press, for it seems to me that everyone is at risk, no matter how exemplary their lives. I know how these inquiries tend to spread, and how insinuation transforms into known fact as the questioning continues to expand."
"I have already filed a petition on behalf of your workers that they not be turned over to the Secular Arm without a hearing," said Eschen. "It is just a beginning, but it puts the Church authorities on notice that they must do their work in public view, which is to our advantage."
"Providential," Saint-Germain approved with an ironic twist to his lips. "I thank you for your efforts."
Eschen did not quite laugh, but there was a trace of amusement in his hewn visage that indicated he appreciated Saint-Germain's wit. "No court in Amsterdam will approve of handing anyone over to the Church for torture. Not even the Catholics would want such a thing to happen, certainly not here, in public view. There's too much unrest in the city as it is; if there is any incident, no matter now minor, that touches off the people, there will be riots and worse."
"Unfortunately, I concur," said Saint-Germain, his expression settling into grim lines. "I am concerned for the writers whose works I publish: they could well be caught in this lunacy."
"So they might." Eschen took a sip of the ale. "I will have my clerks prepare letters for any you stipulate, and I will send them instructions on how to proceed if they are asked to present themselves to Church authorities. If they are taken without notification, then I will act as soon as I receive word from you to proceed on their behalf. I will put this petition before the judges by the middle of June; I doubt they will hear the matter sooner. You may want to appoint a member of your household to be your messenger to me; one of the lesser servants would be best, as they're the least likely to be detained themselves." He reached for a hand-roll. "The Guilds are already in an uproar over the various Catholic and Protestant efforts to make the Guilds include oaths of faith as part of their membership conditions." He broke the roll in half and paddled a helping of butter onto the soft white bread. "The Master of the Joiners' Guild has said that a hammer is a hammer and it strikes the same, whether a Catholic or a Protestant or a New World native wields it."
"If he works as precisely as he speaks, he is most deserving of his position," said Saint-Germain.
"The Spanish may hold it against him," said Eschen. "And the Emperor cannot deny the Spanish some satisfaction, being their King."
"Unrest leads to difficult situations at the best of times," said Saint-Germain, memories of Lo-Yang and Thebes, Roma and Fiorenze, Avignon and Delhi, and places with names long forgotten, simmering in his thoughts.
"Truly." Eschen began to eat, nodding his approval of the hand-roll. "This is really delicious. Aren't you going to have some?"
"Alas, no," said Saint-Germain. "Those of my blood tend to require a very limited diet."
"Then I hope you won't mind if I take my fill?" Eschen smiled as he bit into the other half of the hand-roll.
"Please do," said Saint-Germain, leaning back on the mantel of the fireplace, his shoulders touching the enameled wood. He watched the advocate eat, saying nothing until the ale was almost gone and Eschen's attention was once again directed toward him. "Regarding your concerns about the temperament of the city, there is a spice merchant in Calais, a cousin of Hendrik van der Meer, whose ships anchor in this port: he-the cousin-has written to van der Meer that the danger of travel now includes risk of being taken as a heretic, or set upon by rebellious peasants, not in Germany or Spanish territory alone. Does it seem so to you?"
"There are examples of such things reported everywhere," said Eschen, wiping his mouth with the linen strip provided for him. "You are hardly the only man in Amsterdam to be under scrutiny just now."
"I did not assume I was," said Saint-Germain, nonetheless feeling relieved that he had nothing more to deal with than any other publisher in the city. "Have you any idea why their attentions should light upon me, beyond the bounds of chance?"
"Not specifically, no; or not any I might suppose would bring about such examination. But I did discover one thing: it appears that a widow, the Widow Rukveldt, living near Saint Bartholome's Church, reported to her Confessor that she had had impious dreams of you, and wished to repent of her dreams, and of the sins you and she committed in her sleep. Do you know her?"
"If she is the young woman with the very light hair and greenish eyes whose husband was a silversmith, then I have met her on perhaps six occasions; at fetes and processions and the like-much as I have met any number of women whose houses front the canals of this quarter. A handsome woman in her way, and of strong character." There had been more private meetings and greater revelations, but they occurred while the Widow Rukveldt slept, and he kept that to himself. "What has she said about her dreams?"
"Only that they cause her many sins of the flesh. It distresses her that you are in them," said Eschen. "Or so the secretary of the court told me. As a follower of Luther, he is opposed to acting upon unsubstantiated complaints."
"How, in the name of good sense, could they substantiate her claims? These are modern times, not two centuries ago, when men could be imprisoned for their dreams, and termites could be sued for eating part of a church." Saint-Germain shook his head.
"They need some more information regarding you and your habits, to see if there is anything in your nature that could account for her accusations. I am of the opinion that your foreignness and your wealth are sufficient explanation, but the courts may not agree. That is why all your staff has been taken in charge of the judges-at the order of the Church. Despite Protestant objections, the men lack the wherewithal to pay the bond the judges have set for their release-"
Saint-Germain was pleased that he had taken the precaution of making gold and silver in his athanor during April, for he was certain he now had a sufficient supply of the precious metals to provide the bond required. "Where have they taken my workers? Are they in prison, and if they are, whose prison are they in-the Church's, the Protestant's, or the city's?"
"They have been detained in one of the larger Catholic churches, I believe. I'll find out which by noon tomorrow." Eschen faltered, clearing his throat. "So far, as I understand it, they have not been harmed. The Church clerks are questioning your men to see if the widow is a tool of the Devil, offering lies to the ruin of good Christians, or if she has been bewitched, and if she has, by whom." He regarded Saint-Germain narrowly. "Have we anything to fear in such context?"
Saint-Germain opened his hands. "Nothing that I can think of," while he inwardly cursed himself for visiting the woman in her dreams four times. "Is she in any danger?"
"If she is lying, or if they decide she's lying, of course she is." Eschen drank the very last of his ale. "And if she has any claim to witchcraft, she may well be burned. Does that change what you told me?"
"No, not as such; I have no reason to suppose she is a witch," said Saint-Germain, wincing at a sudden, sharp recollection of the Piazza della Signoria in Fiorenze, where Suor Estasia walked into one of the pyres to burn, and Dukkai with her throat cut; he coughed. "But it troubles me that she could suffer because of what she has said, and about dreams. All living men and women dream. That does not mean she has committed diabolic acts, because she dreams. Whatever else she is, she is not a witch," he reiterated emphatically.
"How can you be sure of that?" Eschen challenged.
"Because she is a mother and she would not be likely to expose her children to the dangers of witchcraft, not with her husband dead and no relatives in Amsterdam who would take them in," said Saint-Germain, choosing the most common argument offered in defense of accused widows.
"There are those who would say that her widowhood is what has inclined her to witchcraft, to protect her family, however damnably," said Eschen, the habits of advocacy inclining him to put himself at cross-purposes to Saint-Germain for the sake of anticipating arguments.
"They would be wrong in this woman's case," said Saint-Germain.
Eschen held up both his hands. "Grav, let us extricate you from this coil before we turn too much attention to the one who caused it."
"Very well, but she is not to be abandoned," Saint-Germain told him.
"I will do what I can to be sure she comes to no harm, but I cannot promise to protect her to your disadvantage. I am pledged to uphold your best interests first and foremost." He leaned back on the settee. "I have a notion that we would do well to go voluntarily to the public courts and offer a statement under oath that will proclaim you to be a man of rectitude and morality. They are summoning that woman whose book you have published-"
"Erneste van Amsteljaxter?" Saint-Germain ventured, although he knew it could be no other; he managed to keep the alarm out of his voice.
"That's she," said Eschen. "If we give a-"
"But what can they suspect her of doing?" Saint-Germain interrupted.
"What else: seduction and corruption," said Eschen.
"They believe that I seduced her?" This seemed impossible, especially after all the care he had taken to be sure the proprieties were observed.
"No; of course not. They think that she has seduced and corrupted you," said Eschen, and stared as Saint-Germain burst into rare laughter. "Why do you find that amusing?"
"Because it is-very," he answered. "Her aunt Evangeline, who is an Assumptionist nun, has always accompanied her as a chaperone, and I have been at pains to avoid the least hint of indecorum. Or do the good clerics think one of their own has encouraged her niece to debauchery?"
Eschen considered this and nodded slowly. "I hope this is true, for if it is, such precautions as you have taken may stand you in good stead. Though some of the Assumptionists have been aiding the women who are adding to the city's unrest, and that may count against her."
"That trouble with the wool-workers?" Saint-Germain asked.
"Yes: not that it should concern us now." Eschen made a quick motion with his hand and sat forward to indicate they had other matters to discuss. "You said you were chaperoned while the woman was here. Can you tell me who can verify your claim? Not your manservant, since he's as much a foreigner as you are, but someone familiar with this city."
"My steward-who is from Amsterdam-can vouch for both of us." Saint-Germain pondered what Eschen had said. "Would you like to talk with him while you are here?"
"Yes, but not just yet; there are more immediate matters for us to discuss."
"Hardly surprising," said Saint-Germain, his expression taking on a wry cast.
"You may well find this amusing, Grav," Eschen warned him. "But do not assume it cannot touch you, or cause you damage. This is something much more mercurial than it looks, and that is where the danger lies. Depending upon which way the public sentiment turns, your circumstances may be advantageous or disastrous, and there is no way to determine how it will go, or how quickly. I will work with as much haste as I can, but you must remember that most of what is going to happen is out of my hands. I'll do what I can to check the damage, but the law puts limitations on my efforts, and on yours." He put his elbows on his knees and looked up at Saint-Germain. "You will need to be prepared."
"For what?" Saint-Germain inquired, thinking back to other times and other places to similarly volatile times.
Eschen nodded twice, signaling his satisfaction with the question. "That, my dear Grav, is what we must attempt to sort out."
Text of a letter from Giovanni Boromeo in Venezia to his patron, Franzicco Ragoczy, Conte di Santo-Germano, in care of Germain Ragoczy, Grav Saint-Germain, in Antwerp, written in the Venezian dialect, delivered by courier eleven days after it was written, and carried by private messenger four days later to the Eclipse Trading and Mercantile Company warehouse in Amsterdam.
To the most esteemed foreigner, Franzicco Ragoczy, Conte di Santo-Germano, through the good offices of your kinsman in Antwerp, the urgent greetings of Giovanni Boromeo, printer of Venezia, who beseeches Your Excellency to reply as quickly as possible, and with full answers to the questions I put to you, for even if the information is troublesome, it is preferable to the continued silence I have had from you in regard to my last six letters.
I have taken in your page Niccola, and one of your footmen, but with the falling revenues of this press, I fear I cannot extend myself any further than I already have, although I have attempted to find other situations for all but four of your servants. I wish this were not necessary, that there was some way to keep the household intact, but such is not sustainable any longer, and unless you have reserves unknown here, your house in Campo San Luca may well have to be sold before the end of the year. As it is, I am using my own savings to keep our publishing work on-going. I cannot continue in this fashion for more than five months, and then I will have to resort to the same kind of economies that have overtaken Pier-Ariana Salier, which would mean curtailing our publishing schedule still more stringently than I have done already.
Even though your fortune was lost in the Lisbon earthquake, as your business factor tells us, the least you could do is to inform those of us still in your employ what likelihood there is of you making a recovery, and when. I am willing to do all within my power to maintain our publication program, but if I am to do this, I must have some money or none of my printers will work for me, as their wages would be uncertain. I know you left a certain amount of money on deposit with the Savii, but that it is to be used for taxes, and so I can only point to it as proof of past earnings. So far, all reports from Gennaro Emerenzio are discouraging at best, and he can give us no assurance that you are ever going to regain even a portion of the wealth you once had.
The news from the Spanish Netherlands is hardly more heartening than the news from Lisbon. It is as if all the world has run mad, with the full consent of the Kings of the earth and the Pope. Perhaps there is a devilish contagion from the New World that has entered into the people of Europe and made them all crazed, for surely the situation among the Catholics and Protestants has become dire. Emerenzio has informed us that he has had no direct communication from you for months, and that he fears you may have become a victim of the fighting that we are told rages in many northern cities. He has pledged to try to discover if this is the case, or if you have been made a prisoner by the Protestants, and to do what he may to secure your release, if you are being held on charges.
I pray this reaches you, and that you will finally provide an answer to all these questions that have mounted up so troublingly. I hope that you may yet deliver your press from ruin, and regain the elegance of living that you possessed but a year ago. I trust that as your ships return from their voyages their cargos may serve to restore your fortunes and lead to greater wealth for you. May God grant you a return to good fortune, and to Venezia, where you are sorely needed.
In all duty and respect,
Giovanni Boromeo
master-printer
At Campo San Proccopio, Venezia, this 1stday of June, 1531
