Game Log

Viscount

Game Date: 06/16/06
La dolce vita is sweeter for some than others; the presentation before the Prince.

Terdi, Quintus 11

After breakfasting in their suite, the Donati emerged in force to wander the palace and see if Marco couldn't introduce them to some of his - or his father's - old acquaintances. They located Gianfranco Mondelli first. Neatly dressed and about Salvador's age, the young man was a son of another Lord's Hand - and was pleased to report that he was now one himself. Moreover, he bragged that he was now on good terms with Marchese Gallisus and had excellent prospects. He asked the Donati what had brought them to the island, and they said only that they were trying to arrange a marriage for Anna. That raised his eyebrows, since word had already come down that Tigran was to wed her.

Francesca asked to be favored with a story about Marco from "back when." Gianfranco - politely avoiding her eyes but smiling just a little to confidentially - proceeded to relate the story of Marco's fifteenth birthday and the ungainly courtesan Antonio had found for his son. Too much rouge, a little too skinny, and a fake Montaigne accent. And of course poor Marco wasn't sure if he should be glad to have a courtesan with him, or embarrassed that his father had picked her out, or that he had picked this one out. And then... but Gianfranco realized that the rest of the story wasn't suitable for mixed company and let it go.

As if the story reminded him of something, he asked to be excused to speak privately with Marco for just a moment. Francesca discreetly watched, reading lips. She had a better view of Marco's, who wanted to know what in the Abyss Gianfranco was thinking in telling that story. He shrugged. "She's not your wife," he pointed out, then leaned close to ask his question. Marco nodded, then shook his head. "No, everything's good now. It's all right. The brothers are all right."

Of course Antonio's old friends remembered that his brothers had been doing their level best to kill him.

Reassured, Gianfranco (whose friendly manner was exactly the same before and after this exchange) now made the offer to the gentlemen for cards with himself and Gallisus. Father Donati demurred, of course - priests could not play for money. But Marco and Salvador said that they'd be there. Gianfranco also helpfully told them where to go to meet up with Niccolo, who would be happy to see Marco again. As the Donati filed down the corridor, Salvador lingered just a moment to ask Gianfranco if he could arrange for Jonquil, the birthday courtesan, to be there. The Hand had smiled widely. "Oh, don't worry. She will be there."

Niccolo was a half-Eisen, well over six feet tall and broad across the shoulders. He was of Antonio's generation, and was indeed pleased to see the boy he'd helped train. The subtleties of court were lost on Niccolo. He had polite, ready phrases of greeting and welcome and certainly didn't embarrass himself or his prince with an uncouth manner, but he was far from polished. He was in an excellent mood - just yesterday, he'd made a public example of a Villanova informer. The ladies had to step away before he'd relate the story, which he told with enthusiasm. Niccolo loved his job.

The Donati stopped for lunch. Father Angelo and Pietra left, to make contacts with the local churches. The island had two archbishops, almost twenty bishops, and two hundred parishes crowded in it - and a goodly number of those were here, packed into Chiarisa. Perhaps thinking of Pietra, Father Donati went looking for an orphanage or other such work of charity. He found a hospital down by the canals, trying to contain an outbreak of cholera before it became epidemic. He offered his services as a doctor to the monks, over Pietra's protests that sick people were something they should leave alone. He got the monk to talking about the situation and what was being done for it, and it became clear that he shouldn't be working as a doctor - he should be working as an emissary.

With so many parishes and so many bishops packed elbow to elbow, the fights for prestige and precedence made the guild fights over the Sant' Ambrogio Prophets' Mass parade back in Monfalcone look like an children's squabble. Everything was contested, hotly. The monks' own bishop didn't seem to care to send them extra money to help contain the outbreak, and he was preventing other bishops from aiding them - lest they think that gave them some claim on the hospital and their bishop's lands, probably. Which it probably would, but right now they just needed more resources.

Father Donati, casting himself as a outsider uninvolved in the local politics and simply working to care for Theus's children, got to work. The effort would take most of his time for the weeks to come.

Back in the palace, Gianina and Francesca found invitations to an afternoon tea waiting for them. The ladies of the palace gathered themselves together to socialize - one of the few recreations readily available to them. Courtesans played cards with the men, went dancing with the men, went to the opera with the men. Once in a great while - when their husbands thought about it - such amusements were made available to the strega. But they mostly kept to themselves, strolling about the palace gardens and having teas and other gatherings.

Upon entering the salon, they found it obviously segregated. The strega sat or lounged on plush sofas in the center, servants hovering around with hot carafes and plates of nibbles. The Senzavista - vedova, mostly, and some unmarried sisters or daughters - sat quietly on chairs in the corners of the room, helping themselves to plates and teapots that were just left on tables. Although Gianina made to usher her sister into that center spot in the room, Francesca took herself to a corner. Best to not make such waves just yet.

The strega were merrily vicious. It is hard to keep secrets from Fate Witches, especially from bored Fate Witches who have little else to do but spy on other people's strands. They already knew whose husband had the gambling problem and whose brother was on the outs with the prince. There was little reason to deftly approach such topics, to subtly ferret out evidence for or against the rumors. They'd seen the strands and they knew. So, dispensing with preliminaries, they just laid into each other, measuring status by how well each could use that information to attack others and defend herself, to make allies and identify enemies.

Gianina was a newcomer, of uncertain strength and with strands that no one had had time to closely examine. They left her largely alone as they sized her up in between verbal jabs, until one young, bold Clotho finally sat down to introduce herself and ask what business the Lady Donati had. "Nothing much," Gianina had said softly over her tea. "I stopped to talk with Beatrice Caligari on the way down, and - "

"You did not!" the Clotho exclaimed, scandalized by what she assumed was a bold-faced lie. Nobody talked to Beatrice Caligari.

One of the few Atropos in the room, who held themselves a bit apart, unfocused her eyes and indeed, found strands that went to Caligari coming from Lady Donati. She had expected Swords but found Rods instead, and forebore from commenting on that. But she vouched for Gianina - she most certainly had made some kind of contact with the Caligari witch.

"Why...?" the inquisitive Clotho stammered.

"I saw something. Something new," Gianina replied. There was quiet for a moment before the conversations snapped decisively back to where they had been. No one was prepared to have that discussion, not here and now. They would consult the strands, see what they could see, and those of them with ambition to know secrets would seek Gianina out later. Most would cross themselves and avoid anything that touched on Beatrice Caligari, though.

Francesca, meanwhile, was learning what being a vedova meant for the rest of the world. The women around her were subdued. Conversations skated along a thin surface, never really going anywhere interesting - the women were all too busy watching their sisters, waiting for any signal or sign that mean that they were needed. She watched as a woman with grey in her hair - a woman of noble birth, from a good family on Bernoulli Island - jump to hurry to her younger, fortyish sister when the Lachesis strega negligently snapped her fingers. As if to summon a servant. Or a dog.

"But surely," she asked, "some of you have had sons, and your sisters none?" There were nods. "And doesn't that... help?" Blank looks. "Doesn't it make you valuable?" More blank looks. "Our sons are valuable," a matron said slowly. "And one day, they'll be heirs, no?" Francesca pushed. "And you're their mothers." They favored her with wide-eyed, uncomprehending looks that said So? They were just Senzavista. Worthless, and of no consequence to anyone - not even their own sons.

Returning to the suite that night, Francesca was thinking that another afternoon at tea was perhaps not so alluring. Cards and dancing and opera sounded much more interesting and much, much less depressing. All she'd need was a colorful dress and a mask...

As the ladies were retiring at a respectable hour, Salvador and Marco were going out. One of the grand ballrooms was set for gaming, and noblemen and courtesans clustered around a dozen or more tables. They headed for the one where the marchese lounged with his cronies, Gianfranco included.

Gallisus's courtesan was there, snuggling up to him between hands of cards. Marifi della Chiarisa was, the rumors said, well on her way to being numbered among the Diamante. She was said to be among the most beautiful women of Vodacce and was sought after by men as powerful as Principe Lucani. But she stayed with Gallisus Mondavi, a plume in his cap.

She moved her mask, mounted on its stick, out of the way as Salvador and Marco approached. Marco stopped dead, his mouth gaping open. If Gianfranco hadn't brought her to memory earlier today, he would probably not have recognized her as the too-skinny Jonquil of memory. Certainly not too skinny anymore...

She laughed at his astonishment. She remembered him - her first assignment, although certainly not her first man. Back when she was ugly, and when she had a stupid madam who thought aping the Montaigne was a wonderful gimmick for business. But she was beautiful now, and owned her own contract, and could use her real name and speak in her own lilting Cymbr voice, and could keep a man like Gallisus Mondavi instead of a Hand's bastard son. And, she was sure, her feud with Nemise du Arrent would help lift her to the Diamonds. Villanova Island couldn't get enough of Juliette di Villanova and Donna Valentia clawing at each other, after all. The reminder of the past put her in an excellent mood, because it showed her how far she'd come - she smiled and flirted madly and, as a result, nearly cleaned out the faro bank.

Or perhaps the rest of the table was just paying more attention to the real business. Salvador Donati was pitching his sister to Gallisus, who seemed to think it might be a match for his younger brother Riccardo, also at the table. Riccardo didn't seem as enthusiastic - why not Oreste instead of him? - but was silenced by Gallisus. Rumor had it that Oreste fancied himself a better choice for marchese than Gallisus, who wasn't even on the mainland he was supposed to be governing. Did Gallisus not want his rival to have a potentially powerful strega wife?

Days pass while the Donati await their audience with Principe Alcide.

Father Donati found success in his bold strategy. With so many bishoprics in Chiarisa, even parishes quite near the hospital - who had every self-interested reason to want the monks to succeed in containing the outbreak - were in different districts. They wanted to send money and were happy to pledge it to Father Donati, but moving the funds through the hierarchy was the problem. It was necessary, eventually, to send messages to the archbishops and even appear before the representatives of one. The monks' bishop, Fidelio, was obstinate, and it required a nudge from the archbishop to get him to accept the offers of aid that were coming in.

Feast of Rain, Quintus 15

Though we love the sun and praise fair winds, and verily need both, we also need the rain. It brings cold and mud and even floods and deaths, but without it the grape withers on the vine, the olive shrivels in the sun, and the rice turns to dead straw in the cracked ground. Just so, the soul must be tempered and watered with troubles as well as with joys. For in our own suffering, we know the suffering of the Prophets and of each other, and understand what wages sin pays. Let the rain, the tears of your own life be as life-giving water to you, a wellspring of compassion in fair weather.

- from Father Masacci's sermon on the Feast of Rain

After Mass, the prince has some choice words for his son.

Amordi, Quintus 18

The day of their audience with the prince, Father Donati got word from his friends at the hosptial: while several of the local bishops were very pleased with his efforts (after all, he praised their generosity to the archbishop), Bishop Fidelio was very unpleased. Feeling threatened, even, by this charismatic mainlander who managed to get around him and go over his head.

But there was no time just now to address that. Dressed in their fine clothes from Numa, the Donati made their way to Principe Alcide's morning audience.

There were many guards in the room, including both Gianfranco and Niccolo. None of the Donati men had been to a prince's court before, but it was certainly overkill by mainland standards. The ladies, having been to Vestini Island and their prince's court there, could vouch that if Vestini had so many guards, he did not have them so openly. But then, Mondavi was said to be a coward.

One courtier stood out, for several reasons. The bright, all-white ensemble drew the eye first. Then one realized that the slim figure was a woman, not a long-haired youth. Finally, the pair of curved Cresent scimitars peeping over her back made themselves known.

Francesca immediately set about learning the gossip about this person; Salvador just wanted to know why Marco hadn't introduced him to her. Marco looked at his uncle as if he were mad. "I like all my appendages attached. I thought you did, too," he replied. Indeed, although her trousers seemed to invite men to leer at her legs and rump, not a single one in the room was looking that way.

Francesca, on fire to know more about the first woman she'd seen here who was not a courtesan and not a strega who looked like she had some influence, worked the crowd masterfully. She was La Reina, calling herself after the most deadly piece on the Squares board. She even wore one as a pin. She was, they said, a former pirate. Also mute - some said her tongue had been cut out as some form of pirate punishment, others thought she was just born with the defect, and a few thought the truth was that Mondavi had her silenced - willingly or unwillingly. Either way, she was one of his closest Hands, acting as bodyguard and silent assassin. As lover, too, a few wags added, but most couldn't credit it. Mondavi didn't take courtesans. Besides, everyone knew what women like that were like. If she wore trousers, surely she'd be chasing skirts.

Gianina, meanwhile, was discreetly checking the relationship between Mondavi and his eldest son. Gallisus and Marifi were there, stationed beside Mea Mondavi's empty throne. Oreste was in attendance as well, standing behind his father's seat and calling forth today's petitioners. One of his sisters stood behind his wife's seat, performing readings on the nobles who approached.

Since Salvador had been making headway with Gallisus, Gianina wanted to make sure that the marchese was in favor with his father. Just as everyone said, Mondavi's Arcana showed cowardice very clearly. While there was no real love between him and his son, there was loyalty, which would do. Not too much in the way of Coins; Gallisus had his own income from his governorship. Swords was what was important, though, and she couldn't quite make out whether there was one there or not. She redoubled her efforts and reached out -

It was there, but it was not very significant. Father/son, prince/governor - they would have conflicts. Thin, so thin - but she had grabbed for it so strongly and so tightly that it seemed to cut into her like a fine wire. Pain lanced up her arms and she dropped the strand, refocusing her eyes on her hands, expecting to see blood - but no. She could feel the Fate Lash still, but it had left no mark. On her body, at least. She was shaken, but refused a chair when Renato offered to get one for her. Best not to let anyone know what had just happened.

Finally, the Donati were called before the prince. Alcide Mondavi made less of an impression than any of his Hands had. He slouched in his throne, head resting heavily on his hand, his eyes cast down. He spoke quietly and without much force - hardly the image of a strong ruler. Angelo made an elegant speech to present themselves and the letter from Don Antonio before stepping back to let Salvador run the rest of the show. It wasn't meet for a priest to involve himself too much in family politics, and besides, they were here for things close to Salvador's heart. He did not want to stand to one side and watch Angelo take care of things - he wanted to take care of them himself.

The prince read the letter and frowned. Without saying it in so many words, Antonio was promising to eliminate the Caligari. He knew his old Hand to be a careful man, prudent in all that he did, cautious, and such wild promises did not fit his character. They did, however, fit well into a forgery by one of his brothers attempting to discredit him before his prince. He quietly voiced his concerns about the accuracy of the letter. The Donati brothers assured him the letter was genuine - but of course they would. His sister went to read the strands and got a shock; Alcide had to hide a small smile. Of course; the priest was the Unbound one. Still shaking, she tried Don Salvador, but was so rattled that she couldn't find the crucial Swords strand that might hint at a plot. Of course, Salvador might be entirely in the dark about any plot, his strands left honest, Alcide reflected, looking at the pair. That's what he'd do. They'd have to depend on those, since no one could know the Unbound's heart. Yes, that was a suspicious choice of ambassador...

The young man wasn't small, but was somehow easy to overlook. Don Marco - Antonio's son, Alcide recalled - spoke up, reassuring his prince that all was well between his father and his uncles. Had the boy been suborned, perhaps promised wealth to go along with this? He nudged his sister to look at him, but she nodded. Loyal to his father, not in conflict with his uncle. Unless everyone here but the priest was a dupe... but now he was thinking that unlikely. Don Salvador claimed to have read the letter, after all, and surely the son would know whether or not his father had penned it.

Might there have been a substitution? Did it matter? Even if this letter did come from Antonio's hand, it was a matter that should be resolved in person. He was also not incurious to know what his old Hand knew or suspected about the influx of Eisen, and how he knew it. He informed the Donati that he would visit their brother to take the matter up.

Of course, that wasn't all. Since he had gotten Tigran's missive, he had expected something of this sort. Of course they wanted to pair her off to someone, anyone other than his cousin. He was notorious. And on the one hand, Alcide suspected Tigran would squander such a resource. But on the other, he had been enthusiastic about the matter, so much so that Alcide had sent word to Mea to check the strands between him and the girl as soon as she could. Not that he expected Tigran to suddenly become a homebody, but even a small change would be welcome. He was fond of his cousin but did wish he's spend at least a few continuous months in Agitazione.

Gallisus unexpectedly spoke up in favor of a match with Riccardo. The third son, almost an extra. Anna was no Angela, but she was of that blood - mightn't her children bring good gifts to the family? Alcide paused to contemplate what Tigran might do with such gifted children: the results would be spectacular, one way or the other. He declined to decide at the moment, saying that he would have to consult with Tigran.

Finally, the young Donati made a last request, a personal request, he said. He wanted Monfalcone's viscounty. He had letters, he said. He would renounce his family name and serve Mondavi only, he said.

Alcide couldn't help but notice out of the corner of his eye that this was news to Gallisus and Gianfranco both. Gallisus certainly wouldn't have stepped in moments ago if he'd known.

He examined the letters, a little disdainfully. He didn't care for his nobles, and especially not for his counts, to be nominating his viscounts. That was like letting the fox guard the henhouse.

But he let the young man speak his piece. And was surprised to hear an arguement that he had to acknowledge - the need for unity in his provinces. On the eve of war, he would not want his nobles bickering and seeking to work around his orders. Everyone who counted in Monfalcone was willing to accept young Salvador as viscount without an issue. Because they thought they could manipulate him? Because they thought, far from the island, they could do as they all wished without an islander reporting back? Antonio attested to his energy and good character. Count Enrico Barozzi had found him to be a born diplomat, greatly improving relations between his family and the Donati in the few years he had been a fixture in his court. Giorgio Massacci was not so effusive, but thought they could work together. Alcide sensed an ally there, someone who would be more than happy to make sure the viscount was looking after the prince's interests. It might work. Whether or not it would last, once their one-time brother and friend became the prince's eyes and ears, he didn't know. But it wouldn't have to last long - just until winter.

Of course, he had to let Gianfranco, the other main candidate for the post, speak his piece. Which he did, very well, calling up his years of service - service, Alcide knew, which suited him more to rule by fear, as Scarovese recommended, rather than by love. He was loyal and he was known - Salvador was an unknown. And, the prince had to admit to himself, having known quantities at his back was perhaps as important as the unity Donati had mentioned.

As befitted his public image, he made no decision on this matter, either. It would, he thought, be an adequate entrance exam for this fellow from his provinces. If he couldn't survive Gianfranco's ambitions for the next few days, he certainly wouldn't survive the viscounty...

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