Mystery Writers of America Presents the Prosecution Rests (38 page)

“So much? What else is to be said?”

“Unfortunately, a great deal. Clarifications regarding your testimony, particularly pertaining to the Imprimaturs under which
your manuscript was published. The candor of your present assertion that you, yourself, reject the heresy considered in your
treatise. As well as some prospective questions concerning the potential testimony of other witnesses.”

“Other witnesses?”

“The Inquisition is not the only investigative arm the Holy See has at its disposal.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It is not necessary you do. It is only necessary that every answer you give to our inquiries be scrupulously complete and
honest in every respect.”

“I have been so, Reverend Father.”

“I believe you have tried to be. Allowing for the situation as it was, and as you have come to see it. Nevertheless, risks
remain.”

“If I’ve told the truth… ?”

“Men are imperfect. Their justice can be no better than they. Still, it is possible that, within the scope of human justice,
you may be released—released, if only from bearing the strain of an appearance before the Court of Cardinals. In the context
of a full and creditable confession of error, accompanied by your acceptance of the purging of all offensive passages from
your publication, a simpler administrative or ecclesiastical solution might yet be found.”

“The talk of penance?”

“Public, perhaps. Accompanied by an expression of total submission.”

“I agree to the terms.”

Maculano smiled sympathetically. “Alas, the option is not mine to offer. To no small extent, the cause of your difficulty
has been your own imprudence. You’ve made some powerful people exceedingly angry.”

“His Holiness.” The prisoner shrank, as though that one thought had absorbed all his hope.

“Most significantly, yes,” Maculano agreed. “At some point in your case, it is he who must decide if a formal prosecution
is to go forward. Should he do so, all inquiry will cease and a charge of heresy will be entered against you. You would then
be required to appear before the Court, where you will be given the opportunity to abjure the heresy and accept all assigned
penalties and conditions.” Maculano placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. “The choices are that—or to be found by the Court
to persist in heresy and thereby to incur excommunication and suffer all associated forfeitures.”

“Would it mean torture?”

“Only if the Cardinals felt reason to doubt your abjuration. You will be advised of that liability in advance. If your renunciation
is deemed sincere, you will yet likely be called upon to face some term of imprisonment and penance.”

“A trial”—the prisoner’s lips scarcely moved—“without the possibility of an acquittal.”

“You will have ten judges,” Maculano persisted. “The Lord Prosecutor and I have done our sums. We can find perhaps four who
will regard you sympathetically. Three, or even two, is a more likely number.”

“Cardinal Barberini, the Pope’s nephew, will be one of my judges, will he not? Francesco was my pupil. He will not abandon
me.”

“Barberini, we believe, is in your favor. He resides even now with his uncle at Gandolfo. But were his influence sufficient
to protect you, it follows you would not still be here. Sant’ Onofrio, the Pope’s brother, who summoned you to Rome to appear
before the Inquisition, is also among your judges.”

“Onofrio hates me,” the prisoner grimly affirmed. “So… if His Holiness will not accept a lesser arrangement, and my cause
goes before the Cardinals… even with my abjuration, it’s your sense my imprisonment will continue.”

“For some term, I fear, yes.” Maculano stared down at the stones of the floor. “I believe that would be the worst case.”

The old man pressed his face into his hands. “God forgive me, Reverend Father, for what I’ve done. I swear I meant no harm.”

“God, my son, is all-forgiving. That is the one truth by which each of us may feel reassured.”

For such solace as it may give you, Maculano thought. Were their situations reversed, the priest wondered if even he could
have believed it.

____

“T
WO DAYS AGO
, I wrote to Barberini,” Maculano announced. “I’m trusting my fate he believes as we do. I pray my confidence isn’t misplaced.”

“The Cardinal has always been our best hope.” Sinceri leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across the dome of his
stomach. “He has a long-held affection for the accused. His voice is not one that His Holiness, even in his most rancorous
mood, can brush aside with a simple ascription of enmity. Barberini is young. Amenable to new ideas, even if he remains unfree
to hold them openly. What construction did you put on your note?”

“A delicate one, to put the best face on it. I could not, of course, address it to the Cardinal. Had His Holiness become aware
of such a letter, as he almost surely would have, he would have regarded it as another conspiracy against him, thus discrediting
us while bringing the Cardinal into disrepute by association. So, instead, I dispatched the correspondence to His Holiness
directly, feeling confident that Urban would seek the counsel of a trusted nephew and that the document would thus find its
seemingly inadvertent way to the Cardinal’s attention by the hand of Urban himself.”

“Were you to lose your office in Rome, you could always find outlet for your talents in the warrens of Byzantium,” Sinceri
reflected.

“I painted the matter darkly,” Maculano replied, choosing to ignore Sinceri’s observation. “I outlined each difficulty I could
find in making the prosecution’s case, as well as the catalogue of bureaucratic bungles that allowed the manuscript to reach
publication in the first place. If your case against the accused succeeds, my Lord Prosecutor, you may thank me for illuminating
your accomplishment. I did not, in actual fact, propose a bargain, but at several junctures left the suggestion that a half
loaf of bread is better than none.”

“Allowing the Cardinal to consider the invitation to a compromise, even if Urban, on his own, surely will not.”

“Just so,” Maculano acknowledged. “Though I feel safe in saying that Barberini has already foreseen that possibility. From
the note, he will know, at least, that others have seen it too.”

“When do they return from Gandolfo to Rome?”

“I chose not to ask, fearing the question might be taken for an encouragement of haste. I’m trusting that Francesco, who is
not without the legendary Barberini sagacity, will intuit our curiosity concerning the date and inform us by such means as
he finds appropriate. Meanwhile, I hope we can still hold to a temperate speed, allowing for a thorough exploration of the
many nuances the prosecution involves.”

“Oh, dear Reverend Father! Tell me how a man of God becomes so adept in the ways of the swindler.” Sinceri muffled a laugh
into a mostly covered smile. “How much time do you estimate?”

“With good fortune, enough to permit a third session. Tomorrow is the first of May. Let’s say toward the middle of the month.
I think that’s as much as we can hope for.”

Sinceri’s expression became concerned. “I have not been to the prison, Father Commissary. I have not seen the condition of
the accused. I have, however, heard stories.”

“They’re true,” Maculano attested. “Which is why I plan, at the conclusion of today’s interview, to place a petition before
my Lord Prosecutor. I shall cite the age of the accused and his health, as well as the openness and piety he exhibited in
our first session and which he shall exhibit again today. I will suggest we are more likely to receive his cooperation and
thus learn the truth of this matter if we show some modest compassion. I will propose that, instead of continuing his incarceration
under the direct supervision of the Holy Office, it would be in the interest of all to return him to his previous state of
house arrest at the Villa d’Medici.”

“I fear, should I consent to the Commissary General’s petition,” Sinceri mused, “that I shall lose the high regard that I
presently enjoy from His Holiness.”

“Pray, do not let it concern you, Father Carlo. I’m sure you shall regain it when you achieve the conviction you seek.”

“Yes. Thank you, Fra Maculano. I’m sure I shall.” The prosecutor’s grin became sardonic. “Even if only you and I will know
the price we will pay for my success.”

____

“W
HAT DID YOU
think?”

Sinceri cocked his head to one side in a manner that suggested he was trying to pick some harmonic or other from the ether.
“I’ve rarely seen such joy in a man’s face,” he decided. “He’ll sleep at the Medici villa tonight in such comfort as he’s
never known. Don’t you find it ironic, Father, the way the world is fulfilled by its opposites? The accused’s whole life,
until this circumstance, has been spent in relative abundance. Tonight he’ll find that luxury again. But he’ll treasure it
with a gratitude as never before.”

“I was thinking of what he conveyed in his testimony.”

“Yes. That too. Being deprived of his high regard has stripped away much of his arrogance. The intended result, assuredly,
and yet, in a man of such greatness, I admit I find it disturbing. How he clings to the new learning, to the empiricism of
his
Dialogue
! He thinks, if he just makes some amendments…” Sinceri stared out at the late afternoon. “He hasn’t yet come to realize
the work is dead. That it will be placed upon the Index no matter what changes he consents to.”

“Sustaining that optimism was in our interest—and also in his,” Maculano confessed. “Still, I don’t see how the result you
predict can be avoided.”

A tentative knock fell on the door.

Maculano gave the instruction to enter.

“Excuse me, Reverend Fathers.” The cleric bowed formally. “I am commissioned to deliver this to Father Maculano personally.”

“Very well, then.” Maculano accepted the envelope and sat again as the bearer left and closed the door. “It carries no indication
of the sender,” he announced for Sinceri’s benefit.

“Which suggests an obvious possibility.”

Maculano opened the parcel with a small blade he drew from his robe. “Barberini,” he confirmed, looking up from the signature.
His eyes returned to the page.

“He tells us that Urban remains displeased with my tentativeness. He reiterates that His Holiness believes he has been depicted
scandalously and feels deeply betrayed.”

“His Holiness has received the submissions of the
Dialogue
’s supplementary critics?”

“I’m coming to that. He has, almost a month ago. The Pope finds them persuasive. Inchofer’s most of all. He believes that,
once the Court has considered them, the outcome will be assured. Moreover, Barberini reports that some of the judges have
also seen the documents or else have been made aware of their substance, and that the reactions of those judges have further
bolstered His Holiness’s confidence. Francesco says that he’ll seek more definite knowledge, including a head tally, if he
can obtain one.”

“When will we know what he finds?”

“He plans to return to Rome the second week in June. Urban knows this and is at ease that the affair should come to its end
at that time.” Maculano looked up at Sinceri. “So a third appearance of the accused is permitted, and even some weeks beyond
that. But with the Cardinals’ arrival, events will move quickly. By the middle of June at the latest, all will be over.”

For a moment, Sinceri held his silence; then, “I see a darker horizon in this, Reverend Father. I’ve the sense that all chance
for a bargain has passed. That a formal hearing cannot be averted. Barberini has nothing to say regarding an alternative?”

“Nothing.” The Commissary General rose stiffly from his chair and, on his way across the room, picked up a tray from a table.
He looked for a final time at the envelope and its contents, then subjected both to the flame of a candle and consigned their
burning remnants to the tray.

When he was satisfied with the conflagration, Maculano turned back to the Lord Prosecutor.

“At the Cardinal’s order,” Maculano explained. “He says that, as I value his friendship, so should I honor his confidences.”

____

“Y
OU SET A
modest table, Fra Maculano. Modest, but delectable in every morsel.” Francesco Cardinal Barberini patted his mouth with his
napkin. “I’ve a fondness for basic cooking, the kind done by women in simple kitchens. It’s one of the reasons I tolerate
travel. Country inns serve the same variety of fare.”

“I’m pleased you enjoyed it, Your Eminence.” Maculano tilted his head to acknowledge the compliment.

“I cannot pretend to draw the Cardinal’s distinctions.” Sinceri laughed at himself. “I’m afraid I am, in every meaningful
sense of the word, omnivorous.”

“Truly?” Barberini glanced toward the prosecutor’s nearly full plate. “From tonight, I would not have suspected it, Father.”

Sinceri’s eyes narrowed as the Cardinal’s skepticism moved the focus to the reason for their meeting. His lips parted slightly.
“Well, let us say that tonight there’s a matter we all have on our minds. Your presence in Rome brings with it the prospect
of a final curtain. Can it ever be said that the man condemned honestly enjoyed his last meal?”

“You make your point, Father Sinceri.” Barberini paused to tip the edge of his glass toward his host. “A good wine, also,
Father Maculano. But with regard to the man our Lord Prosecutor speaks of… So that our minds may be as one, let me review
for you the case against the accused as I have been privy to hear it discussed. Its substance comes to three parts:

“First, the science. Whether the Ptolemaic or Copernican system is correct? The question is decided. The Ptolemaic is correct.
The Copernican is heresy. Were I, myself, to weigh the matter, I might conclude that the question remains too contentious
for final disposal, while, at the same time, giving the advantage to Ptolemy. But what I think is not an issue. The Church
has settled the argument for me.

“Second, the instructions. Fifteen years ago, when seeking permission to write about the two systems, the accused was informed
of the Church’s determination regarding the Copernican heresy and told that he could neither hold nor teach the doctrine.
So much is written and not in dispute. What is not written anywhere, as the testimony that you have taken has exposed, is
whether the accused was also advised that he could not write about the alternative theory even in the context of a hypothesis
to be refuted. Although others insist he was so told orally, the author claims to have no memory of such a prohibition. A
convenience? I leave it to you. Which brings us to the context he has chosen for his writing, as the framing relates to his
intent.