The Fifth Servant (10 page)

           
They were such provincials, thought the bishop. Especially Popel. But he was useful, in the way that a trained hunting dog is useful.

           
“Come, brothers, even a fresh-faced novice knows that the Apostle Paul has written that the conversion of the seed of Abraham is one of the key events preceding the Second Coming of Christ.”

           
Both priests nodded.

           
“The Jews will come around eventually. At least we can force them to listen to a true Christian sermon three times a year in church,” said the bishop.

           
“Even if they stop their ears with wax,” said Popel.

           
“They use cotton,” Zeman said. “And we have trained guards on duty to control for that.”

           
“We keep the Jews apart,” said the bishop, “distinct and recognizable. But how are we supposed to root out the Sabbatarians, or the Czech Brethren? Are we supposed to let those sex-crazed Adamites into our Church? Or those subversive Anabaptists who wander about the countryside convincing gullible peasants that only freely choosing adults can be baptized?”

           
Zeman shook his head. “It would never have happened if you had been in charge of the local Inquisition, my lord.”

           
“I’ll have to go along with you on that,” said the Inquisitor, spearing a piece of sausage with his knife. “And that’s why I’m here.
Rome
feels that the locals have been far too lenient in prosecuting the unbelievers, and it’s time for the Holy Inquisition to re-open its
Prague
offices.”

           
“The move is long overdue, my lord.”

           
“Yes,” said the bishop, glad to see that somebody was finally agreeing with him. “It’s time for a little house cleaning, boys. It may take us twenty to thirty years or so, but eventually we’ll sweep all these heretics aside, and the Roman Church will take back its rightful place as the one true religion in all of Bohemia, Europe, and the New World.”

           
Zeman felt like kneeling and kissing the bishop’s ring.

           
Popel said, “That is why we must deal with the Jews right away, my lord, since they are siding with the Protestant cults against us.”

           
Bishop Stempfel reluctantly set down his fork, returning a fatty slice of sausage to his plate. “And where is the supporting evidence for that?”

           
“They openly traffic with the burghers in this city.”

           
“That only means the burghers of
Prague
are mostly Protestant.” He patiently explained the problem again. “That’s not the Jews’ fault. It’s our job to bring the wayward sects back into the fold.”

           
“
All
of them?”

           
“Yes, all of them.”

           
Without warning, the bishop cringed beneath the folds of his robe. It felt like some kind of acid was snaking angrily through his lower intestines, inflaming that already shameful excretory place until it was red and raw. He poured some wine down his throat to cool the fires.

           
No one said anything for a while.

           
It was a strain for him to speak: “Except, of course, for the
maleficae
.”

           
Evildoers.

           
“Witchcraft,” he said through clenched teeth, “must be uprooted like an evil weed before it can spread any further.”

           
“Evil weeds frequently grow back, my lord,” said Popel.

           
“That’s why our work is never done. It’s up to us to toil in the vineyards of the Lord, uprooting the weeds, and above all, saving the sinners’ souls from the torments of hell.”

           
“But the Inquisition is also charged with handling matters of Jewish blasphemy—”

           
“Save your breath, Popel.” Bishop Stempfel held out his greasy fingers, and Grünpickl handed him a folded parchment bearing the words,
Pascere Populum Suum
in an elaborate hand, and a red wax seal.

           
“His Eminence Clement VIII happens to agree with you. Issued just four weeks ago. It calls for maintaining a strict separation between Jews and Christians in business and personal matters.”

           
Popel was pleased, but Zeman looked worried. He asked, “Will we be able to keep using Jewish treasurers, my lord?”

           
“Relax. Nobody’s going to take away your precious Jewish bankers. You don’t expect good Christians to get their hands dirty handling Jewish gold, do you?”

           
“Certainly not, sir.”

           
“Good. You’d be surprised what you can learn just by keeping your ears open. You sure you don’t want something to eat?”

           
“No, thank you, sir.”

           
“You can’t get good German sausages in
Rome
,” he said. “How does Count Rožmberk feel about all this?”

           
“Oh, you know him, my lord. Always calling for moderation and fair treatment for the Jews.”

           
Popel sniffed hard enough to inhale a cherrystone. The Bishop turned to face him. “You have something to say on the matter of the Jews?”

           
Popel said, “My lord, you’ve got to divert resources to prosecuting them for this unspeakable crime. A young girl was ritually murdered sometime early this morning and several pints of blood were drawn from her body. We’re holding a Jewish suspect in the city jail.”

           
“Fine. Then he isn’t going anywhere. Because we’ve got divisions within the enemy camp, gentlemen, and now’s the time to strike. You don’t seem to realize that the Jews think of the Catholic emperors as their protectors. That makes them loyal supporters of the Hapsburgs, who happen to be our benefactors.”

           
Illumination slowly flooded the faces of the two priests, who now understood why the Bishop had been chosen to be the Pope’s envoy.

           
Bishop Stempfel reached for his cup of wine, and drew his hand back in horror. A fly was buzzing around it. He quickly made the sign of the cross and dumped the wine out on the floor. The Devil is exceedingly clever, but no match for a man of faith with a quick eye and a nose for sin.

           
A servant quickly filled his cup again while another mopped up the spill.

           
“Is something the matter, my lord?” asked Zeman.

           
Bishop Stempfel stared at a spot in the sky through the arched windows over Zeman’s shoulder. Something foul was gnawing away at his guts, and he knew of only one way to stop it.

           
The archpriests were still waiting for an answer. The bishop fumbled with his fork, pushing the last half-eaten piece of sausage around his plate. He considered the two men on either side of the table. Popel was an attack dog, but he was focused on the wrong target. Zeman didn’t seem to understand that the Catholics were a decided minority in
Prague
.

           
It was his job to mold them, and test them, and determine which one was a worthy successor to Archbishop Medek, capable of leading the flock into the next century.
Prague
was a mighty city, a bustling center of commerce and trade. But the Catholic population was so small that the two archpriests were strangely isolated from the reality of the streets beyond the walls of the seminary. Not like the worldly courtiers at the
Vatican
, where the popes had included a pair of Medicis and a Borgia.

           
A spasm of fire gripped his insides, and he began to sweat. He closed his eyes till the attack passed, then spoke to the archpriests. “Every day, I fight off the tortures visited upon me by those who are determined to attack my body in the hopes of breaking my spirit.”

           
“That only proves that you’re closing in on them, my lord,” said Zeman.

           
“Yes, but their attacks are growing stronger.”

           
“Can you describe these attacks?”

           
His enemies were everywhere. The loyal guardians of the faith were surrounded and outnumbered. But the Church was the only true road to salvation, as confirmed by God himself.

           
The archpriests waited.

           
“It’s…”

           
“Yes, my lord?”

           
They waited some more.

           
Finally, he told them about his problem.

           
The priests exchanged glances and told him not to worry, that their special healer could work miraculous cures.

           
“Bring him immediately,” said the bishop, rising from the table.

           
“As you wish—” Zeman began.

           
“Immediately, sir,” said Popel, jumping up and beating his rival to the door, leaving Zeman to survey the damage left behind by the bishop’s breakfast. The puddle of red wine had stained the edge of the carpet, and the tabletop was spattered with mustard and pork fat. He was directing the servants to clean it up when Popel returned.

           
With a swish of his satin robes, the bishop set up court with his aide and scribe in attendance, and explained the broader situation to the two priests. The Catholic Armada of Spain had recently been decimated by the renegade nation of En gland, turning
Amsterdam
and the rest of the United Provinces into a haven for Protestant refugees. While this might be seen as a setback, they had to remember that En gland’s newfound wealth came from plundering Spanish ships laden with treasures from the
New World
. So it was perfectly clear to the truly faithful that the speedy conquests of
Mexico
and
Peru
were proof that God supported the Catholic cause, and that the hateful English would never permanently plant their flag in the
Americas
. The Inquisition had exposed heretics and “secret Jews” hiding out as far away as
Lima
and
Quito
, so now was the time to gear up for the final confrontation here at home, and cut the Protestant population of
Europe
in half within a generation. And if anyone doubted the reasoning or the purpose, let him visit the barbaric city of
London
, and stand by and watch as God-fearing Jesuits were torn to pieces for public entertainment.

           
The doctor arrived, a pale and shrunken man, with a few wisps of hair clinging to his head like the whitish mold on a walnut. He told the servants to set up a screen.

           
The bishop asked the priests what Emperor Rudolf II was like personally. The Catholic Church enjoyed imperial protection, but was he fully committed to the cause?

           
Zeman hesistated. “My lord, the emperor is a deeply Christian man—”

           
Popel jumped in: “But there is no better place than his court to be a Jew. His Highness has collected quite a menagerie of Jewish magicians, astronomers, and counselors, who prance around the royal galleries like a bunch of perfumed monkeys dressed in men’s clothing.”

           
“Good use of animal imagery,” said the bishop. He instructed his scribe to make a note of the phrase, since it would play well with the country folk.