tonight,” said Saint-Germain, a certain distance in his tone telling Rogerio far more than words about the current state of the affaire. “She has an engagement with her aunt at the Ballet Catalonia. They are planning to spend a few days together.”
“I see,” said Rogerio, and hoped he did; he closed the study door and went into the principal sitting room, where he took up a canvas shopping bag and hung it over the scrolled door-latch in anticipation of his errand. He busied himself for the next half-hour with the mundane task of putting the room in order to receive any visitor who might call, and then, at the conclusion of siesta, took the shopping bag and went out to the butcher’s, where he paid for the newly slaughtered baby pig, put it into his bag, then returned, watched but unhassled, to the Hotel della Luna Nueva to find that Colonel Senda had called and was still with Saint-Germain.
“Ah, Rogerio,” said Saint-Germain as Rogerio came into the sitting room. “As you see, Colonel Senda is here.”
“I see that,” said Rogerio, and added with utmost politeness, “May I get you a drink, Colonel? We have an excellent Burgundy, and a tolerable Sangue di Christi nel Vesuvio. If you would like something stronger, a very good cognac as well as a single-malt scotch. There is also a little grappa left, if you would prefer a digestif.” He regarded the Colonel as if he were glad to see him, although he was inwardly alarmed by Senda’s presence so soon after his last visit.
“Cognac, in a balloon snifter,” said the Colonel, snapping out the order as if Rogerio were a green recruit in need of training.
“As soon as I put this in our kitchen,” he said, indicating his canvas bag. He left the sitting room and went about his work.
“He’s been with you a long time,” said Colonel Senda. “Your servant.”
“Yes; half my life,” said Saint-Germain accurately, not adding that he and Rogerio had met in Roma when Vespasianus was Caesar.
“Such loyalty is rare,” said the Colonel with a languid wave of approval. “Not many of us find that in our lives.”
“I know I am fortunate,” said Saint-Germain, wondering what Colonel Senda intended by his remarks.
“It would be a shame to repay his devotion with hardship,” said the Colonel with a slow, malicious smile.
His expression did not change, but Saint-Germain felt a surge of anger at this threat. “Why should he have to fear hardship, Colonel?”
“You cannot be unaware of the increasing violence that daily desecrates our streets and countryside,” said Senda with a false display of sorrow. “A man such as your manservant, unused to our ways, and often abroad, who knows what might happen to him?”
“In other words, your men would target him and any misfortune he suffered could be laid at the door of those whom you wished to blame.” Saint-Germain folded his arms. “Why not abandon your pretext of civility, Colonel? You have made it clear that you want something of me, and that you are prepared to exert any pressure you can to gain what you seek.”
“You make it all seem so uncouth,” Colonel Senda complained. “I’d prefer to think of it as adapting to exigent circumstances.”
“Of course you would,” said Saint-Germain with world-weary amusement.
The Colonel heard the condemnation in Saint-Germain’s observation and he reacted sharply. “I have been patient with you, it may be I am too patient. I think you may consider yourself fortunate that I haven’t put you in prison—I have the authority to do so, you know.” He showed his teeth in a furious smile. “I don’t think you’d like being in prison. No more fine clothes, no more suites, no more manservant, no more autos, no more pretty mistresses, just a small cell, an army cot, and a bucket for slops.”
Saint-Germain nodded. “Yes. I know what prison can be.” He had been in many of them in his four thousand years, and found one to be much like another; some were
“I see,” said Rogerio, and hoped he did; he closed the study door and went into the principal sitting room, where he took up a canvas shopping bag and hung it over the scrolled door-latch in anticipation of his errand. He busied himself for the next half-hour with the mundane task of putting the room in order to receive any visitor who might call, and then, at the conclusion of siesta, took the shopping bag and went out to the butcher’s, where he paid for the newly slaughtered baby pig, put it into his bag, then returned, watched but unhassled, to the Hotel della Luna Nueva to find that Colonel Senda had called and was still with Saint-Germain.
“Ah, Rogerio,” said Saint-Germain as Rogerio came into the sitting room. “As you see, Colonel Senda is here.”
“I see that,” said Rogerio, and added with utmost politeness, “May I get you a drink, Colonel? We have an excellent Burgundy, and a tolerable Sangue di Christi nel Vesuvio. If you would like something stronger, a very good cognac as well as a single-malt scotch. There is also a little grappa left, if you would prefer a digestif.” He regarded the Colonel as if he were glad to see him, although he was inwardly alarmed by Senda’s presence so soon after his last visit.
“Cognac, in a balloon snifter,” said the Colonel, snapping out the order as if Rogerio were a green recruit in need of training.
“As soon as I put this in our kitchen,” he said, indicating his canvas bag. He left the sitting room and went about his work.
“He’s been with you a long time,” said Colonel Senda. “Your servant.”
“Yes; half my life,” said Saint-Germain accurately, not adding that he and Rogerio had met in Roma when Vespasianus was Caesar.
“Such loyalty is rare,” said the Colonel with a languid wave of approval. “Not many of us find that in our lives.”
“I know I am fortunate,” said Saint-Germain, wondering what Colonel Senda intended by his remarks.
“It would be a shame to repay his devotion with hardship,” said the Colonel with a slow, malicious smile.
His expression did not change, but Saint-Germain felt a surge of anger at this threat. “Why should he have to fear hardship, Colonel?”
“You cannot be unaware of the increasing violence that daily desecrates our streets and countryside,” said Senda with a false display of sorrow. “A man such as your manservant, unused to our ways, and often abroad, who knows what might happen to him?”
“In other words, your men would target him and any misfortune he suffered could be laid at the door of those whom you wished to blame.” Saint-Germain folded his arms. “Why not abandon your pretext of civility, Colonel? You have made it clear that you want something of me, and that you are prepared to exert any pressure you can to gain what you seek.”
“You make it all seem so uncouth,” Colonel Senda complained. “I’d prefer to think of it as adapting to exigent circumstances.”
“Of course you would,” said Saint-Germain with world-weary amusement.
The Colonel heard the condemnation in Saint-Germain’s observation and he reacted sharply. “I have been patient with you, it may be I am too patient. I think you may consider yourself fortunate that I haven’t put you in prison—I have the authority to do so, you know.” He showed his teeth in a furious smile. “I don’t think you’d like being in prison. No more fine clothes, no more suites, no more manservant, no more autos, no more pretty mistresses, just a small cell, an army cot, and a bucket for slops.”
Saint-Germain nodded. “Yes. I know what prison can be.” He had been in many of them in his four thousand years, and found one to be much like another; some were
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