* * *
Once they were on the mainland and into the carriage Mazarini had obtained for them, Mazzare decided they’d reached a point where their travels would be uninterrupted for a time. They’d be on the road for approximately two weeks, stopping only at night for food and lodgings. The carriage rode much too roughly for Mazzare to even think of writing notes. So roughly, in fact, that the trip itself would be tiring. Too tiring, he suspected, to allow him to make notes during their overnight stops, either.
He’d just have to make do with days of extended conversation. Hopefully, he’d be able to remember what was said and systematize it in writing once they reached Rome.
He turned to Jones, sitting next to him on the plush seat of the carriage. “Simon, can I ask you please to put aside the things you’ve heard about the Inquisition?”
The Reverend Jones nodded, although Mazzare was a bit amused to see the wary look on his face.
“The truth is this, Simon: Galileo got in trouble, more than anything, for annoying some well-connected scientists within the Church. The fact that he was usually ahead of what he could prove from his data didn’t help. Made it look like he was contradicting the Church’s interpretation of the Bible out of heresy. So what happened in the universe we came from is that they sentenced him to life in jail and commuted it to house arrest after he, ah, copped a plea. The Inquisition held a trial, but that was all. Galileo went voluntarily and cooperated rather than upset the Church.”
Mazarini straightened up from his comfortable traveler’s slouch on the seat bank across from them and sat erect, his hands planted on his knees. “It is different now.”
“How?” asked Jones.
“There was no Inquisition. His Holiness called a Commission of Inquiry. Half of its membership are Inquisition cardinals. They have a report from a number of astronomers who say that there are errors of fact in Galileo’s work and that he holds, defends and teaches something considered heresy at present.” He glanced at Mazzare. “The exact words are significant, you understand.”
Mazzare turned that one over in his mind a little. At present. “Do we know who the astronomers were?”
Mazarini grinned. “One of them was Scheiner.”
Mazzare raised an eyebrow. Scheiner was one of Galileo’s most bitter enemies. “And he used that form of words?”
“Yes. I guess it this way, that he is still angry with Galileo, but has begun to read Grantville’s astronomy.”
“Hold on,” said Jones. “If they’re prepared to accept that the earth moves on Grantville’s say-so, why are they bothering to give Galileo grief? Am I missing something?”
“Politics, Simon,” said Mazzare. “The church isn’t just the pope, and he can’t just order the whole church to follow his lead. There has to be some negotiation, you see, or it’s the Church of England all over again.”
Mazarini nodded. “There is this, too—the father-general of the Jesuits is involved this time. If anyone can put words in the mouths of kings it is him.”
“So it’s a show trial in a good cause, then?” said Jones, beginning to catch on. “Tennessee v. Scopes, and this time the monkey wins?”
Mazzare looked at Mazarini, quite intently. “That’s my guess, Simon, yes.” The last word had an upward tilt to it, which made it seem more like a question than a statement. A question addressed at Mazarini.
The Vatican diplomat smiled serenely. “My guess also. But, who can really know?”
It was all Mazzare could do not to glare at him. Mazarini turned his hands over and spread them wide, still smiling. “I am simply telling you the truth, Monsignor. I really do not think the pope himself knows yet what he intends to do.” Mazarini turned his head and looked out at the passing Italian countryside. “The father-general . . . perhaps.”
* * *
“Be careful, Magda,” Stoner cautioned. He extended a hand to help her into the boat.
His wife gave him a glance that was just short of sarcastic. Magda was some twenty years younger than Tom Stone, more athletic, more coordinated, in better physical condition—and considerably more practical about most everything. Stoner’s awkward perch on the side of the boat made his helping hand a dubious proposition. He was more likely to fall off himself and drag her into the river with him than anything else.