"Eric Flint - 1634 - The Galileo Affair" - читать интересную книгу автора (Flint Eric)

"Perhaps," Richelieu went on, "some things passed between the monsignor andтАФ"

Mazarini interrupted him silently, staring with a carefully blank expression and placing his hand on his
heart, before casting his eyes down. The gesture of one who, for ritual reasons, could not speak. If ritual
had an advantage, it was the language of subtlety it allowed the cognoscenti to converse in.

Richelieu sighed. Ritual could also be a shield for those who chose to dissemble. He chose not to look
upon the dissimulation. "Monsignor," he said after a little time, "you are aware, perhaps, of the news of
the future brought by the Americans?" Richelieu rose and took the two steps that carried him to the
window. "I ask in a spirit of genuine enquiry; you need not vouchsafe how much you know or where you
have it from."

And such a freight of meaning in that! Mazarini found himself cold despite the heat, his palms sweating.
He had never underestimated an opponent in his career to date, but he wondered whether it was possible
to do anythingelse with the cardinal who ruled France.

For a wonder, his voice remained under control. "I am aware, yes." He thanked God silently for the
calm; it was his best weapon at the card table and in negotiations.

He had already heard enough to deduce what was coming next. More than a few men had emerged,
shocked and grinning, from the Palais in the last few weeks. The cardinal was promoting men, young and
unknown men, and it wasтАФwell, not the talk of all Paris, but certainly noticed.

Richelieu remained at the window, looking out over the garden he had torn down the adjoining buildings
to create. He could surely see little, Mazarini reflected. Paris in the spring meant mist and soft, clinging
rain as much as fresh air and balmy breezes. The sky was the gray of over-washed linen and the streets a
mire, clinging and glutinous. Everywhere was the stink of wet wool.

Richelieu let out a long breath. Not quiteтАФbut almostтАФanother sigh. He half-turned, and addressed
Mazarini over his shoulder. "It is more difficult, if you will say nothing?"

Mazarini frowned.

Richelieu clasped his hands behind his back and turned further. A long blink, then, both eyes closed for a
whole breath before they opened, and he leaned forward a little. Earnestly: "I beg of you, Monsignor, not
to take what I said as a suggestion that you might betray a confidence. I fancy we are both"тАФa little
quirk of a smile to underline itтАФ"professionals. Not so?"

Mazarini nodded. Richelieu had used the English wordтАФa word that the seventeenth-century English
almost certainly did not have and certainly would not understand the way that up-time Americans did.
Mazarini felt his very frame lighten in his chair with the speed of his thoughts. The sheer celerity that came
when one matched wits with a masterтАФthere was no thrill like it. To gamble all-or-nothing on one's own
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geniusтАФand with a man who might say so much with the mere choice of a synonym! The mere turn of a
clever phrase, a well-parsed statement, these were the common coin of diplomacy. Richelieu was one of
a select few in another league altogether.