Rome (3): The City of Talents
Rome, within the Papal States. At this time, Rome was the capital of culture and art. It was commonplace to see famous figures from books wandering the streets. This was precisely why the monarchs of Europe were burning with desire to invade Italy.
Economically prosperous and secure in public order, Italy had naturally fostered the growth of culture and the arts. Philosophy, mathematics, cryptography, and more had flourished alongside them. In short, the Rome of this era was a treasure trove of talent. Just looking at the Ragusa Archbishop beside me was proof enough.
"It is an honor to guide you through the heart of Rome."
"We are deeply grateful that you have spared your time for us."
"Haha. I enjoy making friends and chatting, so think nothing of it."
The 59-year-old cardinal archbishop of Ragusa smiled warmly, gazing at the Duke of Medina Sidonia as if he were a grandchild.
"A little further, and we'll arrive at the home of my acquaintance, Bishop Greuus."
"I worry it might be too sudden a visit."
The Ragusa Archbishop waved off my concerned words with a laugh, leading us with a hearty chuckle to the house of a certain noble family.
Rome, the spiritual capital of Catholicism in those days. As such, lords from various regions often owned homes here and resided in them. Gregory—Sir Greuus, an acquaintance of the Ragusa Archbishop—was a secular noble affiliated with the Church, hailing from a Florentine aristocratic line. To be precise, though not strictly so, the unspoken rule was that pure clergy made up about a third, and another third were secular clerics and nobles aligned with the papal faction. Exceeding that balance often led to catastrophe.
Thanks to this golden equilibrium, Bishop Greuus, a papal-aligned secular cleric, held a position equivalent to an earl in the Kingdom of Spain.
"My dear fellow."
A man emerged from within. Likely informed in advance by the Ragusa Archbishop of our visit, the head steward appeared promptly.
"Thank you for gracing us with your presence. Archbishop Ragusa, and..."
"This is Don Juan de Austria, half-brother to His Majesty King Philip II of Spain. And this is the Duke of Medina Sidonia, who has joined our diplomatic delegation as Spain's representative."
"It is an honor to meet such noble guests. Please, allow me to escort you inside."
The world of nobility had its peculiarities. One might assume the duke, with his higher rank, would be shown precedence, but reality differed. In early modern Europe, it was common for royals like myself—even as mere counts—to outrank dukes in respect. With no rigid, sword-sharp hierarchy among nobles, the archbishop had introduced me first.
We entered Sir Greuus's home, where the bishop himself—sporting a finely groomed mustache—welcomed us warmly.
"Welcome, everyone. Thank you for coming."
"Thank you for your hospitality, Bishop Greuus."
"This way, if you please."
We moved to the reception room, where desserts had been prepared in advance. We'd notified them beforehand that the visit was purely social, making this possible. I'd also personally requested a taste of Roman nobility's famed ice treats—gelato—and they'd graciously obliged. The young Duke of Medina Sidonia's eyes already sparkled with anticipation.
I sat with him and, after some light conversation, we dug into the gelato. The duke, eyes wide with wonder at the sweet-tart frozen delight, focused intently on his portion. Still just a child, I thought.
Having finished mine, I turned to converse with Sir Greuus.
"Rome truly is a splendid city."
"I thank you for saying so. With the Lord's grace and the Holy Father here, people and goods naturally gather, fostering this prosperity."
The Ragusa Archbishop nodded in satisfaction. Mimicking a devout Catholic, I promptly made the sign of the cross.
"As the rumors say, a man of true piety."
"Indeed. Today, viewing the relics of the patron saint in the Apostolic Palace left a profound impression on me."
"Do you mean Saint Benedict, the patron saint?"
Even as a secular cleric, Bishop Greuus bore the title of bishop and thus recognized at once what I'd seen.
"You knew immediately."
"Haha. Back in university, I always kept a statue of Saint Benedict the patron saint at my desk while studying."
Italy boasted universities with histories long enough to claim the first true institutions of higher learning. Consequently, university networks thrived across Italy at this time.
"Is that perhaps why you two are close...?"
"Precisely. We both majored in theology and law there."
The Ragusa Archbishop and Bishop Greuus, despite their age difference. In an era that placed less emphasis on age gaps, such university ties formed powerful networks.
"I see. The university you both attended... I wonder how exceptional it must be."
"We at the University of Bologna proudly produce the finest minds. Haha."
The Ragusa Archbishop joked lightly, and I nodded in agreement. That's when Bishop Greuus began glancing my way. Curious what he might say, I tilted my head.
"Is something the matter?"
"There's someone I'd like to introduce to you, Count Don Juan. Would that be alright?"
"Anyone recommended by Bishop Greuus must be exceptional."
"Haha... Then..."
Bishop Greuus signaled the head steward, and a man entered alongside him, as if prepared in advance. He bore the classic Neapolitan look: dark brows, prominent nose, the very image of a scholar.
"Pay your respects to Count Don Juan."
The man appeared my age. Born to nobility, it seemed, as he offered a proper Neapolitan greeting.
"Greetings. It is my honor to meet Don Juan de Austria, half-brother to His Majesty Philip II of Spain, heir to Luxembourg, and lord of the County of Malaga. I am Giambattista della Porta from Vico Equense in the Kingdom of Naples."
A familiar name. I racked my memory until it clicked—this was the cryptography pioneer who first described the digraph substitution cipher. Astrology, alchemy, mathematics—he dabbled in every pursuit of Italy's intellectuals. Though he'd face the Inquisition in old age, this vigorous 23-year-old was still too young for such trials.
For me, starved for talent, he was invaluable. Cryptography was entering military use, making his expertise essential. But I couldn't reveal prior knowledge.
"Della Porta... So, a noble's son."
"Yes, my father is a baron of a barony near the Duchy of Naples."
"I see."
We exchanged mundane words. I thanked Bishop Greuus for the introduction.
"He looks the part of fine talent. My thanks for the recommendation."
"He's a University of Bologna alumnus as well. If it pleases you, Count Don Juan, I hope you'd take him under your wing."
A gift falling into my lap. But too easily obtained—I needed to probe a bit.
"May I ask why you're introducing him to me?"
The Ragusa Archbishop and Bishop Greuus exchanged glances. The politically astute Ragusa Archbishop seemed eager to forge ties with me. The current Pope, Paul IV, was hostile to Spain. Lacking protection from Spain—self-proclaimed guardians of Catholicism—the frontrunner for the next papacy sought preemptive connections. Historically, he'd clash with the pope this year and leave Rome; Spain appeared his next destination. Using a university junior to build that bridge—these were seasoned politicians.
But it profited me, so I showed no sign.
"Merely to be of service to you, Count Don Juan."
No hidden agenda, it seemed. Any demands would have surfaced now; brushing it off as goodwill was proof. A talent with no strings attached. And since the Inquisition wouldn't touch him until later—and he was a faithful Catholic now—he posed no internal issues in Spain.
"My thanks for your consideration. Then..."
Giambattista met my gaze. I beckoned him forward.
"I would take you as my vassal. Before God, can you pledge your loyalty to me?"
Giambattista promptly dropped to one knee.
"Before God, my father, and these two bishops, I swear to follow Count Don Juan."
True to Neapolitan fashion, he placed a hand over his heart. Their custom of swearing on the heart inspired greater trust.
"Good."
Thus ended the simple audience. No explicit pact among the three of us to form a faction and support one another—but our exchanged glances sealed an unspoken understanding.
The ambitious Ragusa Archbishop, dreaming of the papacy. Bishop Greuus, his supporter. And I, Don Juan, now tacitly allied with them.
In a Roman mansion, this clandestine meeting had transpired.
On the way out, heading back to the Apostolic Palace, I feigned casual chat with the Ragusa Archbishop, subtly broaching tomorrow's French-Spanish peace treaty.
"What do you think will come of tomorrow?"
The aged archbishop smiled faintly, fixing me with his gaze before murmuring softly,
"Do you know Ephesians 3:10?"
Fortunately, I recalled the verse. Cautiously, I recited it.
"His intent was that now, through the church, the manifold wisdom of God should be made known to the rulers and authorities in the heavenly realms..."
In that moment, I grasped his meaning. An interpretation that true liberation from threatening powers comes only when sharing the victory Christ won on the cross. With fellow Christian nations Spain and France at the peace table, he meant to position Islam—the infidels, enemies of Christendom—as a common foe, forcing negotiations in Spain's favor.
In essence, the Ragusa Archbishop intended to inject the Ottoman question onto the Spanish-French bargaining table.