A Bad Coin Always Turns Up Read online

  “I thank you, captain,” answered the baron, “and I would like to have the objects that I lost during the clash restored to me.”

  “If my lord agrees,” concluded the captain, “I will leave this decision to the authorities once we arrive in Aix.”

  Our Captain Ardiles nodded, indicating that he accepted reluctantly, but in fact, he could not have hoped for more.

  In effect, they never arrived in Aix en Provence, except for a brief transit, because a messenger sent there to herald the arrival of the Spanish prisoner returned with the order to continue to Lyon and on arriving there, to go immediately to the archbishop’s palace.

  Aix en Provence – 1636

  The news brought from Aix en Provence of the capture of a noble Spaniard had not attracted particular attention, except for that of the Dominican monk Lucien de Ploermel who, being an inquisitor, was curious by ‘vocation’ and wanted to take a look at the little chest with the ten coins.

  Father Lucien had, by chance, accompanied the archbishop’s secretary on a visit to the intendant at the généralité of Provence and was there when the messenger arrived with the news and the coffer. He was not a venal person and he was not interested in the coins’ considerable material value but, as an inquisitor, he had developed a sort of sixth sense for anomalies in human behaviour, in their clothing, or the things they carried with them.

  This coffer and the coins in it seemed strange and he wanted to observe the contents more closely.

  “Hah! I knew it,” grunted the monk after a good fifteen minutes spent examining the coins. The archbishop’s secretary, who in the meantime had begun an interesting conversation with the intendant regarding the hindquarters of one of the maids, started in surprise.

  “What is it Father Lucien?” asked the secretary.

  “There was something that escaped me and now I have found it.”

  Then he turned to the intendant.

  “Monsieur, could I ask whether you have a magnifying glass?”

  The intendant called for his assistant, the Controller of Finances, who in addition to collecting taxes was also responsible for identifying counterfeit coins.

  Shortly, they were all leaning over the intendant’s table examining those ten objects with the magnifying glass.

  “My lords, can you see those miniscule signs on the collar and the crest?” asked Father Lucien.

  “But where?” chorused the others.

  Father Lucien looked around, then he took a twig from the bundle in the huge fireplace, he broke it into pieces until he had a piece the size of a needle and with the help of the magnifying glass, he placed the tip against one of the details.

  “There, my lord, look here!”

  “That is amazing, how did you manage to see it with the naked eye?” And above all, what is it?” asked the intendant.

  “These are alchemic symbols. It is very strange that they should be found on a coin. And what is even more strange… is that they are on a coin of this value and… significance.”

  The persons in the group looked at each other blankly, without speaking. Then the archbishop’s secretary said, “It is true, these are not coins to be used at the market. Do you think they contain some sort of message?” he asked the intendant.

  “Personally, I do not know,” said the intendant. “I feel it would be opportune to speak immediately to the archbishop so that His Eminence can decide what to do.” He turned to the archbishop’s secretary, “…perhaps you could suggest to His Eminence that the Cardinal of Lyon should also be informed.”

  Lyon - 1636

  The archbishop of Lyon was Cardinal Alphonse-Louis du Plessis Duke of Richelieu and he was the older brother of the much more famous and influential Armand Jean du Plessis, the famous prime minister of King Louis XIII, who was also a cardinal: Cardinal Richelieu.

  That week the two brothers had met by chance in Lyon, so that when the secretary of the Archbishop of Aix brought the news to his colleague in Lyon, the Prime Minister also immediately came to hear of it.

  Now, the two brothers were conversing in the archbishop’s private study and examining the coins that had been brought to them and set on a large table beside the window.

  “It is a trap, a trick, but I don’t understand who is to be harmed,” said the more famous of the two brothers. “Alphonse, I need your fraternal help. Have the Spaniard brought here: I will interrogate him, pretending to be your secretary.”

  The archbishop glanced sideways and nodded with a smile, “So, my dear brother, for once I will have the pleasure of giving you orders.”

  The following day the so-called Baron Ardiles, with an escort of six mounted musketeers entered the gateway to the palace of the Archbishop of Lyon. The musketeers led him up a staircase and along the corridors until they arrived at a door closed and guarded by soldiers with helmets and armour.

  One of the soldiers knocked and a young priest, his hands folded in his sleeves, greeted Captain Ardiles in fluent Spanish and said that the secretary to the Archbishop was waiting for him.

  They entered a room that was modest in size and furnishings. There was a door that, as he found later, communicated with the archbishop’s study.

  The Cardinal, in the garb of a secretary was standing beside the desk and greeted him with chilly grace.

  “Monsieur le baron,” began the ‘secretary’, “you will forgive me if I do not speak your language as well as my assistant. Moreover, you will understand that your presence here is, to say the least, incongruous. It will perhaps surprise you that it is the archbishopric and not the King who will deal with you, but… you see, at times curious coincidences occur.”

  “In fact, I was wondering,” said the captain, “why I was brought before the Curia and not the army.”

  “In our kingdom, as you can imagine, the prime minister and closest councillor to His Majesty the King is one of God’s priests,” continued the ‘secretary’, while Captain Ardiles observed him, tempted to retort ‘Yes, certainly, I know that your cardinal believes in God,’ but he held his tongue.

  “The news of your, let us say ‘encroachment’ was brought to our attention because the coins you carry with you show anomalies.”

  “Anomalies?” asked Captain Ardiles.

  “Yes, anomalies. They are coins of great value and I do not think you were about to use them for your personal expenses. What is more, and this is very strange, they bear alchemic symbols!”

  “Alchemic?” asked the Captain, “Excuse me, but what do you mean by al-che-mic?”

  “Alchemic, that has to do with alchemy!” said the ‘secretary’ calmly.

  Captain Ardiles tried, he did not know how he managed it, to pale and widening his eyes, he crossed himself three times, stuttering, “Is it a question of witchcraft?”

  “In some ways, it could be, that depends on you,” said the ‘secretary’ in a conciliating but increasingly treacherous tone.

  “On me? But, but, but… what do I have to do with it?” asked Captain Ardiles paling even more.

  “Perhaps you are not involved, but it certainly not the duty of the archbishop to ascertain this. It is the inquisition that deals with these matters and their methods, you who come from the kingdom of Spain should know it well, are very convincing.”

  “What do you mean? Is that a threat, perhaps? Do not forget that you are speaking to a Spanish nobleman!” the self-proclaimed baron almost shouted.

  “Calm yourself baron, do not forget that you are a guest, ours and notwithstanding, a guest of the Holy Roman Church whose mission is to pardon and redeem. I may agree with you regarding your blamelessness and the fact that you ignored the presence and the meaning of those symbols.”

  “Now, that is reasonable,” agreed the captain.

  “However…” said the ‘secretary’.

  “However…?”

  “However, if you were to help us understand the provenance of these coins, the archbishop migh
t be sympathetic to your cause and find a solution. You know that the brother of His Eminence…”

  “The brother of His Eminence…?” asked Captain Ardiles raising his eyebrows.

  “The brother of His Eminence, our beloved Archbishop Alphonse-Louis du Plessis, of whom I am the humble secretary, is the Cardinal Armand Jean du Plessis: Cardinal Richelieu.”

  Captain Ardiles managed to assume such an utterly distressed attitude that even the inflexible ‘secretary’ was almost sorry for him.

  “What… what can I do?” implored the captain, “to convince His Eminence of my innocence?”

  “I think that the truth will be sufficient,” repeated the ‘secretary’.

  “The truth?”

  “Yes, just that. Come now, tell me why you were carrying those coins and you will see that we find a solution,” said the cardinal impatiently. He was beginning to find his disguise as a secretary rather trying.

  “It is embarrassing… my honour… if it were known…,” whimpered the captain artfully.

  “Come, come, simply imagine that you are in the confessional. Everything will remain under the seal of confession…,”

  Captain Ardiles pulled himself together, adopted a proud stance and began to tell his tale.

  “I was travelling with a detachment of my mounted dragoons towards Cremona, where I had camped, to meet my peer in the Margrave of Finale, our enclave within the Genovese Republic. The territories we crossed have indeterminate borders, but anyway, I was sure that we were still in the territory of the Dukedom of Milano. It was there that we saw in the distance a patrol of ambiguous appearance that did not return our greetings; rather they tried to hide in the woods. We followed them and we scattered them. They left on the ground many of their men and a wooden box: a coffer. I opened it and I found the coins.”

  The cardinal-secretary was observing him with a perplexed and interrogative expression.

  “That is the truth! And… and it is difficult for me to continue, because… because it is not particularly honourable!”

  “Continue,” ordered the cardinal.

  “In Finale I met with Baron Felipe de Figueras, an old friend, and asked him what I should do with those coins. He told me that they were ‘illicit’ and that if I took them to Milano I would have to answer a thousand questions: better to be rid of them. I asked him if there was a way that was not merely throwing that cornucopia into the sea and whether he knew of someone trustworthy who would buy them. He answered that it was too risky there in Finale or anywhere in the Genovese Republic. He suggested that I go to the Principality of Monaco and that there, perhaps, I would find a buyer. I pointed out that to reach Monaco I would have to travel through enemy country, and he showed me a route to get there without meeting any dangers,” the captain paused for a minute or more.

  “Well?” asked the so-called secretary, increasingly impatiently.

  “Well… well, I took the wrong road and I encountered your patrol. What a humiliation!”

  “Because you were smuggling coins?”

  “Of course not!” replied the captain proudly. “Because I got lost! What will become of my honour as a soldier?”

  They both fell silent then the cardinal, without shedding his disguise as the archbishop’s secretary, made Captain Ardiles a proposal.

  “These coins would bring you little fortune… particularly if you were to find yourself in one of the palace dungeons.”

  “But… how dare you…”

  “Quiet, quiet, of course we dare! However, we can offer you an alternative: with the help of the Archbishop of Milano, we will propose to Governor of Milano an exchange – yourself for our valorous soldier, Baron di Plessis who, like yourself, and to his displeasure, is an involuntary and undesired guest at the castle of Milano. As a last gift, we will not mention to anyone that you were in possession of these coins.”

  They both fell silent, from the half-open window came the subdued noise of daily life in the courtyard of the archbishop’s palace.

  “Well? Have you decided?” asked the ‘secretary’, “I must refer your answer to His Eminence.”

  The captain stood up, he struck a very aloof attitude and in a firm, proud voice, said, “I accept.”

  Vercelli – September 1637

  The previous year, in 1636, a battle had taken place at Tornavento, a place near Novara on the banks of the River Ticino: a bloody battle between the Spanish army and the French, who were allied with the Dukedom of Savoy. The battle was significant for the war between the two countries, which had been dragging on for years and which became known as the ‘Thirty Years’ War’.

  Commanding the allied troops were the Duke Charles III de Blanchefort-Créqui and the duke Vittorio Amedeo I of Savoy.

  This alliance, which was also founded on their friendship, was successful when on September 8th 1637 the allied French and Savoy armies again defeated the Spanish army at Mombaldone, on the borders with the Genovese Republic.

  To celebrate this new victory, on the evening of September 25th the duke Charles de Créqui organised a dinner in honour of his friend and companion in victory Vittorio Amedeo. The dinner was held in Vercelli and the luxury and pomp were fitting for the reputation of the duke of Créqui.

  He was not the sort to pretend modesty: many still recalled with amazement the magnificence and the ostentatiousness with which the duke had arrived in Rome in 1633, on the occasion of an extraordinary ambassadorship to the Pope.

  However, something or someone played a nasty trick on the Duke of Crequi’s reputation and an even worse trick on his guest’s health.

  Without going into unpleasant detail, the ceremonial dinner ended in a deluge of cramps in the stomach and the intestine that sent most of the guests rushing for their rooms.

  One in particular, Duke Vittorio Amedeo I, was particularly affected and he died a few days later, in the night between the sixth and the seventh of October.

  The Cardinal Armand du Plessis Duke of Richelieu certainly did not weep for that death, which freed him of a person who was a nuisance to him and who was becoming too popular both in Savoy and in France. In fact, Vittorio Amedeo had married Christine Marie of France, the sister of King Louis XIII and he was a determined and resolute man: who knows what Christine Marie, who became the regent of the Duchy on his death could have demanded if King Louis XIII, who had little taste for feminine lovers, were to die without leaving an heir?

  He was annoyed that he had been forced to poison, even if only mildly, so many people. It had been necessary to cause a general commotion in order to distract attention, because a specific campaign against the duke would have been tantamount to declaring “Yes! It was I!”

  The only thing that continued to disturb his intelligent mind was that strange set of coins found in the possession of that curious baron.

  “De Arviles? Ardiles? Oh, what the devil was his name? And who knew if that was his real name?” he thought as he examined them.

  Those coins continued to represent a puzzle for the cardinal who was convinced that the baron was not the booby he tried to seem, but rather that he was trying, commissioned by Vittorio Amedeo, to take those coins to someone. But to whom? To the Spanish court? Perhaps. After all, Vittorio Amedeo grew up in Madrid and Richelieu was convinced that his heart had always remained in Spain.

  Or perhaps to Gaston, Duke of Orléans? The brother of King Louis XIII who, inspired by his mother Marie de’ Medici, had always been the cardinal’s open enemy, even ordering a plot against him.

  In any case, he had solved the problem. But what if he had been tricked? What if the Duke of Savoy really had nothing to do with the affair? Never mind. The crown of France left no room for doubts, better a dead friend than a live enemy.

  Nonetheless, those strange signs must contain a message, some sort of cypher; they were certainly not mere alchemic fantasies. Armand du Plessis did not believe in alchemy, he did not believe in anything, particularly not in
God: why should he, Cardinal Richelieu, believe that there was a being superior to himself? Did they think him that naïve?

  He took the nine remaining coins; he had destroyed the tenth by trying to melt it down and replaced them in the coffer. He had discovered that they were not made from pure gold; instead, they contained a fair amount of a powder that did not melt in the flame but remained inert. Another enigma that challenged his intelligence.

  He never did solve the puzzle, not because he forgot about it, merely because he was distracted by more important concerns.

  Masserano – October 1637

  The man was creeping along the walls of the houses to avoid being seen. It was late at night and he absolutely must not be discovered, that was why he was dressed as a hired ruffian to complete his task and finally attain the title of baron: Captain Baron Ardiles!

  The trick with the scudo coins had gone much better than he and the governor Don Diego Felipe de Guzman could have hoped: by now, no one in Milano doubted that the mysterious death of the Duke of Savoy was the work of Richelieu.

  In particular, for the captain, the doubt had become a certainty once he had seen a portrait of the cardinal: it was that damned ‘secretary’!

  It annoyed him, and not little, to have to conclude a task conducted so brilliantly and efficiently in such a dishonourable manner. However, he was a solder and a good soldier did not discuss the orders he had received: wipe out all traces.

  He found Benassi’s house and waved over the two thugs he had hired. The house was set slightly apart from its neighbours and this allowed them to operate with greater ease.

  The pair entered while the captain remained outside in the shadows to check that no one went past or could see them and give the alarm.

  A little later, they came out and hid nearby in a cranny they had found the day before, to make sure that their work went well.