Eternal City
With the arrival of Charles VII's delegation in Rome, the negotiations grew busy and chaotic.
Usually, the formal daytime sessions produced little, with frequent arguments interrupting the proceedings.
After nightfall, Thomas generally found himself doing one of two things: hosting a banquet or attending someone else's.
The atmosphere at dinner was more relaxed. Diplomats spoke privately, communicating more efficiently than they could in the public sessions during the day.
Thomas was glad that his missions to the Rus principalities in his youth had given him a considerable capacity for drink, keeping him from disgracing himself or divulging secrets while drunk on such occasions.
Even so, by February, he was beginning to find it hard to bear.
Attending banquets every evening, drinking until late at night before returning to his lodgings, and sleeping until ten the next morning-these dreadful habits had made him gain twelve pounds!
"This is all Vitus's fault. He stays away from conferences like this and leaves me to suffer this torture."
Sunlight streamed through the windows. Thomas studied his face in the mirror, repeatedly feeling as though he were looking at a stranger.
If he kept eating, he would grow as fat and lumbering as Demetrius!
He asked the civil official sent by the Central Administration, "What are we discussing today?"
"Corsica."
Thomas remembered discussing this topic half a month earlier. He went to the dining room for breakfast-or rather, lunch-while reading the documents the officials had prepared.
At one in the afternoon, the delegation left its quarters in the north of the city and proceeded in a great procession toward the Apostolic Palace. A cold rain had fallen the previous night, leaving the ground slippery. The horses' hooves slipped slightly against it, forcing them to slow down.
Makeshift shacks had been erected among the