Taking his time, Brother Antonio considered how best to answer his young charge’s question as the two slowly made their way around the enclosed garden that was the centerpiece of the monastery. “Often times a person can derive the correct answer to a problem using an approach that may not be obvious to another, or they might considered to be inappropriate,” he finally replied, taking care to do so in a tone of voice that was not dismissive of the way his fellow brothers went about teaching the boys placed in their care. Despite being orphans, castoffs, or bastards, as Brother Antonio himself had himself been, most were being groomed to serve either the Holy Mother Church or, as was the case of the child currently at his side, the scion of a prominent Genoese nobleman and a ward of the de Medici Pope.

This was not the only reason why the monk needed to exercise a degree of care and discretion when dealing with the clever red haired boy with an inquisitive mind who many thought needed to be reined in. Whereas any other boy would have accepted the elderly monk’s answer without question, Paolo Alesandro d’Aubigny was not any other boy. To say he was bright was, in Brother Antonio’s opinion, a gross understatement. Which was why the monk was not at all surprised when Paolo slowed his pace and lowered his gaze as he also took his time to weigh the answer to his question. Only after he had done so without understanding why he had been told the solution he had used to solve a complex mathematics problem was wrong did the boy once more look up at Brother Antonio with an expression that warned the monk he was not completely satisfied with his answer. “I expect that might be true in questions of theology, but not mathematics” he declared with an air of authority that even Brother Antonio found to be inappropriate for a child of ten. “Is not a correct answer still a correct answer, regardless of how it was derived?”

As with most of the questions Paolo put to him, there was no easy answer. Finding one that made sense to the boy without disparaging his fellow cleric compounded the problem. Again, Brother Antonio took his time before answering, turning his eyes up toward the blue, cloudless sky as if seeking divine inspiration. “In time you will come to appreciate it is not always possible to consider all the ways that exist to deal with a problem you find yourself confronted by,” he explained carefully. “Often people find they are faced with a situation that does not permit them the luxury of examining all possible solutions before selecting a solution that is, to them, the best suited to address it.”

Once more Paolo lowered his gaze as he took to staring down at the garden path before him while he mulled over Brother Antonio’s reply. It did seem to make sense, he finally concluded by relying on the logic of a boy who lived under the tyranny of a tightly structured life in which his days were neatly divided between classroom work, study time, chores, and, of course, prayer. As a monk living under a very different, but no less demanding regime, Paolo imagined Brother Phillip also had to make choices concerning problems he had to deal with, leaving him little time to come up with all the possible answers to the problems he presented his students in class. “Yes,” the boy finally admitted grudgingly. “I understand.”

The chiming of the chapel bell, calling Brother Antonio to prayer and Paolo to his studies, prevented the boy from asking another question, a blessing the monk silently thanked God for. As rewarding as it was to have a student who possessed a keen analytical mind and an unquenchable thrust for knowledge, providing the necessary guidance the quiet, unassuming boy of ten needed in order to mold him into a useful instrument of God and, by extension, his patron, was proving to be a challenge that Brother Antonio feared he might not be up to. As he did each day since being given the task of seeing to the boy’s education and providing him with spiritual guidance, he would need to seek inspiration from the Lord, asking that He bless him with the wisdom, the patience, and the strength needed to shoulder the burden he had been given.

From the window of the office from which he oversaw the running of the monastery, the Abbot watched as the frail boy with flaming red hair, who Pope Clement VII himself had placed in his care, leave the side of Brother Antonio and run off toward the library. No doubt, the Abbot thought, the boy would squander the balance of the day filling his head with novel ideas and concepts that all too often went counter to the teachings of the Church.

Like Brother Dominique, the monastery’s choir director, the Abbot wished he could honor that man’s request and place him under his tutelage and not in the care of Brother Antonio who was, in the Abbot’s opinion, far too lenient with the boy. Such an arrangement would allow Brother Dominique to nurture the child’s clear, sweet singing voice in order to better serve their blessed Lord and the Monastery’s patron. Were it not for the Pope’s mandate that the boy be educated to serve the Holy See as a member of the diplomatic corps and, by extension, the interests of the de Medici household, the Abbot would have given into the choirmaster’s request long ago. Unfortunately, Ancona was a part of the Papal States. Were the Abbot to deviate from the Pope’s mandate concerning the boy’s education, he suspected he would be replaced, for scions of the House of Medici was not noted for being lenient to those who crossed them.

The only consolation the Abbot could latch onto was that Popes did not live forever, and that the power and influence the great families wielded over the affairs of the Church ebbed and flowed like the tide. For now he had no choice but to do what was expected of him. That, and pray for guidance as he did each day that his young charges would not be corrupted by the growing secularism that was as much a threat to the Church as the evil German heretic and the vile blasphemies he spread. With this thought in mind, he turned his back on the scene below and made for the chapel where he would lead his supplicants in prayer and contemplation.

Without any thought given to the Greek text he had been told to translate into Latin, Paolo made his way back to the stacks where he had found a rare copy of Johann Albrecht Widmannstetter’s lecture concerning the universe and copies of Cardinal Nikolaus von Schönberg’s lectures. That he might not find them where he had left them the day before was always a possibility. Brother Gregorio, the monastery’s archivist, had a habit of moving such material around the small but well maintained library the monks and students used. Whether he did so in order to make room for new works or, as Paolo suspected, he wished to save the monastery’s students’ immortal souls by keeping them from filling their heads with ideas that were, in the minds of some of the monks, heretical was unimportant. Those works, and others like them, could always be found if one was tenacious.

Besides, Paolo mused as he began his search, not only was it great fun seeking such works, by doing so he very often stumbled upon something that equally captured his imagination and opened a new and exciting opportunity to learn more about the world that lay just beyond the walls of the monastery, walls that held him, but not his imagination, captive. That was how he had stumbled upon the copies of Widmannstetter’s writings concerning the Ottoman Empire. The breadth and depth of that man’s knowledge impressed Paolo, which was why he imagined the Pope had appointed him as his secretary, leading the boy to believe that if he followed Widmannstetter’s example, he too could one day take his place at the side of the Pope himself. Being a bastard was not an impediment to such ambition, provided of course, the aspirant possessed the knowledge, the cunning, and the determination that achieving such a lofty goal demanded. That he would also need to be ruthless was a trait Paolo did not factor in. That was an attribute that only experience could instill in a child who had spent his entire life safely coddled in a place apart from the brutality that governed the world which lay just beyond the walls of the monastery, and of course protected by the unseen, but always present, hand of a powerful patron.

A smile lit up Paolo’s face when he finally found what he was looking for. Ever so carefully he removed the folder containing copies of the works he wished to study from under an account of Íñigo López de Loyola’s appeal to the Pope to lead his companions as emissaries to Jerusalem. Whether Brother Gregorio intentionally hid the works Paolo favored under such material was something the boy gave no thought to. He was far too interested in the material he was seeking. That, and his naivety prevented him from understanding the path he had set out for himself was strewn with hazards and obstacles his fertile imagination was, as yet, unable to conceive.

In truth, the only reason Brother Dominique impatiently took to tapping the edge of the choir director’s stand with his baton, stopping his young charges in the middle of a hymn they had been performing flawlessly was entirely selfish. Like the Abbot, the monk took advantage of every opportunity that came his way to listen to the clear, angelic voice of one boy, a boy who possessed a voice all who heard it proclaimed was a gift, one bestowed upon the boy of ten by God himself. That the boy took no pride in it, nor had any interest in developing it, did not matter in the least as Brother Dominique closed his eyes in order to fully enjoy listening to Paolo d’Aubigny sing a hymn once sung by the Florentine nuns of Santa Chiara, a hymn entitled Jesu Corona Virginum. It was not the words of the hymn that mesmerized Brother Dominique. Nor was it the tribute the hymn paid to the martyred virgin who had dedicated herself to the blessed Lord Jesus that lifted his spirits as nothing else here on earth could. Rather, the monk’s entire being was overcome by an unworldly rapture that was almost sinful as he gave himself over the ethereal, dulcet tones of the boy’s voice.

Even as the last soft note of the hymn was still lingering high above him like a cloud, gently drifting across a windless blue sky, Brother Dominique told himself, as he often did at moments like this, that it was his duty to preserve such a precious gift. Opening his eyes, he took to studying the boy who was its keeper. That God would waste such a gift on Paolo d’Aubigny, a boy who all too often neglected his obligations to the Holy Mother Church in order to run off to the library and read books filled with ideas the devout brother believed went against the teachings of the Church, was a mystery the monk simply could not understand. There had to be a reason, one he had given much thought to. That God had done so in order to place before him a challenge, an obligation to do something to ensure this treasure was saved from the ravages of maturity was a thought that Brother Dominique found himself dwelling upon more and more with each passing day. He had even taken up the matter with the Abbot who, without the need to say so, had obviously agreed with him. And were it not for the patronage the current pope showered upon the boy, Brother Dominique was convinced the Abbot would have blessed his plan to geld the boy.

Well, the monk found himself thinking as he stood there, meeting the boy’s steady, unflinching gaze, the Abbot was right. Popes did not live forever. Perhaps the next one would see the light and allow him to carry out what was, in Brother Dominique’s mind, a God given mandate.

Myths About Red Heads

Historically, prejudice and suspicion has always greeted the redhead, along with the belief that they were fiery and hot-tempered. This image - wrong or not - most likely stems from the fact that the Scots, with their high percentage of red haired people, are descended from the Celts, notoriously violent warriors. It is this perception that spawned many strange and fantastical beliefs and ideas about red hair.

The myths do seem to permeate all cultures. The ancient Egyptians couldn't make up their minds, typical of the super superstitious Egyptians of the time. They covered all their bases with a god for every purpose and situation. Sort of a god grab-bag. On the one hand, they believed that red haired animals and people were associated with the god 'Set', and many of their pharaohs had red hair. That included Ramses who was the most powerful baddest dude of all the pharaohs. Conversely, they also regarded the color red as unlucky and many red haired maidens were burnt to death to wipe out the tint. Talk about a makeover. Stories still persist that redheads were buried alive.

The Greeks, not to be outdone (the Greeks were never to be outdone as they were sore losers and it really got their sacrificial goat), believed that redheads would turn into vampires following their death. Aristotle - philosopher, student of Plato, teacher of Alexander the Great, and all-around smart guy and occasional ass - described redheads as being emotionally un-housebroken. I don't know what that means but whadda ya say you and I step outside, Tots?

Roman historian Deo Cassius described British Warrior Queen Boudicca (or Boudicca the bodacious) as " tall and terrifying in appearance [with] a great mass of red hair." Incidentally the ancient Romans also paid a premium for red haired slaves.

During the Spanish Inquisition (one of the fairest and justified of all inquisitions) flame colored hair was evidence that it's owner had stolen the fire of hell and had to be burned as a witch. Apparently, stealing the fire of hell is a crime and crime doesn't pay. In Corsica, if you pass a redhead in the street you are supposed to spit and turn around. It is unclear if that is supposed to bring good luck or because redheads leave a bad taste in your mouth. During the Middle Ages, red was seen as the color of the Devil, and it was thought that a child born with red hair was conceived during "that time of the month". Is that a little too much menstruation information?

Johann Albrecht Widmannstetter (1506 in Nellingen/Blaubeuren near Ulm – March 28, 1557 in Regensburg), was a German humanist, orientalist, philologist, and theologian.

Widmannstetter studied law, theology and oriental languages in Tübingen. After 1527, he continued his studies in Italy, in Turin, Naples and Rome, focusing on Syrian and Arabian. In 1533, Widmannstetter became secretary of the pope, first Pope Clement VII, then Pope Paul III. In the same year, he delivered a series of lectures in Rome, outlining Nicolaus Copernicus' theory to the pope and the cardinals.

The rest of his career was focussed on orientalism, to which he contributed a lot, collecting hundreds of manuscripts in Hebrew and Arabic. Widmannstetter is considered to be a founder of European orientalism.

In 1533, Johann Widmanstetter, secretary to Pope Clement VII, explained Copernicus' heliocentric system to the Pope and two cardinals. The Pope was so pleased that he gave Widmanstetter a valuable gift. In 1535 Bernard Wapowski wrote a letter to a gentleman in Vienna, urging him to publish an enclosed almanac, which he claimed had been written by Copernicus. This is the only mention of a Copernicus almanac in the historical records. The "almanac" was likely Copernicus' tables of planetary positions. Wapowski's letter mentions Copernicus' theory about the motions of the earth. Nothing came of Wapowski's request, because he died a couple of weeks later.