"It is clear... that the rule of one is to be preferred but this can turn into tyranny, which is the worst.
It is therefore necessary to labour with diligent care to provide the community with a king who is of such a kind that it will not fall victim to a tyrant."
Niccolo looked up from his book. "Unfortunately, Thomas, that is exactly where you seem to have ended up."
Aquinas would have responded, had it not been for the gag [orig.: in his mouth]. He lay supine on the giant bed, limbs cuffed to the bed's four posts; spread-eagled, with absolutely nothing to protect his modesty.
"I am glad for this strange, never-to-be-fully-explained historical anachronism that allowed us to meet, Thomas. You make a couple of claims I…disapprove of. Let us see if I cannot dissuade you from them."
Aquinas inhaled nervously as the tip of Machiavelli's riding crop tickled his chin.
"Ah, this - one of my favourites! From your Summa theologiae: Virtue denotes a certain perfection of power.
Now a thing's perfection is considered chiefly in regard to its end. But the end of power is act. Wherefore power is said to be perfect, according as it is determinate to its act."
Machiavelli leaned forward over Aquinas' supine form, till they were nose to nose, and brown eyes quivered under the hard gaze of green.
"I am about to act, and take that power away from you."
A tiny bead of sweat made the journey down the side of Aquinas' face.
"By the end, we shall see whose power is the stronger one: mine, or yours. By the end, we shall see whether it is better to be loved, or feared."
"Some men are held to be benefactors, others are called grasping."
There was a loud crack, as whip hit buttock.
"Some are cruel, some compassionate."
Another crack, as Thomas blinked back tears of pleasure.
"Some are lustful, some pure."
Crack.
"So tell me Thomas; what kind of man are you?"
"For he who seeks the favour of men must necessarily give in to their wishes in everything that he says or does, and so, for as long as he strives to please men, he becomes the servant of each of them."
"You have pleased me, Thomas. I've truly enjoyed this discussion, and you've been a wonderful servant."
"Now, are you ready for me to please you?"
Aquinas' eyes said no, but as Machiavelli got into position and took one big thrust, his inner moralistic conservative screamed yes.
As they laid there together, spent, there was a soft knock on the door. Niccolo pulled himself from the bed and headed to the door, leaning his weight upon it as he asked "Who's there?"
The response was a single-worded, and entirely satisfactory.
"Marco."
Niccolo opened the door, a wry smile on his lips as he uttered his response.
"Polo."