by Walter Ellis
‘While I weep for poor Visco and pray for the repose of his soul,’ the Camerlengo told journalists, ‘I point to his treachery as proof of my contention that there are evil forces at work, directed against us from the East. These forces must be countered by a new pope whose holy mission will be to restore the Catholic Church to its historic pre-eminence in this, its continental homeland.’
Bosani denied all knowledge of Visco’s activities and set out systematically to blacken O’Malley’s name by suggesting that it was he, the Superior General of the Jesuits, who was determined to divide Catholicism and set brother against brother. He ended the press briefing by confessing his own naivety and accepted responsibility for hiring Visco in the first place. ‘But now, ladies and gentlemen, I ask you to defer all further questions until after the cardinal electors have discharged their duty and elected a new pope to the Throne of Peter. I ask you to pray for me, for poor deluded Father Visco and for all those whose task it is to restore peace in the world.’
The entries from the Secret Archive had been kept in Bosani’s safe for twenty years. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t destroyed them long ago. All he knew was that when he had tried once to burn the two sets of papers, setting light to them with the flame from a candle, he had been unable to do so. Perhaps, he thought, as he once again smoothed out the 400-year-old documents, they served as a necessary corrective, demonstrating how even the best-laid plans could come to grief if one was not eternally vigilant. But there was also his wish that, in the fullness of time, Battista’s heroism should at last be recognized. He deserved no less.
The words on the principle document were seared into his head, but he could never resist the Italian text. The author was Cardinal Ferdinando Gonzaga, later Duke of Mantua, appointed to the Sacred College by Pope Paul V at the consistory of 10 December 1607.
21 December 1610
Most Holy Father,
Your Holiness will recall that following the disappearance and likely death of the artist Michelangelo Merisi, known as Caravaggio, you asked me to investigate what truth, if any, might lie behind claims made by the late Prince Marzio Colonna concerning the religious and political allegiance of His Eminence Cardinal Battista, lately Camerlengo of the Roman Church.
It is with the utmost regret that I must inform Your Holiness of my conclusion, that Battista was indeed a Muslim and had been so for many years. It is further my opinion that, in pursuit of his conspiracy with the Ottoman court, by way of the Safiye Sultan, mother of Sultan Mehmed III, he caused to have murdered not only Prince Marzio, but Caravaggio also.
In accordance with Your Holiness’s instructions, I put several men on whom I have in the past placed reliance in positions in which they could observe the cardinal’s behaviour. Additionally, I travelled myself, with others, to the Prince’s palazzo in Zagarola, south of Rome, where I interrogated members of the household of Duke Marzio, as well as to Porto Ercole, where I spoke with the parish priest of the church of Sant’Erasmus, Father Salviati, about the mysterious disappearance of Merisi.
Servants of the late Prince informed me that their master had dined unexpectedly with the Camerlengo days before his death, while on a visit to Rome. They added that the first signs of what was subsequently said to be the plague had appeared two days thereafter, both in the Prince and in his immediate entourage. Yet no others became infected. One servant, whom I had to assure of the Church’s protection in this matter, went so far as to say that Don Marzio had blamed Battista for ‘poisoning’ him.
In Porto Ercole, the priest, Salviati, told me that on a hot afternoon in July of this year of Our Lord he chanced on a stranger, possibly answering to the description of Merisi, lying on the floor of his church, appearing ill and, so he thought, affected with pestilence. Upon leaving San’Erasmus to secure help, he was halted by three riders, one of them a Monsignor, bearing the arms of the papal household, the crossed keys and the triple tiara; the others two brothers of the Order of St John the Beheaded. The Monsignor, said to be of stocky build, aged in his forties, told the priest that they, not he, would take care of the stranger. They then warned him most solemnly to inform no one of their visit. He did not see the three again and when he re-entered the church found only a bloodstain near the front of the church, closest to the altar.
In the meantime, my spies in Rome reported to me that Battista and his secretary, while in the cardinal’s quarters in the Sacred College, did on two occasions prostrate themselves in the Muslim fashion, worshipping in what they understood to be Arabic. Prior to these prayers, they washed their faces, hands and feet and touched the tips of their fingers to their foreheads, mouths and hearts.
Knowing of Your Holiness’s deep concern in this matter, I took immediate steps to secure the arrest and interrogation of the Camerlengo. I must now report to you that Battista, having been put to the question and tortured for four hours with irons, confessed to his crimes, which he said were committed in the name of Allah, to whom he bore his true allegiance following time spent in Constantinople, now Istanbul, in service of the Church.
Your Holiness commanded that should I find Battista guilty as charged, I should first ascertain which accomplices, if any, he had retained in this affair and then have him put to death both quickly and secretly lest his crimes become known to the wider community to the detriment of Your Holiness and the Universal Church.
Three names were revealed under torture: that of a senior Knight of the Order of St John, Fra’Luis de Fonseca; also that of Battista’s intimate secretary, Father Scaglia; and that of the Monsignor seen in Porto Ercole, Father Domenico Bellarmino, employed in the office of the Camerlengo. It is my hope that I shall secure the names of the Brothers assisting Bellarmino by the end of this week, at which time I will inform Your Holiness further. Each of these men will be dealt with by your order – secretly. Fonseca will die, by your instruction, at the hands of Fabrizio Colonna, whose uncle, Don Marzio, was a victim of this conspiracy and who most nobly rescued Caravaggio from his unjust incarceration in Valletta. None of those who die shall know of the stain they leave.
You will wish to know that Battista was beheaded in a dungeon of the Castel Sant’Angelo. His body, by your express wish, was burned, without ceremony, in the adjacent grounds and his dust scattered in the Tiber. His last words, I must regretfully report to Your Holiness, as the axe fell, were ‘Allahu Akbar’.
I pray to Jesus and His Holy Mother that this matter is now concluded.
I have the honour to profess myself with the utmost respect, Your Holiness’s most obedient and humble servant.
Gonzaga
Bosani gazed at the familiar letter for several long seconds. Even after all this time, he could feel the sense of injustice burning within him. Battista was a hero of Islam, a martyr in the cause of Muhammad – peace be upon Him. A fragment of his ashes, recovered from a charnel house in Trastevere, had been deposited in the foundations of the mosque of al-Malika Safiyya, in Cairo, on the orders of Safiye Sultan herself. It was his only memorial. But his death would not go unavenged. More than four hundred years had passed since that terrible day in the confines of Castel Sant’Angelo. Bosani, though, did not forget, and neither would the world. Offering a short prayer, he flicked open his mobile phone and pressed the now familiar numbers.
Watching Bosani’s press conference on the television, O’Malley recognized a masterful performance. ‘The fellow could have been a Jesuit,’ he told his nephew. ‘But now we need to find out what impact all this business may have on the conclave. After Mass, the cardinals go into purdah and we will have no further chance of reaching them. Let’s see what we can do in the few hours remaining.’
O’Malley called a news conference of his own, in which he repeated, in modest terms, the accusation he had made in his sermon in the Gesù. He asked journalists not simply to assume that Visco killed himself. ‘Instead, ask yourselves who benefits from his death. Not Visco, obviously. Not me, I submit. The man whom I suggest most gains from the p
oor wretch’s demise is in fact Camerlengo of the Holy Roman Church, who as he vanishes into the conclave would have us believe he is in mourning – a visionary, cruelly duped by a traitor, whose stern, even heroic, warning against the coming predations of the Islamic world rings truer today than ever.’
The Italian press had splashed that morning with O’Malley’s doom-laden sermon. Now, following the two news conferences, the internet was awash with sensational claims and fresh ‘revelations’. Television stations, geared up for the spectacle of a papal election, not realizing that the vote could be rigged, began to explore every aspect of the bitter quarrel between the Camerlengo and the Superior General of the Society of Jesus.
Dempsey turned to his uncle. ‘Why did Visco do it?’ he wanted to know.
‘Don’t be stupid, Liam. Visco didn’t kill himself. He was murdered.’
The younger man looked shocked. ‘But why? He couldn’t be sure that Maya had pictures of him praying. All he knew was that someone had been spying at his door. It could easily have been a child.’
‘Quite possibly,’ said O’Malley. ‘But by telling Bosani of his fears, he was signing his own death warrant. Bosani already knew his plot had been exposed. Any properly organized investigation was bound to lead to his door. Even though I didn’t mention his name, it was plain as day that I was on to him. He needed a scapegoat – someone against whom there was genuine evidence – who would make it look as if I had fingered the wrong man. Visco fitted the bill perfectly. He had also failed his master and deserved his fate. Maya’s film footage, once handed to the media, would have shown to the world that he was a practising Muslim. From that moment on, it was a question of damage limitation, and fair play to Bosani, he almost succeeded in turning Visco’s death to his advantage. I’m not saying the Camerlengo wielded the knife personally. That wouldn’t be his style. But he will certainly have given the order.’
‘Jesus Christ!’ said Dempsey. ‘No wonder I gave up religion.’
High Mass on the morning of the papal election was celebrated in St Peter’s Basilica. To indicate the global nature of the occasion, the officiating priests were drawn from Uganda, Hong Kong, the United States and Peru. The dean of the College of Cardinals, Cardinal Urbano della Chiesa, who would later preside over the conclave, next to the Camerlengo, then gave an address. Della Chiesa was as straightforward a cleric as Bosani was scheming. Due to pressure of business, he had been unable to attend the previous night’s Mass at the Gèsu, but had watched it afterwards on television. O’Malley’s comments had caused him grave concern. Never in his lifetime had a Superior General of the Jesuits intervened in such a fashion in the matter of a papal election. But the dean had worked with the Camerlengo for several years and had long sensed that something was not quite right about him. In his address – intended less as a sermon than a speech of welcome to the cardinal electors – he urged his 121 voting colleagues not to be swayed by rumour but to focus on the need to proclaim a new pastor for a troubled Church.
‘You will have read and heard much in the last day about conspiracies and clandestine plots to subvert the will of God. But I tell you, those who seek to divert the Almighty from His divine purpose are surely doomed to fail. Our duty in the conclave that will shortly begin is to elect from the ranks of the Sacred College a priest of God to sit on the Throne of Peter. Our new pope, whoever he may be, will face grave challenges. He must therefore be both strong and humble, able to resist the impulses that at times affect us all and proclaim the mystery of faith and the certainty of Christ’s return. On Earth, he must be a pastor – the Good Shepherd. Within the Church, he should be a leader, but also the Servant of the Servants of God. Let us pray that today and in the days ahead we shall each of us do our duty and find a pope who will so light the path ahead that all of us in this world can find our way. I ask this in the name of Jesus and His Holy Mother. Amen.’
Halfway down the aisle, with Dempsey and Maya sitting next to him, O’Malley said a silent prayer.
As the choir of St Peter’s began a soaring anthem, Della Chiesa and Bosani – who as Camerlengo was the sole member of the hierarchy still in office – then led cardinals in procession from the Basilica to the nearby Domus Sanctae Marthae, built on the orders of John Paul II to house cardinals in civilized conditions during conclaves. By tradition and canon law, the electors would not re-emerge until a new pope was elected, notice of which would be conveyed by white smoke issuing from the chimney of the Sistine Chapel.
Along with the cardinals, into the hostel went the secretary of the College of Cardinals; the papal master of ceremonies and his three assistants (who would prepare the new pontiff for his investiture); the former dean’s secretary; confessors; two doctors and a selection of cooks and housekeepers, most of them nuns. No televison, radio or newspapers were permitted. Mobile phones and Blackberrys were confiscated. There would be no communication of any kind with the outside world. Security was provided by the Swiss Guard, commanded personally by Colonel Studer.
Outside, the crowds in St Peter’s Square continued to grow. By lunchtime, police estimated that as many as 300,000 people had arrived from every corner of the globe. There were nuns from Ethiopia and Uganda; priests from France and Paraguay; worshippers from Wisconsin and the Ukraine. There were even parties of Japanese tourists and punks from London – well-wishers of every religion and none. No other international event, with the possible exception of the World Cup, could have produced such a multitude.
Dempsey, granted a special security pass by Colonel Studer, pushed his way through the heaving throng with Maya. Unknown to anyone, Franco Lucchese was also there. For he, too, was on a special mission.
The first black smoke, indicating a failed ballot, emerged from the chapel chimney after two hours. A groan of disappointment rose up from onlookers. Most of those present, including a majority of Italians, were in good humour, soaking up the carnival atmosphere and not wanting it to end too quickly. But others were dour and intense, like compulsive gamblers, rooting for their preferred candidates. The fervour shown reminded Dempsey of passionate meetings in town squares at which Shiite clergy would stir up renewed hatred of the Kurds. He sensed unease as well as expectation among sections of the faithful and couldn’t help becoming wary himself. He tried to imagine how Bosani would play it. He wanted his man elected and had done everything in his power to influence the cardinals’ choice. But he left nothing to chance and was sure to have one final trick up his sleeve. Dempsey did his best to keep his wits about him. The Swiss Guard, armed with more than medieval halberds, were on duty outside all entrances, backed by the papal gendarmerie. The security services of the Vatican and Italy had men patrolling St Peter’s Square and its environs. More than a thousand officers from the Rome city police were on duty, with hundreds more in reserve. Closed-circuit cameras surveyed the crowd. A helicopter flew overhead.
Another puff of black smoke curled up from the chimney. This meant that another vote had failed to produce a result. Voting, ideally, was by ‘inspiration’.
The mood of the gathering would be judged by the dean and Camerlengo and a name put out for approval by acclamation. Inspiration, however, was extremely rare. The standard practice, when no obvious candidate emerged, was an elaborate process of secret balloting, known as ‘scrutiny’, aimed at finding someone who had the support of two-thirds of the electors. This could take days, sometimes weeks. Another groan rose from the crowd. Whatever was going to happen, it was clear it wasn’t going to happen quickly. As the mid-summer temperature continued to soar, an unstoppable lethargy overtook the multitude, which slowly spread to the police and security services. It was as if the world and everything in it had stopped for the afternoon.
Shortly after four, Dempsey took a call from his uncle on his mobile. ‘I wish I could be there with you, Liam. What was it the O’Rahilly said as he set out for the GPO in 1916? “I’ve helped to wind the clock, now I’ve come to hear it strike.” But the truth is, I’d only provoke a
riot. Best if I stay out of sight for a while. After all, there’s nothing more anyone can do.’
‘Isn’t there, though?’ Dempsey replied.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Bosani’s in there. I don’t doubt that Plan A is unfolding as we speak. He will have prepared the ground and mustered his troops. But there has to be something more – something we haven’t thought of. From what you tell me, there are few enough liberals left in the College of Cardinals, which is as old school as they come. But that doesn’t mean he’s going to have everything his own way. What about the pragmatists, or the ones who simply want the Church to continue on its own terms? They won’t want to vote for someone who could end up leading Europe into an unwinnable war with Islam. There has to be something else – a Plan B – that will drive the waverers over the edge and persuade them of the rightness of his cause.’
‘What are you suggesting?’
‘I don’t know. But I’m trying to put myself in his position. I’ve lived among madmen, don’t forget. Iraq was full of them. They don’t stop at half-measures. If he can’t change things from the inside, it’ll have to be from the outside.’
‘Oh, dear Lord!’ his uncle said.
‘What?’
‘A suicide bomber!’
For a moment, neither man spoke. Then Demspey said, ‘That’s what I was thinking. But he wouldn’t dare … would he?’
‘He might. He just might. The man is demonic – a monster. He’s already killed one of his own, as well as Cardinal Rüttgers. Why not 500 Catholic pilgrims? The way he sees it, he’d be doing God’s work.’
