by Eric Flint
Calixtus let a few seconds of silence pass before he replied. “Firstly, Johann, the matter is complicated by Philip of Spain’s refusal to either avow or disavow the orders which sent Count Oruna’s Neapolitan tercios to Rome. Oruna himself has remained vague on the matter, saying only that when the most prominent of the Spanish cardinals requested troops, he complied without undue questioning. Obedience to God seems to have become obedience to Borja, insofar as the Viceroy of Naples is concerned. At any rate, no Catholic monarch or vassal thereof has taken responsibility for the unseating of our host, Urban VIII. And secondly, there is no historical precedent against which potential solutions may be measured.”
Gerhard blew out his moustaches impatiently. “Come now, Georg. The history of the Church is littered with antipopes, the most notable being those who sat at Avignon.”
Calixtus was nodding again. “Inarguably, that is true. But if we consider that analogy more carefully, we may find it lacks essential congruence to the current crisis. And so, it is a false analogy. Unintentionally so, of course,” he amended quickly, “but false nonetheless.”
Sharon leaned toward Larry again. “So why is Calixtus defending the Catholics?”
Larry replied in a mutter from the corner of his mouth. “He’s arguably the original ecumenicist. Worked on creating a ‘unifying theology’ that would be acceptable to all branches of Christianity. Up-time, about five years from now, he was accused of being a syncretist.”
“A what?” muttered Sharon.
Larry’s response was a sibilant, “Shhhh…”
Calixtus took a few more moments to collect his thoughts. Then: “Firstly, Borja has not claimed himself to be pope. And there has been no movement in his vastly diminished—and many say, unenthusiastic—consistory to encourage him to take such a step. Which is actually sound advice, since in almost all prior cases of antipopes, they arose at a time when the cardinals of Rome elected a new pope, or very shortly thereafter. That is most dramatically not the case presently. Our host, Urban VIII, has been the Bishop of Rome for almost thirteen years. There was never the slightest question regarding the legitimacy of his election. He has not repudiated the Church, nor has a Council of the Consistory ever convened to compel him to renounce his title. Not even the establishment of the Avignon Papacy offers a useful parallel, nor does its eventual dissolution.
“And just as it was not built in a day, so it was not torn down any more quickly. The process of reunification under the Roman popes took almost fifty years. Many small wars were ostensibly waged over the rightful seat of the papacy but were, in fact, callously opportunistic struggles for material gain.”
Calixtus sighed. “It is much more difficult now, two hundred years later with our entire continent bitterly divided by the greater and more ferocious wars of the Reformation. In no prior situation did any of the papal claimants kill a huge portion of the standing consistory, nor was the House of Hapsburg divided, nor was there an immense and unified Protestant power holding dominion where the factious Holy Roman Empire used to be.
“And as if that was not enough to paralyze a just resolution, in this case, the legitimate pope was twice an assassination target who was rescued by free thinking persons from the future, operating with the support and tacit approval of Rome’s most staunch opponent: Gustav Adolf of Sweden.” Calixtus smoothed his robes. “It is said that Philip believes he must rid the world of the up-timers and their influence, which means eliminating the pope who accepted both. He is equally compelled to avoid another papal schism and remain aloof from charges of pontificide. He and the cardinals that answer to him are thus on the horns of a most unpleasant dilemma.”
“That’s as may be, Reverend Calixtus,” John Dury said, sitting at the forefront of the small knot of Calvinists who had attended. “But whether Spain or Italy, I don’t see as it makes a great deal of difference to us. Both nations have been comparable in their ardor for our extermination.”
“I do not debate that, Reverend Dury. But do you dispute that this colloquium is a very new situation, and that this is therefore a very new day? By which I must admit I am asking this pointed question: do you doubt that the olive branch offered from this pope is genuine?”
Dury, either unsure of his answer or unwilling to share it, murmured and sat. But before the moment had elapsed, a new voice came from much farther down that bank of seats. “Let us presume that the gesture that brought us here is genuine. However, let us also admit that it is extremely expedient.” The speaker was Jan Komensky, more commonly known as Comenius: a Hussite theologian more famous for his focus on popular education and discourse than ecumenicism.
Before Urban could reply, a high, clear voice from the end of that same left-hand bank of seats offered a counterpoint. “An expedient action does not necessarily suggest that it is, de facto, ingenuine. It is, perhaps, merely doubly wise.” Sharon knew this speaker for his provocative presence if nothing else: Menasseh ben Israel, an outstanding young scholar from the Jewish community and with ties to the Abrabanels, had risen slowly to his feet. Few of the faces in the great hall were welcoming; most seemed to be laboring mightily to maintain an expression of benign indifference. Old prejudices die hard, just like Dad always told me. Or maybe he was telling himself so he didn’t kill someone.
Ben Israel had not finished. “However, whether expedient, genuine, or both, all actions, all decisions must always be suspected of being impermanent. So, when the present danger to the Church is past, will the ecumenical gestures made today continue to be expedient? And if not, what then?” He sat as an approving murmur rose up from the rest of the left-hand seats.
Urban leaned forward. “I cannot speak for those popes who may come after me, but I may say this about the encyclicals I mean to put before the Council of Cardinals in the coming days, and, I hope, the Apostolic Constitutions which will come after and become inviolable dogma. Canon law shall no longer be silent upon, or easily interpreted to allow, waging war upon fellow Christians, or killing persons simply because their faith does not make them, by our definition, ‘believers.’”
As ben Israel nodded slowly, Třanovský jumped up. “So does this mean an end to the persecution, the torture? May we tell our communities that the burnings are over, that even Spanish streets will no longer be lit by auto-de-fe?”
Sharon flinched at that word. She remembered first hearing it when she was quite young. Not knowing how to spell it and look it up for herself, she asked her father what it meant. He frowned in a way he seldom did and answered, “A lynching. Conducted by priests.”
But, young as she was, Sharon explained that she did not know what the word “lynching” meant, either. Her father’s frown was quickly replaced by surprise and then the deep, sympathetic sadness that she only saw there when one of his patients died. He had risen from the kitchen table, reached down a hand. She took it, and by the time James Nichols reached his study, he was grim-lipped, as if determined to do something he very much did not want to do.
He sat her down in front of the wall that served as their library, peered along a shelf with books whose spines proclaimed names such as Baldwin, Du Bois, Wright, Morrison, Angelou, Ellison, and finally extracted a slim volume that was, in effect, an extended photographic essay. He sat beside her and held her hand as she turned through the pages; even at age ten, she was capable of clinical detachment, noting the details of how the atrocities had been committed even while compartmentalizing the slow, building rage that she never released, nor ever fully resolved.
And which she felt again now. Larry looked sideways at her. “You okay?”
“I’ll be fine. Thanks,” she murmured and understood—deep in her gut, not high in her head—why, despite all the deference and consideration shown the Protestants who had decided to attend the colloquium, so many were still filled with suspicion and anger. And why some of their communities had resorted to the same tactics, ultimately.
Urban was sadly shaking his head when Georg Calixtus’ voic
e rose once again from the Protestant bench. “My friend, now it is you who is guilty of being a tormentor—and of your host, no less. Think of where you are. Are we seated in the gilt finery of the Vatican? Have we been dining on rare delicacies? How can you ask this of a pope who truly possesses his title, but little else besides? How is he to disseminate his decrees, much less enforce them? Rather, let us simply ask: is he sincere? I for one believe he is. And that is a start.”
Urban suddenly seemed very old, and very, very tired. “These are indeed the circumstances in which I, and the legitimate Church, find ourselves. And I thank you, Reverend Calixtus, for your willingness to perceive and accept that our ecumenical gesture is in earnest.”
Georg Calixtus smiled. “I have never doubted it. The speed with which you have taken the steps to bring us here marks that clearly. But you will forgive me if I am not completely convinced that although earnest, your reasons might not be entirely spiritual in nature.” And he paused for the silence in the room to grow in the wake of his course change. He had been Urban’s defender a moment ago, but was now poised to function as his inquisitor.
Larry folded his hands in the long sleeves of his cassock, and Sharon translated the look on his face: Here it comes.
But Urban simply nodded. “So, let us speak of the practicalities, then. And let us do so frankly, that they do not remain undescribed shadows between us. Let us bring them into the light.”
Georg Calixtus’ face might have been about to fold into a frown, but if so, he immediately pasted a mask of genial impassivity over it. “Agreed. But I am hesitant: from either one of us, direct speech could also be perceived as tactless speech.”
“And that warning tells me you will not mean it to be so, Reverend Calixtus. So please feel free to share your concerns. I would have many, if I was in your shoes, and not all of them would sound pretty.”
The great room of Palais Granvelle seemed to echo with silence, if such a thing were possible.
Calixtus cleared his throat. “At your urging, then. The far-flung administrators of papal lands and cities continue to communicate exclusively with the Church’s Roman bureaucracy by dint of habit, under fear of bloody punishment, and lack of any reasonable alternative. Obversely, what few resources you have are here in Besançon with you, and it is quite clear that this cannot become a new Avignon, a second Holy See.”
Urban nodded. “All true and concisely presented.”
Georg Calixtus nodded back in acknowledgement of the compliment—and very possibly, buying a moment in which to buttress his composure. A gracious consideration of practical reservations, stated so frankly, was hardly what he and the other non-Catholics would have planned upon. Consequently, being in uncharted and unexpected discursive terrain, they were no longer working according to a plan, but improvising.
Which, as Larry had explained weeks before, was exactly what Urban had wanted, and which Wadding had urged, earning the old Irish priest arch stares and frustrated objections from Vitelleschi. But so far, the strategy seemed to be working, particularly since the objective was not to counter the Protestant arguments. Rather, like the willow in the wind, the purpose was to acknowledge their validity and so, move past them—and the danger of increased sectarian rancor—with all possible speed.
Calixtus spread his hands in an appeal. “So you can understand why there are many who wonder if, as Rabbi ben Israel said, your sudden interest in building bridges between us might be motivated more by the terrible crises of the moment than by the ecumenical words you have read from the future. If so, this apparent gesture of brotherhood in faith could also be the precursor to approaching us for the help required to retake your legitimate seat in Rome, and so, recover your power. Power which, I must add, has heretofore been exerted most vigorously against our various communities.”
Urban rose. “Which, therefore, is power that it would be in your best interests to see diminished or eliminated.” Urban’s eyes remained direct upon Calixtus’. “Am I correct?”
Chapter 19
Larry Mazzare discovered he was holding his breath. The pope’s Machiavellian summary had literally caused jaws to drop amongst Catholics, Protestants, and Orthodox alike. Such candor had little precedent in interfaith gatherings, and particularly not where the objective was to discover and attain some shared ground upon which an olive tree of enduring peace might be planted.
Urban stood waiting, and when Calixtus did not reply, he asked, “This is the logical conclusion to your line of inquiry and concern, is it not?”
It was Cyril Lucaris who rose to that question and implicit challenge. “It is.”
Urban smiled. “Very well. Frankly, I am glad to have such direct speech now. Your presentation of the Church’s situation, and your assessment of how it may bear upon the future of your own communities is, to my mind, without logical flaw. And although I may foresee somewhat different outcomes and draw somewhat different conclusions from the scenario before us, I do not intend to denigrate your projections in the process of presenting my own. Rather, I offer an alternative view based on one fundamental difference of perception. Indeed, we might call that difference the fulcrum point upon which the issues before us are balanced: whether, in fact, the Roman Catholic Church has come here to truly embrace your many faiths or not.”
Urban paused. Again, the room was silent. But now, almost half of the gathering was discernibly leaning forward, if only slightly, waiting on his next words.
Urban did not keep them waiting for long. “Firstly, it would be ludicrous for the Catholics gathered here to argue against the obvious: that the true papacy of the Roman Catholic Church is in desperate need of friends and allies. Not since the days of the Apostles has our plight been so great, our future so uncertain.
“However, despite the immensity of our need, we cannot use the help you fear we eventually intend to solicit: specifically, the military might needed to restore the papacy to the Holy See in Rome.” Many faces were surprised, many dubious, several openly untrusting. Urban seemed to take no notice of any of them. “This is both a moral and a practical resolution. However, on the possibility that you still doubt our morality, I shall explain the practical folly of recruiting Protestant arms in support of our cause.
“Imagine how Italy, which has never known any significant Protestant populations or incursion, would react to the presence of an army that has, for sake of argument, significant numbers of Lutheran soldiers. They would be deemed invaders, no matter how much their Catholic comrades attempted to reassure each city they approached.
“But even if these attempts at reassurance were successful, would that not simply play into Borja’s hands? The rhetoric by which he justified the procurement and use of force with which he seized the Holy See was that I had become a tool of Protestants and up-timers. That I was plotting with them to destroy the Church from within. And so, if Protestant forces were to enter Italy with the stated intent of restoring me to the cathedra, would that not suggest that Borja had been right all along? And so, I would lose even the quiet support of the people of Italy.
“And lastly, from whence would these Protestant forces be drawn and how would they reach Rome? Yes, armies have crossed the Alps before, but it is a costly, long, and arduous undertaking. And the forces which survived the passage would no doubt be met before they could march as far as Milan. Or, if their objective was but to pass through neutral Venetian territory, that would be a reasonable and sufficient pretext for Borja to claim that Spain’s traditional antagonists meant not only to place their own puppet pope back upon the cathedra, but to expel the Empire’s forces from Naples and Milan as well, and so, control the entire Italian peninsula.”
Urban’s voice lowered. “But even if none of these complications existed, Europe still cannot afford to send forces into Italy at this time. The Ottomans stir toward us, according to all reliable reports and projections. What forces Christendom has left after twenty years of religious war may well be needed there, to prevent the b
anners of the Crescent from reaching further into Europe.”
Urban folded his hands. “Consequently, although we do not yet have a plan to restore the papacy to the Holy See, we do know that Protestant forces cannot be a part of it. And our natural allies, the Catholic nations of Europe, are either in disarray or are arrayed against us, supporting the brutal deeds—and beliefs—of Borja. After all, it is precisely as Reverend Komensky said earlier: if Spain, the greatest power in Europe, were so minded, it could have swept him from the cathedra at any moment it chose.”
It was Komenský himself who responded, apparently bewildered. “So, if all those who might offer assistance either may not be recruited, or are unable to help, how do you hope your papacy to prevail?”
Urban smiled sadly. “An excellent question. If only I had an excellent answer. Alas, I have no answer at all. Options may arise, but none are evident presently, nor are they likely to be in the near future.”
Joasaphus I rose, spoke loudly. Larry could not make out the Greek, particularly filtered through the thick Russian accent. Evidently, that impediment to understanding had been anticipated; Mêtrophanês Kritopoulos, bishop of Alexandria and a scholar and linguist of broad talents, stood to translate. “Then, with all respect for your precarious circumstances, how does this colloquium matter? Whatever decisions might be made here, and whatever you might decree later, you have no power to enforce or even promulgate them as dogma or canon law, either now or in the foreseeable future. Instead, it is increasingly likely that, without a powerful patron to shield you, it is only a matter of time before more assassins find you and, crawling over the bodies of your overmatched retainers, end your life. And then we shall be dealing with Borja, anyway.”
Urban nodded solemnly. “Everything that you say is possible. However, I would offer these additional points to bear in mind. Firstly, although my retainers, as you call them, are few in number, they are most formidable and extremely professional. They have already proven that it is not so easy to send assassins against me as you may think.
