“We’re getting pretty esoteric here,” Willie warned him.
Mendosa was not put off. “I should hope so,” he responded with an emotion that was less than indignation but more than umbrage. “That’s what I’m supposed to be doing here, isn’t it? Aren’t we expected to explain the nature of her work to her? How can I do that and not get into esoteric areas? The Papacy is esoteric.” He looked down at his boots and saw that mud had built up around the heel. “Oh, hell. I forgot to bring my leather conditioner.”
“What is it that distresses you?” Magistrate Zhuang asked in response to the tone of his voice. When Willie clarified the matter, she smiled. “We have leather conditioners here in China. We might not have the fancy boots, but there are preparations that will take care of leather.”
“Thank you,” said Mendosa in Chinese when Willie had done his job.
They went on a little further, walking more carefully as the path dropped down, getting muddier.
“I hope we get that Chinese Bible here soon,” said Willie. “I won’t have to try to translate Matthew, Mark, Luke and John any more.”
“Yes,” said Mendosa. “Though I’m sure you’re doing just fine.” He stopped as they reached a rivulet that spread over the path. “Are we supposed to walk through this?”
Magistrate Zhuang indicated a place where the edge of the field had been worn down. “It must be repaired at once,” she announced. “We cannot grow our crops properly if these walls are not kept in good order. The fields will not have the right amount of water for a high yield and the millet is of poor quality. I will issue instructions.” She looked at Mendosa. “We will have to return to my house. It is probably just as well, for I wish to continue to learn about the Church.”
When Willie finished, he added, “I hope my throat can hold up.”
“We could use one of the soldiers to translate,” Mendosa suggested with a wicked twinkle in his eye.
“No, thank you,” said Willie at once. “I’d rather entrust my secrets to the yellowest rag in Fleet Street.” He stood aside so Magistrate Zhuang could pass him and lead the way back. “But if I end up too hoarse to talk, you’ll have to make allowances for me.”
“Certainly,” said Mendosa, bringing up the rear.
Magistrate Zhuang indicated a place ahead on the path. “You can see rats have come here. It is always the way when there is food about. If you have people or pigs you are certain to have rats, as well.”
“And some of them have human skins,” added Mendosa when Willie relayed her words. “Tell her that.”
“Very clever,” said Zhuang, laughing at Mendosa’s remark. “Yes, I can see that is true.”
Mendosa grew serious. “I am pleased you are amused, Worthy Magistrate, but I am also concerned. This is as much a warning as it is a humorous turn of phrase.”
“For a man of religion,” said Magistrate Zhuang as she picked her way over the patch of debris, “you are very worldly, Mendosa. You tell me that you are concerned with the spiritual well-being of Catholics around the world, and yet you speak of rats and intend that I should consider some of your colleagues rats. How spiritual can you be if you make such assertions?”
“Spiritual enough to know that spiritual needs are only part of what human beings require, and that for most of us, the more worldly ones come first. Men who are starving, without shelter, without friends, need food and a house and a family as much as they need the chance to pray. And if those starving men are given food and shelter and friends, they will know their prayers have been answered.” He was serious now, and he wanted to be sitting down, looking directly into Zhuang’s eyes.
“This is getting tricky again, dear boy,” said Willie. “It’s probably stimulating my intellect in ways it hasn’t been since university, but in the middle of a millet farm, it seems somehow…inappropriate.”
“What would you consider an appropriate place?” Mendosa asked him sweetly. “Tell me what Zhuang’s trying to say, will you?”
“In this country we learn that food and shelter and the people are all that matters. You speak of spiritual needs, but there is nothing to say that these needs are real, as hunger is real, that they are anything more than superstition instigated to control the population with fears that have no basis in fact. This is a very base thing to do, to scare people into behaving the way you wish them to behave. It is why religion has always been the enemy of the people.” She had matched his tone, her manner stern. “What do you require of me, Mendosa? When I am in Rome, will you insist that I continue these superstitions?”
“No,” said Mendosa as they reached the dirt road leading up to her house. “I won’t. Some of the other Cardinals might, but I won’t.”
“Are you certain of that?” she inquired, pausing on the road to meet his gaze.
“Yes. I won’t say it will be easy. You see, I do think that the spiritual needs are real. I think that if they are neglected, something in the person suffers, as he would if he went without food or clothing.” He regarded her steadily. “For some people, their political ideals is what sustains them. For others, it is religion. But these things have merit not only because they feed the body, but they feed the mind as well, and the soul. The mind and soul can hunger, too.”
“You are skilled in argument, Mendosa,” Magistrate Zhuang allowed.
“Well, you may convert her yet,” added Willie when he finished translating.
“Actually,” said Mendosa, imitating Willie’s accent perfectly, “I was rather hoping she would convert me.”
Chapter 15
At the conclusion of morning Mass, Sylvestre, Cardinal Jung hastened out of the Vatican in order to meet with Cardinal Hetre and some unknown associate of his in a place where they would not be noticed. Although he did not like wearing secular garments, he had made grudging concession to Cardinal Hetre’s request that he take care not to be conspicuous. His business suit was undertaker-charcoal and his shirt was dull, pale mauve. He had chosen a tie of dark-grey-and-mulberry. He had used only one of his permitted lapel pins, which rankled as he rode in a taxi toward the prearranged destination.
The driver took to the road with gusto, charging through narrow streets and narrower distances between other vehicles with an insouciant smile and a negligent hand caressing the steering wheel, as if traffic was the last thing on his mind. He had tried a few remarks to his imposing passenger, then shrugged and sang quietly to himself as he headed for the Forum. He decided that his taciturn and disapproving passenger must be one of the bankers who had recently been besieging the Vatican. He certainly looked sour enough for it.
At the Forum, Cardinal Jung paid off the driver and gave him a minuscule tip. He then made his way down the Via dei Fori Imperialo, jostling his way through tourists. Their numbers had been burgeoning in Rome since the election of the new Pope had been announced. It was a bad sign, thought Cardinal Jung, annoyed that he had not been permitted his proper vestments, for then none of these people would dare to shove him, or run around him.
“Your Eminence,” said a man he did not know.
Cardinal Jung stood straighter and touched his tie-clasp, wishing it were his pectoral crucifix. “Yes?”
“Cardinal Hetre asked me to escort you to your appointment.” He was polite, a thin nonentity of a man speaking Italian with a strong British accent. “My name is Clancy McEllton, Your Eminence. Father McEllton’s nephew. I am honored to meet you.”
Cardinal Jung extended his ring and was about to motion McEllton to kneel when he remembered his surroundings and the requirements of caution. “We’ll attend to this later,” he said, changing the offering of his ring to a wave.
Clancy McEllton did not quite smile, though the antics of the stiff Swiss Cardinal amused him. “We’ll meet Cardinal Hetre up this way,” he said, turning to walk up the Via Sacra toward the Arch of Titus. As they passed the Temple of Romulus, Cardinal Hetre, wearing dark slacks and a dark tweed jacket over a black turtleneck, strolled out to meet them. “W
e have a little way to go,” said McEllton.
“I can never come here,” said Cardinal Jung in his most portentous voice, “that I do not think of the suffering of those first Christians who followed Saint Peter to martyrdom.”
“This place gives me a headache,” Cardinal Hetre complained. “What benefit is there in remembering the past? It’s in ruins and it deserves to be. It only glorifies that which is not worthy of glory.”
Clancy McEllton did not want to be caught—literally—in the middle of a debate, so he said, “There is another man who is joining us. His name is Greene. His is not a Catholic, but Eminences, he has many concerns that march with yours. He is acting for the benefit of Christians everywhere. I am serving as his agent, so that you will be able to exchange views in…neutrality.” He saw a group of American tourists go by, obviously a family, the father carrying the youngest on his shoulders. He’ll come to regret that before the day’s much older, McEllton thought. He was wondering if he might think the same thing of himself in this endeavor.
“I have visited your uncle recently, McEllton,” said Cardinal Hetre.
“Yes, I know,” said Clancy. “As I understand it, you are the only one of the Cardinals who does.”
Cardinal Jung stopped walking and stood very straight. “If that is intended as a rebuke—”
This was going to be more difficult than Clancy had first anticipated. He schooled his features to an expression of conciliation. “It was merely an observation, Your Eminence. I didn’t intend to imply anything.” He had halted to say this so as not to compound the affront to Cardinal Jung. “Come, Eminence. Excuse my lapse. It was not intended to offend either of you. Mister Greene is still waiting to speak to you both.”
Cardinal Jung took a little time to ponder this. It would never do to admit a mistake too easily; his long experience had taught him that if nothing else. “Very well. But I want no such remarks made again. I hope you understand me.”
“Very well, Your Eminence,” said Clancy, thinking that Greene would have his hands full with these two.
As they neared the Arch of Titus, Rufus Greene appeared. He was neatly dressed, though not quite so conservatively as the two Cardinals. He shook hands with Clancy, saying, “McEllton, thank you for this service.”
“His Eminence, Sylvestre, Cardinal Jung,” said Clancy, though these introductions were not strictly necessary since Mister Greene most certainly knew the men on sight. “And His Eminence, Cardinal Hetre.”
Cardinal Hetre shook Greene’s hand; Cardinal Jung did not.
“Gentlemen,” said Greene, looking as if the warmth of the morning did not bother him at all. “I have been given to understand that you are concerned for the welfare of your Church and the well-being of Christians everywhere.”
“Yes,” said Cardinal Jung with a scowl.
“We pray for all the world,” said Cardinal Hetre. He had taken half a dozen aspirin before coming to the Forum. They had not done him much good, for the gnawing at the back of his eyes was still there. His physician had to be wrong in saying that there was no reason for these headaches.
“I’m sure any Christian must do that,” said Greene smoothly. “And surely the most recent events in the Church have given you much distress and pain. I can’t imagine how it would be any other way with you. Only those blinded by zeal could think that God would possibly elect such an unsuitable Pope for these difficult times.”
“The whole thing is ridiculous,” said Cardinal Jung. “No doubt, in time, we will uncover the means by which this travesty was committed.”
“I hope so,” said Greene, “for there are so many who question the origin of this development. They are not satisfied that the election was sufficiently scrutinized. Some even suspect that the agency by which this election was accomplished was not entirely human. But,” he went on, indicating a shallow alcove in the ancient wall, “I’m sure you are aware of these reservations already. I think if we stepped out of the way, we might be more private.”
Cardinal Hetre moved at once, hoping that the small amount of shade afforded by the wall would ease him. “Those who say it is a conspiracy are wrong, for I wrote the name twice, and I am part of no conspiracy. But I do not want to cry ‘Satan’ before I have sufficient reason to. You are in error if you agree with those who have already assumed that this was a diabolical act.” He glared at Cardinal Jung. “I am as eager as anyone to preserve the Church, and if that means having a Chinese widow to serve the will of God, so be it. However, if the election is intended to destroy the Church, then I will oppose it no matter how many times my hand scrawls those characters.”
On the street above there was a loud snarl of motorcycles and an exchange of threats and insults.
Cardinal Jung did not disagree with what Cardinal Hetre said, but was disgruntled because he had not said them first. “It is all very well for you to reserve judgment, or speak of perusing records,” he said when Greene did not speak and Cardinal Hetre fell silent. “But we must begin to examine this election at once, before that…Texan! brings the woman to Italy. Once she is here, it will be very difficult to refute her, and politically damaging, for the People’s Republic does not like to be held up to ridicule.”
“Diplomatic offence should be avoided at all costs, of course. But suppose it could be demonstrated—” said Greene, his seamless interjection so perfect that Clancy McEllton’s respect for the man increased significantly.
A young woman with twins in a perambulator went by, her once-pretty face marred by deep lines of worry.
“What could be demonstrated?” asked Clancy, because someone had to.
“That there is a very clever plot, from a government antithetical to the Church and religion in general. Suppose it could be shown that this entire election had been rigged, not by Satan, but by his minions, the atheistic Communists of China.” Greene looked from one Cardinal to the other. “There are ways to deceive, to hypnotize, drug, confuse, so that an election of this sort could be contrived.”
A dozen youths in their early teens ambled by the place where the men stood, their leader explaining to them in Czech how the excavations had been done, and what would be dug up next. All of them wore identical hunter-green blazers.
“How?” demanded Cardinal Hetre. “What would produce the same results in all of us?”
“There are a number of possibilities. You might have received minute quantities of drugs in your food—is all the kitchen staff completely loyal to the Church and are you really sure of that loyalty?—and then some sort of subliminal message could have been played while you slept, so that each of you was carrying a post-hypnotic suggestion, the result of increased suggestibility. Don’t you think it could have happened that way?” His smile was for the sake of formality; it had no meaning.
Cardinal Jung goggled at him. “We are not weak men,” he announced.
Greene retreated a step with a deferential gesture. “No, of course not. But you were in restricted circumstances, and most of you were tired, so I have been told.” He folded his arms. “Eminences, consider what I have said, and let me know if you wish me to act to discredit this impostor before she is permitted to leave the People’s Republic of China. If it suits your purposes as well as it suits ours, then we can act together. But this must be done quickly.” He nudged Clancy. “This man can serve as your messenger if you need to speak with me directly. If that is not what you wish, then I will give you a telephone number. We have ten days at the most to put our plan into action.”
“Only ten?” asked Cardinal Hetre in dismay. “That is not time enough, I fear. Many of the other Cardinals do not see the danger of our position. A few actually support this election and are determined to bring this woman here. Cardinal Cadini is the most vocal of them.”
Cardinal Jung snorted his derision. “The man is nothing more than a worn-out clown, concerned with reconciling this nonsensical humanism to the spiritual might of the Church. No one takes him seriously.”
Gree
ne lifted his brows. “He is still very popular.”
“But with whom?” Cardinal Jung countered. “The press?”
“Never underestimate the press,” said Greene very seriously. “If we are able to discredit this Chinese woman, it must be through the press and newsmedia. It cannot be done any other way. No more scorn, Eminence, if you please, at least where the press is concerned.”
Very few people dared to reprimand Cardinal Jung, and none of them were Protestant. He was about to remonstrate with this presumptuous fellow when he realized it was more sensible to hear him out. “I do not share your high opinion of the newsmedia, but I will give you the benefit of the doubt for the time being.”
“Very generous, Eminence,” said Greene, biding his sarcasm effectively.
“What if we do not endorse your plan, Mister Greene?” asked Cardinal Hetre, his frown only partly due to his concern for this tactic.
Greene was much too experienced to shrug, but he was able to show that much of this was out of his hands. “I suppose I should tell you that something will be arranged through other channels. There are others who are already dubious about this woman and will understand the need to discredit her. You are experiencing conflict because you cannot easily separate the good of the Papacy and the good of the Church, but I assure you in this instance that it is necessary for you to destroy this woman’s position before she leaves China. If you do not do it, she will have the advantage of you. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, no matter who possesses what.”
“In this case, the possession might be of a nature that is outside the law,” said Cardinal Hetre; it was as close as he ever came to making a joke. He gave a crooked smile. “I thought that if we found her, she would refuse to reign. I never thought she would agree. The only reason I consented to look for her was so that with her refusal we could get on with electing a real Pope.”
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