“It isn’t right, Holiness. You’re exposing the Church to more censure than she has ever encountered before.” His handsome face looked chiseled with exhaustion.
“I don’t see how my decisions have been so much worse than those made by previous Popes,” she said reasonably.
“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” said Cardinal Gemme. “If you open the library, you’ll be inviting chaos. There are so many…difficulties. There are cases that, in the light of modern thought…well, some of them might be viewed as highly irregular.”
Pope An nodded. “I am familiar with some of those cases. I have been examining a few of them with the help of Willie Foot. I wish to inform you, Eminence, that the Church has little to be proud of. But we must acknowledge our mistakes before anyone will accept our intention to correct these errors. Do you understand this?”
His expression was set. “Your Holiness, you’re not going to convince anyone of your sincerity just because you release the details on the trial of Boniface VIII or any of the rest of it.”
Leo, Cardinal Pugno was almost out the door, but turned back. “There, Eminence, I think you may be wrong and Her Holiness correct.” He waited as the two gave him their attention. “As an attorney, not a Cardinal, I must tell you that often such a gesture as the one you are prepared to make, Holiness, serves to quiet the minds of those who have doubted the reasons for certain actions.”
“Thank you. As a Magistrate, I appreciate what you say,” said Pope An to Cardinal Pugno. “And I trust we shall be able to reach some understanding between us before all this is thrust upon the world.”
“Pugno, what’s come over you?” demanded Cardinal Gemme.
“I think I’ve begun to appreciate what we expect of our good Pope An, and that, in turn, has changed how I look at the world.” He looked from Pope An to Cardinal Gemme. “We have placed her at hazard for no reason than we have elected her to the place. She did not seek us, we sought her.”
Cardinal Mendosa had reached them, and paused to listen to what they were saying. “If you’re worried about the Pope, you’ve got very good reason to be. She’s sustained no less than four attempts on her life—that we can document—since she was elevated. I don’t know about you but I consider that excessive.”
“Very funny, Cardinal Mendosa,” said Cardinal Gemme. “You expect us to believe that there have been so many attempts and the Vatican Security forces have been unable to detect or identify such conspirators?” He did his best to jeer, but there was enough anxiety in his words that his attempt failed.
“Exactly what I do expect, Cardinal Gemme,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “And that’s what troubles me the most. We know that more than one group works against the Pope; of course, we’d be in a real pickle proving it, were there no evidence to suggest that this suspicion was well-founded. But we have photographs and reports that reveal deliberate intentions to assassinate the Pope, and that troubles me more than I can say.”
“So do you mean that there are those in the Vatican who support those who seek the end of the reign of Pope An I?” asked Cardinal Gemme.
“It scares the living shit out of me,” Cardinal Mendosa affirmed. “And you know that it is with good cause.” He looked directly at Cardinal Gemme. “Or do you disagree?”
“The Holy Spirit is responsible for her presence here,” said Cardinal Pugno, his thinning red hair combed straight back from his broad brow. “The least we can do is protect her. We all voted, and we know what we wrote. If you can’t accept that, then perhaps you ought to absent yourself from Rome for a while. Too many people here are aware of these plots, and might want to support them, if only in words. We can’t tolerate that.” He could not forget the disturbing meeting he and Dionigi Stelo had had with Dmitri Karodin. At the time it had seemed to him that the accusations of the head of the KGB were exaggerated and aimed at making the danger seem greater than it was. But subsequent investigations had shown that if anything Karodin had underestimated the danger. Now Cardinal Pugno was not willing to question what he was told.
“Surely there are groups who are dissatisfied. That’s what I’ve been trying to show for the last half hour.” Cardinal Gemme looked directly at the Pope. “I wish you would listen to what I’ve told you, Holiness. There are those who question everything you say. They can’t help it.”
“I understand that,” said Pope An serenely. “They are entitled to question me and every other member of the Church. And I respect their…worries. But in this instance I mean something more extreme than that,” she added over her shoulder to Cardinal Mendosa.
“What about trepidation? Or timorousness?” suggested Cardinal Mendosa as he looked at Cardinal Pugno. “I admit I never expected to find you in this camp,” he said.
“Isn’t there some American expression about politics making odd people to sleep with?” asked Cardinal Pugno.
“You mean that politics makes strange bedfellows?” asked Cardinal Mendosa. “You’re right about that.”
“Well, then, the exigencies of the current situation have shown that I must make common cause with you and the rest of the radicals if I want to see the Church survive the current upheavals being visited upon her,” said Cardinal Pugno. “I’m pragmatic enough to see that much. I don’t say this simply because I am a Cardinal searching to establish the strongest footing for my position in the future, but because I truly expect the Church to benefit from the reforms Pope An is bringing to it. And I do not want to see her killed.”
“Neither do I, Eminence,” said Cardinal Mendosa laconically.
“How very gracious,” said Pope An before she turned toward the dining room. “Cardinal Pugno, if you will sit at my left, and you, Cardinal Mendosa, at my right?” She glanced back toward Willie. “And you, my friend. You would do best to find a place beside your good friend Cardinal Mendosa.”
Willie Foot clapped his hand on Cardinal Mendosa’s shoulder, saying rather quietly, “Not that I wish to trade on your good-will, Cardinal, but I’ve been talking to a mutual friend of ours who seems to need our help.”
“And who would that be?” asked Cardinal Mendosa as he followed the Pope into the dining room.
“That would be Leonie Purcell,” said Willie Foot. “And please don’t remind me that you warned me. You did. I’m willing to admit that any time you ask. But the current situation.…”
“I understand her husband is in Rome,” said Cardinal Mendosa when Willie was thoroughly lost in the tangles of his thoughts.
“Yes. He’s in Rome.” Willie looked at the table, noticing that the grandeur of the napery and porcelain were less than this time last week. “I see that there have been some simplifications.”
“I hope,” said Cardinal Mendosa as he took his seat.
Chapter 24
“Now tell me, Mendosa,” said Zhuang as she faced her friend across her study. “How is it that there are such major discrepancies in what you refer to as Scripture? I have examined several versions of the same texts and I can see that no one is in total agreement about the material and its interpretation.”
“No dispute, Worthy Magistrate. You’re right,” said Mendosa in his best Chinese. “Scripture as we know it is a translation of a translation of a translation of a translation of a translation. Even the Gospel of Thomas has to be translated for most of us. But it’s the best we Catholics have to offer. The same is true for all Christians.”
“I’m not favorably impressed,” said Zhuang. “Why has care not been taken?”
“Oh, it has,” Mendosa assured her. “But times change, and so does language. What one language says easily, another says clumsily or not at all, and then the translator must choose which word is closest in meaning. Along with the trouble with translation, there’s the matter of language drift. Three hundred years ago, if you said spunk in English you meant semen. Now if you say it you mean good-spirited, adventurous, full of youthful vigor, and it’s often applied to girls.” He gave her a short, tight grin. “They don’t
know what it used to mean.”
“And that happens with these writings, as well,” said Zhuang.
“Yes. Four hundred years ago, the meaning of the English word meek was one possessing humility and self-discipline, who puts the welfare of others before his own. By the middle of the last century, it meant someone who is self-effacing and unassertive. When you read the—”
“Who is blessed,” said Zhuang, taking his meaning. “A very different group of people is being blessed.”
“And there is good evidence that the English meek was a poor translation of a word that meant self-possessed and purposeful, or so some scholars think, though you’d probably get an argument on that one,” he told her. “Which is another group still. Meek isn’t the only disputed word in the Bible, Worthy Magistrate.”
“So I suppose,” said Zhuang. “I can see that understanding the meaning of what your Jesus taught will demand more of scholars than I thought it would.”
Mendosa chuckled. “It’s a good thing you opened the Vatican Library, Worthy Magistrate. You’ll have scholars enough to take on Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John all at the same time.”
“And Thomas,” she added. “I must review what is in the texts that were disallowed. I believe it would be prudent to include them in our studies, if I am to have an accurate picture of the teaching. I suppose I should expect some resistance to those texts?” She nodded and made a note to herself. “Did you meet with O’Higgins yet? He said he wanted to speak with you.”
“Jaime O’Higgins?” Mendosa asked, puzzled. “No, I haven’t heard from him. Do you know what it’s about?” What did the Cardinal from Mexico City want with him, he wondered. “I’ll send one of my staff around to his quarters. Whatever’s on his mind, we’ll compare notes before he leaves for home on Thursday. How’s that?”
“I think it ought to be sufficient.” Zhuang nodded as she continued to write notes. “Mendosa, you haven’t told me: now that I have been Pope for ten months, how do you view my work?”
“That’s not for me to say, Worthy Magistrate,” he answered her.
“Tell me anyway,” she said more firmly.
He framed his answer very carefully. “I thank God I have been permitted to see the Church in your hands, Worthy Magistrate. You restore my faith.”
* * *
As soon as the Eurocops had cleared away the worst of the bonfires and debris along the Via della Conciliazione, Dominique, Cardinal Hetre called Clancy McEllton and told him he would be waiting for him at the Piazza del Risorgimento in twenty minutes. “I doubt the police are blocking it, and Vatican Security doesn’t extend beyond the walls. No one will notice.”
“Is it important?” asked Clancy, not paying much attention.
“After what happened here yesterday and this morning, you can ask that? In less than a year, that perfidious woman has undermined the entire might of the Church, and you don’t see the importance of that?” His voice had risen, becoming almost a shriek. He put his free hand to his head, fighting nausea.
“But that’s nothing new,” said Clancy patiently. His apartment was on the Monte Esquilino, a few blocks from San Pietro in Vincoli. Over the door to his building the loop-branched tree of the Della Rovere family arms could still be seen. “Riots and upheaval and all the rest of it, it’s been daily fare for a year now.” He glanced quickly out the window toward the brassy sky. “It looks like there’s a thunderstorm coming.”
“And you can think of that only, when two hundred thousand people stormed the Vatican yesterday?” Cardinal Hetre demanded. In his mind he saw Clancy McEllton before him on his knees, his head bowed, his back bare for the flogging he so richly deserved. “I tell you, if you will not meet with me, you and your people will regret it.”
Clancy was used to hearing an underlying hysteria in Cardinal Hetre’s words, and ordinarily that would mean little to him. But there was a new note, and it roused his curiosity. “I’ll get the limo. That way I can concentrate.”
“I’ll expect you in twenty minutes,” said Cardinal Hetre emphatically.
“Make it half an hour, unless there’ll be a delay, in which case I’ll call you.” He said it without thinking, and took the brunt of his error.
“Are you mad? Has this disaster put you into such shock that you can’t see how dangerous it is? How can you call me here?” The urge to beat Clancy increased tenfold.
Clancy knew better than to rise to the bait. “I certainly have reason to call you to enquire after my Uncle Edward. Before he took that damned vow of silence, he spoke of you often, and if there were news, you would probably know it. Wouldn’t these riots trouble you, if you had an Uncle like mine?” He said it easily enough, and hoped that Cardinal Hetre did not hear how tense he had become.
“Yes,” said Cardinal Hetre, breathing quickly. “Yes, that would be reasonable. In times like these, I…forget how.…” His headache took the words away.
“I’ll do my best to be there in half an hour, Eminence,” said Clancy.
This time, Cardinal Hetre was cold as winter steel. “That’s been abolished. As of two days ago. Don’t you remember? No longer are we Eminences, merely Cardinals in all cases. Bishops are merely Bishops and Priests are only Priests. We can no longer say Father or Monseigneur or Holiness, either.”
“Very well, then, Cardinal,” said Clancy, trying to get off the phone. “I’ll call you if there is any delay. Otherwise we meet in half an hour at the Piazza del Risorgimento.” He hung up before Cardinal Hetre could discover another offence to complain of.
As he dialed International Vision, Ltd.’s Rome offices, he wondered briefly if he ought to call Rufus Greene in London. Best not, he decided, not until he knew what had Cardinal Hetre up in arms this time, other than the fact he could no longer correctly be addressed as Eminence. He took his light-weight raincape out of his closet before he set aside his leather file case. His call was relayed to the garage and he was informed that the limousine would be at his door in five minutes.
Cardinal Hetre was wearing his cassock when the limousine pulled around the Piazza del Risorgimento. He glared as he opened the door. “You’re five minutes late. Someone may notice this meeting.”
Clancy shrugged, as much for dealing with Cardinal Hetre as for the delay. “The Eurocops still have many of the streets blocked; any closer to Saint Peter’s and I’d be stopped and questioned. I didn’t think you’d like that. We had to go around by Ponte Margherita. Sorry.” He moved over on the plush seat. “Get in.”
“At once. And I pray there is no damage done,” he said as he slipped inside and pulled the door closed. He looked directly at Clancy. “How bad is the damage?”
“Not as bad as the last time. They kept the bonfires in the streets, so none of the buildings are in bad shape.” He tapped on the window and the driver moved off, going north to pick up the new Via Nerone link to the Via Cassia. “Someone got onto the Castel’ Sant’ Angelo and spray-painted part of the angel, but that’s minor. They’ll have it cleaned off by the end of the week, I’m sure.”
“It’s all because of her.” Cardinal Hetre loomed in his seat. “She brought this on the Church, and we lacked the courage to prevent it. But no more. She must be discredited and returned to her godless country before more chaos comes.”
“We’re agreed on most of that,” said Clancy, feeling his way. He knew that Cardinal Hetre was subject to sudden shifts in mood and he did not want to trigger another one if he could help it.
“It isn’t fitting that there should be men of the Church who aid in the death of…that woman,” said Cardinal Hetre, trying to find some sense of mercy within himself.
“Who else can approach her? Who else has the right to approach her?” asked Clancy carefully. “They’re going to start inspecting the bags and clothing of tourists entering the Vatican. How can anyone but a Cardinal get near enough to her? You may not like the necessity of such an act”—he had almost said such a sacrifice but stopped himself in time—“but surely t
he life of one woman, and a godless Chinese Communist at that, is nothing weighed against the good of the Church? You say that the College of Cardinals lacked courage before. Isn’t it time to discover it again?”
Cardinal Hetre made a gesture as if protecting himself from something pressing too near. “It is more than time,” he said. “And that is why I called you.” He ran his hands down the front of his cassock; it was a disturbing gesture, forbidding and sensual at once. “I…I was approached last night by four Cardinals who are as troubled as I am regarding the state of the Church and the potential for ruin they see ahead.”
“Go on,” said Clancy when Cardinal Hetre fell silent.
“I suppose I would not be betraying them if I told you their names. There may come a time when you will need to know them, for your purposes. If I cannot assist you, then.…” He looked away and stared out at the traffic.
So Hetre has a longing to be a martyr, thought Clancy McEllton with a sense of uneasy disgust. “Who are these men? I will not identify them unless it is unavoidable.”
Cardinal Hetre nodded, his eyes distantly. “Cardinal Ruhig of Köln was one.” He glanced at Clancy and saw the surprise, quickly masked. “He has been a supporter of the Chinese woman in the past, but with her ending of priestly celibacy and the abolishing of proper titles, he has realized how great the danger is, and he is with us. With him was Cardinal Belleau of France, who has remained neutral for a great while but now wishes to oppose the woman. One was Cardinal Dellegos of Croatia. The fourth was Cardinal Sinclair of Dublin.”
“Quite a line-up,” said Clancy, thinking now that he needed to know much more about any shifts in alliances within the College of Cardinals, for apparently there were many changes taking place there. He kept his voice level as he asked, “Why did they come to you?”
Magnificat Page 47
