Magnificat

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  It was all Urbi could do to maintain his composure. “I want to see an attorney.”

  Dionigi Stelo shook his head. “Cardinal Pugno has said he will serve as your advocate, if that is what you wish. But within the Vatican you must accept whichever of the lawyers is willing to act for you.”

  “Not Pugno, no,” said Urbi, his tension raising the pitch of his voice. “The man’s from Udine, for God’s sake.”

  “Northerner or not, Pugno has offered.” Ludovico Raccolto said bluntly. “If there are others you would prefer, tell us.”

  Urbi hesitated, his fingers tapping nervously. “Does Cardinal Tondocello know where I am?”

  “The Cardinal for Palermo knows as much as the other Cardinals do,” said Dionigi Stelo. “Is there some reason why you wish him to be informed above all others? You are from Sicily—have you some connection to the Cardinal?”

  “We should know about that if you do,” added Captain Hafen.

  “N…no.” said Carlo Urbi, staring away from the men who watched him so closely. “Don’t bother.”

  “We won’t. For the time being.” Captain Hafen made a sign to the others to keep quiet, letting the silence stretch out for more than three minutes. He had known other men to give way under such silence.

  Carlo Urbi grew noticeably more nervous, and finally he started to slap his palms on the table. He would not look at the men seated across from him, but his efforts to avoid them became more labored. “I want it on record, I object to this entire proceeding. This is against the Revised Code of five years ago. That guarantees me an advocate at all questioning. You have no right to keep me here.”

  “We have every right,” said Raccolto. “You committed a crime here. The Vatican is not signatory to the European Revised Legal Code, so the provision for an advocate does not apply. Pope An has said that crime is answerable under law. The law that pertains here is the law of the Vatican. Why do you keep forgetting that the Vatican is its own country?”

  “Of course,” said Urbi, his show of bravado more pitiful than grand.

  “Vatican Security retains the right to treat all acts against the Pope as terrorism. You are linked by physical evidence to the murder of Jivin, Cardinal Tayibha, and by assumption to the attempted murder of Pope An.” Stelo was growing angry. He found himself shaking with emotion. “How dare you do this thing, Urbi. How dare you abuse your position and trust to—”

  This was more than Urbi could endure. “How dare I? I?” He shoved at the table and lurched to his feet. “You accuse me, you who support that woman who is determined to destroy the Church! She is the angel of the Antichrist. If you had not interfered, she would no longer be in any position to cause greater damage to the Church. Emptying the treasury! Changing the priesthood! What possessed her? Why was she allowed to do it?”

  “It is not for us to allow the Pope anything,” said Stelo quietly, although he was still shivering as if with fever.

  “It is,” said Urbi harshly, the veneer of complete indifference gone. “It should not have been allowed from the first. She ought to have been stopped before she came here. It should have been done. She isn’t wanted. They had no right to bring her here.”

  “She was elected twice,” said Dionigi Stelo curtly, shamed by this display by his former colleague.

  “And the College of Cardinals capitulated. What was their excuse for that?” Urbi was breathing hard now. “When have the Cardinals consented in their own ruin before? They were worse than sheep, refusing to do the job they were put here to do.”

  “Urbi,” warned Stelo.

  But he could not be diverted; the floodgates were open. “They ought to have denied her election. They should have repudiated her when that lunatic Mendosa found her. They could have. It could have been prevented, her reign. Something could have been arranged. She would never have left China—these things are often done. They lacked the courage to do their duty.”

  “To whom?” asked Captain Hafen, his tone deliberately mild. “Surely not to God.”

  Urbi sensed the trap. He became guarded. “Of course to God.”

  “And anyone else?” inquired Inspector Cervi in the same quite way.

  This time Urbi’s response was surly. “They know whom they owe allegiance.”

  “Are you speaking in general? Or do you have specific Cardinals in mind?” asked Captain Hafen, then hesitated. He had pushed too hard.

  Inspector Cervi attempted to incite another outburst. “Or which Cardinals do you think are protecting her, if she is protected?”

  “You know who they are. I don’t need to tell you that,” said Urbi, sitting down once more. “And if I did, what would it mean? The lines were drawn months ago.”

  “When Cardinal Tayibha died?” suggested Inspector Cervi.

  “For some of us,” Urbi replied distantly.

  Commendante Raccolto sighed; he recognized the impasse. “Perhaps you will explain it to us?”

  “Me? Tell you?” Urbi jeered.

  “One way or another, you will,” said Raccolto coldly. He looked at the nest of the examiners. “This is useless.”

  “So you admit that.” Urbi folded his arms on the table. His cheeks were flushed and he was still breathing quickly.

  Captain Hafen stood up. “I’m sorry you’ve taken this stance, Urbi. I would prefer to do this more reasonably.”

  “There is nothing reasonable about this Pope,” said Urbi, fury underneath his calm words.

  Dionigi Stelo rose, his face contemptuous. “I thought you a better man than this, Carlo.”

  “At least I know how to maintain silence,” snapped Urbi.

  “Yes. Until La Verita,” said Stelo.

  Chapter 31

  Willie Foot, wrapped in an outrageous paisley robe, was on the phone when Leonie woke up. She propped her elbow on the pillow and watched as he scribbled notes from what the caller was telling him. She could see his grave expression, and it troubled her.

  As soon as he hung up, he rifled back through his notes, then glanced in her direction. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “What time is it?” she asked, aware only that it was nearing dawn.

  “Six-twenty, give or take.” He rubbed at his sandy hair, then put a few more notes at the end of the ones he had already taken.

  She realized he was not going to explain without prompting. “What’s wrong?”

  He stared at his notes, as if he had not yet made sense of their contents. “There’s been a very serious riot in Warsaw. Over thirty thousand people involved, according to police estimates. One of the churches there was badly damaged, a couple hundred cars were wrecked, windows were smashed and there were a lot of injuries. Hundred in hospital. According to…my caller, there could have been a few deaths, too. That part isn’t certain.” He reviewed his notes a second time. “God, I hope I can read this later on. It’s all pretty much scrawl.”

  Leonie listened to him in growing apprehension. “Was the demonstration directly against the Church? Is that why you were called?”

  “Not entirely; it’s the thing Mendosa calls Millennial Fever. There’s three priests and a bishop in Poland who’ve been predicting the end of the world, because it’s now 2000 A. D. They’re expecting the Great Beast and Six-Six-Six and all the rest of it. They’ve got the populace stirred up, and apparently that’s what it took to send them on the rampage,” said Willie, setting the notebook aside and tossing his robe onto the nearest chair. He wore loose fleece exercise pants under it, and he looked at his wife speculatively. “Shall I shed these, too?”

  “Not yet. In a bit,” she answered, serious enough to catch his attention.

  “This worries you, doesn’t it?” Willie said as he came back to the bed. “It worries me, too.”

  “I don’t like it, and I have to talk about it. It’s been building up inside me,” said Leonie.

  “Then talk,” said Willie. “Get it out.”

  She did not say anything for a few seconds, as if his per
mission had taken her unaware. “It’s the course events are taking. Trouble seems to be escalating. There’ve been riots every day since Christmas, since Pope An made that statement about crime and sin. That’s been a trigger.”

  “It’s also the number. Mendosa’s right about the number 2000.” Willie pretended to shiver.

  “All right, but that makes it worse, not better. There’s a strong resistance to what she said, and I don’t think it’s going to be easy to persuade Catholics to accept her position on guilt. If more of this millennium insanity takes hold, who knows what the Church will have to do?” She stretched, and her fragile, white cotton lawn nightshirt rode further up her thighs. She ran her fingers through her hair. “I assumed by now the furor would die down, but it gets worse and worse. As a diplomat, it rankles.”

  Willie lifted the covers and slipped back under them, sliding near to Leonie and easing his arm around her waist. “You feel so good.” He kissed her shoulder, then said, “It’s a scary time. Does it ever seem to you that she’s in over her head? Pope An? I get nervous for her.” He nuzzled her neck and when she gave only a token response, he asked, “How do you feel about what she’s doing? You still in favor of her reforms, or have you changed your mind? Some of the fairly moderate Cardinals are beginning to oppose her.”

  “I know that,” said Leonie. She put her hand over his. “I like her. That probably makes a difference. And I know her; I respect her. Still, I think she’s doing an honest job. She takes the work seriously, but she…she sees it differently than the others do.”

  “Because she’s Chinese and a woman,” said Willie. He could feel some of Leonie’s tension fade under his hand. “And most of the Cardinals don’t like that from the start. They don’t like her election. They don’t like being controlled.”

  “Because of that, yes. Because she’s seeing the world through eyes that aren’t blinded by tradition and religion and…and—”

  “Ego?” Willie suggested. “Those Cardinals are quite a bunch, aren’t they?”

  “Some of them are decent men. But they didn’t get there through modesty and soft answers, not most of them. However little or much they believe in God, they live for the Church.” She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, pretending to be able to make out the scene painted there. “I don’t think she understands yet why she can’t reach them through ethics.”

  Willie sighed. “It’s not for want of trying. She’s been exhausting every means of communication, including the politics of the Church. She’s always looking for a better means to negotiate; you’ve been through that with her.”

  “It’s exciting,” said Leonie. “You have to keep in mind more than religion; you have to keep in mind the whole range of international pressures.”

  “And she doesn’t limit herself to international questions. She’s been all through the Gospels and the Apocrypha; I know you’re not much interested in that material. Neither am I, if it comes to that. Still. When she asked me to translate all those religious writings, Augustine, a Kempis, Aquinas, Saint Francis, Saint Theresa, Saint Catherine, the rest of that mystical mishmash, I didn’t know why she wanted it. I’m not sure I understand it now. I don’t know what she’s attempting to put to rights, not in that regard. But she told me that she was determined to know why so many of the Cardinals cling to those writers when they no longer have bearing on the world—some of them never did—not in any way that could be appropriate to what Catholics face today.”

  “What Catholics are facing today are riots and rebellion,” Leonie said, then sighed. “I don’t think that’s what Zhuang wants.”

  “I don’t think so, either,” said Willie, snuggling closer to Leonie. “I wonder when I’m going to get used to this.”

  “To what?” she asked provocatively, turning her head so that she could kiss him. She was not yet comfortable with their daily intimacy and it showed in her urgent response; she reached for him, clinging to him as if she feared he would vanish. Very slowly she lessened her hold on him.

  “To having you here. To every day.” He started to unbutton her soft nightshirt. “To not having to pretend.”

  “It’s strange.” She held his eyes with hers. “Don’t you think so?”

  “I’ll get used to it.” The angle of his brow softened. “So will you.”

  “Maybe it’ll be too much for us,” said Leonie, fear hidden in her teasing words. “Maybe we’ll get bored.”

  “If we were twenty-five, it might be possible,” said Willie. “Not now. I’ve wanted you with me for years. And at last it’s happened.”

  “Married for six weeks and you aren’t bored yet,” said Leonie in mock astonishment. “There might be a future for us.”

  Willie would not be pressured into dismissing her concern. “I want you to understand something, Leonie.”

  “So there will be no blame?” she prompted, worry jolting her.

  “So you’ll understand. I wanted to be married to you. Nothing Pope An said or did compelled me against my will. I know that marriages aren’t smooth. I know that there are good times and bad times, and that what works one day might not work the next. But I want to take those chances with you, because I think you’re worth the risk. You make everything worthwhile. All the years of waiting, and the scandal Arthur forced on you. We made it through that. And I think that between us we can get through the rough parts without doing each other harm. That’s why I wanted us to be married in the first place. Life is going to have rough times no matter what; with the two of us together those rough times won’t be as hard as they’d be if we were apart.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “That’s the truth, Leonie. I promise you.”

  “And if you change your mind later? What do we do then?” she asked, hearing pain in her voice.

  “What if you change yours?” he answered. “That’s for later. Right now you’re the best deal in the world for me. Nothing matters more. I’d like to be the best deal for you.”

  “Oh, you are,” she said, a shade too promptly.

  “But you’re not convinced. You made a deal with Arthur and it blew up in your face.” He finished unbuttoning her nightshirt. “You’re right. I can’t absolutely swear that it could never, ever happen to us. But I’m betting it won’t. I’ve loved you a long time when there was nothing I could expect from it but the heartache of missing you. That’s over. We have time to spend together, without hiding. I’m hoping you’ll come to trust what we have, given time.”

  “And if I don’t?” She felt tears on her face and that made her annoyed with her own weakness. “Bloody irrational.”

  Willie moved his hand over her flank, stroking slowly. “Good thing, too.” He kissed her again, this time full on the mouth. When he moved back a few inches, he said, his voice as much a caress as the seeking of his hands, “You see, I always made myself believe, against all odds, that we were going to end up together. I would not let myself think anything else was possible. No matter what, I hung onto that hope. By the time we were married, I was used to the idea. You’ve thought it was impossible, and so it still takes getting accustomed. It also takes remembering that I’m not Arthur and never will be.”

  Tears continued to leak from the corners of her eyes, though she did not sob. “I know you’re not Arthur.”

  “Most of the time,” Willie agreed. “But every now and then, you can’t quite shake the sense that I might have something about me, something you never learned or saw, and it could be wrong enough that it would drive us apart. That’s about the gist of it, isn’t it.” It was awkward to get out of his pants while lying in bed, but he managed it.

  She did her best to chuckle, with disappointing results. “I’m sorry,” she said of her weeping. “I don’t know why I’m doing this.”

  “You’re getting comfortable,” said Willie. “It’s been so long that we’ve had to dissemble and make the most of a few stolen moments that you’ve been geared for that. Now you’re starting to accept that we really are together all
the time and it’s all right. No more covert activities. Everything you’ve held inside can come out.” He touched her face where the tears were. “Go ahead. It’s okay with me if you cry.”

  “But—” Without warning she gave way, sobbing steadily and deeply while he held her and whispered his devotion to her as the new day began to lighten the Roman sky.

  * * *

  In the fourth week of the Vatican International Conference on World Hunger, in mid-February, Dionigi Stelo resigned without fanfare as the head of Vatican Security. Amid speculation as to the cause of this unexpected development, Stelo retired immediately to Sardinia where he steadfastly refused to grant any interviews to any member of the press or newsmedia. Two days after his departure, Axel Maetrich assumed his post, and began by quietly dismissing six high-ranking members of the security force by the end of his first day. Three Priests and a Bishop were given new assignments away from the Vatican, all in places where the routines of everyday poverty would demand their attention and keep them far from each other and the easy reach of reporters.

  A Bishop and an Archbishop were detained by Vatican Security and held by the Eurocops incommunicado while the revelations of Carlo Urbi and La Verita were analyzed for a court case of murder, and conspiracy to commit murder.

  At the next press conference about the Conference on World Hunger, reporters seized upon this change of personnel and pestered Cardinal Cadini for some explanation of the events that had been made public.

  “Please, please, ladies and gentlemen. This is not a meeting to discuss the security measures within the Vatican. That is being handled by the Security division, and I am in no position to tell you much of anything. I am not part of that organization; I’m only a Cardinal. You probably know as much as I do, or more.” He did his best to put the press conference back on track, saying with cheerful determination, “We are here to discuss the findings of this conference on world hunger, and a few of the proposals we have hit upon to begin the alleviation of world hunger in an expeditious and just way, with minimal political considerations and interference.” He gave them the full wattage of his smile, but this time none of the press were willing to be charmed out of getting answers.