“It’s still true, part of the time,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “With Pope An here, things have improved a little.”
“Well, that might be good enough for you, but it would worry the shit out of me, with those ambitious back-stabbers trying to recapture their territories,” Nimmo declared, then amended his blunt statement. “That’s assuming most of them haven’t learned better yet. From what I’ve seen in these pages, you have guys there who will forgive anything but virtue.”
“That’s a fact, sadly,” said Cardinal Mendosa.
“And they’re playing it very close to the chest. The earmarks show that they’ve been working for well over a year to pull this off and this is all that’s been gleaned from them.” Nimmo paused. “Don’t move against these guys until you know absolutely that you can get them and make the case. They’re powerful and they’re protected. If you try to round them up before you’re ready, or if you leak something to them, they’ll go so far underground that they’ll reach magma, and you won’t know when they’re going to strike again until they’ve done it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” vowed Cardinal Mendosa.
“Incidentally,” said Nimmo as an afterthought, “I don’t figure it’s just politics and money behind this. I think you have first class reactionaries running this show. We’re taking about men with the same mentality as the Inquisitors had, torturing people to death to save their souls.”
“Women,” corrected Cardinal Mendosa.
“What?” Nimmo asked, thrown by this interruption.
“Women, I said.” Cardinal Mendosa repeated. “Almost ninety percent of the Inquisition’s victims were women. Go back and read the records. Or read that new book Sidgwick and Jackson just published in London, taken from the records in the Vatican Library, the one written by the American and the Brit. It’s pretty damned chilling. They sent me a review copy last year.”
“Charles, for God’s sake,” protested Nimmo. “We’re talking about a plot to assassinate the Pope.”
“We’re talking about a plan to murder a woman,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “That’s part of the issue, that she’s female. For some of those reactionaries, whether they’re conspirators or not, her sex is the most damning thing about her.” He shifted back in his chair and reached for a notebook on his desk. “It’s part of the reason for their…righteous indignation.” The last two words left a bitter taste in his mouth.
“Could be,” said Nimmo. “You know more about that than I do.” He waited for a comment and when none came, he said, “Look, I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you what you wanted to hear. Okay? I wish I could dismiss your worries, saying that your informant is suffering from delusions. But you asked for my professional opinion, and I’m giving it to you the best way I know how.”
“And I’m grateful. Blame my churlishness on the hour,” said Cardinal Mendosa at once. “You’ve been very good to do this and I do appreciate your time and expertise. I guess I was hoping that you’d have a magic wand you could wave over the material we sent you and come up with identities.”
“I’d like to do that, myself,” said Nimmo, chagrined.
“I suppose I have to pass this on to Maetrich. Not that he’ll be able to do anything much with it.” He wanted to sound confident but was not able to muster the energy. “If I learn more, I’ll pass it on. You might be able to connect the dots for me.”
“I’ll try,” promised Nimmo. “Sorry again about the time.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “If that was the worst thing that happens to me today, I can count myself blessed.”
“You probably do that anyway,” said Nimmo, about to ring off.
“Give my love to the family. I miss them.” He often admitted this aloud but always with the sinking feeling that he was shirking his duty by allowing himself to long for the company of his brothers and sisters.
“Will do. You try to stay out of the line of fire, Charles.” With that good advice, he hung up, leaving Cardinal Mendosa to pace the floor for twenty minutes before he went to shower and shave.
* * *
“I’ve always had a special affection for Saint Jude,” said Cardinal Cadini at his most expansive as he led the way down the gravel path toward the rear of the garden. On his right were Pope An and Sean, Cardinal Quillons of New Orleans; on his left, Sergios, Cardinal Phinees of Cyprus, and Archbishop-soon-to-be-Cardinal Keahi Wailua. Behind him, Willie and Leonie walked hand in hand. “Imagine being the patron saint of lost causes. How much more honest that is than being the patron saint of photographers, or lapidaries. What better saint to pray to, no matter what you wished. The only thing we pray for, except what’s in the liturgy already, is lost causes—that’s why we pray, because all other avenues are closed to us, or we have not yet seen them. Thinking we can do nothing more, we ask God, or one of His family to come to our rescue. Saint Jude must be the busiest of all of them.” His laughter was echoed by most of the others, except Archbishop Wailua, who was still suffering from jet-lag, having arrived from Honolulu less than twelve hours ago, and was not yet used to being in such august company so casually.
“Are you suggesting we do away with all the rest?” asked Cardinal Quillons, pretending to be outraged. “Demote all the saints but Jude? And Dismas, of course. Jesus promised him Paradise and we can’t rescind that.”
“No, and we ought not. Yet it wouldn’t hurt to be rid of some of them. Take Saint Hubert and his ravens: do we really need Odin, appropriately disguised, in the calendar any more?” The question was not meant to be taken seriously, and they all knew it. “People like Hubert. They like Barbara and Katherine and Benedict and Honare and Genevieve. And they like the others. But some housecleaning wouldn’t hurt. For instance, the cult of Saint Cynehelm isn’t nearly what it used to be: a prince of Mercia killed in youth at the order of a politically ambitious older sister has a tenuous claim on a martyr’s crown. And in any case history tells a different story about the lad. And his sister, for that matter.”
“What are you suggesting, Cardinal Cadini?” asked Cardinal Phinees, uncertain of how he was to respond to these extravagant statements.
“Well, we might do away with the relics, as a first step,” said Cardinal Cadini blithely, relishing his speculation. “Those jeweled caskets for bits of bones and such. It’s always bothered me, these ghastly tokens we have so lovingly collected and preserved.”
Pope An regarded him with interest, her eyes brightening. “I have been very puzzled by the relics. They are not for the veneration of ancestors, or the honor of a community, but are supposed to be some means of holding onto the presence of the saint. Have I understood correctly?”
“Generally, yes you have,” said Cardinal Cadini at once, before the other three had time to respond. “It was thought, in the earlier days of the Church, that possessing some portion of a holy thing or holy person was a viable substitute for the holy thing or person. So the chopped-off fingers of some poor wretch were preserved as relics. There was quite a lot of competition between various churches and cathedrals in the Romanesque and medieval periods. Those churches with the best relics and the handsomest reliquaries attracted more interest, and more pilgrims, as well as more money. Towns with important pilgrim churches thrived; you might call it the medieval version of the tourist trade. The relics were the bait for them. Awe-inspiring cathedrals and a plethora of relics. The bits and pieces were supposed to improve the status and spiritual benefits of the church housing them; there are more pieces of the True Cross in reliquaries than could have been used to make a dozen crosses.”
“Then the people are duped by these things,” said Pope An, no longer as indignant at the Church for these excesses as she had been a year ago.
“No,” protested Cardinal Quillons. “Not duped. Misled.”
“It appears so to me,” said Pope An, and regarded Cardinal Cadini steadily, waiting some explanation.
“Duped? Yes and no. Many of them were pious frauds, clearly i
ntended to strengthen the faith of the people. The mentality of the time didn’t regard such things as hypocrisy or duplicity. Sometimes there were actual items held by the cathedral but because of the risk of theft, copies were displayed instead of the real thing so that the spiritual benefits to the church would not be compromised. I think that many people were truly convinced that they had the real thing, copy or not, whatever it was.” Cardinal Cadini reached a small fountain and stopped, turning to look back along the path to the villa. “You can’t blame them, really. They wanted something to promise them salvation, and these gruesome talismans seemed to do the job.”
“But they were deceptions,” said Pope An reasonably.
“Deceptions, yes, but many of them strengthened faith in spite of that,” said Cardinal Quillons, daring at last to defend his position. He was one of those men with rugged, ugly faces who were deeply attractive. “The people were credulous then, wanting to believe.”
“It was not right to deceive them, no matter what the motive,” said Pope An, sighing. “An acceptable excuse does not justify the action.”
“That’s a political statement, Pope,” said Cardinal Phinees. “We are discussing virtue.”
Pope An shook her head once, frowning a little with concentration as she pursued her own thoughts. “They are no so far apart. We are so concerned with vice that we do not question the motives of virtue. That’s an oversight.”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to change that?” cried Cardinal Cadini in mock dismay. “What will the Curia make of it?”
“That’s for the Curia to decide,” said Pope An, dismissing the issue. Then she glanced over at Cardinal Cadini. “Tell me: is there anything I have done you would do differently?”
Cardinal Cadini did not offer her a flip answer. “The only thing I might have held off on was abolishing the honorifics, as much for pride as anything. But all the rest is needed, and I welcome what you have done. I pray you will build on your own progress, Pope An.”
“And if you were Pope, what would you do?” she asked in a clear and penetrating manner.
“Just what I have said,” Cardinal Cadini assured her with a warm smile and strong conviction; his raisin-eyes twinkled. “I would reinstate the honorifics as a salve to the bureaucracy and then I would continue to reform the Church in order to restore her purpose.”
Leonie was close enough now to call out in Chinese, “What do you think of our new place, Worthy Magistrate?”
“It is very beautiful,” answered Pope An in the same language. “You are fortunate to have found it. It makes me long for the farm I left in China.”
“The advantage of being a journalist,” said Willie in English for the benefit of the men with her. He was pleased that the discussion had been steered to safer ground for the time being; there would be more than enough politics and religion over luncheon. “I heard of this as soon as the former owner decided to sell. He’s a friend of a friend, someone I had met once or twice. I made an offer before it was actually on the market.”
“You show prudence,” approved Pope An. “And you have profited by it.” She motioned to Cardinal Cadini. “What do you think of it?”
“I think it’s splendid,” said Cardinal Cadini. He turned to Willie. “I plan to wangle—that is a very useful word I learned from Charles—invitations out of you all year long. I shall lie in your garden like a beached porpoise and become intoxicated on the scent of growing things.”
“You’re always welcome,” said Willie.
Archbishop Wailua stared at the weathered bas relief sculpture set into the hill behind the fountain. “How old is that?” he asked, pointing to the marble figures. “It’s been here quite a while, by the look of it.”
“That it has. About two thousand years. There used to be a Roman villa on this site. The fountains were part of their baths.” Willie gestured expansively, enjoying himself. “You can see, in the next garden over, where some of it has been excavated. I’ve had a call from two archeology departments who want to tear up the garden looking for more of the ancient villa. One of the professors thinks that the stables were on the far side of the fountains, where there could be water for the horses and the waste could run away from the baths and the house instead of toward them. Very clever, those old Romans.”
“You aren’t going to let them do it, are you?” Cardinal Cadini protested. “This garden.…” For once, words failed him.
“It was destroyed in World War II and it’s reestablished itself,” said Leonie. “Gardening’s a hobby of mine.”
“Does that mean you will or you won’t allow the digging?” Cardinal Cadini persisted. “You can’t seriously intend to—”
“Not for a while, no,” Willie admitted. “We have to decide if we’re going to stay here; we’ll work out then what we intend to do with it.”
“There are other villas, and other gardens they can dig up,” said Cardinal Quillons. “This is a very pleasant place. It would be a shame to clutter it up with graduate students unearthing bits of pottery.”
“So it is, very pleasant,” agreed Willie at once. He rested one arm on the rim of the fountain, paying no heed to the water that splashed on his tweed jacket. “We don’t know yet how hard it might be to keep up. It’s almost two acres, the whole grounds and the house. It’s more than I’ve handled before. Up until now the most I’ve had to deal with was a large flat.”
“And I’ve always had a staff to help me,” said Leonie. “Here, I have Matteo for the heavy work and his wife Dorotea as housekeeper. Willie and I will be accountable for the rest of it. We haven’t done the summer weeding yet. The day may come when we’ll positively welcome the archaeologists.”
“If you do, you must photograph everything before they arrive,” said Cardinal Quillons. “That way it can be restored to just the way it was.” He rubbed his hands together. “It could keep you active for years.”
“If we haven’t anything better to do,” said Willie. “And speaking of something better to do, there is a luncheon waiting for us. I suspect you and the other guests are getting peckish.”
“How many others are invited for this luncheon?” asked Cardinal Phinees.
“We will be a total of fifteen when we sit down.” Willie said grandly. “We would have been sixteen if Cardinal Mendosa were back, but he’s still in Washington.”
“The Williamson trial, I suppose?” said Archbishop Wailua. “That’s all you can find on TV in Hawaii. Everyone having anything to do with the case has been interviewed. You can’t go anywhere they aren’t talking about it, especially since Cardinal Hetre was declared psychiatrically incompetent to testify.”
“Do you think they’ll convict him?” asked Cardinal Quillons, his tone revealing his own longing for a guilty verdict.
“I don’t see how they can fail to,” said Archbishop Wailua. “Between what Clancy McEllton said and the evidence that’s been presented, Reverend Williamson is responsible for the whole terrible plan.”
“Cardinal Mendosa was asked to give a statement regarding Cardinal Hetre. He’s been promised confidentiality.” Willie looked to Pope An, uncertain if he should go on. When he saw her nod, he continued, “The Department of Justice requested an American Cardinal because of the confrontational attitude Reverend Williamson’s followers have taken in regard to the Church. Bradeston didn’t want to, and Walgren was on Williamson’s side; in fact, he offered to testify for the defense, explaining the dilemma of the Church. Walgren has expressed sympathy with the confusion many Christians are feeling.”
“Not very wise of him,” murmured Cardinal Cadini. “No, it was not,” said Pope An.
“With the other Americans,” Willie went on, “Aquilino wouldn’t speak against a fellow Cardinal—meaning Hetre—and Durand is busy at the U.N. That left either you, Cardinal Quillons, or Cardinal Mendosa. You’ve haven’t had the job very long. Which meant the best choice was Cardinal Mendosa.”
“Besides, he’s had some dealings with President Care
y,” said Cardinal Cadini. “There’s been a rapport established.”
“He went because I asked it of him,” said Pope An, settling the matter.
As they started back down the pathway through the tall, formal hedges and the fronts of artful grottos, Cardinal Cadini asked Pope An, “Have you reached a decision yet on South America? The governments are pressing for an answer. So is the U.N., so they can coordinate their work with your travels.”
She looked away, resigned. “I suppose it would be best to go. They’ve had so much upheaval there, and it seems not to be ended yet. The new government in Brazil needs support if it is going to make the reforms it promised, and the reforms are long overdue from what I have learned. They will also need money; we must find out how much and how they intend to spend it before we extend them the loan they have sought. And there are those men in Colombia, with their drug empires. They will be at war with each other in a few more years, instead of just shooting each other out of cars and blowing up individual houses.” Her expression grew more somber. “I should plan the trip for May and June. It will be winter south of the equator and there is a lower chance of riots in winter.”
“It could be very dangerous, Pope,” said Cardinal Cadini with real concern. “You’ve read Maetrich’s evaluation of the risks involved.”
“Yes,” she allowed. “I appreciate his intentions and I applaud his efforts, but I cannot permit him to make me a prisoner of the Church any more than I already am.” She looked at her two new Cardinals. “That is one of the reasons I have advanced you both. We require better balance in the Church. We need to behave as if we truly are Catholic—universal—as we claim, or we must abandon the name as misrepresentation.”
“Don’t even think it, Pope,” said Cardinal Cadini at once. “That’s one change no one would tolerate.”
“It would not be liked,” conceded Pope An.
“That’s the understatement of the age,” said Willie for all the others.
Magnificat Page 67
