Book of JUDAS

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

Vatican City, Rome

Alone, the tall figure of Cardinal Camerlengo Fiore stepped down the winding stairs leading away from the papal apartments in the heart of the Vatican. Although he strode purposefully he felt the weight of the heavy burden he carried. His loyal aides, Cardinal Deacon Weiss and Cardinal Bishop Lefebvre greeted his appearance with deference as they lowered their heads, aware of the duties that now rested on Fiore’s broad shoulders.

“Are they present?” asked Cardinal Fiore sombrely as he weighed up the task ahead.

“They’ve all gathered and are waiting in the Consistorial Hall, Your Eminence,” replied Lefebvre obediently.

“My brothers, we knew this time would arrive and now it has – come, we have much to do,” he commanded.

His voice was firm and in control, belying the turmoil that played havoc with his inner emotions. He strode past them down the Scala Nobile into the Sala Clementina, an enormous, lavishly decorated chamber from the Renaissance period with a ceiling as high as two-storey house. Both Weiss and Lefebvre dutifully followed hard on his heels, their scarlet robes flowing behind them in their hasty passage across the chamber’s marble floor.

The Sala Clementina was frequently used as waiting room for the Consistorial Hall. It was one of the many treasures within the Vatican; the walls had several repetitions of the arms of Clement VIII, the builder of the hall. In the past, Fiore had stopped on many occasions to admire the magnificent marble wainscoting and the bold ornamental frescoes but as he stepped beneath the colossal chandelier whose green patina combined beautifully with the harmony of colours, his mind focused solely on the important speech he had to make in a few moments’ time. Will they be prepared to accept changes to traditional Vatican protocols? Protocols that have existed for centuries? wondered Fiore. He knew which path was the best for the Vatican and he would do all in his power to persuade them.

Cardinal Deacon Weiss reached the huge wooden double doors first – with an effort he pulled them open for Cardinal Fiore to pass through ahead of him. The Consistorial Hall, where they had met on earlier occasions, was darker than the Sala Clementina, although many lamps were lit around its perimeter as the early evening light began to fade outside.

Some were standing but those sitting on the hard, wooden benches rose immediately as the company of Cardinals entered the room. They had been waiting since mid-afternoon after receiving the urgent, handwritten message from Cardinal Fiore to meet in the Consistorial Hall. As they sprung to their feet and made towards the arriving delegation Fiore registered the distress and anxiety on their faces and raised his hand for silence.

“The Supreme Pontiff, Pope Paul XII is dead; he passed away very peacefully in his sleep just a over an hour ago!”

The news was greeted by a forlorn silence. Across the room the Cardinal Alphonso, crouched, resting his weight on his wooden cane. With sadness in his eyes he reached down and lifted the large golden crucifix hanging from a long chain around his neck and kissed the cross. They had all suspected the worst ever since they had received the calling from the deputy Pope’s office but nevertheless it still could not completely prepare them for the shock of hearing the final truth.

The wise old Cardinal Gregory stood next to Cardinal Alphonso. Both of them, along with Cardinal Fiore himself, were widely accepted as the Vatican’s front runners to take over the mantle of the Supreme Pontiff and Ruler of the Holy See. Also present in the great hall was Colonel Renauld whose Swiss Guards would play such an important part in the religious and political ceremonies that would take place in St. Peter’s Square and the inner sanctums of the Vatican over the next few days. Also in the room was Cardinal Giacoma, the trusted friend of Cardinal Alphonso whose intimate knowledge of their past and present predicament with the Book of Judas warranted his presence.

Apart from it being the end of an era it was also terrible timing. They all knew that the news of Pope Paul’s death could not have come at a worse time for the preservation of their faith and their church. His long reign at the helm of the Catholic Church had been commanding and visionary although the impetus had began to wane in the last few years in line with his increasingly fragile state of health.

“My brothers − ” said Fiore, opening his speech in a conciliatory tone.

“The death of Pope Paul XII is tragic but let us not be in any doubt that we face the greatest threat to our faith, and to our church, that has ever manifested itself. Not even since the time of the apostles have we… the Vatican, ever encountered such a potentially catastrophic threat.” Fiore’s voice boomed around the chamber, echoing in the stony silence as he paused to calmly observe their facial expressions.

“Unless we unite in this moment of crisis we face internal strife and friction that may cloud our judgements and allow our enemy to get the upper hand. If those dark forces seeking to overturn the minds and souls of those that are true Christian believers then we will be responsible for having let our own personal battles get in the way of defeating the Satanica! We will have failed our people and we will have failed ourselves!”

His words crystallised their thoughts. They knew the impending danger that surrounded the uncovering of the Book of Judas. His conciliatory tone and sensible approach also struck a chord with Cardinal Alphonso who was not accustomed to being in the same corner as the self-promoting Cardinal Fiore. During his lengthy spell as deputy to the Supreme Pontiff, he had always given him an assured personal performance that sometimes bordered on arrogance.

Standing a respectful few paces behind the Cardinals, Colonel Renauld nodded his head in agreement with his chosen successor’s words.

“We cannot afford division − we have to put our past differences to one side and agree a framework for the election of the new Pontiff that will confront the trial ahead.”

The election of a new Pope was steeped in Catholic tradition. The news of his death would be made public by the Dean of the College of Cardinals later that evening and then throughout the world the message for all Cardinals to return to Rome would be communicated.

The rules for the election had not changed since their determination in the times of Alexander III in 1178. In those days men who had an insatiable itch for the irresistible power held by the head of the entire Christian church would try and grab the papal throne. Rival claims threatened to destroy the unity of the church and John De Struma, calling himself Calistus III, threatened Alexander’s appointment. The pretender was besieged by Christian of Mainz and eventually succumbed to his rule. From that day, Alexander III determined that better rules for papal elections were needed. He created the first ecumenical council consisting of Cardinals, Prefects, Senators and Consuls of Rome, over which he himself presided from his elevated position on the throne of the Catholic Church.

In the council’s first order of business they created a canon that set the regulations for future papal elections. They decided that only the Cardinals of the church would have the right to elect a new Pope and that his accession would require the minimum consensus of two thirds of their combined votes plus one additional vote. Only Cardinals under the age of eighty were considered eligible to vote in a papal election. Therefore, in other words if the current number of eligible Cardinals in the Vatican was one hundred and twenty then eight-one votes, two thirds of this number plus one, would be required to elect the new Supreme Pontiff and Ruler of the Holy See. Since their declaration in the twelfth century, anyone challenging these laws faced exclusion from the ecclesiastical order and immediate excommunication from Rome.

The atmosphere in the hall was apprehensive as Cardinal Gregory, Alphonso and Giacoma waited for the proposal that they sensed was forthcoming from Cardinal Fiore. Cardinal Gregory, who had clashed metaphorical swords with Fiore on several occasions in the past, felt uneasy about the direction the dialogue was taking.

Cardinal Fiore knew he had their undivided attention and he reached in his pocket and pulled out a handwritten note, which he held up in the air for all to see.

“I would like to show you this!” he said, his voice booming out around the great hall.

“It is a brief letter addressed to us all written by the Supreme Pontiff Paul XII himself who I can vouch was in clear and total command of all his senses at the time.”

Fiore promptly stepped a couple of paces forward and handed the note to Cardinal Alphonso. Stepping back, he folded his arms and waited patiently for the stooped Cardinal to read the short italic writing that had been crafted in black ink. The others watched on, observing Alphonso’s facial expression for any sign that would give away his reaction to the note.

The wise Cardinal recognised the handwriting immediately; it was shaky but nevertheless he believed it was the authentic calligraphy of Pope Paul XII. Reading it quickly one more time to make sure he had digested the “irregular” contents he stared up sharply at Fiore. Without saying anything he calmly handed the sheet to Cardinal Gregory standing on his left who peered at the writing through his round, metal rimmed spectacles.

“This is outrageous,” Cardinal Gregory fumed as he reached the end and pulled off his spectacles to glare up at Fiore suspiciously.

“When was this written?” he demanded.

“Does that matter? It was the last thing the Supreme Pontiff wrote and the last request he made before leaving this Earth,” replied Fiore abruptly.

The signed note was addressed to Cardinal Gregory and Cardinal Alphonso together and contained the last wish of the dying Pope. For the sake of a united church, he wrote, I would like you to stand down from the papal election for my successor and put the full body of your support behind Cardinal Camerlengo Fiore. It was clear from the deteriorating handwriting that he didn’t have the stamina to put down all his thoughts as it became increasingly illegible as the note scrolled towards the end. Pope Paul XII finished his last missive by requesting that they pray for his soul as he himself would pray for their combined strength to take the path of righteousness in the face of a potent evil enemy.

Over the centuries the intrigue, the lobbying and the cunning politics that underscored the papal elections for the highest clerical position in the Christian world was as intense as it had become legendary. The bribes and false promises made to secure the hearts and votes of politicking, self-seeking Cardinals knew no bounds.

Cardinal Alphonso continued to remain composed and silent, contemplating the facts before him, as the elderly Cardinal Gregory vented his distrust of Fiore’s dealings. The aura that surrounded the mantle of becoming the next Pope was the dream, the heartfelt desire of all Cardinals who, with the Pope’s blessing, entered the inner sanctum of the ecumenical councils of the Vatican. This was no different for Cardinal Gregory. For over three quarters of his long life he had aspired to reaching the pinnacle office of their faith. Many decisions that would have brought substantial personal benefits and new pleasurable challenges in life had been rejected throughout his rigorous regime in favour of steps that would lead him up to the elevated papal throne. Normally a self-assured man, renown for dispensing even-handed wisdom with clarity and calmness, the spontaneity of his reaction to Fiore’s note surprised those present. Cardinal Alphonso felt a degree of sympathy and understanding for Gregory’s reaction. After all, hitherto it had been widely known throughout the cloisters of the Vatican that Pope Paul’s preferred candidate was actually Cardinal Gregory.

“Is this how you manipulate your trusted position, Brother Fiore?” Cardinal Gregory hissed, the venom in his trembling voice filled with defiance that would not accept the despair of a fading dream.

“I will not answer that question and you will never raise this subject in my presence again,” retorted Fiore angrily.

Colonel Renauld, a known loyal supporter of Cardinal Fiore, stood calmly a few yards behind the priests wearing his bright uniform of office. Motionless, he observed the proceedings with his arms clasped behind his back. He knew that in the race to become the heir to the Catholic throne Cardinal Gregory and Cardinal Fiore could expect to command around forty per cent of the vote each. The balance was made up of Cardinal Alphonso loyalists and pockets of uncommitted lobbyists running minor political sideshows on specific religious issues. Having already cast his support behind Cardinal Fiore, the Colonel watched the eagerly anticipated confrontation begin to unfold.

Suddenly Cardinal Gregory, still clutching the letter in his left hand, felt all of his eighty-six years. The exertion of the volcanic emotion that pumped through his body left him feeling weak and despondent. Tired or not, he primed himself to scold Cardinal Fiore again. Who is he to issue such a diktat to me? As the response came to his lips he felt the reassuring hand of Cardinal Alphonso gripping his arm and the tirade he was about to unleash was stopped midstream.

“Control yourself, Brother Gregory,” Cardinal Fiore ordered in a quiet, controlled manner. He had anticipated such a reaction from both Cardinals so took some solace in Brother Alphonso’s more favourable demeanour.

“We need to be responsible and pragmatic, Brother Gregory − this is a very serious matter, a unified leadership is essential,” he continued.

Suddenly a new voice joined the debate.

“The position we find ourselves in calls for some personal sacrifices for the greater good of the church,” contested the voice of Cardinal Deacon Weiss who was standing reverently behind Fiore’s left shoulder. Cardinal Lefebvre dutifully nodded his agreement.

Cardinal Gregory felt the rage well up again as Cardinal Alphonso tightened his grip on his brother’s arm. Restraining the urge to dismiss the junior and irreverent Cardinal by informing him of his place at this meeting, he glared angrily, his intense piercing expression forcing Cardinal Weiss to look away to the floor.

Cardinal Gregory shook his arm free from Brother Alphonso and put his hands up to his head to straighten his scarlet red biretta, which had began to fall out of place.

“I will not give you my support, now or ever,” retorted Cardinal Gregory angrily; his mind could only contemplate the lost prize and the lifetime of work he had devoted to his one true vocation. The potential catastrophe for their church created by the Satanica and the Book of Judas had been misted over, its prominence relegated in his mind’s eye.

“We need to work together,” reiterated Fiore but it was no good.

“My work here is done,” he exploded, deriding Fiore, and span around towards the exit of the Consistorial Hall. Taking a few brisk paces towards the double doors past Colonel Renauld, he paused momentarily and twisted back to look into the face of Cardinal Alphonso. He knew he needed his support. The day that the voting papers were cast in the secret ballot held in the Sistine chapel would soon be upon them. Cardinal Alphonso’s backing for himself or Cardinal Fiore would decide the election. How will he stand? Surely he can’t be persuaded by that bogus letter from Pope Paul? he thought to himself.

In a softer, much calmer tone Cardinal Gregory spoke to his friend before leaving.

“Brother Alphonso, we’ve been family for years, I trust you’ll act wisely when it comes to it.”

Leaning on his cane, Cardinal Alphonso nodded and Cardinal Gregory swung around and continued his march to the door that would take him to the Sala Regia and out towards his own private quarters. In the silence that accompanied his footsteps they could make out the sound of singing emanating from the Sistine Chapel – the harmonious Miserere for nine voices composed by the Italian Gregorio Allegri in the seventeenth century. The ethereal high notes resounded shrilly until the door swung shut behind Cardinal Gregory and Fiore’s gaze swivelled back to Cardinal Alphonso.

“My Brother, we’re also going to have to break with centuries of tradition − we don’t have the luxury of waiting the normal fifteen-day period for the Cardinals to assemble in Rome for the elections. We must issue an urgent directive for all of them to be here in two days’ time for voting to commence by midday on day three!”

Alphonso was extremely wary of Fiore and his intentions. He could have illicitly extracted the letter from Pope Paul XII but he also felt that the note could be real – after all it was in his handwriting and in the circumstances it would have been difficult to say the least to extort such a statement from a dying man. Besides which, Alphonso felt he could also justify the Pope’s train of thought. In thinking of the best way to deal with the threat, who would be the man likely to take the arduous decisions to save their Christian faith? Gregory or Fiore? Despite the Deputy Pope’s ambitious and sometimes narcissistic behaviour, Alphonso genuinely felt that Fiore would not shirk or falter from the responsibilities placed upon him by the office. Will Cardinal Gregory be able to command the respect of those around him and focus on the problem in hand? Or is he too infatuated with the dream of being Pope to unite them against the Satanica? Colonel Renauld has made his views known to all − how important is it that his trust and chain of command are kept intact? After all, has Gregory not just left the Consistorial Hall without stopping to discuss or realise the situation we’re in? he wondered, pondering the outcome of the various scenarios.

Maybe he should listen to the words of his friend, the deceased Pope Paul XII who despite his reservations about Fiore becoming his true heir genuinely saw him as the Vatican’s man for the moment − the man who could make the decisions and lead them through this time of crisis.

With the aid of his cane and Cardinal Giacoma, the hunched and lop-sided figure of Cardinal Alphonso hobbled to the wooden bench at the edge of the hall and sat down. The seat was hard and he tilted forward with his hands clasped, as if in prayer, over the silver top of his walking cane. The look of concentration left his face as he looked up at Fiore and nodded.

“We’re in agreement on this point – we should bring the papal elections forward,” Alphonso replied after a lengthy pause.

It was the support Fiore needed. He turned to the immaculately presented Commander of the Swiss Guards.

“Colonel, please dispatch the messages at once − demand confirmations and itineraries for all those that need to travel to Rome, let them be in no doubt of the urgency and the severity in which it will be held if for any reason the Cardinal does not meet the stipulated timetable − tell them that the business of Rome commands priority over all local or otherwise ecumenical matters. Am I understood?” asked Fiore, raising his dark eyebrows.

The Colonel stepped forward.

“Your Eminence, I will see to it right away,” and he turned on his heels and set off towards the door through which Cardinal Gregory had departed moments earlier.

The walls of the Consistorial Hall could be considered priceless with the works of art that ordained them. Behind the bench on which Cardinal Alphonso was sitting was an enormous elaborate fresco painted by the widely revered and respected painter Vasari. It was one of the Vatican’s great treasures and it depicted St. Bartholomew in what became known as the infamous Battle of the Huguenots. Fiore waved his hand towards the magnificent work of art.

“My friend… St. Bartholomew’s great victory! You’ve made the right decision, time is not on our side – we’ll need all our strength, guile and courage, as did one of our greatest saints, if we’re to defeat the evil Satanica.”

Had he still been present in the hall, the meticulous Colonel Renauld would have possibly noticed another piece of the jigsaw He had always believed in judging a man’s character and emotions by his words and the bodily actions that accompanied them. If he had still been there he might have seen the slight shuffling from one of the Cardinals that followed Fiore’s mention of the words “evil Satanica”. In Renauld’s mind, he was already beginning to delve deeper into the characters that could be behind the leaks to the Satanica. At this stage he had no hard facts – just a gut feeling.

“Brother Fiore, we need the virtues you describe… We also need unity, so please find it in your heart to make peace with Brother Gregory. I believe that the newly elected Pontiff can serve for a fixed length of time of his own volition before stepping to one side and making way for a successor… Maybe there’s an opportunity for compromise?” he suggested.

Pushing down on his cane with both palms, Cardinal Alphonso raised his weary frame and stood up to leave. He had sown the seeds but he didn’t really hold out any hope of Fiore bringing them to fruition. He was as keen to hold the church’s top position as Cardinal Gregory and once he had hold of it he was unlikely to let go. Anyway, he thought, I’ve planted the seed of an idea and maybe he is capable of delivering and honouring such a notion. He would have to wait and see.

“We’ll all meet again when we have more news on the Book of Judas from Colonel Renauld. And please remember…” added Fiore, looking around at their faces, “…everything that’s uttered within our secret conclaves must remain strictly confidential!”

Alphonso nodded his agreement and slowly shuffled with the aid of his cane towards the exit. His good friend Cardinal Giacoma sprang forward to help, offering his arm as support

“Tonight I will pray for the soul of my friend Pope Paul XII – and I’ll pray for you too, Brother Fiore,” called Alphonso.

Cardinal Fiore smiled privately to himself.

The meeting had gone surprisingly well and the response he had received from Alphonso offered him great encouragement. The fires of emotion that burned deep inside Cardinal Fiore for the prestigious trappings and power that accompanied the Pope’s high office wanted him to forge ahead with the newfound softening of his relationship with Alphonso. The skilful diplomat within him knew that it was best left until another day but the temptation was too great.

His booming voice called after Alphonso.

“And which way will you cast your votes, Brother Alphonso?” asked Fiore as the Cardinal lurched from side to side on Giacoma’s arm.

“All in good time, Brother Fiore… All in good time,” he boomed over his shoulder.