1635: The Papal Stakes

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

Larry was standing alongside Urban, looking out the rear window of the Garden Room, one of the few that had not been severely damaged during the prior night’s combat. Out upon the villa’s rear grounds-arrayed in rows between the herb and vegetable gardens-were all the dead. Mazzare swallowed, not having seen so many bodies since the Croat cavalry rode into Grantville in an attempt to slaughter all of the recently arrived up-timers.

“How many?” murmured Urban.

“Us or them?” asked Mazzare.

Urban closed his eyes. “How many of God’s children, Cardinal Mazzare?”

Larry felt a pang of shame-not the first one he’d felt in the past day. “Er…eighty-four in all, Your Holiness.”

Urban nodded, and after a time, opened his eyes. “There on the end, is that the boy who ran messages-Carlo? And is that the cook, the one with the lovely voice, beside him?”

“Yes, Your Holiness.”

“I could not tell. They are almost completely covered.”

“Their wounds-and dignity-demanded no less.”

Somewhere, out near the small barn, a hoarse cry rose up and dwindled back down with a whimper. Larry closed his eyes. Even with Sharon here, there had been wounds too grievous to treat-and in the borderline cases, the preference had been routinely given to the staff and defenders of the embassy, rather than the attackers. Those whose wounds would ultimately prove mortal-and there had been many-had been moved to the barn, from whence screams and cries had emerged all night long. Shortly before dawn, the frequency and volume of the agonized screams had begun to taper off. Now, they were rare. If Sharon’s triage assessments were correct, there would be final silence shortly past noon. And he, Cardinal Larry Mazzare, champion of peace, declaimer of war, had put at least four into that death house, himself. He felt a quiver start deep inside his body Urban put his hand on Larry’s shoulder. For the first time in Mazzare’s memory, the pope’s grip felt almost frail, but it drove off whatever demon of guilt and remorse had been rising up in him. “This has been a hard night, Lawrence. How many assassins attacked us?”

“We’re not sure, Your Holiness. There are fifty-one of their bodies out there. Some escaped, but not many.”

“And how many of our own friends have gone to be with their Maker?”

“Twenty-one of the embassy workers, nine of the Marines, one of the Hibernians, and Fleming. And-” Mazzare paused.

“-and George Sutherland. Yes, I know. I think I will see his face for the rest of my days.”

Someone cleared a throat behind them; they turned.

Sharon and Ruy stood just within the doorway. “Holy Father,” she said, “I’m sorry to disturb you, but we need a moment of your time.”

Urban sighed but put on a smile; it was arguably the saddest expression that Larry Mazzare had ever seen. “Of course, Ambassadora Nichols.”

“I know it seems that, after last night, we should all have time to rest and recover, but we don’t. We’ve got to move you again, Holy Father. We can’t be sure that there is only one group of assassins.

“Tom Stone in Venice, and the USE leadership, both know our situation here. We just got a message from Venice that they are preparing our back-up site, have sent half of the embassy Marines-cavalrymen, every one of them-to reinforce us up here until we can move. They’ll ride through the night and pick up an additional twenty troops along the way, mostly trusted retainers of four different nobles known to support you, and who are said to be incorruptible.”

Personally, Larry wondered if there were really four such paragons of aristocratic virtue to be found in the entirety of this most materialistic of republics.

“I see,” Urban said as the other clerics entered. “When will we be leaving?”

“That’s just it, Your Holiness. We have to leave the second the cavalry comes over the hill.”

Urban stood particularly straight. “So it must be. Can you tell me where we are going?”

Sharon sighed. “Actually, Your Holiness, that’s the exact question I was coming to ask you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Sharon put out her hands helplessly. “We got a signal just a few minutes ago that Frank and Giovanna are safe and on the way back to Italy. So we have to make travel and security arrangements for all our ‘at risk’ persons as soon as possible. We don’t want to give Borja another crack at you or them. But we’ve got one problem: we still don’t know where you want to go.”

Urban stared at the ground a moment. “I see your quandary. And I owe you that answer-now. Particularly after all of this. So, I assume we have some hours, yet?”

“At least a day, Your Holiness. And if there is another group of assassins who are able to reach us in that time, I’m not sure how much we could do to stop them-not if they are as large as this bunch was.”

“Very well. Then here is what we shall do.” He turned toward Antonio. “Cardinal Barberini, you will need your pen, ink, and parchment. I will give my judgment on what I have heard in the debates.”

Vitelleschi raised on eyebrow. “Indeed? How soon?”

“In five minutes, my friend.” He turned to a speechless Sharon. “Would you be so kind as to announce to those who can, and wish, to attend that they are welcome to do so?”

Wadding frowned. “Holy Father, is that wise?”

“I do not know, Cardinal Wadding, but I know this: no person who was in this house last night, sharing our peril, shall be kept away from our deliberations today. Now, Lawrence, let us go fetch a pitcher of cold water.” Urban smiled crookedly. “Pontificating is thirsty work.”

The audience in the Garden Room was less than a dozen persons. After fetching water with the pope, Larry had sidled off to buttonhole Ruy and point out that it was defensive suicide to allow the security forces to attend. Ruy politely declined to undermine the pope’s offer, but pointed out that all the security personnel were so deeply engaged in their duties, and so far away from the villa itself, that they could not possibly be summoned in time. Then, as three of the Hibernians walked by, not ten yards away, Ruy smiled at Larry.

Larry stared at the nearby soldiers, then at the ironic smile on Ruy’s face, and said, “Oh.”

If Urban detected, or was upset by the suspiciously limited audience for his pronouncements, he gave no sign of it. He simply stood and began.

“Time is short, so I shall not indulge in either a preamble or words of gratitude. Indeed, no words of gratitude could begin to express our deep debt to our hosts for what they have done, and what they have sacrificed.”

Sharon nodded stately thanks and acknowledgment.

“Cardinals Wadding and Mazzare did their jobs with all the vigor and insight that can be asked of mortal men. Their part in this is over. The first matter for us to consider if there is any basis for a lingering doubt that-although the up-timers are not constructs of the devil-it is still possible that they have been called back to our time to work as his unwitting tools.”

Urban folded his hands. “Much turns on this first matter-so much that I would be remiss to color the thinking of the most vigilant mind among us by expressing my opinion first. Therefore, Father-General Vitelleschi will share his personal judgment on this topic.” Urban sat-and smiled at Vitelleschi.

The father-general stood rigidly for a moment; Mazzare couldn’t tell if he was shocked or angry, or very possibly, both. But the Jesuit quickly schooled his expression to impassivity and folded his arms, staring downward. After almost ten seconds, he spoke, “I have heard only one credible reason that explains why Satan might choose these up-timers as his unwitting tools: that they might mislead us with new ideas for which we are simply not ready. This assertion presumes that it is perilous to embrace a doctrine for which men are not ready, or which ultimately distracts them from the salvation of their souls. Bellarmine rightly said that ‘Men are so like frogs. They go openmouthed for the lure of things which do not concern them, and that wily angler, the Devil, knows how to capture multitudes of them.’”

Vitelleschi looked around the room. “What could be more tempting to us down-timers than the wealth of information that arrived along with Grantville? And surely, their record of societies which successfully embraced absolute religious toleration is a nearly irresistible lure for the war-weary people of this world. Satan would also foresee that, precisely because the up-time knowledge is so empirically sound, the principle of absolute toleration might acquire an unwonted halo of implicit truth just by sharing common origin with all the rest of the authoritative information they brought to us.”

Vitelleschi’s brows lowered. “This is precisely the kind of trap that The Deceiver would lay for us. Eager for the promise of peace, our multitudes might poison themselves by drinking in such spirits, Holy or otherwise, distilled during the up-timers’ further centuries of strife and tribulation. As Cardinal Wadding argued, the up-time nations may have been prepared to healthily imbibe this potent liquor, but ours may not be.”

Mazzare looked over at Wadding, expecting to discover him swelling at the scent of approaching victory, but the Irish cardinal was strangely quiet, listening carefully.

“However,” said Vitelleschi, “we must now measure this hypothetical threat against the very solid-even bloody-reality of this moment. To be blunt, does it seem plausible that these up-timers-who have risked themselves for us, for our Church, our pope-could in fact be the Devil’s tools?”

Vitelleschi shook his head. “The answer is obvious if we simply reverse the question: would we be alive this moment if they were the Devil’s tools? Less than twelve hours ago, our survival and the future of the legitimate Church rested in the hands of these up-timers and their allies. That I stand here now, alive and speaking, is all the proof I need that they are not agents of darkness. Yes, I may be able to imagine fabulous plots in which Grantville is Satan’s ultimate and pivotal conceit, but they all collapse under the weight of this momentous fact: if it were not for the up-timers last night, the Church would not exist this morning. Satan had his opportunity to strike a mortal blow last night, but instead, his hopes died along with Borja’s assassins-all slain by up-timers and their allies.”

Vitelleschi’s proud neck went erect again. “And so I conclude-” he surveyed the up-timers sternly “-that whatever else they might be, the up-timers are not Satan’s unwitting tools.” With a brief glance at Urban-was it defiance, pride, annoyance? — the father-general sat.

Urban stood, and suddenly, Larry could hardly recall what Vitelleschi had said, because he knew he was about to hear history being made. And also, he was about to learn whether he was going to be traveling to the USE and living a while longer, or die very soon, because if Urban struck out on his own, Larry would have to-and wanted to-follow him. And they would all soon be found and killed, like rabbits beneath the teeth of wolves.

“I thank the father-general for his illuminating and instructive reasoning on the matter of our up-time friends, who, I now pronounce, speaking ex cathedra, to be found no different than the other children of God, possessed of the same graces, flaws, and origins as the rest of us. Now, let me speak to the other issues at hand.

“Since we have now accepted that the up-timers are neither satanic agents or dupes, then we are, de facto, accepting the reality of their future world. Which means that the later popes of their world are most assuredly popes. And this, in turn means that I acknowledge that they, too, enjoyed the grace of the Sacred Magisterium and thus were infallible in matters of faith and morals.

“Which brings us inevitably to the next point: by acknowledging them as true popes, one must also then acknowledge that God guided them to convene the council known as Vatican Two. And although God’s instruction to them does not constitute instructions to me, His inspiration and intents were manifest in that council and the doctrines arising therefrom. And so I must bear in mind their decisions and deeds as I consider my own.

“However, let us now address the crux of the matter: are the decrees of pontiffs from a future world that will now never exist to be obeyed in this one? I cannot see how that could be. The papacy is not only a succession of men, but of interactions between man and God. Consequently, it is logical that a later pope may not question the charism of an earlier pope, whose deeds and relationship with God must necessarily shape those of his successors. But to obey the dictates of a pope who came after me? In this, Cardinal Wadding is certainly right: Vatican II’s papal and consular authority must be constrained to your time, Cardinal Mazzare, because it was informed by centuries of history-both papal and global-that came after this century. How could the needs of your twentieth-century Church be no different from the needs of this one? The charism of perfection that attends the Sacred Magisterium made Vatican II’s doctrines perfect insofar as they reflect God’s grace in answering the questions and quandaries that were particular to the Church in your bubble of time and space.”

Urban made a small, circular gesture. “This bubble- our bubble-is not that bubble. So I must believe that, even if we asked the same questions that your Church did, the answers would be different. If Vatican II was accepted without modification in this world, it would trigger far more schisms and wars than it would prevent, despite the fact that it provided timely and essential answers to challenges that had long vexed the Holy See of the twentieth century.”

Perhaps Urban saw the worried eyes of his audience; he smiled and nodded. “However, it is also true that the mind of God does not change; man changes. And the way in which Vatican II does apply to this time, and this world, is that it is a further revelation of the mind of God. And particularly important is its renewed emphasis upon one of the most fundamental truths Christ brought to us: we are not to convert others by the exercise of power, but by examples of perfection-by living in as Christ-like a fashion as possible.”

Urban spread his hands. “When did Christ ever instruct us to do violence upon others? At what sermon did he commend our evangelical duty to the force of weapons, instead of words? He preached the tolerance and hope and charity that your popes reaffirmed through the Apostolic Constitutions that arose from Vatican II. And although those Constitutions were not issued in or to this world, and are thus not specifically binding upon us, I acknowledge that they reflect the will and mind of God. Which leads me to conclude that, since we cannot accept the specific doctrines and language of your Vatican II, it is incumbent upon me to convene one of our own.”

Mazzare sneaked a look at Wadding, and was surprised to see the former Franciscan nodding thoughtfully.

Urban folded his hands again. “And so we come to the final question I must answer: quo vadis? ” Seeing uncertainty on the faces of most of the up-timers, Urban smiled and translated, “‘Where are you going?’” He held up his hands. “I already knew the worldly, prudent answer-to reside in the USE while I rebuild our shattered Church. But Cardinal Wadding rightly pointed to the dangers of putting oneself in the house of another; one’s freedom of choice will slowly, but surely, be compromised and constrained.

“But mostly, I was listening for My Savior’s wise whisper. And it was Cardinal Mazzare who inadvertently pointed out how to listen for Christ’s guidance in this matter. The story of the Good Samaritan is precisely the one I needed to consider at length, for among its many lessons, it shows us just what the up-timers own insistence upon freedom of religion truly reveals: that coexistence between faiths is not merely possible, but the only way to live a Christ-like existence.”

Urban frowned. “As a pope, sitting safely ensconced in the Vatican, it is still all too easy to become distracted from the basic truths to be found in the Gospel. As protector of the faith, one is called upon to make-difficult decisions.” Urban looked like he suffered a moment of indigestion. “With Gustav Adolf defeating our armies in Germany, and endless rounds of reprisals and massacres between Catholics and Protestants, my conversations with God become too focused on mundane urgencies rather than enduring grace. And with the Spanish cardinals always pressing the issue, the line between heresy and toleration was ever on my mind, ever a political issue, and often, a rationalization for the use of papal troops and authority, both to accommodate and thwart the policies of Madrid’s coterie of cardinals. But now-”

The pope paused and stared out the back window; Mazzare wondered if he was looking at the sheet covering the last mortal remains of George Sutherland.

Urban turned back to the room. “Now, all those urgent decisions seem akin to the splitting of hairs. We can find all the truth we need in the Gospels, and at the danger of repeating myself, I find no place where Christ exhorted us to kill, rather than love, our neighbor. So how can I allow God’s Church to fall into the hands of Gaspar Borja? And how can I prevent it but by remembering that God teaches us humility in many ways-and maybe, for this pope, at this time, that lesson comes in the shape of saying, ‘Yes, I am the beaten Jew in the story of the Good Samaritan.’ My God and Savior has had the infinite kindness and wisdom to place this lesson before me and maybe-maybe-help me to become a better, more Christ-like man than I have been up until now. So yes, I will gladly accept the help of Gustav Adolf, of he whom I thought was my enemy but who may now be my Good Samaritan. Assuming that is truly his will.”

He looked directly at Sharon who, holding her breath, nodded twice, quickly.

Urban nodded back. “However, there is a one last, instructive detail of the parable of the Good Samaritan that wants mention. Although the Good Samaritan provided all aid to the stricken Jew, even paying for a room at an inn and a physician, he did not bring the injured man under his own roof.”

Uncertain looks started ricocheting from face to face in the Garden Room; even Antonio Barberini paused in his writing and looked up with a perplexed expression on his face. But Larry suddenly knew what was coming-and scolded himself for not having anticipated it.

Urban raised a finger. “Let us not doubt that if the beaten Jew had required it, the Samaritan would have brought him under his own roof. But since he did not, we must ask why this was not, in fact, the best alternative?”

Urban clearly did not expect-and was not inviting-a response, but he let the rhetorical question dangle for a moment before answering it. “There are probably two reasons. First, although the Samaritan demonstrated his goodness by ignoring his community’s prejudice against Jews, he could not have assured that the beaten man would have been safe had he brought him home. Indeed, his neighbors might have done violence against both of them for what they considered the effrontery and outrage of caring for an enemy in their midst.

“But perhaps the second reason is more pertinent. By taking the Jew to an inn-a neutral place-the Good Samaritan also avoided putting the recipient of his help under the obligations that accrue when one is a guest in another’s home. Not only was the Jew rescued and healed, but his dignity was protected. What passed between them later, the parable does not tell us; we can only hope the Jew repaid the Good Samaritan with friendship and gratitude. But the free expression of such amity is only possible because he remained in neutral territory: he was never placed under any obligation to obey, or even thank, his benefactor.”

Urban folded his hands. “And so it must be with Mother Church.” He looked at Sharon again. “We are happy-and enduringly grateful-for the kindness shown, for our rescue, and for the promise of being carried to a safe, neutral place where we may recover our strength. But we may not enter your house, just as the Good Samaritan elected not to take the wounded Jew into his own. And in the better years to come, the Good Samaritans of the USE may thus know that the Church’s future friendship and gratitude is given freely, rather than in the satisfaction of an obligation to a former host.”

Urban crossed the room to stand before Sharon. “I hope this decision does not disappoint you, or those above you in the USE. It could not be otherwise, at this historical moment. After all, the faithful of the Church have accepted popes suspected of being murderers and liars; the record is sadly clear on that. However, to lead the Catholic Church from within the borders of a nation whose monarch is a Protestant?” Urban wagged a remonstrating finger and smiled. “No, that will not be tolerated. It is sad but true that if I did so, it would undo all we hope to accomplish by accepting your help: to make this the beginning of an open and full friendship between us, and to begin healing the wounds of sectarian strife.”

“Your Holiness, I just heard you say you can’t stay with us in the USE,” remarked Sharon, who had made Urban-watching a near specialty of hers, “but why does it sound like you’re trying to convince yourself of that, even more than you’re trying to convince me?”

He smiled shrewdly. “Ah, Ambassadora, you are a most perceptive person. And of course, you are correct. There is no place I would rather visit right now than Grantville, and there is no place I would feel more safe. But at this time, it would not just be the Spanish cardinals who would declaim me for even visiting the USE. Too many of the moderate cardinals would be tempted to agree that I would only do such a thing if I had fallen under the spell of witches sent here by an infernal miracle.

“Yes, we have settled and put aside this issue officially today, but it will take time for many of the moderates to accept it. And beyond that, it will take my restoration to the Holy See before the suspicions of a distressingly large portion of the common folk are truly allayed. Consequently, the unfortunate realities of this political moment make a visit to your fascinating town completely out of the question. However, I promise you this-indeed, I request it of you as a further favor: that upon liberating the Vatican from Borja, and returning to my seat upon the cathedra, I may announce that my first official departure from Rome will be to visit my peerless friends in Grantville.”

Sharon bowed. “We would be honored, Your Holiness.”

“No, my daughter,” he said with a solemn smile. “It is you who would be extending a singular honor to me.”

And with a bow, he left. Vitelleschi followed. Wadding wandered out well behind them, hands behind his back, head lowered in thought. Larry Mazzare stayed behind, staring at the walls and realizing that, in regard to the Roman Catholic Church, Now, nothing will be as it was before. With this, everything changes.

As they walked out the front door-strolling in the back was unspeakably depressing and subtly disrespectful-Father-General Muzio Vitelleschi felt quietly pleased with himself as he primly asked: “So, I take it that this Council has been a help to you, Holy Father?”

“A help to me?” Urban laughed. “I did not require this Council’s deliberations to help me.”

“No? Then whom?”

The pope smiled. “It was to help you, my dear Vitelleschi.”

It took Vitelleschi a second to realize that his mouth was hanging open. He finally sputtered: “Me? How? In what way?”

“Ah, Vitelleschi, old friend, how else could I know your true mind? And how else could you be free to know it yourself?”

“I do not understand, Your Holiness.”

Urban smiled. “Without this process, you would have followed my decisions-as you always have-because that is your job. And you would have done so ardently and firmly, because of our long years together. But that is a very different thing from believing in something yourself. And I needed to know what you believed. That way, I could compare your conclusions with my own. But more importantly, I needed your convictions — whatever they might be-to be wholly and utterly your own. I did not want you torn between duty to me on one side, doctrinal doubts on the other, and with the middle-ground a mire of contending ideas and conjectures. No. You need to be as firmly committed to this new course, to our new policies, as I am.”

“And had my conclusions been at variance with your own?”

Urban shrugged. “Then I would have restudied my tentative decisions on the matter.” He smiled and glanced back at Wadding who was just emerging, squinting, into the sunlight. “After all, had your conclusions been different, you would then have been offering me the same counsel as Luke Wadding. And if the former Fathers Vitelleschi and Wadding can agree on something-if the epoch’s leading Jesuit and Franciscan minds are in such unprecedented unison on any topic-then a wise pope must consider that true miracle a sign from God and take heed!”