The Iscariot Agenda

CHAPTER THIRTY

The chamber of Cardinal Marcello’s quarters was not opulent, but comfortable in its amenities. There was a recess in the wall large enough for a ceiling-to-floor bookcase that held religious tomes in hardbound. Against the east wall were two bullet-shaped windows, the top portions adorned with stained glass that gave a pristine view of the Gardens, and between them sat a single-sized bed bearing the colored comforter the same as his scarlet and gold dress.

As the sky was beginning to show the red bands of dusk, the cardinal closed the scalloped drapery and took a seat behind his desk. Before him stood Cardinal Angullo, his head and neck protruding forward from his body like a vulture’s.

“So, Pius is already lobbying on behalf of the secretary of the state.” Cardinal Marcello tented his fingers and began to bounce the tips thoughtfully against his chin. “What he says is true, however. My camp of followers is equal to Vessucci’s. And truth be told, my friend, you are the swing vote.”

Cardinal Angullo began to pace the area before Cardinal Marcello’s desk. “He spoke of your penchant of being far too conservative for the seat, too unyielding to bend with the masses.”

“It is my belief that we must adhere to the scriptures as they were written. The will of the people must bend to the will of God. God must never bend to the will of the people,” he said.

“He also spoke of secrets,” he added. “Secrets known apparently by a selected few.”

“Secrets are made secret for a reason, Giuseppe? The subject matters involved often give rise for discussion and debate.”

“I then asked the pontiff if the secrets held were corrupt in nature. He says ‘no.’”

“That’s because it’s easy to look at something and justify the action if the means are achieved, morally or otherwise.”

Cardinal Angullo stopped pacing, his neck craning forward. “You know as well as I do that I also seek the seat you and Vessucci covet?”

“I do.”

“I tell you this because I know where I stand, Constantine. My camp is small but powerful.”

Cardinal Marcello stopped bouncing his fingertips off the base of his chin. “What is it you’re proposing?”

The corners of the cardinal’s lips edged upward. “A shared seat,” he finally said.

“You know as well as I do that the papal throne cannot be shared.”

“Not directly, no. But it can be shared, nonetheless. Like the throne is shared between the good Cardinal Bonasero Vessucci and Pope Pius.”

“You want to sit at my side?”

“As an aide, yes.” The cardinal began to pace once again, back and forth, just in front of the cardinal’s desk, this time looking ceilingward as he spoke and deliberated. “The seat of the secretary of state is appointed by the pope, yes?”

“It is.”

Cardinal Angullo stopped pacing and leaned over the cardinal’s table with his knuckles resting on the desktop. “If you promise to relieve Cardinal Vessucci of his duties as secretary of state and appoint me in his place, then I will lobby with my camp to support you in full. With my numbers converging with yours, then Vessucci will lose his bid for the papal throne.”

“To be honest, Giuseppe, your proposal seems unethical in its own right.”

Cardinal Angullo stood erect. “Politicking may seem that way. But as Pope Pius has stated, politicking is good if the masses as a whole benefit from it. If there are secrets untold, secrets in need of moral interpretation, then it is up to us to render corrections and make right what is wrong.”

Cardinal Marcello began to mull over the offer.

Then: “I could also offer the same agreement to Vessucci, if, of course, my terms do not appease you.”

Marcello took on an angered look, his brows dipping sharply over the bridge of his nose. “Are you giving me an ultimatum?”

“I’m merely politicking, which is never pretty by any means, but a necessity of survival. I come to you with this offer because I believe you to be the man deserving of this position besides myself, of course. But let’s make something quite clear: I’m in a win-win position as the swing vote, to better my position within the Vatican. You would do so if you were in the same position, Constantine. We all covet the throne at one time or another. However, not everyone is handed the papal throne the way I’m handing it to you.”

Constantine Marcello closed his eyes, the muscles in the back of his jaw working. The man was right, politically speaking. And then: “Fine. If your camp supports my endeavors and backs my camp, then the seat of secretary of state is yours. I’ll reappoint the good Cardinal Vessucci to another esteemed position.”

Angullo smiled. “Then I will begin to lobby in your behalf… Your Holiness.”

Cardinal Marcello snapped a hard glare at Angullo. “I’m not the pontiff yet, Giuseppe. Do not address me as such as long as Pius lives. He’s a good man who deserves our respect.”

Angullo bowed his head. “I beg my forgiveness, good Cardinal. I meant no disrespect.”

“Is there anything else?”

“No.”

“Then have a good night.”

Cardinal Angullo perpetuated a weasel-like smile, bowed, and then left the cardinal’s chamber with his garment trailing behind him.

When the chamber door closed the walls echoed in resounding manner, just like the question that continued to bounce off his conscience: Did I just nail my soul to the Devil’s altar?

For the sake of absolution he promised himself with a soft sell that he would make things right with God by justifying his actions, since the easiest thing man can do is justify anything as long as the measures achieve the means. And he was sure that God would truly forgive him for righting a terrible wrong.

Whatever dark and unholy secrets were currently being managed by the Vatican, God would surely see the cardinal as a champion of Light and a crusader against any transgressions within the Church.

Nevertheless, the good cardinal began to pray, hoping this to be God’s divine plan rather than the selfish pining of human ambition.