Book of JUDAS

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Vatican City, Rome

Cardinal Giacoma walked briskly across St. Peter’s Square, the hub of the Vatican City. The mild evening temperature notwithstanding, he felt uncomfortable and very apprehensive with the news he carried. Giacoma knew, as would those he was about to meet, that the implications of his imminent disclosure, would go to the very heart of their religion. It was highly unusual to call a consistory, or papal, meeting at such short notice but this revelation required immediate attention. Cardinal Giacoma considered the priests he was about to face. They all knew this day would was coming, he thought, shaking his head.

As was usual at soon before dusk fell, the Square was quiet and empty as Cardinal Giacoma hurried with his robes flurrying behind him to the top of the steps leading into St. Peter’s Basilica. A relatively young Cardinal at only fifty-two years of age, he reverently wore the traditional and distinctive scarlet cassock that announced his importance and high office within the Holy See. On his head was the traditional red cap, or “biretta”, that was placed there by the Pope after reading the Holy Oath of Obedience at his inauguration ceremony.

At the grand portal he paused for a beat to acknowledge the Swiss Guard sentry who stood smartly to attention as he approached. Inside, he walked decorously through the atrium towards the central door, one of five leading into the magnificent Basilica itself. Despite having been a permanent resident of the Vatican for many years, he still marvelled at the opulence of its treasures and rich religious history. Giacoma passed through the door decorated with fifteenth century bronze panels by Filarete and made his way towards the aisle leading into the right arcade. Its vast emptiness gave the impression to many that the Basilica was a cold place – but no one could deny the imperious beauty and majesty its architecture. Built over the ancient tomb of St. Peter, the magnificent edifice was home to countless works of art by great artists such as Raphael, Della Porta and Michelangelo. The indescribable beauty of the religious frescoes and the statues’ intricate, ornate detailing made the heart of the Vatican one of the greatest treasure chambers in the modern world.

Cardinal Giacoma scurried down the aisle, passing the magnificent Chapel of the Confession and the statue of Pius VI where day and night, ninety-five lamps burn before the tall “Baldachinno” marking the burial site of St. Peter the Apostle. He came to a sudden halt outside the entrance to the Chapel of the Sacrament. Inside, the elderly Cardinal Alphonso peered up from his meditation as he heard the steps on the stone floor come to an abrupt stop outside and the two men’s eyes met through the Baroque iron grille wrought on the gates by Borromini centuries before. Without uttering a sound, Cardinal Alphonso nodded his head in acknowledgement, then closed his eyes to pray. As the sign at the gate proclaimed, the Chapel of the Sacrament was “only for those who wish to pray” – an edict reverently observed by who enter at all times. Cardinal Giacoma was no exception and he lowered his head in deference to the more senior Cardinal and continued on his way, striding down the aisle towards the Sistine Chapel on his way to the Sala Regia.

Cardinal Camerlengo Fiore was already waiting in the Sala Regia, an antechamber next door to the Sistine Chapel that houses the papal throne. Solemn singing could be heard in the background as the conclave in the Cappella Paolina next door recited the mass entitled De Spiritu Santo. Cardinal Fiore was the second most powerful cleric in the Vatican. In his trusted and coveted role, he bore that additional title of “Camerlengo” because he was the Pope’s Chamberlain, the papal official responsible for all the church’s administrative and fiscal matters. In the event that the Pope died it was he who would temporarily assume the mantle of control until an elected successor was crowned. Cardinal Fiore was forty-five years of age and a tall man with jet-black hair crowned by the distinctive red biretta. Dressed in the same scarlet robes as Cardinal Giacoma and Alphonso, he was an imposing and commanding presence.

The door to the Sala Regia swung open and Cardinal Giacoma entered. Without turning around, Fiore continued to hum in time with the harmonic singing next door while examining a fresco by Giorgio Vasari. The scene depicted a momentous turning point in the life of the Roman Catholic Church; one which unknown to him, would pale into insignificance compared with the events that were about to unfold.

The door opened again and closed behind Cardinal Alphonso as he followed Giacoma across the centre of the broad room to where Cardinal Fiore was standing. At seventy-three, Alphonso was the oldest amongst them and the only one to have been a Cardinal at the time the original episode of crisis had first been debated over thirty-five years ago. Age had caught up with the hunched, silver-haired priest and with the help of a cane he approached in a lop-sided shuffle. Appearances, in his case, were deceptive – his intellectual prowess and ability to dispense even-handed wisdom had gained a substantial following amongst his fellow priests who had learnt the sagacity of his ways. Contrary to the impression he gave of a stumbling old man, his mental faculties were as sharp as the day he first took up the cloth.

Fiore turned around and welcomed his fellow priests.

“What’s so important that we have to convene so urgently, Brother Giacoma?” he asked, slightly put out by the disturbance to his official duties.

“Will His Holiness be in attendance?” he replied, looking slightly flushed.

“I will meet with His Holiness once I’ve determined the nature of the emergency,” said Fiore sternly, fixing his steely gaze on Giacoma.

This is outside what’s been agreed, thought Giacoma ruefully. He had anticipated a direct meeting with the Supreme Pontiff, Pope Paul XII.

“His Holiness should be party to the news immediately,” he hissed abrasively, flustered by the unannounced change of plan. “This is important − I need an audience now,” he continued sharply.

Cardinal Fiore, the Chamberlain for the Pope, raised a reassuring palm to Giacoma.

“Calm yourself, Cardinal Giacoma, your concern is understood, but I’ll be the judge of what’s relevant to the official office of His Holiness.”

Standing by the Sala Regia’s double doors, Cardinal Alphonso shuffled his weight to his other foot before speaking softly.

“I can sense that you’re worried, Brother Giacoma, but I believe I know the source of your troubles – you’re quite at liberty to speak freely in this room.”

Cardinal Giacoma stared deeply into Cardinal Alphonso’s eyes before arriving at his decision. Since his elevation to the highest ranks of priesthood, the elderly Alphonso had become his close friend and mentor and he trusted him implicitly.

“Lawrence Trenchard’s dead,” he blurted out. “He’s died at his home in England.”

Cardinal Fiore’s expression remained blank as he considered the implications of what they were being told. With his back to them, deep in thought, he walked towards the elaborate fresco depicting the mighty Battle of Lepanto. The gentle melodies of the choral singing floated into the room from the chapel next door.

“So the day has finally arrived!” Alphonso sighed.

“It’s all going to come back… Everything will re-surface,” he murmured softly, contemplating the menace that had lain dormant for so long.

“You’ll have to tell His Holiness,” Cardinal Giacoma insisted anxiously.

“Thank you,” said Fiore dismissively spinning around to face them. “Your work here is done Brother Giacoma. I’ll ensure that Pontiff’s made aware of your news − you may return to your formal duties but I would request that such information’s kept between the three of us for the time being until His Holiness decrees otherwise.”

Giacoma regained his composure.

“I’ll wait to hear from you, Brother Fiore,” he said obsequiously and with that he lifted the crucifix that hung just above his waist on a thick, gold chain and kissed it. Turning to Cardinal Alphonso, he bowed his head respectfully.

“Brother Alphonso,” he whispered before setting off towards the doors to the Cappella Paolina.

“This moment was destined from the time the Ruling Ecumenical Council last convened to close this chapter,” said Cardinal Fiore with a good deal of resentment and cynicism. “Maybe a more forward-thinking, pragmatic decision all those years ago could have saved us from this day!” he chided scornfully. Fiore knew that Alphonso and the Council had eventually voted to defer their decision, thereby leaving the dilemma to the Vatican’s next generation. Fiore shook his head as he weighed up the potential magnitude of the crisis.

“Make no mistake about it,” he went on, “the threat to our faith and even the continued existence of the Roman Catholic Church itself is colossal. The consequences of Sir Lawrence Trenchard’s death could change the face of the Christian world.”

“I understand your concern, Brother Fiore − you know perfectly well that I sat on the Council… If there’d been any other way for us to go, we’d have done so.”

“All I know is that you simply deferred a difficult decision thirty years,” Fiore argued. “You and your fellow Council members took the easy way out and now we no longer have that luxury – there’s no easy way out of this now!”

He walked over to where Cardinal Alphonso was standing and extended his arm.

“Come, Brother, we have much to consider,” muttered Fiore. There was no point holding a grudge or pressing home his opinions. He had said his piece with regard to the past and now it was time to think of the future.

Cardinal Alphonso gratefully took his arm and, with the aid of his cane, they walked together towards the Eastern Wing of the Vatican Palace, which housed the residential quarters of Pope Paul XII.