The Parchment (26 page)

The next morning, the curé ran to the manor house. He went into the room where the Marquise lay dying. “My Lady, there has been a miracle. The cross has been returned to its place on the altar.”

The Marquise smiled. “Gerard, my son, has come home.” These were her last words.”

The two cardinals sat in silence. Although he could see that Barbo had been deeply engrossed in the Montelambert legend, Calvaux did not understand why. Finally Barbo spoke.

“So this parchment exists somewhere?”

Calvaux shrugged his shoulders. “It may or may not. It's a legend.”

“But if it did exist and were proven accurate, think of the impact it would have on millions of the faithful who were raised to believe Jesus never had relations with a woman.”

“I've had many years to consider this possibility. My faith in Jesus depends on his Resurrection, not on whether he was married or single.”

Barbo's cell phone rang.

“Excuse me Jean. I must take this call. It's from the camerlengo's office. But I'd like to talk to you more about the parchment Gerard discovered.”

“That he allegedly discovered, Francesco. If the parchment exists, one thing is certain — no one has seen it for almost eight hundred years.”

ABDICATI
N

T
HE OLD MAN
was preoccupied as the taxicab stopped in front of number 35 Via Mascherino. Somehow he sensed that this morning's invitation was not purely social. He paid the driver and slowly maneuvered himself out of the taxicab. As he closed the door, the man realized that he had left his purse in the backseat of the cab.

The driver saw what had happened and jumped out of the taxi to help. “Let me get it for you, Eminence.”

The old cardinal smiled at the driver. “Thank you. I'm usually less forgetful.”

Agostino Cardinal Marini rang the doorbell to the secretary of state's apartment. A young priest came down to the lobby and escorted him upstairs.

Cardinal Barbo greeted his guest warmly. “It's good to see you, Agostino. Please sit. I thought you might like some breakfast. My cook has prepared scrambled eggs and cereal. The orange marmalade is from England—try it on the toast.”

Cardinal Marini was kind and affable with a disarming smile. A simple man from Genoa, Marini eschewed wearing cardinatial dress. It was rumored that, when Pope Benedict appointed him to the Sacred College, Marini told the Holy Father that, unless he was specifically ordered to do so, he would not walk about the Vatican looking like some Prussian field marshal. Because of his unpretentiousness, Pope Benedict chose Marini to be the camerlengo of the Church — the prelate given the responsibility of administering the Holy See during the
Sede Vacante
, the period during which the papal throne is vacant.

Marini poured himself a second cup of espresso. “Thank you, Francesco. As enjoyable as breakfast with an old friend is, I sense this morning's invitation is not purely social.”

Barbo hesitated. “It is not.”

Cardinal Marini looked ominously at Barbo. “Call it a premonition but is there a problem with the pontiff's health?”

“Yes, Agostino. The Holy Father has Alzheimer's disease. The symptoms have progressed far enough that he is no longer able to manage papal affairs. He wishes to abdicate for the good of the Church.”

Marini's cup clattered to his saucer. “Pope Benedict! Abdicate! You can't be serious.”

“I'm very serious.” Barbo removed a medical file from a desk drawer. “Read it if you want, Agostino. The doctors agree that the Holy Father is no longer competent to administer the Church. He still has lucid moments but they are becoming less and less frequent.”

“There must be drugs....” Marini groped for words.

“There are, but the pope's condition doesn't respond to them.”

Marini slowly regained his composure. “There have been rumors about Benedict's health but no mention of abdication.”

“It is the Holy Father's decision. No one else can make it.” Barbo paused and looked at his old friend and colleague. “Once the pope resigns, Agostino, the Church will become your responsibility. The intrigue over Benedict's successor will start at once. Diefenbacher will be out rallying his supporters.”

Marini's eyes grew somber at the sound of Diefenbacher's name. “Yes, I know about his ambitions. He has wide support among our European and North American colleagues. The Africans may also support him because of his record on civil rights.”

Barbo nodded. “He's been a strong opponent of apartheid.”

Marini glowered. “Diefenbacher should remain Archbishop of Durban. He will not get my vote.”

“Why are you so opposed to him, Agostino?”

“He's a whitened sepulcher. He would destroy the papacy with his ideas. The notion of giving doctrinal autonomy to local bishops is absurd.” Marini's face darkened. “But enough about Diefenbacher! How can I help you, Francesco? Pope Benedict has been like a father to you. It must be difficult.”

“Yes. I must help him through this without a loss of dignity. He was always a dynamic and vigorous man.” Barbo handed Marini a picture of Pope Benedict hiking in the mountains, followed by three Vatican aides visibly straining to keep up. “This is the way he should be remembered, not as a confused and drooling old man.”

“Francesco, my office draws up the formal papers when a pope dies. I will adapt them to fit an abdication. Is the Holy Father aware enough to sign them?”

Barbo nodded. “Doctor Hendricks thinks so but to be on the safe side he suggests the signing be kept private. The cameras and crowds of reporters would most likely confuse the Holy Father. You will have to make the formal announcement, Agostino.”

Marini thought for a moment. “The Sacred College will have to be notified before the public announcement. When will the Holy Father sign the documents?”

“Can you have them prepared by Holy Thursday morning?”

“Of course, but we should delay the abdication until after Holy Week. It will overshadow the Easter liturgy.”

“What alternative do we have, Agostino? If the Holy Father cannot carry the cross through the Coliseum on Good Friday—or worse, fails to appear for Mass in St. Peter's on Easter.”

“You're right. The documents will be ready late Wednesday. When on Thursday will they be signed?”

“At 8:30 in the morning.”

“I will call a meeting of the Sacred College at 10:30, after Holy Thursday Mass.”

“Call the meeting in the Holy Father's name. If you call it as camerlengo, rumors about the pope's health will start to fly. We don't want that.”

“Francesco, calling the Sacred College together on such short notice during Holy Week will start the rumors flying in any case. It's unavoidable.”

“Not necessarily.” Barbo replied. “Our Middle East nuncios are in Rome for consultations over the crisis in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. No one will be suspicious if the pope calls a meeting. It will look like it has something to do with the Middle East.”

As the full significance of what was happening dawned on Marini, his face tensed. “After the meeting of the Sacred College, I will make the formal announcement on Vatican Radio.”

As Marini was about to leave, he turned to Barbo. “Francesco, I have worked here in the Vatican for just over fifty years. For me, the Vatican is not only the home of the Church; it is my own home. In a very real sense, the pope is not only my priest and bishop; he is also my employer and landlord.”

“The pope as landlord!” Barbo smiled. “I've never thought of it like that before.”

Marino pointed in the direction of St. Peter's. “Pope Bendict knows the name of every Swiss Guard, every secretary and postal worker on the Vatican staff. I once caught him debating with a gardener over how best to prune rose bushes.”

“Benedict cares deeply for people, Agostino.” Barbo held back for a moment. “He used to tell me, ‘God is in all of us. Whether I talk to a king or to a grocer, I am talking to God. That is the meaning of Mystical Body.’”

“Yes, a person's humanity is what makes one godlike. I will cast my vote in the conclave for the person who will make the best landlord. He will also make the best pope.”

A red leather binder lay open on the gilded table in the pope's bedroom. Cardinal Marini scanned the documents one last time. “Francesco, I think we should begin.”

Barbo nodded. Sister Consuela helped Benedict to the table and sat him comfortably in his chair. The pope was dressed in his white cassock and zucchetto. Sister Consuela had draped over his
shoulders the wool pallium, symbolizing his universal authority in the Catholic Church.

Cardinal Marini touched the pontiff on the shoulder. “Your Holiness, these documents in front of you state that by your own volition, you are abdicating the Throne of Saint Peter — that henceforth you will no longer be the Vicar of Jesus Christ, the Supreme Pontiff of the Roman Catholic Church, the Primate of Italy, or the Bishop of Rome. Do you understand the step you are about to take?”

Benedict smiled at the camerlengo. “You forgot my most important title, Agostino — Servant of the Servants of God.”

The pontiff picked up a gold pen that Cardinal Marini had lain next to the red leather binder. Sister Consuela looked away. This was the
moment she
had dreaded.

“Consuela, please don't be upset. This must be done for the good of the Church.” Sister Consuela sobbed aloud. The Holy Father had never called her simply “Consuela” in all the years she had worked for him.

The pope slowly traced his name at the bottom of the abdication document. “I do this of my own free will and volition.”

Cardinal Barbo witnessed Benedict's signature as required by canon law.

Benedict struggled out of his chair and kneeled before Barbo. “Francesco, I ask for your blessing.”

Struggling to hold back his tears, the secretary of state blessed his old friend.

“Thank you, Francesco. I'm tired. Sister, sit me up in bed so I can read my breviary.”

As cardinals Marini and Barbo prepared to leave the room, the pope fumbled for something in the pocket of his cassock.

“Sister Consuela, give this to Cardinal Marini.”

It was the Ring of the Fisherman.

At 10:30 in the morning, approximately forty members of the Sacred College of Cardinals gathered in the conference room of the
Apostolic Palace. As Barbo had expected, the reason for the meeting was assumed to be the Middle East. Several cardinals had even phoned the secretary of state the night before to ask whether there had been new incidents in the area. Even the Italian media gave the meeting only cursory attention. Rome's morning newspaper,
II Messaggero
, for example, made no mention of the meeting but did run a small story on how Archbishop Finnergan's conduct had compromised the Vatican's perceived neutrality.

A murmur passed through the assembly when cardinals Marini and Barbo entered the room. The pope was not with them. Since his election, Benedict had made it a point to attend all meetings of the Sacred College. If anything, however, it was Cardinal Marini's appearance that unnerved many in the room. Despite his customary aversion to ecclesiastical dress, the camerlengo wore his scarlet zucchetto and sash.

Marini walked slowly to the podium and leaned on it as if to steady himself. “I have sad news, my Brothers in Christ. At 8:30 this morning, the Holy Father signed formal documents of abdication. An announcement of his abdication will be made over Vatican Radio at noon.

The room sat in stunned silence. His face ashen, Cardinal Vaggio, the Archbishop of Florence, finally struggled to his feet. “Marini, what happened to the Holy Father? Why did he do this?”

Barbo stepped to the podium. “I should answer that, Agostino. The pope has developed Alzheimer's disease. He began to show the first signs a year ago. Doctor Roger Hendricks from the Mayo Clinic, a pioneer in Alzheimer's research, came to Rome to treat the Holy Father. Unfortunately His Holiness did not respond to medication. Inexplicably the pope's condition has worsened dramatically in the past few weeks. Doctor Hendricks and the other specialists he consulted believe His Holiness is no longer competent to govern the Church. The Holy Father himself made the decision to abdicate.”

“Francesco, there must be new treatments.” Cardinal Viaggio's voice still echoed with disbelief.

“There are but the pope does not respond to them. I have asked Doctor Hendricks to address this meeting at noon. He will answer
any medical questions you may have with respect to the Holy Father's condition.”

“How can a pope abdicate?” Cardinal Cornelius Reysin, Archbishop of Houston, Texas, jumped angrily to his feet. “This is absurd! An abdication cannot divest the pope of his spiritual authority. There is no term of office for a pope. He can neither be voted out of office nor resign from office. Benedict's abdication is invalid as a matter of ecclesiastical law. In my view, Benedict is still the Holy Father.”

Although Barbo was reluctant to be drawn into a prolonged debate with a cardinal best known for his harmonica playing, his temper, and his long-windedness, he felt he had to respond.

“A pope does have a term, Cardinal Reysin. The term, however, is indeterminate—it lasts only as long as the pope can function in the office. Pope Benedict realized that he could no longer perform his responsibilities. He made the courageous decision to abdicate.”