The Parchment Read online

  “In the Year of the Incarnation of our Lord 1095, I — Urban, Bishop of Rome and Servant of the Servants of God—stand humbly before you. Today, God calls all of us to a great purpose. The Tomb of Christ is in Saracen hands. As Christians, we are summoned to redeem it, to liberate the place where our Lord and Savior died at the hands of the Jews. We are summoned also to redeem from the Saracen the relics of the holy martyrs and saints who died for Christ. To these great matters, God calls each and every one of us — the knight from Burgundy, the serf from England, the priest from Navarre, the merchant from Visby. Christians of Europe, embrace the Cross as your symbol. March to Jerusalem to do God's will. Rescue the holy places from the Saracen. Bring back the relics of our holy martyrs and saints. If a Crusader sets out on this sacred journey and makes a true and perfect act of contrition, all punishment for his sins will be remitted.”

  Hugh was not prepared for what happened next. The pope walked back to the altar and genuflected before a golden box that had been placed in front of the tabernacle.

  “What is in the box, Mother?”

  “Relics of Jesus.”

  Urban lifted the reliquary box high above his head and turned back and faced the multitude in front of him. At that moment, a shaft of light broke through the overcast sky and shone directly on the pope. “Behold a relic of the True Cross on which our Lord and Savior died to save us from sin.” At the sight of the most sacred relic in all of Christendom, the crowd gasped audibly. Sensing the electricity of the moment, the pope cried out in a loud voice: “Christians, march to Jerusalem and free the Tomb of Christ.”

  Hugh did not know from where the cry originated. Some say it came from an old beggar who sat far back in the crowd. Others say it came from one of God's angels who was seen in the heavens. No matter! As Pope Urban stood holding the relic of the True Cross, someone cried out in a loud voice: “God Wills It!” The cry was first taken up by ten of the faithful, then by a hundred, then by thousands. It was an indescribable moment.

  Hugh's mother grasped her son tightly as the roar of the crowd grew deafening. “God Wills It!” “God Wills It!” On an impulse, Hugh broke free from his mother and ran toward the altar platform. He dodged several soldiers and bounded up the steps two at a time. When he reached the top step, Hugh paused; his legs felt numb. The cries of “God Wills It” stopped as all eyes became fixed on the small child standing before Pope Urban.

  “Holy Father,” Hugh blurted out the words. “Let me go to Palestine to free the Tomb of Christ.”

  Urban smiled and put a hand on Hugh's shoulder. “You are too young, my son, but you can go when you are older.”

  Urban took a small gold cross from around his neck and put it in Hugh's hand. Then as if he had been his natural father, the pope lifted Hugh high up above his head and proclaimed in a loud voice, “Here is the first to respond to God's call.”

  The shouts of “God Wills It” started up again louder than before. As Urban put Hugh down, a bishop whispered in the pontiff's ear. “It's time, Holiness. The crowd may grow unruly.” The pope nodded. Walking to the front of the altar platform, Urban lifted his right arm and imparted his papal blessing. “In Nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.” The words of the benediction echoed across the meadow. Taking his staff, the pope descended the platform.

  As he looked at the vast crowd spread out beneath him, Hugh stood at the portal to another world. He had experienced God's irresistible call to service. He made a promise that, when he was older, he would answer Pope Urban's call. He would go to the Holy Land and rescue the Tomb of Christ from the Saracen. As a light rain began to fall, Hugh wept.

  Calvaux and Barbo stopped outside the entrance to the Apostolic Palace.

  Barbo smiled. “That's the end of chapter one of my dissertation on the Templars.”

  “So years later, to fulfill his childhood promise, Hugh des Payens founded the Templars.”

  “Yes.”

  Calvaux thought for a moment. “There's a contradiction in all this. Urban's desire to free the Holy Land caused the death and enslavement of thousands. Hugh's plan to create an order of monks resulted in the creation of the best fighting force of the Middle Ages.”

  “Come to my office at four o'clock this afternoon. I want to hear your views on the Middle East.”

  “I am not an expert on the Middle East, Francesco.”

  Barbo smiled at Calvaux. “Jean, you are too self-effacing. You've lived in Egypt, speak fluent Arabic, and lead a diocese with a large Middle Eastern population.”

  “But what about my audience with His Holiness?”

  “Come to my office at four, Jean.”

  CHAPTER VIII

  TANGLED LGIC

  FATHER ALESSANDRI ESCORTED Detective Cameri into Cardinal Barbo's office. The secretary of state rose to greet his visitor.

  “Signor Cameri, it is not often that I receive a visit from the Rome Police Department. How can I help you?” Barbo motioned Cameri to a seat in front of the cardinal's desk.

  “Your Eminence, thank you for seeing me without an appointment. You must be so busy.”

  Instinctively, Barbo sensed that Cameri was not someone to take lightly. “How can I help you, Detective?”

  “There was an automobile accident on Via di San Marco last night. An American professor was killed and another taken to Gemelli Hospital in critical condition.”

  Cardinal Barbo shrugged his shoulders. “I saw something on the television about it.”

  “Your name came up in the course of the investigation.”

  Barbo looked quizzically at Cameri. “I don't understand.”

  “Before he died, Professor Bielgard whispered your name to the doctor who was treating him.”

  Barbo sipped some water from a glass on his desk. “I imagine that's possible. Professor Bielgard had been in my office several days ago.”

  “Why was that?” Cameri's voice hardened.

  “He and his colleague ... what was her name?”

  “Jane Michellini.”

  “Yes. They had discovered some manuscripts relating to the abdication of Pope Celestine V in 1294. I thanked them for the manuscripts and that was that.”

  Cameri continued his questioning. “Were they trying to sell them to you?”

  “No. The manuscripts were from the Vatican Library. We do not buy our own property. Now if you will excuse me.” The cardinal stood up from his chair signaling that the meeting was over.

  Cameri slowly gathered up his papers “If Professor Bielgard had spoken to you about Celestine V, why would he repeat your name as he was dying? It makes no sense.”

  “Detective Cameri, as a priest, I often see things that do not make sense. Men say many things during their last moments.” Barbo walked toward the door. “Leave your business card with Father Alessandri. If I think of anything more, I'll have Alessandri call.”

  “Just one more question, Your Eminence.”

  Barbo turned to Cameri with an annoyed look. “And what is that?”

  “Do you know Pietro Visconti?”

  “Yes.” Barbo was taken aback by the question

  “You had dinner with him last night.”

  “Yes.”

  “Everyone knows who's on his client list. We have police files on most of them. Don't you think it strange that a Prince of the Church would be seen dining with such a man?”

  Barbo shot an angry look at Cameri. “I doubt you have files on his client Fiat or Banca di Roma. Signor Visconti generously supports many Vatican charities. Now if you would excuse me, Signor Cameri. Father Alessandri will see you out.”

  Cameri bowed stiffly to Barbo.

  “In the future, Signor Cameri, any request to see a member of the Curia should be made to the Office of Vatican Security through your government's Ministry of the Interior. Sometimes the Rome Police forget that the Holy See is a sovereign nation.

  Cardinal Calvaux spent a good part of the afternoon in the Do-mus corresponding with his diocese by ema
il. At 3:15, he logged off the internet to prepare for his four o'clock meeting with Barbo. He threw cold water on his face and put on his gold pectoral cross over his cassock. He debated wearing his cardinal's sash or fascia. Although the sash was uncomfortable, Calvaux knew that there would be disapproving looks from some of his fellow cardinals if he did not wear it. Ecclesiastical dress in the Vatican was more formal than in Marseilles.

  When he stepped off the elevator into the lobby of the Domus, Calvaux noticed a large crowd gathered around a television monitor at the front desk. The concierge frantically motioned the cardinal to join them.

  “Your Eminence, the Israelis are attacking the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. There are rumors of heavy casualties.” Calvaux reflexively made the sign of the cross. He dropped his briefcase on a chair in the lobby and dashed out of the Domus. He sprinted across St. Peter's Square and pushed through the metal detector at the entrance to the Apostolic Palace. Bounding up the palace stairs three at a time, he startled a group of nuns on their way to lunch. Breathless, Calvaux burst into Alessandri's office.

  “The Israelis are invading the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Does Cardinal Barbo know?”

  “Yes, we've gotten scores of phone calls. Cardinal Barbo is in his office. He's expecting you.”

  When Calvaux opened the door, the secretary of state was standing in front of a television set. “The BBC is about to broadcast live, Jean. Washington couldn't dissuade the Israelis from going in.” As Barbo spoke, the television monitor flashed to Jerusalem.

  “This is Liam Stewart from BBC News, near the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. At the moment, I'm standing on a rooftop about three hundred yards from where the fighting is still raging. I cannot let the contradiction pass. Men and women are dying here, near the spot where Christians believe Jesus rose from the dead.”

  The reporter was handed a note. “One of our cameramen has managed to get out of the church with some footage. The BBC warns its viewers that the pictures are graphic.”

  Barbo and Calvaux stood transfixed by what they saw. Israeli soldiers, their faces covered with gas masks, were pulling hostages along the floor toward the door of the Church. In the distance, the sound of gunfire erupted as ghostlike figures appeared and disappeared into clouds of smoke.

  A desperate cry came from near the high altar. The cameramen zoomed in on a Hamas gunman standing over a woman and two children.

  “No, I beg of you—not my boys!” The woman grappled to take a pistol out of the man's hand. The gunman pushed the woman aside and shot the children at point blank range. When the mother fell over the bodies of her sons, the gunman took aim and shot her in the back.

  Barbo slammed his fist on the desk, knocking a picture of his parents to the floor. “Damn it. Maybe Finnergan was right. In the face of inhumanity like this....” He angrily switched off the television.

  “Jean, sit down for a minute.”

  Barbo walked over and closed the door to his office. “The pope wants what I tell you to be kept in the strictest confidence.”

  “I understand.”

  Barbo paused for a moment and looked at Calvaux. “You know how engaged the Holy Father has been in searching for peace in the Middle East.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  Warming to the subject, Barbo began to pace around his office. “The Holy Father has often said that the key to peace in the Middle East is investment and economic development. He's hoping to propose a new initiative. For want of a better name, he calls it ‘A Covenant for Peace.’”

  Calvaux looked skeptically at the secretary of state. “After what we just saw, you're not going to find many investors.”

  “Jean, the pope has spoken privately to the CEOs of several multinational pharmaceutical companies. With some prodding, they have formed a consortium to build three world-class hospitals in East Jerusalem.”

  “That's wonderful news. Who will staff them?”

  Barbo picked up a fax on his desk and handed it to Calvaux. “Initially, Doctors Without Borders has agreed to recruit whatever medical personnel are needed.”

  “What do you mean ‘initially’?”

  “Hopefully the hospitals will develop research centers. Once that happens, there will be no problem recruiting quality staff.”

  “Three hospitals will not solve the problems of the Middle East.”

  “There is more to the pope's initiative, Jean.” Barbo handed Calvaux a second fax. “As you can see, last week Credit Mobilier agreed to relocate its claims department to Jerusalem. This move alone will create hundreds of new jobs. And don't forget the oil companies. A group of them have agreed to consider moving some of their satellite operations to East Jerusalem.”

  Calvaux scanned the fax from Credit Mobilier. “The pope must be pleased.”

  “Yes but his eyes have been on an even greater prize.”

  “What?” Calvaux unconsciously moved his chair closer to Barbo as if the two men were about to share some conspiracy.

  “He has talked with the secretary general about opening some UN programs in the city. UNESCO, in fact, is considering establishing five technical schools there. True, there's no commitment yet but talks are ongoing. If the UN agrees to this, it would be a dramatic gesture by the world community.”

  Calvaux looked unconvinced. “Won't some members of the Security Council object to putting any UN facility in Israel?”

  “They will consent, as long as the facility is built in East Jerusalem.”

  “And what commitment will the Church make?”

  Barbo chose his words carefully. “The Holy Father has something dramatic in mind, but he has not shared it with me. All he will say is that the Church's contribution will bring a sense of coherence and purpose to the rest of the projects.”

  “Won't the Israelis stop the pope's initiative in its tracks? They won't want to see too many resources going into East Jerusalem.”

  “That's where the United States comes in.” Barbo looked Cal-vaux in the eye. “You must convince the president to pressure Israel to allow the pope's initiative to go forward.”

  “You want me to convince the president!” Calvaux scowled as if Barbo had made him the butt of a tasteless joke.

  “Jean, the Holy Father wants this initiative to be handled outside diplomatic channels. He wants you to serve as his private envoy to the White House. If the president agrees to support the economic initiative, then His Holiness wants you to go to Tel Aviv and Ra-mallah to present it to the Israelis and the Palestinians.”

  Calvaux realized Barbo was not being facetious. “Francesco. I have no training in diplomacy. It would be like sending a sailor to fly an airplane.”

  “You have the qualities the Holy Father wants — intelligence, knowledge of the area, and a new face.”

  Calvaux stammered. “I must speak with the pope — I'm not the right person for this.”

  “You can't — not today.”

  “Well then, tomorrow.”

  “Not tomorrow either.”

  “You're hiding something from me, Francesco.”

  “Jean, the Holy Father is suffering from Alzheimer's disease.”

  Calvaux slumped back in his chair, dumbstruck. “You're serious, aren't you?”

  “Completely.”

  Calvaux did not move for several minutes. “Who knows about Pope Benedict's condition?”

  “Four people — Sister Consuela, the pope's physician Dr. Hendricks, Father Alessandri, and myself. You're the fifth. The Holy Father needs your help.”

  Calvaux took out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead. “How can I refuse?”

  “Good. The president is returning to the United States today from a NATO meeting in Brussels. He's agreed to land Air Force One briefly at Brise Norton, a Royal Air Force Base outside London at about eleven o'clock tonight to meet with a papal envoy. He will give us only fifteen minutes of his time. Once you've been briefed, there's a plane ready to take you to the meeting.”

  “Make your briefing
as detailed as possible.”

  “Don't worry. It will be.”

  That evening, the secretary of state accompanied Calvaux to Leonardo da Vinci Airport. The VIP lounge was crowded with executives waiting for flights. Barbo and Calvaux sat unobtrusively in a distant corner but not unobtrusively enough for one portly Italian businessman. When he saw the two prelates, he deliberately sat down across from them and picked up a discarded newspaper. When Barbo and Calvaux lowered their voices, the businessman stood up and moved closer. Unsure of what to do, Barbo suggested that they speak in Latin. Outwitted, the businessman got up and walked to the bar where he ordered a glass of wine.

  Calvaux smiled. “That's a trick I must remember.”

  Barbo looked around the lounge to assure himself that there were no more eavesdroppers. “After our discussion this morning, Jean, your trip to see the president is almost ironic.”

  Calvaux looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  “Like your ancestor Gerard de Montelambert, you are embarking on a crusade — but a crusade whose aim is to bring peace to the Holy Land, not kill Muslims.”

  Calvaux signaled a waiter to bring an espresso. “Speaking of the Crusades, Francesco, I wanted to ask you a question about the Templars. They were originally founded both as a military and as a religious order, weren't they?”

  “Yes — St. Bernard justified allowing Templar monks to kill non-Christians by adopting double-effect theory.”

  “Yes, I remember Bernard made much of the distinction between the killing of evil, ‘malicide,’ and the killing of a human being, ‘homicide.’”

  Barbo turned in his seat. “Once you accept Bernard's distinction, it all follows logically. Satan brought evil into the world and placed it in the bodies of non-Christians. When a monk killed a non-Christian, it was ‘malicide,’ because his primary intent was to kill this evil. The death of the individual Saracen or Jew was the unintended consequence of destroying the evil and therefore was not sinful. But if a monk killed a Christian, that would be ‘homicide’ and sinful.”