Cassini stepped into a large chamber with pale, colored walls. It was crowded with at least two dozen priests who sat at metal tables placed around the room. Cassini knew that each man was specially chosen by John Becket for his impeccable trust. Piled high beside the priests were boxes of indexes, documents, and files. Some of the documents looked musty with age, others were more recent. But one thing Cassini noticed: they all bore the papal seal, which meant they had been removed from some of the Vatican Archives’ most guarded vaults. The clerics pored over them with scrupulous attention, taking notes as they worked, so eager that they barely looked up as Cassini entered.
“I was informed that the Holy Father was here,” Cassini told Rossi in a hushed voice. “But obviously I was misled.”
Rossi, who had the solemn air of someone entrusted with dark and dangerous secrets, shot a disapproving glance at the other priests in the room, as if upset that his personal territory had been invaded. “No, Your Eminence. He has been here all day with his examiners.”
“And how goes it?”
“We have been working around the clock. But no one complains of being tired. All the priests are deeply impressed by the Holy Father. He energizes them.”
“I’m delighted to hear it.”
“They feel a sense of importance that their work will help to rein-vigorate the church. Indeed, I have heard some of my fellow priests claim that their faith has been refreshed by the pope’s election. In the words of one, it’s almost as if the messiah has again come among us.”
“Invigorating words indeed. Where is the Holy Father now?”
“We all shared a simple lunch and prayers afterward, before he stepped out for air not ten minutes ago. He said he would be back.”
“Where did he go?”
“I would try the gardens. He said he needed some time alone, to think.”
Cassini turned to leave but hesitated, looked back at the handsome priest, and whispered, “How did the Holy Father seem?”
“I’m afraid he looked worried,” Rossi hissed back, his face darkening. “Yes, worried. That is the only way to describe him, Your Eminence.”
Cassini nodded solemnly and headed in the direction of the gardens.
44
Cassini followed the path though the Vatican Gardens, past the lawns and flower beds. Situated within walls first extended in the sixteenth century to defend the sacred city, the gardens had become disorderly with the years, a mishmash of orange groves, conifer trees, and shrubbery cluttered with religious statues and gurgling fountains. Cassini halted at the Fountain of the Rock, with its figures of dragons and tri-tons.
John Becket sat beside the stone fountain. He was very still, the only movement a wisp of his hair ruffled by a stray breath of wind. He stared at the splashing waters, his face a solemn mask of concern.
Cassini noticed that since his election, the pontiff had chosen not to wear papal garments. Instead he wore a simple wooden cross around his neck and a plain white cassock, but without the zucchetto, the small white skullcap the pope usually wore. Cassini moved closer and realized the pope wasn’t staring but praying as if transfixed, the set of rosary beads in his hands passing silently through his long, slim fingers.
Cassini waited, expecting to be noticed, but when he wasn’t he coughed quietly. “Pardon, Holy Father.”
John Becket turned to face him. The solemn look vanished, a smile came instantly to his lips, and the gentle blue eyes regarded Cassini warmly. “Umberto. It is good to see you.”
Cassini bent his knee and kissed the pope’s right hand. “Your Holiness.”
“Sit. Join me.”
Cassini sat by the fountain. “I hope I did not disturb your prayers.”
“My prayers are completed.”
“I went to the archives, believing I might find you there. But Father Rossi suggested you came here, to the gardens, to have some time alone. My apologies if I have invaded your privacy, Holy Father.”
“No matter, Umberto. I am glad of your company.” John Becket’s smile widened at the mention of Rossi. “Father Rossi seems a remarkable man. I never told him I was going, yet he appears to know everything, not just the archive secrets he is a guardian of. I hope he is not upset that we have invaded his territory.”
Cassini nodded. “Your examiners are certainly keeping him busy, but nobody seems to complain. By all accounts, everyone has only good words for you. They speak of you reverently, with the deepest of respect, Holy Father.”
“They are far too kind, Umberto. And such hard workers.”
“May I ask of your progress?”
“These are early days yet. But for now, the records and files my examiners are most interested in relate to matters about which I consider our flock has an immediate right to know. Papers that have to do with the Vatican’s more recent past. Subjects of historical importance that have been shrouded in secrecy until now, yet endlessly speculated upon.”
Cassini looked faintly anxious. “Could the Holy Father be more specific?”