Conclave (8 page)

He moved to open the door. To his astonishment, Bellini seized his arm. ‘Wait, Dean!’ he whispered. ‘Must we?’

‘Why shouldn’t we?’

‘Are we sure the Holy Father was entirely competent to make this decision?’

‘Take great care, my friend. That sounds like heresy.’ Lomeli also spoke softly. He didn’t want the others to hear. ‘It’s not for us to decide whether the Holy Father was right or wrong. It’s our duty to see that his wishes are honoured.’

‘Papal infallibility covers doctrine. It does not extend to appointments.’

‘I am well aware of the limits of papal infallibility. But this is a matter of canon law. And on that I am as qualified to judge as you are. Paragraph thirty-nine of the Apostolic Constitution is quite specific: “Should any cardinal-electors arrive
re integra
,
that is, before the new pastor of the Church has been elected, they shall be allowed to take part in the election at the stage which it has reached.” That man is legally a cardinal.’

He pulled his arm free and opened the door.

Benítez glanced up as he came in and rose slowly to his feet. He was a little below average height, with a fine, handsome face. It was hard to put an age to him. His skin was smooth, his cheekbones
sharp, his body thin almost to the point of emaciation. He had a feathery handshake. He appeared utterly exhausted.

Lomeli said, ‘Welcome to the Vatican, Archbishop. I’m sorry you’ve had to wait in here, but we had to make some checks. I do hope you understand. I’m Cardinal Lomeli, Dean of the College.’

‘It is I who must apologise to you, Dean, for making such an unorthodox entrance.’ He spoke in a quiet, precise voice. ‘You are most kind to take me in at all.’

‘Never mind. I’m sure there’s a good reason for it. This is Cardinal Bellini, whom I think you may know.’

‘Cardinal Bellini? I’m afraid not.’

Benítez held out his hand, and for a moment Lomeli thought Bellini might refuse to take it. Eventually he shook it; then he said, ‘I’m sorry, Archbishop, but I have to say I think you’ve made a grave mistake in coming here.’

‘And why is that, Your Eminence?’

‘Because the position of Christians in the Middle East is perilous enough already, without the provocation of your being made a cardinal and showing yourself in Rome.’

‘Naturally I am aware of the risks. That is one of the reasons why I hesitated about coming. But I can assure you I prayed long and hard before undertaking the journey.’

‘Well, you’ve made your choice, and there’s an end of the matter. However, now that you’re here, I have to tell you I don’t see how you can possibly expect to go back to Baghdad.’

‘Of course I shall go back, and I shall face the consequences of my faith, like thousands of others.’

Bellini said coldly, ‘I doubt neither your courage nor your faith, Archbishop. But your return will have diplomatic repercussions and therefore it won’t necessarily be your decision.’

‘Nor will it necessarily be yours, Eminence. It will be a decision for the next Pope.’

He was tougher than he looked, thought Lomeli. For once Bellini seemed at a loss for a reply. Lomeli said, ‘I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves, my brothers. The point is, you have come. Now, to be practical: we need to see if there’s a room available for you. Where’s your luggage?’

‘I have no luggage.’

‘What, none at all?’

‘I thought it best to go to the airport in Baghdad empty-handed, to disguise my intentions – I am followed by government people wherever I go. I slept overnight in the arrivals lounge in Beirut and landed in Rome two hours ago.’

‘Dear me. Let us see what we can do for you.’ Lomeli ushered him out of the office and towards the front of the reception desk. ‘Monsignor O’Malley is the Secretary of the College of Cardinals. He’ll try to get you everything you need. Ray,’ he said to O’Malley, ‘His Eminence will need toiletries, some clean clothes – and choir dress, of course.’

Benítez said, ‘Choir dress?’

‘When we go to the Sistine Chapel to vote, we are required to wear our full formal costume. I’m sure there must be a spare set somewhere in the Vatican.’

‘When we go to the Sistine Chapel to vote . . .’ repeated Benítez. Suddenly he looked stricken. ‘Forgive me, Dean, this is quite overwhelming for me. How can I cast my vote with the appropriate seriousness when I don’t even know any of the candidates? Cardinal Bellini is right. I should never have come.’

‘Nonsense!’ Lomeli gripped his arms. They were bone-thin, although yet again he sensed a certain inner wiry strength. ‘Listen to
me, Your Eminence. You will join us all for dinner tonight. I shall introduce you, and you will talk over a meal to your brother cardinals – some of them at least will be known to you, if only by reputation. You will pray, just like the rest of us. In due course the Holy Spirit will guide us to a name. And it will be a marvellous spiritual experience for us all.’

Vespers had begun in the ground-floor chapel. The sound of plainsong drifted across the lobby. Lomeli felt suddenly very tired. He left O’Malley to look after Benítez and took the elevator up to his room. It was infernally hot up here too. The air-conditioning controls didn’t seem to work. For a moment he forgot about the welded shutters and tried to open the window. Defeated, he looked around his cell. The lights were very bright. The whitewashed walls and the polished floor seemed to magnify the glare. He could sense the beginnings of a headache. He turned off the lamps in the bedroom, groped his way to the bathroom and found the cord to turn on the neon strip above the mirror. He half closed the door. Then he lay down on his bed in the bluish gloom, intending to pray. Within a minute he was asleep.

At one point he dreamed he was in the Sistine Chapel and that the Holy Father was praying at the altar, but that every time he tried to approach him, the old man moved away, until finally he walked to the door of the sacristy. He turned and smiled at Lomeli, opened the door to the Room of Tears and plunged from view.

Lomeli woke with a cry, which he stifled quickly by biting on his knuckle. For a few wide-eyed seconds he had no idea where he was. All the familiar objects of his life had vanished. He lay waiting for his heartbeat to steady. After a while he tried to remember what else had been
in his dream. There were many, many images, he was sure. He could sense them. But the moment he tried to fix them into thoughts, they shimmered and vanished like burst bubbles. Only the terrible vision of the Holy Father plummeting remained imprinted on his mind.

He heard a pair of male voices talking in English in the corridor. They seemed to be African. There was much fiddling with a key. A door opened and closed. One of the cardinals shuffled off down the passage while the other switched on the light in the next room. The wall was so thin it might have been made of cardboard. Lomeli could hear him moving around, talking to himself – he thought it might be Adeyemi – and then the sound of coughing and hawking, followed by the lavatory flushing.

He looked at his watch. It was almost eight. He had been asleep for over an hour. And yet he felt utterly unrefreshed, as if his time unconscious had been more stressful than his time awake. He thought of all the tasks that lay ahead.
Give me strength, O Lord, to face this trial.
He turned over carefully, sat up, placed his feet on the floor and rocked himself forward several times, building the momentum to stand. This was old age: all these movements one had once taken for granted – the simple act of rising from a bed, for example – that now required a precise sequence of planned manoeuvres. At the third attempt he gained his feet and walked stiffly the short distance to the desk.

He sat down, switched on the reading lamp, and angled it over his brown leather folder. He slid out twelve sheets of A5: thickly woven, cream-coloured, hand-made, watermarked paper that was considered to be of a quality appropriate to the historic occasion. The typeface was large, clear, double-spaced. After he had finished with it, the document would be lodged for all eternity in the Vatican archive.

The sermon was headed
Pro eligendo Romano pontifice
– ‘For the election of a Roman pontiff’ – and its purpose, in accordance with tradition, was to set out the qualities that would be required of the new Pope. Within living memory, such homilies had swung papal elections. In 1958, Cardinal Antonio Bacci had delivered a liberal’s description of the perfect pontiff (
May the new Vicar of Christ form a bridge between all levels of society, between all nations . . .
) that was virtually a word-portrait of Cardinal Roncalli of Venice, who duly became Pope John XXIII. Five years later, the conservatives tried the same tactic in a homily by Monsignor Amleto Tondini (
Doubt should be cast on the enthusiastic applause received by the ‘Pope of peace’
), but it only succeeded in provoking such a backlash among the moderates, who thought it in poor taste, that it had helped secure the victory of Cardinal Montini.

Lomeli’s address, in contrast, had been carefully constructed to ensure it was neutral to the point of blandness:
Our recent Popes have all been tireless promoters of peace and co-operation at the international level. Let us pray that the future Pope will continue this ceaseless work of charity and love . . .
Nobody could object to that, not even Tedesco, who could sniff out relativism as fast as a trained dog could find a truffle. It was the prospect of the Mass itself that troubled him: his own spiritual capacity. He would be under such scrutiny. The television cameras would be tight on his face.

He put away his speech and went over to the prie-dieu. It was made of simple plain wood, exactly the same as the one the Holy Father had had in his room. He lowered himself to his knees, grasped either side of it, and bowed his head, and in that position he remained for nearly half an hour, until it was time to go down to dinner.

THE DINING HALL
was the largest room in the Casa Santa Marta. It ran the entire right-hand length of the lobby and was mostly open to it, with a white marble floor and a glassed-in atrium ceiling. The line of potted plants that had once cordoned off the section where the Holy Father took his meals had been removed. Fifteen large round tables had each been set for eight diners, with wine and water bottles in the centre of the white lace tablecloths. By the time Lomeli stepped out of the elevator, the place was full. The din of voices bouncing off the hard surfaces was convivial and anticipatory, like the first night of a business convention. Many of the cardinals had already been served with a drink by the Sisters of St Vincent de Paul.

Lomeli looked around for Benítez and saw him standing alone behind a pillar just outside the dining room. O’Malley had somehow managed to dig out a cassock with the red sash and piping of a cardinal, but it was slightly too large for its new recipient. He seemed lost in it. Lomeli went over. ‘Your Eminence, have you settled in? Did Monsignor O’Malley find you a room?’

‘Yes, Dean, thank you. On the top floor.’ He held out his hand and showed his key with a kind of wonder that he should find himself in such a place. ‘It is said to have a marvellous view over the city, but the shutters won’t open.’

‘That is to prevent your betraying our secrets, or receiving information from the outside world,’ said Lomeli; then, noticing Benítez’s puzzled expression, he added, ‘A joke, Your Eminence. It’s the same for all of us. Well, you mustn’t just stand on your own all night. This will never do. Come with me.’

‘I’m really perfectly happy here, Dean, observing.’

‘Nonsense. I’m going to introduce you.’

‘Is it necessary? Everyone is talking to someone . . .’

‘You are a cardinal now. A certain confidence is demanded.’

He took the Filipino by the arm and propelled him towards the middle of the dining room, nodding affably to the nuns who were waiting to begin serving the meal, squeezing between the tables until he found them a space. He took up a knife and rapped on the side of a wine glass. Quiet fell over the room, apart from the elderly Archbishop Emeritus of Caracas, who continued to talk loudly until his companion waved at him to be quiet and pointed at Lomeli. The Venezuelan peered around and fiddled with his hearing aid. A piercing howl caused those nearest him to wince and hunch their shoulders. He raised his hand in apology.

Lomeli bowed towards him. ‘Thank you, Eminence. My brothers,’ he said, ‘please be seated.’

He waited while they found their places.

‘Your Eminences, before we eat, I should like to introduce a new member of our order, whose existence was not known to any of us and who only arrived at the Vatican a few hours ago.’ There was a stir of surprise. ‘This is a perfectly legitimate procedure, known as a
creation
in pectore
. The reason why it had to be done this way is known only to God and to the late Holy Father. But I think we can guess well enough. Our new brother’s ministry is a most dangerous one. It has not been an easy journey for him to join us. He prayed long and hard before setting out. All the greater reason therefore for us to welcome him warmly.’ He glanced at Bellini, who was staring fixedly at the tablecloth. ‘By the Grace of God, a brotherhood of one hundred and seventeen has now become one hundred and eighteen. Welcome to our order, Vincent Benítez, Cardinal Archbishop of Baghdad.’

He turned to Benítez and applauded him. For an embarrassing few seconds his were the only hands clapping. But gradually others joined until it became a warm ovation. Benítez looked around him in wonder at the smiling faces.

When the applause ended, Lomeli gestured to the room. ‘Your Eminence, would you care to bless our meal?’

Benítez’s expression was so alarmed that for an absurd moment it passed through Lomeli’s mind that he had never said grace before. But then he muttered, ‘Of course, Dean. It would be an honour.’ He made the sign of the cross and bowed his head. The cardinals followed suit. Lomeli closed his eyes and waited. For a long time, there was silence. Then, just as Lomeli was beginning to wonder if something had happened to him, Benítez spoke. ‘Bless us, O Lord, and these Your gifts, which we are about to receive from Your bounty. Bless, too, all those who cannot share this meal. And help us, O Lord, as we eat and drink, to remember the hungry and the thirsty, the sick and the lonely, and those sisters who prepared this food for us, and who will serve it to us tonight. Through Christ our Lord, Amen.’