The Caravaggio Conspiracy (2 page)

Cardinal Bosani swirled the glass of San Felice beneath his nose and breathed in the wine’s sensuous perfume. He drew it to his lips but didn’t drink. For several seconds he closed his eyes, luxuriating in the headiness of the vintage before resuming his steady scrutiny of the assembled guests. A chill ran round the table as he shifted his gaze from one black-clad archbishop to the next. It was said that when the Camerlengo entered a room, even a crypt, the temperature fell by one degree. A second lengthy pause ensued before he nodded to the grave-faced major-domo standing next to him awaiting his verdict. The flunky bowed, then signalled to the under-waiter at the opposite end that he should begin to pour. Bosani smiled thinly, pleased as always that so small an act of judgment on his part as his assessment of a moderately expensive Tuscan red should be invested by his colleagues with so much …
hope.

He waited until everyone’s glass was full before raising the main business of the day. ‘Eminences, we have discussed recent events and reviewed the position of the European Church. It is time to move on. The Holy Father is dead, God rest his soul, and during the
sede vacante
in which the Throne of Peter sits empty, it is our solemn duty to prepare the way for his successor. Naturally, we pray to our father in heaven to guide us to the correct decision. But in advance of the conclave, it will assist us if we can reach a consensus on the manner of man that is needed to carry out the tasks ahead.’

The twelve primates, all European, looked lost in thought.

‘We do not live in normal times,’ Bosani continued, his baritone voice caressing the ears of his audience as much as the San Felice caressed their throats. ‘The world is in crisis, and with the United States once more withdrawn into itself following its withdrawal from Iraq and Afghanistan, and with Pakistan and Iran now in
possession
of the “Islamic bomb”, it is left to us in Europe to give a lead.’

A murmur of approval rose from the lips of most of those present. But not all. Bosani took careful note of the dissenters. ‘By Europe, I mean, of course, Christian Europe – Catholic Europe. For two thousand years, the Church has been at the heart of this continent’s history. It was the papacy, assisted by the Curia and the College of Cardinals, that made Europe pre-eminent in world affairs.

‘This is our legacy. As leaders of the universal Church, we must always be mindful of the needs and contributions of others. We offer grateful thanks for the work of cardinals, bishops and priests of all nations, as well as the Religious of both sexes. These have helped guide our conscience for centuries. Yet it is we, here in Rome, and you as the most senior princes of the European Church, who today must usher our beleagured continent into a new age.’

Halfway around the table on the left-hand side, someone cleared his throat. It was Cardinal Horst Rüttgers, the German primate, appointed by the late pontiff.

Bosani paused in his discourse, twisting his signet ring as he did so. ‘Cardinal Rüttgers, is there a matter you wish to raise?’

‘Indeed, Camerlengo. It is simply that the conclave is not intended, surely, as an instrument of earthly power. It is true, of course, that our world is
troubled
, Europe especially so. Our birth rate has fallen alarmingly in recent decades – though not so alarmingly as our attendance at Mass. It is only by virtue of high immigration that our economies are not shrinking. And yet, undeniably, the very immigrants who keep our schools open are neither European nor Christian, but Muslim. Soon, it is said, there will be more worshippers in mosques than in churches.’

Bosani toyed once more with his ring. ‘And what is your point, Eminence?’

The German, a clean-cut, elegant figure from the Black Forest, had once been a campaigning bishop in southern Brazil. Since returning to his homeland as Archbishop of Freiburg, he was best known for his pioneering work among car workers in Baden-Württemberg. ‘My point,’ he said, ‘is that in the twenty-first century we in the Church are no longer the arbiters of history. It might even be said that our institutional cover-up of decades of paedophilia within the clergy has rendered us morally bankrupt. It is not for us, as Catholics, to determine which set of beliefs shall be uppermost and which derided and scorned. Today, in a
multi-cultural
society, bequeathed to us by fifty years of change, our goal should be to improve the lives and spiritual welfare of all our people. At no stage are we justified in setting white against black or Christian against Muslim.’

A Spanish cardinal from Andalusia opened his mouth to intervene, but Bosani motioned him silent. ‘Do you mean, Cardinal Rüttgers, that we should confine ourselves to increasing the numbers attending Mass?’

‘The numbers and their welfare,’ Rüttgers responded. ‘Yes. That would be a start. And it would be appropriate to our calling. We are servants of God, not
servants
of the state.’

Bosani stared at the faces turned in his direction, then slowly shook his head. A week earlier, he had been Secretary of State and president of the civil
administration
of the Holy See: the second-most powerful man in the Church. But then the Pope had died and all executive appointments had lapsed – all save one. The Camerlengo, uniquely, remained in place to oversee the election. It was for this reason that Bosani had persuaded His Holiness to grant him the secondary title alongside that of Secretary of State, arguing that it removed one more layer of redundant bureaucracy. He nodded at the memory. That had been especially
prescient
of him. But time was pressing. The
Novemdiales
, the nine days of mourning, would soon be up. It was time to strike down the idea that the Church was a democracy. He had not, even when he was young, been a patient man. At the age of seventy, he found it next to impossible to tolerate dissent.

‘Eminence,’ he began, focusing on the German, ‘as the naivety of your comment on the deplorable practice of paedophilia reveals, you are new to the workings of the Curia. So I ought not to be surprised to discover that you do not as yet fully appreciate how the work of the Church, as seen from the Holy See, reaches into every area of human activity.’

At this, the German stood up. The sound of his chair scraping on the polished floor caused several to wince. ‘That,’ he said, ‘is a very condescending remark, which I must ask you to withdraw.’

The Italian pursed his lips. ‘I was perhaps a little indelicate,’ he said. ‘But not inaccurate. However, if you are offended, I apologize. Now please resume your chair.’

Rüttgers looked for a second as if he would continue his defiance, then appeared to think better of it. The Camerlengo was, by all accounts, vindictive and unforgiving. To oppose him once his mind was made up was to risk
marginalization
, usually in the form of an offer from the Vatican that one could not possibly accept.

As soon as Rüttgers sat down, Bosani resumed. ‘We live in desperate times, gentlemen. The Church is in turmoil, assailed from within and without. Only last week, a playwright in Rotterdam was seriously injured by a group of thugs after he wrote an article about the growing Islamicization of the Netherlands – where, as I may remind you, nearly a quarter of the population under the age of twenty is now Muslim. A demonstration by the Khilafah Salvation Front outside the European Parliament in Strasbourg ended in a riot in which a dozen or more police officers were hurt, two of them seriously …’

‘As were scores of the demonstrators.’ Again, the intervention was from Rüttgers.

Bosani refused to be drawn. ‘It is obvious that we must tread carefully and search deeply before making a decision about whom to place on the Throne of Peter. Yet I call upon each of you to use what influence you possess to ensure the election of the candidate who will see the world for what it is – weak,
dysfunctional
, morally corrupt – and bring order to the chaos that threatens our very existence. Above all, Eminences, Rome must be led by a pope who is ready to confront Islam and establish a limit on the tolerance with which we regard its present incursions into our heartland.’

This last remark, which caused several audible intakes of breath, produced a second intervention, this time from the Archbishop of Dublin, Cardinal Henry McCarthy, a thickset man in his late seventies, with alarming eyebrows and a shock of white hair, for whom the upcoming conclave would be his last. ‘What are you saying, Eminence? No one knows better than I the issues that confront our Mother Church in relation to Islam. In the last fifteen years, Catholic Ireland has taken in a huge influx of Muslims and I have become better used than I would wish to
inter-faith
meetings and taking my shoes off before entering a mosque. But to suggest that we in Europe, without sanction from the greater universal Church, should in some sense declare war on the Muslim world has to be asking for trouble.’

‘My dear old friend,’ said Bosani, throwing up both hands in a gesture of mock surrender. ‘Of course not. I am suggesting no such thing.’

‘What, then?’

‘What I am suggesting is that we need a new pope for a new era, one who is not afraid to speak in particularities and is not a prisoner of political correctness. We need a pope who will speak up for the Catholic and European position, who recognizes the extent of demographic change and the undeniable fact that Islam in the twenty-first century is not going to be wished away. We need a Holy Father who stands up for the Christian heritage and civilization that has been built in Europe over two thousand years of history.’

‘You mean a pope ready to call for a crusade?’

Bosani paused before responding. ‘Crusade is not a word to be used lightly. It has too many connotations of blood and chaos … to say nothing of failure. But if by crusade you mean steadfast purpose and resolve, directed without pity and without fear at the achievement of Christ’s kingdom on Earth, then crusade it is.’

Rüttgers, clad like the others in a black soutane, signifying mourning, shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The Irishman stared out the mullioned window of Bosani’s conference room and began to recite. ‘I summon today all these powers between me and those evils; against every cruel merciless power that may oppose my body and soul; against incantations of false prophets; against black laws of pagandom; against false laws of heretics; against craft of idolatry; against spells of witches and smiths and wizards; against every knowledge that corrupts man’s body and soul.’ He halted and looked at the sea of bewildered faces around the table. ‘St Patrick’s Breastplate,’ he said, by way of explanation. ‘Best understood in Irish.’ Then he turned to their host. ‘It might help, Camerlengo, if we knew who you had in mind.’

Bosani smiled, exposing the tips of his incisors. ‘What matters, Eminence, is not who I may have in mind, but who is best suited to do the Lord’s work. For guidance on that, I can only recommend that you pray each morning and evening from this day forth, then vote according to your conscience.’

‘Amen to that,’ said Rüttgers.

As the cardinals dispersed, Bosani’s secretary, Father Cesare Visco, tall and thin, from Messina in Sicily, approached his boss. ‘Eminence, what are we going to do about Rüttgers? I fear he could spell trouble.’

Bosani eyed his young companion. ‘I am aware of it, Cesare. The conclave will take place eighteen days from today. Eighteen days! Up until now we could hope to
persuade
individuals to join us, or at least to give us a hearing. Those who opposed us could gradually be isolated. We no longer have that luxury. There may only be four German cardinals, but Rüttgers is the primate and he could damage us. The Austrian and Swiss churches may also take their lead from him. He is that sort of man, unfortunately. Even more important than his standing in Europe is his following in Latin America. That is what I really worry about. Remind me: how long was it he worked in Porto Alegre?’

Visco carried the histories and voting records of every cardinal elector in his head. ‘Seven years,’ he said after only a brief reflection. ‘He went originally as a pastor to the German-speaking minority, but ended up as a champion of the poor of every ethnic group, with a reputation that spread throughout South America.’

‘With its twenty-two cardinal electors. Yes. Just yesterday, the dean said to me that if Rüttgers hadn’t gone back to Germany he could easily have been head of the Church in Brazil. He could rally many to his cause.’

‘– Who already feel that a Third-World Pope is vital for the Church’s future.’

‘Precisely.’ Bosani paused for several seconds, examining his fingernails. ‘I fear that it may be time to provide a small demonstration of the nature of the threat we face.’

‘How small?’

‘Something that will make headlines. Something to concentrate minds. But nothing too obviously …
horrific
. I don’t want the mob rising in the streets. That would be counter-productive. What I have in mind is something more … focused.’

The priest thought for a moment. ‘There is always the appeal case in Bologna.’

‘Is that still going on?’

‘A ruling is expected tomorrow.’

‘And the judge?’

‘Carlo Minghetti. An Opus Dei member all his adult life. He will uphold the sentences. He may even increase them.’

‘I don’t doubt it. Men like Minghetti feel they embody both God and the law. But His Honour may yet serve our purpose. Do you follow me?’

‘A warning.’

‘A sign of the times. Something for Their Eminences to think about as they prepare for the conclave.’

‘I shall see to it.’

‘Very well. In the meantime, send Franco to me.’

‘Franco? Are you sure?’

The Cardinal took off his skullcap and ran his elegant fingers through his thinning crop of black hair. ‘Ask him to meet me at the residence after prayers. And one more thing: bring me the files on Cardinals Salgado and Delacroix. Their silence today spoke volumes. It is time they were reminded of their Christian duty. For there is much to be done and they too have their part to play.’