Chapter Twenty-One

 

His Holiness, Pope Victor III

 

 

Such an event as the selection of the new Pope was cause for celebration, to be sure, but among those who knew about and objected to the manner in which the tiara was forced upon Cardinal Desiderius’ head, there was outrage. Chief among these were Desiderius’ close friends and confidantes, including the Monte Cassino monks and Cardinal Odo. Steadfast supporters of Cardinal Odo were also infuriated and prepared to launch a campaign of retribution, but Cardinal Odo insisted that such talk cease immediately.

“The deed is done, and attempting to undo it would be more useless than trying to hold back the incoming tide, impossible,” he said. “Oh, how I fret for my dear friend, Desiderius! He is a fragile soul.”

With reticence, then, all those who objected to this criminal act by the colluding clerics and nobles resigned themselves to silence for fear of creating more confusion and division than already existed. Cardinal Odo summoned Tristan that very next day and the two of them went to the Lateran Palace of the Vatican out of concern for Desiderius.

“He looked so lost and helpless yesterday upon the altar of Saint Lucy’s,” said Tristan. “I have never seen him in such a state.”

“Yes,” Odo replied. “He has feared such collusion between certain clerics and nobles for some time now, and only came to Rome due to their solemn promises that he would only be serving in an advisory capacity.”

“They lied to him!”

“Half of history is founded on lies, Tristan. This is another track in the mud.”

“To think that cardinals and bishops would be so foul and deceptive. Nobles, yes, they have no conscience, but our own high clerics? With each passing day, I become more and more ashamed of our own lack of integrity! Where is God in all this?”

“It is difficult to comprehend, I know. Be careful where you tread, Tristan. Though it is easy to assign blame to the Church, never forget the alternatives. It is the Church, after all, that cares for and feeds the poor, that holds society together, that offers hope in this world of violence and depravity. Despite our own weaknesses, imagine what would occur without the shadow of the Church overseeing the continent. There would be no containment of rape, pillage, and murder at the hands of our own Christian nobles and warlords. Their fear of Hell keeps the flow of blood and abuse to a tolerable level. Without the Church, that blood would wash over the land in raging torrents.”

The rawness of these words surprised Tristan. He had always known Odo to be both reasonable and practical, yet there was a cold objectivity in Odo’s tone that he had not previously encountered. “It is all a trade off, then, Cardinal?” Tristan said, drawing nearer to Odo.

“Yes.”

Entering the Lateran Palace they reported to the papal chambers, but found that Desiderius was locked within his quarters. “What’s this?” Odo said crossly to the quartet of guards standing outside his door. “Is our own Pope now being held hostage?”

“No, Cardinal,” one of the guards replied with a shrug, “tis the Pope himself who locks the doors. He refuses to see anyone. This morning he even refused Duke Borsa and Bishop Belmonte!”

“Of course he would,” Odo said. “Do you not know what happened yesterday because of those two?”

“No, Cardinal, only that the good Cardinal Desiderius had been elected as our new pontiff, Pope Victor III. And we’ve been instructed to see after his safety. He’s sealed himself within his quarters and refuses all communication!”

“I see.” Odo then knocked upon the door. “Desiderius, Odo here. Can you hear me?”

No reply.

Odo raised his voice and pounded harder. “Desiderius, it is me, Odo, and I have Tristan with me! Please, open the door. We mean you no harm!”

At this, the shuffle of footsteps could be heard approaching the door. “Are y-you alone?” came a voice, weak and thready. “Just you and the lad?”

“Yes. Now please, let us in. We are concerned about you.”

The lock fell out of place and the door sprung ajar slightly as Desiderius peered out into the hallway. “Quickly, come in,” he then said, ushering Odo and Tristan within, then closing and locking the door behind them.

Odo immediately knelt. “Your Holiness!” he said, grasping at Desiderius’ ring, only to have his hand rebuffed by Desiderius who appeared to be suffering from a crippling despair.

He was a shivering shadow of disquiet. “Oh, to be the victim of such corrosive behavior!” he grumbled thickly with complaint, his voice unsteady like that of a drunken man. “Dark and corrupt forces have conspired to place me in this position to fix things,” he then bridled, “but the Church’s problems are far more massive than my own humble capabilities!”

Tristan, so appalled by the sight of Desiderius’ condition, had forgotten to kneel. Clumsily falling to his knees, he echoed Odo’s greeting. “Your Holiness!” he blurted.

“Get up! Get up, both of you!” Desiderius wailed. “I am no Pope! The fact that these twisted powerbrokers are my masters is evidence of that!”

Odo stood, and grasped Desiderius by the arm. “A good servant controls the master,” he said, attempting to sooth the old Cardinal. “God will stand by you, Desi… Pope Victor,” he continued, quickly correcting himself.

Desiderius gazed at Odo with an embittered look of absolute defeat as Odo, in turn, looked upon his old friend with empathy. They were quiet for a moment then, and Tristan felt in this silent exchange the heartfelt kinship that these two men had shared over decades. He also sensed Desiderius’ profound loneliness and loss of hope, and an alarming realization swept through him. He wishes to die, Tristan thought.

Desiderius did wish to die… at the moment, at least. Unbeknownst to others, his entire existence had been one inexorable struggle against an overwhelming metabolistic anxiety that had frightened and controlled him since birth. This anxiety had been omnipresent throughout his entire life, but had become vastly more acute and disabling into his forties, at times attacking him with such severity that he could barely manage to function, especially in times of high stress and controversy, such as now.

History, of course, has been heavily populated with such souls, most slipping into anonymity or perdition, many even taking their own lives out of nervous exhaustion. A small fraction of these victims, extraordinary individuals such as Desiderius, have been able to succeed and even rise to the heights of leadership through a rare confluence of perseverance, survival imperative, and good fortune. Time and age conspire eventually, to erode even these blessings, and in old age the nervous exhaustion that previously decimated others of this grain begins its corrosive effect on even the most dogged survivors. Such was the very case with the aging Desiderius whose heart had taken permanently to racing too fast and whose mind had dissolved into a blithering quagmire of doom.

“I’ll not survive this treachery!” he wailed, holding onto Odo’s arm, his eyes seeking Odo’s for salvation from this knot that had been placed about his neck. “It’s going to kill me! My health will not hold and I’ll descend into madness!”

Odo looked at his friend, knowing there was nothing to be done to change what had been wrought in Saint Lucy’s Cathedral the previous day. “God will direct you,” he said. Although sincere, these words sounded hollow even to Odo himself. Despite the lack of conviction in their tone, Odo continued. “We also will stand by you, Holiness. You will not endure this struggle alone. You have many, many friends.”

But those drowning in the bottomless whirlpool of melancholia are alone, in their minds at least, so Desiderius felt no comfort.

“I am not strong, Odo, and the times require strength. Oh, such an oncoming disaster. My papacy is all going to end poorly!”

These words pricked Odo, and he envisioned Peter the Hermit who had shouted these exact words upon being dismissed from Cluny. Desiderius’ statement had the same effect on Tristan, and he glanced quickly at Odo. “The Hermit,” he whispered, nudging Odo with an elbow.

Odo replied only with his eyes. Then he turned to Desiderius. “Holiness, Duke Roger Borsa and the Normans have left for Lower Italy an hour ago. Though this means he will not be attending your actual consecration next week despite his own actions, I thought it might comfort you to know that he and his troops have left Rome already.”

“Yes, yes!” Desiderius cried, a cynical frown creasing his face. “Undoubtedly he is too ashamed to even look me in the eyes! And what about that serpent, Belmonte?”

“No, Holiness, he remains. He will be arranging the consecration, and been charged by Borsa to make sure everything goes smoothly.”

“What! Belmonte? Could they not at least have selected you, Odo, to perform the consecration?”

“I declined, Holiness, knowing how you felt about all this. I felt it would be a personal betrayal to participate in such a thing. I pray you are not offended.”

Desiderius placed his head in his palm and his voice softened. “No, Odo, you could never offend me. You have stood by my side for many years now. Your refusal was a gesture of faithfulness to an old friend.” Then he heaved a bit and placed his hand on Odo’s shoulder. “Oh, it could have been so simple, Odo. We both know that you are the stronger man and that you are in a better state to lead the Church out of this morass than I.” Then he looked at Tristan. “Through prayer, perhaps I shall survive this travesty and even manage as Pope, do you not agree, lad?”

“Holiness,” replied Tristan with a bow, “I believe that you, unlike many in our midst, are a gift from God, as is Cardinal Odo. You will, therefore, be an exemplary leader for Mother Church just as you have been for Monte Cassino. And despite what you say, I do not believe that your Papacy will end poorly.”

Even as Tristan completed his statement, a cold finger touched his heart. It was the accusatory finger of shame. He had never once in his entire existence looked anyone in the face with such sincerity while uttering what he believed to be such a bold-faced lie. Indeed, in the recesses of his brain he could not subdue the damning voice of Peter the Hermit issuing his Cluny farewell from the back of his donkey. Desiderius as Pope will end poorly, the voice echoed over and over.