Cardinal Bishop Casado stood in silence at the end of the Pontiff’s quarters, his unblinking eyes burning into the closed doors of the Pope’s private chamber. For five days, ever since the Feast of the Assumption of Mary when Pope Pius X had been taken ill and carried away to his chamber for the Vatican’s physicians to do what they could, there had been no word from the Pope or from those closest to him, a quiet stream of doctors and selected persons entering and leaving without word or emotion.
But now Casado knew the end was close. The faces of those leaving had grown increasingly bleak over the last few hours and it had been twenty minutes since the last of the visitors had reappeared.
He swallowed and allowed his eyes to fall to the floor of the corridor, a moment’s rest to ease the pain growing behind them. With that, the handle to the door turned and slowly opened, a black robed senior Cardinal Casado knew well, stepping silently from inside, his eyes cast to the floor, his features drawn and white. At once Casado knew to fear the worse.
As if sensing Casado’s presence, the Cardinal turned and walked quickly towards him.
“Is he …?”
“He is,” the Cardinal replied. There were tears in the man’s eyes, his nostrils flared in attempt to fight back against this emotion. “Pope Pius X passed away … peacefully.” Casado went to speak but the Cardinal, perhaps sensing the words would be meaningless, continued.
“He asked that I give you this,” he said, pressing a sealed letter into Casado’s hand. Casado looked down at the small crushed white envelope in his palm.
Again, Casado went to speak, but the Cardinal had already turned away from him. “Oh, and Cardinal Bishop Casado,” he added, pausing to turn back and talk over his right shoulder. “German forces have just marched into Brussels. War has come to Europe.”