Six ravens, squawking oily black shards in the blue heavens, circled three times around the figure crossing St. Peter’s Square before coming to land in his wake. Cardinal Adansoni was walking as fast as his tired legs would carry him away from the Chair of Saint Peter and the Colonnades, his head down, his face as black as the birds pecking at his trail. He’d received word during a meeting with his younger acolytes that persons unknown were in his private quarters. Without delay he’d excused himself and left for his apartment.
“What is the meaning of this?” he called, stepping into the corridor which ran to the open doors of his residence, catching sight of a figure inside. The double doors had been flung wide and, as he neared, he saw more figures inside, black cassocked and keen featured, picking through open drawers of his desk, peering into cabinets standing against walls. At once he knew to which organisation the men belonged. He rested momentarily, a hand to the frame, catching his breath before he asked his question again, this time even more firmly. “What is the meaning of this? What business have the Sodalitium Pianum in my quarters?”
The bear that was Monsignor Benigni appeared from Adansoni’s bedroom, clad all in black save for the collar of white at his neck. Behind his fine rimmed oval glasses, sitting snug against his well fed heavy features, his black darting eyes narrowed on Adansoni. A collection of newspapers was clutched in his pudgy right hand. He strode directly at him, the Cardinal retreating back out of the room, as if fearing he was to be physically assaulted by the large rotund man. As Benigni neared he clapped twice and, like obedient dogs, his team of men of the Sodalitium Pianum stopped in their searches and fell quickly into line behind him outside Adansoni’s apartment.
“I asked what the meaning of this … this intrusion is?” Adansoni demanded, regathering some of his nerve now that it seemed the Sodalitium Pianum were leaving. “Monsignor Benigni!” he roared, a sudden pique of anger thrusting out of him. “Answer me!”
At once the dark haired man at the front of the line, sweating faintly from his exertions, stopped and held up his hand, bent firm at the elbow. Behind him, the line of agents paused without word.
“Cardinal Adansoni,” Monsignor Benigni began, his place at the head of the line unchanged, his eyes still firm to the corridor ahead, “you understand the work of the Sodalitium Pianum, the Fellowship of Pius?”
“I understand what it is you claim to do, to seek out those believed to be indulging in forbidden texts and doctrine. So why visit me? What have I, a loyal servant, done to attract your attentions?”
“It is not what you have necessarily done,” replied Benigni mysteriously. “It is who you know,” he added, before striding out of the corridor and into the depths of Vatican City.