Magnificat

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  Zhuang shook her head as she wrote. “This is disgraceful.”

  “Are you saying such things happened only in Judea?” he asked gently.

  “No,” she conceded at once. “But that does not lessen the disgrace.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” He waited for her signal to go on. “You’ve read Paul, and you realize he has little use for women.”

  “He is the one who wants women to keep silent and worship their husbands. He was always in the company of a young man, wasn’t he? There was a time in China, an ancient and corrupt time, when Chinese people thought the same way, that wives were for the benefit of their husbands only and had no worth beyond that. We have reformed.” She continued to write.

  “Since the Synod followed Paul’s teaching, women lost what little status they had attained in the Christian community, and were relegated to devices for reproducing males.” He said it deliberately. “The debate from that decision is still going on.”

  “If I am the first woman to be Pope except for a legend, this is most certainly true.” She pulled another piece of paper from the drawer. “So women were made slaves once more.”

  “They weren’t called that,” Mendosa reminded her.

  “So much the worse, then, for calling them anything else is.…” She faltered, looking for the right word. “A falseness? Not that, but similar.”

  “A lie?” Mendosa suggested. “Hypocrisy?”

  “Yes. Both those things.” She started to write once more, then said, “They were as bad in China, but we were not as deceiving as you.” Her pen was poised. “I want you to tell me about the priests.”

  “Why they don’t marry?” He chuckled, which caught her attention. “Do you want the official reason or the real reason?”

  “The real one. I can learn the official one from the others.”

  Mendosa started to pace. “Well, for a long time only monks and a little later, nuns, took vows of chastity, because they were either in isolated communities or living entirely alone. Chastity made sense, under those conditions. Priests, on the other hand, married and had families like the Christian flocks they tended. Eastern Orthodox priests marry to this day. So long as the Church had little property, this was acceptable. But then the Church started to grow rich. It owned lands and towns and whole regions. And the priests often left Church lands and monies to their children. The Church could not tolerate that, and so priests were forbidden to marry. That way, any children they had would be illegitimate and could not inherit anything from their fathers.”

  “That is not honorable.” Her contempt was palpable.

  Mendosa thought that if the case were taken before her as a Magistrate she would not uphold the Church. “Honorable or not, in 1074, shortly after the Eastern and Western Churches broke apart, married priests were excommunicated. Their children were declared illegitimate, so that they could not inherit Church property, and their wives were declared whores.”

  “That is a long time after the Church began,” said Zhuang, not looking up from the page.

  “So it was.” He turned away, striding toward the far end of the room. “A century before, the Church would not have had the authority to do it. But by the eleventh century, she could.”

  “So the divorce ban is earlier. The priests not marrying are later. There are no women priests, though I understand the English have changed that rule in their Church. There are needed changes to be made in this Church.” She tapped the page with her pen. “I have asked many of the Cardinals about this. Ruhig said it was a matter of law, going back to the Jews. Bakony said it was tradition. Sclamonde said it was because of Eve, and women are her daughters and cannot be trusted to turn from the Devil. Ochoa would not discuss it at all. Jung said it was because the women can serve God as handmaidens, which is why they can be nuns.”

  “Jung would,” said Mendosa darkly. He made himself take a less critical tone. “Not that I wish to speak against another Cardinal, Worthy Magistrate. We are all supposed to be brothers.”

  “Brothers are the most deadly enemies if they are enemies at all,” she said. “Mo Tzu said that, and it has not changed from his time.” She went on with her writing. “I will want to know more about these questions of marriage. It is apparent to me that there are some long-overdue reforms needed. As a good Chinese woman, I do not approve of divorce, but I also do not approve of marriages that are slavery, or mockery. I must think about this.” She frowned. “And those who love their own sex? The Church, I am told, calls them abominations, but Cardinal van Hooven says it is the nature of many to love their own sex and is not contrary to God, or a question of morals at all. He says the Church is in error to assume otherwise.”

  “You’ve been talking to Dame Leonie, haven’t you?” said Cardinal Mendosa with a quick smile. “That’s where all these questions started.”

  “To some degree. I have learned more about her husband, who would rather spend his time with young men, and treats her unfairly. I do not approve.”

  “What you do not approve of, Worthy Magistrate, is his treatment of Leonie, not his choice of partners. But he, like many men who strive to advance in the world, is required to assume a…disguise, to appear to be part of their dynasty in order to be taken seriously.” Cardinal Mendosa took a long sip of tea. “If Sir Arthur, Leonie’s husband, had been allowed to be as he is, he would not treat anyone as badly as he treats his wife, because he would not resent the requirements made of him. No one enjoys being forced to lie.”

  “Does the Church forgive him?” asked Zhuang, leaning forward, elbows braced.

  “Unfortunately, no. The Church continues to disapprove of him and all those like him, male or female. Priests who love men are tolerated in some places, but not very many, and those who are tolerated are not permitted to advance far. Aside from a few activist lesbian nuns, most women in Orders are required to set aside not only their sexuality but their femaleness in order to achieve Grace.” He set his cup down. “Priests who become Archbishops and above are expected to deny their sexuality entirely. In some men, this becomes an unending burden; guilt for desire, denial, obsession, in an endless cycle. If a man prefers men, the Church makes their burden greater.”

  Zhuang sat still for a short while. “Tell me, what did Jesus say of this?”

  Although he had not planned an answer, Cardinal Mendosa spoke quickly and easily. “Jesus said that we should love one another. I don’t recall Him putting any limits on love.”

  For the greater part of a minute Zhuang was still. Then she wrote a decisive character before looking Cardinal Mendosa squarely in the eyes. “You are a most honest man, Mendosa.”

  Mendosa rose and bowed to her. “Shiyeh shiyeh ni, Worthy Magistrate.”

  “Your Chinese is improving, Mendosa,” she said.

  “Not so much as your English,” he countered.

  “You may thank Willie Foot and his three friends for that.” She took more paper from the drawer. “Now, I want to know about which Popes decided about the laws of marriage, and why.”

  * * *

  Both Dionigi Stelo and Leo, Cardinal Pugno were uneasy. They had arrived in Vienna two hours before and had taken rooms at the small, very discreet hotel near the Opera House. Their suite was on the fourth of six floors, with a courtyard balcony but no windows opening on the street, as their contact had recommended.

  “I don’t like this,” said Stelo for the fourth time that hour.

  “Then why did you agree to come?” asked Cardinal Pugno, who was getting tired of listening to the complaints of the head of Vatican security. He was wearing a dark suit and roman collar; but for his lapel pins he might have been nothing more than a priest. He had an appointment with Bruno, Cardinal Hauptberger at six and was anxious to conclude this uncertain business.

  “We have to do something,” said Stelo miserably.

  “But an anonymous tip from an unknown man.…” He shrugged as if for the benefit of a judge. “We’re here. We might as well see this out.”
r />   “It’s as I’ve told you. Our investigation has not yielded anything worthwhile. That’s made the rumors worse. All of us look like dupes and fools. No one wants to admit it, but we haven’t been able to establish one real suspect, not sufficiently to take action against him. Them. Nothing we have thus far is conclusive. We are at a standstill,” said Stelo, shamed by his admission. “Interpol hasn’t turned up anything. Neither have the Eurocops. And we’re…not able to move properly.” This last admission brought tears to his eyes. “How can we investigate one of those we protect?”

  “I think you need to reassess your priorities, Stelo,” said Cardinal Pugno. “I don’t see any difficulty in weighing the Pope against a Cardinal.”

  “But this Pope,” protested Stelo, and then put his hand to his face.

  “Yes; well you might,” said Cardinal Pugno with little sympathy. “This Pope, no matter what you think of her, is part of the succession from the Apostle Peter, and we are required to hold her in the same reverence as we have held every other Pope from the beginning of the Church. Especially now, when the Church is under siege in so many ways. At least this Pope An is an honorable woman. You know as well as I what reprobates some of the historical Popes were.” He looked steadily at Stelo, his bright blue eyes fixed on the other man’s.

  “That was different,” muttered Stelo.

  “Because they were born Catholics? Two of them at least were born Jews. Peter, for one. And Damasus II, who was German, came from a Jewish family whose conversion was problematic. Because they were Europeans? There have been thirteen Greek Popes, three African, five Syrian, two Dalmatians, and one from Antioch. Now we have one who is Chinese. And a woman.” He put his hands together, but not in prayer. “It isn’t what I would have recommended. If we had to have someone from outside, why did it have to be this Chinese woman? But that has nothing to do with our predicament.”

  “There are those who say more attempts will be made.” Stelo had been worried about that from the moment Cardinal Tayibha died.

  “As well they might,” said Cardinal Pugno ambiguously, motioning for silence as there came a knock at the door. “Who’s there? What do you want?” He waited for the answer.

  “I have your lunch,” called a woman’s voice from the hall. “You specified this time.”

  “Of course,” said Stelo, going to the door after he checked his watch; the service was very nearly on time. Before he opened the door, he moved to a protected position, ready to fend off an attack. He motioned Cardinal Pugno toward the bedroom. “Come in,” he invited, prepared for the worst.

  A young chambermaid in the hotel’s conservative dark-green color came through the door. She smiled uneasily at the two men. “Roast chicken, grilled fish, steamed vegetables, bread, butter, Mosel wine, coffee,” she said, indicating the various covered plates on her wheeled cart.

  “Very good,” said Stelo, doing his best to act as if there was nothing unusual in his reception. He kept in position to block her from leaving quickly.

  The chambermaid looked apprehensively from one man to the other. “Is something the matter?”

  “We’re expecting a third man,” said Cardinal Pugno smoothly, as if their actions were explained by the missing third man. “He is supposed to be here at two. Fourteen hundred.”

  “It’s thirteen-forty-eight,” said the chambermaid, after a swift glance at her watch. “Do you want anything for him?”

  “He’ll order, when he gets here,” said Stelo, giving her a smile that was not reassuring. He reached into his pocket and brought out two crumpled notes. “Your tip. Put the rest on the bill.”

  “You have to sign for it,” she said, holding out the receipt.

  “A pleasure,” said Cardinal Pugno, who took the check and signed it with a flourish. He knew his title would impress the young woman.

  She flushed as she read his signature, and curtsied to him. “I’m sorry, Eminence. I didn’t realize—”

  “It is a private matter,” said Cardinal Pugno. “I hope you will not reveal my presence?”

  “No, of course not.” She was blushing now. “I’ll…I’ll leave you alone. I don’t want to intrude.”

  “Thank you,” said Cardinal Pugno, and watched while the chambermaid beat a hasty retreat. He then turned to Stelo. “Are they short of waiters, do you think, that they sent a maid to serve our lunch?”

  Stelo blinked. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

  “Neither do I,” said Cardinal Pugno. “Were I still practicing law, a detail such as this one might trouble me.”

  Dionigi Stelo glared at the covered plates. “Do you think these are safe?”

  “I don’t know,” the Cardinal answered.

  The two men fell silent, caught in speculation, so that the tap on the door seemed loud to them.

  Once again Stelo took up his position, ready for the worst. “Who is it?”

  “I believe you’re expecting me,” said a smooth voice in English.

  Cardinal Pugno gestured to Stelo. “Move away from the door.” When Stelo had done this, Pugno said, “Come in.”

  Very natty in British tweeds, Dmitri Yvgeneivich Karodin strolled into the suite, both hands in sight. He closed the door behind him and turned to regard the two men. “Good afternoon,” he said gently.

  Both Cardinal Pugno and Dionigi Stelo recognized him. Cardinal Pugno recovered first. “You aren’t…who I was expecting.”

  “I don’t suppose so,” said Karodin. He looked at the covered platters. “The chambermaid did her work well, didn’t she?”

  “You arranged that?” asked Stelo, more suspicious than before.

  “I thought it best,” said Karodin, sitting down on one of the two satin-covered sofas. “I’m hungry.”

  Cardinal Pugno regarded Karodin narrowly. “Why did you summon us? You could have arranged other luncheon companions.”

  “Very good, Eminence,” said Karodin. “Very capable, like most attorneys.” He paused to be certain he had the Cardinal’s attention. “There have been two attempts on the life of your Pope since she was elevated.”

  “Two?” Stelo demanded.

  “One killed Jivin, Cardinal Tayibha; that one you know about. The other killed two men and injured five pedestrians. It appeared to be an unfortunate traffic accident. But it was not.”

  Stelo looked at Cardinal Pugno. “The accident last week!”

  Cardinal Pugno did not let any emotions show in his blue eyes. “Is that what you mean? The accident on the Borgo Santo Spirito?”

  “Yes,” said Karodin calmly. “The two men in the car were killed. Because one of my men did his job properly.”

  “What proof have we of that?” challenged Cardinal Pugno.

  “Under the platter of chicken there are a number of photographs. I think you will find them interesting.” He rose, cocking his head toward the small dining table on the far side of the room. “You can examine them while we eat. I am very hungry. Truly.”

  Cardinal Pugno could only admire Karodin’s aplomb. “Very well. We will eat, and while we do, you’ll tell us what you know about this accident and why you think it was an attempt on the life of Pope An.”

  “Most certainly,” said Karodin. He waited while Stelo checked the covered platters, smiling a little as Stelo removed a packet of photographs from under the largest one. “There. Now you have something to look at while I break my fast. I haven’t eaten since last night, and that was in Moscow.” He laid out napery and silver for himself, and took his place at the middle of the table. “I hope you don’t mind?” he asked as he helped himself to a good portion of chicken.

  Cardinal Pugno was staring at the photographs. “Where did you get these?”

  “An agent of mine, working in Rome for the last six weeks.” He put vegetables on his plate and broke a roll in half. “We were aware of this group, do you see? And we felt that their coming to Rome could bode nothing good.”

  In the first photograph there was a travel-bag, on casual inspect
ion filled with dirty clothes and a few souvenirs. On closer inspection—which the second photograph provided—the souvenirs turned out to be coverings for plastic explosives, with a travel alarm for a timer. The third photograph showed four men, each with identical travel-bags. Four more photographs were devoted to two of these men on foot wandering through the open areas of the Vatican. One of them was busy making notes. Cardinal Pugno shook his head in disbelief. “This isn’t possible.” He held up the next two photos showing one of the men standing at the entrance to the Vatican motor pool.

  “You mean that no tourist ever wandered into that part of the Vatican before?” asked Karodin in polite disbelief. “Never?”

  “It happens very rarely,” Stelo conceded.

  “If the intruder is like that one, it need only happen once.” He poured himself a little of the wine. “Fortunately that was a trial run. It seems they decided it was too risky to try to get close to Pope An that way. So they selected another.”

  “The automobile?” Stelo asked, knowing the answer already.

  “It was out of control, or that is what everyone thought. Ironically, thanks to my man, it was out of control those last crucial seconds.” He took a little of the chicken, chewed, then went on. “It was supposed to crash through the fence to the garden where the Pope walks most afternoons. It had two of those bags in the trunk, and the whole thing would have detonated inside the fence.” He cut more chicken.

  “That can’t be right,” said Cardinal Pugno.

  “If you bother to look at the Eurocops report, you will see mention of the size of the explosion—it was much greater than an automobile of that size ought to produce, even with a full tank of petrol.” He wiped his fingers before picking up the crystal wineglass. “My man put a small charge under the transmission. He blew it up by radio signal when the automobile reached a danger area. He hadn’t counted on the automobile flipping over the way it did.” He gave them a few minutes to examine the rest of the photographs. “It’s all there.”