The Mongoliad: Book Three

Chucai realized the darkness was a rough opening the rock. He followed the Darkhat, reaching out and touching the wall on either side of the narrow passage. The rock was smooth, worn by time and tools, and he let his fingers trace along the cool rock as he blindly followed Ghaltai into the mountain.

The tunnel turned to his left and dipped down. He heard a distant sound, a steady dripping noise-water falling into water-and the air remained fresh and pure. As the sound became louder, the darkness became less absolute. At first, he merely thought his eyes had become accustomed to the gloom, but as he started to notice tiny glimmers in the walls around him, he realized he was seeing evidence of some sort of illumination. The tunnel turned again, and now nearly able to see both hands touching either wall, he went around the curve and found himself in a large cavern.

The ceiling was more than twice as tall as he was and covered with a layer of luminescent lichen. There were several dark holes in the ceiling, and judging from the purity of the air in the cavern, Chucai surmised they were actually open to the sky. As he wandered into the cavern, he caught sight of the pale moon peeking down through one of the lowermost holes.

The cavern was longer than it was wide, narrowing in the back to a series of three passages, and the chamber was empty but for a series of five platforms, large discs of stone raised a few aid off the dark and dusty floor. The discs were clearly manmade, with narrow lips and sunken centers. Two of them held water, and the sound he had heard was the steady drip- drip coming from somewhere in the ceiling into the larger of the two pools.

The stone in the water-filled pools was lighter than the surrounding stone, and Chucai bent to inspect the floor. Part of the thick layer of sediment strewn throughout the cavern had the gritty texture and color of ash.

There had been a fire.

The ash marked the walls, where the stone wasn’t covered by the creeping lichens. On the right-hand wall, there was a texturing that didn’t seem random. Chucai used his sleeve to wipe away some of the grime, and when he reached the lichen, he used a stone to scour the wall clean. Eventually, he uncovered a large drawing, carved into the rock.

It was a picture of a tree, gnarled like an old man with thick roots that reached all the way to the floor and a tangled mass of leaves of branches that went up farther than he could readily reach.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Summus Pontifex Ecclesiae Universalis

Rodrigo was beginning to wonder if he had been forgotten. He did not mind the solitude, but his stomach-so recently filled at the Septizodium-was reluctant to return to the previously lean weeks leading up to his arrival in Rome. It grumbled again, and this time-as if God had heard the noisy sound of his belly-the door to his chamber opened and two men slipped into the room; each held a platter, one with fruits and cheeses, the other with cold sliced meat. He recognized them from the Septizodium, though they were now wearing much more regal clothing than they had previously. With kind smiles, they set the plates on the small table beside where he sat, and both of them gestured invitingly toward the food. Capocci-the shorter one-had white bandages on his hands.

“Do you remember us?” the taller of the two men asked as Rodrigo began to eat.

Rodrigo frowned in concentration, his hand-holding a grape-frozen near his mouth. “You are Giovanni Colonna,” he said. “You were the first-no, the second-man I met in the Septizodium.” He put the grape down on the plate. “And you are Capocci,” he said to the other man. “You examined my teeth, before…”

Rodrigo felt an immense weight in his stomach, as if the few morsels of food he had just swallowed were now turning to stone in his belly. “Your hands are burned,” he sighed. “You did not come out of the fire with us. You went back in and tried to rescue Cardinal Somercotes.”

“Yes,” said Capocci. “I did.” He seemed embarrassed by Rodrigo’s observation, and the sight of his bandage-covered hands only appeared to make his shame greater.

“In light of the devilry caused by that accident,” Colonna said, drawing everyone’s attention away from Capocci’s wrapped hands, “we have elected to intrude upon your private vigil. There is an urgent matter we need to discuss.”

Rodrigo nodded toward each of them. “Of course, Your Eminences.”

“Do you know who the current Pope is?” Colonna asked.

“Gregory… oh, no,” Rodrigo corrected himself. “Cardinal Somercotes told me that Gregory has died.” How strange: that news, when first he’d heard it, had been devastating, for back then he had not really understood the nature of his great mission in Rome. Now that he knew the real purpose of his coming here, seeing the Pope was almost irrelevant. “And we were brought here-to the Vatican-to elect a new Pope. Has that happened?”

“Yes,” said Capocci. “But do you know who he is?”

Rodrigo grimaced. “No.”

“Well, we’re here to tell you, and it will probably be a surprise.”

Rodrigo was fairly confident he was beyond being surprised by anything, at this point. But he wished to be polite, so he gave them a curiously expectant expression.

“Your Holiness…” Colonna began.

“Your what?” Rodrigo asked, knitting his brows.

“Your Holiness-you have been elected Pope.”

This was a remarkable statement, yet Rodrigo felt calm hearing it. Something about it resonated, almost as if he had been expecting such announcement. It fit into the evolving tapestry of his day: of course he did not need to take a message to the Pope, if he himself was the Pope. In fact, his being the Pontiff was convenient, as it meant he would not have to convince some other man of the importance of his mission.

“All right,” he said, after a moment. “All to the good.”

Capocci and Colonna looked at each other, surprised.

“This is not a jest, Your Holiness,” Capocci said. “You may have reason to think of us as occasional pranksters-and you would be entirely within your rights to do so-but in this matter we come to you in absolute earnest. There was a vote. You were elected Bishop of Rome.”

“I see. That means somebody must first invest me as a bishop,” Rodrigo said. “Is that what you are here to do?”

The two Cardinals looked at each other. “I suppose we could do that,” Colonna said.

“We would need more witnesses,” Capocci pointed out.

Colonna shook his head. “It is all very unexpected and very unusual,” he said. “There may be precedence. We don’t know yet. The College of Cardinals is divided on this matter.”

“And will be for some time,” Capocci interjected.

“I was chosen,” Rodrigo mused, “though I was not even a candidate.”

“Yes,” Colonna said.

Rodrigo smiled. “I find that very reassuring. Clearly this is the will of God.”

Again both men seemed taken aback by Rodrigo’s calm acceptance, but they recovered quickly. “That is an excellent perspective, Your Holiness,” Colonna said.

Capocci nodded in agreement, a satisfied grin on his face. “As your friends,” he said, “which both of us are, unreservedly, we wanted to remind you that the Papacy is a sacred office. But it is a political appointment as well. If there are no complications, and you are, in fact, anointed as the head of the Church, there will be many people working diligently to influence you-even manipulate you. Everyone will tell you that they have only your best interests at heart, or the best interests of the Church.”

“We want you to know,” said Colonna earnestly, “that they are all full of crap. Your Holiness.”

Rodrigo revealed surprise, then polite amusement. “I see,” he said. “So I should not listen to them? I should listen only to the two of you, is that right?”

“No, no,” they both replied quickly, and Capocci went on: “We have promised ourselves not to try to guide. If