The Blessed (46 page)

He opened his eyes to stare back into Cornelius's. “So be it,” he said softly.

THEY were called before the Court of Apostolic Causes three days later, led by armed guards to the massive hall, with soaring ribs that met in domes, and placed in line behind others condemned to final judgment.

The Great Audience Hall was packed as they at last were called forth. Word had spread that the Gifted were to be questioned, and that the process would begin with the defrocking of a priest. People jostled on the sides, but Daria had a hard time keeping her eyes from Piero. What would this mean to him? Was there not any other way?

He looked back at her, as always making her feel as if he could read her thoughts. He gave her a tender smile and leaned toward her. “I do not fear this, daughter. God can work through all things. You've seen it. After the darkness, light. Right?”

She nodded, quick tears in her eyes.

“Father Piero, chaplain of Sir Gianni and Lady de Capezzana,” called a steward, reading from a parchment scroll.

Piero cleared his throat and stepped forward. “I am here.”

“Step forward, please,” said the man, pointing to a spot right beside him.

Piero moved forward, and the process began, just as he had described to them the night before. At the fore of the massive hall was a round bench at which the judge sat. A barrier separated them from the rest of the hall. Against the east wall was a lovely fresco of Calvary, and on the north wall a massive rendering of the Last Judgment, to remind all under whose judgment they would ultimately sit—Christ's. In the Court of the Rota, named for the wheel-like round bench, up to ten thousand petitions were heard a year. The Lord's Commissioner or chief auditor, a formidable man named Bishop Matteo du Puy, sat beneath a coat of arms and keystone labeled “S.P.Q.R.”

Piero eyed Cardinal Boeri, who saw it, too. The initials stood for “The Senate and the People of Rome,” a nod toward the papacy's original roots. The cardinal returned his gaze with understanding. No priest ever wanted to be here, in this court, accused of anything.

Atop Piero's simple robe, they placed a cape of gilt ribbons and a white silk. They placed a stole of silver and gold around his neck, with the holy emblems denoting the Alpha and Omega on either tip. Over one arm they placed a censer of gold, its holy fragrance still smoking out the holes. And in his hands they placed a golden box, holding the heavenly host.

Bishop du Puy stared hard at Piero from under bushy, furrowed brows. “My brother, you were once sworn to uphold the causes of Christ, to abide by the authority of the Holy Roman Church, to honor the Rule, to lead life without error and to shelter others. You hold in your hands the treasures of the Church. You wear the most highly esteemed and honorable robes of the Church. Will you forsake us? Or shall you repent and recant?”

Piero looked down and thought for a long moment, holding his slight shoulders straight. Then he looked back to the bishop and said, “Blessed and holy Court, I honor what you do in attempting to keep the sheep within the gates.” He eyed Abramo Amidei and turned slightly toward him. “Wolves prowl about and we must be ever vigilant. For we are the shepherds, left to lead and protect the sheep.”

“I ask you, Father, to keep your eyes on me,” said du Puy, “as you speak to the Court.”

Piero turned without pause. “As a fellow shepherd of the flock, I recognize that my ways are unorthodox. That my guidance of my small flock was not along a road I was authorized by the Church to enter. And yet,” he said, picking up his chin, “I see no reason for the Church to block a road that our Lord and Savior himself has asked me to walk. If he asks, I shall go. Would this blessed Court ask me to deny a call of Christ? Is it not what brought each of us into the brotherhood of faith? Nay. I maintain there is nothing for me to repent of or recant. To do so would be akin to denying my Savior.”

The bishop rose, flushing red at the neck at Piero's impudence. His mouth was set in a grim line. He gave a signal, and they began the process of defrocking Piero as a priest of the Church, beginning a litany in Latin.

Daria's tears crested her lids and slid down her cheeks.

A hand reached for hers. Gianni. And after a moment, another reached for her hand. Tessa. She looked down to the child and over her head and then back again, wanting to make certain that her eyes did not betray her. Anette Devenue des Baux. Her husband, Lord Devenue. And right behind them, the others who had witnessed the healings. They had returned to Avignon as promised.

Daria pulled at Gianni's hand, calling attention to their presence. They were too late to stall Piero's defrocking. But could they aid the Gifted in circumventing endless questioning, torture, excommunication, banishment? Collectively they were the most influential of all of Provence. Armand had chosen well. God had chosen well.

Gianni squeezed her hand in response.
Hope
, said his touch.
Hope
.

Four priests moved forward and took the sacred elements from Piero's hands. They took from him the alb, the stole, the censer, leaving him in his brown robe.

The Court stood and stared at the priest as the final words were uttered, the dissolution nearly complete. “Do you have anything left to say, Piero?” asked du Puy, carefully avoiding any holy title.

Piero smiled at him with kind eyes, and Daria understood his expression. He felt sorrow for the auditor, a desire to show him truth, light, to lead him out of the dark. “Yes,” he said. Slowly he undid the rope at his waist and carefully folded it at his feet.

Du Puy frowned, wary now.

Piero reached for the shoulder of his robe.

“Piero . . .”

But Piero continued, lifting the robe from his shoulders and pulling it away from his body, leaving only a flimsy undergown and leggings beneath. People stirred and covered laughter behind hands. But Piero continued, carefully folding the brown Benedictine robe into quarters and setting it down on the stair in front of the bishop, with the rope atop it.

He lifted his hands outward. “M'lord Bishop,” he said, staring back into the reddened and furious face of his prosecutor. “I could be naked and my God could still make use of me. The role of priest is a sacred task. I am called to speak to my people wherever I am, to reach them with the truth of Christ, the hope of the Everlasting. Our time on earth is fleeting. The Alpha and Omega is not contained on a gold and silver stole. He is all about us. Dress me in rags, in the clothes of a court jester—leave me in nothing but my undergarments—but you shall never take away the truth.”

Piero's voice rose, and he pointed at the ground. “God is here. Right now. He is present. And I, recognized or not, am his servant.”

Silence washed over the halls, everyone holding their breath, eyes on Bishop du Puy. His chest heaved, as if he were having difficulty breathing himself in the midst of his fury, but slowly it eased. He sat back down upon his high wooden chair, one hand on the arm of it, the other rubbing his lips as he considered his next move.

At last, he spoke. “You declare yourself as his servant. Do you stand alone?”

“Nay, m'lord Bishop,” said Anette. “I stand behind him,” she said, stepping forward.

“As do I,” said Josephine. Each of the Gifted and their supporters said the same, stepping forward.

“And we do as well,” said the doge. The rest of the nobles followed suit. In the passion of the moment, others from the gallery moved forward, including a priest, a steward, and a knight of the
palais
.

The bishop stared down at them, now a collective group of about fifty. He had risen to his feet again as the group grew, obviously wondering when the momentum would taper. “Countess Devenue des Baux,” he said, coughing into his hand. “Are you certain that you wish to stand with this heretic?”

“If he is a heretic, then so am I,” she said, raising her chin. Gaspare leaned toward her and whispered in her ear. She took her skirts in hand and moved forward, Count Devenue at her side. “M'lord Bishop,” she said. “We all know what will come next. You have a holy charge. But you prosecute your own,” she pleaded. “Their gifting is something to be celebrated. Homored. Do you not see what they have done for my husband? Will you not give them the opportunity to prove themselves loyal to our God?”

Du Puy frowned.

“Beware of trickery,” said Cardinal Zambrotti. Abramo Amidei eased away, as if he had said nothing to him.

“What do you propose, my lady?” asked the bishop.

“I know not,” she said with an easy smile, looking back to the Gifted, letting her eyes rest on Gaspare. And it was then that Daria felt it, the urgent need, the desire from within to heal. Her eyes met Piero's, then Gaspare's. Was this the Father's way out? His passage to safety?

“I do,” said Daria, stepping forward. “There is one to be healed. Before your very eyes. Would that not prove to you that we are who we say?” Her eyes sifted through the crowd. Who was it? Whom had the Lord picked to heal this very day?

“She has done it before,” said Duke Richardieu. “She healed me of my deafness.”

“And she healed my cancer,” said Lady Blanchette, standing beside him.

“And you have seen me at my near worst,” Count Devenue said. “You cannot deny, Bishop du Puy, that at our last meeting, you considered me a dead man upon my feet.”

The bishop stared hard at him. Daria could see the truth of it in his eyes. He had counted Dimitri dead, had undoubtedly seen his deformed head, riddled with tumor. And now he stood before the court again, the proud and healed husband of Countess Anette des Baux. He could not be ignored. Something significant, something obvious had occurred. Something that could not be denied.

The bishop's eyes narrowed.

The pope entered, among some fanfare. He appeared better today, but Daria gave him scant attention. She was praying, asking God to identify who would receive healing this day.
A child, Lord?

Daria searched her heart. Her eyes again ran over the crowd. There were precious few children among them.

“I shall determine who it will be, then,” said the bishop. He moved down the stairs and into the crowd before him, to Daria's right.

“He cannot,” Daria whispered to Gianni. “It cannot be our determination . . .”

“Trust, wife,” he said, squeezing her hand. “God sees us. He knows us and our current crisis. He shall see us through.”

“But—”

“Him,” the bishop said. “You shall heal him.”

The crowd parted, clearing the path between the child he gestured to, then back toward Daria.

Roberto.
Dear Roberto.

It was not possible. He needed surgery. Months of healing . . .

The bishop stared in cold challenge at Daria. “Well?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

IT was then Daria knew the truth of it, felt the familiar pull. She smiled into Roberto's hopeful, wide, patient eyes. “Yes.” She nodded, grinning. “It is he that God has chosen.”

“I chose him,” dismissed the bishop.

“God is a part of everything we do,” said Piero as he passed him, heading back to the dais and his chair. The pope took a seat beside him.

“Yes, well you better hope that God is a part of
this
,” Vito whispered.

“Our Lord
is
a part of this,” Gaspare said, his eyes twinkling with excitement even as Daria moved toward Roberto. He knelt on the floor and raised his hands to the ceiling. “Our Lord on High placed the sun and the moon in place. He is our Creator, and he lives and rules the heavens to this day. No one can stop him,” he said, staring hard at Amidei.

Abramo was pacing, Vincenzo now at his side. He looked to Daria, his eyes appearing old and weary, reminding her of the pope . . .

She shifted her gaze to Gaspare. The old fisherman closed his eyes and was praying. Suddenly the windows became dim and then dark. Women screamed. Men rushed outside. Torches were lit. In a moment, one returned. “An eclipse! There is an eclipse of the sun!”

The bishop looked to his counterparts. No eclipse was foreseen. There wasn't another due for months, and it was to be partial, at most.

“The world is in darkness,” Josephine said, as Gaspare continued to pray. “Only Jesus is the light.”

Daria stepped forward. “ ‘No one lights a lamp and puts it in a place where it will be hidden, or under a bowl. Instead he puts it on its stand, so that those who come in may see the light.' Roberto, are you ready to let Christ's light shine through you?”

The boy nodded, eyes wide.

“
Post tenebras, lux
,” Vito muttered behind her.

“
Post tenebras, lux,”
Daria repeated. She moved toward Roberto and leaned down. She caressed his cheek. “You have been patient, my friend. God has chosen this day, this moment, to bring you healing. Do you believe?”

He nodded, eyes wide.

“Lie down here, Roberto,” she said softly. She looked to Tessa and Nico, right beside the boy, and asked them to stay on either side of him. She spoke clearly, loud enough that their judges could hear.

Piero held his hand out toward the bishop and the pope. “Please, come closer. You are wary of trickery. Bring two of your most trusted men on the Holy Court, and come close. There must be no dispute. What you are about to witness must be corroborated by three or more of you.” He looked about the grand hall. “You as well, m'lord Cardinals. Please. Draw near.”

He was wise, bringing them close, Daria thought. If enough truly believed what was about to transpire, knew it as truth, they had a fighting chance of making it out of the Court without a death sentence, mayhap even without an excommunication.