The Blessed (55 page)

Vito and Ugo arrived then, soot-covered but alive, with five remaining Sienese knights behind them. Vito leaned forward and pushed with the tip of his sword at Ciro. The man toppled off Gianni, to the side, dead.

Daria stumbled over to them, reaching for Gianni.

Vito eyed Abramo, clearly dead beside Daria and Piero, and then looked back to the dead, hulking form of Ciro. “Well then,” he said. “My work here is done.” He sheathed his sword, feigning self-satisfaction.

Gianni laughed, still trying to gain his breath, comfort his wife, and battle the pain. He rose to a sitting position and took Daria in his arms, holding her close. “We made it, Daria. God has seen us through.”

Piero came, dragging the heavy sword of Saint Galgano that now seemed impossible to lift. Agata, Ambrogio, Gaspare, and the children ran down the hill toward them, the monks filtering out behind them, apparently having waylaid or vanquished any remaining knights inside.

A fierce, cold wind, sudden and strong, ran across the fields and forest, blowing past them, lifting their hair and causing them to shield their faces. And then it was gone, leaving naught but a quiet heat of the early spring sun, setting on the horizon.

Piero rose, dragging Galgano's sword above his head, up to the skies, praising their God for deliverance. Then he looked to each of them. “Steep has been the cost. Great has been the battle. But greater still, God's victory.”

EPILOGUE

HASANI and Ambrogio worked side by side in the magnificent Santo Paulo Chapel of the fortified mansion de Capezzana, just outside Siena and north of San Galgano.

They stood back and silently looked upon faces from their past, of their future. At the chapel entrance were images of Scripture, of Saint Paul's conversion, of him speaking to the masses and in small rooms, as dark storm forces raged outside, and others of him alongside his scribe, dictating missives to the faithful far from him.

Farther into the chapel were knights and ladies, images of Basilio and Rune, Vito and Ugo, Hasani and Gianni. Of ladies in finery, of Daria and Tessa and Josephine. The others were there as well . . . Count Armand, Anette and Dimitri, Ambrogio, Lucan, Agata, Beata, Aldo, Nico, Roberto, even some of the Sienese knights whose faces they could still well remember. They bathed the walls in memory, of people lost and people healed, from the farmer's wife nearby to the lepers of Venezia to the pope in Avignon.

But in the front of the chapel, on either side of the nave and behind the cross, the walls were reserved solely for Christ and his men, those who had begun what the Gifted had merely hoped to continue.

Daria entered, her baby boy in her arms, with Gianni right behind her. The others followed, never far from their mistress and their lord. Father Piero entered at the rear, still their priest and leading them in ministry among the villagers and people of the hills, regardless of whether the Vaticana approved or not. Of late, people were traveling as far as from the city to listen to them preach and move among them on Sundays.

Daria paused over the images of Basilio, Rune, and Armand, a hand going to her nose as quick tears rose in her eyes. Ambrogio moved aside as she caressed the men's images, remembering, and on to the others they had lost, remembering, remembering.

The rest exclaimed with delight and dismay, doing the same behind their lady, moving forward, touching, praying, making the chapel fully theirs. At last they made it to the cross, embedded into the plaster. A Christ figure seemed to alight from it, half hanging, half rising, so lively that it was as if they witnessed the resurrection. They stood in silence.

Daria picked up her chin and glanced over her left shoulder, as if sensing a call from far off.

Gianni shook his head. “I know that look . . .”

Piero grinned and gazed into each of their faces. “Let us be about it, then. The letter was clear. We have witnessed just the beginning of this grand adventure. There is much ahead of us, brothers and sisters. Much.” He placed his hand in the center of their circle, and the others moved in to add their own hand. “With God ever before us and beside us, my friends. We shall never be alone. And in the darkness we shall sow . . .”

“Light,” they said.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

MANY in the Church did lobby to bring the papacy home to Roma and away from Frankish influence. They came close with Pope Benedict XII, but then never again, through the reigns of five more popes. Roma was considered unstable, and in fact, was rather scary in this era, with constant shifts of power and the very real threat of murder in order to usurp papal authority.

I fused aspects of the more austere and restrained Pope Benedict XII, who actually imposed a firm rule against wayward priests and bishops and cardinals abusing their power, with aspects of his more flamboyant and off-base successor, Clement VI, as well as their palaces (Clement added on yet three other grand wings to the imposing palace), for creative effect. Obviously my characterization of Benedict/Clement, who became the fictionally named Cornelius II, is a figment of my imagination, only loosely based on fact, but meant to represent an eighteen-year span of papal authority and impact.

If you are a language scholar, you probably noticed I translated the Latin Vulgate into NIV; as gifted as these people are, it would have been miraculous indeed for them to be reading a modern translation in 1340. However, for the sake of readability, clarity, and flow—and to avoid making any inadvertent errors with Scripture—I elected to use a modern translation for modern readers.

Bernard of Clairvaux predated the Gifted and espoused many Protestant-leaning beliefs. Soon after the years of our fabled Gifted, a man in England (John Wycliffe) and another in Prague (John Hus) and still another in Germany (Martin Luther) would see the Reformation become a growing reality. God moved through the world, calling his people forth and into real, vital relationship with him. And no force of the dark could stop it.

Petrarch, Dante, Simone Martini, and Cardinal Stefani were historical figures but are largely a figment of my imagination in terms of characterization, dialogue, etc. Petrarch was a vociferous critic of the papal court and spent quite a bit of time away from his native Italia and in and around the pope. Martini and Stefani were Sienese, like our fictional Daria d'Angelo, and truly resided in Avignon at this time. As you undoubtedly know, Dante wrote the famous
Inferno,
and rumor has it that he based the caves of hell on the eerie cliffs that face the real Les Baux of Provence. Burning deceased nobles upon funerary pyres was a fictional device of my own, not fact.

The Cathars had been defined as heretics and stamped out of existence by the Church, a precursor to the Spanish Inquisition by a couple of centuries. The Cathars' widespread influence and the threat of a resurgence—or something similar—would have set the papacy against our Gifted had they actually appeared in this era.

In 1252, the antiheretical movement came to a head with Innocent IV's papal bull
Ad extirpanda
. Two years later the pope formed districts in which the Dominican or Franciscan inquisitors could be active. Most punishments involved pilgrimages or imprisonment. Those unwilling to recant might have been transferred to a secular court and executed, but this was rarely done until later. Still, it did occur on occasion, and the desire to rout out heretical groups was even backed by military engagements at times, for instance with the Cathars of Sirmione near Verona (1277) and the Apostles (1307). Since heretical thought seemed to gain a toehold in southern France, it follows that our fictional Cornelius and his cardinals would have indeed been on the watch for prowling heretics. And the Court of the Rota beneath the Palais de le Pape, as described, was very real. But it was in 1478, with the backing of the Spanish monarchy, that the Inquisition became most fearsome and powerful.

San Galgano truly houses the sword of the saint, reportedly encased in stone, and Galgano, a crusader, truly did relinquish his sword after returning home from battle, in order to serve his God. The abbey arose around the stone and became a powerful force in the region, supplying Siena with her clergy. This legend of the sword in the stone may have served as inspiration for the Arthurian legend of Excalibur. Alas, when I went to tour the ancient abbey, now roofless but still standing, much of it was closed, so I could only walk the sanctuary itself, never laying eyes on the sword and the stone. As I type this, a few new videos have appeared on YouTube. Just type in “San Galgano” to see them for yourself.

The Catholic Church, and the Protestant Church, and now the nondenominational Church, our Christian Body as a whole, have all seen their share of corruption, sin—many, many things that would make the Lord either cry out in dismay or shout in fury—and will undoubtedly continue to suffer and fall before Satan's attack. But that is because the Church is peopled by people—people like you and me, fallible, imperfect, given to follow our more base nature, even when the Lord on High calls to us to something more. The siren call of Satan is powerful and insidious, weaving in and out of all our lives, pulling us away from the Father of life. Beware the dragon, who lurks even as our Savior abides and calls us forward. He is nonfictional.

It is my most fervent hope that this series might have called you to examine your own life, your own ways, the paths you have taken and those ahead of you where the path forks, forcing you to a decision. God calls to each of us, beckoning us toward something higher, something deeper, toward
life at its most rich
, in and out of every day, every hour. Can you hear him? I believe there is a whisper on the wind, or in our hearts, right now, if we all only have ears to hear.

I wish you every blessing upon the journey.

 
Lisa T. Bergren
January 2008

READERS GUIDE FOR
The Blessed

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS