The Parchment (29 page)

“There is no truth to such a rumor!” the local curé angrily interrupted the student.

The mention of money and bribery lured the merchant back into the conversation. “Your parish must lie deep in the forest, priest. Not only did Philip buy votes in the last election; he is prepared to do so again. Of that I am sure.”

The curé ignored the merchant's taunt. “De Molay is dead only a month and he already comes for Clement's soul. Maybe the Templar is in the Palais already.”

The student looked puzzled. “If the pope is dead, why have the bells not tolled?”

“The cardinals await the arrival of King Philip. Nothing will happen until then.” The merchant's response had a gleeful tone to it.

“People say that many cardinals are angered by what Clement and Philip did to the Templars. The Italians want the papacy returned to Rome.”

“To Rome?” The merchant roared with laughter. “Philip would disembowel every cardinal before he would allow that. Philip wants the papacy to remain here in Avignon. No one in Europe would dare stand up against him.”

The tanner looked thoughtful. “I hope you are right, merchant. If the new pope decides to return to Rome, where will that leave us?”

The old woman spat on the ground. “Business and money. That is all you people think of. What about God and his Church?”

A passerby overheard what she said. “This woman is right. Christians must pray that God will guide the Church through these days.”

“But only until the next French pope is elected. Then King Philip will again guide the Church.” The merchant laughed as he walked away from the crowd toward the city square.

The old woman picked up a rotted apple core and threw it after him. “I hope you burn in hell.”

When it became clear that Pope Clement was near death, the members of the Sacred College began a vigil. Two cardinals remained in his bedchamber at all times. As the hours passed, Clement became more and more agitated. At about eleven o'clock that evening, he began to cough up dark blood. When the pope's physician saw the color of the discharge, he motioned to Cardinals Paolo Nitolli, the Archbishop of Padua, and François Taserant, the Archbishop of Lyons, to meet him outside the pope's chamber.

“My Lords, the pope will not last the night.”

Taserant looked at Nitolli. “We must tell the camerlengo.”

The two men hurried to Cardinal de Saone's quarters in the Palais. As camerlengo, de Saone would perform the sacred rituals that the Church requires when the Vicar of Christ dies.

Nitolli knocked on the heavy oak door to Cardinal de Saone's apartment. Père Beneton, the camerlengo's secretary, opened a small hatch to see who the visitor was.

“It is Cardinals Nitolli and Taserant. We must see the camerlengo at once.”

Beneton opened the door and bowed to the cardinals. “The camerlengo is in his chapel. He asked not to be disturbed.”

“Tell the camerlengo the time has come.”

In a few moments, Cardinal de Saone walked slowly across the room to greet his fellow cardinals. “Is Clement near death?”

“Yes, de Saone, Cardinal Nitolli and I just came from his bedchamber. You must hear his confession and anoint him with chrism.”

“Give me a moment.” De Saone retreated into his chapel and returned with a gold container of holy oils.

As the three prelates walked to the door of de Saone's apartment, Cardinal Taserant stopped for a moment and spoke to the camerlengo. “Be prepared for one thing, de Saone. Clement is having hallucinations. One minute he sees de Molay's ghost, the next minute he starts shouting that de Molay's death was all your doing. Then his mood changes and he begs you to come and absolve him of his sins. Through all of this he keeps asking about a Templar manuscript. It has something to do with Jesus and the Magdalene. I do not understand him.”

“Taserant, de Molay cursed Clement for suppressing the Templars. He called him to God's judgment seat before the year was out.”

“You heard the curse, de Saone?”

“Yes, Taserant, I was there when de Molay made it. At first I was afraid to tell Clement what had happened but I could not lie to the Vicar of Christ.”

“What did Clement do when you told him?” Taserant's curiosity was palpable.

“At first, nothing. He just stared vacantly at me. Then his body began to tremble as if he had been struck with the palsy. He grabbed
my arm and begged forgiveness for what he had done to de Molay and the Templars. Nightmares have haunted him since that day.”

Nittoli interrupted. “Is it true that de Molay cursed both Philip and Clement?”

“Yes, Nitolli, and the camerlengo of the Church as well.”

“You, too?”

“Yes.”

Nittoli stopped for a moment before he continued speaking. “Many in the Sacred College are angry that Clement agreed to suppress the Templars. He succumbed to King Philip's power. The king of France holds the papacy captive here in Avignon.”

Taserant's eyes flashed angrily. “Where does this lead us, Nitolli?”

“Do not patronize me, Taserant. Several of your French colleagues have already met and pledged you their votes in the next conclave. You even sent emissaries to speak with King Philip about your papal ambitions.”

Taserant smiled at the Italian cardinal. “Philip will insist on a French pope.”

“Taserant is right, Nittoli. Philip will want another Clement.”

Contemptuously turning his back on Cardinal Taserant, Nittoli addressed de Saone. “Some of us in the Sacred College may try to hold a separate conclave in Rome.” The Archbishop of Padua knew that the camerlengo, although a Frenchman, was no friend of Philip. De Saone could be a key ally if any attempt were made to move the next papal election to Rome.

“Nitolli, think hard before doing that.” De Saone's words were blunt. “Philip is the most powerful monarch in Europe.”

“But we have enough votes to block Philip and with your help....”

“I am no friend of the king, Nittoli. But I will not support your schemes. As I have grown older, I have become less courageous.”

“A prudent answer, My Lord Camerlengo.” Cardinal Taserant opened the door to Clement's chamber and went inside.

Nittoli held the camerlengo back. “De Saone, reconsider. We have enough votes to....”

The camerlengo smiled and handed Nittoli a gold sovereign. “You have enough votes until your Italian colleagues feel the weight of Philip's purse.”

De Saone followed Cardinal Taserant into Clement's bedchamber.

Pope Clement was pointing his finger to the entrance of his bedchamber. “He will be here soon. Bolt the door. I must hide.” Squirming, Clement sought to break free of his restraints. He grew increasingly agitated as two servants tried to keep him in bed. “Please help me. The Templar comes for my soul.”

The pope's physician put cold compresses under Clement's arms to bring down his fever. When he felt the cold, Clement angrily pulled the compresses off and struggled again to get out of bed. He thrashed about, kicking his physician in the mouth.

When he saw the camerlengo enter the room, the pope cringed with fear. “You did this, de Saone. You wanted the parchment.” De Saone could see the look of terror in the pope's eyes.

“Clement, I came to absolve you of your sins.”

“Absolve me of my sins? Yes, of course. I must have absolution before I face God. I have seen Jesus pointing me....”

“Pointing you where?”

“To the fires—Jesus was pointing me to the fires of hell.”

“Why, Your Holiness?”

“For the slaughter of the Templars, de Saone. They were good men.”

“Holiness, you must rest. These are only wild dreams. No matter how you have sinned, God will forgive you.”

“No, He will not forgive me. There has been too much blood—too many have died. But, de Saone, you were there—you know what happened. What could we do?”

The pope began to whimper like a child. “De Saone, please my sins — you must forgive my sins.” Clement's voice was hollow and distant.

The pope started to cough uncontrollably. A physician rushed to apply leeches to Clement's right arm.

“Your Holiness, you must let me....”

“Out of here, physician! Christ shed His blood on the cross — mine is fed to leeches.”

The physician tried to calm Clement. “Your Holiness, the treatment....”

“Go, I say or you will meet the devil before I do.”

Clement grasped de Saone's arm and pulled himself up to a sitting position. He kept looking at the door across the room. “De Molay, Jacques de Molay, where are you? Will you not come to claim your victory?”

The pope coughed violently. Blood stained his bed sheets. As he gasped for breath, Clement pointed again to the door. “They are here. De Molay and his Templars are here. Do you see them, de Saone? There by the door! De Molay taunts me with the parchment.”

Wild-eyed, the pope tried frantically to get out of his bed. “He comes for me! The Templar comes for me. We must take the parchment away from him. We must save the Church. Help me!”

“Holiness, you must get some rest.”

“The way is dark.”

Clement reached for a cross that lay on a table next to his bed. He touched it and slumped back on his pillows. The cardinal could see that the pope was dead. De Saone gently loosened Clement's grip on his arm. The camerlengo raised his right hand and made the sign of the cross over Clement's body. The pope had not confessed his sins to the camerlengo.

Barbo looked up from the diary. The abbot's entry linked Pope Clement's death to the persecution of the Templars — something that Barbo had always suspected but could never prove. The cardinal poured a glass of water and telephoned Castel Gondolfo to speak with Sister Consuela. Barbo knew how difficult these days must be for Pope Benedict. After checking on his friend's condition, he picked up the abbot's diary and continued reading.

Cardinal de Saone knew what must be done. As camerlengo, it was his responsibility to confirm the death of the pope. The rituals that must be followed were ancient. After Clement's body had been washed and wrapped in a white shroud, de Saone took a small silver mallet out of a velvet pouch. He walked to Clement's bedside, and as those in the room watched, the cardinal tapped Clement's forehead.

“Bertrand de Got, arise.”

When an individual is elevated to the papacy, tradition requires that he choose a new name that will mark his Pontificate. When Bertrand de Got, Archbishop of Bordeaux, was chosen pope, he took the name Clement. Papal ritual required that the camerlengo now address the pope by his family name and not by his papal name. In God's eyes, it was Bertrand who had died, not Clement. The papacy lives forever and the gates of hell will not prevail against it.

De Saone tapped Clement's forehead a second time. “Arise, Bertrand.”

He stood for a moment and then tapped Clement's forehead for the third and last time. “Bertrand de Got, arise from your bed.”

When there was no response, the camerlengo intoned the ritual words:
“Bertrandus mortuus est
.” Once the camerlengo had spoken these words, the Church officially came to a halt. Until a new pope was elected, the Church was without a successor to Peter.

One more task still awaited the camerlengo. De Saone removed the papal ring from Clement's finger and placed it and the pope's seal in a brazier of hot coals. As several members of the Sacred College watched, the heat from the coals gradually melted the ring and seal into a liquid paste. With the symbols of papal authority destroyed, the sacred rituals were concluded.

The camerlengo walked to the chapel next to the pope's bedchamber and pulled a bell rope to begin tolling the death knell for Clement. The mournful cadence grew louder as more and more bells joined in the tolling. The sound reverberated through the
streets of Avignon, then across the Rhone until it became lost in the hills beyond Villenueve.

The merchant, warm in his house near the Palais des Papes, was awakened by the bells of the cathedral. Annoyed, he rolled over and went back to sleep.

When they heard the bells begin to toll, those still gathered near St. Bénézet Bridge grew silent. The old woman dropped to her knees and made the sign of the cross.

Kicking a stone along the street, the blacksmith walked away, smiling. “The Templars have been avenged. Clement has come before the judgment seat of God. King Philip and Cardinal de Saone will be next.”

As the camerlengo walked back to his apartment, he was frightened. A strong wind blew along the cloisters causing his cape to billow behind him like the sail of a ship. It was as if the wind and the sail were pushing him back into the past—to that morning on the lie des Javaux in Paris when de Molay was burned at the stake. How could he ever forget the horror of that day—de Molay's defiance as the flames engulfed him, the smell of burning flesh, the cries of agony. But it was de Molay's curse that most terrified de Saone. As de Molay had predicted, Clement had come before God's judgment seat within the year. Would de Molay soon come for de Saone as well?

The camerlengo heard footsteps behind him. He looked over his shoulder but no one was there. The footsteps came again—this time they sounded closer. The cardinal became frightened. “Is it you, de Molay? Show yourself.” As if in response, the wind blew stronger. De Saone was sure that he could hear de Molay whisper to him. “I am coming soon for your soul.” Haunted by the sounds of the wind, the old cardinal hurried faster down the corridor.

The sound of hooves awakened the mayor of Auclaire. It was unusual to hear horses so late at night. Lighting an oil lamp, he hastily threw a mantle over his shoulders and ran out to the street. The mayor could see a large contingent of horsemen — perhaps forty
in number—riding into the town at a gallop. A carriage pulled by four white horses followed them. The mayor could make out a gold fleur-de-lis painted on the carriage door. With such an escort, the mayor knew that someone either very important or very wealthy must be in the carriage. Perhaps it could be the new governor of the province. As he hurried toward the carriage, one of the horsemen dismounted and blocked his way.

“No farther, old man.”

“I am the mayor of Auclaire. I come to greet our visitor.”