Frederick laughed. “You don’t know my history with the Church, do you? It is amusing, admittedly, to have the Pope here, in my tent, offering respect when he is so newly anointed, but you must understand that I am more than a little reticent to believe such a statement.” He waved a hand at Ferenc. “Your companion can tell you. He was witness to my most recent excommunication.”
Father Rodrigo’s face lost some of its serenity. “The Church has lost its way,” he said quietly. “I do not cling to what it was. I have seen...” He shook himself as if he was shrugging off a heavy blanket. “I do not believe in your prior transgressions,” he said.
Frederick blinked. “Are you un-excommunicating me?” he asked. He glanced at Ferenc, who seemed both oblivious to their conversation and pleased that they were talking. “You’re no help,” Frederick noted.
He sat forward in his chair, returning his attention to Father Rodrigo. “This is a most curious turn of events,” he said. “And suddenly, I find myself being drawn into your delirium. If you are indeed Pope, what a marvelous thing it would be to discover a friend in Rome. So, yes, tell me. Is there any reason other than a mutual exchange of respect that brings you into my camp?”
The priest reached for his satchel as if to reassure himself of its contents. “I have been called to service by God. I must raise an army against the infidels. I seek to call a crusade.”
“In person?” Frederick asked incredulously. “Usually one sends bishops and priests out to do that sort of ugly legwork.”
“I believe my appearance is the only way to move people to action: show them I am doing, myself, what I think they should be doing. I moved a great many people in Rome yesterday, and I intend to move others as I travel.”
“I see, I see,” Frederick said, nodding. He crossed his arms, then slumped back farther in the chair and crossed his legs. He stared intensely at Father Rodrigo, his mind a welter of thoughts. Was this man as barmy as he seemed, or was he truly the new Pope? There was an intensity to the priest’s gaze and he spoke his words with an equal fervor. But he had also met zealots like this before, and even though they believed—so very ardently—that they spoke God’s truth, so many of them had found only an ugly death. “And may I ask, since the boy cannot understand me, what has happened to the Cardinal I released yesterday?” he asked, mainly to give himself another few moments to think. Had Léna a hand in this?
“Oh, yes, that sounds familiar.” Father Rodrigo said. He turned to Ferenc, and they had a brief exchange in Magyar. Then Father Rodrigo turned back to Frederick. “Cardinal Oddone de Monferrato, would it be?”
“The very same,” said Frederick. “He was to be the tiebreaker in the papal vote.”
“They voted before he arrived,” Father Rodrigo explained. “Apparently it was quite a surprise when I won.”
“I’m sure it was,” Frederick laughed. The page boy reentered with a flagon of wine and three cups. The Emperor pointed to a camp table deeper inside the tent, and the boy crossed to it and began to pour the wine. “And how did you come to be a candidate?”
“I have no idea,” Father Rodrigo said. “When Ferenc and I arrived in Rome, I was mistaken for a Cardinal and tossed into the Septizodium. I was sick and weak, and I cannot account for anything that happened there.”
“But apparently somebody decided to put you forth as a candidate.”
“I don’t know who, or why,” Father Rodrigo said. Frederick studied his face. Barmy or not, the priest radiated calm sincerity.
“I realize the vote is in confidence, but have you a sense of who your allies were?”
“Oh, yes. The kindest man of all was killed in the fire—”
“What?” Frederick demanded.
“There was a fire in the Septizodium, an unexpected blaze that released us from our prison. Sadly it also released Robert of Somercotes from this mortal coil entirely.”
Frederick uncrossed his arms and legs and sat up very straight. “What the fuck has been happening in that godforsaken city?” he demanded.
The priest remained calm. “I believe the fire may have been set deliberately as a way to force the issue of the election, perhaps, or for more nefarious reasons. Once rescued, we were all moved to a horse stable, and from there to Saint Peter’s, where the Cardinals elected me to be the next Bishop of Rome. But they wanted to keep me locked up. They would not let me speak to my flock, and so I had to run away.”
Frederick stared at him, wide-eyed. “This is the most goddamned improbable story I believe I have heard in my life,” he declared. “And that is saying a lot, my friend.”
Father Rodrigo nodded amicably. “Yes, it does have the sense of a dream, doesn’t it? I have wondered myself, but having recently been infected with dreams, I know now that I am awake. So very wide awake. And my health has been restored, allowing me to carry out my mission.”