The Mongoliad Book Three

“What about the priest?” Torres asked. “The one who is already Pope?”

 

 

“Ah,” Capocci said, “this is the clever bit. If we do this quickly enough and we all swear that it be true, then Father Rodrigo’s claim simply becomes the spurious ravings of a country fool. He’s just a pretender to the position, and if he’s insane enough to insist that a conspiracy has been perpetrated...”

 

Fieschi had to admit there was a certain elegance to the solution. Perhaps it wasn’t a matter of controlling the next Pope, but simply leaving the position vacant. He had been able to accomplish quite a bit during the sede vacante—including turning the bullheaded Senator to his side. The Cardinals would scatter soon after a successful vote, leaving Rome to him. During the time it took to recall all the Cardinals—including the ones that Frederick had managed to intercept—he would have ample time to fully dominate Rome.

 

And after Rome, what next? Sicily?

 

Fieschi smiled. The doubts would fall away, readily enough.

 

“Would my fellow Cardinals be willing to consider this?” Capocci asked. “Shall we at least entertain it for discussion?”

 

“How about a show of hands?” Colonna suggested.

 

“Wait a moment,” Castiglione said. “Seven of us voted for Father Rodrigo. We caused this strange catastrophe, and so it should fall to one of the seven to make this sacrifice.” The dei Conti cousins and Bonaventura—the only three who did not vote for Father Rodrigo—all visibly relaxed, while the half dozen others eyed each other nervously. “But of all those seven,” Castiglione continued, “The one who bears the greatest shame for writing down Father Rodrigo’s name is me. I wrote his name because I did not want to be elected. The stress of these past few months, and most of all these past few days, forced me to look honestly at my own ambition, to use Cardinal de Segni’s term. The rest who voted for Father Rodrigo did so for reasons of their own, but I am sure they were sound ones. I, however, voted for him to shirk my own duty, and so the burden of guilt for all of this falls upon my shoulders more than on any other’s. I volunteer to be the Pope who dies.”

 

There were gasps of amazement from around the room. “This is a feint!” Bonaventura shouted above the din. “You will take power and threaten us all with blackmail if we try to remove you!”

 

“Of course I won’t,” said Castiglione. “If I had that kind of ambition, Cardinal Bonaventura, I would not have voted for Father Rodrigo, and then we would not be in this ridiculous position. Furthermore, if I volunteer to do this and then seize the office for real, I am sure Orsini will dispatch me very quickly.”

 

The Senator could certainly be called upon to do what was necessary, Fieschi thought, and a tiny smile tugged at his lips. “Well,” he said dryly. “That sounds very convincing. How about the rest of you?”

 

The narrow path lay open before him. Yes, let them choose this man, he thought, that will work out just fine.

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

 

 

 

Mongol-a-Mongol

 

 

 

Shortly after the hunting party left the confines of the valley, it ascended a narrow ridge, and ?gedei reined in his horse to admire the view. The valley was a long indentation that ran east to west, as if Tengri himself had reached down and dug a trough through the verdant forests that blanketed the lower slopes of Burqan-qaldun. The air was clear and crisp, and ?gedei could see the tiny shapes of his subjects moving among the colorful mushroom shapes of the ger.

 

I will build a palace, he decided, caught up in the crystalline clarity of the moment. I will have all the materials brought here. No trees will be cut down. No rocks moved. It will stay pristine—just the way it is today. He stared at his ger and fixed its position in his mind. The palace would be built in the exact same spot.

 

“My Khan?” Namkhai’s broad face was impassive, but there was the barest hint of a question in his voice.

 

“I am admiring the view, Namkhai,” ?gedei said. “Is it not a magnificent day?”

 

“It is, my Khan.”

 

“A man could accomplish anything he desired on a day like today, could he not?”

 

“He could, my Khan.” Namkhai’s stony mien cracked slightly, allowing a brief smile to escape.

 

“And there would be no reason to rush, would there? A man’s destiny will wait for him, yes?”

 

“It never arrives before he does, my Khan.”

 

?gedei laughed. “A wrestler and a philosopher. You are filled with surprises, Namkhai. Once I have slain the bear, will you compose a song in my honor?”

 

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