The Dante Conspiracy

CHAPTER 28



‘Or at least,’ Massimo amended, ‘it would have been explosive at the end of the fourteenth century, but it’s rather less so now.’

Perini made an impatient gesture, and the director continued, explaining what he’d read.

‘It’s written in Latin, which is what you’d expect, and the document definitely originated in the Vatican. I haven’t read all of it, but I can quite see why Dante loathed Boniface as much as he obviously did, quite apart from the fact that the Pope had orchestrated the take-over of Florence by the Black Guelphs and, indirectly, caused Dante’s own exile from the city of his birth.’

Massimo pointed at the parchment.

‘That wasn’t written by Dante, or by Boniface, but by a young priest who held a position at the Vatican, and it’s a sort of confession, I suppose. His name was Timor, and he had become a personal assistant to Benedetto Gaetani when he was still a cardinal. If this document is accurate, and I have no reason to assume that it isn’t, he became rather more than that. Timor claims that Gaetani seduced him and that he was regularly sodomised by the cardinal. What’s not clear is whether or not this was done by Gaetani for purely sexual reasons, or as part of a longer-term plan, because at some point the cardinal presented Timor with an ultimatum. Either he assisted Gaetani in a scheme he had concocted, or the cardinal would ensure that the young priest was dismissed from his position in the Vatican for moral turpitude and sexual deviance.’

‘Wouldn’t that have been just as dangerous for Gaetani?’ Perini asked. ‘As the other party in the relationship, I mean?’

‘Probably not. By that stage he was a very ambitious senior cardinal and exerted considerable power in the Roman curia, and he could have played the innocent, claiming that Timor had approached him rather than the other way round. Just as it does now, the Church would have closed its ranks then to protect its own, so I think Gaetani would have been safe enough.’

‘So what was his plan? Why did he need this man Timor at all?’

Massimo glanced again at the parchment.

‘I said Gaetani was powerful and ambitious, and what he wanted more than anything else was to occupy the Throne of St Peter, and he’d hatched a plan to ensure that the then incumbent would leave as soon as possible.’

‘And who was that?’ Lombardi asked. ‘On the off-chance that I might have heard of him,’ he added, as Perini looked at him.

‘His name was Pietro Angelerio, and he took the name Celestine V as Pope in August 1294, after the papal throne had been vacant for over two years. He was a former monk and a hermit who had founded the Celestine Order fifty years earlier, in 1244, but he wasn’t actually a lot of good as pontiff, and resigned after just over five months in office. The general impression was that he hated the pomp and ceremony of being the head of the Church and wanted nothing more than to resume his solitary existence. But Gaetani obviously took the view that Celestine needed a good push, just in case he refused to jump. So he made Timor his instrument, and had the young monk hide himself away in Celestine’s chambers. Timor was instructed to imitate the voice of God when the Pope was on the verge of dropping off to sleep, and tell him repeatedly that the will of God was for him to abdicate. That, at least, is what this confession by Timor claims.’

‘It sounds as if it worked,’ Perini commented.

‘Yes. And you could argue that what happened next more or less proves that Gaetani had something to do with it. Celestine had ruled from Naples, but as soon as Gaetani had been elected as Boniface VIII, he ordered his predecessor to be seized and brought to Rome. Celestine escaped and hid out in a forest – he was man of eighty, by the way – and then made his way to Sulmona, to the monastery which had become the head of the Celestine Order. But he was soon forced to flee from that sanctuary as well, and was recaptured on the orders of Gaetani, who had him imprisoned in a castle in Campagna, and he died there about ten months later. It’s possible, maybe even probable, that he didn’t die a natural death, but was murdered on the direct orders of the new Pope. If he had been, it certainly wouldn’t have been the first – or the last – murder Boniface was responsible for.’

‘He sounds like a nasty piece of work,’ Perini said.

Massimo nodded.

‘He was definitely one of our less attractive pontiffs. He also then systematically reversed just about every decision and decree his predecessor had made. But you could argue that Celestine had the last laugh, because he was canonized in 1313 as Saint Peter Celestine, whereas Boniface was actually tried for heresy after his death. He also later suffered the indignity of having his body exhumed.’

‘Right,’ Lombardi said. ‘We know what that is, but it’s not The Divine Comedy, and it’s actually got nothing to do with it. That’s all we’re really interested in. So where is it?’

‘And that,’ a new voice said from the end of the gallery, ‘is a very good question. All of you, stay exactly where you are.’