Free The Clowns of God by Morris West Page A

folk once lived in peace!”
    “I want to be open with you, Mendelius. I want you to be open with me.”
    “How open, Eminence? And on what subject?”
    The courtesies were over now. The sweet biscuits were all eaten. The coffee was cold. His Eminence, Anton Cardinal Drexel, grey-haired, straight as a grenadier, stood with his back to his visitor, looking out on the sunlit gardens of the Vatican. He turned slowly and stood a moment longer, a faceless silhouette against the light. Mendelius said:
    “Please, Eminence, why don’t you sit down? I’d like to see your face while we talk.”
    “Forgive me.” Drexel gave a deep growling chuckle.
    “It’s an old trick and not very polite. Would you prefer we speak German?”
    In spite of his name, Drexel was Italian, born in Bolzano, long a territory in dispute between Austria and the Italian Republic. Mendelius shrugged.
    “As your Eminence pleases.”
    “Italian then. I speak German like a Tyrolese. You might find it comical.”
    “The mother tongue is the best one to be honest in,” said Mendelius drily.
    “If my Italian fails me, I’ll speak German.”
    Drexel moved away from the window and sat down facing Mendelius. He arranged the folds of his cassock carefully across his knees. His seamed face, still handsome, might have been carved from wood. Only his eyes were alive, vivid blue, amused yet appraising. He said, “You always were a tough customer.” He used the colloquial phrase: ‘un tipo rohusto’.
    Mendelius smiled at the left-handed compliment.
    “Now, tell me. How much do you know about what happened here recently?”
    “Before I answer that, Eminence, I should like an answer from you. Do you intend to set any impediment to my contact with Jean Marie?”
    “I? None at all.”
    “Does anyone else, to your knowledge?”
    “To the best of my knowledge, no one; though there is obviously an interest in the encounter.”
    “Thank you, Eminence. Now, the answer to your question: I know that Pope Gregory was forced to abdicate. I know the means that were used to exact his decision.”
    “Which were?”
    “A series of seven independent medical reports, which were then consolidated by the Curia into a final document designed to cast grave doubts upon the mental competence of His Holiness. Is that accurate?”
    Drexel hesitated a moment and then nodded assent.
    “Yes, it’s accurate. What do you know of my own role in the matter?”
    “It is my understanding, Eminence, that while dissenting from the decision of the Sacred College you agreed to convey it to the Pontiff.”
    “Do you know why they reached their decision?”
    “Yes.”
    There was a flicker of doubt in DrexePs eyes; but he went on without hesitation.
    “Do you agree with it or not?”
    “I think the means of enforcing it were base: flat blackmail.
    As to the decision itself, I find myself in a dilemma.”
    “And how would you express that dilemma, my friend?”
    “The Pope is elected as Supreme Pastor and Custodian of the Deposit of Faith. Can that office be reconciled with the role of prophet proclaiming a private revelation, even if that revelation be true?”
    “So you do know!” said the Cardinal Prefect softly.
    “And, fortunately, you understand.”
    “So where does that leave us, Eminence?” asked Mendelius.
    “Facing the second dilemma: how do we prove whether the revelation is true or false?”
    “Your colleagues have already resolved that one,” said Mendelius tartly.
    “They judged him a madman.”
    “Not I,” said Anton Cardinal Drexel firmly.
    “I believed, I still believe, his position as Pontiff was untenable. There was no way he could have functioned in the face of so much opposition. But mad? Never!”
    “A lying prophet, then?”
    For the first time Drexel’s mask-like visage betrayed his emotion.
    “That’s a terrible thought!”
    “He asked me to judge him, Eminence. I had to consider every possible verdict.”
    “He is not a liar.”
    “Do you