‘I should have guessed,’ said Michelangelo, absent-mindedly rending apart a small loaf, occasionally popping a morsel of the soft bread in his mouth. ‘There were so many clues in the design of Julius’s tomb. His Holiness was practically telling me the secret …’
‘I think not,’ answered Admiral Slovo very slowly, as if afraid of being misunderstood. ‘You have a subtle and discursive mind, well stocked by interest and education. Pope Julius is likewise when sober – and calm – but differs in thinking himself alone in being so. One starts off not tolerating fools gladly and ends up thinking all men fools; that is the way of it. You see, normally, the secret passes from Pope to Pope, and a very few select others, and hitherto there has been wisdom and modesty enough to maintain discretion.’
‘Even with a Borgia Pope?’ exclaimed Michelangelo.
‘Rodrigo – that is to say, Alexander VI – was capable of good sense and virtue,’ said Slovo defensively, ‘although he found the world such a playground that he saw few occasions for either. But yes; he kept the trust. Even Cesare did not use the information to his advantage.’
Michelangelo was clearly impressed.
‘And that was wise,’ Slovo continued, ‘for wilful and promiscuous employment of the knowledge could lead to only one end. Mother Church, much as we may mock or neglect her as we might our earthly mothers, is a mother still. The one thing she cannot tolerate is the questioning of her marriage’s validity in front of her children. Do you follow me?’
‘The other people who’ve found out … from time to time,’ said Michelangelo, putting what he already knew, but couldn’t accept, in the form of a question, ‘they were killed, weren’t they?’
‘Well, of course,’ said Slovo. ‘What else? These are not soft times. Even from a gospel of love, a certain robustness of response is bound to be encountered.’
‘I should have guessed!’ snapped Michelangelo, his anxiety coming round full circle. ‘When he summoned me last year and showed me the plans for St Peter’s, I should have guessed something.’
Admiral Slovo’s hand gestured meaningless sympathy.
‘… a titanic marble tomb,’ Michelangelo rambled on, ‘a testimony to his perceived greatness; that I could understand. One almost expects it of the modern sort of Pope, albeit on a lesser scale. But what he wanted was more than that. It was a slap in the face to decency. Moreover, it was entirely unchristian. Actually, I rather liked it!’
‘For which reason, you accepted the commission?’ said Slovo.
‘Oh yes, the sheer monstrousness of it appealed to me. In constructing it, I would share in the immortality of its intended occupant. A shocked world would not lightly forget the creator of the Hecatomb of Julius. And lasting fame is my one unvarying desire.’
‘Then I now see a way out of your present predicament, Sculptor – but pray continue.’
‘It was to be three storeys high, studded with forty massive statues. I even finished one of them – the Moses – and made it look like Julius when he’s drunk and itching with the “French disease”.’
‘But he didn’t recognize himself,’ said Slovo. ‘Fortunately for you.’
‘No, I didn’t think he would. Anyway, there were to be these friezes depicting the travails and death of antiquity, and their gods bound and tortured by the new revelation. The allegorical statues touched on that as well but mostly they were of personified virtues – the fierce, martial ones – representing the qualities of the man within. They were to wind their way around and up the tomb, alongside all the victories of Rome, past and present, all the prostrate cities and captive nations, right up to the final storey where—’
‘Where Julius himself …?’ hazarded Slovo.
‘That’s correct. Encased in a marble effigy, thrice life-size and thirty times as handsome: topped by a mob of angels exulting over their gain, and the Earth deploring its loss.’
‘Rather than a wicked old soul about to meet his maker,’ observed the Admiral.
‘If you say so. I’ll give him this though; funding was limitless: I’ve never had such quantities of marble at my disposal. Not only that, but I had the go ahead to put red and gold tongues of fire up and down its entire height – and onyx to create deep internal shadow. There was even a requisition for five hundred skulls to be brought up from the catacombs to decorate the base. I tell you, Admiral, it was the greatest project I’m ever likely to have.’
‘Possibly not,’ said Slovo, trying to employ the tone of kindness, ‘but go on.’
‘And then I had to go and make sure of things, to guarantee my work’s survival by deepening its foundations beyond that agreed. My workmen broke through an old floor level and summoned me, they’re all dead I suppose …’
‘I’m afraid so, Sculptor. They sleep with the Tiber fishes.’
‘As shall I, because of what I know,’ conceded Michelangelo in deep despond.
Admiral Slovo re-attracted his attention by tapping the table with the pommel of his (spare) stiletto. ‘Not necessarily,’ he said. ‘If His Holiness required your presence in Paradise, it would have been effected before now. In common with all mankind, you must eat and drink, and walk in the streets – there is no escape from the desire of a Prince should it and he be sufficiently strong. The deed could be done even now, with this blade which was overlooked by your Englishman’s search.’
‘Oh!’ said Michelangelo, studying the needle with rapt fascination and recommencing his attack on the bread.
‘But it shall not,’ said Slovo comfortingly. ‘In the event, I now see a tunnel through which you may scamper to survive and prosper. His Holiness has cancelled the tomb project in St Peter’s. Naturally, he wishes no more attention drawn to that spot. But Julius – and the Church – may be served in more ways than one …’
‘I am overjoyed,’ said Michelangelo, sounding far from it.
‘Whilst at the same time ensuring both your current life-span and the immortality you so crave.’
Michelangelo suddenly revived and cast the maimed loaf over one shoulder. ‘You have my undivided attention, Admiral.’
‘Then listen, with infinite care,’ said Admiral Slovo.
And so Michelangelo did, gradually growing more cheerful and expansive.
‘Still,’ he said, after an hour had passed, ‘it is quite a sight to have seen, Admiral, do you not agree?’
Slovo shrugged noncommittally. ‘I only had the barest glimpse,’ he said, ‘through the tiniest of approved peep-holes. Pope Julius permitted it so as to bind me to him for life.’
‘They were all there,’ continued Michelangelo in a voice of wonder, ‘spread out for me to see. Of course, when the workmen broke through, I had them widen the hole – to get a good view. I think I spent a day and night observing, forgetting all about food and sleep. I yearned with my artist’s heart to paint that scene – I still do – though I know I never shall. All the sketches I made are safely burnt.’ Swallowing his emotions, he queried, ‘How old do you think that chamber is, Admiral?’
‘No one knows. Certainly as old as Rome itself. However, since I saw representatives of the Hittite and Assyrian pantheons down there, I suspect that the vault’s history may long predate Romulus and Remus.’
‘Or,’ mused Michelangelo, ‘possibly they were brought there from similar prisons in previous Empires.’
‘Maybe so,’ conceded Slovo. ‘Assyria defeats Egypt; Babylon defeats Assyria and so on and on through Persia, Greece, Parthia and Rome – the booty of one passes to its successor.’
‘And the new Rome marches on,’ said Michelangelo, warming to his subject as his inner vistas lengthened. ‘Such a teeming crowd of many shapes and colours. I saw gods from the New Americas, freshly arrived[10] and bickering with a Thor and Odin more accustomed to captivity. Oh yes, Admiral, they’re all there – Mars and Mithras, Serapis and Set – the whole lot. Jupiter the Unconquered Sun (only he is conquered now) conversed with Osiris; all the glorious portrayals of antiquity were made flesh. It was a complete convocation of every deity that human fear and society’s needs ever gave birth to.’
10
If Michelangelo is to be believed, then they arrived prematurely, since Cortes did not set sail until 1519, 13 years in the future. Perhaps Quetzalcoatl and Huitzilopochtli, given their supernatural talents, knew when the game was over and gave themselves up.