Hildebrand, when he replied, had no need to seek to appear cunning. His features inclined towards that naturally — his trouble was an appearance of sincerity. ‘It could be in our interest to set them at each other’s throats.’
‘Would it not, Hildebrand,’ Desiderius responded with a sigh, ‘be better to bring them to a peaceful understanding?’
‘Understanding, with a Norman?’ Hildebrand sneered. ‘No such thing is possible, but let us leave that aside, as we have other matters to consider.’
‘I beg you not to go to them,’ the abbot replied, for he had a very good idea of what was coming.
‘I do not comprehend you, Desiderius. The Supreme Office is yours for the asking. Not a voice would be raised, even in Bamberg, if you assumed the papacy.’
‘One voice would object most heartily, Hildebrand, and that is my own. I do not want it.’
‘Well,’ Hildebrand replied, in a way that did nothing to convince Desiderius he accepted his decision, ‘I will convey that to the Curia, but do not be surprised if they do not accept it.’
‘It is not an office that can be forced on any man.’
‘What if it is the will of God?’
‘How can one be sure of that, when it is expressed through mere mortals?’
‘You should pray for guidance.’
‘That must wait till tomorrow morning,’ was the reply, as the abbot made to depart. ‘Until then I shall do as I intended before you sent for me and sit vigil by Pope Alexander’s catafalque. If my supplications have any value, which I doubt, then they should be employed to see that good man into the arms of Our Lord, not me into his vacant chair.’
Hildebrand went back to the arrangements for the next day’s interment; having buried four pontiffs, it was a task to which he was well accustomed, but he had other concerns, not least how to persuade the man who had just departed that it was his duty to accept the mitre of St Peter and his own personal feelings had no bearing. If he felt it a burden all he would have, if he so wanted, were the trappings; Hildebrand had been running things for so long, down to the most tedious level, and he could continue to do so if asked.
Unbeknown to him, there were several conversations of the same topic being carried out in houses as well as palaces all over Rome, as the assembled cardinals and bishops met with the Roman aristocrats to see where they had common ground in the election of a successor to Alexander. What emerged took much overnight scurrying to and fro from meeting to meeting, as well as messages flying between the most important locations. In a city where plotting was endemic, the sole surprise was the speed of unanimity in coming to a conclusion between such disparate entities.
Those divines who had risen to high office in the last twenty years found, to their surprise, that they shared a desire with the leading Roman families for an outcome, and given those same aristocrats controlled the mob, and they could with their coins direct them to carry out their aims, it fell to these families to make necessary arrangements to ensure the right candidate was elected.
Hildebrand was up long before it was light, first to say his devotions and then prepare for the coming ceremony, made sad by contemplation, because he had loved Alexander as a person as well as he had served and guided him faithfully. As that, he would have liked to lead the procession to the nearby Lateran Basilica where Alexander was to be interred, but even as Chancellor of the Apostolic See he must give precedence to cardinals, the senior bishops and abbots like Desiderius, now assembling with the clergy of Rome to perform the ceremony of consecration and burial. It was fitting that he fast this day, so with only a sip of watered wine to sustain him he stood while his servants robed him in his vestments, trying, and as usual failing, to make him look as noble as he should.
Outside, when he emerged, stood the Church of Rome assembled and his heart swelled to see their magnificence: vestments of heavy silk sown with pearls and jewels, crosses of solid gold, studded with gems, to be carried in procession, all the trappings that testified to the glory of God and his Vicar on Earth. In his lifetime the religion for which he had toiled so hard had been much reduced, and if his efforts had restored its pride he had also been instrumental in the restoration of its revenues to the point that there was no display of splendour it could not undertake. Yet for all that glitter, there was Desiderius, still simply robed as the monk he was, and the two exchanged greetings, an act repeated with all those whom Hildebrand had summoned to Rome. But no time was wasted and the bishop who would perform the Mass went to the head of the gathering to lead the catafalque and those who would follow it the short distance to the basilica.
A huge crowd of citizens had gathered, both high-born and low, and they fell in behind, the aristocrats naturally to the front. Most would be barred from the interior of the Lateran Basilica — space would not allow them all entry — but equity as well as sound policy dictated that a number of representatives of the guilds as well as the urban poor be admitted. For the rest, they would remain in the plaza yet still take full part in the Mass, conducted to them by relays of priests. Smoky incense filled the air as the bearers swung their thuribles and the plainchant of the accompanying monks rose in a slow but sweet dirge, which changed its note as it went from the open air and entered the high-roofed building, echoing off the rafters.
In a ceremony that would last half the day there was no sign of impatience; the congregations of Rome were accustomed to lengthy Masses as well as the stifling heat of packed humanity; there was no room for a communion wafer between the shoulders of the crowd. It was only when the final prayers were said over the coffin that the murmuring started, a beehive-like noise that made bile rise in Hildebrand’s throat and his blood begin to surge, for it showed a lack of respect to the man being interred.
Then he recognised his name, first being whispered, then called, to be finally shouted, and he felt a frisson of fear. It had not happened for a long time, but it was not unknown for a Roman mob to string up someone they blamed for a real or perceived sin, and Alexander had been a much loved pontiff, added to which no pope died without rumours spreading through the seven hills and foul-smelling slums of rank deeds being involved in his passing. The noise grew, becoming universal, and it was only then he understood what it was they were yelling and that induced in his heart a feeling of cold fear.
Those close by, all clerics, parted to let through to him the poorer members of the laity, and it was their hands that took him and lifted him bodily to bear him out of the church where he was greeted by a screaming and packed mob. From being hustled along Hildebrand was suddenly lying flat on his back being passed over a sea of hands, he saying as he was transported a loudly expressed prayer to God that was drowned out by the cacophony all around him. They bore him to the Church of St Peter Viniculus, where Alexander had been crowned, the only pope to use that church, and still the cry went up to rebound off a second set of church rafters and, even if he did not know it, throughout the crammed streets and squares until it seemed the whole of the Eternal City spoke with one voice and the cry was: ‘Hildebrand for Pope! Hildebrand for Pope!’
All those chosen to elect Alexander’s successor had followed and were now in conclave, which gave Hildebrand some hope, for canonical elections in their progress were long, drawn-out affairs; opinions were canvassed, names put forward and rejected — sometimes days, even weeks went by before consensus was arrived at and a candidate accepted. The Curia elected Hildebrand in less time than it took to consume a full flagon of wine and such was the cheering that no one could hear him protest that he could not be pontiff, for he was only a monk in lesser orders, not a fully consecrated priest, even less a bishop, which the Pope must be.