Elisabetta felt an overwhelming sadness wash over her. ‘Could I ask a question of you?’
‘Of course, Sister,’ Aspromonte said.
‘My mother died when I was a girl. She was an historian. She found a document in the Vatican Secret Archives, a sixteenth-century letter from John Dee, a man who could have been a Lemures. Her research privileges were cancelled and within days she became ill and died. I think she was poisoned.’
‘What was her name?’ Aspromonte asked.
‘Flavia Celestino. She passed away in 1985.’
The Cardinals whispered among themselves. ‘We don’t know of her,’ Diaz said.
‘Before we were abducted, Father Tremblay told me that he knew the name of the man who had the John Dee letter removed from the archive. It was Riccardo Agnelli. He was the personal secretary to someone who is now a cardinal.’
‘I know Agnelli!’ Diaz exclaimed. ‘He died some years ago. I’ll tell you who he worked for! He worked for Giaccone!’
‘Then she was murdered,’ Elisabetta said, her eyes stinging.
‘I’m so sorry, my dear,’ Aspromonte said. ‘Your life has been traumatized again and again by these fiends.’ He reached for her hands and she gave them up freely. ‘Why, we must ask, has the Lord tried you so?’
Diaz interrupted impatiently. ‘An important question, I’m sure, but we have some practical work to do first. We have concerns about these matters becoming public. Imagine what the reaction would be among the faithful if they knew about the Lemures. And we aren’t even sure what we’re up against. Where are they lurking? And who knows how many of them even exist? Do you have any idea about these things?’
Elisabetta shook her head and Aspromonte released her hands.
Diaz leaned closer. ‘Perhaps these Slovenians and Giaccone were the leaders. Perhaps there aren’t so many of them. If Hackel hasn’t drowned himself he must be caught. Regardless, he will be identified as the perpetrator of the bombing. He was deranged, bitter, disgruntled after becoming aware that he would never become the head of the Guards. We have worked this out.’
Elisabetta listened incredulously. ‘I’m sorry, Your Excellency, maybe it’s not for me to say – but do you think it’s the right thing to suppress the truth?’
Aspromonte jumped in before Diaz could answer. ‘After hearing a preliminary report of your ordeal and reviewing the facts as we know them, the Cardinal Bishops met late into the night discussing the matter. I mustn’t speak of these deliberations but perhaps some members, myself included, were more inclined than others toward the view which I believe you possess. But we debated the issues with great solemnity and with prayerful guidance and we speak as one. We think it is better to spare the world such a great anxiety. We think there is more harm to be done than good.’ Then he added, ‘In the afternoon, we will start the Conclave again in this very room, under this great symbol, the Crux Vaticans. We will have a new Pope. Perhaps the new Holy Father will have a different view. We shall see.’
‘In the meantime,’ Diaz said, ‘we must have your silence. We know that Major Celestino will do his duty. We need your sister and father to do likewise. Can you guarantee their discretion?’
Micaela had never been accused of discretion, Elisabetta thought, but she nodded. ‘I will speak to them. I’m sure they will agree. But what about Krek? And the other man Micaela had to kill? Krek was a very wealthy man. The police were there. Surely this will come out!’
‘I think not,’ Diaz said. ‘The Slovenian Ambassador to the Vatican has had a busy night. The Slovenian government has no desire for the facts ever to be known about Damjan Krek. He was quite far to the right, certainly no friend of the country’s political leaders. They’ve already begun circulating the word that Krek and Mulej died in a murder-suicide. It seems that they were having a homosexual affair. Their bodies will be cremated.’
Elisabetta held her tongue. ‘And the skeletons of St Callixtus? What will become of them?’
‘They’re already on their way back to Italy. They’ll go into storage. The new Pope will choose the next President of the Pontifical Commission for Sacred Archeology. Decisions will be made in good time.’
Elisabetta had only one more question. ‘And what of me?’ she asked.
Diaz rubbed his face. ‘I have to tell you, Sister, that you could be of great service to us here in the Vatican. I, for one, would like to see you pick up the staff that fell from Father Tremblay’s hand and continue his important work. No one is in a better position to fight these Lemures than you.’
Elisabetta’s lower lip quivered uncontrollably. ‘Please, Your Excellency. I will do whatever the Church demands of me but I beg you, please let me go back to my school.’
Aspromonte smiled. ‘Of course you can, my dear, of course you can. Go in Christ.’
After Elisabetta had left them, the two cardinals faced each other, their expressions grim. ‘It’s a pity,’ Diaz said. ‘She’s young with an agile mind. It seems it’s left to old men like you and me to carry on this struggle.’
It was five o’clock in the afternoon.
They had been meeting for just three hours but the Cardinal Electors looked weary and shell-shocked.
They sat in the Sacristy of St Peter’s in a chamber that had never been intended for this purpose. Tables and an altar unused since the last Papal Synod had been brought in from the adjacent Paul VI Audience Hall.
A new batch of ballots had been hastily printed, each beginning with the words: Eligo in Summum Pontificem – I elect as Supreme Pontiff.
When they had put their pens down, Cardinal Franconi summoned the Electors one by one, in order of their precedence, to the altar where each man presented the ballot to one of the Cardinal Scrutineers and swore in Latin, ‘I call as my witness Christ the Lord who will be my judge, that my vote is given to the one who before God I think should be elected.’
When all the ballots had been cast, one Scrutineer shook the container and another removed a ballot and read the name aloud.
As the balloting progressed there was a growing chorus of whispers but when the senior Scrutineer read the results the whispers were replaced by silence.
Cardinal Diaz rose and stretched himself to his full height.
He strode to the row of tables on his right, stood in front of one man and looked down.
‘Acceptasne electionem de te canonice factam in Summum Pontificem?’ Diaz asked. Do you accept your canonical election as Supreme Pontiff?
Cardinal Aspromonte had been looking down at his clasped hands.
He turned his eyes upwards, met his old friend’s gaze and hesitated for a very long time before nodding. ‘Accepto, in nomine Domini.’
‘Quo nomine vis vocari?’ Diaz asked. By what name will you be called?
Aspromonte raised his voice for all to hear. ‘Celestine VI.’
The old oven and chimney of the Sistine Chapel were gone so the fireplace in the Papal residence was used in its place. It was an eerie sight. St Peter’s Square was still cordoned off and empty except for a smattering of Vatican workers. But there were crowds outside the gates craning their necks and at the sight of plumes of white smoke against a pale evening sky a roar went up that echoed throughout Rome.
Elisabetta kicked off her shoes and lay fully dressed on her old bed, in her old room, in her old school.
It felt unimaginably good to be back with the nuns of the convent. After communal dinner, Sister Marilena had made a little speech about the two joyous events she urged them to dwell on – the election of a new pope and the return of their Elisabetta – rather than the horrific ones of the previous day.