“You have done well, Enrico,” he said gravely. “We did not expect that such a great undertaking as the unity of all Christendom could be achieved without difficulty, and some loss of life among the most obdurate.”
Palombara knew instantly that Vicenze had already been here and reported a greater success than in fact they had had.
He had a sudden acute sense that the man opposite him was weighed down beyond his ability to bear. There were heavy shadows in his face. Was that repetitive cough more than a cold come with the beginning of winter?
“There are too many people whose reputation, and all the honor or power they have, lies in their allegiance to the Orthodox Church,” Palombara replied. “One cannot claim divine guidance and then change one’s mind.” He wished to smile at the irony of it, but he saw no glimpse of humor in Gregory’s eyes, only indecision and a coming darkness. It frightened him, because it was one more piece of evidence that even the pope did not have that bright certainty of God that surely came with true sanctity. Palombara saw only a tired man searching for the best of many resolutions, none of them complete.
“The resistance is mostly among the monks,” Palombara continued. “And high clergy whose offices will no longer exist once the center of power has moved here to Rome. And there are the eunuchs. There is no place for them in the Roman Church. They have much to lose, and as they see it, nothing to gain.”
Gregory frowned. “Can they cause us trouble? Palace servants? Churchmen without…” He shrugged slightly and coughed again. “Without temptation of the flesh, and therefore without the possibility of true holiness. Is it not better for all that their species die out?”
Intellectually, Palombara agreed with him. The mutilation repelled him, and if he thought about it in detail, it frightened him. Yet when he had said the word eunuch, he had been thinking of Nicephoras, the wisest and most cultured man he had encountered at Michael’s court. And of Anastasius, who was even more effeminate; there was nothing manly about him at all. Anastasius’s intelligence, and even more the fire of his emotions, had caught Palombara in a way he could not dismiss. In spite of his loss of manhood, the healer had a passion for life that Palombara had never felt. He both pitied and envied him, and the contradiction of it was disturbing.
“It is an offense, a denial, Holy Father,” he agreed. “And yet they have merit, even if their abstinence is enforced. I doubt it is of their own choosing in most cases, so there can be no blame…”
Gregory’s expression hardened in the pale winter sun slanting in through the windows. “If a child is not baptized, it is not the child’s choosing, Enrico, yet it is still lost to Paradise. Be careful when you make such sweeping statements. You tread on delicate ground where doctrine is concerned. We do not question the judgments of God.”
Palombara felt a chill. It was not the warning or the chastisement, it was far deeper than that. It was the denial of passion, of certainty, of knowing everything was perfectly and brilliantly true, beautiful to the mind and the soul, as the things of God should be. Did he know an unbaptized child was lost to Paradise? He knew that was taught, but was it by God? Or was it by man, in order to enlarge the flock and therefore the power of the Church, ultimately their own dominion?
How did Gregory, and the Church, conceive of God? Were they creating Him in their own image, essentially shallow, seeking more and more praise, obedience, purchased by fear of damnation? Was man seeking anything beyond himself, not curtailed by the boundaries of his own imagination?
Who dared beyond that, crashing alone into the bright, silent world of… what? Infinite light? Or just a white void?
Palombara knew now, in this beautiful winter-pale room in the Vatican, that in his soul he believed that Gregory had no more idea than he had, simply no desire or compulsion to ask.
“I apologize, Holy Father,” he said contritely, sorry for having disheartened an old man whose life hung upon his certainties. “I spoke hastily, because I gained respect for the wisdom of some of the eunuchs at the emperor’s court, and I would exclude no one from the saving grace of truth. I fear we have much work yet to do in Byzantium before we win any loyalty deeper than the fear of our physical violence toward them if they fail.”
“Fear can be the beginning of wisdom,” Gregory pointed out. He looked up suddenly and met Palombara’s eyes. He saw the skepticism in them, and possibly something of the darkness inside.
Palombara nodded in acquiescence.
“But I have other plans to discuss,” Gregory said with sudden vigor. “The momentum is building for a new crusade, without the bloodshed of the past. I have decided to write to the emperor Michael inviting him to meet us in Brindisi next year. I will be able to speak to him, make better judgments of his strength, and his sincerity, and perhaps allay some of his fears.” He waited for Palombara’s reaction.
“Admirable, Holy Father,” he said with as much enthusiasm as he could put into his voice. “It will stiffen his resolve, and perhaps you will be able to suggest to him ways in which he can deal with his bishops of the old faith, and still retain their loyalty. He will be grateful to you, as will the Byzantine people. More important than that, of course, it is the right thing to do.”
Gregory smiled, quite clearly pleased with the response. “I am glad you see it so clearly, Enrico. I fear not everyone will.”
Palombara wondered instantly if Vicenze had argued. That would have been daring of him, or, more likely, simply highly insensitive. Had he seen Gregory’s failing health and already changed his allegiance? Perhaps Vicenze had information Palombara did not; otherwise it would be out of character. He never took risks.
“Others will understand in time, Holy Father,” Palombara said, despising the hypocrisy in himself.
“Yes indeed.” Gregory pursed his lips. “But we have much to do to prepare.” He leaned forward a little. “We need all Italy with us, Enrico. There is much money to raise, and of course men, horses, armor, machines of war. And food, and ships. I have legates in all the capitals of Europe, and Venice will come because there is so much profit in it for them, as there always has been. Naples and the south will have no choice, because Charles of Anjou will see to it. It is the cities of Tuscany, Umbria, and the Regno that concern me.”
In spite of his desire to be impervious to the fires of ambition, Palombara felt a flutter of excitement inside himself. “Yes, Holy Father…”
“Begin with Florence,” Gregory said. “It is rich. There is a stirring of life and thought there that will reward us well, if we nurture it. They are loyal to us. Then I want you to seek out what support we have in Arezzo. That will be harder, I know. Their loyalties are to the Holy Roman Emperor. But you have proved your mettle in Byzantium.” He smiled bleakly. “I know what you have told me of Michael Palaeologus, Enrico, and I am not as blind as your tact imagines. I know what you have not told me, by virtue of your silences. Go, and report back to me by the middle of January.”
“Yes, Holy Father,” Palombara said with an enthusiasm he could not conceal. “Yes, I will.”
On the last night before leaving Florence, Palombara dined with his old friend Alighiero de Belincione and Lapa, the woman he had lived with since the death of his wife. They had two small children, Francesco and Gaetana, and Alighiero’s son Dante, from his previous marriage.