Magnificat (29 page)

The Franciscan nodded and withdrew.

“Does he always have so much to say?” asked Cardinal Cadini, who could never understand Cardinal van Hooven’s preference for silent servants.

“He made a vow to speak only when necessary. He used to be very talkative, and that compromised two Brothers at his monastery. He found them doing something they ought not to, vowed he would reveal nothing of their activities—”

“Which he should not have done,” Cardinal Cadini interjected.

“Perhaps,” said Cardinal van Hooven. “But he forgot his vow, ended up gossiping about the Brothers, and they, in turn were asked to leave the Order. Poor Brother Crispino tried to kill himself—”

“It gets better and better,” said Cardinal Cadini.

“And his Abbot, whom I’ve known for decades, asked me if I’d take him on.” He leaned back. “Which I did.”

“To keep your hand in as a psychiatrist?” Cardinal Cadini suggested. “Well, if it saves him from mortal sin, why not?” He lowered his head. “I understand Cardinal Mendosa’s finally got a Chinese translation of the Bible and is trying to explain it to Zhuang. He says that she is not a very promising convert. She has argued with almost everything he has read with her. I think he enjoys the arguments, given the way he complains, but—”

“But you’re worried what it might mean when she actually gets here,” said Cardinal van Hooven. “You think she’ll end up in direct confrontations with the College of Cardinals and the Curia.”

“Yes,” said Cardinal Cadini simply. “I’m also afraid that she might expect that the rest of us will be like Cardinal Mendosa.”

Cardinal van Hooven laughed at once. “Should we all hurry out and purchase cowboy boots, do you think?” He grew more serious. “That might be awkward for all of us.”

“Mendosa says that he’s explained to her that all the Cardinals are very different, but how much she has believed is anyone’s guess.” Cardinal Cadini folded his stubby fingers. “I hope she has a strong will and a lot of good sense.”

“And I,” said Cardinal van Hooven, his magnified eyes seeming to grow larger as he spoke.

“It would not be correct for us to speak to her against the others. It would be a violation of our duty to the Church.” Cardinal Cadini said it as if it were a lesson. “But if she does not know how things are here, she might well.…”

“What ought we to do?” Cardinal van Hooven asked, one hand raised. “What can we say to her that will make her aware of her vulnerability? We must not compromise the College of Cardinals, but—”

“But we must not compromise the Pope, either,” said Cardinal Cadini. “And that slices it rather fine.”

“It is a very delicate matter,” said Cardinal van Hooven. “And you may be certain that the others will want to talk to her, to warn her against us. They have their zeal to provide a reason to act against the College of Cardinals. I have thought a great deal about how we must be alert to their manipulations, and do our best not to make the same error ourselves, and force the Church into a second schism.”

Brother Crispino came back with a tray which he put down on the end-table beside Cardinal van Hooven. He bowed, waited in silence for Cardinal van Hooven to bless him, then left.

“I think he would drive me distracted,” said Cardinal Cadini as he accepted a small cup of pungent, bitter espresso. “But if it doesn’t bother you, then I suppose—”

“From time to time it does bother me,” Cardinal van Hooven admitted. “But then I remind myself that Brother Crispino is not the only one of us who has to deal with doubts and conflict.”

“Um,” said Cardinal Cadini, and not because of the hot coffee. “How long do you intend to keep him around?”

“As long as it takes, I assume,” said Cardinal van Hooven. “You must try one of these pastries. They’re marvelous. The cook uses fresh cream when he makes the brandy-custard filling.”

“Sister Fabiola would pull my ears off if she knew I was eating this,” said Cardinal Cadini as he took one of the offered pastries. Cardinal van Hooven was right—it was marvelous.

* * *

Long experience in the rarefied world of diplomacy made it possible for Dame Leonie Purcell not to be outwardly astonished when she was summoned to the telephone shortly after six in the morning, with the information that the Premier of the People’s Republic of China wished to speak with her; he was on the line and holding.

“Tell Zuo Nangkao I will be with him directly,” she said as she climbed out of bed and tried to get her mind in gear. As she went down the hall she pulled on a silk robe over her cotton nightgown, glad that there were no video telephones in general operation between Hong Kong and Beijing.

A night secretary was waiting for her, speaking with the assistant to the Premier in that necessary and inane small-talk that buffered so much diplomacy. He looked up as Dame Leonie came through the door, his face showing the strain of the conversation, for although his Chinese was excellent, he was tired after a long night manning the telephones. After a few flowery excuses, he put the assistant on hold. “I don’t know what this is all about,” he said as Dame Leonie took her place behind the desk.

“Well, make sure the recorders are getting all this and that the scrambler is scrambling properly,” she said, speaking more brusquely than usual. “Thanks for handling this so far.”

“Pleasure,” said the secretary, getting up from his desk as he transferred the call to her telephone. He bowed slightly and left the room.

“This is Leonie Purcell,” she said, aware that she still sounded sleepy.

“Good morning, Madame Ambassadress,” said the assistant in Beijing in very good English. “I hope this call does not inconvenience you.”

“Certainly not. I am always pleased to speak with representatives of Premier Zuo,” she said, her Chinese impeccable. If there was a voice stress analyzer on the far end of the line, they would know this statement for the lie it was. “What am I to have the honor of doing for Premier Zuo?”

“He will explain it to you himself,” said the assistant, adding a few polite phrases before turning the call over to his superior.

“Dame Leonie,” said Zuo Nangkao. “I’m very sorry to disturb you at this early hour, but there is something of immediate importance we must discuss, and I have a very full calendar today. It would be impossible to have this discussion any later than now.”

She again declared that it was perfectly all right to get her up, and assured the Premier she was delighted to have this opportunity to further their mutual interests. She wanted to ask him what this was all about but knew that she would have to wait for him to tell her; prodding would be counterproductive.

“I am sure you are aware that we have arranged for Zhuang Renxin to obtain an exit visa in order to go to Rome,” he said with a directness that warned Dame Leonie this could be more difficult than she first assumed.

“Yes, Premier Zuo, I am aware of that,” she said, speaking with precision. She could hear the night secretary in the next room take a sharp breath.

“Yes, anyone heeding the news has become aware of this.” Zuo sounded a trifle impatient, but he suppressed this as he went on. “There are a number of reasons why it might be awkward for the Magistrate to depart from Beijing, not excluding the international press corps stationed here. It could be supposed that the government endorses Magistrate Zhuang’s new position, which it does not. I have been led to understand that it might be best if her departure were more of a private affair.”

“I can understand such reservations,” said Dame Leonie, wondering if his intent could be what she suspected it was. “The press have already had a carnival with her election, and they are determined to make the most of it now.”

“Exactly. You see why I am turning to you.” He infused his voice with as much warmth as he was capable of producing. “I am convinced I can rely on you to be discreet and efficient.”

“In what capacity, Premier?” asked Dame Leonie, wanting to scream.

“For a variety of reasons, I am of the opinion that Hong Kong would be a more satisfactory point of egress than Beijing. There is still a significant western presence in Hong Kong and the people are more familiar with the traditions of the West,” he said glibly. “If Magistrate Zhuang leaves for Rome from there, doubtless you can better protect her and grant her the security she will need.”

And you will not be faced with the possibility of having something go wrong. If anything happens, it will fall in my lap, thank you very much, thought Dame Leonie; she made herself sound pleased. “Why, how kind of you to have such regard for what this embassy can do, Premier Zuo.”

“It may well be a…what is the phrase?” prompted Zuo Nangkao.

“Feather in my cap?” Dame Leonie suggested, doing her best not to say it through her teeth. It was bad enough that he expected her to deal with so diplomatically touchy a figure as Zhuang Renxin; he wanted her to be obligated to him for it.

“That is the one. A very colorful metaphor, isn’t it?” He was jovial now. “I will give orders, since you are so willing, that instead of coming to Beijing, the Magistrate is to proceed with her escort to Hong Kong where she will be entrusted to your care and protection. I must admit that having so strong a British influence there has turned out better than I first anticipated it would.”

How improper it would be to swear at the Premier of the People’s Republic of China, Dame Leonie chided herself. Improper, but vastly satisfying. “I am sure the British government is in complete agreement, Premier Zuo.” She began to make a mental list of those she would have to contact immediately; it was very long. “When should we expect to receive Magistrate Zhuang?”

“Oh, nothing too inconvenient. I suppose we could say she will be there in six days.” The tone of his voice revealed he was smiling. “I know you will be prepared by then.”

“Of course,” said Dame Leonie. “In six days, then.” She wanted to shriek at him, to remind him of the security problems such a guest at the compound would create. Her temper flared, but her training kept her from lashing out. “I am pleased to be able to extend our hospitality to so remarkable a guest,” she could not resist adding. Then she made one last inquiry. “When you say her escort, do you include Cardinal Mendosa and his translator among them?”

Premier Zuo answered at once. “That is an excellent notion. How good of you to suggest it, Dame Leonie. I had not wanted to impose on you further but I think perhaps you are right, and Magistrate Zhuang would be best served having those two gentlemen accompany her for the entirety of her journey.”

It was the one thing in this telephone call that gave Dame Leonie a sense of real happiness. For once she did not need to summon up her social graces to give Zuo Nangkao the answer he wanted. “I’ll make sure the gentlemen are made welcome, Premier.”

“I am most sincerely indebted to you for your generosity,” said Premier Zuo hastily. “I will see that you receive a full written statement of our agreed terms and the arrangements with tomorrow’s courier.”

She realized he was about to terminate their conversation. “I will return a signed copy of it, if you wish, Premier.”

“It is deeply appreciated. I am certain you have been very wise, agreeing to act as the liaison for Magistrate Zhuang in her travels to the West. Accept my good wishes for a pleasant and productive morning, Dame Leonie.” With that he hung up, leaving Dame Leonie holding the receiver and puzzling over all she had just heard.

Chapter 16

About an hour before dawn Dominique, Cardinal Hetre woke from troubled sleep. He sat up in bed, propping his five feather pillows behind him. He did not want to summon assistance, for he knew what his staff thought about these episodes—it was the same thing they thought about his headaches. He had heard them discussing his health, complaining that the Cardinal fancied himself an invalid. The worst of the lot was Father Gamba from Toronto, who made no secret of his opinion.

Cardinal Hetre crossed himself and attempted to pray, but he could think of nothing to say to God Who had so bitterly disappointed him. After a short while, he began to address Mary, God’s Mother, perpetually Virgin. For the first time the phrase sounded ludicrous. He had never questioned dogma before, not seriously, but now the concept of a woman who had given birth to a child, no matter how miraculously conceived, afterwards remaining perpetually virgin struck him as absurd. No woman could make such a claim. Unless the child was born by caesarean section, which was not the case. He could not imagine that God would take the time to rebuild Mary’s hymen, or that Jesus had found a way to work around it on the way out.

“Blasphemy,” he whispered. “Forgive me, forgive me.” He joined his hands, rocking back and forth in his bed, horrified at the things that came unbidden to his thoughts.

At last, in order to do something other than continue to fret, he got up, moving as quietly as he could so that he would not wake the members of his staff who shared his quarters. He suspected that at least one of them was up, moving about, keeping an eye on him. They were all waiting for him to go to pieces; he had come to that realization in the last few days. He went through his dressing room into his study, and there sat down at his desk. As he caught his lower lip in his teeth, he stared at the telephone and pretended he could not remember the number Mister Greene had give him. Truth was, it was etched in his mind. Nothing, not sleep, not prayer, not thundering headaches could expunge it. The man had told him to call at any time, he thought grimly, and could not complain.

Finally he reached for the receiver, reminding himself that Mister Greene had started their dealings, not he, and that he was responding to an offer, not creating a scandal and seeking allies to mitigate his involvement.

To Cardinal Hetre’s amazement, Greene himself answered on the fourth ring. He did not sound sleepy or grouchy. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Mister Greene. This is Cardinal Hetre.” He kept his voice low, hoping he would not have to explain why he was doing it.

“Yes; I recognize you. I gather this means you have considered what we discussed. What do you want to tell me, Your Eminence?” He was cordially to-the-point. “Have you reached a decision?”

Cardinal Hetre swallowed hard. He had prayed for guidance, and had been given none. If God had any direction, He had not shown Cardinal Hetre the way; the Cardinal had come to the conclusion that he was free to do as he thought best. “Yes, I have. Not without difficulty. I am still not wholly convinced that your notion…I think your plan…I think your plan has much to recommend it, but I question its extremity. Were it not so great an issue, I would not want to be part of such a scheme. However for the preservation of the Papacy, we must do something to be rid of this Chinese woman.”

“And quickly. The rumor is that she will arrive in Rome within the week,” said Greene as if he had no particular interests in her plans.

“We have been given no official information.” He could not keep the resentment from his voice; it had been announced the evening before that Zhuang Renxin’s actual arrival time and location were to be kept secret, in order to avoid any leaks to the press, or those seeking to create an incident. At least, thought Cardinal Hetre darkly, that was the excuse they were all given. He was convinced that it was another example of Cardinal Mendosa’s trickery. “But I suppose it is correct security.”

“And you have made up your mind?” Greene asked.

“Yes,” said Cardinal Hetre, and took a great deal of strength from that simple word. “Yes. I have decided that although I am not used to making common cause with Protestants, in this instance it is the wisest course. Something must be done, and Protestants are Christians.” He looked up from the telephone, then recognized a distant bell. No one had found him yet.

“So you will help us to discredit her.” It was no longer a question.

Cardinal Hetre nodded, saying, “What else can I do? If I remain apathetic like so many of the other Cardinals, she will be here. A few of them are saying that the writing of her name twice removes all doubt and shows that God has taken a hand in our affairs. But that to me is where I have the gravest reservations, for if God were to make Himself known, would not a few of us have voted for someone else? It is the unanimity that nags me. I wrote her name twice, and I know in my soul I did not intend to, and that I do not want her here. That, to me, is not the work of the Holy Spirit, but something more diabolical.” His voice had risen and he made himself speak more softly. “There is too much to be lost to permit her to become Pope.”

“You believe she will be in Rome in a week,” said Greene when Cardinal Hetre’s outburst ended. “That gives me very little time to make arrangements, if you will let me say so.” He paused. “I want to consider what we do next very carefully. If we cannot stop her by public pressure while she is still in China, we must be willing to stop her when she arrives, by more explicit means.” Again he was silent for two heartbeats. “And if that cannot be done, we must seek a more complete solution.”

The first tweak of a new headache struck. “What do you mean by that? What means are more complete—”

Greene did not permit Cardinal Hetre to continue. “If she comes to Rome, it is her death warrant. How can we permit her to reign even one hour as Pope? That alone would be sufficient to shake the Christian world to its roots. She leaves us no other choice. She will be stopped.” He went on in a tone that purred with deadly intent. “You can see how we must be prepared for such a contingency.”

“Yes,” said Cardinal Hetre distantly, feeling that a chasm had opened at his feet. “I understand. I suppose it’s true. And Heaven knows that Popes have died for other reasons than old age before now.” He shuddered at the enormity of what they were saying. “But surely you know that in my position I cannot support such actions openly, though I see the need for them. No doubt if she cannot be kept away from Rome, the time may come when we have no choice but to be rid of her. She ought to have told Mendosa no, as so many of us expected her to do. If only she had done that. How can we oppose the Pope?”

“You have before,” Greene said flatly.

Cardinal Hetre sputtered. “But…b ut then he was one of us. Another Cardinal who was elevated, not this…this interloper.”

Greene chuckled as if Cardinal Hetre’s tribulation amused him. “Let me know when she is supposed to arrive, and where. My assistant will take a message. I will be busy between now and then.”

Cardinal Hetre heard Greene put down the receiver; he was shocked that Greene had not waited for his blessing.

* * *

Dame Leonie herself was in the limousine that met the twenty-passenger jet as it touched down in Hong Kong. She was accompanied by equal numbers of Chinese and British guards, all in dress uniforms, all standing beside their motorcycles. Beyond the end of the runway two riot-wagons waited, in case there was trouble. Police were stationed at various places around the airport, and two marksmen had been given strategic posts which covered the limousine and the section of runway where the jet would park. They were, Dame Leonie thought fatalistically, as ready as possible.

Stairs were rolled to the plane’s flank, the door opened, a steward stepping back as soon as the task was done. The guards all came to attention. There was no music because none could be agreed upon. Given the acrimony of the discussion, Dame Leonie had wanted to recommend the
Dies Irae
as the most appropriate.

Willie Foot was the first of the three passengers to step out of the plane. He looked down and called out, “All this for me?”

Dame Leonie choked back a laugh but could not conceal her smile. She knew better than to wave.

Behind him came Zhuang Renxin, her expression puzzled as she took in the military escort and the police. She glanced over her shoulder to the rangy Texan behind her, remarking that she did not like so much attention.

“You might as well get used to it. It is given in respect,” he told her in his faltering Chinese, adding in English to Willie, “How the hell do you say tribute?”

Willie supplied the word and continued to Magistrate Zhuang, “You’d better get used to it, Zhuang. This is just the beginning, and not a very impressive one. There will be tens of thousands of people waiting for you in Rome.”

“Which is why we are going to land in Milan,” said Mendosa, who had caught the drift of what Willie said. In the last two weeks his Chinese had improved significantly, though it was not adequate enough for talking with Zhuang unassisted.

“Who are they?” asked Zhuang Renxin in English. Her proficiency in English was better than Mendosa’s in Chinese now.

“Well, the woman in the long automobile is the British Ambassadress to Hong Kong,” said Willie with a touch of pride. “The Chinese soldiers you know. The ones in the fancy uniforms are British. They’ll accompany us to the embassy compound.” He started down the stairs behind Zhuang, taking care not to move too quickly. “Welcome to Hong Kong, Worthy Magistrate,” he said as she stepped onto the runway.

“I have heard much of this place,” said Magistrate Zhuang as he joined her. She had worn the same clothes she usually donned for presiding at her duties, but as she looked at Dame Leonie in her Chanel suit, she felt shabby, which was a new sensation for her. Though she had seen very fashionable clothes on television, she had never supposed people actually wore such garments except as costumes. At once she upbraided herself for these unworthy emotions. Dame Leonie had come by those clothes at the expense of others, she told herself inwardly. For the British Ambassadress to wear such a suit, many workers had to be exploited. That reflection made it more appropriate to bow respectfully to Dame Leonie as she approached.

Dame Leonie returned the bow and said to Zhuang Renxin in flawless Chinese, “It is great honor to meet you and welcome you to this city, Your Holiness.”

“That foolish title again,” scoffed Zhuang as she met Dame Leonie’s eyes. Such pretty eyes, she thought, and discovered that she could not dislike the Englishwoman no matter how much she thought she would.

“Get used to this, too, Worthy Magistrate,” said Cardinal Mendosa as he came up behind her. “Good to see you again, Dame Leonie,” he added, holding out his hand to her.

Dame Leonie saved her best smile for Willie. “It’s good to have you back.” She then presented the leader of the Chinese and then the leader of the British escort to Magistrate Zhuang, turning at last to the stretch limousine. “Please join me, won’t you? I have ordered a bottle of champagne for us on the drive back to the embassy.” Ordinarily she would have stood aside for Zhuang Renxin to enter the vehicle first, but she could see that the Magistrate was out of her depth, and so climbed in, leaving the best place empty.

Zhuang Renxin entered carefully, looking at the plush seats with wonder and distaste. “I have never been in such an automobile.”

“Not many people have,” said Willie in English, getting in behind her. He went on in Chinese, knowing both women would understand him. “I love them, myself. I sit here in comfort while the chauffeur has to deal with all the traffic. Much the best way to travel. That’s probably why all those old aristocrats were so dependent on their coachmen.” He sat down directly across from Dame Leonie and switched back to English. “How’ s it been here?”

“Well, there’ve been reporters all over the place, but nothing we haven’t been able to handle. There’s also been the most wild speculation in the press about Magistrate Zhuang. The most recent is a rumor that says she is an agent planted by Chinese intelligence for the purpose of destroying the credibility of the Church, or ruining it. That Canadian Cardinal—Het re?—he’ s been endorsing the theory.” Dame Leonie shook her head. “The story is like something out of a spy novel—hypnoti c suggestions to the whole College of Cardinals, drugs in the food, all part of a scheme to make sure that the wealth of the Church falls into godless hands.”

“Sounds quite enchanting,” said Cardinal Mendosa as he took his place beside Willie. He was growing tired of sitting down. “How good to know the press and Cardinal Hetre are keeping busy.” He said it very straight-faced, and Dame Leonie stared at him.

“You can’t be serious, Eminence,” she protested.

“He isn’t,” Willie assured her. “It’s part of Texas humor. He wants to see how far he can pull your leg.”

The limousine was moving at last, going slowly toward the side gate, the two sets of guards riding with it, British on the right, Chinese on the left.

At the gate they were met by two army jeeps and six police cars to augment the motorcycles. The cop cars led and the jeeps brought up the rear; it had been arranged that the whole entourage would travel at a strict twenty miles an hour through cleared streets.

“They are making a great deal of fuss,” said Magistrate Zhuang as the limousine made its way toward Juilong—which the British still called Kowloon—and the ferry to Hong Kong.

“We will travel on a private ferry,” said Dame Leonie. “The police here are afraid there could be trouble. There have been demonstrators here from Macao most of the week.”

“Any riots?” asked Willie, first in Chinese and then in English for Cardinal Mendosa’s benefit. “And how bad?”

“Only one that was serious. There were a couple hundred people arrested. The police are being very careful. World opinion has been volatile. It’s a question of religion, and that makes things touchier than usual.” She indicated the small array of glasses. “The champagne bucket is in the well there. It’s chilled enough, I think. If you’d be kind enough to open it, Willie?”