Chapter 6: Adventures and a New Job

As we limped into our destination, the bustling seaport of Bari, Deacon Agatho and I felt sore and exhausted. To an extent our sandals protected our feet from the paving stones, but nothing protected our feet from the sandals. We therefore gave heartfelt thanks to God that this first phase of our journey had ended. I was thrilled about the upcoming nautical adventure. I had fantasized of participating in one since I first read the epic tale of Odysseus.

As soon as we entered the city of Bari we sought out the episcopal residence. Archbishop Byzantius was engaged in overseeing the construction of a cathedral befitting the new status of his see,[1] but he agreed to meet with us. The deacon strongly advised me to keep my mouth shut and ears open regardless of what transpired. Nevertheless, I had difficulty disguising my shock when the deacon conveyed the warm regards of the pontiff to the archbishop and in flawless Greek. In all the years that I had known him he had never given any indication that he knew Greek so well. I was only a little less stunned when my companion produced a letter from the Holy Father asking the bishop to secure lodging for us in Bari. He had never shown or mentioned it in our weeks of close association.

The most pleasant surprise was when one of the bishop’s retinue was summoned to lead us to our quarters. She was a lovely young lady, uncommonly thin and graceful, with adorable Greek features. I found myself completely unprepared for the devil’s attack upon my mental faculties. During our weeks on the road my thoughts had been absorbed in the relentless pain in my feet and the fascinating conversations with my friend. Consequently I had neglected the preventive measures that had worked well in Trastevere and Tusculum. Fortunately, my loose garments concealed my embarrassing condition in her presence. At least no one mentioned it.

The next day the deacon located the harbormaster and inquired about the status of our ship. We learned that it was still harbored on the Dalmatian coast with no set departure date. It was not expected in Bari for at least five days. We applied medicinal salves to our feet and spent a day or two resting. We devoted most of the remaining interlude to exploring the lively and prosperous city. Although we were fond of our mule, we reluctantly sold it and used the proceeds to purchase a sturdy trunk for our possessions aboard the ship. The deacon seemed rather knowledgeable about the requirements of our sea voyage as well as what we would need after we landed. We obtained most of our supplies in the public markets. Agatho proved to be adept at haggling in both Greek and Latin and sometimes just hand signals and facial expressions.

From sailors who frequented the pubs we learned, among other things, the location of the city’s brothels. We spent some very pleasant evenings therein. I discovered that these diversions, as the deacon had predicted, fortified me quite well for my constant battle against Satan’s wiles. Temptations abounded in Bari.

When our ship finally approached the harbor, we descended to the docks to witness the unloading of the cargo. I expected to see muscular longshoremen lifting and moving numerous crates and barrels of goods from all over the world. Instead, the cargo that they removed from the ship’s holds seemed too meager to justify a voyage across the sea. The explanation became apparent when dozens of listless and ragged-looking people were led down to the dock in chains. Deacon Agatho informed me that the Venetians had evidently picked up dozens of slaves in Dalmatia to be sold in the marketplace in Bari after being evaluated, documented, and sorted.

I asked my friend how any Christian dared to claim of ownership of another human’s mind, body, heart, and soul. The deacon replied that the slaves were not Christians;[2] they were unbaptized barbarians captured either by Christians living on the Dalmatian coast or by the Venetians themselves. Some might have been sold to the Venetians by slavers. The trade in heathen slaves provided substantial benefits to both sides. The slaves’ manpower made possible sufficient agricultural production to feed both the Christian community and the slaves. The slaves, on the other hand, could benefit from exposure to both civilization and Christianity. If they converted and were baptized in the Christian Church, their immortal souls would potentially gain access to the Divine Presence, a gift of inestimable value. Moreover, they, or perhaps their descendants, could attain not just freedom, but positions of power. Over the ages numerous barbarians or offspring of barbarians become prominent in western Europe. The Church had never exhibited any prejudice against the inhabitants of heathen lands just because they or their ancestors had been apostates who worshiped false gods. Indeed, every effort had been made to bring them into the fold.

“On the other hand, ...” the deacon began.

“There is no need to take the other side this time,” I interrupted. “The counter-argument is parading down the docks right before our eyes.”

“Just so,” he agreed. “And life for these poor souls will probably become more deplorable, much more deplorable, before it improves, if ever.”

After the ship had been provisioned, we clambered aboard and located our quarters. The vessel was weighed down by many bags of grain and barrels of olive oil and about thirty slaves purchased in Bari by representatives of landowners in the eastern empire. I learned that for the entire journey the slaves would be consigned to the lowest hold of the ship. Even the grain was lodged more comfortably. Our own quarters belowdecks seemed as cramped as any human could possibly tolerate, but they were in all ways superior the slaves'. I felt compassion for them, but What I could do? The pontiff himself instructed me to keep quiet.

I had long dreamt of a voyage like this; the notion of spending a few weeks at sea observing and learning the sailors’ craft thrilled me. I envisioned myself eventually becoming a master seaman as comfortable aloft changing the sails as weighing the anchor or untangling the rigging. As it happened, however, the experience severely upset my constitution. On the second day we encountered some fairly high seas, and my body could not adjust. Maybe this was why my ancestors chose to settle in the Alban Hills rather than at the seaside or on an island. Day after day I spent much of the time at the rail delivering offerings to Poseidon, but he never seemed to be sated. In fact, my condition persisted until a day or two past the end of our voyage, when we finally disembarked near Antioch.

The physical discomfort was the worst that I had experienced in my life. Some might deem it just punishment for the illicit joys that I experienced during my time with Costanza. That did not occur to me until months later. In point of fact, few thoughts of any sort occurred to me throughout the voyage. The most degrading aspect was the derision heaped on me by the sailors who calmly went about their business as if the sea were as smooth as polished marble. Poseidon was their provider and protector, and the only offering that they ever made to him was garbage.

It was almost dusk when we landed at the port of St. Symeon. My legs were still so unsteady that I needed Deacon Agatho's help to disembark. He decided that we should stay at the nearby monastery until I regained my equilibrium. The monks there administered a nostrum that their herbalist had concocted to bring sleep and settle my ailing stomach. Its yellow-orange tint did nothing to bolster my confidence, but shortly after I forced it down I fell asleep. In the morning I felt somewhat better, but still too weak to leave my bed. Two days later enough strength returned for the journey to continue.

[At this point there is an evident lacuna in the text.]

Everyone finds Venice a unique and delightful place. I envied the salty inhabitants and their age-old romance with the sea. As was to be expected, the doge[3] treated us as nobility or ambassadors. Our quarters in his palace were sumptuous, and the food was superb. It would not have befitted our station to explore the city on foot, and so we never learned the locations of the city’s pleasure centers. Instead, the doge charged his majordomo with seeing to our needs in every respect. I lacked nothing. Female companionship of the most interesting and gracious sort was always available. In one respect the entire stay was spiritually inspirational. The city's splendor provided me with a strong incentive to follow the Lord’s path. This is my syllogism: If Venice is not paradise, then the eternal reward for the righteous man must be glorious enough to justify even a lifelong struggle with Satan.

Baron Dubay and I spent time together in one of the doge’s libraries. The baron insisted that I record on parchment—for our eyes only—a precise outline of our trip. He repeatedly emphasized how crucial it was that we agreed on the precise chronology and every particular. We omitted the nasty business with Brother Honorius and the Archangel Samael, the incident in the cemetery by the River Jordan, the Tripoli affair, the fire in the brothel in Kaptol,[4] and the Greek priest whom Deacon Agatho strangled in the alley in Jerusalem. For these we substituted our conversion of a Jewish couple in Bari who had never previously understood the Trinity, a novena in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, and inspirational side trips to Bethlehem, Nazareth, and Lake Galilee. A colorful anecdote was attached to each of these excursions. The baron also counseled me never to mention my encounter with that hysterical harridan Zula in Jerusalem. In our version the scar that she inflicted on my cheek was received in a marketplace in Constantinople from an errant dagger launched by a heathen cutpurse. It ricocheted unexpectedly into my face. This story required some gesticulation, which I practiced and the baron critiqued.

We also reached accord on the details of the untimely death by drowning of Deacon Agatho and my eventual attachment to Baron Dubay's entourage. We composed three pithy stories to establish the theme of a successful pilgrimage. Each tale vividly portrayed a moral: The Saracens were not to be trusted; the Jews were schemers aiming to separate pilgrims from their money; the Lord provided everything a faithful Christian required. The baron insisted that I portray myself as a passive observer throughout. I spent a lot of time praying and absorbing the inspirational atmosphere. He cautioned me that the temptation to embellish my role in these stories must be resisted in all retellings. I recounted each episode at least a dozen times for various friends and relatives. If called upon, I could probably still perform this act, but not with as much vivacity.

As our stay in the lagoon came to a close, the doge provided us with an elegant carriage and team, and in stylish fashion we undertook the last leg of our journey south to Rome. We even were blessed with an experienced and skillful driver. The servants loaded onto our vehicle the three chests of bones and other relics accumulated by the baron, the baroness’s awe-inspiring wardrobe, and my small bag.

The carriage proved to be by far the most comfortable and least dangerous means of travel that we had employed during the entire journey. Realizing that the pilgrimage was in its last phase, I took the opportunity to recall to mind the myriad strange and wonderful events of the journey. I longed to see my friends and family again, but I would also miss the adventures and the indescribable panoply of sights and sounds that had besieged my senses.

“My lord,” I said to the baron, “my meager brain overflows with memories from my sacred pilgrimage. They include worshiping in the inspirational Cathedral of Saint Peter[5] and in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. I remember many long walks, a few short rides, and one excruciating sea voyage. I encountered people of every language and description. I was surprised to learn that the righteous and the villainous seem rather evenly distributed among the races and creeds. One question still haunts me, however. I understand that the acolyte Longino perished in that cell in Tripoli,[6] but I have no memories from the time that I fell asleep during that first night of incarceration until two days later when I awoke in that farmer’s wagon buried under a load of straw. That was when I met you and the Baroness Ingetrude. What transpired in the interim?”

Baron Dubay arched one aristocratic eyebrow and cocked his head slightly before addressing his young charge. “Ingetrude and I purchased you from Delphus for a quantity of silver that will make that peasant the envy of his fellows for decades to come. Do not mistake my meaning; he definitely earned his pay—and more. He transported your limp carcass through three sets of sentries on the way to his farm. His was the perfect mix of courage and craftiness. We should thank the Lord that the baroness located a man of his skill and character. Fortunately, Ingetrude knew his language, so we negotiated a mutually beneficial transaction rather quickly.”

“But how did you, that is, Deacon Agatho, escape from the locked and guarded cell?”

“Well, Paul, some things are best left unexplained. If anyone inquires about the incident, you should swear with conviction that you know nothing about it. Some actions might be construed as inappropriate conduct for either a deacon or a noble. I can disclose this much. The easiest part was the lock on the door, and the guards were not much trouble either. The most difficult task was finding an inconspicuous means of transporting your uncooperative bulk to the point of assignation. My back was sore for a week.”

When we arrived in Tuscia,[7] Baron Dubay arranged for our lodgings at an inn in Viterbo. The following morning he asked the innkeeper whether anyone made regular trips to Rome. On the next day a merchant planned to drive a wagonload of pottery down the Via Cassia to the city. That afternoon the baron escorted me to the barber for a shave, a haircut, and an ear-cleaning. We made a few discreet inquiries concerning the latest news from Rome and abroad. We learned that throughout the papal territories my brother Gregory was now considered a very formidable, even feared, figure. Nothing was said of Costanza or her child. We heard whispers of a devastating famine that struck transalpine communities. The baron expressed his fervent hope that his family’s estates in Alsace had been spared such a catastrophe. He asked all present to join him in a short prayer for that community in which so many of his dear ones resided.

The next morning we located the shop of the Rome-bound merchant, whose name has since fled my memory. Baron Dubay performed the introductions. To my astonishment he identified me not as his ward, Paul, but as Theophylact of Tusculum, the Holy Father's nephew. I had not heard this name for so long that it sounded almost foreign. He used the pronunciation of the common people, and, for the first time in months I felt it was proper for me to correct him. When I did so, the hint of a smile emerged on his face, but, as always, he maintained his dignity.

I was shocked to learn that Baron Dubay and Ingetrude would not be joining me on the trip to Rome. They planned to return to their beloved Alsace to assess conditions there. I was not prepared me for the emotional impact of the parting. I felt that I had become a man on this pilgrimage, but I could not stop the flow of tears at the prospect of separation from my friend, adviser, and guardian, perhaps forever. I had assumed that the three of us would journey to Rome, but doing so would have been awkward for the baron and his wife.

Having made arrangements for my transportation to Trastevere, Baron Dubay turned to me. “You recall the instructions for contacting me that you memorized after that incident in Constantinople, do you not? Repeat them for me.”

After I faithfully regurgitated his orders in precise detail, he addressed me with an air of solemnity and purpose. “The tasks ahead of you will likely be fraught with difficulty, but you have proven to be a capable young man. If ever you need my services again, do not hesitate to request them. You may rely on my immediate response.”

He paused and then said very slowly, “Do not forget this.”

The next morning the baron provided me with a small purse of coins, which he told me to give the merchant when we reached Scuta. When our carriage arrived at the merchant’s establishment, the workers there were busy loading the wagon with crates. I exchanged farewells with the baron and baroness and departed without fanfare or histrionics. I was shown to my seat at the rear of the wagon. Merchandise surrounded me. When I was seated, the proprietor handed me a large vividly-decorated vase to clutch on my lap. He warned me to protect it with my life. The road was reasonably smooth, and the driver was cautious. Both the urn and I survived intact.

The previous few months had instilled enough discipline in me to ignore my belly’s cries for attention. Even so, it was nearly dusk when the wagon approached our palace in Trastevere. The family was delighted to see me, and the proverbial fatted calf was quickly produced for my benefit. I eagerly devoured each succulent comestible as soon as it was within reach. When I could eat no more, my family and friends clamored to hear of my adventures abroad. However, my brother Peter, who seemed to have grown a foot in my absence and was now assisting my father in Rome, took me aside. His stammer seemed worse than ever. When he informed me of my mother’s illness and demise, I fell to the ground in grief. Peter reported that she had required him to promise to assure me that her heart was brimming with love for me. I also learned that since her death our father no longer spent much time in Tusculum, even in the sweltering summer. Instead he energetically devoted himself to affairs of state. He often traveled throughout the Petrine Patrimony gathering intelligence and overseeing the effort to ensure collection of taxes and fees due to the Holy See.

After I recovered sufficiently to interact with my relatives and friends, I returned to the festivities. I was most anxious to learn about Costanza, but I dared not give voice to my concerns. Later Peter informed me that Gregory was recognized as commander of the papal military. I manufactures a look of surprise when he informed me that Costanza had become pregnant. She had spent the last few weeks of her pregnancy at the home of one of my father’s cousins in Lariano.[8] Unfortunately the infant, a boy, had died shortly after his birth. Costanza, on the other hand, had survived the difficult birth, was healthy, and had since returned to the palace in Tusculum that my father had constructed for Gregory and Costanza.

Both my mother’s haunting absence in Tusculum and Costanza’s looming presence there overshadowed whatever desire I felt to return to the town of my birth. I therefore inquired about Fr. Lawrence. I had heard that he had been named Archbishop of Amalfi, and I wondered what had become of his marvelous classes in Rome. Peter was not sure, but he had heard that John Gratian had assumed the role of chief instructor, and the classes had been moved to the Lateran Palace.

Throughout my youth I had seldom spent much time with my father, Count Alberic. He was usually too busy with important matters of Church, state, and family. I therefore was surprised on the morning after my return when he summoned me to consult with him. I expected the count to inquire about my travels abroad, but he showed no interest. Instead, he informed me in flat tones that my mother had perished in my absence. I could detect neither bitterness nor sadness in his tone. He informed me that I was forthwith to begin studying for the priesthood with Cardinal-Priest John Gratian at the Lateran Palace. He sternly warned me to avoid Tusculum except during the feast days and to eschew all contact of any nature with Costanza. Then he abruptly dismissed me. I may have said something, but I remember no words of any sort issuing forth from my mouth after greeting him. I am almost certain that he never asked me to agree to what he proposed. When he gave orders my consent was unimportant.

Knowing that I needed formal absolution from the Holy Father, I walked to the Lateran Palace that afternoon to see when I could meet with him. I also needed to arrange for the classes for the priesthood. I learned that in my absence the Toad had become Cardinal-Priest John’s star pupil. The archpriest effusively praised the little monster, who, although only slightly taller than when I had last seen him, had changed a great deal. It was not that he had matured, but at this point the look in his eye seemed more crafty than mischievous. I trusted him even less than before.

I soon learned that the emphasis in the classes had shifted markedly. Cardinal-Priest John spent much more time on the details of the liturgy and the scriptures. The students also devoted more time to learning the chants. Cardinal-Priest John claimed that the Holy Father insisted on these changes.

I made an appointment to deliver to Pope John the letter from the Patriarch of Jerusalem that I had been carrying in my scrip for several months. When I met with His Holiness I was saddened at how much his health had deteriorated since I left. After he congratulated me in a warm but halting voice on the successful completion of my pilgrimage, he solemnly absolved me of my sins. He then summoned three cardinal-priests into his chamber, and the four of them asked me to articulate as much as I knew of the attitudes and undertakings of the three patriarchs whom I had encountered on my journey.[9] I was grateful that the baron and I had spent so much time rehearsing the story; I was prepared to answer all questions swiftly, directly, and completely. The pontiff accepted from me the letter composed by the Patriarch Nicephorus and set it aside still sealed. He never revealed its contents.

As soon as the Holy Father learned the shocking news that Deacon Agatho had perished during the pilgrimage, he kindly suggested that a mass be offered for the repose of his soul. The baron's plan was to draw as little attention to the deacon's fate as possible, but I felt obliged to attend the service. At its conclusion several people approached me with questions about Agatho’s untimely passing, but I professed to be in too much grief for a coherent reply. Within a month nearly everyone seemed to forget that he had ever existed. That was our hope, but it did not seem appropriate.

Only one person, my nemesis the Toad, persistently pestered me about the details of the pilgrimage. In the presence of Cardinal-Priest John and the other class members he forcefully pressed me to share every life-changing experience with the entire class in order to enhance understanding of the Holy Land and the state of the Christian Church in distant lands. Taking care to adhere to the outline that the baron had designed I reluctantly related parts of the tale. I added embellishments only when absolutely necessary. The dwarf, however, was never satisfied.

The interrogation was obnoxious. The most annoying part was his repeated questioning about Gerard and Deacon Agatho. He insisted on knowing whither the former had taken himself and whence the latter had arrived. I denied any knowledge concerning Gerard’s whereabouts. I received no communication from him during my absence, and I had not encountered him since I returned. Reckoning that the Amalfi's bishop would have little time for him, I advised the Toad that he should direct questions about Gerard to Fr. Lawrence.

I said that the first time that I had laid eyes on Deacon Agatho was during our meeting at Quo Vadis. Subsequently I learned that he had recently been ordained in the Basilian order and that Hegumen Bartholomew himself had assigned him the task of making the pilgrimage to the church of the Holy Sepulcher. The chaplain at Quo Vadis had introduced us, and we agreed to travel together. During the course of conversation I asked the deacon about his upbringing, which was in a fishing village in Calabria. Deacon Agatho may have told me the village's name, but I could not recall it. It may have begun with an R. According to the deacon, the monks of St. Basil had a sterling reputation in the land of his upbringing. The hegumen’s fame as a holy man had spread to that area and had inspired my companion to seek him out in Grottaferrata.

That the Toad found my answers tantalizing and unsatisfying made an unpleasant situation even less tolerable. He repeatedly schemed to extract more information. The Lord, or whatever infernal power responsible for that despicable little fiend's existence, unquestionably gifted him with a quick mind and a nimble tongue. Nevertheless, I courteously but firmly refused to provide any information beyond the sketchy outline of the devotional aspects of the journey.

In the end, Cardinal-Priest John Gratian terminated that first session and thanked me for my patience and forthrightness. He said that he could understand that some experiences were difficult to recount. Subsequently the Toad confined his questioning to private encounters with me. My replies were much more abrupt. In fact, I may have violated societal norms by questioning the Toad’s motives as well as his ancestry and sanitary habits.

The imp pestered me for days. The ordeal only ceased when it was announced that the Holy Father’s health had taken a turn for the worse. At that point my father and brother leapt into action. Count Alberic consulted with the scions of Roman society. Gregory placed his troops on alert and aggregated and analyzed reports from his informants.

My father determined that the time had arrived for my ordination to the priesthood. Since the Holy Father was too ill, it fell to Cardinal-Bishop Peter of Ostia to perform the ceremonies in St. John’s Lateran. Cardinal-Priest John Gratian prepared me for the ceremony, designed the liturgy, and assisted the celebrants. At the conclusion I turned to bestow my first blessing on the assembled congregation. The first person whom I saw was the Toad. The right side of his mouth was upturned in a grin; the left side showed a menacing grimace. Never had I seen such an odious expression, and it was seared permanently in my memory.

A few days later I was returning to the Lateran Palace after celebrating mass for only the second time. Cardinal-Bishop Peter stopped me to report that the Holy Father was on his deathbed. Shortly thereafter my father announced that everything had been arranged. The bishops were ready to assemble on a moment’s notice, at which time they would elect me as the new pontiff. This will be done without delay; our enemies must not be allowed to organize, plot, and mobilize. I protested that I did not know how to act as the Supreme Pontiff, but my father quickly dismissed this. “Fear not; sufficient guidance will be provided,” he grunted.

My ancient mind retains a much clearer recollection of my uncle’s investiture ceremony eight years before my own.[10] There was no rehearsal; I recall being directed by other participants as to what to say and do. I do not even recall who instructed me or what they said. Of course, I will never forget the moment when I was seated on the sella stercoraria, and Cardinal-Bishop John Ponzius groped beneath my vestments to assess my physical qualifications for the office. Although I had previously witnessed the ceremony, I was unprepared for that squeeze. I let out a small yelp, and my gorzo reacted in an altogether inappropriate manner.

The choice of my pontifical name was was left completely up to me. I selected Benedict, because I truly considered myself blessed and to honor my namesake and uncle, a great man who had restored the Church to the righteous path and rallied Christianity to repel the Saracens. I prayed that my pontificate would approach his lofty standard and, above all, that I might heap no further shame upon my family and friends.

Cardinal-Priest John Gratian escorted me to the apartments in the Lateran Palace assigned for my use, and my family set aside rooms in Scuta for me. My older brother showed me the secret passageways in both buildings and made me swear never to disclose the existence of any of these routes to anyone. They were strictly reserved for dire emergencies.

Gregory then warned me that Count Alberic expected trouble from our enemies, the Crescentii. He assured me that his men were quite capable of dealing with whatever they devised, but if worse came to worst, I was to commandeer a horse and ride to one of the family’s fortresses in the Alban Hills. He told me to resist the temptation to stand my ground or consider anything heroic. It sounded strange to hear him insist that safeguarding my life, which I still considered rather worthless, was his highest priority. In point of fact, however, the first few years of my pontificate were rather tranquil. I did not know what I was doing; I simply avoided impeding my uncle's administrators.

The afternoon sessions with these advisers dominate my memories of those first few months of my pontificate. If they were in the city, both my father and Gregory attended. The presence of three or four cardinal-bishops and a few cardinal-priests or cardinal-deacons was usual, and the hegumen came as often as he could. If Archbishop Lawrence was available, he was welcome. John Gratian was invited for questions of ceremony and liturgy.

Before the meetings began the other men lined up to prostrate themselves before me to kiss the cross on my right slipper. This embarrassed me, and I suggested that we dispense with the ceremony, but my father and the hegumen insisted that it was important that all present display humility before the Vicar of St. Peter even if he was younger and knew less than they.

At one of these meetings my father produced a list of thirteen men, including eight priests. He explained that they had demonstrated exceptional comportment, leadership, and loyalty. He therefore strongly recommended that I promote them to the rank of cardinal. I clearly understood from the tone of his voice that the matter had already been settled. My opinion of their worthiness was not being solicited. In point of fact, I knew little or nothing about most of them. Half were named John, and the only John familiar to me was John Gratian, whose name was definitely not on the list. I never considered opposing my father. No one explained to me why we suddenly needed so many new cardinals, but eventually I came to understand the process.

The traditional procedure for these elevations to the cardinalate involved a rather elaborate ceremony and a celebration that could last for as long a week. Therefore, much of the first year of my pontificate was devoted to these activities. I was therefore almost continually on display as Supreme Pontiff conducting ceremonies. It was boring.

The other matters that required attention seemed limitless. My interest was always drawn to reports of heroic missionary efforts in the Slavic lands. I asked whether I might schedule a visit to some of these exotic places in order to inspire both the converts and the missionaries. My pilgrimage had given me a taste for travel. I longed to see with my own eyes, which were then quite capable of vision, what life was like for men who devoted their lives to spreading the Lord's Word in the face of adversity. My suggestion was greeted with prolonged silence. Eventually the hegumen patiently explained that Rome needed the continuous presence of its bishop, and any extended absence could provide an opportunity for malefactors to insinuate themselves again into positions of power. As a result innocent blood could well be spilled. “Does this mean that I can never leave Rome again?” Another uncomfortable silence followed, apparently indicating an affirmative answer.

I attended to my pontifical duties with the diligence expected of me. Sometimes, however, I found it difficult to focus my attention on matters at hand. We often addressed requests from influential families to intervene in their problems or quarrels. Other participants in the meetings considered these important, but they did not interest me much. As the weeks wore on, I discovered to my consternation that Satan took advantage of my disinterest during periods in which we discussed such questions to fill my mind with memories—of which I now had an ample supply—and visions that engulfed me in lust. Occasionally someone noticed my condition and alerted me with a rebuke or a pointed elbow.

One day my father became so exasperated with me that he stormed out of the meeting. That evening my brother Gregory visited my apartments unannounced. “What is your problem?” he demanded. “Yours is the easiest job in the world. Nobody expects you to know anything. Nobody expects you to do anything except sit there, pretend that you are paying attention, and go along with the consensus. Is this too much to ask? You must be the supreme bonehead in all of Italy. I have seen no one who could match you.

“Furthermore, everyone was convinced that you had addressed that problem with your gorzo, and now we learn that you cannot control yourself even when surrounded by the most important men in Rome dealing with critical issues facing the Church. What is your problem?”

I bowed my head in shame. “Well, you must promise that whatever I say will never be heard beyond this room.”

Gregory rolled his eyes and sighed. Then he relented, “All right. Our discussion will be confidential. Father ordered me to do anything necessary to eliminate this issue forever.”

“Your previous advice was good,” I assured him. “I developed a routine, and, as you predicted, it kept the devil at bay. I got out of the habit, however, when I was on that long pilgrimage. At first it no longer seemed to be necessary. Also, on the walk to Bari and then on the ship and even later, finding the necessary privacy was difficult.”

I paused, and Gregory prompted me: “And … ?”

“Well, if you must know, in Bari I was intimate with a woman. Actually, several women. And they were not the last.

“Now that I am Supreme Pontiff, I fully appreciate the necessity of addressing this problem again, but I do not know how. I have almost no time to myself, and I spend most days in the Lateran. Besides, I found that after being intimate with those women, my former approach seemed to be less effective. I really do my best to concentrate on the issues at our meetings, but those tedious discussions sometimes numb my faculties long enough for Satan to insinuate sinful notions into my thoughts at inappropriate times.”

Gregory smirked. “This explains a lot. The popular notion that my worthless brother had suddenly been transformed into a saintly young man by a spiritual pilgrimage to the Holy Land had never seemed plausible. So, the true purpose of your so-called pilgrimage was to provide opportunities for you to try women of all different shapes and sizes, was it? That makes much more sense. And which did you like the best? I have heard that the Saracen women are unbelievable. You must have checked out a few. What about the Jews? Are they always ready to be fruitful and multiply/ And Moors? What an experience that would be! I definitely envy you.”

I cast down my eyes. I probably was blushing. After a bit he continued brusquely “Our meetings are always in the afternoons. What do you do in the mornings?”

“I say mass and then I generally work on my projects.”

“I will forbear asking what these ‘projects’ might entail. What an ass! You just cannot take care of anything yourself, can you?” He paused and looked around. “Very well. I will arrange for your mornings to be devoted to a fresh set of projects. Look for Peter right after mass, but be patient. It may take me a few days to make the necessary arrangements.”

He showed me his powerful fist, the one with his signet ring. “Until then, just think about this impacting directly on your nose and splattering it all across your face. That is precisely what will happen if you do not behave. Fix that image in your mind whenever your thoughts wander into forbidden territory. Now please leave me alone. Important matters demand my attention.”

Three days later my brother Peter accosted me after mass. He got his tongue untangled from his teeth long enough to blurt out, “Your Holiness, I have been instructed to escort you to your singing lessons.”

I was puzzled. I had seen Peter on only a few occasions since my return, and I knew nothing about singing lessons. Then I recalled that Gregory had mentioned that Peter would be calling for me after mass. I nodded.

After I had finished folding the vestments and returning them to the assigned chests, I followed my younger brother through rooms and corridors to a chamber on the first floor a good distance from my quarters. We entered together, and Peter introduced Brother Mark, monk with a heavenly voice. He enjoyed chanting above all life's other pleasures. Peter left forthwith, and Mark barred the door behind him. The musical monk then showed me a concealed door that opened up onto one of the secret passageways. He handed me a small lantern and told me to knock twice on the fourth door on the right. I did as directed.

An unfamiliar woman opened the door. She probably told me her name, or at least a name to use, but it has long ago retreated to the impenetrable fog of my memory. Her age exceeded mine by a decade or more, but the difference seemed inconsequential. After all, I had been with ladies much older than she during those four days and nights in which Baron Dubay, Ingetrude, and I took shelter in Thessalonica during that horrendous storm. This woman definitely knew her craft. She held a grape by its stem between her teeth and then presented it to my face. We shared that grape, and then we shared a lot more. Some time later I groped through the passage back to Brother Mark’s room, and he actually did instruct me in singing a chant. I subsequently took my leave of him and returned to my apartments.

Thereafter Peter greeted me after mass every day. On most occasions he escorted me to my “singing lessons.” A lady greeted me behind the fourth door on the right, and her identity was always a surprise. Most were delightful. Not all were beauties, but the ones who fell short in aesthetics often compensated with unexpected enthusiasm or active imaginations. Occasionally I recognized one from a previous encounter. On some days there was no lesson. Peter merely greeted me by displaying his fist as Gregory had earlier.

All had the necessary parts, but I found a few women extremely unattractive. When I was with them I needed to remember that the purpose of this activity was not to generate pleasure but to foil the Prince of Darkness. I therefore forced myself to engage in congress with even the filthiest and most vile of my secret companions. I overcame my initial revulsion by imagining that each was the most endearing whom I had ever encountered. I became quite adept at this.

The project was an unequivocal success. I had little difficulty in maintaining my concentration on boring subjects. Even on “fist days” I summoned the will to resist Satan's attacks. After a few months my role in those tiresome meetings evolved. As I came to understand the personalities and issues, I proffered some intelligent contributions to the disputations.

Before too long an original idea began to form in my mind. I prayed about how best to explain it to the group. I politely began by inquiring whether it was the pope’s responsibility to beatify and canonize souls who had demonstrated their worthiness of the Divine Presence. There followed the usual silence that greeted most of my ideas. It fell to my father to ask what I was proposing. I explained that I would like to canonize or at least beatify a deserving Christian. I hoped that the pronouncement might inspire others to seek salvation by imitating the saint.

“Whom did you have in mind?” asked Cardinal-Bishop Dodone.

“Well, the obvious choice would be my uncle, Pope Benedict VIII. He certainly inspired me, and he was without a question the greatest pontiff within living memory.”

“No one here will disagree with that,” said my father dismissively. “But you cannot glorify a family member. Our enemies would pounce upon that in hopes of catalyzing the people to rise up against us. They would claim that first control of the Church was seized by the family, and now we were using the power that we had seized to pry open the gates of heaven for our kin. It would provide them an opportunity to spread gossip about us and even to besmirch the name of the deceased Holy Father. They certainly would invent outrageous lies to discredit your uncle—probably both uncles—and you in addition. It would not be worth it. You honored his memory by taking his name; that suffices for now.”

The hegumen interceded. “I agree with your main point, Count Alberic. Now is not the time to recognize Pope Benedict’s achievements publicly. On the other hand, I posit that it could benefit the Church for the Holy Father to exercise these powers in the near future. I can think of no better occasion for His Holiness’s first formal address to the faithful of the Holy See than to extol the deeds and comportment of a saintly Christian. Perhaps John Gratian could help him select a suitable candidate.” Only a grunt emerged from my father, but the others at the table agreed that I should consult with my godfather. I arranged to meet with him the next day.

When I entered the room, I was disturbed to discover that John Gratian had brought the Toad with him. In fact, the noxious runt did most of the talking. He produced from a satchel several rolls of papyrus on which he had listed names and the criteria that he wanted us to use in deciding among them. Since I had not anticipated this, I found myself at a disadvantage. In fact, I had not really considered what criteria would be appropriate. I had an open mind.

We debated back and forth for several days until finally we settled upon Charlemagne, whose stalwart support had enabled the establishment of the modern papacy, and Constantine, the first Christian emperor. Frankly I was surprised to learn that neither had yet been canonized. I knew that Charlemagne was venerated in many transalpine locations, and all of the eastern patriarchates already regarded Emperor Constantine as a saint. Recognizing the sainthood of both seemed to us an ideal expression of Rome’s eagerness to unite the Greek and Latin branches of the Church.

The Toad wanted to present our proposal to the advisers, but I insisted that it would be inappropriate for him to be attend official meetings. I did not trust him, and as pontiff this decision was mine. I refused to tolerate the detestable presence of the miserable urchin any more than was required. John Gratian agreed with me. He volunteered to notify the Toad. He must have realized that the misbegotten monster had no official standing in the Church, and, I was perfectly capable of making the presentation. He even offered to back me up, if necessary.

On the next day I outlined for the group of advisers the case for canonizing the two emperors, and I judged that I had made a persuasive presentation. My father, however, refused to consider the idea. “You seem incapable of appreciating the delicacy of our position. We need to maintain amicable relations with both empires. If we praise the virtues of Constantine, Conrad will interpret that as an overture to the Romei. If we honor Charlemagne, Zoë and Romanos[11] will object to the endorsement of a ruthless barbarian figure[12] whom they have always blamed for the decline of relations between the east and west. Each might be pleased with one of the selections, but even that is not certain. We are in no position to risk upsetting either side over such a trivial item. This is the worst idea that I have ever heard.”

I was shocked to hear my father's disparaging words. They belittled our attempt to strengthen the faith of the Christian community. Although we were disappointed that he had vetoed our selections, Cardinal-Priest John Gratian and I resolved to continue in our effort. The Toad actually relished the fact that his involvement in a papal project had been extended. Eventually we settled on Romuald, the founder of a very strict order of monks.[13]

Our second suggestion pleased my father immensely. I had never before—or since—heard him say words like these: “I am proud of you, Theophylact. Beatifying Romuald will emphasize the tremendous importance of the contemplative life, and there seems little chance of offending anyone. Furthermore, it may impart a message to ambitious and meddlesome monks that prayer, strict adherence to the rules of St. Benedict and the eremitic lifestyle, not interference with Church policies, remain the best path to salvation.”

The beatification ceremony brought to Rome many brown-robed and white-robed monks.[14] Even Odilo, the famous abbot of the monastery in Cluny, undertook the journey. His sincerity, his devotion to reforming the monks under his aegis, and above all his energy, which seemed boundless amazed me. Pope John XIX considered him a friend. He offered him the archbishopric of Lyon, an offer that I renewed. We tried to convince the abbot that working within the Church hierarchy would greatly enhance his influence by exposing those outside of the monastery to his ideas. He would also be able to devote the see’s considerable wealth to his many admirable projects. Odilo refused both offers.

The Toad predictably used the beatification process to promote himself among the monks, including Odilo, to whom he clung like a burr. In my presence the Toad exuded discretion and respect as a snail exudes slime. However, people who overheard his comments when I was absent reported that he emphasized the importance of his role in the selection process. He even promoted the preposterous notion that beatification of Romuald was his idea and that only his persuasive skills overcame my obstinacy.

Abbot Odilo used the occasion to argue that the method by which some clergymen were been obtaining bishoprics and higher offices was scandalous. He was convinced that some had campaigned for bishoprics, and that money had been used to attain them, a process that he called simony.[15] I wholeheartedly agreed that most qualified and competent person should be assigned to each position, but I saw no feasible way to impose this viewpoint on other jurisdictions.[16]

A few days after the beatification ceremony an unusual event startled me and changed my life. Just before the hour at which I customarily arose, my mother appeared at the foot of my bed. I tried to rush to embrace her, but I could not move any part of my body. I must have continued breathing, but otherwise I seemed to be completely paralyzed. This was no dream. It was much more coherent and vivid than any dream that I had ever experienced, and there was none of the usual nonsense that flutters in and out of dreams. This encounter engaged all my senses—sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch—in a way that no dream could.

My mother evidently sensed my frustration. Her wonderfully placid voice calmed me. She assured me that she loved me more than I could imagine, even more than when she walked the earth. She had found perfect happiness in heaven. My uncles were justly proud of how I had adapted to my new role. She strode over to me, held me in her arms, and kissed me tenderly on the cheek. I had never before experienced such an intensely loving moment. I tried to speak, but my mouth made no sound.

My mother returned to the foot of the bed and presented an elderly man who had suddenly appeared beside her. He wore the robes of a Basilian monk His rigid features, Pauline tonsure, long grey beard, and sandaled feet lent him a majestic air. I detected a slight smell of sweet incense. My mother identified him as Hegumen Nilus, the legendary founder of the abbey in Grottaferrata. She indicated that he had an important message for me.

The hegumen’s voice was resonant and very deep, deeper even than I would have deemed possible. He spoke very slowly and addressed me as Benedict, which he noted was a very appropriate name for someone both blessed by the Lord and anointed to a specific task. He asserted that the primary reason for my selection as pontiff was that I was uniquely qualified to prevent a schism between the Greek and Roman branches of the Church. No one else, he claimed, had the knowledge, talents, wisdom, and authority to convince both the Greeks and the westerners of the need for unity. He urged me to take up my pen to write a letter to the Patriarch of Constantinople, Alexius.[17] The missive must be in Greek and in my own hand. It should express the Roman Church’s encouragement for his campaign to reform the practice of the charistike dorea.[18] Such a gesture, said the hegumen, would establish a basis for the contact required for a strong working relationship between the Greek and Latin Churches. Many in Constantinople had argued for permanent severing of relations with Rome, which would be catastrophic. The very idea of two Christian Churches was completely unthinkable. The Lord had provided only one path to salvation, and the hegumen spoke with authority on that subject.

After Nilus's little speech, both visitors abruptly vanished from view, and at almost the same instant I was released by whatever held me motionless. I crawled to the foot of my bed, but no trace of either visitor remained. My hands were trembling, and I noticed that my gorzo reacted to the awesome visitation as powerfully as my mind. I canceled all plans for the day, including my music lesson, and began to draft my epistle to the patriarch. I soon realized that my knowledge was insufficient to the task. I therefore ordered a carriage to take me up to Grottaferrata to meet with Hegumen Bartholomew in hopes of information and guidance.

Bartholomew, although startled by my sudden arrival, granted me an interview. I informed him about the amazing visitation from his saintly predecessor and asked for his advice. He cautioned me to be very careful in such matters because the Father of Lies had been known to impersonate holy people in order to trick unsuspecting believers into committing evil acts. After I had successfully answered his detailed questions about my mother and St. Nilus, he confirmed that the figure was indeed the saintly monk. I was both thrilled and relieved by his judgment.

The hegumen then explained that the problems faced by the patriarch differed markedly from those facing the western Church. For the most part the Greek monasteries were designed to be self-sustaining. In recent years some grew quite powerful. Others, however, were so destitute that the emperor felt compelled to ask wealthy nobles to manage the facilities temporarily to reestablish their viability. At first this worked well, but many monasteries were never returned to the monks' control. The properties were attached to the nobles, and the spiritual function of the monks had become secondary. In effect they had become indentured servants.

Hegumen Bartholomew assigned Brother Clement to assist me with my letter. I stayed overnight in the abbey, and then Clement returned with me to Rome. Together we drafted a letter as Nilus had indicated. I proudly showed it at the next council of the cardinal-bishops and other advisers. My father exploded with rage upon learning that I had collaborated with Clement and ordered the monk to return to Grottaferrata immediately. He snatched the letter from me, despite his ignorance of Greek.

When the monk had departed, my father regained his composure. He even praised my concern for improving the relationship with the Greek Church, and he assured me that the letter would be delivered to the patriarch.[19] Even though I receive no reply from the patriarch, I felt that I had done what was necessary to preserve the Church’s unity. As I write this, however, I suspect that my efforts were for naught. The foreigners and felons who have usurped the Throne of Peter have apparently thwarted my best efforts.

My mother never appeared again, but at various critical points I came to rely on Nilus’s council. His next visitation was in June, a period in which my brother had reported worrisome unrest in several papal territories. On that occasion the saintly man uttered only a few words: “Examine the heavens.”

The words inspired me to consult written materials that Fr. Lawrence had provided the astrology classes. Therein I discovered that a solar eclipse was expected within the next few weeks.[20] I scheduled a public address to begin on that day shortly before the eclipse. The theme that I chose was “Enemies.” I cited texts from the Old Testament how the all-powerful God smote the foes of his people. I then reminded everyone that the pope was the Vicar of Christ, who was, of course, the Son of God. The papacy’s enemies were God’s enemies. I then boldly asserted that God’s powers were unlimited. He could even blot out the sun, the source of heat and life on earth. Moments later the moon began its transit between the earth and the sun. People screamed in astonishment when for a short time darkness enveloped us.

I concluded with the reminder that God had sent his only begotten Son as the Light of the world to establish one true Church to spread His Word. To Peter—and only Peter—he entrusted the Keys to the Kingdom, and that power had been inherited by each. “And now I bear those Keys as Christ's vicar. Let no man risk the Almighty's wrath by snatching them from my grip!”

Shortly thereafter the sun reappeared. It was a very effective speech. My brother reported that several agents of the Crescentii fled the city and never returned. All felt certain, however, that the salutary effect was temporary and that we must remain vigilant.

I should have anticipated another result. Many Romans suspected me of witchcraft. Similar rumors had contributed to the downfall of the great Pope Sylvester II, but at the time the idea was too far-fetched to attract my attention.

Every action of my reign as Supreme Pontiff was closely scrutinized. Tricks like this one were enjoyable and effective, but the ultimate price could be very high.