Pope Benedict the Seventh stood at a window of the stately Papal palace, glancing into the heavens. Pondering at the window was a nightly routine for the pontiff, but where he would normally contemplate the Holy Scriptures, this night was different. For over two hundred years, his misguided Christian neighbors in Constantinople had been attempting to spread their false words of the Lord into Catholic territory. They even stubbornly clung to the name 'Roman Empire', as if without the ancient and eternal city of Rome anything so foolish could be called 'Roman'.
The barbarian tribes of the east and south were slowly whittling away Constantinople's land holdings in the Holy Land, however, and this is what most intrigued the Pope. Should he ask the Catholic nations to help Constantinople and thus risk conversion to that unfortunate sect, or merely sit back and watch as the Moslems conquered what was rightly and unquestionably Christian territory.
"Or is there a third alternative?" Benedict said quietly.
"Your Excellency?" Mercutio, the Pope's private secretary asked. "Did you say something, Your Excellency?"
Turning away from the window for a moment, Benedict looked back at the man, dressed in his silk tunica with gold embroidery at the cuffs. "I was considering what to do about the Holy Land and those other Christians."
"Many Christians suffer in the Holy Land at the hands of the Moslems, and under the yoke of those so called 'Orthodox' fools, Your Excellency," Mercutio commented neutrally. "Many in the enlightened kingdoms of Catholicism would love to rescue the crown of our Lord from such heathens."
"Many in the 'enlightened' kingdoms hate each other more than the true enemies of Christ, Mercutio," Benedict reminded him. "The eastern Franks, hate those of the west, and don't forget that our own countrymen poison each other with alarming alacrity."
Seeming to think for a moment, Mercutio hung his head so that his chin almost touched his chest. "If only we had some kind of sign from heaven, Your Excellency."
Returning his gaze out the window, to the stars, Benedict remained quiet for a few moments. "It has been nine hundred, forty-seven years since our Lord left us," he said finally, moisture forming around the corners of his eyes. "In all that time we have heard nothing but the natterings of our own voices." His own faith was wavering in that time. "We are weak in our faith and the Arabs are so strong in theirs; sometimes I wonder..." He trailed off and spoke no more of lessening faith, for at that second, a bright light appeared in the northeast sky. It was whiter than white and intense enough to easily be seen amongst all the light in Rome.
"What is it, Your Excellency?" Mercutio asked.
"Come to the window quickly," the Pope commanded. When the secretary was at his side, Benedict pointed to the light. "What is that you see?" he asked.
"A white light, Your Excellency," Mercutio responded, his voice quavering slightly.
"It is a sign," Benedict muttered. "Record this and we shall wait for a moment to see what happens." Realistically, it didn't matter what happened to the light, the Pope had an ambitious idea brewing that would unite the feuding nations and bring the entire world under the control of Rome once more.
"Look there, Your Excellency," Mercutio marveled as he scribbled on his tablet, "the light is moving slightly to the southeast! What could it mean?"
"Go now, Mercutio," Benedict commanded. "See if the whole of Rome can see this event and record what they say. I must think on this sign and seek an answer from God." When the secretary was gone, the Pope brought up a mental map of the eastern lands. To the north was Kiev, and all current intelligence reported that the Russians had rejected Orthodoxy. A recent war had also taken place between the Rus and Constantinople, further isolating the so called 'Roman Empire'. Benedict snarled at the name the Greeks called their pathetic empire.
If enough of the world saw the star in the sky, he could convince the believers to go to Kiev to preach the true word. The Pope would dispatch missionaries to Poland, for one of his newest, but staunchest allies, Mieszko, Duke of the Polans, would no doubt wish to help. If Benedict could get cooperation from the Russians in the north, he could isolate Constantinople completely, allowing the Arabs to attack, leaving the Holy Land unguarded. Then, an army of his faithful could be gathered and sent to retake and hold Jerusalem. This act could be followed by reinforcements and the Arab lands would be split down the middle. Constantinople may even ask for help, making possible an opportunity to correct their wrong thinking and bring them into the Catholic fold. It might, however, depend on where the white light went. Suddenly, almost as an answer to his prayers, the light shot off at great speed, disappearing to the east.
"The Lord has spoken," Benedict said quietly. "The Lord wishes us to reach out our loving hands and help the peoples of the east to accept the true vision of Christ that only we Popes on earth may hold. The nations under Rome must know of this sign and must act accordingly. Thy will be done, oh Lord."
No comments:
Post a Comment