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Authors: Jennings Wright
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smiled.
“I presented the facts, as you presented them to me, and I made it known that I would make the letter public should they continue to undermine both the Church, and my duly appointed election to this office. I speculated that, should that happen, of course they would continue to be the fine Christian men that they are, but perhaps their… influence would wane. Perhaps, in fact, they would be forced to return to families where they had no inheritance or wealth. Made to support the children they have produced on, let us say, a farmer’s income. Of course, those children would be helpful in their fields and vineyards…” Dionysius stood up and clapped Camillus on the shoulder.
“I think we will find that, when Bishop Iraneaus returns to Rome, he will be working much more diligently to further the Church, and perhaps somewhat less diligently to further himself. After all, I am not a young man, and he is the next in line, should the other bishops choose to elect him after I am gone. I think he will bide his time, and amass more wealth, until then. And in the meanwhile, we shall continue to pray that a true believer is appointed to follow me when the time comes.” He poured wine for both of them, and raised his glass. “I thank you, my son, for what you have done for the Church, for Rome, and for Almighty God.” He drank deeply, with satisfaction, and set the cup on the table.
“Now, I am entrusting the letter back to you. Iraneaus will try to find and destroy it, of course, so we shall have to make that impossible. I would like for you to select a few young men such as yourself, and it will be your main duty to vouchsafe the letter, and thus the Church. You will be transferred from Iraneaus, of course. You will keep me abreast of your activities…?” he asked. Camillus, in shock at the turn his life had suddenly taken, merely nodded. “Good. Then we shall move forward.” He raised his cup again. “To the Church,” he said, and drank deeply.
CHAPTER NINE
Goa India
June 1687
J oao Xavier hurried down the narrow alley, keeping his dark cloak pulled around him, and his hat low. He had not been Father Eduardo for almost two years, but he was still not used to the fine clothes, the breeches and soft shirt, the wool cloak that didn’t feel scratchy against his skin. What he was used to by now were the strange dark eyed men who always showed up, no matter where he was or how long it had been since he’d seen them last. Other than the one who had confronted him all that time ago on the Lisbon waterfront, he had never spoken to them. His rooms had been searched several times, in several locales, but it had never again been destroyed as it had been in his little cell at the chapel.
Looking back, that had been a blessing, he thought. Without that fear, he wouldn’t have fled Portugal so quickly. He had never been on a ship until that fateful day, and he had rarely been out of Lisbon. Now he was a merchant trader, ready to travel the known world. He was no longer a priest. He was, in fact, no longer himself… He hadn’t found it difficult to leave Father Eduardo behind, in point of fact. He found that there was much more to the world than he had known, and that he was able to see the God he had worshipped all of his life everywhere he went. He didn’t miss his order, and he was vaguely ashamed to admit that he most certainly didn’t miss his vows of poverty and chastity.
His face flushed as he thought about his vows. Unless he was terribly foolish, he would never again be poor. Sebastian de Gois had given him an incredible gift, even if that gift came with what he saw as a curse. The letter. He tried, always, to ignore the letter. Even now, he was a devout Catholic, and he knew the danger of the letter. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to destroy something written by the greatest apostle of all, Saint Paul. So he kept the letter, and the dangerous translation, in its leather pouch. He had had
“I presented the facts, as you presented them to me, and I made it known that I would make the letter public should they continue to undermine both the Church, and my duly appointed election to this office. I speculated that, should that happen, of course they would continue to be the fine Christian men that they are, but perhaps their… influence would wane. Perhaps, in fact, they would be forced to return to families where they had no inheritance or wealth. Made to support the children they have produced on, let us say, a farmer’s income. Of course, those children would be helpful in their fields and vineyards…” Dionysius stood up and clapped Camillus on the shoulder.
“I think we will find that, when Bishop Iraneaus returns to Rome, he will be working much more diligently to further the Church, and perhaps somewhat less diligently to further himself. After all, I am not a young man, and he is the next in line, should the other bishops choose to elect him after I am gone. I think he will bide his time, and amass more wealth, until then. And in the meanwhile, we shall continue to pray that a true believer is appointed to follow me when the time comes.” He poured wine for both of them, and raised his glass. “I thank you, my son, for what you have done for the Church, for Rome, and for Almighty God.” He drank deeply, with satisfaction, and set the cup on the table.
“Now, I am entrusting the letter back to you. Iraneaus will try to find and destroy it, of course, so we shall have to make that impossible. I would like for you to select a few young men such as yourself, and it will be your main duty to vouchsafe the letter, and thus the Church. You will be transferred from Iraneaus, of course. You will keep me abreast of your activities…?” he asked. Camillus, in shock at the turn his life had suddenly taken, merely nodded. “Good. Then we shall move forward.” He raised his cup again. “To the Church,” he said, and drank deeply.
CHAPTER NINE
Goa India
June 1687
J oao Xavier hurried down the narrow alley, keeping his dark cloak pulled around him, and his hat low. He had not been Father Eduardo for almost two years, but he was still not used to the fine clothes, the breeches and soft shirt, the wool cloak that didn’t feel scratchy against his skin. What he was used to by now were the strange dark eyed men who always showed up, no matter where he was or how long it had been since he’d seen them last. Other than the one who had confronted him all that time ago on the Lisbon waterfront, he had never spoken to them. His rooms had been searched several times, in several locales, but it had never again been destroyed as it had been in his little cell at the chapel.
Looking back, that had been a blessing, he thought. Without that fear, he wouldn’t have fled Portugal so quickly. He had never been on a ship until that fateful day, and he had rarely been out of Lisbon. Now he was a merchant trader, ready to travel the known world. He was no longer a priest. He was, in fact, no longer himself… He hadn’t found it difficult to leave Father Eduardo behind, in point of fact. He found that there was much more to the world than he had known, and that he was able to see the God he had worshipped all of his life everywhere he went. He didn’t miss his order, and he was vaguely ashamed to admit that he most certainly didn’t miss his vows of poverty and chastity.
His face flushed as he thought about his vows. Unless he was terribly foolish, he would never again be poor. Sebastian de Gois had given him an incredible gift, even if that gift came with what he saw as a curse. The letter. He tried, always, to ignore the letter. Even now, he was a devout Catholic, and he knew the danger of the letter. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to destroy something written by the greatest apostle of all, Saint Paul. So he kept the letter, and the dangerous translation, in its leather pouch. He had had
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