The eye of the lion

His Holiness, John XXIV, looked out of the picture window in his bedroom and sighed as he looked at the beautiful flowering trees in the magnificent garden of his summer residence in Castelgandolfo.

The doctor had told him that morning that his health was improving. That the fainting spell he’d suffered the previous week during one of his daily audiences had only been a reflection of his excessive work load. Some vitamins and a week of rest, as the doctor had recommended, and he would be as good as new, ready to continue the hard but noble task to which he had dedicated his life.

The doctor was doing an excellent job, he was a good man, and he trusted him implicitly. And how could he not, as Voquessi himself had insisted that it be he, and no other, one of the best doctors in Italy, who should treat him. “Only Dino will be able to get you strong enough in time for the jubilee, Holy Father - he’s outstanding”, he had said. “Well, first the Almighty, and then him.”

His faithful friend Voquessi. His right hand. His trustworthy administrator. His almost certain successor. How could he deny this man anything, who was achieving so much for the Mother Church? How could he say no to the friend who had given Catholicism a breath of fresh air as he wisely advised him to announce more open-minded ideological reforms, which had so benefitted the Vatican, giving it an air of newness and freshness before the world?

His Holiness sank into his comfortable chair and smiled, satisfied. He observed the birds drinking from the stone fountain in the garden and reflected that he was feeling much better than he had felt in a long, long time. His trembling wrinkled hands reached for the gold crucifix he wore around his neck and his lips kissed it with profound devotion.

A gentle knock on the door made him turn around. The door opened and Vichenzo, his personal secretary entered, bowing his head as he turned towards the Pope.

“Holiness, his Excellency the Cardinal Voquessi is here to see you.”

“Have him come in please, my son.”

Vichenzo left, and seconds later, Voquessi came into the room, turning towards the Pope with a radiant smile on his lips.

“Holy Father.”

He leaned forward and, taking the old man’s hand, kissed his ring. The Pope stroked his hair affectionately.

“My friend,” he said, his voice weak. “It’s so good to see you!”

The Cardinal looked in his eyes, like deep grey lakes that were now shining especially brightly.

He smiled and the elderly Pope noticed something different in his expression.

“What’s happened? Is there something you want to tell me?”

Voquessi nodded slowly and answered with a note of triumph in his voice.

“Marvelous news,” he replied.

He was overwhelmed with a sensation of incredible power.