The Family - Mario Puzo [42]
In December, as falling snow turned everything gray, the distressed Pope Alexander and his son Cesare watched from the window of their fortress as the French army, in orderly ranks, marched through the gates of Rome.
Swiss troopers with lethal ten-foot pikes and spears, Gascons with crossbows and the small-caliber long guns they called harquebuses, German mercenaries with axes and spikes, and light cavalry with fearsome lances flooded the city. They were accompanied by heavily armored men at arms with swords and iron maces, and taking up the rear came row after row of marching French artillery-men walking beside gigantic bronze cannons.
In preparation for the king’s arrival, Alexander had set aside the lavish Palazzo Venezia for Charles. He would be attended to by the finest chef the Pope could commandeer, and hundreds of servants were enlisted to deliver all manner of luxury to the French monarch. In return for the Pope’s hospitality, Charles gave his troops strict instructions that there was to be no looting or other violence in the city, under pain of death.
But while Charles was enjoying his “visit” to Rome, impressed by the respect the Pope had shown him, Cardinal della Rovere and his dissident cardinals were whispering in the king’s ear, repeatedly warning Charles of the Pope’s cunning and urging him to convene a General Council.
Alexander sent one of his many loyal cardinals, and one of his most persuasive, to speak to the king, to defend him against Cardinal della Rovere’s charge of simony. And Charles seemed more persuaded by the arguments of Alexander’s minister than by the harping of frantic della Rovere.
No General Council was called.
Instead, after several days, King Charles sent a sealed message to the Pope. As Alexander unrolled the parchment, he allowed himself a deep breath. He scanned the royal document carefully, and tried to apprehend the mood of the writer. It was a request. King Charles wanted an audience with him.
The Pope was relieved. He had accomplished what he hoped for. His strategy was working; now it appeared that this almost impossible situation could be negotiated to his advantage. Though his territory had been breached by Charles and his troops, the Pope knew he must maintain an air of superiority with this impetuous French king. He didn’t want to appear arrogant; still, he understood he must avoid making his relief obvious.
The Pope arranged for a meeting in the Vatican gardens. But timing would be crucial. Alexander knew he could not arrive before the king and appear to be waiting, yet it was just as important that the king not arrive first and be kept waiting. This is where Alexander’s genius was its most refined.
He was carried by litter from Castel Sant’ Angelo to the meeting place in the garden. But he instructed his bearers to hide him behind a large bush alongside one of the stone buildings. There he waited soundlessly for twenty minutes. Then, just as he saw King Charles enter the garden and begin to walk the long path lined with scarlet roses, Alexander’s bearers brought forward his litter.
Pope Alexander was outfitted in one of his most imposing garments: the three golden crowns a sparkling beacon on his mitered headdress, a great jeweled crucifix dangling against his chest.
Charles, the mighty king of France, the most powerful military nation in Christendom, was a tiny, almost dwarflike man, who walked on elevated boots and seemed to conceal his person in voluminous garments in all the colors of the rainbow. He was so obviously awed by the stature of Pope Alexander that a trickle of saliva ran from his mouth.
And so it was, within this garden filled with holy roses, that Pope Alexander negotiated to save Rome.
The following day, Pope and king met again to finalize their agreement, this time in the Hall of Popes. Alexander knew this would allow him the advantage. Charles would consider it a holy place, as sacred a venue as there could be.
Alexander dictated that the preamble read in such a way that