The Family - Mario Puzo [97]
Today, in order to justify the actions that he was about to take, he was to represent the church as merciful. And for this he used the reception room whose walls were adorned with the paintings of the Virgin Mary, the Madonna who intercedes with God for all sinners.
He called for Cesare to sit by his side, for he understood some men must be taught the virtuous application of mercy.
His first client was his most loyal servant of twenty years, Stiri Plandini, who had been discovered forging papal bulls. Cesare knew him well, for he had been at the court from the time Cesare was a child.
The man was wheeled into the chamber in a prisoner’s chair—a stuffed chair in which he was immobilized by chains, covered with robes out of respect for the Pope’s tender eyes.
Alexander ordered the chains on the man’s arms removed at once, and then ordered that he be given a glass of wine. For Plandini had tried to speak, but could only croak hoarsely.
Then the Pope spoke, with compassion. “Plandini, you are convicted and sentenced. You have served me faithfully these many years, yet I cannot help you now. But you begged for an audience and I could not refuse you. So, speak.”
Stiri Plandini was a typical scrivener. His eyes were squinted from reading, and his face had that looseness which bespeaks a man who has never hunted or worn armor. His body was so slim it held only a small space in the chair. And when he spoke, his voice was very weak.
“Holy Father,” he said. “Have mercy on my wife and children. Do not let them suffer for my sins.”
Alexander said, “I will see that they come to no harm. Now, have you given up all your conspirators?” He hoped that Plandini could name one of the cardinals he held in special disfavor.
“Yes, Holy Father,” Plandini said. “I repent for my sin and I beg you, in the name of the Holy Virgin, for my life. Let me live and care for my family.”
Alexander considered this. A pardon for this man would encourage others to violate his trust. But he felt pity. How many mornings had he dictated letters to Plandini and exchanged a jest, or inquired as to the health of his children? The man had been a perfect secretary and a devout Christian.
“You are well paid. Why did you commit such a grievous crime?” the Pope asked.
Plandini was holding his head in his hands, his whole body shaking as he was wracked with sobs. “My sons. My sons,” he said. “They are young and wild and I had to pay their debts. I had to keep them close to me. I had to bring them back to the faith.”
Alexander looked toward Cesare, but his expression remained impassive. True or not, it was a clever response by Plandini. The Pope’s fondness for his own children was well known in Rome. The man had touched him.
Standing there in the bright sunlight that streamed through the stained-glass windows, surrounded by portraits of the forgiving Madonna, Alexander felt overwhelmed by his responsibility. This very day, this very man before him would be hanging from a gibbet in the public square, deaf and dumb forever to the pleasures of earth—his five sons and three daughters torn to pieces with grief. And certainly the three conspirators must die, even if he pardoned this man. Would it be just to kill him as well?
Alexander lifted the linen miter from his head; light as it was, he could not bear its weight any longer. He ordered his papal guards to free the prisoner and help him stand up. Then he saw Plandini’s warped torso, his shoulders twisted from the rack during interrogation.
Overcome not so much with sadness for this single sinner, but for all the evil in the world itself, he stood and embraced Plandini. “The Holy Mother of Compassion has spoken to me. You will not die. I pardon you. But you must leave Rome and leave your family. You will live the rest of your life in a monastery far from here, and devote your life to God to earn his mercy.”
Gently, he pushed Plandini back into his chair and