The Second Messiah

But the twenty-ninth ballot had been completed two hours ago and had failed to produce a pope. Cassini dabbed his brow and thought, Has God deserted His church in its hour of need?

Of the three main candidates, none had the eighty-vote majority required to win the election. It had been like that for nearly two weeks, the voting almost equal among the candidates, and it had proved impossible to break the deadlock. It was obvious that the conclave was in turmoil.

Cassini had prayed that the voting would reach a conclusion by midnight. Hoping to break the impasse, one of the Curia had proposed yet another new compromise candidate to join the other three contenders: the American, Cardinal John Becket. The strategy was obvious—that Becket might split the voting pattern and break the deadlock. Cassini nervously licked his lips. Sixty minutes remained to midnight and the tension was killing him.

He glanced over at John Becket, sitting at one of the tables opposite. He was an imposing figure. Tall and lean, with fair hair and gentle, honest blue eyes, the American was almost Christlike in appearance.

His face was deeply tanned and his hands had the rough calluses of a laborer. The kind of tough hands that might have built this very chapel. And yet there was something strangely regal about him.

Anyone in his company would at once have been aware of his incredibly powerful physical presence. Those who knew Becket spoke of his unique personality and charisma. The son of a Chicago lawyer, he had proved a learned, devout priest who had chosen to shun the many comforts of his American homeland for a deeply religious life.

An outsider, Becket had initially been considered a touch too young for the papacy at fifty-seven. This time, Cassini wondered which way the vote would go.

The Conclave of Cardinals had retreated to pray and seek further inspiration from the Holy Spirit. They had returned and placed their folded voting slips, first onto a golden platter, then into a gold chalice, to signify they had completed a sacred act. Then they had filed back solemnly to their individual tables and chairs and waited for the three scrutineers seated behind the platter and chalice to examine the slips and count the votes.

Now Cassini fidgeted nervously with his pectoral cross as the minutes ticked away. He saw the counters finish their work. One of the scrutineers approached him with the piece of paper bearing the result.

As he anxiously unfolded the slip of paper and read, Cassini felt absolutely stunned. Cardinal John Becket—81 votes. It certainly wasn’t the result Cassini had expected. Becket had not only completely changed the voting pattern, he had won. Despite the surprise result, Cassini felt overwhelmed with relief. He sighed deeply, felt the pains in his chest ebb away.

The scrutineer made the announcement. “Cardinal John Becket, eighty-one votes.”

As the remaining votes of the other candidates were read out, it hardly seemed to matter, for the tension in the chapel had been miraculously broken. All eyes had turned to John Becket, who simply sat there looking shocked, like a man who sensed danger all around him and saw no way of escape. He closed his eyes and his lips seemed to move in silent prayer.

Umberto Cassini rose majestically, despite his puny size. Accompanied by the master of ceremonies and the three scrutineers, he approached Becket. As tradition required, he asked the question in Latin that the elected pope was required to answer.

“Do you, Most Reverend Lord Cardinal, accept your election as Supreme Pontiff, which has been canonically carried out?”

Becket was silent and his eyes remained closed. Cassini nervously repeated the question. “Do you, Most Reverend Lord Cardinal, accept your election as Supreme Pontiff...?”

John Becket didn’t reply.

Cassini felt the tension rise in the chapel.

Very slowly, Becket’s eyes opened. He stood up from his chair, towering above Cassini and the others. Sweat glistened on Becket’s upper lip.

“Camerlengo, I am deeply moved by my brother cardinals’ faith in me. Words cannot express how humbled I feel. I honestly did not expect this result, which comes as a great surprise.” Becket paused as he took a deep breath. “I will accept my election, Camerlengo. I will accept in the name of—”

Becket’s voice faltered and his piercing blue eyes watered with emotion. “Forgive me, please. But before I continue, before I choose a papal name, I must explain something important to all present. Something deeply private that I have told no one until now. A secret in my heart that I feel must be revealed.”