The Cardinal's Family Matters, ch 11-12

Chapter 11.

      A Clash of Wills.

      He spoke too soon. Morning began nice enough. Fratelli woke up late, attended morning Mass, stayed behind to say prayers with his fellow-priests and ate a hefty breakfast. Walking through the hallway, a pastry still in-hand, Fratelli met Rodrigo. His expression fretful, Rodrigo blurted out:

      “I can’t find Philomena anywhere!”

      Under ordinary circumstances, this was nothing to worry about; however, he knew well of Lamberto II’s crafty intentions.

      “Maybe she is enjoying tea with the ladies…” Fratelli replied, staying calm, “I’ll look for her.”

      In a spacious parlor, many women convened. Paintings and mirrors adorned the walls. Soft, morning sun poured inside, causing their dresses, which were every imaginable color, to glow. They talked loudly, laughed and sipped tea from fine china. Then they turned to see Fratelli’s reluctant entrance. Timidly, he asked:

      “Have any of you seen Philomena?”

      A chorus of responses followed:

      “No, she’s sleeping late.”

      “Thought she was with you…”

      “Oh, Your Eminence, would you join us for some tea?”

      Noting they failed to take him seriously, the cardinal voiced his sarcastic thanksgiving. Feeling upset, he exited swiftly- and suddenly crashed into the servant from last night. The plate that he carried slipped from his hands. It clattered loudly and sent a shower of rolls to the floor. Blushing horribly and bowing, he stammered, “I am so sorry, Your Eminence!”

      Fratelli replied, “It’s rather fine…Maybe you can help me?”

      “Yes, of course, anything!”

      “My cousin arrived here with me. She has long, black hair, brown eyes and was wearing a blue dress, have you seen her?”

      “Oh yes,” he said, “Philomena correct? She is very beautiful, pardon me for saying this, and I remember, she got upset when I offered to refill her wineglass. I don’t think she likes me.”

      “Did you see her this morning,” Fratelli pressed, growing impatient.

      Sensing this impatience, the servant trembled somewhat. Then, he began gushing, “I’m so sorry this has happened to you, Your Eminence. I don’t usually have good days either. I’ll look for her, check in her room…I’ll be right back.”

      He darted off before Fratelli could thank him. After five minutes, the servant returned. A forlorn look spread on his young face. He muttered:

      “I deeply apologize. She isn’t in her room. But don’t worry…I’ll make it my primary task to find her.”

      Fratelli then asked, “Tell me what your name is.”

      “Oh, why? Am I in trouble? Have I offended you?”

      “Be calm…I just wish to know,” Fratelli assured, lightly touching his shoulder

      “I am Jan,” he finally answered.

      With Jan’s company, Fratelli paced the hallways searching for Philomena. The cardinal tried to thank Jan for recovering his ring while Lamberto did nothing but he shook this off. Strolling onto a wide porch, they found some people gathered there. Jan began asking about Philomena. No one clearly noticed her- except Lamberto.

      “I’m going to see Lamberto,” Fratelli concluded.

      Shock flashed in Jan’s grey-colored eyes.

      “But why!” he cried.

      Fratelli answered flatly, “Because I can.”

      Jan trailed along like a loyal puppy as Fratelli crossed a main courtyard, descended great, stone steps and stopped before an armed guard. The guard saluted Fratelli and hailed him. Growing tired of evasive formalities, Fratelli demanded to see Lamberto. Surprisingly, the guard nodded. Perhaps, he understood the cardinal’s sentiment.

      Finally, within the confines of a narrow chamber, facing Lamberto, Fratelli abruptly inquired:

      “Where is Philomena?”

      Paying half-attention, Lamberto answered, “You tell me. I accompanied her to breakfast and took her back to her room- but now I’ve no idea where she is…”

      He then added, “Isn’t she allowed to go where she wants?”

      Fratelli gazed indignantly. He retorted, “Usually there isn’t someone looking to harm her.”

      Lamberto laughed.

      “I think you’re mistaken about me, Good Eminence,” he said, “I seek to harm no one. I’m really not a bad person...”

   “I recall it was you who sent a letter calling me: “dim-witted with nothing better to do.”.” Fratelli growled.

      His pinkish lips twisting in a smirk, Lamberto stepped away and sat in the ornate chair nearby.

      “Oh, that’s over with…” he replied slowly, “Those little sins were forgiven when you allowed me back into the Church. Aren’t you supposed to forget about that?”

      “I’m supposed to learn from it.”

      Lamberto’s grin flattened. He didn’t much like this clergyman looking down at him. However, Fratelli honestly couldn’t help it from where he stood. He glanced aside, eyed a shelf loaded with old, dusty books. Silently, he prayed for peace of mind. Lamberto then remembered something and spoke:

      “I must tell you that though I’ve found a fine home in Lucca, I decided to return to the country of my father in Florence. Therefore, you can no longer bother yourself with me.”

      Fratelli instantly knew what he meant. In the eyes of the Church, changing one’s residence amounted to changing one’s bishop. Not responding, he silently recalled that in fact, Cardinal Montillo was the bishop over Florence. What more could he say? Feeling spited and knowing there was nothing he could do about it, Fratelli spoke a faint farewell and departed.

      He was so upset that he walked right past Jan and never allowed him to catch up.

      The duke’s private chapel was empty, dark and quiet. Dust hung in the air and few candles flickered weakly in hazy light. Fratelli didn’t mind. Let them dwindle away and die, he mused. At once, raising eyes to the looming altar, he spoke:

      “I am sorry Lord. I have not the proper attitude today. Aid my thoughts and actions to charity and love. Only you know where Philomena is…Apparently, she has decided to do what she likes…and please, if possible, guide her back to me.”

       Unable to tolerate the chapel’s unkempt state, Fratelli lingered and began cleaning. However, once kicked up, dirt and dust only spread further. At last, an hour later, when Fratelli emerged into the bright hallway, he encountered none other but Cardinal Montillo. Glancing over his nose, observing Fratelli’s dust-flaked cassock, Montillo remarked:

      “You may wish to do something about your appearance.”

      Fratelli grumbled, lowered his gaze and stormed off.

 Chapter 12.

      Celebration.

      Noon sluggishly yielded to evening. Overwhelmed by boredom and anxiety, Fratelli obsessed over his appearance. When Rodrigo inquired why he combed his hair three separate times, Fratelli simply snapped:

      “Woe if I do not meet their high expectations!”

      Melodramatically, he stood, tread in a circle and began wiping his ring with a white cloth. Hearing someone at the door, Rodrigo opened it and Philomena stepped in. Seeing her reflection from the mirror, Fratelli turned, came forth, grabbed her hand then exclaimed:

      “I am so glad to see you- where have you been?”

      Smiling bashfully, Philomena tied back her flowing, golden-yellow dress and said, “I spent morning and afternoon exploring this wonderful palace, aren’t I allowed to do that?”

      Fratelli didn’t respond, instead distracted by her glittering garments. In fact, neither Fratelli nor Rodrigo remembered seeing the dress before. She smiled wider, gestured towards her glittering necklace- also new, and stated: “Lamberto gave me this outfit to wear tonight and keep. Isn’t he so nice?”

      “Well, I suppose,” Fratelli answered blandly.

       A shrill bell’s ringing interrupted them. It announced to all that the hour of supper had arrived. Trailing behind Philomena, Fratelli and Rodrigo walked downstairs, along a corridor and entered the huge dining room. If one hadn’t known it was the Easter Feast, they would surely know now. The long dining table sprawled before them, bedecked with fragrant, white lilies, hosting savory dishes of all sorts: lobster pastries, clams, chops of veal, balls of aged cheese, melons, grapes and of course, olives. Wine bottles stood next to tall, silver decanters.

      Fratelli sat in a place of honor besides Rodrigo and Philomena. Meekly, eyeing the others, he removed his scarlet biretta and set this on his lap. Of course, seeing the cardinal’s slight inconvenience, a servant came quickly to retrieve it. Gianni grumbled, having a place with the younger courtiers. Fratelli himself fixed his gaze on the duke’s imposing figure. He sat at the table’s head-seat, wearing fine, indigo-blue vesture. The metals on his chest glittered against bright lamp-light. Flanking him were his wife Lucia, and the scarlet-clad Cardinal Montillo.

      Suddenly, Lamberto II entered. Quietly, he approached his parents, respectfully bowed to them and then whispered something in Cardinal Montillo’s ear. The cardinal moved aside his powdered curls in response and whispered back. Fratelli swore he saw Lamberto pointing in his direction but got distracted by servants bringing forth the meal’s centerpiece: a whole, browned lamb. In elegant procession, they carried the simmering meat and set it down.

      No one moved. Their dull chattering died when the duke finally rose, held a glass in the air and spoke: “Most-honorable family and friends, on this day we celebrate the new spring, the ending of Lent- and the resurrection of Jesus Christ. So, let us dine marvelously and drink to his good name!”

      Fratelli quizzically arched his dark eyebrows then picked up his own glass and drank. Tasting the strong wine, he winced. Setting his glass down, Fratelli looked towards Gianni who eagerly ate the fine fare placed before him. He wondered if Dina and Rodrigo were having a smaller feast back in Lucca, with Francine, Ernesto and Michele.

      Throughout dinner, the cardinal avoided eating too much. He sampled this and that, savoring the olives and juicy grapes most of all. When time came for cake, he had plenty an appetite left and so he enjoyed a large, buttery piece. Gianni naturally stuffed himself but under Fratelli’s reproving gaze, he slowed down and grew mild-mannered. After dessert, Father Rodrigo whisked Gianni off for bed. The priest paused beside Fratelli, saying:
      “Good night, Your Eminence.”

      “Good night Rodrigo. God bless.”

      He overheard Gianni’s hushed protest and slightly smiled. His smile became a frown however, as he caught sight of Philomena speaking with Lamberto in the room’s far corner. He prepared to go after her but paused, hearing some music start nearby. One, nicely-dressed man had begun playing the piano, soon accompanied by two violinists and a chubby man strumming a mandolin.   

      The duke’s loud voice rang out:

      “Now, it’s time to dance. Let’s dance with the joy of the night!”

      Of course, taking his wife’s hand, he rose and approached the room’s center. Footsteps shuffled about. Genteel etiquette obliged everyone to follow suit- even those who seemed tired. They formed pairs and took up dancing. Fratelli edged towards the doorway, his eyes frantically searching for Philomena and Lamberto. He found them dancing several feet away, her smile bright and his eyes intent. Fratelli didn’t interrupt but stood there scowling and at last, moved from the room and outside into a moonlit garden.

      No one else was there. Quiet reigned: just him and the Easter moon. Cupping a perfect, white lily in his hands, Fratelli breathed sweet fragrance and grinned.  

      “O, Lord God,” he prayed aloud, “the newness of spring is your finest handiwork…besides man of course. Please tend and safeguard our souls so that they may be pure just like the lilies.”

      Absorbed in the beauty of his words, Fratelli walked further. He gathered another flower, smelled it and then absentmindedly strolled back indoors, his cheek now smudged with dusty, yellow nectar. Seeing the cardinal’s face, a house-servant ducked, not daring to say anything, and darted away. Festivities calmed as Fratelli re-emerged into the spacious dining-room, hands folded; his posture upright. This sense of dignity was soon squelched by a few noble-women who clustered by the door. Pushing her laughing friends aside, the youngest; her black hair tied in braids, approached.

      “Good evening, Your Eminence,” she said, lifting her long skirts in order to curtsy.

      Glancing past her, looking for Philomena, Fratelli mumbled:

      “Good evening.”

      The woman smiled in response. All of sudden, without warning, she reached up, touching Fratelli’s face. Startled by this gesture, he withdrew and bolted face-first into a door.

      “Oh no, Your Eminence!” she cried, “You’ve something on your face…I was just going to wipe it off!”

      Fratelli rubbed his hurt nose then tried to reach the smudge himself. His hand missed again and again.

      “Oh, let me get it,” the woman said, looking on with sympathy.

      “Fine, fine…” Fratelli grumbled.

      After the woman wiped Fratelli’s cheek clean, the cardinal slunk sheepishly to his chair. In a corner, he then saw Philomena speaking with Lamberto, who stood, laughing, haughtily crossing his arms. Fratelli was prepared to get up and separate them when a noise caught his attention.

      Cardinal Montillo had joined him. Smiling, cheeks rosy, he addressed Fratelli:

      “Why don’t we talk, one-on-one, just us princes of the Church…and drink?”

      Nervously, Fratelli replied, “We can talk yes, if you like, but I am finished drinking.”

       Montillo’s smile faded as he raised the pitcher he held to Fratelli’s glass.

      “Stop being a boy and be a man,” he chided while pouring.

      Fratelli huffed, “I am very much a man.”

      Fratelli sipped at the wine. Seeing his slow, careful manner, Montillo began laughing. The younger cardinal then stared hotly, his face angrily flushed.

      “See, that’s better,” Montillo declared, finishing his own glass, “Will put some hair on your chest!”

      Feeling belittled for the last time, Fratelli asked for another glass. They talked while Fratelli calmly drank, hiding his frustration. After several minutes and a fourth drink, Fratelli forgot exactly what he was speaking about. He also found himself giggling. Laying his head sleepily on the table, he said to Montillo:

      “Easter is always nice, isn’t it? What Jesus did for us was so lovely. Wasn’t supper lovely? I like the lamb and the olives.”

      “Did you try the lobster rolls?” Montillo asked.

      “No, I don’t prefer lobster much…” Fratelli answered, trailing off, “…too lobster-ish.”

      Soon, he fell asleep, right there in front of Montillo who snickered then walked away.

      From a distance, Jan observed as the older, white-haired cardinal departed, strolling past him with no regard. He now watched Lamberto leave the room- hand-in-hand with Philomena. Feeling rather apprehensive, he approached the soundly-sleeping Fratelli and touched his arm.

      “Your Eminence, wake up.”

      No response.

      “Come on, Your Eminence…”

      After poking Fratelli several more times, failing to rouse him, Jan took a pitcher of water from the table. He crossed himself then splashed its entire contents onto the sleeping cardinal. Fratelli, at once, jerked awake, blinking his eyes open and wiped water from his face.

      “Why am I all wet?” he asked disappointedly.

      He shook his dripping sleeves as Jan quickly explained that Philomena just left with Lamberto- and that they were alone.

The Cardinal's Family Matters, ch 9-10

Chapter 9.

      Evening.

      Coming to a rugged road, the coach halted. Gianni sprinted from the door, hurrying towards dense shrubbery as Fratelli leaned outside and called:

      “Do your improper deed quickly- we must be on our way!”

      Philomena giggled behind him. Then she stepped out, stretched her legs and paced over the dusty ground. Rodrigo figured he would get some exercise as well. Strolling beneath a scraggly tree, he produced a small, leather-bound book from his pocket. Its old pages rustled in protest as Rodrigo opened them, loosened the blue, silk ribbon which marked his place and began to read aloud:

      “O God, come to my aid…”

      Automatically, Fratelli replied, “O Lord, make haste to help me.”

      Philomena gazed cock-eyed, but wasn’t offended when Fratelli beckoned her participation in the evening-prayer. She spoke coarsely, reluctantly. But she needed to be compliant, she mused. After all, their attending this marvelous celebration was because of him.

      Gianni expressed confusion, his little forehead wrinkling, when he joined back with them. Yet, taking ready advantage of that awkwardness, Gianni assumed priestly posture, spread his arms wide then waved a blessing in the air. Fratelli scowled. He didn’t say anything. Tired by the day’s long journey, he climbed aboard the stagecoach. The others soon followed.   

      Two hours later, they had passed the border of Florence. While Lamberto II resided in Eastern Lucca, his father’s palace stood on a hilltop in central Florence. Tuscany’s great capitol was unlike Lucca, which bustled at a steady pace. Here, crowds, horses and carriages jammed the streets. Fortunately, the traffic loosened. Most people, by now, were preparing for Easter’s Solemn Vigil.  As the sloping hilltop came into sight, Fratelli clasped his hands anxiously together. A sharp incline jolted them, Gianni shouted with excitement and Philomena stirred from her nap.

      “Can’t they be more careful?” she grumbled.

      Taking his cousin’s arm, Fratelli replied, “There is no other way to scale the hill- unless you wish to walk.”

      When her small purse hit the floor, Philomena hissed in frustration. Soon, bumps and jostles ended. Quickly, they moved over smooth terrain then gradually slowed. Out the small windows, a high, stone gate became visible and four scarlet-clad, armed guards allowed them through.

      At last, everything stopped. Gianni jumped outside first. Throwing his fists up, he whooped with joy and began to run. Immediately, Rodrigo bounded after him and clutched the collar of his suit. Wrestling away, Gianni exclaimed, “Father, if you tear my suit- I’ll look terrible for my first communion!”

      Rodrigo let go. Fratelli sprinted, lifting his long cloak above the grass, and paused beside him.

      “Your Eminence,” Rodrigo said, “I fear the boy may act out, seeing how he’s been cooped up so long.”

      “Don’t worry yourself. I’ll get him. Please accompany Philomena,” Fratelli panted.

      Rodrigo then asked, “Are you alright?”   

      “Yes, fine, fine,” Fratelli replied as he started towards Gianni who had already reached the palace door.

      Timidly brushing aside his golden-brown hair, Gianni met eyes with another guard. Tall-statured, towering over him, the man casually stared back. Though he rested one hand on the hilt of his silver sword, the guard’s stance did not threaten. Suddenly, Gianni pointed at Fratelli, flashed a toothy smile and bluntly declared:

      “I’m with him. We’re important…”

      Fratelli grabbed Gianni’s arm in order to hush him, apologized for the annoyance and led him inside.  At once, a great foyer engulfed them. Golden lamplight greeted them, gilded walls and distant violin music. Gianni gaped. He had never seen such opulence in his life. Several noble ladies, all wearing fine emerald-colored dresses, conversed nearby. One by one, they turned to greet Fratelli.

      “Your Eminence!” said the eldest, tucking a stubborn, black curl behind her ear, “I’d ask you to dance with me but alas, you’re not allowed.”

      Tightening his grip on Gianni, who tried to squirm away, Fratelli uneasily gazed aside at a large painting. When the woman burst into coyish laughter, he swiftly departed. Entering a spacious corridor, he finally released Gianni. Spinning around, Gianni stated, “I bet they have very good food here. I’m so hungry… Can we get something to eat?”

      “Yes but only a little. You shall not eat supper until after Mass and Holy Communion,” Fratelli answered.

      Rodrigo then appeared. Noticing, Fratelli’s mounting exasperation, he offered to take Gianni and find the boy some food. Eagerly, Fratelli paced back into the great foyer. Philomena waited. 

      “I know how badly Francine wanted to be here,” she began.

      Thinking of Michele, wondering if she was well, Fratelli nervously folded his hands. He removed his golden ring and held it for a while. Just as he started putting it back on, someone yelled loudly:

      “You are here!”

      Alarmed, Fratelli dropped the ring. It clinked on the floor, rolled about a foot away and was stopped by Lamberto II’s black boot. Clad in medallioned finery, scarlet and black, Lamberto withdrew. His unblemished face tensed, fair lips bent in a frown. Fratelli just stood there adamant, unwilling to move. Neither of them acted. Neither of them wanted to stoop in front of the other and show submission…

      Eventually, a blue-vested servant paused amidst household cleaning, seeing their dilemma. He approached and knelt down to fetch the ring. Moreso, he placed the ring onto Fratelli’s finger then reverently kissed it. Glancing back at Lamberto, the servant dashed away like a frightened mouse.  

      Feeling weak, Fratelli watched Lamberto proceed towards Philomena, introduce himself and offer her a glass of wine. Sighing under his breath, Fratelli concluded that only a beautiful young woman afforded Lamberto’s politeness. Everyone else seemed inferior. Suppressing hot anger, Fratelli ventured outside. Somehow, he sensed his trials had only begun.

Chapter 10.

      This is the Night.

      In mere minutes, a troupe of clergy entered the foyer, clustered together and milled outside. They numbered around thirty. Ten, white-robed deacons, fifteen priests wearing black cassocks and birettas, three monsignors swaddled in purple, one elderly, grey-bearded bishop and lastly, a resplendent cardinal. His silvery, powdered wig curled like a lion’s mane.  Obviously dyed to match, his bushy eyebrows arched while he peered with shrewd, blue eyes. Fratelli vaguely recognized him… Looking to and fro, seeking refuge from the clamorous throng, he desperately ducked behind a huge, ornamental fern.

      Unfortunately, the silver-haired cardinal stared right at Fratelli and in boisterous voice, announced:

      “Now I know, the Lord Lamberto doesn’t have red roses trimmed with ermine- come out from there…you look silly.”

      Fratelli remained still. He finally gave up and emerged. The older cardinal gave a satisfied look. Then he paused, thought a minute and asked:

      “I am Cardinal Montillo. You don’t remember me?”

      No answer. Before Montillo addressed Fratelli again, someone called him back inside.

      “Thanks be to you, O Lord…” Fratelli muttered.

      In short time, everyone was summoned into the neighboring, royal chapel. For a chapel, the space was huge, with gilded walls and vaulted ceilings. White lilies clustered everywhere, sweetly scenting the air. Hastened clamor ensued. A select-audience gathered. Altar servers scurried and chattered like white-clad sea-gulls. Priests gathered as a greater flock, rushing to the chapel’s front. Beside the ancient, bearded bishop, Fratelli fidgeted with his own clothing. He wore choir dress beneath a scarlet cape, which was what cardinals wore when not presiding. However, he lost his thoughts when all grew dark. In that primordial dark, they recollected the first dark… before creation.

      “In the beginning God created heaven, and earth. And the earth was void and empty, and darkness was upon the face of the deep; and the spirit of God moved over the waters…”

      On this night, they relived creation and the fall of man. They learned how from his sinfulness, emerged the perfect plan of hope.

      “And I will pour upon you clean water, and you shall be cleansed from all your filthiness, and I will cleanse you from all your idols. And I will give you a new heart, and put a new spirit within you.”

      Time blurred. Minutes ran together. While sitting, overhearing Cardinal Montillo’s rather dull, prolonged sermon, Fratelli struggled to stay awake. At last, he sharply pinched his arm and almost shouted from the abrupt pain. Hearing Fratelli’s stifled squeak, the priest beside him grew stiff, his eyes fearfully bulging and frantically searched for a rodent beneath his feet.

      The baptisms, which initiated Christians into new life, followed. Women holding babes draped in white lace, lined behind several pink-cheeked youths around the baptismal font. Montillo administered the life-giving sacrament, his face rather indifferent from doing this so many years. Next, came that long-awaited moment- confirmation. In ancient days, Christians would receive this sacrament on Easter night which called the Holy Spirit upon them. Lord Christ promised it and so they did it, Fratelli reminded himself.

      When Gianni’s suited figure rose, Fratelli fixed eyes on the boy who devoutly marched to the altar, halted, glanced back and in one, quick gesture, picked his nose. Fratelli winced. He dearly hoped no one had seen this. With a delicate, gloved hand, Montilo gestured for Fratelli to approach. He, stood, went forth proudly and met Gianni upon the altar’s marble steps.

      Looking down at Gianni’s overwhelmed and confused expression, Fratelli ginned. He really admired the boy right now who had expected a smaller ceremony, in Lucca’s cathedral, with more townspeople and minus the leering royalty.  A young server advanced, holding a crystal bowl of sacred oil in his pale hands. Ignoring Montillo’s domineering stare, Fratelli dabbed his thumb into the shimmering oil.

      Soft strains filled the air, joyously chanting:

      “Alleluia, resurrexit sicut dixit… (1.)”

      Fratelli honestly lost himself in the moment. His thoughts floated off somewhere below the vaulted ceiling. A sudden hiss brought him back to earth:

      “Your Eminence!”

      Seeing Gianni, Fratelli shook his head and anointed Gianni’s forehead, quietly speaking:

      “Be ye sealed with the Holy Ghost.”

      Gianni smiled. Glad to be over with; he turned and hastily retreated down the altar-steps. Fratelli himself remained by the other clergy, fidgeting somewhat as he found it hard to contain his joy. This joy grew considerably during the consecration of the Holy body and blood of Christ. They used only the newest, finest bread and wine, rendered a best offering to the Lord. It was now time:

      Nervously, Gianni again approached the altar, knelt- as he was instructed and allowed Montillo to place a white, round host on his tongue. Fratelli watched the boy chew, worried he would grimace, horrified if he would dare spit it out. Luckily, all went well and Gianni returned to his place and remembered to thank God.

      Gladness erupted in Fratelli’s very soul. This was the night when Christ rose from the grave, when everything was made anew. On this night, Christ opened the gates of heaven, undid the fault of Adam and delivered mankind from certain death.

      ~ ~ ~

      Finally, the Mass ended. Bells rang, casting a brazen echo. In response, another church-bell sang far off in the distance. Darkness shrouded the hillside. People walked, holding lit candles, forming a stream of light as they tread back towards the palace.

      Fratelli sighed with great relief when he reached his guest room. He glanced at two beds. Since Rodrigo wasn’t yet there, he eagerly chose the larger one. Despite Fratelli’s worrying, nothing went wrong. Easter’s solemn Vigil had been splendid, beauteous, pleasing to God. Gianni fully entered Christian faith; he was so different from the raggedy menace he met two years ago. And also, Philomena seemed happy. Resting on a soft, silk pillow, he smiled and said:

                       “Thank you, O Lord, for your plentiful grace. You spared me from trouble tonight and 

               lifted  my heart. Please be there for Gianni- as I have nothing to worry about.

The Cardinal's Family Matters, ch 7-8

Chapter 7.

      Good Friday.

      Before dawn peeked into the windows, Cardinal Fratelli awoke with a sore throat. He shivered a bit from night air then closed the window and laid back down, trying to fall asleep again. No success.

      Irritated, he got up and softly moved downstairs. From the kitchen, he smelled the delicate odor of brewing tea and baking bread. Dina was awake and setting the table. Remembering a more important task, Fratelli went into the chapel. Six lit candles greeted him, flickering somberly.

      Crossing himself, he said hoarsely:

      “Thank you, O Lord, for your providence and care. Please help me to feel fit enough for your service as I am not feeling too well. Give Gianni the grace to receive your holy communion tomorrow night, watch over Michele. I apologize, my God for rambling on like this, asking all these things. What matters most is you are here and that you sent your Son to save us… however, granting me a nice day would also be very pleasant.”

      He smiled against the dim lights.  

      “In the name of Father, Son and Holy Ghost, uphold me.”

      Thankfully, when Fratelli joined Rodrigo and Adreo for breakfast, the hot tea soothed his throat. After another cup, he now spoke clearly and without any pain. He didn’t even mind that for this day of fasting, all they each ate was two slices of bread and three figs. Excitedly, the cardinal suggested that all the leftover bread in their house be distributed to the poor.

      “But what else will we eat?” Adreo inquired.

      “We have figs and olives and hard breadsticks,” Fratelli replied, “Let’s remember those who often fast more from necessity than from choice.”

      This zealous excitement dwindled soon, as he approached the cathedral and found a man sitting forlorn on the steps. Moving aside his messy, greyish hair, the man looked up.

      “Your Eminence!” he cried.

      He scrambled afoot, bowed and kissed the cardinal’s ring. Then he continued, “I really need to talk with a man of God.”

      Fratelli’s forehead wrinkled as he tried to remember the man’s name. Indeed, he regularly attended Mass at the cathedral, always sitting towards the front and responding devoutly. Something like “Fred” or “Fido”…It bothered him he couldn’t remember.

      “You don’t know me, do you Your Eminence?” he asked, catching on.

      Embarrassed, Fratelli stammered, “I do, I do…Just wait for a minute…”

      “Alfred! I’m Alfred!” the man said, concealing some annoyance.

      Fratelli frowned and inwardly scolded himself. Returning attention to the man, he asked, “What do you wish to speak about, my son- Alfred?”

      Alfred gestured that they step inside where no one could hear. They walked towards the altar then stopped before an ornate, stained-glass window. Faint sunlight cast a reddish glow upon Alfred’s face as he began:

      “Your Eminence, I am so overcome by temptation and anger- I am ready to leave my wife.”

      The gravity of his words struck Fratelli and feeling weak, he leaned on a near wall.

      “Why?” was his only response.

      “I am not a bad man, Your Eminence, I just grow tired of working so hard every day and coming home to an unappreciative woman. She yells at me and won’t cook for me…and also, there is someone else I would rather be with,” Alfred said.

      Fratelli calmly listened while Alfred went on and on about how dissatisfying his married life had become. Finally, he raised one finger to quiet him then asserted, “No, no surely there is some other way…”

      Fratelli spent the next hour talking with Alfred, convincing him to resist his emotions, stay home and for both he and his spouse to seek regular counsel from another priest. Fratelli’s mind spun by the time Alfred left. Now, he had a headache.

      Leaving the cathedral’s side door, walking across the green, shady courtyard, Fratelli spotted Ernesto speaking with Francine beneath a tree. Francine furiously fanned herself with a silk, oriental fan and gazed at Ernesto. Back turned to Fratelli, he wore a deep blue, constable’s uniform and a black cape. Creeping closer, Fratelli overheard him say:

      “Michele’s baby is likely going to be born this week. She is so weary and having great pain. I’m so glad for your help.”

      “Well you know how dearly I was looking forward to hosting the Easter Feast but Philomena told me she was invited elsewhere…and Michele’s baby is a far more important matter.”

      Francine then stared past Ernesto, easily seeing Fratelli, and exclaimed, “Angelo, you are dressed in bright scarlet-red, how can I not see you behind that bush?”

      Ernesto turned around.

      “Well, hello,” the cardinal said to his brother, nervously waving.

      “Eminence,” Ernesto lazily replied with a small nod.

      Ernesto’s amber eyes glimmered tiredly, apparently deprived of sleep.

      “I have been so worried about Michele,” he explained, “Then your aunt Francine here told me she would be glad to care for her as a midwife.”

      “I am skilled at comforting and tending to new mothers,” Francine interrupted, “Just ask Angelo how well I cared for my eldest daughter after her first child.”

      Fratelli nodded. He rubbed his right temple. The painful headache would not go away. Taking Ernesto’s hand, he assured, “My brother, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to summon me.”

      “Even if it is in the middle of night?”

      “Of course!”

      Afternoon arrived. Uneasily, still rubbing his head and now drinking cool water, Fratelli examined the blood-red vestments which were to be used for Good Friday’s service. He placed his glass of water down, walked over to where the vestments hung and carefully put them on.

      Then the people of Lucca gathered inside the cathedral to commemorate Jesus’s passion and ultimate death on the cross. Gianni was given the task of bearing a golden crucifix before the procession. The tall, heavy cross almost faltered in his small hands but determinedly, he kept grip on it.

      Somber chant rose overhead:

      “We adore you O Christ, and we bless you, for by your holy cross and resurrection, you have redeemed the world.”

      Fratelli austerely lead prayers and songs but the dull throbbing in his head felt worse. He pretended not to feel it but the pain became sharper and sharper. After his sermon, the words “Ouch, this hurts” suddenly slipped from his mouth! Noticing everyone heard him, he frantically pointed back to the crucifix as if implying that is exactly what Jesus felt. 

Chapter 8.

      The Journey.

      Laying down, holding a cold rag to his head, Cardinal Fratelli closed his eyes and tried to rest. Hearing footsteps, he sluggishly opened one eye then the other. Rodrigo stood over him.

      “I just wanted to tell you they are stripping the cathedral, covering the statues and making the altar bare,” he told him.

      “I already know that,” Fratelli remarked, “Please leave me alone.”

      “Well I brought you something to eat…”

      “Oh, thank you.”

      Mumbling something, Rodrigo set a plate of hard bread and figs on a nearby table and walked away. Fratelli himself sunk into a restful sleep.

      Waking up, he noticed the pain in his head was absent. At a leisurely pace, he began packing his things. Early next morning, he would be leaving with Rodrigo, Philomena and Gianni for the duke’s palace. It was an entire day’s journey. There, they’d celebrate the Mass of Easter Vigil. Though Fratelli felt unsure about not presiding over the worship, regretting that the eloquent homily he wrote would go unheard; he said nothing as he folded a red cassock.

      After a few items and garments were packed, Fratelli went downstairs and into the parlor. Philomena sat there, musing over the letter received from Lamberto II. A while ago, she’d taken it with Fratelli’s permission and kept reading it over. Imaging her and the duke’s son dancing on a beautiful, moonlit porch before a great palace, she shuddered with anticipation.

      Then, she saw Fratelli’s obvious frown. He took the letter saying, “You have looked at that enough. Stop obsessing.”

      Irritated she replied, “What do you care?”

      Fratelli walked to a chair and sat across from her. Summoning patience, he said, “Philomena, I know the duke’s son better than you. He is a reveler and pleasure-seeker, not a good man to court.”

      Philomena seemed to listen for a moment then she snorted, feeling again encroached upon, and stood.

      “Let me make my own decisions,” she stated flatly.

      As she left, the cardinal rested his chin on his hands and pondered. How was he ever going to convince her? Maybe she was right: she had to make her own decision…and learn from it.

      ~ ~ ~

      “Where is my ring?” Cardinal Fratelli asked no one in particular as he fumbled around his night-stand in near darkness.

      A small lamp aided his sight. Outside the skies were still inky black as dawn waited hours away.

      “I can’t find it, I can’t find it!” he cried.

      Dina heard his lamenting and came into the room, holding her bright lamp against the dark.

      “What’s wrong, Your Eminence?”

      “I cannot find my ring… We have to leave very shortly, the coach is already here and it’s nowhere to be seen!” he moaned.

      Dina crossed her arms then suggested, “Alright, alright, I’m sure if you calm down, you’ll find the ring.”

      Fratelli stuttered, “I already tried being calm and didn’t find it.”

      “Your Eminence, have you looked on the floor?”

      “The floor? I’m not getting on the floor.”

      “Well then…” Dina muttered as she left.

      Grumbling, Fratelli got on his hands and knees and began peering underneath the furniture. He searched vigorously until in the corner of his eye, he saw something shiny beneath the bed. The ring! Scooping it into his hands, he smiled and climbed afoot. He then saw Gianni standing impatiently by the door. Wearing a fine, black suit with pearly buttons, he fidgeted and eventually said, “They’re waiting for you.”

      Fratelli beckoned and told Gianni to fetch his gloves, carry them downstairs and wait. Feeling tired yet excited, the boy obeyed and disappeared. Before blowing out the lamp beside him, Fratelli grabbed a draping, scarlet cloak trimmed with white ermine fur and gently slung it over his shoulder.

      Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Fratelli blundered into Father Rodrigo and slipped. Both cardinal and cloak tumbled downwards. Rodrigo caught the precious cloth, letting the cardinal fall! Glancing up angrily, Fratelli said nothing. It was too early to become upset. He only stood, nonchalantly dusted himself off and followed Rodrigo outside.

      Cold air enveloped them. Rodrigo hugged his own black cloak tighter and Fratelli shivered. Gianni silently waited for them, sitting across from Philomena who nodded back to sleep. Growing antsy, the boy watched as Rodrigo helped Fratelli don his cloak. Finally, Fratelli lifted the long cape off the ground and boarded the coach with Rodrigo right behind. In quite a hurry, they closed the door.  Quickly under dark skies, the coach took off and a small piece of red cloth hung out of its side, flapping in the wind.

      Despite bumps and jolts in the road, everyone fell asleep. It was early morning when Fratelli awoke. Bright sun shone over them causing the jeweled collar of Philomena’s dress to glitter. Blinking tiredly, Fratelli removed his gloves, lowered the curtains, turned over and went back to sleep. However, by now, Gianni stirred awake.  For several minutes he sat still then quickly grew bored. He twiddled his thumbs then toyed with the curtains and at last spoke:

      “How long is it till we’re there?”

      Fratelli kept his eyes shut and ignored him, hoping he would cease speaking and just leave him alone. He felt a persistent finger poking his arm.

      “What do you want” the cardinal asked irately.

      “How long is it till we’re there?” Gianni repeated.

      Fratelli answered, “Not until nightfall now please be quiet.”

      Gianni frowned, huffed and scrunched tightly in his seat. He couldn’t sleep and began softly humming.

      “Gianni!” Fratelli hissed.

      “Sorry, Sir, I mean-Your Eminence.”

      Later, they ate a small meal of bread with thick slices of mozzarella cheese and cured salami. Fratelli gladly noticed that Dina also packed some olives in their lunch-basket. Rodrigo uncorked a bottle of wine and they drank peacefully. Amidst the silence, Philomena started feeling nervous. She couldn’t imagine the luxury and excitement that would greet her at the duke’s palace. Looking forward to meeting Lamberto II, she folded her hands together and glanced out the window. Scrubby fields and green vineyards blurred past. Tall hills shrank in the distance. She then met eyes with Fratelli, who stopped munching on his bread and stared back. The struggle of wills again reemerged.

      This time, Philomena looked away first. She fixed her attention on the rolling scenery outside. Fratelli quietly ruminated, allowing no one else to perceive his apprehensive, circling thoughts. What did await them?