An Audience with the Pope
In the dead of night, deep in the dark recesses of an imposing fortress in the eternal city of Roma, a meeting is taking place between two men who between them control the destiny of Europe.
Who are these men?
Well, the first is surely recognisable by his distinctive garb: white robes are draped over his gaunt frame and hang from his wizened limbs like bed sheets from a tree branch. Atop his bony skull is a tall and pointed white hat and around his neck dangles an over-large gilded cross on a heavy gold-link chain.
He sits, hunched, tiny and ancient, dwarfed by the cushions of the immense throne, his frail old hands folded on his bony knees, and stares intently at the other man with gimlet eyes sunk deep into their sockets.
He is Pope Urban III.
Our second participant is imbued with less celebrity but is no less influential for it. He is garbed in fine thread, embroidered with a double-headed eagle which is the symbol of imperial Germany. He is down on one knee in seeming deference to the cadaverous and sinister old Pope, but something in the way he holds his head indicates that any respect he might feel for the pontiff is tempered by equal measures of suspicion, arrogance and self-regard. In fact, he is so much taller than the old Pope that despite his position of obesiance he is still able to meet him with a level gaze.
This man is Henry the Lion, Duke of Saxony, scion of the Welf dynasty.
The Lion gets up from his knee, sits down in a chair facing the Papal throne and the two man begin to speak.
They speak of Baldwin of Jerusalem and his request for assistance. He has made a pact with the Saracen, notes the Lion. This displeases us, whispers his Holiness.
The room is chill in the night air and puffs of steam are exhaled from the two mens’ lips.
They speak of Frederick Barbarossa, and his cousin Frederick of Swabia. They will join him there, breathes the Pope, I know that you fear and hate him but I will bless his crusade. He will be a hero. The Lion wants to roar at this. Why would you do so? Do you not wish for Baldwin to restrained? For Jerusalem to be returned to you? And what of me? What have I done but serve your interests? Why would you turn your back on me now?
Indeed, says the old man with a wry grin, I wish to rule Jerusalem and you wish to rule Germany, but such things are not achieved except by considerable cunning. We shall allow Barbarossa and his simple-minded cousin to gather great renown and influence, enough to challenge Baldwin for the crown of Jerusalem itself. And while he is away…
The Lion grins, I shall unite Germany and seize his throne.
And I will crown you Kaiser, the old man hisses.
The high-pitched scream of some slain night animal is heard through the leaded glass of the windows. It sounds for all the world like a child being throttled.
Listening at the doorway is another man, clad in the uniform of the Swiss Guard. At that moment he decides that on the morrow he will seek passage to the Levant to make contact with Baldwin and share with him this secret plot. Riches and renown will be his, far above what he ever could hope to achieve here.
This man is already known to us: his name is Orloomo Bland.
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