NationStates Jolt Archive

The Holy Father met with the Cardinal Prefect for the Doctrine of the Faith after the formal afternoon Public Audience session. Renard was already in the study of the Papal Apartments, and Leo joined him there, with a sigh of relief and comfort at shedding the heavy formal cope and miter. It was a hot day in Rome, and his natural turn for austerity prevented the Papal staff from turning up the air conditioning to truly comfortable levels, so he had taken the extraordinary step of ordering iced coffee, rather than the traditional cappuccino, for his refreshment. Renard, ever the Frenchman, had requested wine.

“Well, you Eminence? Do you have the man for us?”

Renard nodded. “I think so, Holiness. Father Emile Darcy. He has led the theology department at the Roman Major Seminary for more than ten years; prior to that, he was instrumental in establishing the Institute for Consecrated Life Studies. He also chaired the Third Order Institute during the Religious Life Summit. He is himself a Dominican, and has worked extensively with the Dominican Tertiaries to expand their network of influence.”

He handed the Pope a dossier that had a datachip attached to it, well-aware of the Pontiff’s passion for detailed information.

“Does he have the right…” Leo paused, thinking, his eyes narrowing slightly, “…the right strength of character for such an assignment?”

Renard smiled, slightly. “He was able to get the Provincial General of France to back down on a question of canonical rights for secular tertiaries, and Giscard still speaks very well of him.”

Familiar as he was with the crusty old Dominican leader, this impressed Leo.

“He is essentially a very simple man, your Holiness. Of a clarity that is stunning, in its way. Yet not simplistic, not in the negative sense at all. Merely, it is that he has an instinct for the essential, and a grace for conveying it clearly and compellingly.”

“Yes, but can he hold his own among worldly princes?”

“Darcy is, how shall I put it… he is not oblivious to rank—that would never do, they can be so touchy—but he is able to clearly distinguish the rank from the individual in a way that is without offense, I believe.”

Leo nodded. “Very well. Brief him thoroughly, and have Iulio set up an appointment for him with me, before he goes. Check with Carlo about the schedule. He will be sending the new Nuncio to Pantocratoria any time, now. They may as well travel together.”

“Certainly, Holiness.”

Father Emile Darcy was quite astounded at the appointment as a Papal Special Envoy to the Emperor. At first, he was a little reluctant to leave his Seminarians—he was a devoted teacher, ever-stimulated by the contact with so many eager minds—but upon further discussion of the assignment, he began to see the possibilities as perhaps few could.

A new Third Order! And with such a mission! If it could be established at all, what a difference it could make!

But of course the challenge was formidable. Devout as many Catholic heads of state were, their first concerns were generally more worldly than not, and they were certainly surrounded by temptations and influences that militated against the kind of discipline and devotion that commitment to an Order demanded.

Still, it was an idea of the very largest kind of vision, even if fraught with theological pitfalls. No easy task, that, to nurture the appreciation of sound doctrine, and in such a context.

He was asked if he wanted a staff. His first impulse was to decline entirely—he valued the solitude and the freedom of looking after himself—but upon reflection he concluded that it would be helpful to gain some insight into the context of the lives of the great and noble worldly princes upon whom his ministry was to be expended. He accepted a valet, a secretary, and an assistant. He could rely on the Nunciature for other staff assistance.

He looked forward to traveling with the newly-appointed Papal Nuncio to Pantocratoria. He knew Cardinal Jules Martin, of course. Indeed, he had been an instructor at the Holy Cross University when Jules was working on his degree in Theology. He greatly admired the urbane and energetic Cardinal, and his early ecumenical work with the Muslim communities of France to alleviate some of that country’s worst poverty. His more recent diplomatic work in Bellaria, too, was impressive. An excellent choice for Pantocratoria.

They set out together on a chartered InterAir flight—Martin and his core staff of nine, and Darcy with his much smaller staff—looking forward with some eagerness to seeing the historical and unique heritage of their new assignments.

http://gallery.cybertarp.com/albums/userpics/16929/CardinalMartin.jpg
Jules Cardinal Martin, Apostolic Nuncio to Pantocratoria


http://gallery.cybertarp.com/albums/userpics/16929/FatherDarcy.jpg
Father Emile Darcy, Special Apostolic Envoy to His Majesty Andreus of Pantocratoria

An important-looking official delegation lined the tarmac of New Rome's international airport. Two huge black Peacock Motors limousins, followed by a line of slightly smaller but similarly luxurious black automobiles, awaited the arrival of the InterAir flight carrying the nuncio and the special envoy to Pantocratoria. As the plane, which had already set down, taxied into position, the troop from the Imperial Infantry Legion of New Rome snapped to attention, and Sir Jacques Antonio and Cardinal Conomos stood at the base of the steps leading up to the cabin door, ready to receive the delegation. The metallic click of the door being opened is immediately followed by the sound of the soldiers slamming their rifles into position over their shoulders.

As Cardinal Martin steps onto the carpet leading to the limousins, Sir Jacques bows, takes the Cardinal's hand, and kisses his ring.

"My Lord Cardinal," says Sir Jacques (he greats the Cardinal in French, although for both our sanity I will not switch back and forth between French for the dialogue and English for the other text!), "It is my honour and privilege to greet you on behalf of the Imperial Government. I am Sir Jacques Antoniou, Minister for Foreign Affairs. May I present you to His Eminence, Jacques Cardinal Conomos, the Archbishop of New Rome, and the President of the Council of the Church in Pantocratoria, our episcopal council."

As Sir Jacques reflected that it only just occured to him that both he and the Cardinal had the same first name, Conomos stepped forward to greet his brother in the episcopate.

"Your Eminence," he says, "I don't believe we've had the pleasure of meeting, although I've long been an admirer of your..."

The Cardinal pauses a moment to recall what he had planned to say.

"..your, your work with French pag.. ehh Moslem communities to overcome the problem of poverty." he finishes. "Poverty is a problem which confronts us all, and I know my good friend Cardinal Poitiers-Phocas looks forward to discussing your work with you."

Sir Jacques nods politely to Father Darcy, and shakes the priest's hand.

"Father, welcome to Pantocratoria." he says. "We've cars to convey your delegation to the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator forthwith. Please, do follow me."

The delegation is whisked through the streets of the old quarter of New Rome, past the magnificent old houses, the Imperial Parliament, and the beautiful Cathedral of Christ Pantocrator, which from the outside is virtually identical to the Hagia Sophia, minus the post-conquest Ottoman additions. The massive gates of the huge complex of the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator open at the end of their journey through the city, and the security escort from the Imperial Infantry Legion of New Rome drop away in favour of the Varangian Guard, which escorts the cars to the paved courtyard of the palace.

A bronze statue of St Constantine the Great dominates the courtyard, and the cold carved eyes of the emperor stare down at the delegation as it is lead into the palace's cavernous "waiting room". This chamber has a gently-domed ceiling, decorated with a Byzantine-style icon of Christ as Pantocrator, looking down on the delegation with haunting eyes. The stylistic clashes for which the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator is so well known start immediately beneath the dome, the oldest part of the palace (since this waiting room over which the icon watches was the original great hall), as huge marble pillars stand in the corners of the room (the pillars serve no structural purpose, being added in the 17th century). On the wall to the delegation's left is a huge painting labelled "Le Martyre de Constantine XI", depicting the final moments of the battle between the defenders of Constantinople and the Ottoman Turks. Into each of the tiles on the floor are carved the initials "L & T", interwoven to form one letter with a T's top and an L's bottom, commemorating the 1810 marriage of Louis XVII, titular King of France, and the Empress Theodora II Comnenus. At the end of the room are two massive bronze doors, with three Varangians standing in front of each door. Flanking the doorway are two marble statues, each dressed in imperial gowns of ancient Rome. One is the Roman Emperor Augustus, and the other is the Pantocratorian Emperor Constantine XIX Comnenus (in the middle of whose reign in the early 17th century the statues were installed, along with the pillars). The doors at the other side of the chamber swing open, revealing a glimpse of the great hall behind them.

"His Majesty looks forward to meeting you both." says Sir Jacques Antoniou. "Please, right this way."

"His Majesty has a keen interest in religious affairs. I have always found him to be a most reliable friend of the Church." Cardinal Conomos assures the two, as they are ushered towards the great hall.

Where the antechamber was large, the great hall is colossal, and seated in a huge throne draped in purple silk is the Emperor Andreus.

"Your Most Catholic and Imperial Majesty," says Sir Jacques, bowing to the Emperor, "May I present His Eminence Jules Cardinal Martin, Apostolic Nuncio to the Empire of Pantocratoria, and Father Emile Darcy, Special Apostolic Envoy to Your Most Excellent Majesty."

"Your Eminence, Father, the pleasure is ours." says the Emperor. "We have awaited this day with some enthusiasm. We trust that you will find your stay here in Pantocratoria to be most comfortable. You will both lodged here in the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator."

Both men made appropriate bows to the Emperor, and Cardinal Martin delivered the Apostolic Blessing with grave dignity, before responding. “Your Majesty is most gracious, and this arrangement will serve us well until we can establish a full Nunciature in New Rome. I hope, too, that we can rely on your Majesty’s staff for assistance in locating suitable locations for the construction of the Nunciature?”

Father Darcy had been largely silent, looking over the monumental architecture and its varied and historic artifacts and decorations with a mixture of admiration and amusement. His voice was low-toned, but very clear for a relatively elderly man, and he watched the Emperor’s face closely as he spoke, looking to fathom something of the man and the ruler.

“Your Majesty’s reception has been kind indeed,” he said. “I will await your convenience for a time when we may discuss, ah—informally, the matter which the Holy Father has entrusted to me.”

The Emperor arched his eyebrow.

"Indeed." he replied to the Father.

Emperor Andreus wasn't a man who did anything informally. Every moment of his day was highly ritualised - he couldn't even get a glass of wine at dinner without three different servants being involved in a minor pouring ceremony. His own children called him "Your Majesty", and not just in public.

"Our secretary will arrange an appropriate time and place for an... informal meeting, Father." he said. "As for the establishment of a permanent Nunciature, we have asked His Eminence, Cardinal Conomos, to provide an appropriate location."

The Emperor gestured to Conomos.

"Indeed, Your Majesty. There is an old monastery on what used to be the outskirts of New Rome, which has since been enveloped by the city's expansion. St John Chrysostom's was built in 1491, 24 years after the founding of New Rome. St John's was built in the Byzantine style. Its icons and mosaics are some of the most beautiful works of art in the Greek style in the whole Empire." says the Cardinal.

"St John Chrysostom's is being restored at this very moment. We hope that when the restoration is complete, you find it to your liking, Your Eminence." says the Emperor.

He pauses for a moment, hearing a footstep on the marble floor of the hall, far behind him. He looks at his closest friend, and chief guard, Sir Constantine the Hardy, the Imperial Champion, who looks back at the pair of figures moving at the far end of the hall, before answering the Emperor's unspoken question.

"The Chancellor and Father Guillot, sir." he says.

"Ah." replies the Emperor quietly. "Bring Her Highness here, I would like her to meet Cardinal Martin and the good Father."

The knight nods, before walking over to the pair, who were walking towards the south doors. They quickly make their way to the throne with Sir Constantine.

"Cardinal Martin, Father Darcy, may we present our sister and the Imperial Chancellor, Her Imperial Highness the Most Pious Princess Irene, and her confessor, Father Michél Guillot." says the Emperor.

Princess Irene, a stern looking woman in her late middle ages, curtsies, and Father Guillot kisses Cardinal Martin's ring.

"His Eminence is the new Apostolic Nuncio to Pantocratoria." the Emperor explains.

"Yes, of course. I look forward very much to meeting with Your Eminence in the near future." says Irene.

"Well, you both must be very tired. If there is nothing more, Sir Constantine will show you to your lodgings. We will send our secretary to arrange a time for our informal meeting, Father Darcy." says the Emperor, rising.

OOC: fixed the spelling for Chrysostom

There was just the faintest lurking twinkle in Father Darcy’s eye—undetectable to anyone who didn’t know him—as he subsided. He’d made some kind of faux pas, he knew, so he left the rest of the interactions up to Cardinal Martin, except for greeting the Chancellor and her confessor warmly. Martin would brief him later. He watched and listened.

Cardinal Martin thanked the Emperor and Cardinal Conomos with urbane pleasure, expressing a gratified anticipation at the idea of the Nunciature in St. John Chysodom’s.

When the Chancellor and her confessor arrived, he searched her face keenly, and smiled as he greeted her. “Indeed, we will be very happy to meet with your Highness.”

The two clerics chatted amiably with Sir Constantine on the way to their quarters, commenting favorably on some of the architecture and decoration, and receiving some anecdotal history about the Palace.

In their quarters, both men received briefings from their staff on the facilities. They variously showered, took a meal, said the Office, and, finally, met together in a study attached to Cardinal Martin’s suite.

“err… Did I put my foot in it?” Darcy asked his colleague.

Martin grinned. “Well, let’s just say that there’s more protocol here than there is at the Vatican.”

The Dominican priest looked dismayed. “Oh. Oh, dear… I know so little about protocol.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just be yourself. You’re the special envoy from the Holy Father, and that more or less trumps everything, here. They’re very, um… devout, especially the Emperor.”

“Besides,” he adds, “You’re more or less going to make a dream come true for him. He is, if I may coin a phrase, ‘more Catholic than the Pope.’ This Order will be right up his street, if he can pull it off. He’s done a good job getting other heads of state around a table before.”

He sighed. “A 15th-century monastery for a Nunciature. I’ve never yet run across a building from that era that could be efficiently heated or cooled… and the plumbing do-arounds… Oh, well. I’m sure it’s beautiful.”

Darcy was curious about the Chancellor. “An interesting woman. You plan on meeting with her?”

Martin was startled. “Of course! She is in charge of foreign affairs, diplomatic relations, etcetera. However, there are rumors that she is less than orthodox, when it comes to Church doctrine.” He shrugged. “They all have medievalist tendencies, here—hardly surprising, given the history. But the Emperor is orthodox enough, and it’s nothing that really tips over into the worrisome territory. Except possibly the Chancellor. I will have to query Rome on Father Guillet, get some information.”

(OOC: Hint, Rome’s briefing on the good Father’s background, history, etc., would arrive in a ‘sealed packet’—e.g.:TG)

The Emperor's private secretary had arranged an "informal" meeting with Father Darcy for the next day in the "Sun King" drawing room, one of the dozens of drawing rooms in the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator. The Sun King drawing room was so named because it was dominated by an imposing painting of King Louis XIV of France in his full regalia, and was otherwise decorated in a Baroque style deliberately reminiscent of Versailles, complete with miniatures depicting the French king's face as the sun.

The Emperor sat in front of this painting of his illustrious ancestor, and was busy at his desk signing various warrants, decrees, and reviewing acts to be placed before the Imperial Parliament, when Sir Constantine opened the doors of the drawing room.

"Father Darcy to see you, sir." he said.

"Excellent." said the Emperor, and he quickly signed the last arrest warrant in his small pile. "Only twelve warrants today, my friend. We've virtually eliminated crime, at least serious crime. At least, let us hope that is the reason for which I am signing so few warrants, and not that the police are getting lazy!"

The Emperor and his champion and closest friend shared a short laugh.

"Send the good Father in, Constantine, then go get some rest. I want you to be able to keep up with me tomorrow!" the Emperor says, his mouth almost approximating a grin. As if Sir Constantine would be the one lagging behind in tomorrow's hunt!

"Yes, Your Majesty." replies Sir Constantine, bowing his head before closing the doors. His heavy steps can be heard crossing the next room, where he opens up another set of doors to admit Father Darcy in.

"His Majesty will see you now, Father." he says, guiding the priest across the waiting room to the other set of doors. The four Varangian guardsmen in the room snap to attention as Sir Constantine opens the doors to the Sun King room, and gestures for Father Darcy to enter.

The priest glanced at the guardsmen as he passed, and something that might have been a twinkle lurked briefly in his eye. It made a momentary reappearance as he took in, peripherally, the Baroque splendor of the setting, but his gaze upon the Emperor was respectful and serious.

“Your Majesty is really most gracious to afford me this meeting. And I must apologize for any errors in protocol, and assume them wholly to myself. I am an unaccustomed diplomat. My colleague, Cardinal Martin, has done his best to brief me. I shall do my best not to offend, certainly.

He glanced around, uncertainly, as though wondering whether to sit, or wait for an invitation.

"Not at all, father, not at all." says the Emperor. "Please, sit down. I have been looking forward to meeting with you. I want you to know that I am especially pleased and honoured to have you here as the Holy Father's special envoy. I must admit that I am somewhat... in the dark, so to speak, in regards to the details of this Third Order. Perhaps, Father, you would enlighten me?"

Father Darcy sat, with a little relieved sigh. “It is a very great honor for me, your Majesty—to be chosen for such a mission.”

He paused a moment, trying to arrange his thoughts. “His Holiness very kindly asked me to explain it, first, in my own words, based on what he told me of his vision. I will try to tell you as he told me.”

“The Holy Father believes that the Church is at a turning point, your Majesty. The last few centuries have taught us—the hard way, in some respects—how important it is for the Church’s leadership to remain strictly spiritual. While we urge all Catholics to act on what the Church has taught them of right and wrong, and bring their religious principles into their public actions as dictated by their consciences, we have also learned that ‘rendering unto Caesar’ has a broader meaning in terms of how the Church, itself, interacts in political affairs.”

“As your Majesty knows, the Church’s policy for more than two centuries, now, has been to leave temporal politics to temporal rulers, while acting as a voice of moral clarity on the issues of conscience, using purely diplomatic pressure.”

“Yet in recent decades, two trends have emerged to confound this wise policy—the first is what we can only describe as an “over-secularization” in some countries and regions. I am sure you understand what I refer to. Catholics who are “Catholic” only for a couple of hours on Sunday morning. Some of these Catholics who are in positions of national leadership end up making terrible compromises with their consciences, because they have lost sight of the essentials of their faith.”

“The second, and in some ways more disturbing trend, is a growing tendency among some individuals to use their faith, not as a spiritual guidepost in decision making, or a moral example to their people, but as a tool for advancing their own power. They create little theocracies, in effect, with the ultimate result of perverting doctrine and turning the Church into a tool of oppression, rather than the great spiritual liberating force Our Lord manifested.”

His expression was grave, but his own passion, as well as something of the reflected passion the Pope had shown during his briefing, shone in his eyes.

“The Third Order that the Holy Father has envisioned would be, in effect, an Order of spiritual warriors dedicated to exemplifying how true Catholic leaders can both live their faith actively, and govern wisely in the temporal realm. It would be comprised of heads of state and national leaders, like yourself—men of faith. A lay Order, of course, since family obligations are part of the Christian life for many leaders. Nevertheless, it would entail some monastic disciplines, as well as specific practices of faith, that can serve to advance the spiritual growth of those who live their lives in the perils and temptations of power, day in and day out.”

“This Order must be purely spiritual, of course—the Church cannot afford to have cries of political meddling resulting from any serious diplomatic or international relations aspects. Nevertheless, it would form a spiritual bond and source of support for the membership.”

“Now, as your Majesty knows, the strongest influence among those who are entrusted with great worldly power is their peers. His Holiness has great power, but not in the worldly sense. He looks to a strong Christian leader—one whose historical role as Defender of the Faith and Heir of Constantine gives a particular legacy—to assist in exploring whether the formation of such an Order would be possible.”

The Emperor nodded thoughtfully.

"My line certainly has a long tradition of Christian leadership." says the Emperor. "I look forward to working with you in this matter, Father. Given the present situation within the Reich, specifically within the Empire of Iesus Christi, your second point is well taken."

The Emperor rubs his chin, contemplatively.

"I wonder whether some Pantocratorian traditions might be misconstrued as oppressive. For example, take our parliament. Each member represents a parish. Elections are held in church, after Sunday Mass, and votes are counted by the Church. I suppose that some... sensationalists... might try to paint a tradition like that as an abuse of the Church as a tool of oppression." the Emperor ponders. "Although, I don't give any credence to such nonsense, of course. And I suppose, even if someone were to believe that such an arrangement was oppressive, it was introduced by one of my predecessors without any trumped up religious pretense."

"Have you thought of any details about what membership in this Third Order might entail, Father?" the Emperor enquires.

Father Darcy smiled. “Perhaps some of the details of the political process in Pantocratoria are a little unusual—but there has never been any question that your people are not freely exercising a meaningful franchise, regardless of the setting.”

“The Holy Father discussed some of his ideas about membership with me, your Majesty. We agreed that the membership should be limited to heads of state and/or heads of government—the peer dynamic is important. We thought perhaps that the Little Office of Our Lady would provide a “backbone” as it were, for daily observance, with spiritual exercises developed especially for the Order to supplement them. A biennial Chapter would bring the members together. And each member should have a spiritual advisor from a corps of Dominican priests who will be specially recruited and trained for the work.”

“Beyond that, we felt that if there is sufficient interest in such an Order, the members themselves should identify the most useful disciplines and practices, and establish, in conjunction with the Dominican Ordinaries, the Rule of the Order.”

(OOC: Also please note—due to an unfortunate confluence of travel plans and a bug-infested network being taken offline for some days, it is unlikely that the muns of the Holy Vatican See will be doing much posting for the next week. We apologize for the inconvenience; please feel free to move events along and we will try to catch up.)

(OOC: I intended to post this before the UN resolution in question actually passed, but unfortunately the forums conspired against me on numerous occassions)

"Indeed, observance of the Little Office of the Virgin Mary seems to be a good beginning." says the Emperor, rubbing his chin. "If the membership of this order is to include both heads of state and heads of government, then I will instruct my sister, the Chancellor, to join as well. I am also a signatory to a defence treaty of Catholic nations, such as Roania, Jeruselem and Syskeyia. Unhappily, that treaty includes a rather medieval crusading clause from which Pantocratoria is fortunately exempt by arrangement with the other signatories, and I feel that membership in an order of, how did you put it... ah yes, spiritual warriors, is a more appropriate manifestation of faith than a military defence pact. I'm sure that many of the signatories of that treaty will agree with me. Let us invite the heads of those states and of their governments to join the order too."

The Emperor looks across his drawing room to a table, on which sits a scale model of what resembles an early Renaissance palace. The model is labelled "Noveau Langeais", and a small flag of the Excalbian arms impaling those of the House of Bourbon-Comnenus-Palaeologus flies from the battlements. It is a model of the palace which the Emperor's architect had designed for his daughter and his new Excalbian son-in-law's new country, named Langeais after the castle in which the last independent Duchess of Britanny married the King of France to unite the two countries. The Emperor did so love building new palaces and commissioning great new public works.

"And of course, an order of this magnitude needs a place to call home, a place worthy of its membership and of its role." says the Emperor. "I shall find such a place, and commission the building of a home for our order, Father. It will be the crowning glory of my reign, my ultimate triumph... my legacy for the world. Imagine a new era of Christian government brought about by the establishment of this order, Father, imagine how the world could change for the better."

The Emperor's eyes drifted back down to a letter which sat in front of him with a United Nations letterhead.

"Such an order would be infinitely preferable to present world governments." he quips. "Look at this, Father, the United Nations wishes to force all its member states, including the Empire, to legalise abortion. As if being forced to recognise homosexual marriage licenses issued abroad wasn't enough, as if being forced to participate in a never-ending war against a nebulous concept wasn't absurd enough. Father, I would appreciate it if you would advise me in matters beyond the foundation of a new Third Order. What should I do? If I am to avoid legalising the mass-murder of infants, I must order the Imperial Government to withdraw from the United Nations most urgently, before the passage of this resolution, which I am told is inevitable, with support for it running two to one. I would have your advice, Father."

Father Darcy’s eyes lit up as the Emperor spoke. “Your Majesty is indeed a man of large vision! Such a ‘home’ for the Order could provide a permanent base for the Ordinaries of the new Order to train spiritual advisors. It could facilitate scholarship and enquiry regarding the principles of government and how they can provide a bridge for leaders who want their spiritual convictions to inform their leadership without compromising the independence of the temporal state. And many other functions… oh, a marvelous idea.” He beamed.

“As regards membership, the Holy Father hopes merely that it will be open as broadly as possible to all Catholic heads of state and heads of government, regardless of political alliances or alignments. We feel that it would be, perhaps, too ambitious to assign any diplomatic or political role to the Order in its foundational phase, although some of those functions may occur naturally, and perhaps eventually it could provide a forum for the mediation of differences among members. But at the beginning, a strictly spiritual purpose might be the best way to avoid building in contentions and weaknesses.”

He sighed. “Human nature being what it is, on this fallible earth. And among leaders, it must be acknowledged that just as their virtues are often the virtues of men, on a magnified scale, the same is true of their frailties and faults. So the Order should strive to minimize its vulnerabilities. I am certain your Majesty understands this.”

“If you like the notion—” he glanced with another smile at the model—“I am empowered by the Holy Father to endorse an invitation from yourself to other leaders, to some forum wherein all may together discuss its formation, and review options for its constitution and practices. I am also empowered to act as the Papal Legate to such a forum, and to assist in planning its formation and conduct. However, I would see my role as principally one of advisor and spiritual counsel—as your Majesty is already aware,” he smiled deprecatingly, “I am no diplomat. But I can certainly be useful in other ways. And if there is additional assistance required from the Apostolic See, I can convey such requests and arrange for any such assistance.”

At the Emperor’s last point, his face grew very sorrowful. “Ah, yes. It is in matters just such as this, that the Order may be of material value to its members. There are many questions and implications raised by the conflict of political good with moral good. To what extend, and under what conditions, is it absolutely necessary for a Catholic leader to use political power to compel non-Catholics to conform with a Church teaching through the matter of law?”

His dark eyebrows, a contrast to the remnant of snow-white hair, drew together, and he pushed his glasses back up his nose. “To us, in our times, the difference between—for example—using the law to compel non-believers to fast on Good Friday, and using the law to compel them to refrain from taking unborn life, seems clear and unequivocal. Yet in historical context, and in the larger lens of statesmanship, that clarity can often be obscured.”

“Your Majesty should of course discuss this grave challenge with your confessor. But from the standpoint of the Church, it is difficult to imagine the justification for compliance with a political alliance that requires its membership to do such violence to their conscience. Not impossible…” the priest gave a very French shrug, “…but difficult.”

“If it is any comfort to your Majesty, I may say that while of course the warding of his own conscience from violation is every Christian’s most important duty, the mercy of Christ knows the heart of man better than any human confessor or Canon lawyer ever can. In the case of a man who has responsibility for the temporal well-being of an entire nation, he is often forced to choose between two evils, rather than between good and evil. In such cases, when sincere and heartfelt prayer leads your choice, and you sincerely believe you have chosen the lesser evil, you can in good faith seek absolution of the Church.”

“And of course,” he bowed his head respectfully, “I am always at your Majesty’s service to give pastoral advice.”

OOC: The impact of the recent UN resolution on Pantocratoria is being described in this thread: http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=151244

IC: The Emperor nods, absorbing everything the priest had to say on both issues.

"Thankyou, Father, your advice has been most helpful." says the Emperor. "I shall speak to my architect immediately, and start writing invitations to the Catholic heads of state and of governments with whom Pantocratoria has diplomatic relations. I shall ask those I invite to invite others, so that our invitations have an almost viral effect."

The Emperor chuckles at the thought, but quickly suppresses the chuckle. He so rarely chuckled, and thought it unbecoming to a man of his station.

"Well Father, I've work to attend to as a result of this most productive meeting." says the Emperor, rising to his feet. "If it pleases you, Father, I should like to arrange a meeting between you and between my sister, the Chancellor. In fact, it had occured to me that perhaps you would appreciate a chance to see some of the sights here in New Rome, outside of the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator itself, and so, if you are agreeable, I will ask Princess Irene to meet with you at the Cathedral of Christ Pantocrator, and to show you around it as you two speak."

“Of course, I’d be very honored to meet with the Chancellor, your Majesty,” Father Darcy said. “And to see the Cathedral, also, which I hear is a magnificent testament to the inspiration of our Faith.”

He rose, and bowed simply. “Thank you.” He wasn’t certain of the protocol for leaving the Imperial presence, so he glanced around and, seeing an usher holding the door, smiled at the Emperor and departed.

When he got back to his quarters in the palace, he knocked gently on Cardinal Martin’s door, and the Cardinal’s valet admitted him.

“Well, you were right, Jules. The Emperor seemed to like the idea. He’s already planning the building that will house the Order’s headquarters, not to mention putting together the list for invitations to a conference to discuss its formation. A man of great energy!”

Cardinal Martin nodded, but his attention was a little distracted. He picked up the daily newspaper and showed his colleague the coverage of the government's denunciation of the UN resolution, and then some handwritten notes he'd made from a chat with the local parish priest about the riot at Doctor Lenard’s clinic.

“Already?” whispered Father Darcy, in painful surprise.

The Cardinal nodded grimly. “The worst part is, apparently they had police there to protect the patients and staff, and they were withdrawn, just as the mob began to get unruly. It amounts to nothing less than the provocation to murder.”

Father Darcy crossed himself, and tears came to his eyes. “Dear Mary, merciful Mother, pour out your compassion…” he murmured.

He studied the article. “How could they?” he asked miserably. “Don’t they see that such folly is as morally culpable as if they had encouraged the abortions? It seriously diminishes the moral validity of their opposition to killing the unborn, when they permit—even incite such violence!”

The Cardinal shook his head. “I know. I suspect, however, that the Emperor himself had nothing to do with the decision. Rather, it would be the Chancellor’s responsibility.”

“Dear me. The Emperor wanted me to accompany her on a tour of the Cathedral!” Father Darcy frowned at his colleague. “I imagine that, from the diplomatic standpoint, there is some—delicacy—about how the matter is discussed?”

The Nuncio sighed. “If you can see your way clear to not discussing it at all, Emile, it would be very helpful. Of course, if she brings the subject up, I would not dream of asking you to deny your conscience—but remember that there are many ways of looking at this issue. They may have truly been attempting merely to remove any taint of state sanction from the murder of the unborn, and simply underestimated the intensity of the mob feeling that was stirred up. I greatly doubt that there was any real intent for the violence to go as far as it did.”

Darcy frowned. “I see, yes. Although she does not strike me, that one, as a woman who generally underestimates or is out of touch with the popular sentiment. She impressed me, rather, as calculating. But I could certainly be wrong about that. I have only just met her, after all.”

“Quite so.” Martin nodded. “In any case, she has a confessor.”

“Ah, yes. Father Guillot. Has the dossier on him arrived from Rome yet?”

“Not yet. I expect they are a bit backed up, at the Secretariat, with the Burungi affair, and the Iesian crisis, not to mention all the other matters materializing on top of the transition.”

OOC: Oh, there's rather a lot of juicy stuff about Father Michél Guillot which has been posted in other threads of mine! :P

"He's late." murmurs Princess Irene to Father Guillot as the two stand just inside the Cathedral of Christ Pantocrator.

"No he's not, your watch is always set a few minutes early, remember?" the priest replies.

"I can't believe that I'm to play the part of a tour guide, Michél! I've important business to attend to, and my brother would have me show this Darcy around the Cathedral." Irene complains.

"It strikes me that prior to her marriage, your niece was always asked to show important visitors around to any of the places His Majesty wanted a guest to see, but to which he had no time to take them himself." says Father Guillot in a calming tone. "Perhaps you should be flattered that out of all the one billion, six hundred millions of the Empire, your brother trusts you only second to his eldest daughter."

"I just so happen to be the only one of those billion and six hundred million with the title of Imperial Chancellor." replies Irene, suitably calmed, reassuring her confessor that she knows the real reason she will be showing the priest around the Cathedral's grounds. "I was being sulky, wasn't I?"

"Insufferably so." replies Father Guillot with a dry humour. The Princess smiles and starts to move towards her confessor, before seeing Father Darcy climb the front steps of the Cathedral through the gap between the doors. Her usual stern expression replies her smile and she spins to face him. In the shadows, Father Guillot retreats into the cavernous chamber of the massive church. By the time Father Darcy enters the Cathedral, he has left by the side exit.

"Father," says Princess Irene in greeting. "His Majesty speaks quite highly of you. I've been looking forward to our little tour. I can see by the look on your face that you're taken aback by the contrast in architectural styles between the inside and the outside of the Cathedral, Father. You would've noticed the obvious resemblence to the Hagia Sophia in Constantinople, of course. It is as exact a facsimilie as was possible for medieval architecture to achieve. The inside is almost an architectural collage, as you've no doubt observed. A mix of Greek, Gothic, and Renaissance styles, the quintessential example of Pantocratorian architecture. But the most beautiful piece is most certainly the dome. Come, Father."

Despite her welcoming words, Princess Irene's tone was neither warm nor welcoming. If Father Darcy knew the Chancellor, he would know that she was always like that; given that he did not know her, he could be excused for taking offence.

Father Darcy found the architecture mildly interesting—unlike Cardinal Martin, he was not really much of an aesthete. But he found the Princess very interesting indeed. As he watched, and listened to her, asking a few appropriate questions, he was paying profound attention, not so much to what she was saying, but to her—the woman, the Christian soul, the leader of her people.

And the impression that overwhelmed him, almost unbearably, was unhappiness. Someone or something had bereft Irene of the birthright of all God’s children—the ability to perceive and rejoice in the glory of His Love, the beauty of His Creation, the warmth and comfort of His Voice speaking through simple human contacts. Of course, some of this was the natural concomitant of her royal status—the royal and the rich are among the most deprived of all souls, in terms of the simple comfort of human relationships—but there seemed to be more to it.

Her misery was so clear to him (though he suspected she did not recognize it within herself for what it was,) that he found himself treating her with extraordinary gentleness. He was not her confessor, and it was not his place to probe—but he listened with great attention to all she said, even the obviously-rehearsed and inconsequential narrations of Pantocratorian historical glory and achievements. What impressed him was not the scope of the accomplishments—though they were, truly, impressive—but rather, the sense she gave of both identifying with them and bein—jealous—? of them. It was a kind of hunger, though for what he did not really understand.

He didn’t really speculate on the basis for his impressions. He did not let the rather chilly precision of her manner affect this—indeed, he barely noticed it. It was enough that she was an unhappy soul, and he simply responded as the man he was—gently, lovingly, giving her his whole attention and his warm interest, without trying to pry or threaten. When they left the Cathedral, in a special vehicle emblazoned with the Royal Arms, he attended eagerly to what she showed him of the city and its famous landmarks, with an almost childlike delight in the people and sights that made the tired old round seem fresh and new. Why, yes, she did live in a wonderful place, with wonderful, interesting people, didn’t she?

As they headed back to the Palace, he sat back in the car and turned to look at her, with a confiding smile. “Oh, my. God must love you very much, my dear, to give you such a beautiful home, and such wonderful people to share it. And He loves Pantocratoria very greatly, to give you to serve it.”

What is wrong with this priest? thought Irene to herself as she stared at Father Darcy across the cabin of the limousine. He's sickeningly friendly. How can my brother like this man? He smiles too much! Have I given him the wrong impression? Is he mocking me in some strange fashion, making fun of my mannerisms? Does he... oh my, I've been staring at him without responding to what he said for nearly ten seconds!

"Erm," Irene starts. "I... uh... Thankyou, Father."

God must love me very much? God must love me? What is that supposed to be, some kind of revelation? And the best thing I can say is Thankyou? Irene chided herself.

"I mean, of course He does, He loves everybody, for it is written in the Gospel of John, God is Love." Irene follows up, sucking the meaning out of the sentiment by reducing it to a cold quotation of scripture, like she was reading it off a shopping list.

He's still looking at me... with that damned smile on his face... it's like torture! Irene thought to herself. She looked away, out the car window, almost squirming uncomfortably.

"That building on the left there is the main office of the Ministry of Cultural Development." she murmured. "Being French yourself, Father, you might appreciate the similarity between the MCD and the Academie Française. The two both do very similar things, although the MCD's responsibilities are broader than l'Academie. I created it about ten years ago as the Minister for Cultural Development for my brother's Gover.... His Imperial Highness the Prince Basil's Government."

My brother? My God! Surely the Palace can't be too far away!

"So Father, His Majesty told me that you were going to talk with me about a new third order. Given that we're nearing the end of our little tour, perhaps you would like to tell me about it? His Majesty has been most secretive with me, I believe he wants me to hear it from you." says Irene, bringing herself to look at the smiling old priest.

Why do I find him so utterly infuriating? He's been attentive and friendly and.... utterly unintimidated. Am I so pathetic and insecure that I can't bear this man simply because I've inspired warmth in him rather than terror? she asked herself.

Father Darcy recognized the Princess’ discomfort, and was sorry for it—it was yet another sign of the fundamental joylessness of the woman’s life. How very ironic, he reflected, that it was so often those blessed with the greatest endowments of worldly power and riches, who were unable to partake of the joy in their blessings.

He peered at the Ministry building—it did look like the Academie. How strange, that a building devoted (apparently) to promoting the cultural riches of one nation should be designed as a copy of someone else’s work. He murmured something appreciative about its lovely proportions.

“Ah, yes—the Third Order. A truly edifying concept, your Highness, and one that pleases the Holy Father greatly—indeed, his was the guiding spirit behind the idea, although it was His Majesty the Emperor’s generous offer that really set the wheels in motion.”

Without in any way lessening his focus on the Princess as he spoke, Father Darcy’s own passion and hope infused his narrative as he explained the Order.

“Your Highness, I am sure, is very much aware of the challenges faced by men and women of faith, whose responsibility is to exercise great worldly power or leadership. As Chancellor, your experience of foreign affairs has given you the opportunity to observe the pitfalls that heads of state, and heads of government—even Catholics—can encounter. In far too many places, the ‘separation’ between the spiritual needs of the people and the temporal needs of the people has resulted in over-secularization—sucking the heart out of our faith and rendering it a sterile, lifeless thing, shunted aside to a box marked “Sunday morning.” And in other places, the temptation to use faith, not as a spiritual guidepost for their personal decision-making, but as a tool for advancing their own power, has led leaders to create little theocracies that turn the Church into a force for oppression and control of their people, rather than a source of strength and joy.”

He shook his head ruefully, smiling at the Princess. “This Third Order, then, would be an Order of spiritual warriors, exemplars of leadership, studying and demonstrating how Catholic leaders can effectively combine living their faith in the spiritual realm with governing wisely in the temporal world. It would be a lay Order, of course, allowing leaders to fulfill the obligations of Christian family life, but it would involve some monastic disciplines. The focus of the Order’s members would be on personal, internal transformation to enhance their understanding and wisdom in exercising their worldly powers, and on providing support and a spiritual bond among the membership—something that is all too often lacking for Christian leaders without peers in their own nations.”

“The Emperor has been most generously receptive to the idea, and gracious in promising his own leadership to explore the formation of such an Order among Catholic rulers, heads of state and government. I do hope that your Highness, too, will find some value in the opportunity. It is sometimes particularly hard for women who have heavy worldly responsibilities, to find trustworthy sisters who understand the burdens of such a role.”

How dare he! thinks Irene to herself as Father Darcy discusses those who use faith as a tool for their own political power.

"So, behind the pleasantries, a politician!" says Irene in an accusing tone. "If being accused of using faith as a tool to further my own political ambition is the price I must pay for establishing a responsible government based on sound, traditional Catholic and Pantocratorian values, then so be it, father! I am prepared for such accusations. There is no need for you to hide them behind invitations to join some nebulous religious order!"

The limousine comes to a stop as it waits for the palace gates to open.

"Never, father, did it ever occur to me that I would meet such a... duplicitous Dominican. Oh what a silver tongued creature it is that so transparently disguises criticism with an invitation!" says Irene as the car comes to a halt. "I had hoped that the Holy Father was sending a spiritual advisor to my brother, but it appears that yet another politician has the Imperial ear. Do as the rest of us do, speak softly and for his best interest. I trust that you enjoyed the tour, father."

Without waiting for someone to open the door for her, Irene opens the limousine door and gets out as quickly as she can, wanting to get away from Darcy as soon as possible.

Father Darcy canted his head. “Dear child, I do not know you well enough to presume to pass such a judgment,” he said calmly, climbing rather nimbly—for a man of his years—from the limousine. “I spoke in the most general of terms, and indeed I am most sorry if any of my words seemed to be a personal criticism. They were not intended so. Far from it.”

He smiled. “But I do thank you for the tour. It was exceedingly kind of you to take time from your busy schedule to show me the beauties of your capital.” He blessed the Princess, and paced quietly into the Cathedral, to kneel by the Lady altar. He said the Rosary for the Princess, praying most earnestly that her the merciful and loving Mother of the Church could ease her pain.

Then, with a sigh, he rose—a trifle stiffly—and returned to his lodgings. At their next meal, he recounted the incident to Cardinal Martin.

“Most interesting. You display a generic garment, and her Highness claims it is cut to her measure?” Martin chewed in silence, speculating.

“Should we assume that her brother is aware of her, ah… perception of herself?” Darcy wondered aloud.

Martin’s eyes narrowed. “Good question. He’s no fool, but there are many layers of formal bureaucracy and protocol insulating him. It will be interesting to get a sense of how the Princess is viewed by the ordinary folk of Pantocratoria—not to mention the rest of the court.”

Darcy shook his head sadly. “I fear that her Highness will not be interested in joining the new Order. I’m sorry… she could perhaps have found some friendship and comfort among her peers.”

Martin gave his companion an amused glance. It was never a good idea to underestimate the shrewdness of Father Darcy’s perception, but his—unique—point of view rarely met conventional expectations. He found the Chancellor a bit uncongenial, himself, although he was aware that from a Christian standpoint her soul was the responsibility of the Church, and as a pastor he should regard that as the most important consideration. Darcy, however, seemed genuinely grieved by what he regarded as her pain.

Cardinal Martin was willing to grant her that pain, but had a hard time separating what might have otherwise been sympathy for her, from the sympathy he felt for those whose pain was undoubtedly caused by the Princess.

"Your Majesty," said Princess Irene, curtseying as she entered the Emperor's office. Today the Emperor had selected one of the drawing rooms constructed by his father, the Emperor Isaac V. It wasn't as impressive as the Sun King room, but it was a little more comfortable, with large soft couches as opposed to the stiff formal baroque ones found throughout much of the palace. The Emperor gestured to Irene to sit in one of the comfortable seats.

"Tell me, did Father Darcy speak to you about anything today?" the Emperor asks as he finishes signing the last few official instruments for the day.

"You know about that?" Irene asked, shocked.

"Of course, I asked him to talk to you about it." Andreus replied. Irene was stunned.

"You... you needed to get a foreign priest to wag his finger at me? You couldn't bring yourself to tell me yourself that you disapproved of my government?" Irene asked, her brow furrowing in anger.

"What are you talking about?" Andreus asks, incredulous. "I wouldn't use a priest as an intermediary to scold you about politics, you know that. As a matter of fact, I think you're doing a.... well..."

The Emperor didn't want Irene to think that he favoured her government over their brother's opposition, so he held his tongue.

"So you had nothing to do with Father Darcy's thinly veiled attack on the Pantocratoria First Party?" asks Irene, backing down. "That insolent priest tried to dress it up under a religious pretext, but I saw it for what it was. You should send him back to the Holy See, he's..."

"Wait," interrupts the Emperor. "What religious pretext?"

"Erm..." Irene pauses to consider. "Something about a New Third Order.... Oh... OH, oh I see.... it wasn't a thinley veiled attack at all, was it?"

The Emperor shakes his head in silence as he rolls his eyes. Irene bites her lip, something she rarely does in the presence of others.

"That hapless priest, I've behaved terribly. I totally misjudged..." Irene trails off, mortified. "Your Majesty, I am deeply sorry, I assure..."

"Save your apologies for Father Darcy. Hear him out this time. Explain that you were stressed for some reason. This order of his is a good idea, Irene." says the Emperor.

"Yes, Your Majesty, I will see him in the morning and hear him out." says Irene.

"And, make your apologies." Andreus commands as Irene stands and curtsies.

"Yes, Your Majesty." she says before leaving the room.

Father Darcy occupied himself quietly returning correspondence for the rest of the day. His correspondence was voluminous—over the course of a long life, he’d taught and mentored and served with innumerable people who all seemed terribly keen to stay in touch with him. He couldn’t really understand it, himself—he had no great opinion of his own wisdom or insight, regarding himself as a mere plodder and toiler in the vineyards that others, far more brilliantly, tended. But he was a conscientious correspondent, always keenly interested in the writers and their communications, always thoughtful and thorough in his replies. Still, it did consume enormous amounts of time.

But the older he got, the less he found he needed a full night’s sleep. He often found after Compline to be a productive time for catching up with his mail. He was also making friends with the staff in the Palace. It was difficult to maintain a distant formality with the French Dominican, he was so genuinely interested in everyone he encountered, and so sincere in the gentle regard he radiated for everyone from the housekeeping staff through the Emperor, himself.

He and Cardinal Martin had said Lauds together, and Mass, and breakfasted. The Cardinal and his staff were reviewing plans for the Nunciature, allocating various space and duty assignments, and Father Darcy was meeting with his Secretary, who had received a packet from Rome.

“Unfortunately, Father, Cardinal Luciani is not in Rome, so your request was delayed. Bishop Mbopa seems to have routed it through to Dom Athanasius, at the Chancellery, so it may be some days before we receive an answer.”

Father Darcy looked regretful. “A pity. It would be helpful to have a few contacts among the local Benedictine Province. There seems to be a very strong Benedictine presence in court. Ah, well. Did Brother Cyril find those reports from the Tertiary Congregational Conference?”

“He’s forwarding them. They’re a bit disorganized—you remember, Brother Gelart was reassigned before he could complete the summaries.”

“Ah, yes. Still, even disorganized, they can be useful. I’d like a copy of that Oblate’s Manual from the Teutonic Congregation, too, if Cyril would be so kind. There are some suggestions in there for weekly devotions that might be suitable for consideration here.”

The secretary nodded, and made a note. Father Darcy noted that although it was a little cumbersome to get used to, there really was a significant time saving in having this assistance. They cleared a considerable amount of work together.

The next morning, Father Michél Guillot sat quietly in the lounge room which served as the waiting area for the chambers of the Nuncio and Father Darcy in the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator. He checked his watch - he wanted to catch Darcy before morning Mass in the Chapel of St Constantine the Great, and was fast running out of time. He flagged over one of the chamber attendants.

"Father Darcy shan't be too much longer, will he?" asked Father Guillot.

"Father Darcy was up late last night, Father. He might have been late rising." replied the attendant.

"I see..." said Father Guillot, rubbing his chin. "Well, I do have a little time still before I must prepare."

The attendant politely smiled and nodded before returning to his business. Impatient fellow, he only just arrived.

When the attendant murmured that Father Guillot awaited him, Father Darcy looked up from the materials on his desk. “Indeed? I’m honored. Please, ask him to step in.”

He had already said Lauds and Prime with Cardinal Martin and their staffs, and had concelebrated Mass with him. His breakfast was next to him on the desk—barely tasted, but they served such large breakfasts here! Father Darcy’s monastic asceticism naively regarded the simple array of excellent pastries, coffee, juice and ham rolls as ‘lavish.’ His normal breakfast was two pieces of toast (with butter in Ordinary time, with jam on feast days, and dry on fast days and in Lent,) and a cup of chicory-laced French coffee (regarded as an undrinkable abomination by his Italian compatriots.)

He rose, smiling, as his visitor was ushered in, and advanced to shake hands. “Father, you do me honor. I had been hoping we would have a chance to meet again, with time to become better acquainted. Sit, please—be comfortable. Can I have Pierre bring you something? Coffee, perhaps?” Behind the lenses, his eyes were warm with pleasure.

"Thankyou, father, most kind of you to offer." said Father Guillot as he grasped Darcy's hand. "But I must decline, I must be brief. I have to say Mass for the Imperial family shortly."

Father Guillot surveyed Darcy's barely touched breakfast as he sat down.

"Firstly I would like to apologise that I've not yet come to meet with you, father. You've been so in demand that I've not had the chance!" said Guillot, a friendly smile on his face.

"Secondly, Her Imperial Highness Princess Irene asked me to convey her sincerest apologies to you. She said that she was stressed at your last meeting. The strains of government weigh heavily upon her at times like this, with the navy deployed in the Excalbian Isles, and with the Republic of Syskeyia asking for military assistance. She hopes that you will give her the chance to apologise in person, and would like to hear what you were trying to tell her the other day." relayed Guillot. "Father, I've had the privilege of being Her Highness' confessor for years now, and let me assure you, I know when she's being sincere, and this is one of those times. She truly does wish to hear what you wanted to say to her before she flew off the handle."

“Of course, of course. I am sorry only that your call must be so brief, and I hope we can meet again for a more leisured visit,” Darcy reassured him.

“And as far as the Chancellor is concerned, I only wish I could have done a better job of explaining to her. A woman with the multitude of important responsibilities that her Highness carries, may be easily forgiven for a momentary misunderstanding. Indeed, helping those burdened with such responsibilities find ways to deal with the associated stress is one of the purposes of the new Order.”

“Please assure her that an apology is unnecessary, and that she is in my prayers always. I look forward to seeing her again at her convenience, if she would like to discuss the new Order at any time,” he smiled.

When the Benedictine was gone, Father Darcy returned to his desk and seated himself, meditatively. “I believe I’ve just been most politely and subtly warned off posted ground,” he murmured to himself, and chuckled, returning his attention to the work before him.

"He seemed genuinely unoffended." Father Guillot said.

"That can't be Michél, I was quite unreasonable with him." replied Princess Irene.

"I don't think he's capable of being offended, Irene!" said Guillot, sincerely. "The man is either senile or utterly at peace with himself and the world. He's a breath of fresh air around here, I can tell you. He reminds me of Cardinal Poitiers-Phocas."

"That dolt," Irene said as she rolled her eyes, referring to the Cardinal. "If he could hold his tongue a little about Prince Andreus' extravagances in New Constantinople, he'd be the Emperor's closest council."

"He may be a dolt, but I'd rather a dolt than a... a snake like Cardinal Conomos." replied Guillot, referring to the Archbishop of New Rome. "What a thorough politician."

Irene arched her eyebrow at her confessor.

"You dislike politicians all of a sudden?" she inquired. "Am I a snake too?"

"The most silver tongued serpent in all Eden, ma cherie." replied Father Guillot, a disarming smile painted on his face. Irene suppressed an amused chuckle. "Anyway, this Darcy, he's sincere, I'm sure of it. I haven't the foggiest what this order is he talks about, but the man is the special envoy from the Holy Father Irene, you'd be mad not to listen to him."

"Alright, I'll listen to him. First my brother, now you. I should go speak to this priest before my father rises from the grave and tells me to hear him out as well!" Irene concludes.

***

Later that day, Princess Irene goes to see Father Darcy.

"Father," she begins. "I am most sorry for the way I behaved yesterday. With everything that was on my mind, I snapped, and you were the unfortunate victim, not for any failing of your own, I can assure you, but simply because you were there. I do apologise. Please, Father, won't you tell me again about this Third Order you were speaking of before I stormed out on you?"

Father Darcy had been surprised to hear that the Chancellor had actually come to his apartments, rather than sending for him. A conciliatory gesture, he thought, and one that spoke well of the Princess’ diplomatic skills. Of course he went to receive her immediately, putting the materials he’d been working on in his secretary’s hands and giving the man a rueful shrug.

“Your Highness, please, do not mention it. The tongue is an unruly member, and gets the best of all of us occasionally, especially when we are tired or laden with cares. And perhaps I share some of the fault, too—I am not always as good at explaining things as I would wish to be, when I let my enthusiasm run away with me.” He smiled affectionately at her. “Easily understood, and easily forgiven, yes?”

He gestured her to the most comfortable chair. “You would like some refreshment? Pierre…?” He motioned to the attendant.

When the Princess had seated herself comfortably, he sat down, his hands on his knees, head slightly canted as he regarded here. “The Holy Father has articulated an idea, a vision much needed in these times, to help in addressing the issue of how Catholic leaders can both exercise worldly power responsibly, and address their own issues of faith, of spiritual growth, and of actualizing their belief in their lives.”

“You are aware, I am sure, of the Church’s long history and efforts to deal with the challenges of worldly power. Constantine could certainly never have foreseen the many and great evils that came with the enormous good of his Donation. For more than fifteen centuries, the Church has struggled to find ways to keep wordly power from corrupting the spiritual purity of its mission, and too often, corruption has held sway, often for long periods. But the mercy of Divine Providence has always kept the flame alive in the hearts of saints and men of vision, and somehow or other we have always been able to find our way back to the core of spiritual integrity.”

“We have done much, especially in the last two or three centuries, to institutionalize safeguards that keep the Church’s spiritual mission separate from the concerns of state and politics and worldly power, while still leaving us the tools we need to fight the evils of the world in the world, through the hearts of individual men and women of faith. The Holy Father’s vision for this Order, I think, is twofold:”

“First, to share with the men and women who are burdened by great worldly powers what the Church has already learned, about how to keep worldly power from damaging one’s spiritual integrity, and how to use our faith productively without slipping over the edge into oppression or corruption.”

“And second, to form yet another bulwark to protect the Church from the corruptions of worldly power, which loom all too large in these days of resurgent autocracy and the revival of monarchical systems. By giving those rulers who share our Faith special guidance, and empowering them with the mission to reconcile their own worldly power with the Church’s teachings on social justice and the promotion of freedom and self-determination for their peoples, we enlist them as powerful spiritual warriors, as it were, guarding the Church, as well as their own people, from the perils of a tyranny rendered all the more corrupt by being perpetrated in the name of God.”

“It is a vision of great magnitude, a vision for our times… one that I truly believe has the potential to shape both a stronger Faith and a better world. And what better partner in this vision than Pantocratoria, with its long and noble tradition of defending the Church and upholding the Faith? Your excellent brother, in his recent vision to Rome, asked the Holy Father to bestow upon him a role, a mission, worthy of Pantocratoria’s history and the strength of your family’s faith.”

“I truly believe that this request—at just the time when the Holy Father was beginning to think about his vision, and the shape of faith and worldly power in today’s environment—well, it bears all the markings of Divine Providence that they should come together, so naturally.”

He shrugged, and smiled deprecatingly. “The Lord lets His Will be known in mysterious and subtle ways, and it is never possible to say—outside the certainty of the Holy Scriptures, of course, and even there, our understanding is incomplete at best—that this, or that, is truly the Will of God. It would be presumptuous to do so. Still, I genuinely feel that the way events have unfolded may be an indication of that Holy Spirit Who ever moves through the hearts of the faithful.”

“I know there are many Benedictines here in the capital, so perhaps your Highness is familiar with some of the Benedictine Tertiary Orders, for layfolk who feel called to the vision of the Holy Rule in their secular lives. This Order would be similar in spirit. It would be a lay Order, for Catholic heads of state and heads of government, providing them with a spiritual fellowship with one another, with the guidance and support of one another and the Holy Church, as you grapple with the heavy burdens of worldly power.”

“A militant order, not in the sense of violence or worldly military might, but of the spiritual fight to keep the integrity of faith in situations where it is all to easy to lose that integrity. And to realize that faith in your lives and work, in ways that witness to the Gospel message untainted by the exercise of worldly power.”

His eyes, bright and birdlike behind the lenses, met Irene’s serenely. “Please, if I have left anything unclear, I hope your Highness will feel free to ask questions.”

Irene took a few moments to process everything Father Darcy had said.

"Father," she said quietly. "you argue His Holiness' idea most eloquently."

She stood, and walked towards a window, looking out over the view of the gardens below.

"Such an order has such magnificent potential." she said, truthfully. "Imagine the unity amongst Catholic rulers such an order could bring about. The feeling of fellowship. All of us face the same challenges both as leaders and as Catholics, it makes so much sense to attempt to overcome those challenges together. I so deeply regret not hearing you out in the car, Father. I think this order is a magnificent idea, and I would be privileged to participate in it."

Irene turned again to Father Darcy. She wasn't quite smiling, but she did look pleased... for Irene.

"Tell me Father, what must I do to join this order?" she asks.

Father Darcy’s eyes crinkled at the corners with pleasure. “Well, joining is a little premature, your Highness, since the Order, as such, does not exist yet. The process for formation and validation of Tertiaries Secular, Confraternities, or Associations is laid down in Canon Law. Roughly, the process we are recommending works thusly:”

“First, a group of like-minded Catholics determines that they wish to form such an Order. They select the form of the Order—and there are several options. The merits of each should be discussed among the members. I think that the Holy Father is hoping for a Tertiary Secular Order, under the rubric of an existing Society of Apostolic Life, but it may prove more feasible to constitute the Order as a Confraternity or an Association, as well.”

“Then the group selects an appropriate name for itself, that reflects its purpose and particular devotion, and agrees upon the statutes that will constitute the Order, and the competent ecclesiastical authority to which the Order will be subject.”

“The statutes and list of members are submitted to the specific competent authority—which would differ, depending on the form of the Order—for approval. If, for example, a Tertiary Secular Order were formed, in association with my own Order of Dominicans, the request would go to the Superior General and be reviewed by the General Congregation of Dominicans. Assuming that the statutes were approved, the Order would be assigned a clerical superior for the Order’s lay leadership, and members of the primary or secondary Order would be invited—if appropriate—to provide clerical guidance for the membership.”

“At that point, the Order, together with its competent ecclesiastical authority, would then petition the Holy Father directly (since this is an international Order,) for official recognition. Upon receipt of that recognition, the Order is fully constituted, and its statutes and norms are binding under Canon Law.”

“So you see, your Highness, the real momentum in this process, the creative force, in fact, must come from yourself and others who would wish to constitute the initially-chartered membership of the Order. If you and the Emperor would like to take on the responsibility of organizing that process, the Holy Father has empowered me to help you as much as possible.”

“If you wish it, the first step would be to determine a roster for the initial membership, and call them together to discuss the form of the Order, the name, and the statutes under which the Order would be constituted. I have many examples and materials which can help you, I hope, in that process, and I am at your service to assist and explain throughout the process.”

"It will be my sincerest pleasure to assist His Majesty in the formation of this Order." said Irene. "I shall speak to him about it at once. Thankyou so very much for explaining this all to me after my unseemly outburst, Father. I should like to speak more with you about this in the future."

At that, Irene politely excused herself and left.

***

Now that both the Emperor and the Imperial Chancellor had agreed that the formation of a new Third Order was a good idea, things started to move very quickly. Over the next few days the Emperor's architects drew up plan after plan after plan for the Order's home, and Princess Irene and her Foreign Minister, Sir Jacques Antoniou, drew up lists of potential members to be contacted. All the court began to gossip about the Emperor's new project, and rumours about who the members would be and what the Order's "real" purpose was abounded. Most were excited at the prospect, or at least indifferent, but one man had hesitations of the severest kind.

Father Jean-Paul Adrienople was a Benedictine at the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator. He thought the idea of the Order was a good one, but didn't think very much of its founders. He had always thought the Emperor a two-faced brute, but had comforted himself with the knowledge that he was a sincere Catholic. The Imperial Chancellor, on the other hand, was far worse. She was cold, callous, and calculating, and worst of all, she was hypocritical. She pretended to be a very devout woman, and held the people around her to impossibly high-standards of behaviour, most infamously her teenage niece, Theodora. But despite her pious protestations, she secretly lived a life of sin and debauchery!

What chance does this Order stand when such a foul woman is one of its founders? thought Father Adrienople as he hurried to the Nuncio's quarters. He approached the Cardinal's staff.

"I must see His Eminence at once. It is a matter of great importance. I'm Father Jean-Paul Adrienople, and I must speak to the Cardinal!" he said rather urgently, perhaps even a little presumptiously.

Cardinal Martin’s secretary, Father Rienne, looked a little surprised at the priest’s urgency. “Certainly, Father—I will inform His Eminence.” Smiling reassuringly at the priest, he went to the Nuncio’s private office.

Martin was studying, rather gloomily, the floor plans for the Nunciature. Just as he’d thought—kilometers of drafty (but undoubtedly beautiful) corridors to traverse to get from anywhere to anywhere. Oh, well. “Eh?” He looked up as his secretary entered. “What is it, Rene?”

“A Father Jean-Paul Adrienople, Eminence. He says it is a matter of importance.”

Martin put down the plans. “Bien. Show him in, then.”

“Good afternoon, Father. How may I be of service?” Martin asked, when the priest had been admitted.

"Your Eminence," said the priest, politely bowing to the Cardinal. "I have alarming and most sensitive information about something which could jeopardise the integrity of the Holy Father's new third order."

Father Adrienople waited for the secretary to leave, and when it was apparent he and the Cardinal were alone, he leaned in towards the Nuncio. It was evident that he took himself very seriously.

"It is about the Imperial Chancellor, Your Eminence." he confided in a whisper. "She is stained black by the foulest sin..... does Your Eminence know whether there are any bugs in here? Or other electronic surveillance devices?"

The priest was suddenly overcome with a new wave of dread. What if the Chancellor's spies were listening? Even if he stopped now, he had already said enough that they would know he knew something. The Rubicon was already crossed.

"Well, it doesn't matter, I suppose." he concluded. "The Princess Irene was never married, Your Eminence, and ever since her fiancé was killed when she was in her early twenties, she has put on all outward displays of grief and chastity, making a big show about how she could never replace her lost love. That's why she always wears black. She chastises all around her for the smallest human failings, and does so in the severest manner conceivable. Oh, she makes all signs of pious devotion, Eminence, but she is a deceiver! A serpent! A hypocrit of the highest order."

The priest took a moment to breathe in and calm down.

"Princess Irene has been carrying on an affair, a sexual relationship, with a man I know, a friend of mine, for years now. Out of friendship for him, and a misguided sense of loyalty to the State and to the dynasty, I have kept my silence, but I cannot any longer, not now there is talk of a new Order being built with her and the Emperor as its base. This friend of mine, Your Eminence, is not just any man. He is a priest! Her own confessor!" Father Adrienople relays. "Father Michél Guillot. He is a good man at heart, and I am convinced he has fallen into this bed of blackest sin out of misguided compassion."

"So you see, Your Eminence, why I had to talk to you. This woman cannot be allowed to assist the Emperor in the founding of this Order, or the Order will never have any credibility whatsoever! I only regret not speaking out sooner." said the priest, finally coming to the end of his sordid tale.

Cardinal Martin listened to the Benedictine with concern. There were problems here on many levels. Having met the Chancellor, he had little doubt that Father Adrienople’s information was accurate. But the ramifications, not just of Irene’s and Guillot’s behavior, but of Adrienople’s view of it, went far beyond the obvious canonical problems.

He restrained himself from requesting the priest to calm down. While the level of overreaction (to what was, while truly reprehensible, all too common and understandable and human a sin,) was troubling, at least some of it doubtless had its roots both in the man’s relief at being able to unburden himself of the knowledge, and in the added layer of risk attached to the political implications of the affair.

And he mentally tipped his zucchetto to Father Darcy. Once again, the old Dominican’s keen perceptions and experience of human nature had seen straight to the core of a densely-guarded soul in torment. Martin couldn’t like the Chancellor any better, really, (although the knowledge that she could still be sufficiently touched by the need for human love to engage in such a risky affair was encouraging,) but at least it was easier to understand the source of some of her less-amiable qualities.

He sighed, heavily. “This is important information, Father, and I am glad that you have brought it to me” (he made a mental note to confess that one!) “And it must be, as I am sure you apprehend, handled with the utmost deliberation and delicacy. There are a number of ways to handle this, and they all have…difficult…ramifications.”

“If this were to be raised as a formal accusation under Canon Law, for example,” he could not restrain himself from a slight shudder, at the thought, “the full review of both the Signatura and the Apostolic Penitentiary would be required, with all the rules of evidence and process that implies. While the Tribunals operate under the utmost discretion, it would not be possible to process such grave charges without the risk of scandal. Should the case be found insufficient, or the process be invalidated for any of a number of procedural reasons, the Church would doubtless take a very grave view of such scandal being created, regardless of the purity of the accuser’s motives.”

“And, in truth, that should always be used only as a last resort, since the process itself often has the unhappy and paradoxical effect of further alienating those involved from the Church’s merciful justice, and Christ’s infinite forgiveness. We must hope that it will not come to that, yes?”

“Fortunately, there are other avenues open to us to pursue first. For a start, there is Father Guillot’s Superior. It would certainly be most appropriate for his Abbot to take this matter under advisement, and work with Father Guillot to effect a remedy. Our first concern in this matter must, naturally, be the peril in which these two Christian souls stand. We must look to remedies that are least likely to increase that peril, and most likely to promote the voluntary confession, repentance, atonement and forgiveness that will bring about their full healing.”

He smiled comfortingly at the priest. “The political implications here are grave—and we must not lose sight of them—but it is the spiritual matter of Father Guillot’s and the Chancellor’s souls that is of paramount importance to the Church.”

“And, as you have perceived, it will certainly be necessary to prevent this matter from damaging the constitution of the new Order—which may or may not necessitate prohibiting her Highness from participating. That will become clear, perhaps, as her Highness responds to whatever steps will be taken. However, it would certainly be advisable to let Father Darcy know of this matter, if I may have your permission to do so.”

“I am inclined to advise that the next step would be to bring this information to the attention of Father Guillot’s Abbot. He is the competent authority in relation to Father Guillot, and, to some extent, in relation to her Highness, as Father Guillot is currently her Confessor. Tell me, Father, are you willing to bring this matter before him?”

"Of course Your Eminence," said Father Adrienople. He hadn't come to get Father Guillot in trouble, and started to worry that the repercussions for him would be greater than those for that hypocritical witch, Irene. "I will raise this matter with the Abbot. Perhaps Your Eminence should raise it with the Emperor? After all, His Majesty is the founding member of this new order, not to mention her brother and her lord."

Visions of the Emperor flying into a blind rage at the news flashed through Adrienople's head as he awaited the Cardinal's reply.

“Please understand Father, I am not doubting you. But until such a grave matter is properly and indisputably established via the appropriate Canonical procedures, it would be highly improper to discuss the matter with anyone other than Father Guillot and his Superior. As Father Guillot is her Highness’ Confessor, he is her Ordinary. In the case where the Ordinary is, himself, involved in the matter, the only proper Canonical authority with immediate jurisdiction is his own Superior. Only if the Abbot cannot, or will not, take the appropriate steps to establish the truth of the matter indisputably, and see that it is properly dealt with, can the next level of authority be invoked.”

Cardinal Martin smiled reassuringly. “Please do not worry too much, Father. You have done what you truly believe is right, and that reflects credit not only on yourself, but on your friend Father Guillot. I am sure that if he is as you describe, this matter can be resolved to his ultimate benefit. Certainly to his spiritual benefit. And, who knows—? Possibly to temporal benefit as well. God, as we know, often writes straight with crooked lines.”

"He does indeed, Your Eminence. I shall speak to the Abbot at once, and I shall pray." Father Adrienople said, realising that his part in this little intrigue was soon to come to an end. After receiving the Cardinal's blessing, Adrienople left, and rushed at once to speak to his Abbot.

***

The Right Reverend Father Dom Flavian Andronique, Abbot of l'Abbaye du Christ Pantocrator, the abbey on the grounds of the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator, and confessor to His Most Catholic and Imperial Majesty, sat incredulous as Father Adrienople finished his story. The prelate took a few moments to process the information.

"Father Guillot and...... and...." he stammered. "PRINCESS IRENE?"

"Yes, Father, I swear it!" said Adrienople gravely.

"How long have you known about this, Father?" asked the Abbot.

"Erm... two years, or thereabouts..." Adrienople revealed.

"And in two years you never thought to tell me about it?" asked Andronique, clearly annoyed.

"Michél is my friend, Father, as you well know." Adrienople said defensively.

"And if you counted me as one of your friends, Father, you wouldn't have gone straight to Cardinal Martin." said the Abbot. "Now that His Most Reverend Eminence knows, this can't be ignored any longer."

"Any longer?" asked Adrienople.

"Hush," Andronique said, annoyed. He rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "Or... perhaps it can. In a manner of speaking. Go get your friend, Father. Tell him that I feel it is time he made a confession... to me. Tell him to come at once. And Father, once you have brought Father Guillot here, you are not to speak of this again, not to me, not to Father Guillot, if the Pope himself was to walk in that door, not even to him!"

***

Some hours later, Andronique made the same walk to the Nuncio's apartments as Father Adrienople had that morning. Andronique was a formal but friendly and well-natured man. He was overweight, with a face reddened from an "excess of good living". It was hard not to like him, and indeed, he clearly felt the need to be liked by as many people as possible, because whenever he was outside l'Abbaye du Christ Pantocrator, he was all smiles as he waddled about his business. A gentleman by birth, distantly related to the Duc de Montmanuel, he got along well with the high born courtiers, and through his good nature, endeared himself to those of more humble lots as well. He had seen the Cardinal several times since his arrival, but hadn't had any discussions of any real substance with the Nuncio. Until now.

"Father Rienne," he greeted the Cardinal's secretary warmly. "It is good to see you, Father! Good to see you. I've still got that bottle of port I promised I would save until you came and saw the abbey, Father. It is already well-aged, you needn't worry about that if that's the reason you've been waiting. Is His Most Reverend Eminence in, by any chance? I'd dearly like to see him."