Disclaimer:
Whoo . Okay , long disclaimer, I guess . First off , as far as I know Benedictus X was the name of an antipope but luckily because of CK’s Dynamicism , Benedictus X will be a legitimate successor of St. Peter and has in no way any particular relation to the historical figure (i.e. this will be an ahistorical account). Second of all , although it is an honour and a pleasure to participate in Llewelyn’s project , this does not mean that I approve or endorse any of the other content presented in this thread and I wholheartedly disavow and/or condemn any material presented elsewhere that might be offensive to fellow Catholics ^_^ ! Oh and please forgive my bad grammar and spelling mistakes at times since they can be rather prevalent . At least it'll give all the grammar people out there something to feel superior about !
With that said , I will also be taking a narrative approach to the period of my Papal charge and it will take several days of updates to unload it all . Also , I will be introducing two characters from my AAR which will be involved in this particular story but you are not required to have read my AAR to get the feel and gist of what’s occurring . In fact , even if you have read my AAR , some parts (such as how the Timepiece works) will remain a relative mystery . Also note that any actions in this AAR about my AAR are considered Alternate and not Canonical . Now … LET’S GET IT ON !
Prologue
December 22 1582
Zio heaved against his heavy armour forcing himself up the last flight of stairs to the top of the Imperial Storehouse in Toledo. Cardinal DeWitt would not be far behind in pursuit. Nursing the gilded box which held the prize of that storehouse between his ebony gauntlets, Zio slammed boot against stair until the clouded atmosphere engulfed his sight and the skyline of Toledo dominated his horizon. He must find a way out, he thought.
Cardinal James DeWitt had the slight advantage of not having the kind of heavy plate armour Zio was wearing but it was evened out by the fact that Zio’s guards had taken quite a bit of strength to subdue. Nonetheless, with the rest of Zio’s bodyguard in an unconscious pile, he chased the elusive man up the staircase and onto the roof of the building.
Zio glanced quickly backward toward his incoming foe and squeezed the box he held tighter. Quickly looking around, he found no way that he could make the jump to the next building or survive a fall to the ground. He was trapped.
“Give me back the Timepiece, Zio!” the fatigued Cardinal demanded as he approached the darkly armoured man.
Finding no other way out of the situation, Zio turned towards his pursuer with obvious distaste sketched across his pallid expression. His sharp bangs seemed to edge upward with the intensity of heated air before he took a resolute step forward. He had no choice, despite the Cardinal’s impressive strength and his lack of sufficient henchmen to support him; he would have to somehow escape.
“It’s over, Zio!” the Cardinal boomed once again before raising his fists in preparation to force the issue. Even with bare knuckles, there was enough of Zio outside of his audacious armour to mash into a pulp.
Nearly growling in frustration, the weather atop that building did not seem to disagree with the situation as howling winds swept bitterly cold sleet in intermittent bursts against the two individuals. A rush of thunder within the clouds seemed to drum this duel.
Taking the heavens as his cue, the Cardinal rushed forward towards his armoured opponent who seemed to brace himself against the floor. The right of way had been set and now it was rock paper scissors. Choosing a feigned attack, the Cardinal twisted at the last moment while Zio, the unfortunate, chose a parry riposte only to find himself with a backhand to the side of his face hitting him exactly where the Cardinal had initially punched him those few weeks before in the University encounter.
Panicking against the superior physical prowess of the battle hardened prelate, Zio’s adrenaline gave enough power for his fist to connect with the side of the Cardinal’s abdomen. All his gauntlet encountered were the steely muscles of that larger man. Exchanging punches at this range, Zio’s face was hit by another slam of German knuckles before his gauntlets could even think of blocking a blow.
Stepping back from the barrage, Zio attempted to regroup as he coughed blood. Against the Cardinal alone, a test of strength would not prevail. He needed to be clever. Too late, another charge by His Eminence found Zio falling backward in an attempt to flee from the juggernaut. It was then that Zio raised the box in an attempt to stymie the approach of another fist.
The sound of bending metal and splintering wood signaled an unexpected reaction from both of them. Like an eternal moment, both pairs of eyes realized that now the object held within flew out of its container and into the air by the sheer force of the right hook. At that point, Zio was irrelevant; Cardinal DeWitt leaped towards the side of the building. Zio, feeling the same sentiment followed suit and both men now found themselves touching the precious object as all hovered in mid flight.
Outside of its container, the Timepiece was now exposed to the elements—and the elements responded. A flash of light and a burning luminescence engulfed the two men as the heavens made contact with the object through the medium of a bolt of lightning. The last thing the two adversaries saw was a bubble of glass engulf them.
When the thunder subsided, the Timepiece found itself rolling across the rooftop while the men lunging for its possession had disappeared with the passing of the lightning’s light.
---
Chapter I: Arrival at Rome
April 25, 1150
Elisabeth di Gattinara had not expected to be rushed into the Holy See from her summer residence closer to the coast near Ostia, but as a faithful daughter of the Church she had attended the summons of the newly elected Benedictus X. Indeed, like so many of her courtier peers, she had escaped the Eternal City because of concerns of the plague which now festered in the streets despite the greatest efforts of the courageous monks and sisters who attended the sick with no regard for their own wellbeing.
In a sense, Elisabeth almost envied their piety and wished that she too might kiss lepers one day. As it is, however, she would often confess to neglect those most in need of human compassion.
To say that the city of Rome was a shadow of its former Imperial sense would be an understatement. Its once glorious population dwindled to a few thousand in the wake of the Plague spreading across the land. The depopulation was to such a degree that not even the great circuit wall that surrounded the ancient city could have been manned if the entire population took up arms.
The Plague was not the only worry of that troubled possession of the Church. Although princes around the globe gave titular temporal allegiance to the Roman Pontiff, North Africa was on the verge of rebellion and the armies were exhausted in the face of thousands of heathen troops menacing the Eastern Mediterranean.
Elisabeth, despite her gender, was well educated by the nobility of the kingdom and was a relatively astute diplomat. Part of living near the port of the Tiber also meant that she was first to get any news of the movements of the kingdoms of the world. When the news of the previous Pontiff leaving the temporal word reached her, it was not long before the Conclave declared the election of Benedict X. Perhaps it was the Egyptians threatening the Greek states under the jurisdiction of the Church that forced the College of Cardinals to choose a leader quickly, but Elisabeth cared not for the reason; a speedy election was always good for the Church.
When Elisabeth entered the Lateran Palace, it seemed as empty as usual; however the lamps and candles shone a defiant gaze towards the struggling city beyond its walls. With all the common courtesies expected of her, she was eventually ushered into the main chamber where the newly elected Benedict held court.
Elisabeth had not had the chance previously to meet the Pontiff when he was only a Archbishop. While she was based in Italy and at the heart of diplomatic communication, Archbishop Pekoules—the Pope before he was elected—was from an Eastern diocese. Perhaps this was another reason for his particular election: someone closer to the battlefront might be better suited to protect the lands of the Church in the East.
Barely over the age of fifty one, the Pontiff was not as old as he seemed. Although his hair receded slightly so that the newly developed mitre which appeared a few years ago made him look like he was completely bald, his stern and rugged German descent was clear on his face. Although standing behind a table with, what Elisabeth could discern to be, a map of the Mediterranean, Cardinals and other nobles of the growing Ecclesial state were gathered and speaking to each other. It would soon be Elisabeth’s turn to be introduced.
Despite having only been recently elected, Pope Benedictus X had not wasted time in looking over the current situation in the East after celebrating his inaugural Mass. For the most part, he already knew what was occurring: the two housand five hundred men of the previous Pope’s army were now trapped on Krete with Egyptian hosts and their vassals ready to encircle them. It would not be long until this Christian band would meet its end at Kaneia.
“I want Marshal Johann to give me an assessment on the readiness of our forces here in Italy by the end of the day,” the Pontiff instructed one of his aides around the well lit table.
“Yes, Your Holiness,” was the response before the page scurried off.
“I want General Lothar to be on the field as well and to send word to North Africa to prepare to raise arms,” Benedict added with a simple glance to another aide who immediately made his way out of the busy chamber.
“Your Holiness,” one of the Cardinals approached with a respectfully lowered head, “I would like to present Lady Elisabeth de Gattinara.”
To the Cardinal’s left was a low bowing figure.
“Ahh yes,” the Pope acknowledged, “please rise,” he instructed.
As Elisabeth rose to her feet, she maintained her low view. “I have arrived as commanded, Your Holiness,” Elisabeth respectfully intoned.
While the others around the table continued to chatter the Pontiff smiled at his courtier. “Welcome to the Palace,” was his accented Italian. “Cardinal Della Scala will orient you on becoming our new Chancellor.”
Elisabeth immediately shot a glance towards her host but only saw him look down towards his map and conferring with the prelates around him. Her view immediately looked towards her patron Cardinal Della Scala who had just introduced her. This older gentleman gave the woman a jubilant smile.
“T..Thank you,” Elisabeth nearly stuttered as she bowed down low once again. She did not see it, but the Pontiff merely nodded with a quick smile.
As she was escorted by Cardinal Della Scala out of the busy room, he couldn’t help but release some of his laughter.
“He’s certainly a Pope of few words,” the Cardinal said to the new Chancellor of the Papal States.
Elisabeth did not answer immediately as the blood still needed to subside from the rush in her brain. “Indeed,” she managed to reply with a cautious laugh.
“Your father would be very proud of you, Elisabeth,” the Cardinal said while stopping in that emptied hall. Elisabeth turned to face him still reeling from the surprise.
For a moment she looked at the slightly older gentleman and returned the jovial smile. “I wouldn’t have been able to do it without your help, Your Eminence,” she replied attempting to bow. She was generously stopped by a pastoral hand to her shoulder.
“It’s the least I could do for your father, little Elisabeth. But come along let’s not wa—”
A sudden crash like the explosion of cannon that shook the entirety of the palace interrupted the Cardinal. Deafening in its intensity, the two in the hall looked towards the source of the boom and saw that the doors of the chamber they had just exited were now aglow along its edges. At first disoriented by the blast, they saw men at arms rushing to the sound and their own curiosity forced their feet forward towards the strange luminescence.
When those chamber doors opened once more, the sight was both terrific and beautiful in its grandeur. At the very center of the room and a few feet above was what seemed like a teardrop of liquid glass foaming and bubbling while whirling papers of the room everywhere. The Pontiff was already being ushered to one side of the chamber as men at arms flooded through the doorway despite the heavy gush of air rushing towards them from this apparition.
Another deafening explosion and Elisabeth could plainly see what had caused it; lightning connected from the shining bubble and scorched a chair to cinders. If the wind was not so fierce, she might have heard the terrified screams of the Papal court in panic.
In an instant, the apparition above them now dispersed in a terrific pop and ejected from its watery surface two figures who dropped onto the stone floor. Darkness resumed with the exception of the torches and flaming chairs. While papers settled towards the floor and the prelates and noblemen rose to their feet, groans of pain focused all attention to the center. One of the men that had come out of that now gone object wore the colours of martyrdom, and the other, the same colour as the shadow that now dominated most of the hall.
Curious eyes gazed at these two and even the newly elected Pope approached the center of the room with great amazement.
“What could this mean?” some were muttering.
“Messengers from heaven?” a guardsman speculated.
As the discussion started to erupt from whispers to an audible conversation filled with anxiety, it was then that Elisabeth could see that the one wearing black armour raised himself off the ground. All seemed to take a collective step back as this man with his jagged black hair stood up and looked about him with a snarling growl.
“What’s going on?” Elisabeth asked her patron as she strained to see above the shoulders of the guardsmen that stocked the portal to the room. She received no answer as all eyes were stuck to the man in the middle.
“Stay Back!” Elisabeth heard him say, but it was in an Italian tongue—although not exactly the kind she was used to; perhaps another dialect.
As she watched the man struggle to gain his balance, he also saw the second visitor begin to stir—the one with what seemed like liturgical vestments. Was he one of the courtiers here? She did not notice him on the way in… was he perhaps caught up by the wind and thrown back down?
The stirring one caught the attention of the standing man and there seemed to be a sense of disturbance in the face above the dark armour. Elisabeth watched the second man now stand up straight. He was taller than she imagined, and the frame of his body seemed to strain his vestments into a tight embrace—this one was certainly built more like a knight than an old prince of the Church.
“Zio!” she heard the second one growl out. She was instantly confused, was the first one this man’s uncle?
“Gentlemen!” the Pontiff now began attempting to immediately take control of the situation, “Please, I’d like you both to expla—”
Gasps erupted all over the room for the first man had now found his way to His Holiness and accosted a gauntleted arm around his neck. The swiftness of the act even made the aides closest to the Pope nearly fall back in surprise.
Guardsmen flooded half the room and the newly elected successor of Saint Peter was half choking against the grip of this man.
“Come any closer and he’ll die!” was the threat.
Backing away slowly, the hostaged Pontiff and his captor inched their way towards one of the side doors all the while with men at arms receding backward as they approached. The second one who had fallen out of the apparition stayed where he was with obvious apprehension.
Upon reaching the door, the Pontiff’s neck was suddenly released and the strange man began to run down the length of the hall.
“After him!” one of the Cardinals roared as men at arms held up the Pontiff while others rushed towards the hallway.
Even if they did outrun the man, it was no use. With a whistle, the guards saw a silver disk slicing through the hall above them before smashing a crackling blow on the back of the fugitive’s head. With their target now apprehended, everyone’s eyes switched to the man who threw the dinner plate down the hallway—the stranger in a Cardinal’s uniform.
“Seize them both!” Benedict managed to cough out as he steadied himself. “Bring them to the cells for questioning!”
As many rushed to the Pontiff’s side, two dozen men approached the second intruder as the first one was already being carried off. Elisabeth couldn’t help but watch the spectacle. Who are these men, she thought. The one in the Cardinal’s vestments at least did not resist, but who was he? Was he a Cardinal from some far off land that she had not yet met?
As the room began to stir in endless debate over what just occurred, Elisabeth looked up towards where the sphere of glass had first appeared. She was convinced she had witnessed a miracle—or a curse.
---
“Your Holiness, are you sure you’re alright to be doing this?” one of the Cardinals racing down the stone steps to keep up with the Pontiff questioned.
“I’m fine, Georgio. I have to find out the meaning of this and I cannot wait.”
The dungeon cells were like any other piece of medieval fare and normally the Vicar of Christ would not be seen speaking with criminals—especially those who had tried to hold him as a hostage. This time, however, with the appearance of that watery globe in the air, this was a different matter.
“I keep telling you!” the Pontiff could hear a roaring voice from behind the bend. “I am Cardinal James Alan DeWitt, Lord Chancellor of the Kingdom of Spain and Cardinal Protector of Germany!”
As Benedict approached the cells he listened in a little between the conversation of one of his secretaries and this guest of theirs. He had previously assigned one of his aides to ask some preliminary questions while one of the monks who was attending some of the councils against simony volunteered to attend to the corporal needs of the imprisoned.
“I’ve never heard of this Kingdom of Spain—” the secretary replied in German. Since their incarceration a few hours earlier, they had ascertained that the one in scarlet vestments spoke German.
Cardinal DeWitt seemed to growl in frustration before saying, “I keep telling you, I’m not from this place… this time!”
The secretary shook his head as he listened to those words again—he had heard it many times throughout the course of the hours of investigation but he was ready to count this particularly one as insane. The Pontiff, behind the corner, continued to listen in carefully although from hearing that, he raised a curious brow.
The interview was interrupted by a soft moan of pain from the other cell. The other prisoner was now coming to. The secretary made his way away from Cardinal DeWitt’s niche until the darkly clad man of the other enclave could be visibly seen sitting up and rubbing the back of his head with his armoured hand.
“Who are you?” the secretary flatly asked the now conscious prisoner. “Answer me!” was the demand in Italian again.
Breathing slowly and steadying himself, the prisoner saw his feet below him chained and bonded to the stonework below him. If his scientific mind could understand what just occurred, he understood that he was not in 1582 anymore; but he did not know whether this was the future or the past. If this was the future, it would be too dangerous to say who he was so he strained himself for a false name. Looking at his shackles again he accepted their inspiration.
“My name…. My name is Bond,” he painfully let out. Attempting to find a suitable given name he was reminded of his adversary, “James Bond.”
“And I must be a proud Nubian Princess!” roared the self proclaimed Cardinal sarcastically from the other cell before continuing, “This man is named Zio Peripherates and he is a heretic!” he yelled out so emphatically that the eavesdropping Pontiff might have heard him halfway up the stairs.
“He’s the one lying!” Zio protested as he still held his head tightly.
“If you don’t believe me, let me talk with His Holiness!” Cardinal DeWitt demanded. “Tell him I know about the keys in the Silent Room—tell him I can prove to him my office!”
The secretary and the monk sitting on the bench both seemed extremely perplexed. All they hear were the rantings of madmen…
“Bring ‘Cardinal DeWitt’ to my waiting room,” Benedict suddenly interrupted the exchange from the side of the hall. “Have an escort with him; I will be speaking with him immediately.”
At first the secretary was shocked at the request but gave the usual obeiscence and acknowledgement. For the Cardinal inside the cell, he held his breath at the sudden entrance. With only a second to exchange glances with the Pontiff, Benedict turned back around and was followed by his aide past the bend in the hallway. He must have gotten his attention, Cardinal DeWitt thought.
Chapter II: Audience with His Holiness (coming soon)
