“Certainly. At the beginning of the millennium Pope Hildebrand had assumed one, with the legend ‘Corona regni de manu Dei’; the infamous Boniface later added a second, writing on it ‘Diadema imperii de manu Petri’; and John has simply perfected the symbol: three crowns, the spiritual power, the temporal, and the ecclesiastical. A symbol worthy of the Persian kings, a pagan symbol…”

There was one monk who till then had remained silent, busily and devoutly consuming the good dishes the abbot had sent to the table. With an absent eye he followed the various discussions, emitting every now and then a sarcastic laugh at the Pope’s expense, or a grunt of approval at the other monks’ indignant exclamations. But otherwise he was intent on wiping from his chin the juices and bits of meat that escaped his toothless but voracious mouth, and the only times he had spoken a word to one of his neighbors were to praise some delicacy. I learned later that he was Master Jerome, that Bishop of Kaffa whom, a few days before, Ubertino had thought dead. (I must add that the news of his death two years earlier continued to circulate as the truth throughout Christendom for a long time, because I also heard it afterward. Actually, he died a few months after that meeting of ours, and I still think he died of the great anger that filled him at the next day’s meeting; I would almost believe he exploded at once, so fragile was he of body and so bilious of humor.)

At this point he intervened in the discussion, speaking with his mouth full: “And then, you know, the villain issued a constitution concerning the taxae sacrae poenitentiariae in which he exploits the sins of religious in order to squeeze out more money. If an ecclesiastic commits a carnal sin, with a nun, with a relative, or even with an ordinary woman (because this also happens!), he can be absolved only by paying sixty-seven gold pieces and twelve pence. And if he commits bestiality, it is more than two hundred pieces, but if he has committed it only with youths or animals, and not with females, the fine is reduced by one hundred. And a nun who has given herself to many men, either all at once or at different times, inside the convent or out, if she then wants to become abbess, must pay one hundred thirty-one gold pieces and fifteen pence….”

“Come, come, Messer Jerome,” Ubertino protested, “you know how little I love the Pope, but on this point I must defend him! It is a slander circulated in Avignon. I have never seen this constitution!”

“It exists,” Jerome declared vigorously. “I have not seen it, either, but it exists.”

Ubertino shook his head, and the others fell silent. I realized they were accustomed to not paying great heed to Master Jerome, whom William had called a fool the other day. William tried to resume the conversation: “In any case, true or false as it may be, this rumor tells us the moral climate of Avignon, where all, exploited and exploiters, know they are living more in a market than at the court of Christ’s vicar. When John ascended the throne there was talk of a treasure of seventy thousand florins and now there are those who say he has amassed more than ten million.”

“It is true,” Ubertino said. “Ah, Michael, Michael, you have no idea of the shameful things I had to see in Avignon!”

“Let us try to be honest,” Michael said. “We know that our own people have also committed excesses. I have been told of Franciscans who made armed attacks on Dominican convents and despoiled their rival monks to impose poverty on them…. This is why I dared not oppose John at the time of the events in Provence…. I want to come to an agreement with him; I will not humiliate his pride, I will only ask him not to humiliate our humility. I will not speak to him of money, I will ask him only to agree to a sound interpretation of Scripture. And this is what we must do with his envoys tomorrow. After all, they are men of theology, and not all will be greedy like John. When some wise men have determined an interpretation of Scripture, he will not be able to—”

“He?” Ubertino interrupted him. “Why, you do not yet know his follies in the field of theology! He really wants to bind everything with his own hand, on earth and in heaven. On earth we have seen what he does. As for heaven … Well, he has not yet expressed the ideas I cannot divulge to you—not publicly, at least—but I know for certain that he has whispered them to his henchmen. He is planning some mad if not perverse propositions that would change the very substance of doctrine and would deprive our preaching of all power!”

“What are they?” many asked.

“Ask Berengar; he knows, he told me of them.” Ubertino had turned to Berengar Talloni, who over the past years had been one of the most determined adversaries of the Pope at his own court. Having come from Avignon, he had joined the group of the other Franciscans two days earlier and had arrived at the abbey with them.

“It is a murky and almost incredible story,” Berengar said. “It seems John is planning to declare that the just will not enjoy the beatific vision until after judgment. For some time he has been reflecting on the ninth verse of the sixth chapter of the Apocalypse, where the opening of the fifth seal is discussed, where under the altar appear those who were slain for testifying to the word of God and who ask for justice. To each is given a white robe, and they are told to be patient a little longer…. A sign, John argues, that they will not be able to see God in his essence until the last judgment is fulfilled.”

“To whom has he said these things?” Michael asked, horrified.

“So far only to a few intimates, but word has spread; they say he is preparing an open declaration, not immediately, perhaps in a few years. He is consulting his theologians….”

“Ha ha!” Jerome sneered as he ate.

“And, more, it seems that he wants to go further and assert that nor will hell be open before that day … not even for the devils!”

“Lord Jesus, assist us!” Jerome cried. “And what will we tell sinners, then, if we cannot threaten them with an immediate hell the moment they are dead?”

“We are in the hands of a madman,” Ubertino said. “But I do not understand why he wants to assert these things….”

“The whole doctrine of indulgences goes up in smoke,” Jerome complained, “and not even he will be able to sell any after that. Why should a priest who has committed the sin of bestiality pay so many gold pieces to avoid such a remote punishment?”

“Not so remote,” Ubertino said firmly. “The hour is at hand!”

“You know that, dear brother, but the simple do not know it. This is how things stand!” cried Jerome, who no longer seemed to be enjoying his food. “What an evil idea; those preaching friars must have put it into his mind…. Ah!” And he shook his head.

“But why?” Michael of Cesena returned to this question.

“I don’t believe there’s a reason,” William said. “It’s a test he allows himself, an act of pride. He wants to be truly the one who decides for heaven and earth. I knew of these whisperings—William of Occam had written me. We shall see in the end whether the Pope has his way or the theologians have theirs, the voice of the whole church, the very wishes of the people of God, the bishops….”

“Oh, on doctrinal matters he can bend even the theologians to his will,” Michael said sadly.

“Not necessarily,” William replied. “We live in times when those learned in divine things have no fear of proclaiming the Pope a heretic. Those learned in divine things are in their way the voice of the Christian people. And not even the Pope can set himself against them now.”

“Worse, still worse,” Michael murmured, frightened. “On one side a mad pope, on the other the people of God, who, even if through the words of His theologians, will soon claim to interpret Scripture freely….”

“Why? Was what your people in Perugia did any different?” William asked.

Michael reacted as if stung. “That is why I want to meet the Pope. We can do nothing if he is not in agreement.”

“We shall see, we shall see,” William said in an enigmatic tone.

My master was truly very sharp. How could he foresee that Michael himself would later decide to support the theologians of the empire and to support the people in condemning the Pope? How could William foresee that, in four years’ time, when John was first to pronounce his incredible doctrine, there would be an uprising on the part of all Christianity? If the beatific vision was thus postponed, how could the dead intercede for the living? And what would become of the cult of the saints? It was the Minorites themselves who would open hostilities in condemning the Pope, and William of Occam would be in the front rank, stern and implacable in his arguments. The conflict was to last for three years, until John, close to death, made partial amends. I heard him described, years later, as he appeared in the consistory of December 1334, smaller than he had seemed previously, withered by age, eighty-five years old and dying, his face pale, and he was to say (the fox, so clever in playing on words not only to break his own oaths but also to deny his own stubbornness): “We confess and believe that the souls separated from the body and completely purified are in heaven, in paradise with the angels, and with Jesus Christ, and that they see God in His divine essence, clearly, face to face…” and then, after a pause—it was never known whether this was due to his difficulty in breathing or to his perverse desire to underline the last clause as adversative—”to the extent to which the state and condition of the separated soul allows it.” The next morning, a Sunday, he had himself laid on a long chair with reclining back, and he received the cardinals, who kissed his hand, and he died.

But again I digress, and tell things other than those I should tell. Yet, after all, the rest of that conversation at table does not add much to the understanding of the events I am narrating. The Minorites agreed on the stand to be taken the next day. They sized up their adversaries one by one. They commented with concern on the news, announced by William, of the arrival of Bernard Gui. And even more on the fact that Cardinal Bertrand del Poggetto would be presiding over the Avignon legation. Two inquisitors were too many: a sign they planned to use the argument of heresy against the Minorites.

“So much the worse,” William said. “We will treat them as heretics.”

“No, no,” Michael said, “let us proceed cautiously; we must not jeopardize any possible agreement.”

“As far as I can see,” William said, “though I also worked for the realization of this meeting, and you know it, Michael, I do not believe the Avignonese are coming here to achieve any positive result. John wants you at Avignon alone, and without guarantees. But the meeting will have at least one function: to make you understand that. It would have been worse if you had gone there before having had this experience.”

“And so you have worked hard, and for many months, to bring about something you believe futile,” Michael said bitterly.

“I was asked to, by the Emperor and by you,” William said. “And ultimately it is never a futile thing to know one’s enemies better.”

At this point they came to tell us that the second delegation was coming inside the walls. The Minorites rose and went out to meet the Pope’s men.