Reginald Cook - The Hammer of God

He pulled himself up on the side of the bed, stumbled over to the dresser, lowered his aged frame down to the cushioned chair, and stared at the man in the mirror. He barely recognized the feeble-faced, gray-headed imp leering back at him, eyes red and bleary, purple veins branching out of his hawk-like beak. Looks that belied the image of strength and grace he had carefully nurtured since stepping into the realm of Vatican politics. Others boasted elegant good looks, playing on their God given handsome exteriors, but none matched the cunning charm, charisma and hallmark ability to persuade and manipulate that Cardinal Polletto used to construct a reputation of excellence, and build an international network of loyal supporters, from the Kremlin to the White House.

The cardinal looked over at the antique grandfather clock to check the time. Less than four hours. I better get ready. He picked up a washcloth off the dresser, soaked it in a basin of warm water and covered his face, the strength in his legs slowly returning, the warmth therapeutic and welcome. Cardinal Polletto walked over to the bed, where his rich purple and red vestment and gold lion’s head scepter lay waiting to drape him in the power and glory he’d thirsted for most of his life. The sight of the vestment and glistening scepter conjured up the spirit inside him, reminding him of who he was, and who he would soon become.

He ran his bony fingers across the satin robe and thought of the majesty and influence he’d wield as Pope. Access to untold wealth and the power to use it would allow him to build alliances, wage war, or initiate peace as he saw fit. The cardinal straightened his back, raised his chin, and slipped the clothing over his head, playing the ritual over in his mind, as debilitating jitters turned into unwavering confidence. Near full strength, the cardinal went back to the dresser, and sat back down in front of the mirror. This time, the man staring back at him wore fierce fiery eyes, a strong, firm jaw line, and a countenance of royalty. It’s my time!

Cardinal Polletto’s thoughts turned to Samuel and his brothers. There was no doubt in his mind that Samuel was the one he and the others awaited. Their lord, the one who would lead them and rule the world, the first-born of the three.

He knelt down to pray to his god, Lucifer, sweat beading up on his brow. The face of the Black Pope pushed its way into his mind, sending a cold shiver down his spine. Don’t fail!

Fueled with the renewed vigor that only prayer can bring, the cardinal grabbed the scepter; it’s weight straining the muscles still active in his arms. Arrogance now his guide, Cardinal Polletto examined the flawless, hand-etched carvings on the three-foot alabaster shaft, images of their master’s conquests over the centuries, and a jewel encrusted circle beneath a sold gold lion’s head, which symbolized their master’s true nature.

Cardinal Polletto took a few deep breaths then headed for the door.

He stopped and took stock of himself one last time. When he returned, his life and the world would be very different. He opened the door, and Father Sin and Sister Bravo stood waiting.

“Get the others,” the cardinal said softly, “it’s almost time,” he said, heading down to the Hall of Caesars, where the procession would assemble, head held high, his spirit renewed.

S amuel, Felipe and Eduardo sat on the floor, staring down at a makeshift layout of the area around the castle. A small plate stood in for the castle, a candle symbolized the woods to the south, and Samuel’s shoe was the shore across the water to the north.

“Our best chance is to make it to the woods,” said Samuel, his voice low, pointing to the candle. “I’m sure they’ll have guards there, but the darkness will work to our advantage.”

He used hand gestures and spoke slowly so his brothers could keep up. They had established a routine that enabled them to communicate well with one another. Samuel would point, and Felipe and Eduardo would confirm with nods, answering in French or Italian. Samuel would repeat the word in English, then Felipe and Eduardo would repeat the word again, this time in English. Remembering his school lessons back in Chicago, Samuel had given them a quick phonics lesson, which both boys picked up quickly.

What Samuel couldn’t explain, not to his brothers or himself, was their ability to understand each other without speech, as though they could read each other’s minds. Sometimes when Samuel spoke, his brothers answered and nodded, as if they fully understood. Other times he would think of something, and Felipe and Eduardo would nod as if they heard him say it out loud. And when they spoke to him in French or Italian, Samuel somehow knew exactly what they meant.

“We must jump,” said Felipe, pointing to the area in front of the plate that signified the rocks below the castle.

“Si,” added Eduardo. “Can we make it?”

“Yes,” answered Samuel abruptly, surprised by the doubt in his brother’s voice. “It’s not that far.”

Felipe pointed to the area between the woods and the north shore, the area designated as the lake. Samuel had caught a couple of quick glances of the water while Cardinal Polletto talked about their royalty, and their place in the world, and it worried him. The biggest part of their plan included swimming to the other side if they couldn’t get away by land, and even though Samuel was a good swimmer, the size of the lake was intimidating. He wasn’t sure he could make it, but didn’t let it show. He forced a smile.

“We can make it together,” he told them, confident and assuring, watching their confidence boost. “Once we cross the lake, we’ll make our way back to Rome.”

Eduardo nodded. “I know the way from trips with my father. We buy eels here.”

Samuel saw the hurt on Eduardo’s face when he said the word father, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Good,” he said, soothingly. “Be strong. We need you.”

Eduardo raised his head, determined. “Si, I understand.” Samuel knew getting back to Rome wouldn’t be easy. Once they escaped and swam the lake, they’d have to walk all the way, avoiding the men Cardinal Polletto would certainly send to hunt them down. They’d stay out of sight, off the main roads, and take their time, working their way into the city. Once in Rome, they’d go directly to the American Embassy, and hopefully find someone who’d protect them, and take them home.

“I saw boats,” said Felipe, pointing to the area along the shore just outside the woods. “Maybe we can use one.”

“I saw too,” added Eduardo. “Row boats.” Samuel didn’t see the boats. He was too busy trying not to give himself away to Cardinal Polletto, but he believed his brothers. “Good, then we’ll try for a boat, but be ready to swim.” Felipe and Eduardo looked worried. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“If we get caught, what we do?” stammered Felipe. “Cardinal Polletto will hurt us.”

“Yes,” added Eduardo. “And what of Father Sin? He’ll kill us.” Samuel gritted his teeth. “Don’t worry,” he told them, staring hard into their eyes, “we won’t fail, I promise you, but you must believe.” He smiled, then laughed. Felipe and Eduardo wiped their faces and joined him.

“Yes,” cried Eduardo, determination now in his voice, “we will make it. I believe you.”

The three boys hugged. Samuel slipped on his shoe, picked up the candle and plate, and placed them on the table, the vision of his mother elbowing its way into his thoughts. Her image made his knees weak, his legs rubbery. He shook his head, forcing her away, focusing instead on the task he needed to complete.

“I miss you,” he whispered under his breath. “But I have to do this.” Samuel couldn’t explain it, but somehow in his mind, he knew he wouldn’t, couldn’t die. I can make it. I know I can.