The bells of St. John Lateran tolled as the curia assembled.
Sunlight slanted through high windows, catching the smoke of incense in pale shafts.
Cardinals filed into their seats, crimson hoods whispering against stone, their murmurs already a storm.
At the center of it all, upon the papal throne, sat John XIX, his face taut with age and indignation.
Before him lay the letter, sealed in wax bearing the wolf's head sigil, the mark of the pagan warlord who now held a Christian king in chains.
The papal chamber was never quiet, but this day the voices carried an edge like drawn steel.
"Unthinkable," hissed Cardinal Benedict. "A king anointed with holy oil, chained like a beast by heathens. And Rome commanded to pay his ransom as if we were debtors to wolves."
"They mock us," said Cardinal Crescentius, voice rising.
