The Pontifex paced up and down the cloister as fast as his arthritic legs would carry him. His servants followed at a suitable distance, just in case the old man fell and needed rescuing. But despite his age and his poor health, he kept going.

‘Your grace, please stop. Sit down, rest, anything. We fear for your health’.

‘O bugger my health. Stop fussing! I am perfectly capable of walking up and down a cloister without a nursemaid at my heels all the time! Now leave me alone. No- wait a minute. Fetch me my scribe. I will be in my study’.

‘Yes, your grace. At once, your grace’.

Pope Coelestinus positively scurried into his study. He searched across his scrinium for the letter that had arrived that morning.

‘All this bloody stuff!...

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