In the middle of this butchery Mr. Arieson sat, a big smile on his face, rubbing his hands.
"I love it. I love it," he said. And seeing Remo and Chiun, added: "Welcome to the selfish bastards of Sinanju. See what you'd like to deprive your fellowman of? I hate you bastards, always have."
"Okay, deal with him," said Remo.
"Not now. We've got to save the pope," said Chiun.
"Since when are you a Catholic?"
"We have a sacred and binding obligation to the chair of St. Peter," said Chiun. "We have promised the Borgias."
"Good folks, the Borgias," said Mr. Arieson.
"Sometimes," said Chiun. "And never when you liked them," and pointing to Arieson Chiun told Remo: "That is a killer. Now you know the difference between a killer and a true assassin."
Remo wanted to take one last try at Arieson's stomach, just on the chance that a blow would work this time, but Chiun pulled him along.
"Is he from some other house of assassins, Little Father?"
"Him? From another house? He has no respect for assassins."
"Could you just tell me who he is, instead of beating around the bush?"
"No. You don't deserve to know."
"Well, I don't care who he is. Just show me how to deal with him when this is done."
His Holiness was being held by a group of dark young men wearing fezzes with bright crescents on them. They called themselves the new Janissaries of Turkey.
There were twenty of them around the pope, parading their new power. His Holiness sat quietly in dignity made more awesome by the fact of the noise and threats from the Turks.
"We are the new Janissaries, and we are here to revenge the insult to our glorious fighters from battles past. We are here to revenge Mehmet Ali Agha, who stood his hand for us and our glory. In other words, pontiff, we will not miss this time."
The words were spoken by the leader of the group as Remo and Chiun entered the small audience room where the pope now sat chained to a little dark wooden throne.
"We never had much use for the old Janissaries," said Chiun. "Your Holiness, we are here. Glory to the Borgias, glory to their papacy, the House of Sinanju is here to honor its pledge."
The pope, who had suffered through the nightmare of seeing his own normally docile Swiss Guards become raving maniacs, delighted at the prospect of battle with the attacking Turks, now saw an aged Oriental in a black kimono with silver embroidery and a thin white man in black T-shirt and gray trousers begin playing with the Turks.
It was like a formal dance. A Turk would swing a scimitar and follow it into a wall, yet the elderly Oriental hardly moved. The white would skewer three men on their own swords and neatly lay them in a corner.
It did not look like a battle so much as two chambermaids cleaning up a room, picking up bodies, laying them down. The younger one seemed to do more of the stacking, complaining in English that he was always the one who had to do this chore. The older one seemed to make flourishes of his kimono for the pope's pleasure.
Finally the older one severed the steel chain on the pope's wrist as though it were tissue paper and bowed low. The younger one looked shocked at this.
In a great and courtly bow, Chiun, the Master of Sinanju, kissed the pope's ring.
Remo, the Catholic orphan from Newark raised by nuns, stood with his mouth open.
"Your Holiness, we are here," said Chiun. His wisps of hair touched the floor as he reached the nadir of his bow, and then, using his kimono like wings, flourished it gloriously and stood up.
"Who are you?" asked His Holiness in English.
"A fulfiller of the wisest arrangement ever made by the throne of St. Peter."
"Would you tell me the arrangement? This has been a most trying day." The white still stood with his mouth open, looking at the pope's ring.
To Remo, an ex-Catholic who had never heard a Christian word from Chiun, this ornate sign of perfect obedience seemed to him as strange as a talking flounder. He couldn't believe it. But he had seen it. It was better than in St. Monica's back in Newark. The nuns could not have improved one whit on the way Chiun, the Master of Sinanju, had greeted His Holiness. It wasn't that Chiun even kissed the ring. It was the hearty way he went at it. Remo would have thought Chiun had just entered the priesthood.
"Your Holiness, the accords between the Vatican and the House of Sinanju were established during the magnificent pontificate of the Borgia popes."
The pope tilted his strong and kindly face.
"Sir," he said. "One of the proofs of the divine inspiration of the Catholic Church is that we survived the likes of the Borgia popes. We survived and triumphed over that decadence and murder. We have been reaffirmed by His hand against our sins."
"We have only fond memories of the Borgia popes."
"I do not understand who you are."
"We are the House of Sinanju, assassins to the finest of the world."
The pope shook his head. "I want no accords with assassins," he said, and asked the date the supposed document had been drawn. Once given the date, he sent for an aide, and the aide sent for another aide, and that aide sent for a nun who found the parchment, sealed with the three-tiered crown of St. Peter.
The pontiff read the document with wide eyes. The Borgias, that disgrace to the Catholic Church, had purchased the services of these Oriental assassins in perpetuity; for a set fee the House of Sinanju agreed never to serve an enemy of the pope.
"No," said His Holiness. "We will not have this. You are free of your pledge."
"Your Holiness, we have adopted some most Christian customs in honor of your saintliness. Like marriage," said Chiun. "We Masters do not believe in divorce. Marriage is a bond not to be broken. Remo, my son, raised a Catholic, seems not to understand this."
The pope looked at his attackers, now stacked against the wall. In truth, these two had saved him. He asked the white man what should be so complicated about the marriage vow.
"Fulfilling it," said Remo. He did not bow down to kiss the ring, any more than he would talk in flowery nonsense to Harold W. Smith.
"One owes certain duties to one's spouse."
"I know. But I didn't want to marry her in the first place. Not really. I only did it to get my father, Chiun, to help me figure something out, something that had to do with that maniac Arieson."
"Then you did not enter this union of your own free will, my son?"
"No, Holy Father," said Remo.
"And Sinanju's customs regarding marriage are the same as those of the Holy Roman Catholic Church?"
"They are, Holy Father," said Remo.
"Then the marriage never took place. Only when someone enters a marriage freely and then consummates it is it a true marriage."
"I certainly haven't consummated that thing," said Remo.
"Then your marriage definitely does not exist, for two reasons."
Remo jumped almost to the ceiling, then fell on his knees and with awesome gratitude kissed the ring of the pope even though he didn't believe anymore. He would have kissed the hem of this man's garment. He was free of Precious Poo. The marriage did not exist.
"I'm free, Little Father, isn't that wonderful?" said Remo.
Chiun, kissing the pope's ring with just as grand a flourish, muttered in Korean about the perfidy of Rome.
Arieson was still in the large room with the tapestries, waiting for Remo and Chiun.
"I hear you rescued your client, Chiun," said Arieson.
"I have come to deal with you, Arieson," said Chiun, folding his arms and setting one foot forward in a posture of supreme arrogant bearing.
"Sure, Chiun. What's the deal?" said Arieson, leaning back in the chair and sending encouragement to the last Turk to fight to the death.
"We will stay out of Western Europe if you stay out of Asia," said Chiun.
"I'm not giving up China and Japan. I've enjoyed those places immensely," said Arieson.