Revelations

The US Military Academy West Point, New York March 12 Cadet Corps Commander Mathew Dwayne Jameson walked as fast as he could, stepping carefully so as not to slip on the ice and end up unceremoniously on his ass. As he made his way across the campus, his mood matched the leaden sky that was threatening more snow. What could the Man want to see him about? The e-mail said, “See me ASAP.” Did he want to tell him his thesis and distinguished graduate status were in serious trouble? That would not be an acceptable situation and outcome! DJ, as many called him informally, was expected to be a distinguished graduate (known as a DG) just like his father and grandfather had been. Entering the building, he hurried down the long hall, and the horseshoe taps on his heels, allowed by virtue of his rank as cadet corps commander, echoed off the marble-lined passageway to his destination. He stopped at the last door on the left. The brass plate on the massive wooden door proclaimed it to be the office of Paul Brown, PhD, Col. USA Retired, and History Department Chairman. Just as he raised his fist to knock on the door, he was startled by Professor Brown’s booming voice. “Come in, DJ.” DJ entered the large office, which was lined with bookshelves. The pungent, sweet smell of stale pipe tobacco greeted him as he crossed the room and stood at attention in front of the big mahogany desk strewn with opened books and papers. “Sir, I came as soon as I received your e-mail.” Tossing a manuscript onto his desk, the slightly balding retired colonel looked over the glasses perched on the end of his pointed nose and said, “Be at ease, DJ. Pull up a chair and sit.” Cracking his knuckles and rubbing his hands together lightly, he placed them palms down on his desk, leaned forward, and said, after a pregnant pause, “I’ve finished reading your thesis—The Albigensian Crusade? That wasn’t a true military force-on-force campaign. You know that. This is nothing like the abstract you turned in seeking approval to proceed with your research!” Professor Brown rolled his chair back, stood up, turned his back on DJ, and stared out of the window at the Hudson River below, watching the snowflakes falling ever so slowly. DJ remained silent and waited; this was his fourth year at the academy, and he had been in Professor Brown’s office many times before. He knew the Man had more to say. He had visions of his DG status melting away like many of the snowflakes landing on the office windowpane Professor Brown was staring through. Professor Brown sat back down. Picking up the manuscript and turning over a few pages, he said, “Explain! Why is it so different from your proposal? And what in the world do the words ‘At the end of seven hundred years, the Laurel will be green once more’ sung by a thirteenth-century troubadour in your introduction have to do with the military orders of battle in the Crusades against the Muslims of the Middle East?” DJ squared his shoulders, came to attention in his seat, and replied, “Sir, nothing, sir. However, more than two hundred male and female Cathar civilians, given the choice of being burned alive or renouncing their particular Gnostic understanding of Christianity and its relationship to humanity, do have meaning for me. That’s not only as a devout Catholic but also as a professional soldier trying to make sense out of the Catholic Christian Church’s military actions against a Christian populace. As for the song of the troubadour, I believe it probably meant it would take more than seven hundred years to erase the stain of the pope’s actions on the Christian world.” …“Sir, yes, sir! Don’t you think I should? Sir, I know my thesis, as you pointed out, delves into the Albigensian Crusade, which was not a military crusade in the strictest sense, but I believe the true importance of this particular crusade involves the reasons why the Catholic Church chose this course of action against a civilian Christian populace. I’ve done my research, and I believe I can hold my own in the competition.” Taking a sip of coffee, Professor Brown said, “Well, this year members of Georgetown University, a Jesuit institution, will compete, and some of its faculty will act as judges. Your work will certainly be under the microscope!” Popping the top off his Coke, DJ replied, “It doesn’t matter to me, sir. I’m confident that my research has been thorough, and I wouldn’t care if the pope himself led the judging team. As a matter of fact, I’d love to know if he would have endorsed the actions of Pope Clement III in dealing with the Cathari.” Professor Brown smiled and replied, “Well, I believe I can pretty much guarantee His Holiness won’t be here. However, you may get the opportunity to ask him in person when you arrive at your first duty station after graduate school.” DJ reacted as the impact of those words hit him. “Sir?” “Congratulations, DJ. Cadet assignments came from headquarters this morning. After graduation, a Rhodes scholarship in history at Oxford University awaits you; following that, you will report to the US military attaché’s office at the US embassy in Rome.” … Professor Brown picked up the phone as soon as DJ had left and dialed a familiar number—“Father Russo, Paul Brown here. Cadet Jameson, the student we’ve been discussing, just left my office. We talked about his thesis, and I let him know some of the judges for the competition would be coming from your institution. I succeeded in getting him to modify his thesis and in getting him assigned to Rome, as we discussed. He will, however, be spending time at Oxford University on a Rhodes Scholarship before his assignment to Rome.” The voice on the other end said, “Thank you, Paul. Two of my agents in Oxford will be able to shadow him there. I have great faith in their abilities. I leave for my new post at the Vatican in August, but I’ll attend the academy’s projects day as one of the judges. Did his research uncover anything definitive about the documents?”