Robert Harris had just completed a trilogy of novels about Cicero when he watched the election of Pope Benedict live on television. As a chronicler of power and its mutations, the scene — the Sistine Chapel smoke signaling a decision, of course, but also the whole, secretive tableaux — fascinated him.
“Just before the pope comes out onto the balcony and reveals himself, the windows on either side fill up with the faces of the cardinal electors who had come to watch him,” Harris says. “And the camera pans along the faces — elderly, crafty, cunning, some benign, beatific. And I thought: My god, that’s the Roman senate. That’s the old men running the whole institution. I thought: There must be stories here.”
