While Giovanni Parenti was preparing for the Conclave to be held in the spacious rooms of the new convent, the wily Elias was holding secret councils with the magistrates of the town as to ensuring the safe conduct of the body of St. Francis to the Basilica. The number of people continually arriving in anticipation of the coming ceremony made them somewhat uneasy, and their doubts were carefully discussed in the Communal Palace. They came to the conclusion that if the exact place of the saint's sepulchre was known, there would always be the danger of its being rifled by the citizens of neighbouring towns, especially by the Perugians, whose partiality for relics was well known. So a stratagem, most likely invented by the fertile brain of Elias, was decided upon and succeeded admirably. The friars and citizens, unconscious of the plot hatched in their midst, were all eager for the day of the Translation. The Umbrians left their towns empty to assist at the great spectacle, and their number was so great, that, failing to find room within the walls of Assisi, they wandered like droves of cattle on the hills above trying to obtain a sight of the procession. It was a great day in the annals of Assisi; outside the little church of San Giorgio a triumphal car, drawn by a pair of magnificent oxen, their whiteness almost hidden beneath purple draperies and their horns wreathed and garlanded with flowers, stood waiting for the holy burden. Three Papal Legates and Elias placed the heavy sarcophagus with their own hands upon the car, covering it over with a piece of rich brocaded silk sent for the occasion by the mother of King Louis of France. They kept close to the car all the time, while the brethren, holding palms and torches, formed a long procession followed by the bishops and their clergy, and the Podestà with his retinue of crimson-robed priors. It was the month of May, and from every garden and terrace the nobles and their ladies showered flowers over the "sacred ark" as it was borne slowly up the street amidst the deafening sound of trumpets and the cheers of the populace. All that could be done to honour St. Francis had been thought of; Gregory IX. had even composed a hymn to be sung on that day in which the "Poverello" was compared to Christ. They were in the midst of the hymn of praise and quite close to the new Basilica when the heavy tramp of numerous armed men was suddenly heard; swiftly a passage was made through the crowd, who for the moment fell back amazed and powerless, while the soldiers hurried with the sarcophagus into the church, closely followed by Elias, who promptly shut and barred the door. After the first moment of surprise, a wild burst of indignation arose from the thousands who were thus deprived of a spectacle which they had come miles to see. They howled like wild beasts baulked of their prey, banging at the doors of the church in their fury; but silence reigned within, for Elias and his accomplices