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No communication devices. No contact with the outside world. Complete isolation in their sequestered assembly, under Michelangelo’s majestic fresco of the Last Judgment. Cum clave — under lock and key. A total digital blackout in this era.

But in the 21st century, the challenge of maintaining secrecy amidst unprecedented technology and providing security for the participants is immense.

Opaque film has been laid over windows to thwart surveillance by drones and laser photography — artificial intelligence can read lips, interpreting words. Legions of high-tech eavesdroppers could try to crash the conclave, which still cleaves to analogue practices — mulling like its 1484. The Vatican’s website was hacked in 2022 and 2024. Workers have turned the historic enclosure into a hermetically sealed zone, the chapel’s floored raised to install electronic jamming devices. Sweeping for bugs is conducted frequently.

Even if a red hat did manage to clandestinely bring a Bluetooth device or smartwatch inside, all wireless connection has been nullified, the internal computer system disconnected from the internet, servers relocated to the ultrasecure Vatican library. An encrypted radio network allows for emergency response in the event of a high-risk situation — the Holy See contracting out cybersecurity infrastructure to British and Israeli specialist firms.

Military satellites patrolling overhead and, for rapid response if required, Swiss Guards on the ground. They’re not just decorative ornaments in their colourful halberd. They’re trained on heavy weapons, machine guns and explosives.

Mostly, though, the cardinals are expected to stay mum when returning nightly to their residence, holding fast to their oath of secrecy. They may be princes of the church but they’re also biddies who quicken to gossip. Anyone who leaks is subject to excommunication.

In its present form, conclave dates back to the end of the 13th century, with Machiavellian scheming a feature since the very beginning. The longest conclave lasted 1006 days, from November 1268 to September 1271 in Viterbo, a town north of Rome. Citizens became so frustrated by the endless dallying that they walled them in the room, built a wall around the location and removed the building’s roof. No escape. The electors were forced to reach a decision.

On one occasion, in 1623, in the middle of voting, cardinals were swarmed by a bizarre infestation of bees. Strange things happen, often interpreted as divine intervention. More typically, during the Medieval and Renaissance eras, powerful families — the Borgias, the Orsinis, the Medici — manipulated and bribed for their chosen ones. More than a few popes have been knaves, licentious and scandalous, who debauched the papacy. Holier than thou clearly didn’t apply.

Arguably the worst — also the youngest when he ascended the throne at 18 — was Benedict IX, believed to have committed murder, rape and sodomy. He was driven out of Rome but returned later and reinstated himself. After which he had a rethink and resigned with the intention of marrying his cousin. Yet again he came back, for a third time, but was ultimately charged with simony — the buying and selling of ecclesiastical offices — accused of literally selling the papacy to his godfather, and deposed.

Urban VI was stunningly violent, torturing cardinals he believed plotted against him. His election led directly to creation of an antipope during a time of political tumult and launched the Western Schism: rival popes in Rome and Avignon, France. Alexander VI was notorious for nepotism, appointing family members to key positions. John XII allegedly died in the arms of his mistress.

Then there was Stephen VI who had his dead predecessor, Formosus, dug up and put on trial for simony and other charges. The corpse was stripped of its vestments, dressed as a pauper after being found guilty, had three fingers cut off and then thrown into a shallow grave.

It’s not a pretty history, so far removed from the charisma of John Paul II and the humility of Pope Francis who cracked open the faith to marginalized communities, including gays, apologized in Canada for the horrors of residential schools, promoted social justice, permitted Communion for divorced couples and the blessing of same sex unions.

While drenched in ancient rites and tradition, cardinals electing a successor to Pope Francis have spent the past week in casual meetings, getting to know one another — some, from far-flung corners of the planet, have never before met — and doubtless engaging in a bit of papal politicking on the side.

However, it’s often been said that he who enters a conclave as pope leaves as a cardinal. In other words, papabiles — contenders for the job of leading the world’s 1.4 billion Catholics — shouldn’t be lobbying, although some do it on their behalf as voting blocs began to take shape. And conclaves have long been unpredictable. The elevation of Francis 12 years ago came as a surprise, although — as we now know — he’d received a good chunk of votes before Pope Benedict XVI won the sweepstakes in 2005.

Inside the Sistine Chapel — where conclaves were first held in 1492 — 133 cardinals will determine Francis’ successor, 40 per cent of them appointed during his reign. A large and diverse group but not necessarily men in his own image.

Some, particularly from Africa — a continent where the number of Catholics is growing faster than anywhere else in the world — are far more conservative minded, hostile to the embrace of gays, married clergy and further opening the patriarchal institution to a female presence.

These cardinals have asked the public to pray for them as they perform their solemn duty.

They’ll need all the prayers they can get.