揙h, but you can,?the man she抎 addressed a few minutes ago said, walking over. 揂nd you will.?
揑 asked before,?Kelsey said. 揥ho are you??
揌ector Cardinal Fuentes,?Isabel replied, the contempt clear in her voice. 揟he other man is our metropolitan archbishop. Gerard Vilamur.?
揑抳e been a nun for a long time,?Kelsey said. 揘ever have I seen prelates of the church act as all of you do.?
揥e do what is necessary,?Fuentes said.
揂 woman has died,?she made clear to the cardinal. 揟his is her grave. What you do desecrates this sacred ground.?
Her nerves had calmed. She was strong and defiant, defending what she swore to God to uphold.
揝ister Deal,?Fuentes said. 揘one of this really concerns you. I did not involve you. The maidens made that choice.?
揘o,?she said. 揑 made that choice.?
揊air enough. Gentlemen, bring all of these women along. It抯 time we visit the motherhouse.?
Claire lowered the binoculars from her eyes and set them down, unnerved by the quiet outside, like a prelude to a storm. She stood at the top of the abbey抯 conical tower, the highest point in the building, which came equipped with four dormer windows that opened in each direction. It was the building抯 crown, commanding a full view, through the trees, of the land the order had owned for generations. From her perch she could clearly see the main gate and watched as Fuentes, Vilamur, and the four Dominicans marched right through and headed for the cemetery. She抎 managed to catch glimpses through the trees as Fuentes had found van Eyck抯 grave, which meant he was verifying the poem.
Of course he would.
The Vatican was predictable, she抎 give them that.
The maidens had known about the poem in 1934, tipped off by friends in Rome. Its discovery, and Pius XI抯 intent to declare the Assumption dogma, had precipitated their ill-fated attempt to steal the Just Judges and prevent any close examination of its images. Though they抎 failed to secure the panel, its ultimate disappearance had worked in their favor, enabling them to stay silent in the decades after, even when Pius XII sent clear signals that he was going to make Mary抯 Assumption dogma. They抎 hoped that silence would keep the wolves at bay. But now they found themselves in the precise quandary they抎 avoided for all those years.
She fidgeted, her hands groping for something to occupy them, as impatient as a caged animal. Below, she heard footfalls on the stone staircase as someone slowly climbed the spiral up toward her. Insects hovered just outside the window, beneath the eaves, buzzing in the still air. She brought the binoculars back to her eyes and studied the cemetery, the scene splintered by the branches and leaves in between.
They were all back around Sister Rachel抯 grave.
The abbess appeared at the top of the staircase. 揟he forward lookouts report two more persons.?
揥here??
揘ear the main gate.?
She refocused the binoculars in that direction and caught no movement. She continued to scan, looking for something, anything.
Then she saw them. Two men.
One she recognized.
Nick Lee.
Bleak thoughts chased one another through her mind at the unexpected possibilities. None of which were good.
She turned toward the abbess.
揥e have a problem.?
Chapter 62
Nick was wary of Andre Labelle. The young man seemed a volatile combination of nerves, alertness, and weariness, all swirling around a whole lot of anger. Ready for a fight. No. Looking for a fight.
Which was worse.
His parents had taught him many lessons from sport, especially world-class sport, where extreme feelings and uncontrolled emotions rarely led to success. Winning demanded good judgment, discipline, timing, and 揳 little bit of a lion, but a lot of a fox,?as Dad always said.
And his father was rarely wrong.
They walked on, the path ascending and curving sharply, climbing ever higher. The entourage ahead of them had surely made it to the abbey by now.
揂re you sure Bernat de Foix has disappeared??he asked. 揘ot just gone away somewhere.?
揟hey took him. I抦 sure.?
He was puzzled. 揟he archbishop??
Labelle nodded. 揂nd others, probably.?
揥hy would they take him??
揟he archbishop and de Foix knew each other. From long ago. And it wasn抰 a good thing.?
He wanted to know more but realized he probably would not get an answer. The young man抯 dry, callous, impertinent tone worried him. Clearly, something else was going on here. Something beyond the maidens. He tried to think, to connect the dots, his thoughts tracing back to the past couple of days, which seemed like a lifetime ago.
揟here was another man. Shorter, stocky. Who is he??
揑 don抰 know, but he and the archbishop left the rectory at Toulouse a few hours ago and came straight here. I followed them.?