She looked like a child in swaddling clothes. A transparent veil was folded back from the face, which shone between bunches of herbs. On her breast was laid a wreath of white, red, and sky-blue flowers as a token of her virginity. The women gazed on the beloved face once more before it was finally covered. They knelt, shedding many tears in farewell as the lid was placed onto the wicker coffin. Dusk had arrived by the time they left the house and headed for the tomb.
He lay in the bed, staring at the iPad, the room illuminated only by the light from the screen. The Testimony of John had long been translated into Latin, Italian, and English. It had also been suppressed, locked away in the sealed archives, accessible only by permission of the pope. Which had been granted to a precious few. All inside the Vatican. Himself the sole one at the moment so privileged.
With all his heart he knew that every word of the account was true.
Those early church fathers had not been overly bothered by what the masses thought. They were blessed with a largely illiterate and frightened populace that could, and was, easily controlled. A healthy mixture of fear and fantasy worked wonders. If anyone questioned anything they were branded a heretic, tortured, then burned at the stake. Needless to say, opposition voices were few and far between.
That was not the case today.
Opposition had a multitude of tools available to it that could wreak havoc. Radio. Television. Texting. Social media. The internet. The press in general. You name it. All bad. And uncontrollable. Which made him wonder once again. What would he do if he truly found what he sought?
His cell phone vibrated.
He lifted the unit and recognized the number. He抎 been waiting for a report. He answered and listened for a few moments.
Then made a decision.
And issued orders.
Chapter 50
Vilamur opened his eyes.
Someone was knocking on his bedroom door.
He glanced at the nightstand. The clock read 2:07 a.m. He抎 been asleep for nearly three hours. After he and Fuentes returned from dinner and their walk, they抎 both retired for the night, the cardinal in one of the guest rooms on the third floor. No staff stayed over in the rectory. Once they left each evening he was alone in the spacious house, which had been home to the archbishops of Toulouse for nearly half a century.
He rose from the bed and slipped on the bathrobe draped at its end. He liked to shower, shave, and dress before the staff arrived, preferring not to have an audience to his daily ritual. He stepped across the bedroom, night-lights illuminating the way, and opened the door. Fuentes stood in the dimly lit hall, fully dressed in street clothes.
揧ou抮e needed downstairs,?the cardinal said to him.
揕et me dress.?
揘o. The robe is fine.?
Okay.
He followed Fuentes to the staircase and down to the ground floor. Waiting in the foyer were two men. One was tall, with dark hair, violet eyes, and a lean muscular build. The other was short and stout with a light dusting of brown fuzz atop a round head. Both were dressed in trousers, shirts, and shoes, with light jackets. Each sported a chain around his neck from which an ornament hung.
The Gyronny Cross.
The heraldic arms of the Ordo Praedicatorum, the Order of Preachers.
Dominicans.
揟his is Friar Robert Dwight,?Fuentes said, introducing the tall man. 揂nd Friar Paul Rice.?Shorter, with gray eyes.
No hands were offered to shake, which was fine by him.
Fuentes motioned and they all walked back to the study. The cardinal switched on one of the lamps. 揂rchbishop Vilamur, the situation has changed.?
Obviously, something was up.
He listened as Friar Dwight explained about what had happened in Ghent, Belgium. A lost work of art had been found, then burned. The Just Judges. Part of the famed Ghent Altarpiece. Stolen in the 1930s, but recently rediscovered during a restoration. The Maidens of Saint-Michael had burned it. They were, in actuality, les Vautours.
Really?
He was familiar with the maidens. Headquartered to the south, in the mountains, near the Spanish border. He抎 visited their motherhouse several times. Knew the current abbess. Nothing exceptional about her or them. One of many convents located within his archdiocese, each a quiet, innocent place.
揧ou抮e saying that the Maidens of Saint-Michael actively attacked and burned a panel of the Ghent Altarpiece. And that these nuns are the Vultures??
Fuentes nodded. 揟hat is exactly what he抯 saying. Regrettably, one of their own was killed in the process, but that has allowed us to finally locate them. And, most fortuitous, here they are, right in your archdiocese.?
He did not know what to say.
揟hey also have acquired some assistance from the United Nations,?Dwight said. 揂 man named Nicholas Lee, who is actively involved with them.?