The Psalter Read online

  Romano arched his eyebrows. “You mean secrecy?”

  “Quite.”

  “As Prefect of Technical and Scientific Management, you must install a system like the one used to decipher the Psalter. I want to translate all of the palimpsests housed here.”

  “Eminence, the job would take decades, tens of thousands of man hours.”

  “I think not. You know what you’re looking for.” Cardinal Minissi grinned.

  “Then you’ve discovered Giovanni?”

  “Is that what you call him? Remember, I once held your position. I was fascinated by the scribe with the foreign handwriting who had a singular devotion to copying over heretical scriptures. He seemed to have discovered something both wonderful and terrible and concealed the originals by erasing scrolls and writing over them so they wouldn’t be utterly destroyed.”

  “That’s what I felt.”

  “Well, I think I can give you a head start. Follow me.” The cardinal led Romano to his bedroom, past the bed, to a tall, narrow bookcase covering the wall. Religious texts filled the shelves along with a collection of detective stories whose main character was a priest from the Middle Ages, a Medieval Sherlock Holmes in a cassock. “It’s most unscholarly of me,” Cardinal Minissi said as Romano pulled one down and thumbed through the pages, “but I can’t get enough of them.” Then he gave the shelves a push and the bookcase spun on a swivel, revealing a hidden room. “I think you’ll find most of what you’re looking for in here.”

  The chamber was small, no more than the size of a washroom, but floor-to-ceiling bookcases containing nothing but Psalters covered the walls. Romano slid one from the shelf and opened the leather-bound cover. The script was unmistakably Giovanni’s. His face lit up. “Are they all Giovanni?”

  “Of course. Forty-nine of them. I’ve been collecting these since I figured out what the old scribe was up to. When Father Mackey and I realized you had discovered him as well, we redoubled our efforts to collect as many as we could before you got very far. Most of them were in the Vatican Library. How some ended up in the Secret Archives, I can’t imagine. I thought I had collected them all when I worked there. It seems I missed more than a few. I told you that you were the right man for the job. Now that we can read the original scriptures, you need to get started straight away.”

  “It’s like a dream.”

  “There is, however, a more pressing task to attend to with all urgency.”

  “Anything, Eminence.”

  “Someone else discovered Father Mackey had the Psalter and that the book was one written by, how did you call him?”

  “Giovanni,” Romano reminded the cardinal.

  “Of course. They knew precisely when he left my office and where he was going. What do you know about bugs, Father?”

  “Bugs?”

  “Listening devices, isn’t that what Americans call them?”

  “Yes, but I understand very little of the technology used to read palimpsests and even less about bugs.”

  “Then you’d better learn. How else would anyone know Father Mackey had the Psalter?”

  Priests gawked at the raven-haired woman in the inner sanctum of the Vatican Library, accompanied by the new co-prefect. Astonished eyes scanned her collar to make sure she wore a visitor’s badge. “I scarcely hoped you would agree to come,” Romano said to Isabelle Héber as they walked to his office, “but I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

  “I needed to get away for awhile anyway. Every time I went to the Archives, I imagined poor Eugène’s body. Philippe suggested I take some time off, so I’m thinking of this as a working vacation. Besides, I’ve always wanted to visit the Vatican.”

  “I’d be proud to be your personal guide.”

  The cardinal’s secretary, Father Sabella, raised his eyes and dropped his pen as he spied Isabelle with Romano. When the cardinal said a technology expert would be visiting, he hadn’t mentioned that the specialist would be a beautiful young woman. Romano held the door for Isabelle and as she sauntered by, he caught the secretary ogling—or perhaps he only stared from shock. After Isabelle entered the room, the secretary’s gaze passed to Romano, who furrowed his brow. Father Sabella’s eyes recoiled to the pile of papers on his desk.

  Isabelle pulled a wand with a metal loop from her bag. “This isn’t my forté,” she said. “Security had to explain how the thing works, but they assured me this would get most of the bugs. Nevertheless, you should really call an expert.”

  “I can’t. No one must know we suspect a spy might be in our ranks. Officially, you’re helping me install a document preservation system like IsyReADeT. It’s not as important to find every bug as it is to figure out whether the offices are bugged. But shouldn’t we be whispering or writing cryptic notes so they won’t learn we’re on to them?”

  “You’ve been reading too many spy novels. If we find any devices and remove them, they’ll realize we are, as you said, on to them.”

  “Good point.”

  Isabelle went straight for the telephone on the cardinal’s desk. She lifted the base and passed the wand underneath. A low synthetic hum sounded as the gadget passed by the phone, but grew no louder. She pulled a screwdriver from her purse and removed four screws that fastened the phone’s cover. Removing the plastic shroud, she inspected the circuit board but saw nothing unusual. She clipped an ohm meter to the line and turned the dial. The needle measuring voltage didn’t move, and she shrugged her shoulders. She changed the dial to another setting. The needle remained unchanged. Isabelle scanned the room, paying particular attention to lamps and the chandelier as she’d been instructed, but still found nothing. “I don’t detect a thing.”

  “Strange. The Cardinal sounded so certain.”

  “Like I told you, I’m no expert. You should get someone who’s experienced in this sort of thing, but unless I missed something altogether, I’d say the cardinal’s offices are clean.”

  “I’ll tell his Eminence. Somehow, I don’t think he’ll be relieved,” Romano replied perplexed.

  “Why not?”

  “If someone outside is listening, then we don’t need to suspect those of us on the inside.”

  “Look, Mike, if we found bugs in the office, someone had to install them.”

  “But not necessarily one of us,” Romano said. “Workers come in all the time.”

  “You don’t need a listening device in the room to hear what’s going on.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “All kinds of equipment could spy on you from the outside and you wouldn’t even know, like a big ear.”

  Romano knitted his brow. “A big ear?”

  “Sure, a parabolic antenna like a satellite dish, except it amplifies sound.”

  “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “Welcome to the modern world, Father. We’re in the information age, and information is power. People will do anything to get data, like hackers or phishers who troll the Internet to get passwords to bankcards and credit card numbers.”

  “Priests don’t have much credit.”

  Isabelle laughed, and her face sparkled. Romano couldn’t help but be charmed. He felt uneasy around women, but Isabelle was different. “Speaking of credit, why don’t I treat you to lunch? As the new co-prefect, I’m allowed an expense account.”

  “You mean in a refectory on hard benches with hundreds of priests?”

  “No, I mean a café down the street that makes terrific cannoli. Welcome to the modern priesthood, Doctor Héber.”

  “This is the best cannoli I’ve ever tasted,” Isabelle marveled.

  “It’s delicious, but not the best. A place in New York makes the best. So tell me, how’s your father?”

  “He’s fine and excited that I’ll be working in the Vatican restoring documents. How did he put it? You’re finally doing something worthwhile with your life. He asked me to give you his regards and demanded you call on him the next time you’re in Paris.”

  “I’d love to
visit Pascal, but after losing the Psalter, I’m not sure the church will let me out of her sight, at least for a while.”

  “Yet you’re now the Prefect of the Vatican Library, a big promotion, no?”

  “Co-Prefect, and in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m in charge of security and technology. I think they’re trying to keep me away from the books.”

  “More likely, they want someone who recognizes the church’s most precious manuscripts so they can be preserved forever.”

  “What’s considered valuable depends on who gets to decide. One person’s treasure is another’s trash. Now, let’s talk shop for a moment. I want you to photograph a number of manuscripts.”

  Isabelle became animated. “You mean palimpsests?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Are these written underneath Psalters like the one stolen?”

  “Yes,” Romano said.

  “Then you’re looking for more first-century scrolls in Aramaic like Thomas.”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you trying to prove the church wrong?”

  Father Romano pondered the question for a moment then said almost to himself, “I’m trying to find the truth.”

  20

  Lothair’s Revenge

  Scraping, hammering and the bustle of workers echoed throughout the schola cantorum. “I don’t know how you can work in this infernal racket.”

  Johannes looked up from architectural drawings spread across a plank table. “Rabbi Avraham, what a pleasant surprise.”

  “I’ve been looking for you these last months, but, alas, no illustrious priest. I end up feeding my cakes to the dogs. They like them well enough, however our conversations are rather limited. Are you so famous that it’s beneath you to visit an unremarkable rabbi?”

  “You know as well as I that the songs people sing about me are absurd. Anyway, I hold a new position as primicerius of the library, and the construction takes all my time.”

  “The ballads about the priest who defied a count are not as farfetched as that and not just any count, but the formidable Theophylact.”

  “It’s rubbish.” Johannes was embarrassed.

  “So this is what you paid for Deacon John’s life, monuments to Sergius.”

  “It’s a small enough price to pay, I suppose.”

  Avraham admired the workmanship of the plasterers who stood on wooden scaffolding and tile setters who fashioned colored tiles and glass into works of art. “I had no idea that in addition to your many talents, you’re a builder.”

  “His Holiness in his dubious wisdom placed me in charge of this construction, although I know not a whit about it. But the job is not difficult. I let master craftsmen advise me. Then I ask the workers if their counsel is true. The stonecutters are only too willing to tell me how the masons should do their jobs. And the masons seem to know more about carpentry than the carpenters themselves. They all agree that the architects are muck-brained miscreants. I’m getting quite an education.”

  The rabbi laughed out loud, cleared his throat, and asked, “May we speak privately?”

  Johannes peered into Avraham’s eyes not wanting to hold this conversation. “Of course.” He led the rabbi to a small cell in the schola he used for a study and offered his own chair while he squatted on a stool.

  The kind rabbi put a comforting hand on the priest’s shoulder. “You have naught to fear from me. I come to offer counsel because I worry about your safety. It was one thing when you were an insignificant novice or even one assistant among many, but now? You hold a position of responsibility and your deeds bring you fame. You’ve captured the imagination of the entire city, indeed all of Christendom, but you put your life at risk.”

  Johannes could not hold Avraham’s gaze and stared at the floor. “Sergius is no threat, if that’s what you mean. He needs me to build his music archive. The idea is not without merit, although featuring his songs demeans the intent.” He chuckled half-heartedly.

  “Look at me,” the rabbi said kindly. Johannes raised his eyes. “Your bravery is beyond question, yet your foolishness dumbfounds me. What would happen if you’re undone?”

  “Everyone already knows which side I’m on. There’s little else to reveal.”

  “You’ve disguised yourself thus far, but you cannot hide forever. Leave this foolishness behind. There are many places where you can learn—Byzantium, Antioch, Alexandria. You’ve surpassed all in Rome. Why not teach, instead? Universities would jump at the chance to employ such an illustrious personage. Reclaim your life in another part of the world.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. Then I could finally remove this knot from my bowels.”

  A slave boy in a knee-length tunic rushed into the room unannounced and shouted in a thick accent, “Primicerius, come at once to Saint Peter’s. The sextons need you.” Before they could ask the emergency, the boy fled.

  Johannes led the Rosh Yeshiva up the road to the basilica. The field in front was littered with carts filled with sticks of furniture. Wounded bodies lay strewn across the plaza, pleading for mercy. Ragged and filthy children wandered about, wailing for their mothers. An unending column of battle-broken refugees trudged up Vatican Hill, flooding into the yard and begging for asylum.

  Johannes and Avraham pushed their way through the doors of Saint Peter’s, stepping gingerly around piteous souls with livid wounds and hacked limbs, laid out on the cool pavement stones. Linus, the frail old sexton, triaged, directing priests who attended the wounded as best they could. “Brother Linus, what’s happening?” Johannes asked.

  Large tears puddled in the priest’s dull eyes. “There are tales of murder and mayhem from the north, villages pillaged and sacked, mothers and daughters raped, their men slaughtered like spring lambs.”

  “The Norse?”

  “Would that it were those godless heathens, for their souls are already damned. Alas, Emperor Lothair’s son, Louis, exacts his father’s revenge on Italy. He carves a wide swath as he makes for Rome and for Sergius.”

  “Sergius?”

  “All say that the soldiers’ battle cry is Hogsmouth the usurper.”

  “Do our allies not rally to our defense?”

  “The cowards run like startled sheep, leaving the defenseless to fend for themselves.”

  “I’ll send to the hospitals to come to your aid, Father,” Johannes said to the sexton.

  Avraham added, “I’ll make for the Trastevere to marshal our physicians. We’re closest.” He turned on his heels.

  “Tell His Holiness to mount the defenses.” Father Linus said. “The apocalypse is at our door.”

  Sergius’s brother, Benedict, sat on the throne in the partriarchum with vicedominus Adrian at his side. One of Sergius’ first acts as Pope was to name his brother Bishop of Albano and put him in charge of administration of the Papal Palace. Kneeling before him was a man in his mid-thirties with long brown hair that curled at his shoulders, who was dressed in the fashion of the Frankish gentry. “Five hundred solidi is my last offer and even that is larcenous,” he protested.

  Benedict looked away, appearing bored, “A thousand I said and not a sou less.”

  “I won’t pay,” the Frank said.

  “As you will. There are many who wait in the atrium who would pay twofold for such a fine bishopric. The tithes are copious and I understand the women in that part of Louis’ kingdom are quite distracting.” Benedict feigned a leer and gave the kneeling Frank a sly wink. “I would take the position myself, but alas, my labor here is never ending.”

  “Done,” the sour noble growled.

  Benedict arose and grasped the holy scepter leaning against the throne. He pointed it at the Frank. “Arise and do God’s work, Bishop of Reims.”

  Johannes shoved his way through cardinals who shepherded visitors to their audiences with Benedict, who in turn busied himself lining the patriarchum’s pockets by selling church positions. Priests in the treasury were amazed that their vaults filled as never before with gold and silver, a
lthough they grumbled that some vanished only to reappear in Theophylact’s coffers.

  “How dare you interrupt these proceedings, Father Johannes,” Benedict said. “We do the church’s business here.”

  “Forgive me, Bishop, but I must speak with His Holiness.”

  “He’s indisposed. Make an appointment with the scribe and you may have an audience with me. Now, you’re wasting my valuable time. See the primicerius out.”

  “You fools!” Johannes lost his temper. “Prince Louis marches on Rome, burning and ravaging the country. Refugees flood Saint Peter’s even now as you do your… your business. Where’s Sergius?”

  Benedict bolted off the throne. “Louis? What did we do to offend the Prince?”

  “Have you forgotten that the Emperor alone holds the right to confirm the Pope? You thumbed your nose at him, and this is his reply.”

  Benedict fled the great hall without a single word. “Wait,” Johannes called out. “Where’s Sergius?”

  “In the cardinal’s dining hall atop Zacharias’ Tower,” the vicedominius answered, scampering after Bishop Benedict.

  Would-be purchasers of rank took flight like a flock of swallows swooping left and right, seeking a path out of the patriarchum. Johannes shoved his way through the stampede to a side door. He ran across the alley to the tower.

  Running up stone steps two at a time, he rushed into the dining hall to find Sergius lying on a couch wearing only a white linen surplice hiked to his knees and moaning in pain. His Saracen slave boy dabbed at his brow with a moistened cloth while Pietro drank from a jeweled goblet. Ruby blotches stained his garment. “Fair Johannes, thank the Lord you’ve come to comfort me in my misery.” Sergius was drunk. “God is punishing me for my wickedness. I fear I’m dying.”

  The librarian gaped at the Pope’s feet. His ankles were red and bloated like pomegranates. “And so you will if you keep this up.” Johannes snatched the cup from his hand. “Have you sent for a physician?”

  Sergius moaned. “They say I suffer from an imbalance in my bile and blood. I’ve been bled twice.”