by D B Nielsen
The Librarian Cardinal was nothing as I would have imagined him to be – nothing like the image of the frail, brittle, beatific old man that might have held the title of Librarian Cardinal. While he might have been nearing ninety-years-old his upright bearing belied his age and his sprightly gait and alert expression mocked the idea of a foolish old man with outmoded views of life and morality in the modern world. He wore just a simple black cassock trimmed in scarlet to denote his rank in the Church which gave him a dignity and solidity that emphasised his character. As he approached, he reached out his hands and, to my great surprise, embraced St. John in a bear hug.
‘Your Eminence,’ St. John said respectfully, ‘It is good to see you again.’
The Librarian Cardinal laughed delightedly. ‘My son, it has been too long. When last we met I was a young man and now my bones begin to wear me. But I see you would much prefer the burden of my mortality than having to shoulder your own cross.’
‘You are as perceptive as ever,’ St. John murmured, lips twisting in rueful acknowledgement.
Then turning to me, his face lined with all the mysteries of the universe, fuelled by an inner strength, the Librarian Cardinal took my hands in his and leaned forward to kiss my cheek.
‘It has been a long journey for you, my child,’ he said, his voice filled with kindness. ‘Let us enter the Archives and we will talk.’
He moved to a metal box on the wall and unlocked it. Reaching in, he typed in the code and the doors before us buzzed a warning before the deadbolt fell open. St. John motioned for me to precede him into the Archives.
I stepped through the threshold and gasped in surprise.
Through the double oak doors lay another world of parquetry floors, carved wooden bookshelves which protruded into the room and frescoed ceilings and walls decorated with angels and historical figures and murals of Rome. The vast space was completely deserted and, as far as I could tell, no renovation work seemed to be going on. In fact, there didn’t seem to be any scaffolding or tarpaulins or anything that might have justified the temporary closure of the Vatican Secret Archives. There was only the dim lighting and the silence which surrounded us now.
‘Père Henri has already informed Il Papa of the awakening of the Seed and the long-awaited appearance of the Wise One,’ the Librarian Cardinal began, ushering us further inside, ‘Please do not judge us too harshly, my son. Your visit to Rome is fortuitous. Some things have happened that you might not be aware of.’
He flicked a warning glance at St. John.
‘Come, we have no time to waste,’ said the Librarian Cardinal sweeping us forward towards a stairwell, ignoring the old-fashioned caged elevator to its side, to ascend to the upper levels. ‘I must take you immediately to La Torre dei Venti – there is something there you must see for yourselves.’
‘The Tower of the Winds,’ St. John murmured and, turning to explain to me, continued, ‘Another Pope named Gregory – Gregory XIII, to be precise – ordered a tower to be erected within the Vatican and to be fitted out with the greatest and best instruments of the time. There he held meetings with the greatest mathematicians, philosophers and astronomers of the time, to whom the Reform of the Calendar had been entrusted.’
‘Si, si,’ the Librarian Cardinal affirmed and, turning to me, continued, ‘You will see that the tower stands to this day – a witness to the munificence of its creator. It contains the meridian line designed by Ignazio Danti, the papal cosmographer.’
We seemed to be climbing higher and higher above the level of the courtyards outside, above the mezzanine floor where we had entered, above sea level. We entered the Meridian Hall in the Tower of the Winds and I was immediately struck by the straight line of white marble on the floor, parallel to the north-south direction. It stood out against the darker flooring surrounding it.
The Librarian Cardinal stated, ‘It is almost time; just another moment more. You will see how it was possible to measure the altitude of the sun at noon according to the meteorological seasons.’
I was astonished to realise that it was just going on midday as a ray of sunlight entered through a hole in the south wall projecting its beam onto a spot on the round marble plate where the meridian line passed through it; its centre adorned with scientific and zodiac designs.
Oh, my God! This is so cool! Fi would be so jealous! I thought, realising that this was just like Raiders of the Lost Ark.
St. John noticed my gaze fixed upon the scientific symbols.
‘The design demonstrates the error of the old reckoning and the correctness of the Reform,’ he said, ‘The observations carried out thanks to the meridian confirmed the corrections introduced in the Julian Calendar by the Gregorian Calendar. This too links back to Babylon. Remember in my lecture what I said? The Latin names of the zodiac are translations of Babylonian constellations.’
‘Oh!’ I breathed in delight as I turned to face the Librarian Cardinal, ‘I can understand why you brought me here to see this.’
The Librarian Cardinal laughed, the smile reaching to his eyes, ‘No, no, my child. That is not why I brought you both here. Or, at least, it is not the only reason for your presence here.’
We waited patiently while the holy man in front of us gathered his thoughts, raising his eyes to the ceiling as if looking for divine inspiration. I wondered briefly if he was praying, but when he merely continued to passively look up at the heavens, my gaze eventually followed his.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I murmured, staring at the anemoscope fixed to the ceiling of the Meridian Hall.
The anemoscope and wind-rose were patterned in the deep blue of the heavens surrounded by images of prophets and angels and cherubs frolicking amongst drifts of clouds or deep in contemplation like Rodin’s Thinker.
‘Si, it is very beautiful. It too was designed by Danti. He resorted to a complex mechanical device that was to measure the direction of the winds and thus allow their identification,’ the Librarian Cardinal sighed and, pausing briefly, closed his eyes before turning to face us and stating, ‘But the device stopped working nearly immediately.’
My eyes averted to him in astonishment, arresting my contemplation of the heavens. It seemed too fantastical to believe.
St. John merely gave pause before clarifying, ‘It seems to be working perfectly now.’
‘Did you have it repaired?’ I asked bewildered, thinking of the renovations that we were told were supposedly occurring in the Vatican Secret Archives.
The Librarian Cardinal shook his head ruefully, ‘No. Mi dispiace. I have not explained this properly. The anemoscope began working again miraculously not long ago, around the time of the discovery of the Seed.’ Looking at me quite seriously, he continued, ‘We believe in miracles here, you understand?’
I nodded in comprehension, ‘I think so. It’s like divine intervention. As Hamlet said, “There’s a divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will–”.’
‘Si, si, exactly,’ he agreed, nodding eagerly. ‘But it seems we were not the only ones to become aware of its discovery.’ Turning to St. John, he asked sombrely, ‘Is it possible that our enemy can gain entrance to the Garden before the recovery of the second half of the map?’
‘A most appropriate question,’ St. John remarked, moving across the room to stand in front of a fresco painted by Nicolò Circignani which depicted an angel marking the forehead of the Chosen.
How fitting! I thought distractedly as St. John began speaking.
‘As you know, it is unlikely that the Grigori can return to Paradise before all the conditions of the ancient prophecies are met.’
‘Unlikely,’ the old man continued, insistently, ‘but not impossible. If that is His will, so be it.’
‘I believe there’s something you’re not telling us, Your Eminence,’ St. John said to the Librarian Cardinal, crossing to my side in a seemingly casual gesture. But I could tell by his stance that he was deliberately protecting me. I wondered that he should feel that there wa
s a need.
The Librarian Cardinal gave a start and murmured, ‘I have been asked to show you something else.’
From his tone of voice, the very solemn tone of reverence, I did not have to guess who had told him to show us whatever it was we were meant to see. But now when I looked at him, the Librarian Cardinal’s shoulders drooped in resignation as if he carried an intolerable burden and I wondered what happened to the spritely old man of a few moments earlier.
His face lined with wear and worry was less animated as he said, ‘Two nights’ ago, we had a burglary. Despite all of our precautions and our state-of-the-art security systems, we were unable to prevent this from happening. Please follow me.’
Passing through to another flight of stairs, we followed the Librarian Cardinal into another room. This time, the walls were lined with frescoes depicting stories from Genesis. Under an image of a man, who I assumed was Jacob, wrestling the Angel of God, there stood a display case with its glass shattered, sharp shards protruding from its elaborately carved wooden base. Apart from a few heavy pieces of carved cabinetry, the room was completely empty.
‘We moved this display case here from the floor below where it housed a rare astrolabe and the only copy of a unique Almanach Perpetuum by Rabbi Abraham Zacuto. Both were taken by the thief.’
St. John did not immediately inspect the display case but instead, turning to face the holy man, his jaw hardening into an expression I knew quite well, said, ‘What was so special about them?’
The Librarian Cardinal sighed and, moving forward, dropped his head as he braced his hands on the edge of the display case, careful to avoid the angry looking glass shards. ‘The astrolabe was made of a metal not normally found in the fifteenth century. In fact, it is said to have only been used in its solid state once that we know of in ancient times. The astrolabe was made of the same substance as the Ark of the Covenant.’
‘You mean gold?’ I asked confused, wondering what was so special about that.
‘Not any gold,’ St. John contradicted my misconceptions, ‘It is an exotic form of gold – of elemental matter – not shown on the Periodic Table. It is said to have derived from platinum group metals, gold and other transitional elements and is mostly seen in a white powdered form. There has been debate recently about whether it is monatomic, a single atomic state, or simply small nuclear clusters known as condensates. Whatever the case, they were classified by David Hudson in the 1980s as ORMEs or Orbitally Rearranged Monatomic Elements.’
‘I don’t get it. What’s so special about that?’ I asked, watching St. John’s expression closely.
He merely shrugged and said, ‘Thermo-gravimetric analysis has revealed that, at certain high temperatures, the material weight of these elements will reduce substantially, even to the degree that they will levitate. In specific circumstances they also have the ability to become superconductive and to resonate in parallel dimensions.’
I looked at him and blinked. ‘You’re joking, right?’
He shook his head gravely and the Librarian Cardinal moved forward to address me. ‘My child, it is true. In Greek mythology the quest for the secret of this substance was at the heart of the legend of the Golden Fleece. And the Ark of the Covenant was constructed of this substance.’
‘The ancient Mesopotamians called the powder “shem-an-na”, meaning high ward fire stone,’ St. John said, ‘And the Egyptians described it as “mfkzt”, while the Alexandrians venerated it as the Paradise Stone. It was said to be made into conical cakes, or suspended in water, and this mysterious fire stone powder was a ritually ingested supplement of the ancient kings and pharaohs. It was revered as the food of the “ka” or light-body and was believed to heighten leadership qualities, such as awareness, perception and intuition.’
‘It was further considered to be a key to active longevity. Perhaps even immortality,’ stated the Librarian Cardinal.
I shook my head. It was too much to take in at once. ‘But how did this Rabbi get his hands on it then? I mean, if it’s so rare and all that?’
The Librarian Cardinal gave a slight smile for the first time since entering the room. ‘This, perhaps, is not so much of a mystery. If you will but wait a moment, I will return with a document from Marco Polo; a copy of the Description of the World from the thirteenth century.’
He exited the room, leaving me alone with St. John and the shattered display case.
‘Is it true?’ I asked.
St. John turned his jade green eyes in my direction, ‘Is what true, Sage?’
I moved closer to him. ‘That the Ark of the Covenant was made from this substance – this white powder gold in solid form?’
‘I can’t say,’ he murmured, his eyes enigmatic, betraying nothing of his thoughts. ‘I wasn’t personally invited to look at the Covenant of God. But the Israelites were very secretive during that time and, if you can believe that Nephilim exist, then anything is possible.’
I nodded and he reached out to brush a lock of hair from my face.
‘Why do you think the astrolabe was made of this magical white powder gold?’ I whispered conspiratorially.
St. John merely shook his head, ‘I think the answer to that lies in Marco Polo’s Description of the World. We’ll have to wait and see.’
‘What about the other text? What was it called?’
‘Almanach Perpetuum by Rabbi Abraham Zacuto,’ St. John replied.
‘Is that a rare text too?’ I asked him, moving away to look at the frescoes on the wall, squinting up at the biblical depictions – some of which were familiar and others completely unknown to me.
‘Actually, no,’ he replied, flicking me a glance, ‘At least, not that I am aware of. As I understand it, they were used by ship captains to determine the position of their Portuguese caravels through calculation of data acquired with an astrolabe. Zacuto was born in Spain, a Rabbi of his community, but with the general expulsion of the Jews from Spain in 1492, Zacuto took refuge in Portugal. He was appointed to the court and became the Royal Astronomer and Historian. His perfection of the astrolabe – using metal instead of wood – and the accuracy of his Almanacs meant that the lives of many sailors were saved and enabled the Portuguese to reach Brazil and India.’
‘Oh,’ I said disappointed, ‘but then what does it all mean? Why do you think these pieces were stolen? I guess I can understand the astrolabe. But the Almanac? I just don’t get it.’
At that moment, the Librarian Cardinal re-entered the room, carrying an ancient document, yellow with age. ‘Here it is. Would you care to read it for yourself?’
Looking at the text in a foreign language, I demurred and so he began, ‘From Chapter XI (Of the province of Persia) of Marco Polo’s The Description of the World, written in 1298. “In Persia there is a city which is called Saba, from whence were the three Magi who came to adore Christ in Bethlehem; and the three are buried in that city in a fair sepulchre, and they are all three entire with their beards and hair. One was called Balthasar, the second Gaspar, and the third Melchior. Marco inquired often in that city concerning the three Magi and nobody could tell him anything about them, except that the three Magi were buried there in ancient times. After three days’ journey he came to a castle which is called Palasata, which means the castle of the fire-worshippers, and it is true that the inhabitants of that castle worship fire, and this is given as the reason. The men of that castle say, that anciently three kings of that country went to adore a certain king who was newly born, and carried with them three offerings; namely, gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Gold, that they might know if he were an earthly king; frankincense, that they might know if he were God; and myrrh, that they might now if he were a mortal man. When these Magi were presented to Christ, the youngest of the three adored him first, and it appeared to him that Christ was of his stature and age. The middle one came next, and then the eldest, and to each he seemed to be of their own stature and age. Having compared their observations together, they agreed to go all to worshi
p at once, and then he appeared to them all of his true age. When they went away, the infant gave them a closed box, which they carried with them for several days, and then becoming curious to see what he had given them, they opened the box and found in it a stone, which was intended for a sign that they should remain firm as a stone in the faith they had received from him. When, however, they saw the stone, they marvelled, and thinking themselves deluded, they threw the stone into a certain pit, and instantly fire burst forth in the pit. When they saw this, they repented bitterly of what they had done, and taking some of the fire with them they carried it home. And having placed it in one of their churches, they keep it continually burning, and adored that fire as a god, and made all their sacrifices to it; and if it happened to be extinguished, they go for more to the original fire in the pit where they threw the stone, which is never extinguished, and they take of none other fire. And, therefore, the people of the country worship fire. Marco was told all this by the people of the country; and it is true that one of those kings was of Saba; and the second was Dyava; and the third was of the castle.”’ The Librarian Cardinal paused and, lowering the document, addressed us, ‘Do you understand now? Marco Polo relates the myth from ancient Persia concerning the Magi and what became of them. The important fact concerns the Christ child’s gift to the Magi – the fire stone. It is said that the Magi then founded a mystical society that explored ancient wisdom. It is this knowledge that was handed down to Zacuto.’
‘Knowledge and the gold to make the astrolabe,’ St. John volunteered.
‘We have kept the astrolabe and the Almanach Perpetuum by Rabbi Abraham Zacuto a secret for centuries. You must understand that the Almanach Perpetuum is also special. It will allow ship captains to determine the position of their ships through calculation of data acquired with the astrolabe.’ The Librarian Cardinal’s face looked drawn as he said this.
‘But to what end?’ I asked perplexed, shrugging my shoulders.
St. John, however, had understood the ramifications even if I had not. ‘Sage, the astrolabe and Almanach Perpetuum will give whoever holds them the power to navigate. The astrolabe’s construction – its white powder gold – will allow it to resonate in parallel dimensions. Do you understand now, Sage? They can navigate through parallel dimensions.’
