Lux Domini: Thriller: A Catherine Bell Story

by Alex Thomas

  Of all people it was Marc Abott Ciban who now held the position, who had once been his most promising protégé. In the end he had disappointed Monti, even going behind his back politically. And what was worse was the fact that Ciban now knew about the secret.

  Monti cleared his throat. He himself should have been the one to induct his much younger successor into the secret.

  The prefect remembered the exact day of his consecration. He had met Ciban in the Sistine Chapel. After his humiliating defeat in the conclave, the chapel was his most favourite place in the Vatican. Monti had always considered the chapel with Michelangelo’s breath-taking fresco of The Last Judgement to be a place for solitude and strength, a place for deeper inspiration.

  Ciban and he had then silently left the Sistine Chapel north to the grottos through the long corridors of the Vatican’s library. Monti wanted to show the younger man how fit he was for his age. The lights in the library automatically went on as the lights behind them automatically shut off. Two guards opened the massive bronze set of doors to the secret archives. They both stood there in the Vatican’s secret archives, the world’s largest library enshrouded with countless myths.

  When they entered Bramante’s corridor, passing some of the high, hand-carved wooden shelves with the countless documents and writings, Monti started to feel nauseous. He quickly reached for his pillbox and asthma spray. Ciban remained calm and collected, observing him occasionally as if the old cardinal himself was a part of the archives’ dark secrets from bygone-times. Monti was glad he didn’t have to sound out whether the new Grand Inquisitor would even lift a finger, should he perish amidst the four-metre high wooden shelves.

  After the wonders of modern medicine had taken effect, they continued to find their way through the maze of stack corridors, connecting hallways and lifts until they finally landed in a large cellar vault in the archives. It was divided into several rooms full of large, locked steel cabinets. Even down here in its remote sterility, the air somehow still smelled musty and dusty.

  Monti approached one of the cabinets and broke the papal seal. Then he opened the steel door with a special key that he had pulled out of his frock. Several old, prepared documents along with a black leather-bound book lay in the cabinet. The counterpart to these scrolls and book was a red leather-bound copy that an archaeologist had discovered in the grottos beneath the Vatican. The copy had once belonged to Pius XII and now lay hidden in an armoured steel cabinet in the Tower of Winds.

  "What do you know about Jesus and his twelve apostles?" Monti had asked his younger colleague.

  Ciban gave him an irritated look. The new Grand Inquisitor began to outline the apostles’ biographies. He started with John, Jesus’ favourite follower, the only one who held out beneath the cross and ended with Judas Iscariot, the treasurer of the apostles that had betrayed Jesus and committed suicide. Ciban had to admit one didn’t know anything about the lives of these twelve men.

  Monti nodded, carefully taking the scrolls from the cabinet and spreading them out on the nearest table. He snapped on the reading lamp. The fact that the artefacts had remained in such good shape even before their restoration bordered on a miracle, just as many of the things that had to do with the apostles’ stories and Jesus bordered on a miracle.

  Ciban drew closer, taking in the scrolls that Monti presented. The prefect discovered in the younger man’s eyes something he had never seen in them before: veneration.

  "How old do you think these scrolls are?" asked Monti with pride as if he had been the one to have single-handedly unearthed and transported them under the greatest of sacrifice to Rome.

  Ciban looked at the findings. He certainly couldn’t understand the ancient language. "I have no idea, Eminence. But when I think about the Qumran scrolls, I would estimate anywhere between the first and third centuries after Christ."

  "Not bad, Marc," said Monti in a conversational tone. "A C-fourteen analysis revealed that these scrolls come from the first century after Christ. A Bedouin shepherd discovered them in one of the Dead Sea’s caves in the eighth century. But these scrolls have absolutely nothing to do with those found in Qumran." Monti grabbed the black leather bound volume from the cabinet and placed it next to the vacant space next to the scrolls. "These texts actually belong in the New Testament." He stepped aside so Ciban could take a better look at the book and open it. The leather-bound volume contained a Latin translation.

  The old cardinal watched his colleague raise an eyebrow at the sight of the title. The Book of Acts? Of course Ciban knew the Gospel of Luke. Did these scrolls perhaps contain the original? He opened to the first page, then the second, flipping further while Monti silently took a seat on a nearby chair. Time lost all meaning. Ciban read and read, not looking up from the pages even once. When he finished studying the book for the time being, he kept his gaze lowered as if he were concentrating on something between the lines. When he finally looked over to Monti, his face was expressionless.

  The old prefect arose from his chair, slowly returning to the reading table. He remembered exactly how he felt during his consecration. From one hour to the next a great part of his Christian worldview had toppled.

  Ciban shook his head. "I beg your pardon, Eminence, but I don’t believe it. This is nothing more than a bad joke."

  Before Monti could say a word, a quiet, relaxed voice coming from the entrance said: "It is no joke, Marc. And it is certainly not a bad one either."

  Both cardinals turned their heads. His Holiness Pope Leo had entered the dim room and walked slowly toward them.

  "But I understand your momentary doubts," Leo said further. "I didn’t want to believe it myself."

  The Pope took off the papal signet ring, placing it next to the scrolls and the book on the table. Apostle Peter, the first Pope, was illustrated next to the current Pope and the fish.

  The words "You are Peter and I want my church built on this rock," were inscribed in Latin around the dome of St. Peter’s Basilica.

  The fisherman’s ring had been used until the middle of the nineteenth century to seal papal letters. Leo’s predecessor Innocence had reintroduced its traditional use during his papacy. The ring was then given to the new Pope after the conclave. Upon his death, the Cardinal Chamberlain would destroy it with a silver hammer before the eyes of all cardinals present. Before doing so, the Cardinal Chamberlain had searched out the papal chambers to seal the cabinet with the secret documents that no one but the new head of the Church was allowed to read. Each Pope received his own ring, his own seal to prevent anyone else during the sede vacante from reading the documents and resealing the cabinet or even circulating publications in the name of the dead Pope.

  Ever since his consecration by Pope Innocence, Monti knew that this ring stood for something even much greater than that.

  "How can I ease your doubts?" asked Leo.

  Ciban got straight to the point. "By giving me the names of all the consecrated, Holiness."

  Monti had suppressed a hysterical laugh. Ciban could take them all at once to trial – Leo, himself, Leo’s congregation. Monti’s reaction after his consecration had been a similar one.

  Leo shook his head and said: "You are standing before the original texts of the real Acts of the Apostles. You have read these lines and now know that I cannot tell you the names."

  Ciban stood stone still, saying nothing. Monti said instead: "What do you think would happen if the Curia learned of this? Not to mention all of Christianity when it is hard enough for even us to comprehend and accept it? We are literally damned to keep the secret."

  "We too are bound to a two thousand year old contract," sighed Leo.

  Monti could only image what Leo was thinking. The moment of truth was a tricky situation. Several of the Grand Inquisitors had left office afterward. And nothing would be more unpleasant for Leo than to lose Ciban.

  The younger cardinal had then looked from one man to the other, cast another look at the scrolls and said tersely: "Pardon me
, but I have to take a seat first…"

  An audible cough pulled Cardinal Monti out of the dusty archives and back into the presence of his room in the Secretariat of State’s office.

  "Eminence," he heard his assistant’s voice say. "The car is ready. You had wanted to swing by your house before meeting with His Eminence Cardinal Gasperetti."

  Gasperetti…

  Monti could make as little sense of the old man as of Ciban and Benelli. All three of them were descendants of Lux Domini, an order that he completely distrusted as an old member of Opus Dei. If he weren’t mistaken, it was Benelli who had prevented him from becoming Pope.

  He took a deep breath. Some defeats could follow one like a curse to one’s grave. But that belonged to the past now. If he kept his eyes and ears open and believed in his goal, he would always find a way to reach it.

  34

  Catherine, Ben and Rinaldo passed inspection through the Swiss guards and Vigilanza. The Monsignor parked the car in the parking lot near the Palace of the Inquisition right next to two limousines. He helped Ben out of the car.

  "Here we are then," he said. "I have no idea what could be so urgent, but I hope you have a good reason for your evening visit. It must not have to do with the accident." Rinaldo gave Ben a compassionate look, supporting him as he walked. "Come with me. We’ll take the lift."

  A few minutes later Ben and Catherine stood in Ciban’s antechamber, taking a seat on two beautiful chairs at the wall. They had to wait because the cardinal, according to the secretary, was still in a meeting. Rinaldo sat across from them and read his Breviary. He had offered to wait until their conversation was over so he could accompany them safely home. Ben suspected that he perhaps wished to stay so as to partake in the aftermath of their heads being shorn by the cardinal.

  Nearly half an hour went by before the door to Ciban’s office opened. Out came the commander of the Swiss guard along with the Vigilanza commander. Both seemed quite focused and determined, as if they had just set up a plan that had to be fulfilled without delay. They wordlessly passed through the antechamber, disappearing into the hallway.

  The secretary turned to Ben and Catherine. "You may go in now."

  Ben, who had momentarily forgotten the effect that Ciban’s office could have on visitors, realised that Catherine was rather intimidated by the antique, mediaeval and modern splendour. How could he forget? She had never seen his office before.

  Ciban switched off the flat screen, got up from his chair and signalled to them to take a seat across from his desk where both Vatican commanders had just sat.

  "Apologies for making you wait. It was rather unavoidable. We had to eliminate certain ambiguities."

  Catherine nodded politely to show she accepted the apology and understood the reason quite well.

  "I can imagine that your workload is huge at the moment."

  "It’s alright. Would you both like some coffee or tea?"

  Ciban’s facial expressions didn’t reveal what he was really thinking. But Catherine immediately noticed that he hadn’t offered his hand to either Ben or herself. His opponent sat just one step away from his desk and Ben had brought her into his space.

  "Water is good for me," said Ben. Catherine asked for the same.

  Ciban got three glasses and poured them some fresh water. Catherine noticed that the label said holy water from Monterotondo, a town with the population of a few thousand that lay between Rome and Benelli’s villa.

  The prefect turned first to Ben: "After phoning with Monsignor Rinaldo, I thought you’d be the last person I’d see. How do you feel?"

  "Somewhat out of it, but I’m okay. I am certain Monsignor Rinaldo told you of the urgency of our…matter."

  Ciban placed the water bottle onto the table and passed around the glasses. "I don’t know the details, but it appears to have something to do with…" He turned to look at Catherine with his light, impenetrable eyes. "…your companion here. How may I be of assistance, Sister?"

  Catherine hesitated. She suddenly had the feeling that what she had to say was completely absurd. Especially in the presence of this man. On top of it, she would offer even more ammunition to the prefect of the Congregation of the Doctrine of Faith by revealing what she knew. She could feel Ben getting nervous next to her. Ciban took a sip of water and waited. He was the epitome of patience. He finally handed them their water glasses. "Have a sip. If it can help me, perhaps it can help you too. Besides I would like to assure you that that which you are about to tell me will be handled in the strictest confidence."

  Catherine brought the glass to her lips and immediately felt a bit better. She took a deep breath. Then she let the cat out of the bag. "It has to do with a dream, Eminence."

  Ciban remained expressionless, but rather sat motionless and stared at her instead. "And?" he finally asked when Catherine remained silent.

  "It was about His Eminence Cardinal Benelli," she said slowly. She felt like a complete idiot. How could she explain to an outsider that she was practically an intermediary between this world and the after world? At the very latest when she started to speak of the "mission" that Benelli had given her, the prefect would strap her to a catapult and thrust her out of the Palace of the Inquisition.

  Ciban remained motionless.

  Catherine took a deep breath and took another sip of spring water. "Cardinal Benelli came to me last night in a very real dream. He told me how we could protect His Holiness from further attacks."

  For a while it remained very quiet in the room. Ben had appeared to stop breathing altogether and Ciban sat there like a Roman statue.

  "Tell me about your dream," the prefect encouraged her softly when she continued to say nothing. "Every detail. What exactly did Cardinal Benelli say to you in the dream?"

  "You don’t think I’m…crazy?" asked Catherine with surprise and a measure of caution.

  "I have to admit I am a bit unsettled, but I also know that Father Darius trusted you wholeheartedly. So please. Tell me more."

  Again the room remained silent for a while.

  "Take courage," said Ben.

  Catherine prodded herself along and started to explain. She felt a slight easing of the burden she had been carrying because she could finally share it with someone else.

  Ciban leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and seemed to absorb every single syllable she spoke. He never once interrupted her. It was only now that she noticed that during the trial against her the prefect had been harsh with her, but at the same time he had never cut her off. In essence he had sat there mostly, listening and allowing the arguments and Catherine’s and the jury members’ rebuttals to sink in. Even when he did speak, he had never once spoken out for or against her. Nevertheless, he was known for his dogmatism.

  It was only after Catherine had finished – she had left out the part about Golgotha – that he opened his eyes again, sat in silence, started at the water bottle and gave it some thought.

  A brief thought crossed Catherine’s mind that she had never noticed up to this point how attractive the prefect actually was. Was that the reason the media took pictures of him so often? Before now she had always thought it was because of Ciban’s cold-blooded mediaeval-like policies that had caused so much controversy in the Catholic world. Particularly because of her books.

  She regretted having not learned more about the cardinal’s biography like Ben had. Up to this moment Ciban had seemed to her to be a soulless guardian of the faith. But before her sat a man made of flesh and bones, even if he was primarily rather formal in his manner.

  Had he ever been in love before?

  She noticed just in time that she had begun to stare at him. She took a quick sip of water to avoid blushing. The fact that Ben gave her a questioning side glance didn’t help matters.

  Luckily, Ciban seemed to have come to a conclusion. He reached for the phone and dialled an internal Vatican number. Seconds later he had the Pope’s private secretary, Monsignor Massini, on the line and asked fo
r an immediate appointment with His Holiness. The secretary didn’t think to even question the request. It appeared he had merely asked the prefect for a moment of patience. A moment that felt to Catherine like an eternity.

  When Ciban put down the phone, she had the feeling she was witness to a historic moment. And not only that!

  "In twenty minutes you have a private audience with His Holiness, Sister." The prefect pointed to the glass that she was still holding in her hand. "It might be best for you to take another sip."

  35

  Ciban led Catherine through a labyrinth of hallways, department corridors and past numerous offices to a lift. Catherine entered the centre of the Apostolic Palace through one of the interior doors. In the interim Rinaldo had brought Ben home. She was in the lift alone with Ciban as the door opened and closed again.

  Her figure was reflected in the metal door. Her shoulder-length hair hung across her forehead and over her blue eyes in a rather unruly fashion. She wore a dark pantsuit, not the traditional costume as she had during the proceedings at the Inquisitor’s Palace. Ciban’s aristocratic appearance through his reflection – like a dark angel standing at the other end of the lift — had a calming effect on her although it should have had the opposite effect.

  During her interrogation in front of the tribunal, Catherine had asked herself whether perhaps the cardinal too had extrasensory abilities. In psychic terms it was possible that he was manipulative. On the other hand, based on her schooling she should have felt immediately if he had tried to touch her psyche in any way. Right?

  On the way there she had expected Ciban to instruct her before her private audience with the Pope, but that was not at all the case. Ever since they had left the office, he hadn’t said a word. Instead, he had held open quite a few heavy gateways and doors for her. Their eyes met briefly and Catherine had the feeling for a second that she might turn into a pillar of salt like Lot’s wife. But that was just her imagination. The gleaming lift doors slid open and they walked out onto the hallway to the papal private chambers. Never in a million years had Catherine dreamed of ever being allowed to set foot into the holiest space of the Apostolic Palace.