Claire gave him a playful thump on the arm before returning her gaze to the large, stained-glass windows amid the brickwork above. ‘Well, maybe they don’t answer doors either.’
It was Harker’s turn to raise an eyebrow sarcastically. ‘Maybe.’
He was about to bang on the door one final time when the lock was released with a series of metallic clicks, and the door creaked slowly open. There in the doorway, like a ghost from the past, stood a Benedictine monk, wearing a floor-length brown robe. ‘Come posso aiutarla?’ the monk enquired in Italian, his voice high-pitched and scratchy.
Harker could feel Claire closing up behind him, and he couldn’t blame her because the monk looked pretty creepy. ‘Do you speak English?’ he asked for Claire’s benefit. The doorman nodded with a grunt. ‘Yes, I do. How can I help you?’
‘We’re looking for Father Maddocks. May we see him?’
The monk eyed them both up and down carefully before shaking his head. ‘I’m afraid there is no one here by that name, my son. May I be of help in any other way?’
‘I’m not sure. My name is Alex Harker, and I was asked to seek out Father Maddocks here at the commune by a good friend of mine, Father Archibald Dwyer.’
If the monk happened to recognise Archie’s name, he wasn’t letting on.
‘And this is his sister Ms Claire Dwyer.’ As Harker glanced back at her, she extended a hand, and it was quickly snubbed by the monk who simply wrinkled his nose. ‘Does that name mean anything to you at all?’
The holy man slowly shook his head. ‘No, should it?’
‘I’d hoped so. May we come in?’
The monk, whose hair resembled the traditional image of Friar Tuck, stepped back from the door and shut it partially in their faces. ‘I’m sorry, but we are now in the middle of afternoon prayer. If you would like to come back another time, I’m sure we could accommodate you. Good day.’
As he began to close the door completely, Archie Dwyer’s mysterious message flashed through Harker’s mind, and he hastily thrust his foot into the remaining gap. ‘Trust your logic, not your faith,’ he blurted out. ‘Does that mean anything to you?’
For a moment, the monk looked totally surprised, and then, a smile spread across his face. ‘Indeed, it does, and in that case, you are welcome here. Please enter.’ He opened the door wide again and beckoned them both into the main entrance of the monastery. After scanning the outside for any other visitors, and once satisfied they had come alone, he securely bolted the locks and turned back to them. ‘My name is Father Valente. Please, follow me.’
Harker felt Claire’s hand slip comfortably into his own, and he shot her a reassuring glance before trailing after their new-found friend. The monastery was impressive, but with none of the grandeur of adornment usually to be found in a church. They proceeded through a warren of small bare rooms, leading ultimately to a narrow corridor. No one, meanwhile, spoke a word.
The narrow corridor opened up into a much larger inner sanctum, where they were greeted by the warmth of a huge log fire at one end of the room, beside which another Benedictine monk was stood, watching them suspiciously.
‘Mr Harker, Ms Dwyer, please wait here. I will only be a moment.’
With that, their guide disappeared through a gloomy side door, leaving the two of them exchanging glances with the only remaining occupant. A few awkward minutes later, the first monk reappeared to usher them into a smaller adjacent room before carefully closing the door behind him.
An uncomfortable-looking bed nestled in the corner, and by the opposite wall stood a modest work desk, its surface littered with a variety of books. Perched on the edge of a wooden chair sat a wide-eyed Father Maddocks, looking nervous. Harker recognised him instantly from the framed photograph at the orphanage.
‘Father Maddocks, I’m Alex Harker. And this is …’ As he turned to introduce Claire, Maddocks interrupted him.
‘I know who you are, Professor, and you too, Ms Dwyer.’ He got to his feet and shook Harker’s hand before turning to Claire. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss. Archie was a good man. Please, both of you, have a seat.’
Maddocks sat down again at his workstation and waited silently as his two guests made themselves as comfortable as possible. Harker’s thigh was still aching from being squeezed into the small plastic chair back at the orphanage, and now this rough wooden bench wasn’t much better.
‘Archie said you would come, Professor Harker, although he didn’t mention his sister. But you are welcome, nonetheless, Ms Dwyer.’ He smiled at Claire before producing a packet of cigarettes and a Zippo from his desk drawer. He extracted one out and lit up with the shiny brass lighter before snapping it shut and inhaling deeply. ‘You must have many questions for me?’
Harker almost choked at the last remark. ‘Father, that’s probably the biggest understatement I’ve ever heard. I’m not even sure why we’re here, but Archie left me a cryptic note.’ He slid Archie’s message from his pocket and passed it over. ‘It’s this note which has led us here, and that’s about all we know so far.’
The priest took another deep drag on his cigarette and then blew smoke towards a small vent set in the stonewall of his cell. He then glanced through the piece of paper before setting it alight with his Zippo, explaining, ‘You won’t need this any more.’ He waited for the scrap to turn to ashes before returning his attention to the visitors. ‘I am not sure how much you know about Archie’s work at the Vatican’s Academy of Sciences. Truth is, I’m not sure I even really know myself. But allow me explain to you some of the events of the last six months.’
Maddocks took yet another deep drag before continuing. ‘You must understand, I’m only telling you this because of the faith I know Archie had in you, Professor.’ He gave Claire an understanding nod. ‘And, of course, you are his sister. But it is important you know that he told me to speak of this only with Professor Harker.’ He turned aside to let out a short high-pitched whistle.
The door opened, and Maddocks gestured to Valente, who had been standing guard. ‘Please wait outside, Ms Dwyer.’
She shot Harker an angry look. ‘But I’m his sister, and I have a right to know!’
She sounded more embarrassed than angry, and Harker gently hugged her. ‘Wait outside. You’ll be safe.’
‘But I … Look, I have a right to …’
Harker locked on to her green eyes and gave her his best ‘it’s not going to happen’ look. ‘Trust me, Claire.’
Her shoulders suddenly slumping, she nodded to acknowledge defeat. ‘OK, I’ll be outside.’
Maddocks smiled appreciatively as she closed the door behind her. ‘I must apologise for that apparent rudeness, but Archie was adamant that I speak of this to no one but you.’
Harker could see the sincerity in the older man’s eyes, and he gave a firm reassuring nod.
The priest smiled back before taking a final drag on his cigarette and stubbing it out in the ornate glass ashtray sitting on the desktop. ‘This is rather silly. For the last two weeks, I’ve been running through my head what I’d say to you, and, now that you’re finally here, I’m stuck. I’m not sure where to start.’
Harker tried to look at ease by settling back against the stonewall behind the bench, but it proved bloody uncomfortable although he refused to let it show. ‘Let’s just start at the beginning. How did you meet Archie?’
Father Maddocks shook his head, his face filling with a sense of realisation as if just remembering how he had intended to start his speech. ‘Yes, OK, I met Archie about six months ago when I was asked to assist at the orphanage over in Castel Madama. Archie had made a request, through the Vatican, for anyone who could spare some time helping with the children. It seems more and more of them are simply left to the mercy of the welfare system these days, which is very sad, but that is the reality of it.’
Harker nodded in agreement, having learnt of the problems first-hand when he was training at the Vatican. The number of street kids was rising each ye
ar, despite what the Italian government preached to the contrary, and many fell prey to the sex traffickers. It was an ever-continuing tragedy, and Vatican officials were constantly attempting to turn the tide.
‘I myself and another priest, Vito Malpuso, offered our services to Archie, and over the months, the three of us developed a strong bond. Six months may seem a short time for such a close bond to occur, but that was the way of it, nonetheless. Together we organised day trips and events for the children, all funded by the Vatican, with no expense spared. But there were four children in particular that we were drawn to, and we couldn’t help but favour them with our attention above the others.’
Harker found himself interrupting without even consciously deciding to. ‘You mean the four Angels?’
Father Maddocks smiled deeply, showing his yellowing nicotine-stained teeth. ‘Ah, you know about them?’
Harker smiled back. ‘Not much except what we learnt at the orphanage.’
‘Then you know what happened. Well, allow me to explain. Archie was already very close to the Angels before we arrived, but it wasn’t long before we too gravitated towards them as well. Even though they were horribly crippled, their minds were still intact, and each of them had his own unique personality and understanding of things. Vito felt the same as I did, and those six months were amongst the happiest of my life – truly serving some of God’s most unfortunate.’
Harker himself was almost overcome by the obvious love Father Maddocks had for these Angels, and he smiled openly, happy for the priest to continue reminiscing.
‘But that was before the fire. It blazed through a dormitory wing of the orphanage, killing all four of the Angels in one fell swoop. To be burnt alive is no way for anyone to die, let alone young children.’ He scratched at his hand, obviously still disturbed by the very memory of it. ‘The inferno was so hot, it fused their fragile little bodies to the steel frames of their wheelchairs. It was horrible. The accident was caused by a faulty electrical outlet, so the fire department told us afterwards, but it didn’t make any difference because all of us felt guilty, especially Archie. He kept running the tragedy over and over in his mind as if he were looking for a missed clue, something he had seen but not recognised or properly assimilated. We could see it was tearing him apart, but he wouldn’t discuss it with us. Not until he asked Vito and myself to meet him at his house in Popolo, and that’s where this story really begins.’
Maddocks flicked open his pack of Marlboro and slid out another cigarette before even finishing the one still in his hand. He glanced at Harker. ‘Do you mind if I have another?’
Harker stared at the packet hungrily. ‘Only if I can join you.’
Maddocks offered him the pack.
‘It’s been two years since I last had a cigarette, but after today’s events, I think I deserve it.’
The priest nodded understandingly and lit both cigarettes in turn.
Harker took a deep drag, admiring the smoke that he subsequently expelled from his lungs with a little cough, now relishing the sickening satisfaction that only a smoker can appreciate. God, it tasted good.
Maddocks allowed him to enjoy the sensation for a moment longer before continuing his story. ‘You must remember, Professor, that Pope Leo XIV had just passed away, so it was our primary obligation to offer our prayers for him in St Peter’s Basilica along with all our colleagues, but we didn’t. Instead, we rallied around our friend, and that is a decision I will wrestle with for the rest of my days.’
Harker noticed the deep frown lines that appeared as Father Maddocks rubbed his temple. This was clearly a man who felt a heavy weight on his soul.
‘Once we arrived at his house, Archie immediately swore us to secrecy and made us promise that whatever we were told must remain between us and be revealed to no one else. I agreed straight away, but Vito took a little more convincing, and it was only after an hour of heated discussion that he finally agreed. Part of me wishes Vito had stuck to his guns and refused, but the other half thanks the Lord he didn’t. It seems that Archie’s work was highly secret, revolving around a hidden room situated somewhere in the northern corridor of the Academy of Sciences. He, along with a small group of other priests, was tasked with the study and restoration of certain relics. It was a task that had been going on for many decades. Now, Archie wouldn’t tell us what this study involved, but he did say that he had been approached by a group of people who were intensely interested in this work and, more importantly, in the relics themselves. They managed to convince him that these items would be far safer in their custody than in the possession of the Vatican.’ Maddocks shook his head despairingly. ‘Don’t ask me how they convinced him, but a week later, he did what they asked by taking the relics from the Academy of Science and hiding them safely somewhere else. A few days after that, the orphanage suffered the fire that killed the Angels, and Archie became convinced it was as a warning for what he had done.’
Harker stubbed his cigarette out on the sole of his shoe and placed it in the ashtray. ‘Who was the warning from?’
Maddocks carefully stubbed out his own. ‘He assumed it was from the same people who had initially approached him.’
‘But you said he stole the relics on their behalf in the first place?’
Father Maddocks nodded. ‘Yes, you’re right, but Archie hadn’t yet passed them on. He still had them hidden away somewhere, and he didn’t say why. Maybe he had begun to have second thoughts. He said he had even considered returning the relics to the Vatican, but, as you can imagine, their theft had not gone unnoticed, and he felt trapped, to say the least. But now his guilt over the Angels was truly consuming him, and he finally decided to give the objects back to the Vatican but not before he had spoken to someone he totally trusted, someone high up in Church hierarchy. He then called upon Vito and myself to safeguard one of these relics until he returned, mentioning something about a necessary trip to London. We waited at his house for almost two days before receiving a special postal delivery: a letter from Archie, telling us that if anything happened to him, we were to stay well away from the Vatican. It explained we should retreat immediately to this monastery and wait there for his most trusted friend and that you would see to it that everything was put back in its proper place. That very afternoon, Archie hanged himself from the balcony of St Peter’s Basilica during the papal inauguration. That was almost two weeks ago, and I don’t mind admitting that I was beginning to doubt you’d ever turn up. In fact, Vito lost faith entirely, and he headed back to his family’s farmhouse on the outskirts of Rome. But I got a call from him yesterday, telling me he was heading back to the monastery. We decided to request an audience with the new Pope and ask for his advice or forgiveness, whatever was needed, but … Well, I never made the initial call because Vito never arrived.’
Harker let out a small gasp, suddenly realising that he was supposed to know more than Father Maddocks did, but his disarray was overridden immediately by an acute curiosity. ‘And what about the relic?’
Without a word, Father Maddocks opened a side drawer of his desk. He reached inside and gently brought out an almost foot long oak casket, placing it delicately on the desktop. ‘I promised Archie I’d keep it safe until he and I next met.’ He gave an unhappy smile. ‘Which made it a lifetime commitment until you appeared.’
Harker offered him a dry smile before examining the box’s lid. The craftsmanship was of a classical Roman style, and the condition was pristine. In the centre was a symbol consisting of two crossed shepherd’s staff. Harker knew it all too well as the ancient symbol for Christianity, having seen it so many times before, but what really caused a stir in him was the engraved image underneath of Tiberius Augustus Caesar, the second emperor of Rome. Harker felt his hands begin to tremble, and he wasn’t sure if it was nerves, excitement, or a mixture of them both. The wood seemed to have hardly degraded, considering it must have been almost two thousand years old. Whatever was inside this aged box had probably been around since the
life and times of Jesus Christ himself. His fingers gently traced the fine craftsmanship at the edges, down to a small metal key that jutted from the front panel of the box.
‘May I?’
He was surprised at the high pitch of his own voice, and Father Maddocks, sensing the excitement in him, nodded approvingly. Harker carefully pressed his fingertips around the small iron key and delicately turned it until he heard the snap of the lock. He placed his hands either side of the lid and slowly opened it with his thumbs as would a child on Christmas morning, not wanting to tear the paper.
Both the top and bottom of the container had been lined with modern gel foam and then covered in a purple material that felt like silk. He could feel his heart begin to race as he identified the object inside, its slender stalks and protruding spikes composing two jagged semicircles. He pulled away a few inches from the open box, not wanting to even breathe on it for fear of damaging its precious contents. The item may have been in two pieces, but it was arranged in its original circular form and was now protected within a two-piece, transparent, hermetically sealed plastic case, allowing it to be folded together like a wallet. His mind was racing: Was this real? The genuine article? ‘Is that what I think it is?’ He couldn’t take his eyes off it, as if there was an invisible force trapping his gaze, banishing any semblance of free will.
Relics Page 9
