1997
Paul and Antonietta climbed the steps to the cathedral, at which point he inquired, “How well do you know the cathedral, Antonietta?”
“Well, let’s see,” she pondered for a moment, “We came here as school children several times. There’s plenty of art inside, very impressive, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s what I thought when I visited it,” he replied knowingly. They entered the cathedral, but Paul was clearly too impatient to stay for long. “Come, you must follow me. We must visit the Museo del’Opera.”
“What is in there?” she responded with a puzzled expression.
“You’ll see,” he replied mysteriously.
Once inside, he immediately began climbing the stairs. After two flights, she was huffing uncontrollably. “Where are you taking me, Paulo? I’m tired of climbing. Everywhere we go, you make me climb!”
“Oh, we’ve a long way to go yet, Antonietta, so pace yourself.”
At this she tossed him a withering stare, but followed his lead in resignation. They crossed an open gallery overflowing with artworks and he led her to a small stairway that headed downwards.
“Follow me, and stay close,” he cajoled, immediately disappearing through a doorway.
Following him, she suddenly called out, “Paulo, where are you? I can’t see! It’s dark in here.”
“I’m right here, beside you,” he replied from a few feet ahead of her. “Just follow me. Now there is a spiral staircase here. We’re going up it.”
After what seemed an eternity they emerged on an open-air walkway, whereupon he once again darted into a second spiral staircase. Finally, they emerged a second time into the open air. They were standing on a narrow brick-lined walkway no more than five feet wide.
Gazing about, she blurted, “What the…where in heaven’s name are we, Professore?”
“Ha! I knew you’d say that, Antonietta. We are on top of the world! We are standing on what was intended to be the apse of the cathedral. Look over there. That’s the cathedral we were just in. But something is wrong – there is no transept. That’s because the nave that we were in was originally designed to be the transept. This structure below us was originally intended to be the entrance to the church, and all of that before us was intended to be the nave.”
“Mio Dio! It would have been enormous!” she replied with wonder. “Why didn’t they finish it?”
“Your buddies, the Florentine’s defeated them in battle in the fifteenth century. Thereafter, they went into decline, and they were never able to find the resources to finish it. It would have been a challenge anyway due to that steep hill down there behind the cathedral. So their loss is our gain. This may be the only place on earth where you can go and see a medieval cathedral still under construction, just the way it was more than five hundred years ago.”
“Oh, my, this IS marvelous,” she replied surveying in every direction. “The view is incredible up here. And look, over there, you can see the Campo.”
“Yes,” he replied agreeably, but then he abruptly blurted, “Whoa! Hold on! I’ve got it!”
For her part, she could do no more than query, “You’ve got what, Professore?”
“I think I know what the Hell map is!” at which he danced a small jig, then pointed towards the Campo, “See the pattern in the stones within the Campo?”
“There’s some story about that. They look like slices of a pie, all emanating radially from the center. I think it represents the different Contrade.”
“You are correct, Contessa. What I would ask you to focus on is the geometry of the Campo.”
“Ah, well, I’d rather you’d just tell me, Professore, as I will most likely make a fool of myself if I try to unravel this problem with geometry,” and she said this last with mock profundity.
“Okay,” he responded, “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before, but I believe that instead of circles, we should be drawing radial lines!”
At this, Antonietta burst into uncontrollable laughter.
Staring at her in confusion, he mumbled, “What?”
Her laughter eventually attenuating, she said, “Here we are in Siena. The weather has turned perfect, and we are standing in what is likely one of the most beautiful spots in all of Italy, and you are talking about geometry!”
Tucking his hands within his pockets in an apparent admission of guilt, he admitted, “I see your point,” at which he stood sullenly for a moment but then retaliated with, “But you will see, Contessa, you will see!”
“I’m quite certain I shall,” she muttered to herself.
Paul suddenly turned to her and commanded brusquely, “Do you have a piece of paper?”
“Nooo,” she responded. “Why would I have a piece of paper?”
“Okay, do you have the translation of the poem with you?”
“Of course I do.”
“Good. Let me have it,” he replied. She handed it over, and he immediately began to draw on the back side. “Here,” he said, shoving the paper before her. “Look at this.”
Staring in confusion at his scribbling, she blurted, “What on earth is this, Paul?”
“It’s the same map I drew yesterday, but the lines are connected radially instead of by circles. It’s kind of like the pattern in the Campo, see?”
“Yes, I do see, but what is the point, Professore?”
“I think it goes this way, not the other way. I think it’s not the seven levels of Hell. I think it’s a geographic map. See, it’s laid out just like it should look on a map of Italy. The towns are right where they should be geographically.”
Examining it more closely, she replied, “Oh, I see what you mean. Perhaps you are onto something. I told you it wasn’t a map of Hell.”
Ignoring her dig, he commanded anxiously, “Come on, let’s go back down. I need to write down some notes.”
At this the pair hurried back to the narrow staircase and started their descent, but they immediately heard footsteps from below. It was someone ascending the narrow staircase, thereby forcing them to await their arrival. The ascending person momentarily coming into view, Paul and Antonietta gasped simultaneously as they recognized the man who had been following them.
Antonietta grasped her throat, frantically searching for a means of escape, but there was none.
The man was dressed in a somewhat rumpled black suit, and though he was not overly tall, he was dauntingly stout. Although he was huffing from the ascent, it was nevertheless apparent that he was not someone to be reckoned with. Emerging onto the balcony, he glanced first at Paul, thereafter toward Antonietta. Immediately recognizing the terrified looks on both their faces, he volunteered placidly, “I see that you recognize me from our previous encounters.”
Paul nodded, gulped visibly, but said nothing. For her part, Antonietta shrank incongruously backwards along the balcony despite the obvious fact that there was no means of escape.
“Allow me to introduce myself, Professore Woodbridge. I am Professore Luigi Bulgatti, from the Università di Roma,” at which he extended one hand toward Paul.
Instinctively taking the proffered hand within his own, Paul suddenly thought better of it and, retrieving it, exclaimed, “Wait, how do you know me?”
“That is an excellent question, Professore Woodbridge. Of course, I’ve been following you ever since your arrival in Italia. I wish to protect you – you and the Contessa,” at which he gestured towards Antonietta.
“What!” Paul croaked in evident fear, “Protect us! From what? From whom?”
“Signore, it is no coincidence that I have met you in this precise place,” and at this admission he glanced knowingly about him at the stark solitude of the balcony. “You are both of you in grave danger, and it is important to exercise extreme caution in all of your actions.”
At this, Antonietta’s mouth opened, and, grasping her throat yet again, she uttered a silent unintelligible word.
“Exactly, Contessa,” Professore Bulgatti
replied. “Mafia – a particular sect called the Camorra,” and, pausing just long enough for the impact of his admission to take full effect, he continued with, “I must caution you, they are aware that you possess a certain document relating to Galileo Galilei.”
“Paulo, remember I told you so,” Antonietta now interjected, “The Camorra is the sect that my former husband belongs to. Somehow they have found out about the document.”
At this Bulgatti brightened with apparent anticipation, saying, “So you have it, then?”
Paul glared suspiciously at Bulgatti. For all he knew Bulgatti could himself be Mafioso, and as he certainly looked it to Paul, he responded noncommittally, “Let’s just say, we are aware of the existence of a document, Professore Bulgatti.”
“Excellent, Signore Woodbridge,” Professor Bulgatti responded with obvious satisfaction, “It is my sincere aim to help you in your quest for the document. If you will indulge me, I shall tell you what I know at this moment in time.”
Paul frowned toward Antonietta, but observing no response, he suggested, “Alright, please continue.”
“Yes, of course,” Bulgatti answered with businesslike precision. “To begin with, are you familiar with the Lincean Academy?”
“Yes, of course. Founded in the early seventeenth century, they were resurrected in the nineteenth century, eventually evolving into Italy’s modern day Academy of Science.”
“Excellent, Professore Woodbridge!” Bulgatti responded. “I would have expected nothing less from so distinguished an academic as you. However, your facts are slightly in error.”
At this pronouncement Paul arched one eyebrow in disbelief, but nevertheless responded, “Continue, please.”
Bulgatti now disclosed, “To begin with, the Lincean Academy was never disbanded. It was simply forced to go underground in the seventeenth century, as papal interference became more and more dangerous. The academy has in reality been active continuously since the time of Galileo. The ‘resurrected’ academy that you spoke of is a fraud perpetrated by the Vatican in the nineteenth century. The real Lincean Academy still exists in secret, and I, sir, am a distinguished member of that secret society.”
Ignoring Professor Bulgatti’s attempt at self-aggrandizement, Paul queried, “Why are you a secret society?”
“Signore, it is necessary. There are still to this day forces at work in Italia that would, among other things, bring about the downfall of Galileo were it possible to do so. Now it seems that you have in your possession a document written by Galileo. Am I correct about that, Professore Woodbridge?”
“Perhaps,” Paul replied.
“Well said, Professore. I would not trust me if I were you either. But you will, I assure you both, all in good time, you will trust me,” and at this he paused for effect. Continuing, he now said, “So it appears that the Camorra informed their moles in the Vatican of your possession of the document, and now both the Vatican and the Mafia are hot on your trail, as you Americans say in the movies.”
“What? Camorra moles? Surely you’re not serious!” Paul replied doubtfully.
“I assure you, I am quite serious!” Bulgatti expounded forcefully.
At this Antonietta interjected with apparent accord, “I told you, Paulo. Remember, I told you so.”
“So you did, Antonietta. So you did,” Paul replied forlornly.
Suddenly realizing the passage of time, Bulgatti glanced about fearfully as if he thought they might have been followed. Seeing no evidence of such, he continued, “So that is why I chose to meet you here on the balcony of the cathedral wall. They will assume that you do not know to this point that you are being followed, and they will certainly not come up here because they would be forced to expose their identities to you. However, now that we have met, they will most certainly know that I have informed you of their intent, and they will redouble their efforts to, shall we say, acquire the document.”
“To what end, Professore Bulgatti?” Paul asked.
“Undoubtedly, the Camorra will want to steal the document from you for its monetary value, which is enormous, as I’m sure you are already aware. And whatever the art collectors of the world would pay for it, the Vatican most assuredly will pay ten times as much.”
“But why?” Paul interjected, “I can understand someone wanting to steal it, but why would the Vatican be so interested in it? Pope John Paul II admitted their errors five years ago.”
“Careful, Professore,” Bulgatti replied. “The Pope admitted that errors were made in the trial, but the Church still has not pardoned Galileo. Nothing would make them happier than to discover a document that publically ensures Galileo’s guilt. After all this time, it would redeem the Holy See’s dubious role in the whole Galileo affair.”
“But I seriously doubt that Galileo would ever write such a confession,” Paul replied. “More likely, he would produce something that further implicates the Church.”
“Exactly,” Bulgatti replied knowingly. “And therein is an even greater reason for the Vatican to value the document – in order to protect their backsides!”
Scratching his chin in newfound thought, Paul replied, “Yes, I see…”
“So may I take it that you have a document, but that you do not know it’s meaning, Professore Woodbridge?” Bulgatti inquired.
Interrupting at this point, Antonietta announced, “We admit nothing, Professore Bulgatti.”
Bulgatti appeared to be disappointed at this interjection, but he nonetheless immediately brightened, saying, “No matter. I know that you have it, and that is what counts.”
Peering vehemently at him, Antonietta blurted, “And just how do you know, Professore?”
“Contessa, it is quite simple,” he replied, “The Camorra is not the only secret organization to infiltrate the Vatican.”
At this Antonietta’s eyes grew wide, “See Paulo, it’s just as I said – rotten – Italia is rotten to the core.”
“Oh, no Signora, I beg to disagree,” Bulgatti responded hastily, “We are not all rotten. The Linceans have for more than three hundred years worked tirelessly to protect the good name of science, and especially the name of our most famous member - Galileo. I assure you, we have worked indefatigably behind the scenes to restore his good name.” He paused for a moment, and then added, “The restoration of Galileo’s book Discorsi in the nineteenth century was in no small part due to our efforts. Similarly, the recent admissions by the Vatican were due at least in part to pressure brought to bear by my colleagues in the Academy.”
At this submission, Paul asked, “So just exactly how do you intend to go about protecting us, Professore Bulgatti?”
“Allora, first and foremost, by informing you what we know that could be helpful to you.”
“Such as what?”
“For instance, when you visited the San Francesco Basilica in Ravenna, the monk you talked to passed the details of your conversation on to the Vatican.”
“Surely not!” Paul interjected incredulously.
“I would not make light, Signore,” Bulgatti replied. “You must take this seriously, Professore Woodbridge. And Padre Pietro, whom you met at the Abbey in Vallombrosa, also informed the Vatican of both your whereabouts and intentions.”
At this Paul glanced at Antonietta, then said, “But that was you following us at the Abbey.”
“It was merely a means of protection, Professore. I assure you, had I wished to conceal my presence from you, it would have been a simple matter to achieve. Those who would do you harm have up to this point in time managed to do just that – conceal themselves.” He then changed the subject, suggesting, “I presume that you have the document in a safe place?”
“Yes,” Antonietta interjected.
“And where would that be?” Bulgatti queried.
Paul proffered, “I’m afraid that our trust in you has not quite yet reached that point, Professore Bulgatti.”
Bulgatti smiled and replied, “That is good! You are beginning to understand t
he danger. But let me say this – the document must be removed from your villa, Contessa. And furthermore, you must never under any circumstances transport the document on your person! To do so would be to invite your own demise.”
Paling at this last implication, Antonietta retorted brusquely, “Oh, rest assured, we do not carry it with us, but why do you say that the villa is unsafe?”
“Surely I do not need to explain. The villa once belonged to the Count. The Count is Mafioso. Professore Woodbridge, there are spies everywhere. You must take care,” and at this, he turned on his heel, announcing, “And now, I must go, I have stayed too long with you,” at which he began to descend the stairs.
“Wait a minute. How can we find you, Professore Bulgatti?”
“I am in the phone book at the University, Professore. Just call my number,” he called out over his shoulder.
“That seems to be a waste of time,” Paul replied. “After all, you are not in your office. You are here.”
“Not to worry, Professore,” Bulgatti replied, “I will be nearby when you need me,” and with that he turned and disappeared down the staircase.
Paul and Antonietta followed at a brisk pace, but once they were back inside the museum he quickly halted, grabbing her arm to stop her as well. “We should perhaps wait a few minutes, Contessa. We would not want to be seen in public with that man.”
“What are you thinking?” she asked breathlessly.
“About what? Oh, you mean about our new-found friend? I don’t quite know what to make of him, to tell the truth. On the one hand, I am inclined to believe what he says about our being followed. But on the other hand, I can’t say that I trust him at all. What do you think?”
Antonietta stopped in front of a sculpture of a reclining child lying on a pillow, and commented surreptitiously, “Isn’t this just lovely, Paulo? It is just a fabulous sculpture.”
Halting to gaze at the sculpture, he commented, “Yes, I agree completely. I have always liked it very much,” but suddenly he bent down and attempted to move it.
Galileo's Lost Message Page 15
