From the murmurs in the room and the crafty smiles creeping across the merchants’ faces, Borja could see his words had made a positive impression. He said no more, letting each man’s greed take hold of him.
“How would you do it?” asked the wealthy banker. “What’s your plan?”
Borja smiled and spread his hands. “I have it all worked out. On Midsummer’s Day there will be a great festival in the Temple of All Gods. We will make an offering to the idol of Dakon. By that time I intend to have prepared a special sacrifice for the god. Then I will annul the heresy of the Christiani for a second time—and this time it will be permanent! We will set fire to their temple and burn it to the ground. My assassins will draw their blood throughout the land. Mercenaries will quell any resistance. All you have to do is look the other way until the purge is over. Then you can pick up the spoils for yourself.”
“It’s too risky,” someone yelled.
Vile coward!
Covering his irritation, Borja remained calm. “Yes, there is some risk. That is why I need you to send me troops. Together we can defeat any opposition that might be mounted against us.”
He walked forward until he stood in the midst of the seated merchants. Every eye was locked on him. Borja let his voice become sugar-sweet. “My friends, I understand your fears. Like all powerful and respected men, you worry at the prospect of losing your wealth. Let me assure you, no such thing will occur. Yet I sense some of you might be harboring a measure of concern. I would like to put you at ease. To that end I have arranged for some . . . shall we say, some comfort.”
Borja swept his arm toward the double doors at the side of the room. They burst open to the sound of high-pitched, melodious laughter. As a crowd of voluptuous young courtesans flooded the hall, the men’s delighted cries told Borja his victory was complete. Everything had gone according to plan. Laughing to himself, he grabbed one of the girls by the wrist and thrust her to the floor.
It’s time to celebrate, he thought. Let the revelry begin.
Ana approached the Christiani basilica with her eyes opened wide, dazzled once again by the architectural splendor of the ancient religion she now called her own. Like the first time she entered a temple of Deu in a lost city of the wilderness, so now Ana gaped at the great structure rising before her. The dome atop the basilica was an incomprehensible feat of engineering and design. The columns and spires and statues that adorned the building overwhelmed her imagination with their ageless grandeur. Giant letters were carved along the facade. Ana tried to read them, but they made no sense: IN HONOREM PRINCIPIS APOST . . . The mysterious letters only added to Ana’s sense of wonder. She found herself excited at the prospect of going inside, yet reluctant to do so as well. The interior of such a magnificent temple must be dreadfully beautiful.
She turned toward Teo and caught his sleeve. “It’s so immense,” she breathed. “I’m in awe.”
“There’s ancient sacredness here,” Teo said. “The temple is old. The Christiani faith is old.”
“Deu is old.”
“Yeah. ‘Before the mountains were born, or you gave birth to the earth and the world, from eternity to eternity, you are Deu.’”
Ana smiled at Teo. “I like a man who can quote the scriptures,” she said. Her playful comment made him laugh.
She gestured toward the basilica. “Shall we?” He started up the front steps, and she followed close behind.
They passed through a portal between two massive columns and arrived in a portico with a lofty ceiling. Just as they reached the central bronze door of the temple itself, another door on their right creaked open. “Come this way, pilgrims,” said a solemn voice. “Enter through the Holy Door, for it is a year of jubilee.” Ana and Teo glanced at each other and complied.
The interior of the building was even more astounding than Ana had imagined. Her eyes were drawn first to a distant structure, a canopy supported by twisted, spiraling columns. Shafts of sunlight illuminated the canopy from the dome directly above it. Ana’s gaze then drifted upward as she marveled at the immensity of the space encompassed by the grand building. At last her eyes alighted on a statue to her right.
“Go see it,” said the man in priestly robes who had admitted them inside. “It is a thing of great beauty.”
Ana hurried toward the sculpture, her steps quickening as she approached. It depicted a young woman, veiled and demure, with a dead man draped across her lap. He was naked except for a cloth covering his loins. The man’s head dangled backward as the woman cradled him with a serene and pious expression.
“The Pierced One,” the priest said, “with his mother.”
“Oh . . . It’s so moving.” Ana felt sadness well up within her, yet the emotion she experienced was more than pity at Iesus’s fate. She was surprised to discover she was powerfully drawn to that sorrowful man. Though she couldn’t explain why, Ana found his suffering noble. Somehow it was even . . . triumphant.
Teo walked closer to the statue. “The book of Zacharias says, ‘They shall look on me whom they have pierced.’ Now here we are, looking at him.”
“I think there’s another reference to the Pierced One in the Sacred Writing,” Ana said. “I read it last night in the Prima. The prophet Isaias says something like, ‘He was pierced for our iniquities, he was bruised for our sins. Our punishment was on him, and by his wounds we are healed.’”
Teo turned his head and stared at Ana for a long moment. She couldn’t decide whether he thought her statement was ridiculous or profound. Just then the priest beckoned them with his hand.
“My friends? The Papa awaits you. Come.”
Ana and Teo followed the bald priest to the far end of the basilica, their footsteps echoing on the marble floor. A chair had been set up beneath a golden window depicting a bird in flight. Ana felt butterflies in her stomach when she saw the Papa waiting for them. The middle-aged man in the chair was slender and handsome, with a regal bearing. He did not smile as they approached.
“Teofil of Chiveis, why did you abandon the assignment I gave you?”
Teo fumbled for an answer, but Ana intervened. “Sir, I can explain. My name is Anastasia of Chiveis. Teofil came to me in a time of dire need. He has restored my life many times, and now he has done it for me again.”
The Papa frowned and let out a sigh. “Your care for Anastasia is to be commended, Teofil. Yet it has resulted in an evil turn of events. Brother Ambrosius has been taken captive in Borja’s palace. That means our duplicate of the secret diary has fallen into enemy hands.”
Teo’s jaw dropped at the news. His fingers instinctively gripped the hilt of his sword. “I’ll fight my way into Borja’s palace! I can find the Overseer and spring him out!”
The Papa waved his hand. “No, Teofil. No one can fight their way into the dungeons of Nikolo Borja. Though you may wish it, now is not the time for daring deeds. You can best serve the will of Deus by translating the diary as intended.”
“But what about the Overseer?”
“I will see to him. You have been chosen for a different job.”
Teo nodded and bowed his head. “Yes, Holy Father. I have my lexicon with me. If I start right away, I can have the translation for you by tomorrow.”
“Let it be so. We will meet again when the task is complete. I will have the diary brought to your chamber. You may go there now.”
The bald priest led Teo and Ana to a pair of lodging rooms, then left them alone. As they each stood before their doors, Teo turned to Ana. “Sorry about this,” he said, “but I guess I’m going to have to disappear for a while.”
“I understand. You’re happiest with your nose in ancient books. When you’re finished translating, let me know.”
“I’ll come get you as soon as I’m done.” He entered his room.
The rest of the afternoon and the next morning passed without incident. Ana spent most of the time reading the Prima and praying. Meals were brought at appropriate intervals, simple fare served on tin pl
ates. She was engrossed in a story from the Book of Magistrates about a woman who drove a peg through an evil king’s skull when a loud knock startled her. Rising from her bed, she opened the door. Teo burst in, parchments in hand. He didn’t look pleased. A jittery feeling took hold of Ana.
“Well? Does the diary tell us where to find the New Testament?” she asked.
Teo shook his head. Ana’s heart sank.
“It’s nothing but the story of his wanderings.”
“Whose?”
“This man named Borregard. He and his friend were running around trying to escape the Exterminati. In the end they got him. Poisoned him. There’s a lot about the local topography and plenty of spiritual musings, but he doesn’t say where he hid the book.”
Ana bit her lip as she considered the matter. “Teo, think about it,” she said at length. “He probably wouldn’t come out and say where he hid it. Maybe there’s a coded message in the diary.”
Teo seemed startled at the idea. He rubbed his chin and stared into space, then looked at Ana with a twinkle in his eye. “What do you know,” he said good-naturedly. “All this time I’ve been hanging around you for your pretty face. Now it turns out you have a good brain in there too.” He tapped her forehead, but she swatted his hand away.
“Professors always think they’re the only smart ones in the room,” she said with a huff.
“That’s because we usually are.” Teo’s cocky grin would have been annoying if Ana didn’t know he was playing a game. He spread the parchments on a table by the window. “Alright, let’s see if we can find a code.”
They sat side by side at the table and explored various combinations of letters, looking for repeated words or patterns. For an hour they sifted the pages of the translated diary but could find nothing to indicate a secret message. Teo finally pushed the parchments away and tossed up his hands in frustration.
“The Papa seems to think I’ve been chosen to figure this out, but I can’t make sense of it at all.”
“He thinks you’re chosen?”
“Supposedly.”
Ana located the final page of the diary. “Does he think you’re the fulfillment of this prophecy?” She pointed to the words, “The last shall be first and the first last. For many are called, but few are chosen.”
“I got that impression from what he said.” Teo pounded his fist on the table. “Some choice, huh? All I’ve been able to accomplish so far is the translation of a travelogue from forty years ago. A bunch of miscellaneous ramblings.”
Though Ana heard Teo’s words, her attention was focused on the diary’s last page. “The last shall be first . . . the first shall be last . . .” She tapped Teo’s arm to get his attention, then pointed to the text. “Look! This is exactly how Deu works. He takes the weak and raises them up, and he brings the mighty low. He turns all our values upside-down.”
“I know,” Teo agreed. “He’s not like any god that men would come up with.”
Ana met Teo’s eyes. “What if this principle were hidden in the diary? Maybe that’s how the code works.”
“What do you mean?”
“What if you take the first word of each paragraph and make it the last of the message, then the last word becomes the first, and so on. Something like that.”
Teo grabbed a quill and dipped it in the inkwell. Sorting through the parchments, he scrawled some words on a blank sheet but soon shook his head. “It doesn’t make a message. Just nonsense.”
“What if you used the first and last letters instead of words?”
“I’ll give it a go.”
Teo’s quill scratched on the page. The string of letters grew longer. As he worked, he began to get excited. “These are real words, Ana! Words in the Fluid Tongue!”
She leaned close, peeking over his shoulder. After transcribing the letters from the final page, Teo threw his quill on the table triumphantly. Ana looked at what he had written:
bienquesuffoquéeelleachantébienquedécapitéeelleenseigneletroisetleun
“What does it mean? Translate it for me!”
“I don’t know what it means, but it says, ‘Though suffocated, she sang. Though beheaded, she teaches the three and the one.’”
“That may not make sense to us, but I bet the Papa will be able to interpret it.”
Teo rose from the table. “I hope so! Let’s go see him.”
Collecting the parchments into a stack, Teo and Ana left the lodging room and greeted the warder outside. He summoned a priest, who escorted them to an outer salon at the Papa’s residence. It was a plain room, sparsely furnished. The leader of the Christiani religion entered and motioned toward some chairs.
“Please be seated.” The Papa glanced at the parchments in Teo’s hand. “You’ve finished the translation, I see.”
“Yes. The text says nothing of the New Testament—at least not directly. But we’ve found a cryptic message encoded in the diary.”
“A message? What does it say?” When Teo read the words about the mysterious woman, the Papa’s eyes grew wide. He shot up from his chair.
“Suffocated? A singer? Beheaded? It’s talking about Holy Cecilia!”
Ana wanted to blurt out, “Who’s that?” but her expression must have made it obvious, for the Papa quickly said, “Holy Cecilia was an ancient believer, a patroness of sacred music. Though evil men tried to suffocate her in a steam bath, she survived. She was then beheaded for her faith. When her body was later dug up, it had not decayed. The fingers of her two hands taught that Deus is both three and one. We think the ‘three’ may be a reference to Deus, the Promised King, and the servant Iesus.”
“But how does all this help us find the New Testament?” Teo asked.
The Papa’s face grew solemn. “There are Christiani burial grounds outside the city walls. Very old, very dark, very dangerous. The passageways of the dead twist deep beneath the earth. It is believed that the monument of Holy Cecilia lies among the tombs. Today the entrance to that fearsome place is almost forgotten. No one goes there anymore.”
Teo rose to face the Papa. “They do now,” he said.
Ana’s eyes flicked toward the ceiling. She smiled. Good choice, she told her God.
The young monk with the shaved head dismounted from his pony. He knelt and inspected the ground. “There’s a road here somewhere, I think.”
“It’s there,” Teo said, pointing. “See how the cypress trees grow in rows? They once lined a road.”
The monk nodded and climbed back in the saddle. After inspecting a frayed map by the early morning light, he led Teo and Ana a little farther. Small buildings poked out of the undergrowth. Most had fallen down, and those that still stood were roofless.
“There’s the entrance,” said the monk, recognition dawning on his face. “A deacon brought me here when I was a boy so we could pray and remember the departed faithful. I didn’t do any praying. I was terrified. A king’s treasure couldn’t get me down there again.”
“A king’s treasure couldn’t keep me out,” Teo said as he swung down from his horse’s back.
“Actually the king’s treasure is already inside,” Ana remarked.
Teo rummaged in his saddlebag and tossed Ana a woolen cloak, which she draped around her shoulders. The temperature in the tombs was known to be cool. She had already changed into a homespun gown like the peasant women wore. Teo had also changed into a more practical outfit of woolen trousers, a thick tunic, and sturdy boots. He expected to get dirty clambering around underground.
The entrance to the tombs was boarded up, but Teo kicked aside the slats and cleared away the boulders and rubble. A staircase led into the inky depths. He tied the end of a spool of string to an anchor point. Lighting two of the torches from his pack, he handed one to Ana.
“Ready?”
Instead of replying, Ana slipped past Teo into the dark tunnel. He tsked and shook his head, then started after her.
A terrified scream echoed up from the depths. Teo’s heart jumped i
nto his throat. An explosion of bats burst from the tombs, darting past him with fluttering wings and high-pitched squeaks. Relieved, he hurried down the stairs.
“That startled me,” Ana said, reaching out to Teo for support.
“Stay close from now on, okay?”
“Yeah, I think I will.”
Teo moved down the nearest passage, playing out the string behind him. It wasn’t long before he was completely turned around. If not for the string he would have been hopelessly lost. The hallways were tall and narrow, with niches carved into them to hold the bodies of the deceased. Torchlight revealed that most of the bones had been removed, but here and there the gaping eye sockets of a skeleton stared back in the gloom.
Along the main hallway, small rooms branched off at intervals. Ana stepped into one, and Teo followed. The space was obviously a communal tomb with grave niches on every wall. Decorative images had been painted on the white plaster. In one scene several figures sat around a table with dishes and baskets of bread.
“They’re having a supper,” Ana said.
“Probably the Sacred Meal. It’s an ancient practice of the Christiani.”
“I want to understand it.” Ana touched the image for a moment before exiting the dark cubicle.
Exploring farther down the labyrinth, they came to the largest room so far. The high ceiling was barrel-vaulted in brick, and the floor was smooth flagstone. Two columns decorated with spiral fluting and ornate capitals flanked each side of the crypt. A large stone panel bore an inscription, though Teo couldn’t read it. To the left of the panel, a passageway curved into the darkness.
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