by J. M. LeDuc
Chloe wrapped her arms around her husband. “You’re exhausted. You’re in no condition to make this kind of decision tonight. Sleep and pray on it, and see how you feel about it in the morning?”
Brent hugged her and placed a kiss on her forehead. “Good idea. Maybe some sleep will clear my head.”
Just before he nodded off, Brent remembered something. “We need to pray for Charlotte.”
Half-asleep, Chloe muttered, “All right. Anything specific?”
“Her soul.”
Her eyes opened. “Huh?”
“After everything she’s been through, she’s lost her faith. She doesn’t believe in God anymore.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I don’t really remember. I prayed that God would put the right words in my mouth and then I started talking from the heart.”
Chloe scooted closer to Brent and put her arm around him. “Let’s pray that she finds her way back to the Lord.”
They each closed their eyes and prayed for Charlotte’s salvation. After, they drifted into a deep sleep.
CHAPTER 23
Cardinal Bullini had spent a night of fitful sleep, tossing and turning as his mind replayed the phone call from the Ambassador. When he finally did sleep, haunting dreams caused him to wake up in a cold sweat. Never in all my years have I dreamt so vividly.
Knowing further sleep was futile, he slid his feet into his slippers, walked across his small, vacuous bedroom and knelt at the antiquated wooden prayer pew, the only piece of furniture other than his bed and dresser.
As he bent to kneel, he heard the distinctive creaking of the wooden joints that held it together. He stared at the crucifix hanging on the wall before him and blessed himself with the Sign of the Cross. He picked up his Rosary beads hanging from a nail embedded in the wall, wrapped them around his hand and prayed.
“Heavenly Father, if the visions in my dreams are real, please give this old and tired servant a sign. I have long thought this a myth, and have fought against its existence every time it was brought to my attention. If I am wrong and it is true, please give me a clear answer.”
He prayed hard. He was so deep in his thoughts that he didn’t hear the voice speak.
Again it said, “I come as a sign from the Most High, the Lord and Giver of Life.”
Cardinal Bullini’s heart skipped a beat. Slowly, he looked up. He saw what appeared to be a cloud, floating just below the ceiling. The cloud moved until it transformed into the image of an angel.
The Cardinal rubbed his eyes in disbelief at the angelic being above him. Looking back was a masculine figure with flowing grayish black hair and a matching beard. From the size of its arms, he could tell the being was built like a warrior.
With fear and excitement, the Cardinal said, “Any sign of God is welcome in my presence. May I ask to whom I am speaking?”
In a deep baritone voice, the angel replied, “I have been called by many names throughout the ages. Some have called me the angel of death, the angel who brought Mary the news of her being with child, a warrior, and still others know me as the trumpeter of a new dawn. You may call me Gabriel. I come to you with this message:
Today, among your predecessors, between the beginning and the end, the key to the mystery will shine bright.
Stay anchored to your faith, and the phoenix will unlock the truth.
The Cardinal raised his arms towards the angel, “Gabriel, I do not understand these words. What do they mean?”
“These are the words I have been given. Finally, I say unto you, do not be deceived by those who do not have the gift, but trust those who do.”
“Angel, please,” the cardinal begged. “I am just a humble old priest. Tell me more.”
“Look for the outcast to help convince the uncertain.”
“But…”
“Good luck, young servant. In you, the Lord is well pleased.”
Before Cardinal Bullini could form another question, he saw a blinding flash of Light and closed his eyes. When he opened them, the spirit was gone.
Kneeling at his place of prayer, he felt his legs tremble and his heart quicken. He knew he had to write down what the angel had told him or he would forget. He rushed to his dresser, withdrew a pen and a tablet and scribbled down the exact words Gabriel had spoken:
“Today, among your predecessors
Between the beginning and the end,
The key to the mystery will shine bright.
Stay anchored to your faith,
And the phoenix will unlock the truth.”
The Cardinal bowed his head and let it rest in his folded hands and prayed.
“Father, Thou hast made this old priest young again. I thank You for Your words of encouragement. I pray for the ability to understand the words Gabriel spoke and the ability to accomplish the task Thou hast bestowed upon me. In Jesus’ Name, I pray.
Amen.”
When he finished, he sat on the side of his bed and re-read the words he had written.
“Today, among your predecessors,” he read aloud. What does that mean? My family is from Pisa, but they are originally from Sardinia. Am I to go back to the land of my ancestors for the answer?
He thought about his ancestors. With each image, he drew a blank. The more he thought, the more confused he became. Why did the angel say ‘predecessors’ instead of ‘ancestors’? Certainly, the Lord did not want to make it so difficult, I couldn’t follow it.
“Predecessors, ancestors, predecessors, ancestors,” he said aloud.
As he mulled over the similarities and differences of the two words, his eyes opened wide with sudden understanding.
“Of course. Gabriel couldn’t have been clearer!”
He quickly dressed in warm clothing, tore off the page he’d written the message on and grabbed his flashlight from his closet.
Hastily, he blessed himself. “In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Thank you, Father, thank you.”
He opened the door to his room, walked into the hall beyond and closed the door behind him.
As quickly as his arthritic legs could carry him, he made his way down the old stone staircase and through the atrium to the front door.
CHAPTER 24
In the pre-sun morning, Cardinal Bullini crossed the vast quad which lay in front of St. Peter’s Basilica. He looked up at the balcony where the Pontiff delivered his blessings to the masses, and couldn’t help wonder if any of St. Peter’s successors had been visited by the Archangel Gabriel.
He entered the Basilica through a side entrance which led to one of the many vestibules. He stopped and took a deep breath. As he inhaled, he was reminded how much he loved the smell of St. Peter’s. As the air filled his lungs, his mind was filled with history. He envisioned the great happenings which had taken place centuries ago. The coronation of Charlemagne as the Emperor of Rome by Pope Leo, Michelangelo’s miraculous painting of the Sistine Chapel, and many others.
Cardinal Bullini opened his eyes and he refocused on the task at hand. Assuring himself he hadn’t made a mistake, Cardinal Bullini reread the first words Gabriel had spoken:
Today, among your predecessors.
As he read the words, he felt confident in what he must do. He walked past the vestibule, to the altar and knelt down. After blessing himself, he looked up at the crucifix.
“Father, if I am wrong in my understanding, please do not allow me to continue.
If I am correct, then I am honored as your humble servant to try and solve the mystery at hand. In Christ’s name, I pray. Amen.”
At the close of the prayer, he rose to his feet, wincing in pain from arthritis.
Disappointed he hadn’t received a sign, he glanced around the vast cathedral, half expecting to see Gabriel. When he realized that he was alone, he made his way to
an alcove behind the altar.
He groped his way along the back wall. His hand felt cold, almost wet on the old stone. At one point, he touched his hand to his face. Bone dry. Just the cold from a poorly-insulated room. The cardinal continued to trace the wall until he found what he was looking for, a well-hidden niche, strategically placed in the grout between the stones.
Wedging the fingers of his right hand into the narrow crevasse, he located a small lever. He squeezed it against the rock and leaned against the wall with his body weight.
He felt the wall give way.
Satisfied that it was unlocked, he released the lever. As he pulled his fingers from the crevasse, he noticed his knuckles were scraped and bleeding. He dipped his hand into a nearby basin of holy water, and wiped his injured hand on his cassock.
Cardinal Bullini lined his body up with the portion of the wall to the left of where he’d found the lever. He pushed as hard as he could, but the wall refused to budge.
He stepped back to catch his breath and leaned his shoulder against the stone. He took a deep breath and pushed again. As he pushed, he grunted so loud that the sound reverberated throughout the cathedral.
He was about to give up when the wall, begrudgingly, gave way.
Like a jar that won’t open, once started, opens easily. The secret door, like others strategically placed in the basilica, led to an escape route used by the early Christians and popes during the times of Roman persecution.
Cardinal Bullini removed a flashlight from the pocket of his cassock and beamed the light in every direction to survey his surroundings.
He was on a landing, not more than two feet wide. A narrow stairway was directly in front of him, wide enough for one person to navigate at a time. He looked down the stairwell. The steps were steep and spiraling. He would have to use extreme caution to navigate the steep pitch.
He pushed the wall back into position and began the harrowing descent. Taking one step at a time, he braced himself against the wall with his free hand. Because the steps were hand-carved, some were not completely horizontal and sloped slightly downward. To continue the descent, he tucked the flashlight inside his pocket so he could support himself with both hands. Maneuvering in near-total darkness was a doubly frightful task. Until he landed on the next ‘safe’ step, he refused to let go of the walls.
Once he safely reached the ground below, the Cardinal turned on his flashlight.
He peered at his new surroundings and tried to pinpoint where he was situated inside the catacombs.
I must be in one of the crypts not included on the tour. It must be a first or second century familial burial chamber.
Despite popular belief, the catacombs were not built primarily as a place to conceal persecuted Christians, nor were they built as a secret place of worship. They were built as burial grounds for the early Christians, who were unable to afford the land necessary to bury their loved ones.
Eyeing the room, the Cardinal realized this crypt had been owned by someone of influence, possibly Roman officials who were secretly Christian. He knew this because the crypt was adorned with intricate paintings and mosaics.
I must find a place I know, so I can find the tomb of my predecessors.
The Cardinal inched carefully through the crypt and found himself standing in a narrow passageway. On both sides of this corridor were loculi, rectangular niches cut into limestone walls, serving as tombs for the dead, big enough for one body. They were stacked vertically, five in each section of the wall. He shined his flashlight onto the wall, and saw that the tombs seemed to go on forever.
The Cardinal paused. He knew that if he didn’t find his way to a place of familiarity in the catacomb labyrinth soon, he could make a wrong turn that would keep him lost for a very long time, possibly forever. He continued on his present path and soon found himself in a corridor that briefly widened. At that junction the catacombs forked into three separate tunnels. He had to select one.
He beamed the light into each passageway. Each looked the same.
Think, Amadeus, think.
He closed his eyes, to form a clear picture of where he was. He thought back to where he had entered and compared it to where he normally entered the catacombs. He visualized the tourist entrance. It would be to his right.
Confident that he was about to enter the correct passageway, he opened his eyes.
Again, he walked past rows of loculi. Next, he came to rows of arcosoliums, larger niches carved into the limestone walls, many having an arch over them. Marble tombs would be common in this section of the catacombs where entire families were buried. Most were built in the third and fourth centuries.
With that knowledge, he was certain he was headed in the right direction. Seeing the arcosoliums gave him renewed hope. Without realizing it, his pace quickened.
The walkway narrowed. Soon, it was barely wide enough for him to maneuver.
There weren’t any niches in the wall and for a moment, he worried he’d selected the wrong passageway.
If this is a dead end, I will have lost valuable time.
Slowly, he continued.
The space he entered was extremely tight. He was about to retrace his steps when his flashlight picked up a familiar sight. Approximately twenty yards away was a red rope, the type used to block tourists from proceeding beyond a certain point. His confidence renewed, the Cardinal used the butt end of the flashlight to chip away the brittle limestone spurs jutting from the walls. Thankfully, the old, dry limestone crumbled.
Within minutes, he negotiated his way through the crevice, past the rope and was standing in a much wider walkway, one that was familiar to him. Walls were lined with loculi, but he had walked these corridors on previous occasions. Artificial lighting had been installed in this portion of the ancient place, making it safe for tourists wanting to pilgrimage through past centuries of Christianity. He switched off his flashlight to conserve the battery.
With a confident air, he turned to his right and headed towards his destination.
Along the way, he passed cubicula, small rooms used as family tombs. Several loculi were housed in each room. Some were decorated with frescoes portraying scenes from the Bible.
As the Cardinal passed the crypts of early pontiffs, he swore he could feel their spirit. For the first time, he knew what the martyrs’ lives had been like as they battled both Jew and Roman. If he found what he was looking for, he would be up against the same scrutiny, not just from outsiders, but from his own church.
He was getting ahead of himself and shook off his thoughts.
Another passageway lay beyond the tombs of the popes. It, too, was blocked with a red rope. It was beyond the rope, the Cardinal needed to go. He had ventured past this point once before, as part of his blessing as Cardinal of Letters.
He stepped beyond the rope and carefully made his way down a slippery embankment into the bowels of the maze. At the bottom of the ramp, he switched on his flashlight.
Beads of sweat dampened his forehead. His excitement grew as he approached his intended destination. He negotiated the last web-like maelstrom of hallway and stepped into a large room, the crypt of the Cardinals of Letters, the resting place of his predecessors.
Lighting the walls inside the arched entrance with his flashlight, he found a torch resting in a wall stand. He dipped it into a basin of oil and lit it with a match. Replacing the torch in its stand, he surveyed the well-lit room. Like many other crypts, it contained an altar, which gave it the impression of a small church. He took a few steps and glanced at the floor. There were numerous forma, tombs dug into the floor of the crypt. Each forma contained one of his predecessors.
As he read their names, he said a short prayer of gratitude for what they contributed to the church. When he read the last name, it gave him a start. “Cardinal Amadeus Bullini, 1939-.”
I’m thankful the last date is
still blank. He continued to stare at it.
He removed the paper containing Gabriel’s words from his pocket and read them again:
Among your predecessors,
Between the beginning and the end…
“Between the beginning and the end’,” he repeated aloud. “The beginning and the end of what? The beginning and the end of the room, of the first and last forma?
There are so many possibilities.”
He looked back at the paper and read further, hoping for the answer.
Between the beginning and the end,
The key to the mystery will shine bright…
“That just increases the confusion,” he muttered.
The Cardinal counted off thirty-two steps from the entrance of the crypt to the back wall. He counted back sixteen and looked to see where he was standing. He was on top of a forma. He dropped to his knees, and wiped the dust off the nameplate: “Cardinal Constantine Fusco, 1621-1646,” it read.
He closed his eyes and remembered all that he knew about Cardinal Fusco. He was a simple man of letters, not chosen for his ability or gift, but as a thank you from the pope to his family. His appointment had been ceremonial in nature. His older brother, also a cardinal in the seventeenth century, was chosen to be the next Cardinal of Letters, but he suffered an untimely demise. The more he thought about the Cardinal, the more he decided it led to a dead end.
He tried his second idea and counted the total number of Cardinals of Letters since the time of St. Peter. Seventy-three in all. That would put the thirty-seventh appointee exactly in the middle. He proceeded to count the forma. Thirty-six came before him, thirty-six after him. He made the seventy-third.
He found the correct forma and repeated the process he went through the first time. Again, he came up empty…and exasperated.
“What next?” he questioned. Pray, he decided. It’s what he always did when he felt lost. He knelt at the altar and bowed his head.
