Following her weekly devotions, Colombina joined Fra Fran-
cesco, the Master, in his cottage, where she performed her duties as scribe to the order. She wrote as the Master dictated, careful to com-
mit his words perfectly to paper. What they were creating here was
sacred and complex, an encoded masterpiece of the teachings and
history of the Order. It required all her concentration as the Master used a strange polyglot of Latin and Italian words, veering into Greek periodically. In addition to transcribing the allegorical storytelling exactly as he dictated, Colombina used her fine mind to organize the elaborate drawings and architectural data that would become instrumental to the volume’s completion. It was growing to an immense
size.
Fra Francesco had explained to her, “When we are finished, we will take it to Venice, to a leader of the Order there called Aldus, who will print it for us. For the first time in the history of the Order, we will have a record of our teachings that can be shown in public. The church will assume that it is heresy, but it will be so carefully encoded that they
will never be able to prove it.”
And so the work had continued in this way for the seven years since Lorenzo’s death: Colombina carefully transcribing the text and inserting the drawings and artwork which had been collected by the Master from some of the great minds of the Renaissance. There was much of Lorenzo and Colombina’s own story woven into the allegory: the legend of a man on a journey of discovery through a fantastic dreamscape, who finds the truth of life through love, a love which encounters and overcomes a great many obstacles.
Colombina infused much of her own spirit into the writing and often felt Lorenzo’s presence in the room with her as she worked. On the day that they grew very near to completion of the gargantuan work, she asked the Master, “What are you going to call this masterpiece of yours?”
He smiled at her, and the puckered scar at the side of his face twitched over the top of his beard as he answered. “It is not my masterpiece, Colombina. It belongs to all of us, to each of the great minds and lives who have contributed to this story. It belongs to every human being who chooses to claim it, learn from it, and become the hero of their own epic.” He paused for a moment, considering. “As such, I think it should have a title that is universal and speaks to the journey of all mankind, reminds us of what is real and what is not. I was thinking of The Strife of Love in a Dream.”
Colombina, who had endured the struggle to preserve true love, nodded. “Because love is the only true reality, and the rest is all a dream?”
“Of course.” The Master nodded. “And because love conquers all.”
The Poet Prince.
He was my friend, he was my brother.
I have painted the prophecy, his prophecy, in an allegory of Venus and Mars, using the two people Lorenzo loved most as models: Colombina and Giuliano.
The Son of Man shall choose
when the time returns for the Poet Prince.
He who is a spirit of earth and water born
within the complex realm of the sea goat
and the bloodline of the blessed.
He who will submerge the influence of Mars
And exalt the influence of Venus
To embody grace over aggression.
He will inspire the hearts and minds of the people
So as to illuminate the path of service
And show them the Way.
This is his legacy,
This, and to know a very great love.
Colombina is Venus, of course, and she is awake and exalted in her beauty, as the prophecy states. Mars is shown here sleeping, to indicate that he has been submerged. The little Pan creatures, symbolic of Capricornus, blow from a seashell to allude further to the submersion.
The love of Venus and Mars is epic, and it is clear here that she has given him grace over aggression. She has shown him the Way, and it is a very great love indeed.
I remain,
Alessandro di Filipepi, known as “Botticelli”
FROM THE SECRET MEMOIRS OF SANDRO BOTTICELLI
Montevecchio
present day
IT WAS LIKE a museum—the most magical, extraordinary museum any of them had ever seen. Destino and Petra were positively giddy as they rolled back the antique Persian carpet to reveal the trapdoor in the floor of Destino’s little house. It led to a staircase, more like a ladder, which each of them descended in single file.
The house, once Medici property, was built over one of the apple cellars in Montevecchio, similar to the one that Cosimo had once locked Fra Filippo in while he fulfilled his delinquent commissions. But Des-
tino had been storing his treasures here for centuries—Botticelli paintings and Michelangelo sketches, priceless jewelry and artifacts. There were hundreds of documents. It would take years to sort through the items in this cellar, to catalogue them, to analyze them.
“Dear Lord, Destino. You need a state-of-the-art security system. This collection is priceless.”
Destino laughed. “God is my security system. No one will steal from me here. It has not happened in five hundred years and I do not think it will happen now. But come, I have gifts for each of you. Tammy and Roland first.”
He moved them to a corner of the room where there was an object on the ground, covered by a heavy blanket. He signaled to Roland to help him, and they carefully unveiled the item beneath the covering. It was a hand-carved cradle, of the most remarkable craftsmanship. It was carved with the Magdalene’s seal along the edges.
“This cradle was made for the birth of Matilda of Canossa. It will be a fitting place for your baby girl to sleep. She will be a fiery one, as Petra says, just as our Matilda was. And this will bring her angelic dreams as she makes the transition into our world.”
Tammy, who was on her knees examining it, burst into tears. “It’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”
“How can we thank you for this?” Roland whispered.
“By raising a daughter through love who will fulfill her fiery destiny and change the world the way that she sees fit within her own unique mission. That is the only thing any of us need.”
He called Peter and Petra over and handed them a large box, indicating they should open it together. They did, and it contained a set of antique hand mirrors.
“As you rediscover your eternal love, you will see the truth: that beloveds are a reflection of each other, always. These were used in the secret wedding of Lorenzo and Colombina. It gives me great joy to know that your own union will never have to be a secret.”
The next box was for Maureen, who was already in tears from the miracles happening all around her. Each object in this room was alive with the power of its history. Bérenger teased her, “Maybe you better sit down for this one.”
Destino nodded his agreement. “Yes,” he said softly, “I believe that perhaps she should sit down for this.” He motioned to a beautifully carved chair with velvet cushions, no doubt a piece of furniture with a history all its own. Destino placed a wooden chest in her hands and motioned for her to open it. Maureen did and gingerly removed layer upon layer of red silk fabric, which covered the object within it. When the silk was clear and Maureen could see the object in full view, she gasped.
It was an alabaster jar.
She looked at Destino and awaited the explanation, afraid to consider the truth of what she might be holding in her hands.
“You already know what it is, my dear,” he said softly. The others in the room were motionless, silent. Maureen lifted the jar carefully from its place in the chest. The alabaster appeared to shine from within, giving the jar a pinkish glow. She opened the lid, and though the jar was empty, it contained the faintest scent of something ancient and spiced and sacred.
“It is the jar with which our Queen of Compassion anointed her beloved, first for their wedding and last at his burial. It was handed down through the female line for many cent
uries before coming to rest safely in Sansepolcro, with the relics of the Order. All these were moved to Florence during Lorenzo’s reign, when we were afraid that Sixtus would take Sansepolcro and confiscate everything. But now it belongs to you. I am certain that she would want you to have it.”
And it all sank in then, for Maureen and for everyone in that room. Destino truly was what he had always claimed to be: a man tormented to live eternally in a world that would never understand him. His existence, his survival, was the greatest of all miracles, a reminder that anything was possible, and that there were untold layers to reality above and beyond what we allow ourselves to understand.
Maureen could see that Destino was growing very tired now, but he had one more gift to give. He walked over to Bérenger and put his hands on both sides of his face. “It is your time now, my prince. Time for you to become what you are, time for you to be the leader you were born to be. I need you to take what I shall give you as a symbolic scepter. You are to become a leader into a new age, a new world of love and enlightenment. Remember that God has given you the most extraordinary blessings that you may devote the rest of your life to this mission of restoring the Way of Love. Can you pledge to do that?
“I can,” Bérenger whispered.
“Then to you I give the one true Spear of Destiny.”
Destino removed a heavy iron key from a hook on the wall and opened the lock of a crate that ran half the length of the cellar. He motioned for Bérenger to assist in opening it. As the lid opened, blue light emanated from the box. Pale at first, and then growing brighter, it became an intense indigo, which swirled through the room before returning back to the object from which it had come. Il giavelotto di destino. The Spear of Destiny.
“Unlike the false spears, with their legends of evil spirits and death, this, the spear I carried when I committed the greatest crime against humanity, is an object of goodness and positive power. It is an object of transformation. See here, bring it up and look closely. Go ahead, Bérenger. It is for you to wield now.”
Bérenger lifted the spear out reverently as Destino pointed to the tip. It was caked with blood.
“His blood transformed me. As did his love. This spear is the emblem of how the most irredeemable soul can be transformed through love. This is the ultimate lesson of the Way, the lesson you must all pledge to remember and to teach to the world.”
They were all in tears now, tears of joy and awe at the miracles that were happening in this magical little cellar, when all hell broke loose.
“Fire!”
Roland smelled it first, but as he took notice and began to warn the others, they heard the crash of timber falling. The little house was ancient and made of wood, and it would burn quickly. They had to get out of the cellar fast. Roland went up first so that he could haul the women up from the top, with Peter and Bérenger helping to push them quickly from the bottom. The three women scrambled, Maureen wrapping the alabaster jar in her blouse while Petra did the same with the mirrors. Tammy glanced back at the cradle; there was no time to save it. Once the women were safe, Bérenger and Roland motioned for Destino to go next.
He shook his head.
“Come on!” Bérenger yelled. “We don’t have much time before the whole place caves in.” Bérenger was in a panic. He could hear the devastation as the fire crackled through the house. The smoke was getting heavy.
“No!” Destino shouted. “I will go last. You must make sure that Maureen is safe—and the spear. Go. Now!”
Bérenger handed the spear up to Roland and climbed as fast as his legs would take him.
“Maureen!” he screamed, but he could see nothing. The house was engulfed in flames and smoke. He heard her voice, faint, yelling, “I’m here, I’m out, follow my voice.”
Bérenger looked down to where Peter was emerging from the cellar and gave him a hand up. They both looked down to grab for Des-
tino, but as they did so, the ceiling collapsed above them. Both men jumped quickly out of the way, but it was clear what had happened: the door to the cellar had been completely covered with flames and burning timber. They would not be able to get to Destino. And he had
known it.
Bérenger and Peter could see nothing now, but they ran to where they heard voices calling to them through the chaos. Bérenger, holding the Spear of Destiny in his hand, felt as if it propelled him forward. He followed an instinct, grabbing Peter with the other hand and running in the direction that the spear pulled him. In just a few seconds, they were out in the Tuscan night, where they could breathe. The others waited for them, tears of fear and joy as they counted heads and determined that everyone was safe. Everyone but Destino.
“Oh God,” Maureen cried. “We’ve lost him.”
There was no time to mourn. A scream of agony split the air, and they ran around the rear of the house, now a raging conflagration. The little group, each dripping sweat and smeared black with smoke, stopped in horror at the sight ahead of them.
Felicity de Pazzi was in the center of the flames.
She had been on the roof, and as she had poured the little canister of gasoline on the shingles, she had inadvertently spilled some on her clothes and on the bandages that wrapped her damaged hands. The fire spread, too hot and too fast, catching her clothing in it. Dizzy from blood loss and exhausted, she didn’t move as fast as she normally would. But this would be her only chance to eliminate all of them—every remaining member of the Order of the Holy Sepulcher—at one time. This was for God’s greater glory, the ultimate gift she could give to her Lord. She could not, would not, fail him now.
When the roof caved in before she could move away from the center, she was engulfed in the flames. The gasoline on her clothing ensured that her death would be quick.
Destino felt no pain, no fear. He felt only the sadness of leaving the beautiful men and women who had attended him here in the end. They would mourn for him, but he did not wish them to. He was ready. His life had been more extraordinary than most could imagine or even understand. And now his work was done. He was quite certain that the six who remained would fulfill their promises: to God, to themselves, to each other, and to him. They would work toward restoring the Way of Love to the world, and they would do it together.
The time returns.
And his time was returning as well. He was returning to his mother and father in heaven. He was surrounded again by the blue light, and engulfed in a feeling of universal love, as the man known by many names through time—Longinus, Fra Francesco, the Master, Destino—closed his eyes for the final time in his earthly life.
Florence
present day
DESTINO HAD LEFT one final gift behind.
The Libro Rosso, the blessed red book that had held the secret traditions of Jesus Christ and his descendants for two thousand years, had been transferred to Petra’s apartment before the fire.
There was one final card wedged beneath the cover of the book, addressed to Peter. It said simply,
You are as wise as Solomon, for you have chosen Sheba.
Restore these teachings
while praying that they will be welcomed
in peace by all people
and there will be no more martyrs.
Bérenger Sinclair shook the hand of Pietro Buondelmonti while Maureen spoke soft words of comfort to his wife, the Baroness von Hapsburg. Vittoria was still in a coma. She and Alexander had fallen two stories from her balcony in the explosion. Alexander was in traction with multiple breaks and fractures, and it would be months before he would walk again—perhaps longer. But Vittoria’s head trauma had been more serious. Her recovery was still far from certain. Both had been spared from the fire as a result of the fall, however, and that was a blessing of sorts.
It had been a difficult decision for the baroness and her husband to agree to what Bérenger proposed, but they both knew that it was the best thing for Dante. They signed the paperwork in the solicitor’s office after the terms had been drawn
up to everyone’s satisfaction. Dante Buondelmonti Sinclair would be raised by his uncle, Bérenger Sinclair, at the château in France, until such time as his parents were recovered and able to care for him. He would spend summers with his grandparents in Austria and Italy, as he learned the languages, culture, and heritage of the three noble families from which he was descended.
Dante would become the symbolic big brother to Serafina Gelis, the newborn daughter of Tamara and Roland Gelis. The children would learn together from the Libro Rosso and grow into their angelic destinies together.
The legacy of the Poet Prince would thrive into the future, with only love as its teacher.
Rome
1521
POPE LEO X sat quietly in his study, relieved to be alone after the many days of emergency meetings and councils. He drank deeply from the heavy red wine in the goblet, which was ironically etched with intertwined wedding rings. It was his favorite vintage, from Montepulciano, and he had it brought in from his native Tuscany by the barrel. The pontiff could not stomach the watery swill the Romans called wine and refused to serve it anywhere within his reach. Why drink gutter water when the nectar of the gods was available instead?
He smiled and thought that his teacher, Angelo Poliziano, would laugh if he were here now to witness that pagan reference. Of course Angelo would be the first to celebrate the events of the last few years, and certainly with the wine that came from his own hometown.
There was a gentle knock on the door, and Leo sighed heavily. He wanted no company tonight, and yet it was inevitable. His gout was bothering him and he did not feel the urge to get up, so he merely called out “Come in” and hoped that the visitor was someone he cared to deal with on a night like this.
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