‘Listen, we’ll talk about this later. In the meantime, I’ll let Francesca get to the end of her story.’
Francesca laid the book back on the table.
‘There’s not much more to say,’ she continued. ‘The Brotherhood grew, at first in Egypt, later in Italy. My ancestor Pietro Contarini met some Brothers there and was initiated into their secret. By that time, Egypt was under Muslim rule, and the Brotherhood wanted to find a way into Christian territories. From Venice, they spread to Rome, and in Rome they became bishops and cardinals. About the same time Pietro brought the faith to Italy, an Irish pilgrim on his way back from Jerusalem had taken it to Ireland. During the Crusades, French and English knights were welcomed into the Brotherhood by a branch living in Jerusalem, the Guardians of the Tomb itself.
‘As the years went by, the Brotherhood grew powerful. My family and others like it in Venice made it the centre of their existence. It was a tie that bound them more tightly than any bonds of kinship. Well, in one sense the bond was one of blood. It was not just the secret they shared that held them to one another: it was something darker and more primitive than that.
‘When the Brotherhood first reached Egypt, their faith had been tested to breaking point. Jerusalem had been destroyed, the Temple razed to the ground, the Holy of Holies put to the torch. They had no way of knowing how long the Tomb of Jesus would remain inviolate, or whether it had already been found and desecrated.
‘The Jews of Alexandria were of no help to them. They prayed and wrung their hands, but they were powerless. So the Brothers vowed that one day they would avenge the destruction of their Holy City. And in confirmation of that vow, they put to death their own children, their first-born sons and daughters, regardless of age. Jesus had not been enough, otherwise the Temple would never have been burned. God
was angry, He required more blood. If they were to come out of Egypt once more, like the Children of Israel following Moses, Passover had to be repeated. Not the blood of Egyptians this time, but their own blood freely given, a sin-offering, reparation for the sins of an entire people.
‘So it went on. Of course, they could not put all their first-born to death in every generation. So the institution of the Dead was introduced. I explained earlier that they were substitutes: instead of physical death, they embraced the grave while still living. From time to time, a child would actually be sacrificed. By then, child sacrifice had become more than a ritual of atonement. The leaders of the Brotherhood, the Seven, knew that involvement in murder would hold their followers together more firmly than any vows. Who would betray such a secret, to bring himself and his whole family into disgrace and worse?’
She stopped speaking. Patrick could see that she was growing agitated again.
‘I found out all of this by accident,’ she said, her voice almost inaudible. ‘Most of us had no idea, you see. Only the Seven, the Apostles immediately below them, the abbots of the Order of the Dead, and the heads of the families ever knew the full truth. But ... I learned of it and ... witnessed it. I saw my own father ... I’m sorry, I can’t...’
Francesca was shaking now, haunted by a memory she could not exorcise. She had no need for words, the horror was in the room with them, raw and bloody and full of strength. Patrick went across to her, oblivious of the others. He took her hand and lifted her from the chair, taking her gently into his arms, not as a lover, but as someone bound to her by grief.
‘What has happened to you has happened to me,’ he repeated.
But she shook her head and pulled away from him.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Love doesn’t enter into this. Whatever you felt for me, whatever I felt for you, it’s all irrelevant. They don’t care a thing for love. Not even the love of God. They don’t want God to love them, they want Him to reward them in return for what they offer Him. Not love, but power, Patrick. Power and the forgiveness of sins. Power in this world and glory in the next. They will sacrifice anything for that: their feelings, their loves, their children ... their souls.’
He stood watching her, perplexed, frightened, understanding nothing.
‘Mr Canavan.’ It was Quadri’s voice. ‘Please sit down. We have not finished yet.’ He turned to Francesca. ‘Please, Francesca, sit down too. You did well. I’m grateful to you.’
He paused and looked round the room slowly. His thin face showed signs of pain. His eyes were full and hard.
‘Mr Canavan, Father Makonnen,’ he continued. ‘For several years now, with Francesca’s help, a small group of people chosen by Father O’Malley and myself has been investigating the Brotherhood. We have identified several of its leading members, gathered evidence of their activities, compiled a dossier for presentation to the Public Prosecutor when the time is ripe. Because of the size and secrecy of their organization, we have had to proceed with the utmost circumspection. Every step we have taken has been planned and debated most carefully. At every moment we have been aware that a single slip might place our entire mission in jeopardy. An indiscretion, a premature revelation, a careless question - anything might serve to make them aware of our existence. So far,
we believe we have succeeded in eluding suspicion.
We have run a terrible risk in bringing you here today. The Brotherhood knows of you, it has members hunting you everywhere. Francesca is already marked for death. Ordinarily, I would have recommended leaving you to your fate. Our task is too important to be endangered for the sake of one or two lives. That is how we have to be to survive. But we had a reason for seeking you out.
‘We want to know everything you may have heard about Passover. One of our people heard of it first over a year ago. Since then, we have done everything in our power to find out more, with almost no success. All we know is that what they are planning is going to be their greatest triumph in the two thousand years they have been in existence; that it is going to take place very soon; and that over one hundred of the Dead have been brought to Italy from Egypt to carry it out. We need your help. Please think hard. If you know anything that may give us a clue, anything that...’
He looked round. Assefa had risen half out of his chair. On his face was a look of sheer horror. Slowly, he raised one hand and placed it over his mouth as though he was about to be sick. O’Malley got up and went over to him, taking his arm and holding him steady.
‘Father Makonnen, are you all right?’
The Ethiopian took O’Malley’s arm, squeezing it tightly, then looked into his face, his eyes wide open, an expression of fear and grief stamped on his features.
‘My God,’ he whispered. ‘O Jesus Christ, sweet Mary, I know. I know.’
‘What is it, Father? What do you know?’ O’Malley could feel ice in his veins.
‘I know what they are planning. God forgive me, I should have thought before this. I know what it is. And I know it will happen tomorrow.’
FORTY-SEVEN
O’Malley found a bottle of grappa in the kitchen. Assefa sipped it in small, nervous gulps, gasping each time the fiery liquid caught his breath. Roberto showed him how to calm himself with slow, rhythmical breaths from the diaphragm. For a while, he sat with eyes closed, breathing gently, letting the tension dissolve. When he opened his eyes again, it was only to stare at the floor; excitement had given way to languor and impassivity.
‘Father Makonnen.’ Roberto spoke gently, yet firmly, as though pressing a reluctant witness to admit what he had seen. ‘You must tell us what you know. It’s very important. Lives may depend on it. Innocent lives.’
Assefa shook his head.
‘It’s too late,’ he whispered. ‘What can we do? There’s no time.’
‘Please let me be the judge of that. Tell me what you can.’
Assefa looked up. His eyes were full of tears, and in them Roberto sensed a mute appeal, an unspoken plea for reassurance. He had seen it many times in other eyes, under very different circumstances. But the appeal was always the same: ‘Tell me this is just a dream, that in a moment I’ll wake
up and find none of this has happened.’ It was the look of a man who has just been told he is dying of a fatal disease. It was a look Roberto knew very well indeed.
‘Very well,’ said Assefa. ‘I’ll tell you what I can.’ He paused, then began to speak, choosing his words with care. ‘For the last few months, the nunciature in Dublin has been involved with a series of highly
delicate discussions. I was present at a number of meetings, some at the nunciature itself, others at Leinster House, and some at the Egyptian and Iraqi embassies. You understand that I am only an addetto, that I was never privy to any but the lowest-level talks. But Archbishop Balzarin confided in me. I was expected to handle certain items of correspondence.’
He paused and raised the glass of grappa, then thought twice about it and put it down again.
‘About a year ago, the Holy Father decided to begin a series of negotiations aimed at achieving peace in the Middle East. His plan is to start with Lebanon, since he has direct influence there through the Maronite Christians. If the settlement there proves successful, he intends to attempt a demarche on Palestine or possibly the Gulf.
‘His great ally is the new President of Ireland, Mr MacMaolain. You may know that, before he became president two years ago, MacMaolain was a Lieutenant General in the Irish defence forces. For several years he was Force Commander with UNIFIL, the UN Irish Force in Lebanon. He learnt a lot then about the politics of the region.
‘It seems that he wants the Nobel Peace Prize like his old friend Sean McBride. It happens that he and the Holy Father got to know one another well after the war, when the Pope was studying at the Angelicum, the Dominican University here in Rome. MacMaolain had an older brother in holy orders who was also writing a thesis at the Angelicum, so he was sent to Rome himself for a year. His parents wanted him to be a diplomat like his father, and they thought a knowledge of Italian would help him get a posting to the embassy in Rome. Of course, he entered the army when he got back to Dublin; but it looks as though he wants to make up for that early change of direction.’
Patrick listened intently. Two of the hardest puzzles in this affair seemed to have cleared up simultaneously: why Ireland should have been involved at all, and why Alex Chekulayev had been in Dublin.
What sort of scheme are they cooking up for Lebanon?’ he asked.
Assefa bit his lip.
‘I don’t have the details, I’m sorry. But Balzarin gave me a broad idea. The Holy Father is of the opinion that people are sick to death of civil war now and will do anything for peace. If we forget about all the different factions, the basic division in the country is between Christians and Muslims. Roughly speaking, the Christians make up about forty-three per cent of the population.
‘The Holy Father intends to meet with the heads of the different churches, and then with the Muslim leaders. In return for a promise to use his influence in the United States to get the Israelis to agree to concessions on the Palestinians, he will propose a coalition government. Technically, Lebanon will become a Muslim state. But the Christian minority will be guaranteed full representation at all levels of government. It’s not that much different to the system established in 1926, except that the Shi’ites will be properly recognized as the majority within the Muslim population.
‘God knows if the plan has any chance of working. The Holy Father intends to establish a special Vatican secretariat in Beirut, responsible for supervision of the new constitution in conjunction with a Council of Shi’ite, Sunni and Druse clergy. The Irish have promised to install observers under the auspices of the UN. The hope is that they’ll be particularly acceptable to the Shi’ites because Ireland is a non-imperial power supposed to be engaged in a struggle for independence from Britain.’
He paused and drained the glass of grappa.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Patrick. ‘I can’t see how this relates to what we’ve been talking about.’
Francesca interrupted.
‘It could, Patrick. The Brotherhood has very strong feelings about Islam. When Muslim armies conquered Palestine and Egypt in the seventh century, the Brothers thought they were a scourge sent by God to teach the churches a lesson, perhaps to prepare the way for their own rise to power. But the Arabs stayed and took possession of the towns and cities in which their holy places were situated: the tomb of Christ in Jerusalem and that of John of Amathus in Alexandria, the church of the Seven at Babylon near modern Cairo, their private catacombs at Qum al-Shuqaffa. The Brothers swore a sort of holy war against the invaders, and through the centuries they did what they could to make life uncomfortable for them.’
Patrick thought of what he had seen that time in Egypt, his first brush with the Brotherhood of the Tomb: the blood of Muslim children filling a basalt bowl, a village torn with grief.
‘About twenty years ago,’ she went on, ‘leadership of the Brotherhood passed to a bishop named Migliau. He is now a cardinal and the patriarch of Venice.’
Patrick and Assefa exchanged glances. Another piece of the puzzle had fallen into place.
‘Migliau,’ continued Francesca, ‘has a deep animosity towards Islam. It isn’t a rational thing with him, merely part of his general baggage of fears and prejudices. He was furious when the Vatican Council issued a document called Nostra Aetate, calling for mutual understanding between Muslims and Christians. And when the present Pope visited
Muslim countries like Turkey or Morocco and talked about bonds of spiritual unity between the two faiths, he went crazy. He sent an encyclical letter to all branches of the Brotherhood declaring the Pope an apostate who had betrayed the faith of Christ.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Assefa broke in. ‘Surely this Brotherhood has never recognized the authority of the Pope. What difference would it make, whatever the Holy Father said?’
Francesca frowned.
‘It’s not that simple, Father. At the very beginning, the Brotherhood was entirely at odds with the Church. But in time, as the Church grew more powerful, they came to see it as the public expression of Christianity, designed for the world at large, while the Brotherhood held the truth. The Church was the shell, while the Brotherhood was the kernel. But now Migliau wants to change all that. He says the Pope has become Antichrist and that he, Migliau, is the true Pope, sent by God to unite the inward and the outward realms of faith. He is quite mad, you see. I think he would consider the Pope’s solution for Lebanon as a final betrayal. He might try to upset the plan in some way.’
‘I think he has started.’ Assefa explained what he and Patrick knew of Migliau’s disappearance. The others listened in silence. Even if they could not understand why the cardinal had chosen to vanish, it was clear that his absence was not a coincidence, but a prelude to something more dramatic.
You said you knew what Passover was,’ prompted Boberto. Assefa nodded.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I think so. I can’t tell you what they intend to do. But I think I can tell you when and where.’
He paused.
‘Can you tell me if there has been anything in the papers about a conference at the Vatican tomorrow?’
O’Malley nodded.
‘Yes, of course. About three days ago. It had been kept quiet until then in case of trouble. Something about the Middle East. I think the Holy Father is going to meet with religious leaders from different countries. It wasn’t described as anything very important.’
Assefa nodded.
‘No, but it is part of the Holy Father’s plan for peace negotiations. The meeting tomorrow will be the first of a series of public conferences designed to pave the way for his mission. That’s not how it will be presented, of course. Nothing will be said about Lebanon or any of the other projects, not even his hopes or fears or dreams. This will simply be a summit of Christian and Muslim leaders organized by the Secretariat for Non-Christian Beligions.
‘There will be the Pope himself, the cardinals representing the Secretariats for Non-Christian Beligions and the Promotion of Christian Unity
, bishops from Catholic dioceses throughout the Middle East, patriarchs of the Greek Catholic churches, representatives of the Maronite, Coptic, Armenian and Assyrian Christian communities, Muslim shaykhs from the Azhar University in Cairo, Saudi ulama from Mecca and Medina, Ismaili leaders from Bombay and East Africa, and a Shi’ite mujtahid from Lebanon.
‘At the opening ceremony, Mr MacMaolain will be present, along with the President of Egypt and ambassadors from several Muslim states.’
‘Did you say the President of Egypt? That wasn’t in any of the papers.’ O’Malley’s face bore a look of deep concern. Assefa nodded.
‘Do you remember the papyrus I showed you this
morning?’ asked the Irishman, turning to Patrick, who was seated on his left. ‘Do you recall what Simon the Levite said about Egypt?’
Patrick nodded numbly.
‘Well man, come on, what did he say?’
‘ “If any still be alive ... he shall go unto Egypt, which is Babylon, that he may strike down Pharaoh ...” I... I can’t remember the rest.’
‘ “And that shall be the true Passover, that God’s chosen people shall pass out of the land of Egypt and come into the Land of the Promise ... Egypt shall fall, and Babylon, all them that have scattered the children of God among the nations.” I know the text well, Patrick. It’s a good many times I’ve read it now. But, by God, it never made as much sense to me before as it does this instant.’
There was a shocked silence as the meaning of the ancient words became clear. Simon and John and all the dispossessed of Jerusalem would have their revenge. A different pharaoh in a different age, yet perfect somehow for such a vengeance: the ruler of Egypt struck down side by side with the man who had inherited the mantle of the old Roman emperors. And struck down, for that matter, in Rome itself, the Babylon of so many apocalypses.
‘Is there anything more we should know?’ O’Malley asked at last, his tone subdued and hesitant for the first time since Patrick and Assefa had met him.
Assefa nodded.
‘Yes. Two things. First, the conference is only going to last two days. Press coverage has been kept deliberately low-key. Only the more important agencies and correspondents have been invited to be there. By the time hostile elements in Iran or Libya or Egypt can so much as react, the last session will have finished and the delegates will be on their way
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