Brigid of Kildare

by Heather Terrell

  Alex was torn. She knew it was possible—though highly, highly unlikely—that she’d find a reference to Decius, but she believed that the full translation of the texts was important too.

  “What about finishing the translations? We need to get that done.”

  “I can stay behind working on that while you go to Rome.”

  “I don’t know, Dec. I guess I was hoping to completely assuage my guilt by returning the manuscripts to Sister Mary tied up in a nice bow—translated, dated, and appraised.”

  “If that’s your goal, then the Vatican archives are the only way.”

  Alex crossed the room to the windows looking out over Saint Stephen’s Green. Declan’s suggestion was sound, but did she trust him with the texts? And why didn’t he stress the importance of the additional proof before? Still, he’d proven himself to be an invaluable resource thus far, and he’d shaken off some of his roguishness. But leaving him with the texts required an enormous leap of faith, and she’s been secular in all respects for a long, long time.

  “Come on, it’s getting late,” Declan said. “Let’s have a bite to eat before you decide what to do.”

  They left the office area of his flat and entered his living space for the first time. Like his office, it surprised her. He had decorated the living room with edgy, modern furniture and paintings, and the kitchen was outfitted with stainless-steel chef’s-quality equipment. She was stunned; she’d expected some Irish version of a fraternity house, with dirty clothes heaped in the corners and half-empty bottles of beer scattered about.

  He poured her a glass of red wine and sat her down at the kitchen table. Pulling out pots and pans, he began boiling fresh pasta and sautéing garlic and Roma tomatoes in olive oil. The kitchen smelled wonderful, and after two glasses of wine, she felt wonderful too. They opened another bottle and sampled the simple, delicious pasta while they talked about themselves. They talked about everything—careers, families, lives—except her decision. But she had made it.

  “I think I will go to Rome, Dec. And I’ll leave you behind to translate.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes,” she said, but she couldn’t keep the last vestiges of hesitation from her voice.

  “You can trust me, Alex.”

  “Can I?”

  He got up from his chair and knelt next to her. Placing one hand on her cheek and one on her knee, he said, “Yes, you can.”

  Declan leaned in toward her, but she drew back. The manuscript, the trip to Rome, their intimate conversation—it was all happening fast. It had been a long time since she’d been with someone. Her last relationship had been over two years ago, with an Australian artist who, she learned too late, needed to explore his creativity through other women’s bodies. She hadn’t trusted anyone since then. Even for a night.

  She had already taken the biggest leap of faith—by entrusting Declan with the manuscript. And she really wanted to take another; she didn’t want to be that lonely looking woman at the Silken Thomas Inn. But she couldn’t allow herself to trust him further.

  “I’m sorry, Dec,” Alex said. And she slipped out into the night to her hotel.

  xxxii

  DUBLIN, IRELAND, AND ROME, ITALY

  PRESENT DAY

  Alex woke up to the ringing phone. Assuming it was her wake-up call, she sleepily reached for it. But it was Declan. “I’m coming with you,” he said.

  “You needn’t, Declan. I know my way around the Vatican well enough.”

  “Oh, Alex, there you go again, underestimating your charms. Maybe I can’t keep away from you,” he added, in his typical half-mocking tone.

  She couldn’t help but laugh in relief to hear his familiar personality resurface. She’d feared they’d be awkward with each other, when they still had so much work to do. “What a compliment,” she bantered back.

  “Ah, but that isn’t the only reason I’m coming with you.”

  “No?”

  “It occurred to me that, while you have access to the archives, you won’t necessarily be able to translate what you find.”

  “The Vatican has translation services available for scholars. I’ve used them before.”

  “Sure, if you don’t mind waiting three or four weeks to get your one page converted into English.”

  She sat up. He was right. “But what about the main translation of the life?”

  “We’ll bring everything with us, and I’ll work on it while we travel.”

  “All right, Dec. You seemed to have thought of everything.”

  “If only.”

  Alex and Declan settled into a comfortable silence on the plane. True to his word, Declan buried himself in his translation; he’d gotten through only two-thirds of the life and the first few pages of the letters, those that had helped them with dating. Meanwhile, Alex read up on the papacy of Simplicius.

  During Simplicius’s rule, from A.D. 468 to 483, the great Roman Empire teetered on the edge of a perilous precipice, challenged on all sides by barbarian tribes: Burgundians, Vandals, Ostrogoths, Lombards, Franks, Angles, Saxons, Jutes, and, most of all, the Visigoths. The empire existed primarily in name, divided as it was between an eastern emperor and his western counterpart. Turbulence and chaos ruled the day, and Rome clung to its past glory by its fingernails, manned by Roman functionaries yet challenged by Germanic kings. During this unsteady political time, Roman society, no longer able to rely on the Roman government, reorganized itself around a new entity, Christendom, a mystical commonwealth that unified believers across the shifting boundaries of the barbarian kingdoms. These believers helped rule behind the scenes, and critical to their power base was the eradication of all heresies, including any springing up in increasingly Christian Ireland. It made sense that the Roman Church officials would send a spy to assess the Irish situation, especially since they didn’t have troops at their command to deal with sacrilege among their churches.

  Though Alex was immersed in Roman history, she was constantly aware of Declan’s presence. And she was glad of it. After working alone for so long, she found his company surprisingly welcome, despite the events of the previous night.

  Disembarking from the plane, they eased through customs and security, looking like a couple on a romantic holiday. Having landed during that quiet window between rush hour and lunchtime, they grabbed a cab without difficulty and made good time through the notoriously congested streets of Rome, to the Vatican. Declan directed the driver to leave them off at Saint Anne’s Gate. From there they’d head to the Vatican Library, where they’d arranged for passes.

  They stepped out into the golden sunshine of the Roman spring. After more than a week of Irish rain and gray clouds, Alex thrilled to the warmth. She stripped off her leather jacket and put on her neglected sunglasses. Declan looked her over and slipped an arm around her back. “Now I’m really glad I came with you,” he said.

  Alex allowed them to walk arm in arm until they reached the somber Swiss Guards. They registered with the admissions secretary before the morning deadline, and waited as he reviewed the scholarly credentials they’d arranged to be faxed over early that morning to a contact of Declan’s. Even though they’d both consulted the archives in the past, there was no guarantee they’d be granted admission today. A gap in their qualifications, a red flag for their specialties, an unknown security risk, or even the sheer number of visitors could block their entry on any given day. But fortune smiled upon them, and after consulting the database, the secretary returned with their entry cards.

  A guard checked their coats and bags. To Alex’s dismay, he refused to allow her to keep her black bag containing the manuscripts even though she insisted it was her purse. The guard escorted them to the door to the first of three rooms containing the Vatican Secret Archives. The name was a bit of a misnomer for the records of the Holy See, as the collection wasn’t secret but had been opened to scholarly use in 1881, by Pope Leo XIII. At least ostensibly. Most academics believed that the Vatican kept private the most
interesting, controversial documents.

  Scholars of all varieties visited the collection in droves, containing as it did the history of the Catholic church and the details of the Roman pontiffs’ rule. The documents had survived religious upheavals, political turmoil, and constant moving until the Vatican created a permanent home for them in the sixteenth century. Pope Paul V chose three rooms next to the Sistine Hall—named the “Paoline”—to house many of the archives. The three Paoline rooms were decorated with exquisite frescoes honoring the donations made by various European rulers to the popes and lined with poplar cabinets furnished with the coats of arms of the Borghese, Pamphili, Chigi, and Pignatelli families.

  Over time, the archives grew. At first, attics, unused crypts, and tower rooms were appropriated, but they proved inadequate. So in the twentieth century, vast subterranean halls—inaccessible to all but the inner circle—were built to accommodate the ever-expanding annals.

  Immediately within the door of the first Paoline room sat a young priest, undoubtedly one of the esteemed Vatican librarians who screened all the research activities. They submitted their request for late fifth-and early sixth-century archives of papal activities, and without even looking at his computer screen, the priest shook his head.

  “We do not have what you seek. Our manuscripts tracked the papacy only from the eleventh century onward,” he said authoritatively in perfect, but accented English.

  “What about the Liber diurnus romanorum pontificum and Codices A, B, and C?”

  Alex was startled. How had Declan known precisely what document to request?

  “Those codices do date from the eighth century. But you are seeking fifth-and sixth-century documentation of the papacy.”

  “The Liber diurnus romanorum pontificum and the related codices contain copies of papal documents from the late fifth century.”

  The priest smiled, as if they’d passed a test. “They do indeed.” The smiled faded. “But the Liber diurnus is one of our most important records of the church and our history. I would need to understand your reason for consulting it.”

  “We have found a manuscript that the Liber diurnus may help us in dating to the fifth or sixth century.”

  The priest looked startled. And impressed. “Excuse me a moment.” He pushed back his chair and hastened to a back office, his black robes trailing behind him.

  “Why the hell did you tell him about the manuscript?” Alex whispered. Already angry over having to leave her bag with the guard, she was now furious. Declan’s impulsive, brash behavior was precisely why she’d hesitated to trust him—with the manuscript and herself. But it was too late.

  “He’d never let us look at the Liber diurnus without that information. And, anyway, he doesn’t have any idea how important the manuscript is. It could be a list of liturgical vestments, for all he knows.”

  “Dec, he knows that the manuscript is important enough to have some tie to the Liber diurnus. I just can’t believe you.” She shook her head. “Why would you think Decius might be mentioned in it anyway?”

  “It holds copies of the official papal documents from the late fifth century through the ninth, things like popes’ elections, papal dealings with the other countries, the building and consecration of churches, appointments of church officials, and other important administrative matters. Decius was a key papal scribe recording those sorts of affairs. If we’re going to find a reference to Decius, it’ll be in there.”

  The priest returned. “You will have to wait here for Father Casaceli to take you to the Liber diurnus and the codices.”

  xxxiiii

  ROME, ITALY

  PRESENT DAY

  Alex and Declan waited for hours for Father Casaceli. When the Vatican guards began locking the doors and shutting the gates in the early afternoon, the young librarian priest informed them that they would have to return the next morning if they wanted to see the Liber diurnus. Without a single apology.

  Alex retrieved her black bag from the coat check. Strapping it across her shoulder, she stormed out of the Vatican and across the wide yard fronting the complex. Declan chased after her; he didn’t need an explanation as to why she was still mad. “Alex, I’m really sorry. But we need to see the Liber diurnus, and explaining why was the only way.”

  “You could have at least asked me first. I might have decided to abandon this whole dating verification. Since this visit has proven to be so productive anyway.”

  Declan pleaded with her: “Please, I know it’s hard for you and we don’t have a long track record working together, but please trust me. I really have your best interests at heart.”

  “Don’t forget about your own interests. If the manuscript really turns out to be the Book of Kildare, and we really do have the first image of the Virgin Mary, it’ll benefit you too.”

  He refused to back down. “Of course it will. There’s no shame in that. Our goals are completely aligned. So why do you think I’d do anything to hurt our success? Or you?”

  Once again, Declan was making complete sense. But she still could not surrender to his logic. Was it her own inability to trust or was it a sound internal warning? She didn’t know, but she determined to keep her feelings—and decision making—in check.

  He then dramatically changed the subject. “We have a free evening in Rome. What would you say to peeking at the Catacomb of Priscilla?”

  “Why the Catacomb of Priscilla?” Alex couldn’t understand why he’d want to head to one of Rome’s oldest catacombs—on the outskirts of the city—when they had so much to accomplish and so little time.

  “I think we should take a look at one of the only other contenders for the first Virgin Mary image.”

  Alex knew that the Roman catacombs were often thought to contain some of the earliest Christian imagery, although there was some evidence of early churches dedicated to Mary. But Alex wasn’t up for a tour. “Don’t you think the time would be better used in translating?”

  “If I promise to get you what you need before Thursday, would you agree to go to the catacombs with me? It’s not just a field trip, Alex; it’s research.”

  Before she could say yes—or no—he hailed a cab and they were tearing down the city streets. For a hefty tip, the cab dropped them as close to the catacombs as possible. For another tip to the curator, Declan and Alex cut to the front of the line of tourists waiting to get into the catacombs and descended alone down the staircase into darkness. Alex’s nose had to adjust as well as her eyes; the smell of mold and standing water was overwhelming.

  Alex must have seemed disoriented because Declan grabbed her hand and expertly led her through crypt after crypt of narrow passageways and low ceilings. She’d been in the ancient catacombs twice before—once as a young tourist and once to study the frescoes deemed to be the earliest Christian art—but she didn’t remember the closeness of the crypts or the stagnancy of the air.

  Not a moment too soon, they stopped in front of a wall painting of the Virgin Mary holding the Christ child, alleged to be from the third century. The mother and son were not alone. The three Magis bowed to the pair, while one of the kings pointed to a star above Mary, presumably the star of Bethlehem.

  “Here she is,” Declan said.

  Alex had noticed the other figures before, but she hadn’t focused on the full nature of the scene. Her new knowledge changed her perception of the painting, as if she were looking at it through a prism. “It’s not really a Virgin Mary icon. It’s an Adoration of the Magi scene.”

  “That gets left out of the literature, doesn’t it? It’s always proclaimed as the first image of the Virgin Mary.”

  “But I don’t think that was the intention of the artist—or its patron. I think the artist was commissioned to paint a biblical scene, one that also included Mary and Jesus. And even if I’m wrong, this Mary was obviously meant to be not a widely disseminated devotional figure but a private picture for the deceased’s grieving family.”

  Declan started pulling Alex th
rough the catacombs toward another image, a mosaic. As they drew closer, Alex saw that it was another mother and child, one declared to be from the fourth or fifth century, depending on the source, and often heralded as another very early Virgin and infant Jesus. Squinting in the dim light, Alex stared at it: the picture indeed more closely resembled a Byzantine Madonna image, but it bore none of the iconographic hallmarks of either the Virgin Mary or the Christ child.

  A guard motioned for their departure, and Declan and Alex wove through the catacomb without talking. Once they got outside, Declan hailed another cab. He turned to Alex with a wide grin. “So, do you think we’ve got the first icon of the Virgin Mary?”

  For all her anger earlier that day, she couldn’t help but smile back. “I think we just might.”

  xxxiv

  ROME, ITALY

  PRESENT DAY

  The next morning, Alex and Declan made it to the research desk in the first Paoline room the very moment it opened. But Father Casaceli was already waiting. The older, dour priest had no time for their conversation; he led them toward the Liber diurnus.

  Father Casaceli guided them into the third Paoline room, though both Alex and Declan doubted that the rare manuscript was stored there. Most delicate documents resided in specially designed, acclimatized rooms. Still, the priest made a show of unlocking one of the poplar cabinets and withdrawing the famous book and its related codices with great delicacy.

  Without a word, he indicated that they should sit in one of the study cubicles and put on their sterile gloves. They followed his instructions to the letter, and he finally agreed to place the surprisingly small Liber diurnus before them. Father Casaceli pulled up a chair alongside them, and the security guard who had escorted them from room to room remained nearby.

  Alex sat back and let Declan take charge. He skimmed the pages with relative ease, commenting from time to time when he came across an interesting tidbit of history. But within an hour and a half, he’d reached the last page. Alex was incredibly disappointed, even though she knew she shouldn’t have expected anything. He hadn’t found their Decius reference.