Blood Symbols

by Izak Botha

  Was it naïve to believe that punishment for their ‘sins’ had long ago been relegated to the Dark Ages? Was it possible that the Church could execute them? Whatever the outcome, she longed for the nightmare they were trapped in to end. She wanted to be far away and free. Until now, she had taken her freedom for granted. She was a fool. She opened her eyes again and her surroundings confirmed that she was not dreaming. Their lives were still in danger, and their rescue by the Swiss Guard would surely result in a trial. If that were so, could they expect a fair one?

  Chapter 47

  Raging, Santori crossed the marble floor to the center of the Regal Room. He regretted not removing Schreider from his post when he had had the chance. Had he done so, none of this would have happened. Thank God, the letter was back where it belonged, and thank God for Inspector Verretti, whose swift action would enable the cardinal to defend the Holy See against this malignant attack. Santori was acutely aware that this was a chance to redeem himself, and he had faith in his vindication.

  At the same time, Giovanni Cardoni emerged from the Royal Staircase feeling vile. His stomach churned as he took in the scene around the throne. There were the two suspects, hugging and encircled by a unit of Helvetians. He cursed under his breath as he recalled Miss Jaine’s scathing accusations the previous day. He had underestimated her and so it was, to some extent, his fault all this had happened. He should have been more guarded in that meeting. She was a Protestant, and Protestants thrived on criticizing Catholics. But why? Had she forgotten how Protestantism had its foundations in Catholicism? Both John Calvin and Martin Luther had been Catholic priests before spouting their heresies. Both had borrowed much of their theologies from Catholic ideals, the only major difference being that they had rejected papal supremacy. Really, all the rest was semantics and sophistry. In the end, as all other Christians, they abide by the teachings of Saint Paul.

  Santori stopped just feet away from Schreider. ‘I will have you court-martialed,’ he snarled.

  Schreider clicked his boots and saluted. ‘Yes, Your Eminence, you’ve said that before. The fact remains that the suspects deserve a fair trial.’

  At the thought of prosecution, Santori’s heart crashed against his ribcage. Legal proceedings required evidence. ‘We can’t do that, Colonel,’ he said. ‘You know that.’ There was no way he could disclose Pontius’s letter in court.

  Every muscle in Schreider’s body stiffened. ‘His Holiness must decide.’

  ‘What if His Holiness tells you the same? What will you do then?’

  ‘His Holiness is an honest man,’ Schreider replied sternly. ‘I trust in his judgement.’

  ‘Are you insinuating that I’m not! What if I become the next Vicar of Christ?’

  The Colonel stared the cardinal down through narrowed eyes. ‘Then may God strike every one of us dead and level this cursed art gallery around us.’

  Santori was opening his mouth to retaliate when the tramping of feet accompanied by the eerie swish of heavy robes silenced him. As he turned, wave upon wave of cardinals dressed in black, scarlet and gold were approaching. Heading the army of clergymen was Pope Gregory XVIII; ferula in hand, fully dressed in the vestments of his office, white zucchetto, white simar and red amice, with a solid-gold cross resting on his chest, the Bishop of Rome entered.

  Concerned by the apparent attack on the Church, Pope Gregory had risen early to meet with the College of Cardinals. Nearly one-hundred-and-forty strong, they had congregated in the Sistine Chapel next door. The theft of the letter demanded extreme caution on the part of the Holy See and level heads were essential. If revealed, its contents would prove devastating for the Vatican. The onus to clear the Church of this threat rested squarely on his shoulders. Even if it necessitated compromise, he hoped the Holy Spirit would help them arrive at an agreeable resolution. If not, the Church would collapse.

  Schreider sank to his knees, bowing in reverence. He kissed the Holy Father’s ring and remained there until commanded to rise. He slid his sword back into its scabbard and said, ‘Your Holiness, I have delivered the suspects to you.’

  ‘Oh for goodness’ sake!’ Santori spat, cutting Schreider short. ‘The colonel wants them to be tried in a court of law.’

  Shifting his gaze to the cardinal, Pope Gregory took a moment to reflect. Trying the suspects in the Roman courts could put the Vatican at risk, but unethical behavior was not the solution. The Church might still command support in every Western nation, but these countries no longer swore absolute fealty to it, and its diminished military resources put limitations on their options. There had to be a way to resolve the issue peacefully and without involving anyone else. He ascended the throne and waited for his aides to arrange his simar before seating himself. Then, he ordered Schreider to bring the captives to him. He stomped his ferula on the dais, compelling the attention of the College of Cardinals who immediately ceased their murmuring. The pope’s intelligent eyes alighted with interest on the woman. Leaning into the male suspect’s side, her face was pale and framed by tousled hair and her eyes seemed drawn and sunken.

  Pope Gregory sat back. ‘So you are the inimitable Miss Jaine I’ve been hearing about,’ he said, gazing down at her.

  Jennifer was facing one of the most powerful men on the planet. Hearing her name come from his lips scared her. She wondered what he had been told.

  As she remained quiet, Pope Gregory again took the initiative. ‘I believe you have a doctorate in religious studies,’ he said. ‘Is this true?’

  A million thoughts shot through her head, her fictitious persona being at the top of the list. Thinking about it made her sick. She had hated lying all her life, yet when it suited her, she was as guilty as anyone else, and look where it had landed her. She vowed never to lie again, but wondered if she was only lying to herself in doing so.

  ‘Well, speak. I’m listening.’

  When Pope Gregory signaled for Jennifer to move closer, she stayed put. After a moment, his benevolent stare drew her towards him.

  As she stood before his throne, he studied her. Framed by a crowd of elderly, sagging faces, her beauty seemed seraphic.

  ‘You represent Geographic America,’ he said. ‘Which is a fine publication, I have to admit. We have had a good deal of criticism from them. For the most part it’s been fair.’

  Jennifer thought of dismissing this, but changed her mind. She would speak her mind. His tone sounded respectful and considerate, and rather than lashing out at her, he seemed accommodating. Still, she should remain guarded till she understood his intentions.

  ‘Your Holiness, I did not tell the truth,’ she replied softly, surprising even herself. And she definitely did not feel comfortable addressing another human being as ‘holy’. Moreover, she hated conforming to the dictates of a Church she now knew was fraudulent. Doing so made no sense. The pope was but another human being like herself. What was she honoring except the denomination’s etiquette?

  ‘Ah well, that is only part of it, of course,’ the pope said. ‘You’ve actually done many silly things of late, Miss Jaine. You visit our libraries under false pretenses, you accuse one of my cardinals of all sorts of despicable things, break into our bunker, then flee, only to crash a locomotive through one of our gates. This is not normal behavior, Miss Jaine. One does not expect this from a respectable person. Do you care to explain?’

  Shame weighed heavily on her, but she straightened up. She had no idea how to respond. Perhaps a divine hand would guide her.

  ‘Your Holiness,’ she said, her eyes soft with humiliation. ‘I promise; I did not intend to do any of it except meet with His Eminence the Cardinal.’

  He pondered the verity of her words, before he said, ‘Just tell me. Why did you really come to the Vatican?’

  His inquiry struck at the core of her being. It felt as if it would rip her soul from her innermost self, exposing it for all to see. For a long time, she had wondered what had made her come to Rome. At first, she had thought it was to do t
he groundworks of her doctorate. When that had failed, her ambition shifted to succeeding as a journalist. But no, not even that was the true reason for her being there. Her impulse to visit the Vatican Library came from somewhere completely different—from a place of doubt.

  Her shame fell from her as she said, ‘I came to validate—or nullify—the foundations of my faith.’

  The lines between Pope Gregory’s eyebrows deepened. Her honesty was laudable, but despite her attempt at justify herself, she had not confessed to everything yet. ‘Have you lost your faith, child?’

  His shrewd honing in on her deepest wounds was starting to hurt her. Yes, she had lost her faith. Any faith—even the idea of faith. Faith no longer made any sense. That was because her faith—or lack of it—went hand in hand with the paradoxes she had discovered in the past. Now the evidence she had come across in the past twenty-four hours had substantiated her newfound agnosticism. She was reeling. The Church needed to be honest. For once, it should bring truth to the faithful.

  Before Miss Jaine could answer Cardoni stepped forward. He knew her capabilities. Her method of exploiting their goodwill to launch attacks still lingered fresh in his mind. This time, though, he was ready. He stood in front of her, pugnacious. ‘Faith is man’s most precious possession!’ he hollered. ‘It is the root of supernatural life, the pledge of eternal salvation. Rejection of faith is the greatest of sins, abandonment the greatest heresy!’

  Every time Cardoni spoke her hair stood on end. She loathed him completely and without reserve. She no longer felt like fighting with him though. Her truth was so far removed from his, they were never going to meet. ‘I cannot have faith in a religion whose history and, therefore, precepts are based on falsehood,’ she said plainly and honestly. ‘Nor can I have faith in an institution that suppresses evidence of this falsehood by committing murder and bearing false witness.’

  A rustle of mystification swept over the cardinals. Some moved forward to have a clearer view of her, straining to hear her speak.

  Cardoni thrust out his chin. ‘Disregard for the purity of faith has made you weak,’ he said.

  As a dedicated Christian, Jennifer had grown up abiding by biblical teachings. But the more she had studied, the more she had found discrepancies that challenged her beliefs. Now she had seen evidence to corroborate her earlier insights. Saddened, she said, ‘My faith rested on the precepts of Saint Paul. In his Epistle to the Romans he teaches that all hope of salvation lies in faith and confession—if you “confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead you will be saved.”’

  She paused briefly. She was not sure she should continue. Anything more would sound derogatory. And yet, something within compelled her. It was the same urge that had prompted her to enter the bunker and the same one that had made her stay at the Cave Church.

  ‘I no longer trust Paul,’ she said, her voice sincere. ‘From what I have seen, he was an imposter.’

  Cardoni could almost hear the desperate beating of his heart. Santori was right, she had read the letter, he was sure. It did not matter, because without evidence she had nothing. Now all he had to do was show her the error of her ways. ‘Christ made Paul His chosen vessel to the gentiles,’ he said. ‘Our Holy Mother Church is living proof of that.’

  Jennifer looked at him incredulously. ‘Your Eminence, then why do you say it was the Apostle Peter who founded your Church?’

  Jeers rose from the College of Cardinals. Her devilries had preceded her. Now they were experiencing her heresy first-hand.

  ‘I think you should repent, child,’ Cardoni said, raising his voice. ‘For salvation of your soul, you must repent.’

  The man scared her, not because she believed him, but for the many faithful out there who still did. Nevertheless, she refused to be intimidated. She had heard preacher’s rhetoric like this all her life. Now she had had enough.

  ‘Well, I won’t,’ she said.

  Cardoni sensed a victory. Her defiance would turn everyone against her. ‘Your obstinacy will see you damned to the eternal pits of Hell,’ he said. ‘Is that what you want?’ Now all he had to do was feed her more rope—enough to hang herself.

  She breathed in deeply, but the mustiness of the air prevented her from filling her lungs. If the danger she was in had not already sunk in, it certainly did now. ‘There is no Hell,’ she replied defiantly. ‘Your Hell, a place of fire and brimstone where unrepentant souls burn forever, doesn’t exist. There is no truth in this. Nobody knows if there is a Heaven or a Hell. No one. Why not just allow people to live good lives of their own accord? Let them make up their own minds. Let them choose their own destinies.’

  As the mastermind behind numerous inquisitions, Leonardo Santori had had enough. He must intervene to defend the Church from this profanity. His colleague had done a masterful job in driving her into a corner, but it was time to bring this bickering to an end. Years of dealing with rebels like her had made him the Church’s premier prosecutor. When he turned to address the College of Cardinals, his hands were clasped piously to his chest. ‘If we are to perform Christ’s work of salvation, we must rid the world of the deadly poison of heresy. Heresy proves that the Satan is alive and dwelling among us. As keepers of the faith, we must enforce and preserve the unity of the Church.’

  Jennifer gazed up at Pope Gregory. When she spoke, her voice became serene: ‘Faith is “things hoped for”. I always thought it was that simple. I hope, Your Holiness, I hope for love, I hope for a good life, for peace, salvation, truth and above all, I hope for knowledge and wisdom. Can you provide that?’

  Deploring her disrespect, the cardinals’ groans bounced off the frescoes.

  Santori pointed a shaking finger at Jennifer. ‘Woman, you are in league with the Devil!’

  *****

  ‘Perhaps you are in league with the Devil.’

  The room fell silent. Nobody moved.

  The voice cutting in came from behind Jennifer. As if reluctant to come up for her, the man had kept quiet all this time.

  Simon stood with his arms by his sides, his hands clenched into fists. ‘Isn’t Satan the Master of Deceit?’ he asked. ‘“And you shall know them by their works” the Bible says. Is not one who practices deceit in league with the Master of Deceit?’

  As if Lucifer, himself had spoken, Santori’s lips curled upward. His trap has worked. Simon Kepa’s interjection gave him, Santori, the upper hand. Contending with him was going to be far easier than the cardinal had anticipated.

  Simon ignored the pain of the bruise throbbing in his temple. He stepped up to Jennifer’s side and took her hand in his. She had made a brilliant stand, but these men would not let up. Anyone with her knowledge was a danger to their raison d’être.

  ‘No, Simon,’ she said, her vision blurred with tears. ‘You do not have to do this.’

  Heresy was no small charge. In the past she would have been stoned on the spot or burnt at the stake. Seeking to combat entrenched arrogance with reason, Simon turned to Pope Gregory. ‘Miss Jaine is right,’ he said incisively. ‘Anyone following Paul follows a false prophet. The very reason these men, as you know, Your Holiness, wish to impugn her is to suppress knowledge of Paul’s falsehood.’

  Shouts rose from the College of Cardinals. The heresy coming from their captives’ lips knew no bounds. Something had to be done.

  Pope Gregory stamped his ferula against the dais and raised his hand for silence. ‘Let him speak,’ he said. ‘We must hear what he has to say. They have the right to defend themselves. No matter how painful we might find this, they have the right to speak their minds.’

  When all was quiet, he looked at Simon. ‘Please continue ...’

  ‘I am Simon Kepa, a Jew from Antioch. My parents were from Antioch, as were their parents before them. As descendants of the Nazarenes who fled the persecutions of Saul, our tradition holds that he was an imposter. He did not speak for Yeshu; the man you call Jesus. We all know he had p
ersecuted Him. Even the Gospel authors cautioned against him when they warned of false prophets. To them Saul was a false prophet. The Gospels date to decades after Saul’s ministry and his Epistles. From that alone we can deduce they knew of his distorted views. Peter followed Jesus. He molded his ministry on the teachings of the Messiah. Why would that change? Why would Yahweh change His mind so soon? You say the Jews had rejected Jesus and for this God turned His back on them in favor of the gentiles. Yet, Peter never recognized Saul’s ministry. He rejected it outright. Peter did not reject the gentiles for converting; he rejected Saul for perverting the teachings of Jesus. Two thousand years of hand-me-down hearsay will not suffice. When you tell your fold to have faith and believe with their hearts, you disempower them. When you say that you speak for God, you make them fear you.’

  Simon paused to contemplate his final words. Then, he said, ‘The power and authority you claim is neither God’s power nor His authority. It is your own. Yeshu set people free. Paul enslaved them—as you do now.’

  Santori stood amongst stunned colleagues. He was aghast at the words Simon had spoken. That it had come from a Jew made it even worse. What Simon had said could not be heard outside the Vatican’s walls. Santori could not allow it. But, without the letter in his possession, Simon had nothing. Without the evidence to back up their claims, the Church would be victorious.

  Jennifer was awestruck. As if from the lips of a Nazarene of old, Simon’s words had profound meaning. She had misjudged him. All the time she had been with him, he had not made one comment on their find. It had made her doubt him. Yet, all along, he had shared her views. How had she not seen it? The Nazarenes continued to exist, which meant they had not accepted Paul’s ministry. If they had, they would have been assimilated into the Roman Church. To this sect of Judaism, Paul was the false prophet.

  ‘You used Paul to forge a link between yourself and Jesus,’ Simon said finally. ‘But that doesn’t validate Paul. Paul is your god, not Jesus. Paul’s opposition to Peter made him anti-Jesus, and strictly speaking, it made him anti-Christ.’