Chapter 8
Piazza di Santa Mario Maggiore
MARCO was horrified to receive a summons from Luigi Cardinal Amendola just after midnight. He realized the Cardinal must have made the official machinery in the Vatican move at full speed, for Amendola dispatched a personal courier with a summons for him to appear before a panel of inquiry at nine o'clock in the morning.
Marco was horrified to receive it. It was not a summons to the Vatican, but to a building in the Piazza di Santa Maria Maggiore. Sister Maria had once told the class that a freak fall of summer snow in the early days of the Christian Church had been seen as a miraculous sign, requiring the construction of a building to the glory of God. From then on the huge building filling the large piazza had fascinated him.
He knew he could do with a miracle himself as he got off the bus. It might not be the Inquisition, but the tall green-shuttered building concealed an ecclesiastical panel of inquiry. The carabinieri had already questioned him at length, but the need to dress up for them had not been an issue. This morning he hoped to make a good impression by wearing his black suit, although it had meant cleaning his best shoes.
The hallway smelt of wax. Five men were assembled in a large room on the second floor, wearing various mixtures of clerical black and shades of red, making the gathering very formal. Luigi Cardinal Amendola was heading the panel. Amendola, from the Greek for an almond tree. The overpowering Cardinal hardly characterized the frail blossom of spring. Next to him sat Monsignor Augusto Giorgio, a small man who was introduced as being on a Vatican select committee investigating the remains of the relic. There were two other church officials, neither of whose names registered with Marco. Then he noticed the old priest who had spoken to him yesterday morning in the Piazza Venezia. Father Josef Reinhardt.
Suddenly Marco felt a surge of confidence. He smiled at each man in turn as he was introduced. Unfortunately the smile seemed to provoke Amendola.
"I suppose you do know why you're here, Sartini?" The Cardinal's bushy black eyebrows met in a shallow V, but even these were almost hidden behind heavy, black-framed spectacles sitting firmly on a large, hooked nose. Marco remembered getting a toy disguise kit like this a long time ago at a Christmas party. Everyone knew Cardinal Amendola. His family had been connected with the Church for centuries. Marco recalled a choirboy once telling him, in all seriousness, that one of Amendola's ancestors had been a cardinal to Saint Peter!
Marco glanced round the gloomy room. Paintings of unknown clerics stared down from gilt frames, dark with age. They brought no inspiration. He spoke slowly and loudly. "It could be something I said on television last night." He stopped, and gave a broader smile.
"Sartini," chided Amendola, raising himself slightly in his chair so that whether by accident or design he appeared to grow taller and more menacing; "the fact is that you appeared on a public television station, apparently representing the Church, while wearing casual clothes. You admitted that you saw two men acting suspiciously outside the studios before the broadcast, yet you did absolutely nothing to prevent the seizure of the bronze head. And after the raid you spoke publicly on financial matters concerning the Church -- without obtaining permission from a higher authority. You even had the audacity to bring the personal life of the late Canon Angelo Levi into disrepute."
Marco raised his eyebrows, but decided not to risk asking from how high above permission should have been sought. "I didn't have time to give the matter much thought, Your Eminence."
The oldest member of the inquisition seemed to give Marco the slightest of winks. Marco had taken an instant liking to Father Josef Reinhardt yesterday in the Piazza Venezia, and the old priest seemed completely out of place in the company of these dry churchmen.
"He was only speaking the truth as he saw it," Marco could overhear Father Josef saying to Amendola in a loud whisper. "Perhaps the young man can explain what he meant about using the relic to raise money for the poor."
"Can you?" asked Amendola, looking up sharply.
Marco was taken aback by the intensity of the look. "Explain what I meant, Your Eminence?"
The Cardinal nodded, and began tapping his fingers impatiently on the table.
Marco shook his head. "For years the face of Christ must have been gathering dust somewhere in the Vatican, but it could have been put on display."
"The face of Christ?"
"People would have paid to see it. Surely you believe in helping the disadvantaged, Your Eminence. I certainly do."
An embarrassed shuffle of papers amongst the assembly encouraged Marco to continue with his disruption. He looked around. "Doesn't everyone here feel exactly the same?" He was pushing things a little, but this lot were starting to annoy him.
There was silence. He decided to be even more blunt. "Don't you see, Your Eminence, I was only saying what you would have said in the circumstances."
Amendola rose from his chair, but merely snorted before sitting down again, studiously referring to his notes. The notes looked extensive. This could be a long, hard ride.
Marco half listened as the questioning and reprimanding continued, but his thoughts kept turning to Natalia. It wasn't her fault, although she and the television interviewer had encouraged him to come out with a few maverick statements last night. And he'd been a willing enough party.
"Tell us, Sartini, why did you refer to the bronze head as the Head of Eusebius?"
"It wasn't my name. Other people have been using it. I suppose it got its name because it was once seen by the historian Eusebius." Marco frowned. What was Amendola up to now?
"Well, you are wrong, Sartini. Eusebius never saw this one. For it to have been from a statue he saw in the fourth century, the bronze casting would need to be more than sixteen hundred years old. Work it out for yourself, young man. And for it to be contemporary with our Lord and Savior, as believed by Eusebius, it would have to be almost two thousand years old."
Marco wondered where this line of reasoning was leading. The mathematics were clearly not a matter for dispute, but Amendola must be intending to blame him for the catastrophe.
The Cardinal began to sink back into his chair, seeming now to shrink as he had earlier seemed to inflate, although his aura remained impressive.
"Sartini, supposing I told you that laboratory analysis of the recovered fragments reveals minute traces of synthetic resins, and a probable date of manufacture within the past thirty years. What would you say to that?"
"I'd say something like praise the Lord." Marco felt a wave of relief.
"Would you indeed? Yes, I think I might be inclined to share in your joy."
Monsignor Augusto Giorgio had become agitated. "We are entering unhealthy territory," he said. "The facial features of a genuine bust would exhibit Christ's cultural background, his Jewish looks. Such a prospect appalls me. It seems we have been reprieved from a public airing of our treatment of the Jews throughout the history of the Church." He turned to Marco. "I want you to understand that there never was such a statue, so this discussion is purely hypothetical."
Amendola raised himself again, obviously unhappy with the interruption.
Marco shook his head. The Monsignor's concern over Christian and Jewish relations sounded pathetic, but at least he had not played a part in the destruction of a priceless relic. So why all the fuss? But Amendola had only said "Supposing."
"And is that what you're telling me, Your Eminence?"
"The inclusion of modern resins certainly explains why the object broke into so many pieces. But, Sartini, you must understand that there is still a considerable way for us to go in our inquiry." The Cardinal turned through his papers. "Monsignor Giorgio here will be in charge of investigating the authenticity of the so-called relic."
The small Monsignor raised his head haughtily at the mention of his name. Marco had encountered men like Augusto Giorgio before. Men who worried about their self importance.
"Sartini, we are here today to consider your own ... position
within the Church," continued Cardinal Amendola with a barely perceptible uncertainty in his voice. "I have been examining your records, and what do I find?" He paused, looked up, then returned to his notes, staring at them through his heavy rimmed glasses. "I find a young man who was connected with a woman's death in suspicious circumstances below the Via Sistina six years ago. An episode with certain inconsistencies in the evidence. You were perhaps fortunate to escape serious charges over your involvement. I find that you then became a second-hand car salesman, a womanizer -- an open womanizer, who was once married."
"The woman who died was my wife," said Marco quietly.
"Yes, quite." Amendola coughed to cover his confusion. "I am sorry if ... if I sounded callous. But no matter the reason by which you are now free of that bond, such a man is not everyone's idea of a priest who would be suitable to take up duties in his first parish. If you had behaved more responsibly last night, you would not be here now. Do I make myself clear?"
Marco refused to nod in the assent. He looked straight ahead.
Amendola continued with his sermon. "Very well, I must warn you that you may be required to appear here on a future occasion to answer further questions. I shall now read my provisional judgment, and we can terminate this meeting."
The Cardinal stood, as though preparing to deliver the death sentence on behalf of the Inquisition. Marco rose with him, standing to attention.
"Marco Sartini, this is a panel of inquiry, not an official ecclesiastical court. Your position will be considered in detail over the coming weeks. In the meantime, using the powers of the Holy Church committed to me, I direct that until the investigation is complete you are relieved of all duties pertaining to the ordination of the priesthood. That will be all."
Marco stared back. Reprimands he could cope with, but the Church was now his life, and his future had just been sliced away. And he'd come here prepared to go down fighting!
Amendola almost managed a hint of a smile. "Sometimes these matters are simply a formality, Sartini. You will remain here with Father Josef, as there is apparently a matter he wishes to discuss with you. I need hardly add that you are not to make any sort of statement on today's inquiry, either publicly or privately. And certainly not to television companies."
It was probably an attempt at humor by Amendola's standards. Marco refrained from responding. He stayed on his feet as the Cardinal and his entourage swept out of the chamber. Father Josef came over and put his right arm around him. The comforting hold was clearly a pledge of friendship, which Marco received with relief.
"Cheer up, Father Marco. Amendola is, I think you would agree, rather heavy on formalities. But his bark is possibly worse than his bite. Possibly. And he may not always mean to frighten. Now, we have some serious business to discuss."
Marco wasn't going to hide his anger. Relieved of his position of assistant parish priest -- and he had not even started to be one yet! But whatever he was expecting next, he was completely unprepared for the old man's startling proposition.
Shout in the Dark Page 12