Chapter 44
The Vatican
AT THREE MINUTES after seven in the morning the television crew of three were gathered around the black leather box in a small room below the Sistine Chapel.
"I'll be over in a minute," Marco called to the cameraman. He gave Natalia a friendly hug. It helped him draw strength. "Are you excited?"
There had been no opportunity for a private viewing of the contents. Natalia returned the hug, though he hardly noticed. His heart felt as though it was pushing pure adrenaline round his body. The bust was on the table, revealing the newly cleaned features of a bronze head skillfully modeled by an ancient craftsman.
One of the TV crew moved a light, and the face seemed to come alive as the shadows danced on the nose and the eyes. The expression changed from one of gravity to laughter. Marco bit his lip then smiled. The face of Jesus Christ. This face had been fashioned by a skilled artist who had seen Jesus talking to the people, and had probably seen him heal the woman of her internal bleeding, making her acceptable and clean in her own eyes and the eyes of the people. This face had been seen by Eusebius, and over a thousand years later it was given away by Il Ruinante, Donato Bramante.
Jesus of Nazareth, revered by the Brothers at Monte Sisto for centuries.
The features showed a younger man than Marco was expecting: a man of about thirty. An extremely short beard. Deep set eyes. Very definite mid eastern features. An expression that captured something that he could only describe as a look of laughter and love. This was not the sorrowful face of an older man seen in so many Western churches. Theologians and historians believed that Jesus was only thirty-three when he was crucified. So why the older man in subsequent images? The program tonight was going to cause more than ripples.
He heard raised voices outside. Monsignor Giorgio flung open the doors to the Vatican apartment and stormed into the room, followed by two members of the Swiss Guard in their red, blue and gold Renaissance uniforms.
The TV crew looked on as the Monsignor shouted, "How dare you! How dare you do this in secret!" He sounded so emotional that he was trembling. The Swiss Guards waited tensely for his instructions.
Marco pushed the TV Roma camera aside. This contretemps was not the sort of thing that should be shown to the world. He raised a hand in an attempt to restore some peace. "Father Josef will explain, when he comes back from London," he said firmly. "He thought this was the best way to do it."
"The best? The best for whom?" cried Augusto Giorgio.
"Father Josef arranged it with the Holy Father." Marco walked forward, keeping his voice steady under the withering glare of the Monsignor. He had a shiver of doubt. Please, God, let it be true.
"I'm holding you responsible for this, Sartini." Augusto Giorgio's voice could have filled the Basilica without need of the sound system. "His Holiness is out of Rome this week. He could not possibly have given any sort of permission."
Marco tried to sound calm but was finding it hard. "I think we should talk with the Holy Father. The phone is over there."
"And I suppose you have his number?"
Marco pulled the crumpled paper from the back pocket of his jeans. Going to the black telephone on the table at the end of the room he lifted the receiver and dialed.
A sudden noise outside the shuttered window made everyone turn. Pigeons, startled by the arrival of two more members of the Swiss Guard, were rising quickly into the early morning air.
Marco thought of the doves at Monte Sisto. The bitter sound of dispute in the room became a loud clatter of frantic wings.
A flutter of wings. Climbing, above the rocky outcrop, above the ruins.
High into the open skies, searching for peace.
Natalia moved close to take his hand. He stared across the room at the face looking from the open box. Old Savio had surely been wrong in the Piazza Venezia. A relic that could end the Church? Not the Church. This face would destroy the neo-Nazi doctrine that Christ had not been a Jew. The Church would weather the storm. Natalia tightened her grip, seeming reluctant to let him go again. The telephone was answered with a voice that Marco recognized immediately.
"Holiness? This is Marco Sartini. Father Marco Sartini. I think I can handle it, but I'm having a small problem with a member of your staff. Monsignor Augusto Giorgio would like to speak to you."