“Just like the canonical Gospels.” The bells of St. Peter’s Basilica tolled midday. “What do you suppose is going on behind the walls of the Vatican?”

“If I had to guess, Cardinal Albanese is desperately searching for Father Joshua. I fear what will happen if he finds him. As camerlengo, Albanese has enormous authority. Practically speaking, the Order of St. Helena is running the Roman Catholic Church. The question is, do they intend to relinquish their power? Or do they have a plan to keep it?”

“We still can’t prove that the Order killed Lucchesi.”

“Not yet. But we have five days to find the evidence.” Donati paused. “And the Gospel of Pilate, of course.”

“Where do we start?”

“Father Robert Jordan.”

“Who is he?”

“My professor from the Gregoriana.”

“Is he still in Rome?”

Donati shook his head. “He entered a monastery a few years ago. He doesn’t use a phone or e-mail. We’ll have to drive up there, but there’s no guarantee he’ll see us. He’s quite brilliant. And difficult, I’m afraid.”

“Where’s the monastery?”

“A small town of considerable religious importance on the slopes of Monte Subasio in Umbria. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. In fact, I believe you and Chiara used to live not far from there.”

Gabriel permitted himself a brief smile. It had been a long time since he had been to Assisi.

26

ROME—ASSISI

TRANSPORT REQUIRED A MINIMUM OF four hours to acquire an untraceable car, so Gabriel, after changing into his own clothing, walked to a Hertz outlet near the Vatican walls and rented an Opel Corsa hatchback. He was followed there inexpertly by a man on a motorcycle. Black trousers, black shoes, a black nylon coat, a black helmet with a tinted visor. The same motorcyclist followed Gabriel back to the Jesuit Curia, where he collected Donati.

“That’s him,” said Donati, peering into the sideview mirror. “That’s definitely Father Graf.”

“I think I’ll pull over and have a quiet word with him.”

“Perhaps you should just lose him instead.”

He put up a good fight, especially in the traffic-clogged streets of central Rome, but by the time they reached the Autostrada, Gabriel was confident they were not being followed. The afternoon had turned cloudy and cold. So had Gabriel’s mood. He leaned his head against the window, a hand balanced atop the wheel.

“Was it something I said?” asked Donati at last.

“What’s that?”

“You haven’t uttered a word in ten minutes.”

“I was enjoying the remarkable beauty of the Italian countryside.”

“Try again,” said Donati.

“I was thinking about my mother. And about the number tattooed on her arm. And about the candles that burned day and night in the little house where I grew up in Israel. They were for my grandparents, who were gassed upon arrival at Auschwitz and fed into the fires of the crematoria. They had no other grave but those candles. They were ashes on the wind.” Gabriel was silent for a moment. “That’s what I was thinking about, Luigi. I was thinking about how differently the history of the Jews might have unfolded if the Church hadn’t declared war on us in the Gospels.”

“Your characterization is unfair.”

“Do you know how many Jews there should be in the world? Two hundred million. We could be more numerous than the populations of Germany and France combined. But we were wiped out time and time again, culminating with the pogrom to end all pogroms.” Quietly, Gabriel added, “All because of those nine words.”

“It must be said that throughout the Middle Ages, the Church intervened on countless occasions to protect the Jews of Europe.”

“Why did they need protecting in the first place?” Gabriel answered his own question. “They needed protection because of what the Church was teaching. And it also must be said, Excellency, that long after Jews were emancipated in Western Europe, they remained ghettoized in the city controlled by the papacy. Where did the Nazis get the idea of making the Jews wear the Star of David? They had to look no further than Rome.”

“One has to distinguish between religious anti-Judaism and racial anti-Semitism.”

“That is a distinction without a difference. Jews were resented because they were shopkeepers and moneylenders. And do you know why they were shopkeepers and moneylenders? Because for more than a millennium, they were forbidden to do anything else. And yet even now, after the horrors of the Holocaust, after all the films and books and memorials and attempts to change hearts and minds, the longest hatred endures. Germany admits it cannot protect its Jewish citizens from harm. French Jews are moving to Israel in record numbers to escape anti-Semitism. In America neo-Nazis march openly while Jews are being shot and killed in their synagogues. What is the source of this irrational hatred? Could it be that for nearly two thousand years the Church taught that the Jews were collectively guilty of deicide, that we were the very murderers of God?”

“Yes,” admitted Donati. “But what shall we do about it?”

“Find the Gospel of Pilate.”

South of Orvieto they turned off the Autostrada and headed into the rolling hills and thick forests of Donati’s native Umbria. By the time they reached Perugia, the sun had burned a hole in the clouds. To the east, at the base of Monte Subasio, glowed the distinctive red marble of Assisi.

“There’s the Abbey of St. Peter.” Donati pointed out the bell tower at the northern end of the city. “It’s inhabited by a small group of monks from the Cassinese Congregation. They live according to the Rule of Saint Benedict. Ora et labora: pray and work.”

“Sounds a bit like the job description of the chief of the Office.”

Donati laughed. “The monks support a number of local organizations, including a hospital and an orphanage. They agreed to give Father Jordan lodging in the abbey when he retired from the Gregoriana.”

“Why Assisi?”

“After working for forty years as a Jesuit academic and writer, he longed for a more contemplative existence. But you can be sure he finds time to research and write. He’s one of the world’s foremost authorities on the apocryphal gospels.”

“What happens if he won’t see us?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” remarked Donati.

Gabriel left the Opel in a car park outside the city walls and followed Donati through the archway of the Porta San Pietro. The abbey was a few paces along a shadowed street, behind walls of red stone. The outer door was locked. Donati rang the bell. There was no answer.

He checked the time. “Midafternoon prayers. Let’s take a walk.”

They set out along the street against a flow of outward-bound package tourists, Gabriel in dark trousers and a leather coat, Donati in his magenta-trimmed cassock. He attracted no more than passing interest. The Abbey of St. Peter was not the only monastery or convent in Assisi. It was a city of religious.

It became Christian, explained Donati, just two hundred years after the Crucifixion. St. Francis was born in Assisi at the end of the twelfth century. Known for his lavish clothing and circle of rich friends, he encountered a beggar one afternoon in the marketplace and was so moved he gave the man everything he had in his pockets. Within a few years he was living as a beggar himself. He cared for lepers in a lazar house, worked as a lowly kitchen servant in a monastery, and in 1209 founded a religious order that required its members to embrace a life of total and complete poverty.