Brigid of Kildare (22 page)

Declan remained seated, with a curiously reserved expression on his face. “We’re nearly there, Alex. Nearly.”

“Oh my God, what more do you want?”

“I want what all the other scholars and museums and collectors will want: a secondary source verifying this Decius. Otherwise, the whole thing could be labeled a hoax, a forgery.”

“Even with testing done on vellum and ink samples?”

“Even with testing done on vellum and ink samples.”

She knew he was right; their profession was rampant with forgeries, and all the players were raising the bar on proof. But she didn’t
want to hear it. “You’re looking for a miracle, Dec, and these are not biblical times.”

“What if you visited the Vatican’s secret archives?”

“You actually think I’m going to be able to find mention of a lowly fifth-century scribe in service to Pope Simplicius in that football field of records?”

“Those archives contain all the manuscripts concerning the exercise of papal power since the apostles’ times, acts that Decius might have recorded. And the archives aren’t secret anymore. As long as you have scholarly credentials, you can access them. Most of them, anyway.”

“I know. I’ve been there.”

“Then you know we might find some mention of Decius in whatever’s left of Simplicius’s pontifical records.”

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.

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.”

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.”