The Thirteenth Apostle (6 page)

He had given his students permission to intervene during his lectures, so long as their questions were brief. But ever since he had come to the heart of the matter, he had been confronted by a score of frozen statues.

“I know we're straying away from the beaten track, that this isn't what they taught you in catechism classes. But the text gives us no choice… You're in for quite a few more surprises!” Such had been his line.

His classes were the result of years of solitary study and reflection. Time and again he had sought in vain, in the library of the Abbey to which he had access, for certain books which, as he knew from a specialized review to which Father Andrei as librarian subscribed, had only just been published.

“Well, Father Nil, the fact is: they've finally brought to light a new batch of Dead Sea scrolls! I'd never have believed it… The jars were discovered fifty years ago in the caves at Qumran, and nothing's been published since Yigael Yadin died: more
than half these texts are still unknown to the public. It's an incredible scandal!”

Nil smiled. In the intimacy of this office, he had discovered in Father Andrei a man of passion, who was aware of all the latest developments. He loved their long conversations behind closed doors. Andrei listened as he told him about his research, his head bent slightly forwards. Then with a word or two, or sometimes a silence, he would give his disciple his approval, or point him the way forward as he came out with his most daring hypotheses.

The man he could now see in front of him was so different from the starchy librarian, the strict guardian of the three keys, who had always been such a familiar figure in the Abbey on the river Loire!

The building had been rebuilt after the war, and the cloister had been left unfinished: it formed a U shape open to the plain. The libraries occupied the top storey of the three wings – central, north and south – just under the roofs.

Four years earlier, Father Andrei had seen considerable sums of money coming in, with instructions to purchase particular titles in the fields of dogma and history. He had been thrilled at this opportunity to place his knowledge at the service of these miraculous gifts of cash. The shelves filled up with rare books, editions that were difficult to find or out of print, in all languages both ancient and modern. The opening of the special theological school, closely followed by the Vatican, was obviously responsible for the creation of this marvellous research tool.

There was, however, an unusual restriction. Each of the eight teaching monks appointed to the theological college possessed just
one key
, the key corresponding to the subject he taught. Nil, who taught the New Testament, had been given the key
to the central wing, over whose entrance was a wooden notice engraved with the words:
Biblical Studies
. The libraries of the northern wing (
Historical Studies
) and the southern wing (
Theological Studies
) remained obstinately closed to him.

Only Andrei and the Father Abbot possessed the keys to all three libraries, held together on a special keyring, which they never let out of their sight.

Right at the start of his research, Nil had asked his friend for permission to gain access to the historical library.

“There are certain books I really need and I can't find them in the central wing. You told me one day they'd been catalogued and placed in the north wing – why on earth can't I get in? It's ridiculous!”

For the first time, Nil saw his friend's face grow distant. Looking strained and edgy, Andrei eventually told him, with tears in his eyes:

“Father Nil… If I told you that, I was wrong to do so. Forget what I said. Please,
never
ask me for the key to one of the two libraries to which you no longer have access. You must understand, my friend, I can't do just what I want. Father Abbot's orders are strict, and they come… from a higher authority. Nobody can have access to all three wings of our library. It keeps me awake at night: it's not ridiculous, it's tragic.
I
have access to all three libraries, and I've often passed my time there ferreting around and reading. For the peace of your soul, in the name of our friendship, I beg you: just stick to what you find in the central wing.”

Whereupon he had relapsed into a heavy silence, which was unusual when he found himself alone with Nil.

Feeling out of his depth, the teacher of exegesis had had to satisfy himself with the treasures that his one key opened up for him.

* * *

“His narrative shows that the principal author of the Gospel according to St John knows Jerusalem well, and has friends and acquaintances there: he's a wealthy, cultivated Judaean, whereas the Apostle John lives in Galilee, and is poor and illiterate… how could he be the author of the text that bears his name?”

As he spoke, the faces before him darkened into frowns. Some shook their heads disapprovingly – but nobody spoke up. This silence on the part of his audience disquieted Nil more than anything else. His pupils had come from the most traditionalist families in the country. They had been handpicked to form the spearhead of tomorrow's Church. Why had he been appointed to this post? He was so happy when he could work in peace and quiet, all by himself!

Nil knew that he would not be able to present them with all his conclusions. He would never have dreamt that teaching exegesis would one day be a perilous acrobatic exercise. When he'd been a student in Rome, together with his friend, the warm and brotherly Rembert Leeland, it had all seemed so easy…

The first bell for mass started slowly to chime.

“Thank you. See you next week.”

The students rose and started to tidy away their notes. At the back of the room, a seminarist in a cassock, his skull clean-shaven, lingered for a moment as he wrote a few lines on a small piece of paper – of the sort used by monks in order to communicate with one another without breaking the silence.

He folded the paper in two, pursing his lips. Nil absentmindedly noted that his fingernails were bitten. Finally the student got up and walked past his teacher without even looking at him.

* * *

While Nil robed himself in his sacerdotal apparel in the sacristy that smelt pleasantly of fresh wax, a man in a cassock slipped into the common room and went over to the pigeonholes reserved for the reverend fathers. After he had glanced all round to ensure there was nobody else in the room, a hand with well-chewed fingernails slipped a piece of paper folded in two into the pigeonhole of the Reverend Father Abbot.

12

If it had not been for the Venetian bracket lamps that shed a warm, diffuse light, the room might have appeared sinister. It was long and narrow, without windows, and the only furniture in it was a table of waxed wood, behind which were aligned thirteen seats, backs to the wall. In the centre was a sort of throne in Neapolitan-Angevin style, covered in scarlet velvet. And, on either side, another six simple chairs, their arms ending in lions' heads.

The elegant panelling on the entrance door concealed a thick layer of reinforced sheeting.

The table was about five yards away from the wall, which was completely bare. Completely? No. There was a panel of dark wood set into the brickwork. Against the dark mahogany, the livid pallor of a bloody crucifix of Jansenist inspiration stood out, forming an almost obscene stain of colour under the combined glare of two spotlights hidden just above the central throne.

This throne had never been occupied, and it never would be: it reminded the members of the assembly that the presence of the Master of the Society of St Pius V was entirely spiritual, albeit
eternal. For four centuries, Jesus Christ, the resurrected God, had sat here in spirit and in truth, flanked by twelve faithful apostles, six on his right hand and six on his left. Just as at the last supper he had shared with his disciples, two thousand years ago, in the upper room in the western part of Jerusalem.

Each of these twelve chairs was occupied by a man wearing a very loose-fitting alb, the cowl flung forward over the head. In front of each face, a simple piece of white linen was fastened by two buttons level with the cheekbones: the lower half of the face was masked, and only two eyes and a strip of forehead could be seen.

Lined up facing the wall as they were, they would all have needed to lean forwards and turn their heads forty-five degrees to see the silhouettes of their companions at table. Such contortions were obviously forbidden, just as it went without saying that they would show their hands as rarely as possible. Their arms were folded on the table, and the openings of their wide sleeves were designed to fit into one another easily, covering the wrists and hands of the participants.

Thus it was that, whenever they spoke, the members of this assembly did not address each other directly, but spoke to the bleeding image placed opposite them. If they could all hear – without turning their heads – what was said, it was because the Master, mute on his cross, gave his consent.

In this room whose very existence is unknown to the common run of mortals, the Society of St Pius V was holding its three thousand six hundred and third meeting since its foundation.

Set at the right of the empty throne, a single participant had placed, flat on the table – which was completely bare – his chubby hands: on his right-hand ring finger, a dark green
jasper glittered when he rose; he mechanically smoothed down his alb over his slightly protruding abdomen.

“My brothers, three exterior questions that we have already discussed in this very place need to occupy our minds today, and there is a fourth… one that is painful for all of us.”

A complete silence greeted this declaration: everyone waited to hear what would come next.

“At the request of the Cardinal Prefect of the Congregation, you have been informed of a little problem that has arisen recently in France, in a Benedictine abbey that is under very strict surveillance. You gave me carte blanche to deal with it. Well, I have the pleasure of being able to tell you that the problem has been solved in a satisfactory manner: the monk whose recent remarks were giving us cause for alarm is no longer in any position to harm the Holy Catholic Church.”

One of those present slightly raised his forearms, folded under his sleeves, to signify that he wished to speak.

“You mean that he has been… suppressed?”

“I would not use that term,
offensivum auribus nostris
. I have to inform you that he inopportunely fell from the Rome express that was taking him back to the Abbey, and that he died instantly. The French authorities have decided it was suicide. I thus commend him to your prayers: suicide, as you know, is a terrible crime against the creator of all life.”

“But… Brother Rector, wasn't it dangerous to call on the services of a foreign agent to make this… suicide possible? Can we really be sure of his discretion?”

“I met the Palestinian while I was staying in Cairo, several years ago: ever since then, he has proved most reliable. His interests coincide with ours on this occasion, as he perfectly well understood. He obtained help from an old acquaintance of his, an Israeli agent: the men from Hamas and those from
Mossad are at each other's throats, but they know how to lend each other a hand when they have a common cause – and this is the case here, a fact which serves our own plans. Only the result matters: the means employed must be efficacious, rapid and definitive. And I can vouch for the absolute discretion of these two agents. They are being very well remunerated.”

“Indeed: the thousands of dollars you have mentioned to us represent a considerable sum. Is this expense really justified?”

The Rector turned to his questioner, something he very rarely did.

“My brother, this investment is paltry in comparison with the profits that it can generate. These I estimate to be, not in the thousands, but in the millions of dollars. If we achieve our aims, we will at last have the wherewithal to accomplish our mission. Remember the sudden, vast wealth acquired by the Templars – well, we shall be drawing on the same sources as they did. But we will succeed where they failed.”

“And the Germigny slab?”

“I was coming to that. The discovery of the slab would have passed unnoticed if Father Andrei had not been alerted to it because of the geographical proximity of his abbey. He had the unfortunate idea of going to visit the spot straight away, so he was the first to read the inscription. We knew of its existence thanks to the file on the Templars.”

“You have already told us this.”

“On his recent trip to Rome, he reluctantly passed some comments which seemed to prove that he was linking together all the information in his possession. This is extremely dangerous; we never know where it will all end, and our Society was founded by the sainted Pope Pius V to avoid” – and here he bowed, first to the empty throne on his left and
then to the crucifix before him – “any sullying or tarnishing of the Master's memory and image. During the Church's long history, all those who have tried to do so have been eliminated. Often in time, but sometimes too late – and then there was the most dreadful turmoil, and it caused considerable suffering: think of Origen, Arius or even Nestorius, as well as many others… The team from the Rome express will do whatever is necessary, at my request: the Germigny slab will soon be safe from prying eyes, in this very place.”

All present heaved a sigh of relief.

“But we now have another problem that has risen from the first,” the Rector added.

Several heads automatically turned towards him.

“For some time, the late Father Andrei seems to have been arousing the curiosity of a kind of disciple: one of the monks, a professor in the special theology college of the abbey in question. Oh, it may be nothing more than a false alarm, triggered by a message that the Father Abbot has forwarded to us. A student attending the exegesis course of this professor – a certain Father Nil – has revealed that he had heard him putting forward positions that undermine sound teaching on the Gospel according to St John. Given the recent circumstances, the Father Abbot decided it was best to warn us straight away.”