The Thirteenth Apostle (7 page)

Several brothers looked up: the Gospel according to St John was at the very heart of their mission, and everything that might affect it needed to be closely analysed.

“Normally, the orthodoxy of a Catholic exegete concerns the Congregation, and this monk is not the first whom that body will have had to put in his place…”

There was the ghost of a smile under the veils covering the faces of some of those present.

“…but the circumstances here are rather special. The late lamented Father Andrei was a scholar of exceptional ability, and he had an acute and inventive intelligence. He is no longer capable of inflicting any harm, but what did he manage to suggest to his disciple Nil? As the Father Abbot has explained to us, a close friendship – always regrettable in an abbey – bound together these two intellectuals. In other words, might the poison that had seeped into Father Andrei's mind also have infected Father Nil? We have no means of knowing.”

One of the brothers lifted his folded arms.

“Tell me, Brother Rector… This Father Nil… does he ever happen to take the Rome express too?”

“He might well do so. But a second suicide among the monks of the Abbey is something we can't envisage. Neither the French Government nor public opinion would be easy to convince, given the closeness of the events. As it happens it is a matter of some urgency, since this monk teaches on a regular basis and seems bent on bringing his students up to date with his… well, with some of the conclusions he has drawn from his research. What are they? We don't know, but we cannot run any risks: the Cardinal is placing a great deal of hope on the monastic theology college of St Martin, and he wants it to be absolutely beyond reproach.”

“What do you suggest?”

The Rector sat down and withdrew his hands and his ring into the shelter of the sleeves of his alb.

“I do not know yet; it's all happened so recently. The first thing we need to do is find out what this monk knows, or – if he doesn't as yet know anything very serious – work out how far he might go. I'll let you know.”

He paused, and stared intently at the crucifix, whose ivory was stained by a blood which seemed to have dried and clotted
over the centuries. The next question was going to be more difficult: he couldn't beat around the bush. Every brother, after all, expected the Society to apply its statutes.

Even when these required the death of one of their number.

“Each of you knows nothing, or almost nothing, about the brother sitting next to him at this moment. So it falls to me to carry out the terrible task of protecting our Society, should the need arise.”

The Rector of the Society of St Pius V was appointed for life. When he felt close to death, he designated from among the brothers the one who would succeed him – and who, in turn, would be the only one to know the identity of his eleven companions, and to be known by them. Most of the rectors, since 1570, had had the good taste to die before they became incapable. Sometimes, it had been necessary to give a helping hand to those who clung to life more than to their Master: the Eleven kept rigorous tabs on the capabilities of their leader. There was a protocol for such cases – and it was precisely this protocol that was about to be applied, but this time to a brother.

“One of us, I very much regret to say, has recently demonstrated his inability to respect our principal rule, that of complete and utter confidentiality. His venerable age, no doubt, has weakened his reflexes.”

One of those present started to tremble, and the sleeves of his alb slipped down to reveal bony hands with prominent veins.

“Brother, please cover yourself!… Very well: you know the procedure applied to the guilty man. I am giving you due warning, so that this very evening you may begin the time of fasting, prayer and severe penitence that always accompanies
the definitive end of a brother's mission. We must help him to make ready, and keep him company on the path that he is now to take. Total abstinence on the day before our next gathering, and discipline with the metal scourge morning and evening, every day, for as long as it takes to recite the
Miserere
– or longer if you wish. We will not stint our affection for the brother who has shared our responsibilities for so long, and from whom we will soon need to be parted.”

Calfo did not like having to apply this protocol to one of the Twelve. He gazed intently at the crucifix: ever since he had presided over the gatherings of his Society, the Master had seen and heard many such cases.

“Thank you. We have until the next session to prove to our brother, in secret, the strength of the love we bear him.”

The brothers rose and made their way towards the armourplated door at the far end.

13

Gospels according to Matthew and John

As the sun rose on the Saturday of Passover, its gleam caught the tiles of the
impluvium
. Sitting on the rim of the basin in the centre, exhausted after two days that had witnessed the total destruction of so many hopes, the Judaean sighed: he would have to go up to the upper room where the Eleven had taken refuge in a panic-stricken flock. Jesus had been delivered to Pilate, crucified at noon the day before… It was a catastrophe beyond their worst imaginings.

He finally made up his mind to move and slowly climbed the steps leading to the first storey, where he pushed open the
door through which he had watched Judas exit on Thursday evening. A single small light was burning in the huge room. He made out shadows sitting here and there on the floor. Nobody was speaking. These terrorized Galileans, forced into hiding – so this was all that remained of the Israel of the new age.

A shadow detached itself from the wall and came over to him.

“Well?”

Peter stared arrogantly at him.

“He will never accept that we've failed,” he thought to himself. “He will never accept having to be in my debt by taking refuge at my home like this, just as he never accepted my privileged relationship with Jesus.”

“Well, Pilate authorized Jesus's body to be taken down from the cross yesterday evening. As it was too late to give him the ritual treatment, he was placed provisionally in a nearby tomb, which happens to belong to Joseph of Arimathea, a sympathizer.”

“Who transported the body?”

“Nicodemus carried the head and Joseph the feet. And some women, acting as mourners – the usual ones, we know them well: Mary of Magdala and her friends.”

Peter bit his lower lip and punched the palm of his left hand.

“How shameful! What a… a humiliation! The final homage is always paid to a dead man by the members of his family! Neither Mary, nor his brother James were there… just sympathizers! The Master really died like a dog.”

The Judaean gazed at him ironically.

“Is it the fault of Mary his mother, of James and his three other brothers, or his sisters, that the preparations for your insurrection were carried out in the greatest secrecy? Is it their
fault that everything went wrong, in just a few hours, in such a tragic and unexpected way? Is it their fault that Caiaphas lied, that Jesus was taken before Pilate yesterday morning? That he was crucified without further ado, without any trial? Whose fault is it?”

Peter bowed his head. It was he who had teamed up with his old Zealot friends, it was he who had convinced Judas to do the dirty work, it was he who was ultimately responsible for everything. He knew as much, but he could not acknowledge it. Not in front of this man, this usurper, who continued his tirade.

“Where were
you
when they laid Jesus on the beam of wood, when they hammered the nails into his wrists? Yesterday at midday, I was there, hiding in the crowd. I heard the horrible noise of the hammer blows, I saw the blood and the water flowing from his side when the legionary finished him off with a thrust of his spear. I am the only one here who can testify that Jesus the Nazorean died like a man, without complaining, without uttering a word of reproach to us, even though we had allowed him to fall into this trap. Where were you all?”

Peter did not reply. The treachery of Caiaphas, Jesus delivered to the Romans, all these unexpected events had rendered their preparations for the insurrection futile. Like the others, at the very moment the Master was dying in agony, he had been hiding somewhere in the Lower City. As far away as possible from the Roman legionaries, as far away as possible from the western gate of Jerusalem and its crosses. Yes, this man alone had been present, he was the only one to have
seen
; he alone would now be able to testify to the death of Jesus, to his courage and his dignity. From now on he would be able to milk this fact for all it was worth, to strut and boast every hour of the day – the impostor!

He needed to seize back the initiative.
He
was the leader here. He drew the other man over to the window.

“Come. We need to talk.”

Peter gazed out into the night for a few moments. Everything was dark in Jerusalem. He turned round and broke the heavy silence.

“Two urgent problems. First, Jesus's body: none of us can accept seeing it being thrown into a common grave, like all those condemned to death. It would be an insult to his memory.”

The Judaean glanced at the indistinct shapes slumped along the walls of the upper room. Obviously, none of them would be able to offer the dead man a decent burial place. Joseph of Arimathea would not accept having Jesus in his family vault for ever. They needed to think of something else.

“There might be a way out… The Essenes always viewed Jesus as one of them – even if he never agreed to join their sect. For a long time I was part of their lay community: I know them well. They will certainly be prepared to place his body in one of their burial grounds in the desert.

“Can you get in touch with them? Right away?”

“Eliezer lives nearby, I'll take care of it all. And the second problem?”

Peter looked the other man straight in the eye – just then, the moon emerged from behind a cloud and heightened his rugged features. It was the former Zealot who replied, in harsh tones:

“The other problem is Judas. And I'll take care of
him
.”

“Judas?”

“Did you know that this morning he went to the Temple to kick up a fuss? Did you know that he accused the High Priest of
felony, and that he called God to witness between Caiaphas and himself, in front of the crowd? According to Jewish superstition, one of the two must now die at God's hand. Caiaphas knows as much, and he'll have him arrested: then he'll talk. Both you and I will be unmasked. Me in particular. For the priests, it's of no importance. But think of the sympathizers: if they learn that it's because of us that Jesus was captured – even if we had no other intention than of ensuring his safety – then we have no future to speak of. Do you see what I'm saying?”

The Judaean stared in stupefaction at the Galilean. “What future?” he thought. “You've only just managed to save your wretched skin from a botched venture. What future do you have, other than going back to your fishing nets? You should never have left them in the first place!”

He said nothing. Peter bowed his head, and his face was again plunged into darkness.

“This man has lost his head, he's become really dangerous. We need to do something to eliminate that danger. Don't you worry about it, I'll look after Judas.”

And his hand instinctively caressed his left thigh, where his
sica
rubbed against his flesh.

14

Acts of the Apostles

Leaving the Judaean standing there open-mouthed, Peter left the room, crossed the
impluvium
and slipped out of the house. The day was dawning tremulously on this Passover Saturday. The streets would be empty: he knew where he could find Judas.

He threaded his way through the labyrinth of ever narrower streets in the Lower City, where the cobblestones ran out and the sand crunched under his sandals.

He knocked at a door.

The anxious face of a veiled woman peered out.

“Peter! But… at this time of day?”

“It's not you I've come to see, woman. It's the Iscariot. Is he here?”

She still did not let him in, and lowered her voice.

“Yes, he arrived in the middle of the night. He was in a real panic. He really seemed out of his wits… He begged me to hide him until the end of the festival. He said that he had publicly accused the High Priest Caiaphas of treachery, and he called God to witness – now one of them must die.”

“You don't believe all that, do you?”

“I am a disciple of Jesus, like you: he has delivered us from all those fables that keep the people in thrall.”

Peter smiled at her.

“In that case,” he said, “you have nothing to fear: I've come to reassure Judas. God is just, he knows that he has an upright heart. Judas was wrong to call him to witness between himself and the High Priest. Ask him to step outside, I want a word with him.”

The woman hesitated, stared at Peter for a while and closed the door in his face.

The apostle wandered a little further on. There were three low-roofed houses at the dead end of the street; their outside shutters were drawn. Jerusalem was still asleep, after spending the night reciting the Passover Seder.

A noise made him start. He turned round. Judas was standing in front of him.

“Peter!
Shalom
!”

He was deadly pale. There were shadows under his eyes, and his hair was unkempt, giving him a haggard air. He stared at Peter in some disquiet. Peter did not return his greeting, but merely nodded. Judas took the initiative.

“If only you knew… We were betrayed, Peter, betrayed by the High Priest in person. He had sworn that Jesus's life would be safe. And yesterday at dawn, I saw the master being led before Pilate in chains. Then…”

“Then you lost your head!” Peter replied in cutting tones.

“Then I wanted to remind Caiaphas of our agreement. And I called God to witness between him and me.”