Richter. But there will be other Jonahs, other cardinals. Until the world becomes more enlightened, this danger will be with us. The document must be recovered.”
In the silence, all eyes rested upon Livia. It seemed to her she was seeing the Pontifex, the entire Conclave, from a great distance; but with exquisite clarity just the same.
“The priest,” she heard herself say. “Father Kelly.”
“You will need him,” the Pontifex replied. “We’re fairly certain Mario Damiani left instructions of some sort to the place where he hid the Concordat, where Jonah Richter stumbled upon it.”
“‘Stumbled upon’!” Cartelli scoffed. “More likely, has been obsessively searching for under our very noses.”
“Perhaps,” the Pontifex said evenly. “In any case, Mario Damiani was a man with enormous contempt for the Church. A very intelligent man, also. He would have understood the Concordat might have to pass decades, perhaps centuries, in its hiding place. Concealing it on Church property would be a sensible decision: Church-owned buildings are the last to be demolished, are rarely even renovated beyond minimal structural repair. Such a course would have appealed to Damiani’s sense of irony, also. He’d have chosen carefully, appropriately. If Jonah Richter has already located the document’s hiding place, an expert in Church history might be able to right the balance.”
“Also,” said Cartelli drily, “we do not like the idea of a priest running around loose, digging into our past. We’d like an eye kept on him.”
“So you want me to enlist Father Kelly in my search?”
“Or offer to aid his,” said the Pontifex. “An art historian who’s lived a long time in Rome—you could be valuable to him. Our information is that Father Kelly is an obsessive researcher. He’s been charged with an important task. He might welcome the help. But bear in mind, the priest has no deadline and feels no sense of urgency. We do.”
“If he refuses?”
“Persuade him.”
“If that involves telling him—the truth? About the Noantri?”
The Counsellors glanced at one another. The Pontifex didn’t take his eyes off Livia. “Then you will tell him. We have debated this. Father Kelly is a scholar of great achievement and deep intellectual curiosity. It strains credulity to think that Cardinal Cossa expected once he found the Concordat, he would not read it.”
“Does he believe as Cardinal Cossa does, about us?”
“They all do,” Cartelli said with disgust.
The Pontifex, for the first time, turned on Cartelli a look of mild impatience; but he didn’t correct her.
“If Father Kelly doesn’t yet know the contents of the Concordat, he most likely doesn’t know the truth of our existence, either,” he said. “But Cardinal Cossa has been grooming this young man for some time. He probably intended to make him privy to that secret as he advanced in the Church. Father Kelly will almost certainly know one day.”
“And so you are giving me permission to tell him now?”
“My,” Cartelli said, “why suddenly so obedient? I don’t recall you asking for permission the last time.”
Livia’s cheeks burned. The last time: when she had told Jonah. Revealed what she was, who the Noantri were. She had wanted to share with him the deepest part of herself, and to make him comprehend her certainty and her fears: what could be theirs in a life together, and what could not. The risk had been that he’d react as so many always had, with fear, with revulsion. She’d wanted him to know she understood that and was willing to take that chance, for him. From the start of time lovers had promised to climb the highest mountain, swim the deepest ocean, to prove their love, but Livia had offered Jonah a greater gift: their love itself, to claim or destroy.
And he’d been neither afraid nor repulsed. Nor merely accepting. Amused, at first, believing she was joking with him. Then, once persuaded, he was thrilled, and
In the silence, all eyes rested upon Livia. It seemed to her she was seeing the Pontifex, the entire Conclave, from a great distance; but with exquisite clarity just the same.
“The priest,” she heard herself say. “Father Kelly.”
“You will need him,” the Pontifex replied. “We’re fairly certain Mario Damiani left instructions of some sort to the place where he hid the Concordat, where Jonah Richter stumbled upon it.”
“‘Stumbled upon’!” Cartelli scoffed. “More likely, has been obsessively searching for under our very noses.”
“Perhaps,” the Pontifex said evenly. “In any case, Mario Damiani was a man with enormous contempt for the Church. A very intelligent man, also. He would have understood the Concordat might have to pass decades, perhaps centuries, in its hiding place. Concealing it on Church property would be a sensible decision: Church-owned buildings are the last to be demolished, are rarely even renovated beyond minimal structural repair. Such a course would have appealed to Damiani’s sense of irony, also. He’d have chosen carefully, appropriately. If Jonah Richter has already located the document’s hiding place, an expert in Church history might be able to right the balance.”
“Also,” said Cartelli drily, “we do not like the idea of a priest running around loose, digging into our past. We’d like an eye kept on him.”
“So you want me to enlist Father Kelly in my search?”
“Or offer to aid his,” said the Pontifex. “An art historian who’s lived a long time in Rome—you could be valuable to him. Our information is that Father Kelly is an obsessive researcher. He’s been charged with an important task. He might welcome the help. But bear in mind, the priest has no deadline and feels no sense of urgency. We do.”
“If he refuses?”
“Persuade him.”
“If that involves telling him—the truth? About the Noantri?”
The Counsellors glanced at one another. The Pontifex didn’t take his eyes off Livia. “Then you will tell him. We have debated this. Father Kelly is a scholar of great achievement and deep intellectual curiosity. It strains credulity to think that Cardinal Cossa expected once he found the Concordat, he would not read it.”
“Does he believe as Cardinal Cossa does, about us?”
“They all do,” Cartelli said with disgust.
The Pontifex, for the first time, turned on Cartelli a look of mild impatience; but he didn’t correct her.
“If Father Kelly doesn’t yet know the contents of the Concordat, he most likely doesn’t know the truth of our existence, either,” he said. “But Cardinal Cossa has been grooming this young man for some time. He probably intended to make him privy to that secret as he advanced in the Church. Father Kelly will almost certainly know one day.”
“And so you are giving me permission to tell him now?”
“My,” Cartelli said, “why suddenly so obedient? I don’t recall you asking for permission the last time.”
Livia’s cheeks burned. The last time: when she had told Jonah. Revealed what she was, who the Noantri were. She had wanted to share with him the deepest part of herself, and to make him comprehend her certainty and her fears: what could be theirs in a life together, and what could not. The risk had been that he’d react as so many always had, with fear, with revulsion. She’d wanted him to know she understood that and was willing to take that chance, for him. From the start of time lovers had promised to climb the highest mountain, swim the deepest ocean, to prove their love, but Livia had offered Jonah a greater gift: their love itself, to claim or destroy.
And he’d been neither afraid nor repulsed. Nor merely accepting. Amused, at first, believing she was joking with him. Then, once persuaded, he was thrilled, and
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