Adrian D'Hage - The Omega scroll

‘Coffee, Eminence?’ Sister Maria protested but Petroni was not to be dissuaded.

‘I haven’t totally lost my skills in that area,’ he said, smiling. ‘I insist, you work far too hard.’

‘You are most kind, Eminence.’ Sister Maria withdrew, grateful for an early night.

‘The problem is, Allegra,’ Petroni continued, ‘as I shall explain to you shortly, you have done so well that I now need to find a way to put your new-found knowledge to the best effect. Do you have any suggestions?’

Allegra paused before deciding to follow the freedom she had found at Ca’ Granda.

‘If I were given a choice, I think there is considerable scope for research into the Dead Sea Scrolls.’

Lorenzo Petroni smiled. A cold, hard, humourless smile. His eyes glittered and he could hear a drumming of blood in his ears. Inwardly he thought, How dare she. Outwardly he replied, ‘We shall have to take that into account. Shall we?’

Petroni served coffee and a late-picked dessert wine in his private lounge off to one side of his study. Allegra admired the fine art and delicate sculptures scattered around the room although she was surprised and a little concerned when Petroni chose to sit next to her, very closely, on one of three plush crimson lounges that were arranged in an open square around the fire. Allegra was very aware that she was feeling a little light-headed. It seemed that during dinner her glass had never been allowed to get below half-full. She sipped on the dessert wine sparingly.

‘I have here a letter from the Vice Chancellor of Ca’ Granda,’ Petroni said, opening a red folder that had been pre-positioned on the coffee table. ‘You are to be awarded not one university medal but two. The first for Biblical Archaeology and the second for Chemistry.’

Allegra was stunned. She thought she had done well, but never imagined she’d won two university medals. Petroni put his arm around her and kissed her on the cheek. ‘My congratulations.’ When he didn’t remove his arm, Allegra’s delight at her results changed to concern.

‘How would you feel if I offered you a position on my personal staff?’ he asked.

Allegra turned her head towards him. His face was only centimetres from hers and his smooth, urbane voice gave way to a quiet whisper, unnerving her.

‘Oh, Eminence…’ she stammered, suddenly very uncertain of what was happening. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘Please, it’s Lorenzo,’ he responded, taking her hand in his. ‘We need the brightest and best around here and your appointment will not be without its compensations.’

Allegra’s heart began to beat faster as the Cardinal placed her hand between his legs. She could feel his erection through his soutane.

‘Relax, Allegra. Rilarssasi. It is God’s will.’ For a bizarre moment Allegra thought of Giovanni urging her to relax in the water. Petroni was closer now, whispering in her ear. So close she could smell the wine on his breath. Now Allegra felt pure fear and she tried to work out a way to escape from this man, this room.

‘Our Lord has always had a very high regard for the women around him. Even those like the adulteress. It was always his wish that his disciples provide one another with love and affection,’ Petroni whispered, using Allegra’s hand to stroke his erection. ‘There is a secret codex in the vault of the Vatican, Allegra, to which only the Curia have access. It outlines a sacred communion between a cardinal and his chosen nun.’

Allegra lost her power of speech as Petroni undid the middle buttons on his soutane. He moved his arm from around her shoulders and massaged her neck roughly. Allegra tried to move away but Petroni held her neck with a steel-like grip. She fought and kicked at his legs but the deadly mixture of physical strength and the dark power of the Church played on her fear, draining her and causing a mind-numbing paralysis. Just as Allegra was about to scream, Petroni forced her head into his lap and she gagged as a burst of warm liquid hit the back of her throat.

‘A secret communion and a sharing of affection with a cardinal must never be disclosed,’ he warned, buttoning himself perfunctorily and assuming a tone of formality. ‘God’s will is sometimes hard to understand, but think about my suggestion for an appointment here. I’m sure you will find it worthwhile.’

Shocked and betrayed, Allegra angrily refused Petroni’s offer of the car and she stumbled back to the college, stopping more than once to vomit in the gutter. As she closed the door to her room she leaned back against it, weak and shaking, her faith shattered and spent. This time there was no prayer for forgiveness, only numbness as she looked out of her small window at the stars and thought about an unseeing, unhearing, unfeeling God. Mechanically she made her way to the bathroom and scrubbed herself until her skin was red and raw, but it wasn’t enough to bring any feeling back. She climbed into her narrow single bed. For a long while she stared at the ceiling until emotional and physical exhaustion took over and she finally fell asleep. Before dawn she awoke to find herself crying uncontrollably. Her numbness had been replaced by anger, a deep anger that pulsed through her very being. She realised that it was not God and His Cardinal she had let down but the reverse, and the Cardinal and God could go to hell.

Later that morning there were four items of mail. Two incoming, two outgoing. Allegra opened the first letter feeling nothing but a strange emptiness as she scanned the result slips and a string of High Distinctions. The second was from the Vice Chancellor, Professor Gamberini, warm and encouraging with a suggestion for study for a Masters in applied archaeological DNA and the offer of a scholarship. She wrote a short letter of thanks and a grateful acceptance for the offer of the scholarship, then she penned an even shorter resignation from her Order.

Mar’Oth

G iovanni gripped the chipped bakelite steering wheel of the dilapidated Volkswagen he had been provided with, and headed towards the village of Mar’Oth near the northern border of the West Bank. A hot wind blew through the open window and the distinctive metallic whirring of the air-cooled engine rang in his ears. Eventually Giovanni found the black and white signpost at the turnoff Bishop O’Hara had told him to watch for; Mar’Oth, it announced, was 3 kilometres away in the mountains to the east, but it was the second sign that caught his attention – Nazareth.

Pulling up in a cloud of dust at the side of the road Giovanni felt a surge of exhilaration. Barely 9 kilometres to the north, across the border of the occupied Palestinian West Bank, lay what was now the city of Nazareth. Christ himself had walked the streets of this old hillside town as a boy. To the east he could see Mount Tabor, the mountain that Christ had climbed with Peter, James and John, where he had been transfigured before them in robes of dazzling white, reappearing with Moses and the prophet Elijah. Giovanni looked at his watch. It was already after two and he felt a pang of disappointment. So near, yet so far. He smiled to himself. Nazareth had been there for well over two thousand years. It could wait another day but he resolved to go there at the first opportunity.

Reluctantly he grasped the worn stubby gear lever, changed to first with a grinding crunch and turned towards Mar’Oth. The Volkswagen lurched drunkenly as Giovanni picked his way up the steep, dusty road. Olive groves proliferated on either side, leathery leaves flashing green and silver. The hardy trees seemed impervious to the scorching sun.

Like many villages in Israel Mar’Oth was built on a hill. More accurately on two hills that were like the dusty humps of a camel with a saddle in between. Giovanni slowed as he reached the top of the first rise. The dirt road divided the town down the middle, finishing halfway up the second rise. He drove down past a small mosque and mudbrick homes. A group of children with black soulful eyes stopped kicking a cardboard box to watch him pass. Giovanni waved but they didn’t return his greeting. A mangy brown dog scratched incessantly in the doorway of one of the houses. At the bottom of the saddle there were two stores, one on either side of the road, but unlike Jerusalem there were no tubs of olives or spices spilling out of the doors. A small whirlpool of dust eddied in front of him, gathering strength, only to die moments later. What few people there were on the hot dusty track averted their eyes, sullen and unfriendly. A single track ran down to a knoll where an old stone building stood. Giovanni guessed it was the school. He reached for the worn stubby gear stick and again the Volkswagen protested as it climbed up the second rise until he brought it to a stop outside a small and very old red mudbrick church.