Nelson Demille - The Quest

Mercado said, “It’s actually about the monastery and the relic. But you make a point, Frank.”

The priest had sat himself up higher in the corner. In the dawning light, his features began to materialize, and he was no longer the shadow of a voice. They stared at him as their eyes became accustomed to the gray light. The priest looked like death, but his eyes were much brighter than they should have been, and his face-what they could see through the dirt and the beard-was rosy. But the rosiness, Purcell knew, was the fever, and the brightness of the eyes was also the fever, and perhaps a little madness too.

Mercado wiped the priest’s forehead. “Father. We will be moving shortly.”

The priest nodded, then said, “But I must first finish.”

Purcell looked at him. He had become real all of a sudden. The voice had a body. Purcell became melancholy and felt a great sadness, not only for the priest but also for himself. He saw himself as he was in the prison camp. The priest’s bearded face brought it back, and he felt uncomfortable with that face. It was the face of all suffering. Indochina had settled into his brain again and he could not cope with it so early in the morning.

The priest breathed softly and continued. “So, we came upon it. In a deep jungle valley. In a million years you would not find it, but this sergeant was a good soldier, and having found it once by accident, he remembered how to find it again. A rock. A tree. A stream. You see? So we approached the black place. The jungle came up to the walls of the place, and hid it from view, but a tree had fallen and exposed some of the wall. We walked in a circle through the jungle and around the wall, which was of black stone, with a shine like glass, and it was constructed in the old style of the monasteries and had no gate or door.”

Father Armano asked for more water on his face, and Vivian washed him with a wet handkerchief. Purcell was briefly touched by her compassion; he could see why old Henry had taken a liking to her.

Father Armano said, “We came around to the place from which we started. There was now a basket there on a rope, as in the old style of the monasteries of the Dark Ages. The basket was not there before, so we took this as a sign of hospitality. We called up to the walls, but no one answered. The basket was large and so we climbed into it… all of us. It was made of reeds, but it was strong. And we all fit-eleven-and the basket began to rise.”

He stopped, took a long, deep breath, then went on. “The men were somewhat uneasy, but we could see crosses cut into the black stone so we knew it was a Christian place and we were not so much afraid, though I remembered the words of the cardinal about the monks. The basket came to rest at the top of the wall. There was no one there. The basket had been raised with a device of stones and gears and it was not necessary to stand by it once it was started. You understand? So we were alone on top of the wall… We climbed out of the basket, over the parapet, and stepped onto a walk.”

The priest’s face contorted and he grabbed his stomach with both hands.

Vivian knelt beside him and said in Italian, “You must lie down and rest.”

Mercado said, “He’s actually better off sitting up. That’s why he sat up in the first place.”

Vivian said, “We need to get him to the hospital. Now.”

Purcell suggested, “Ask him what he wants to do.”

Mercado asked Father Armano, and the priest replied, “I need to finish this… I am… near the end…”

Mercado nodded.

Father Armano took a deep breath and spit blood into his beard. He stayed silent for a time, then began. “Within the walls of the monastery lay beautiful buildings of the black stone and green gardens and blue ponds and fountains. The men were very happy at the sight and asked me many questions, which I could not answer. But I told the sergeant, Giovanni, about the monks and he ordered his men to keep their rifles at the ready. We called down into the monastery, but only the echoes of our own voices answered us. Now everyone was troubled again. But we found wooden steps to the ground. We walked with caution like a patrol because we were uneasy. We called out again, but only our own voices answered, and the echoes made us more uneasy, so we did not call out again, but walked quietly. We walked to the main building… a church. The doors of the church were covered with polished silver and they blinded us in the sunlight. On the doors were the signs of the early Christians… fish, lambs, palms. We entered the church. Inside, we observed that the roof was made of a substance like glass, but not glass. A stone, perhaps alabaster, and it let in the sunlight and the church was bathed in a glow that made my head swim and hurt my eyes. I had never seen such a thing and I am sure there is not such a thing, even in Rome.” He laid his head back in the corner and closed his eyes.

Purcell, Mercado, and Vivian watched him closely in the dim light. Mercado asked, “Are we doing the right thing? Or are we killing him?”

Purcell said, “I think he’s accepted death, so we need to accept it.”

Vivian concurred and added, “He wants the world to know his story… and his fate.”

Purcell agreed, “That’s what we do best. So I think we need to wake him.”

Mercado hesitated, then crouched and shook the priest gently.

The priest opened his eyes slowly. He said, “I can see you all now. This woman is very beautiful. She should not be traveling like this.”

Purcell informed him, “Women do whatever men do these days, Father.” But no one translated.

The priest took a deep breath. “So, now we make an end of it. And listen closely.” He pressed his eyes with his shaky hands. “So we walked through the strange light of the church and into an adjoining building. A bigger place it seemed, but perhaps it was the darkness that made it look so. It was a building of many columns. We walked in the darkness, and the soldiers had removed their helmets because they were in a church, but they did not sling their rifles on their shoulders, but held them ready. Though it made no difference. In a second, every column produced a robed monk. It was over in a second or two. Everyone was clubbed to the ground and not a shot was fired. There was very little noise…”

Father Armano seemed to be failing, but he was determined to go on and spoke quickly. “I wore on my helmet a large cross which was the army regulation. So perhaps this is what saved me. The others were clubbed again and taken away. I remember seeing this, although I was stunned by the blow. But you see, I had left my helmet on, as it was not required of me to remove a head covering in church. You understand? So the steel absorbed the blow and God saved me. The monks dragged me away and put me in a cell.”

The priest suddenly became rigid, and his face turned pale. His gums bit into his bearded lip, then the pain passed and he exhaled, drew a long breath, and said something in Latin that Mercado recognized as the Lord’s Prayer. He finished the prayer, then he picked up his story in Italian. “A monk’s cell… not a prison… they cared for me… two or three of the Coptic monks spoke some Italian… so I said to them… I said, ‘I have come to see the sacred relic…’ and one who spoke Italian answered, ‘If you have come to see it, you will see it.’ But he also said, ‘Those who see it may never speak of it.’ I agreed to this, though I did not understand that I had sealed my fate…”

Purcell waited for Vivian’s translation, then commented, “I think he understood that.”

And in fact, Father Armano added, “But perhaps I did understand… though when I saw the sacred relic, it did not matter…”

Mercado asked Father Armano, almost casually, “What was it, Father? What did they show you?”