Cotton could see that both Gallos and the curator seemed certain of the location.
“What is St. Magyar’s?” he asked.
“It’s one of the oldest chapels on the island,” Pollux said. “It was built in the mid-16th century, not long after the knights arrived.”
He listened as Pollux told him about the church. According to legend, in the 12th century a local maiden had been working the fields when she saw a number of Turks running her way. She fled, with the invaders in hot pursuit. Out of breath, she found refuge in a cave whose entrance was blocked by a mass of cobwebs. Inside, she dropped to her knees and prayed to the Madonna for help. The corsairs kept looking for her, even finding the cave and peering inside, but on seeing the veil of cobwebs they moved on.
“It was the cobwebs re-forming themselves after she passed through them that was considered a miracle,” Pollux said. “So a chapel was built in front of the cave, dedicated to the maiden, who became St. Louise Magyar.”
“Every church here has a story like that,” the curator said. “This island is littered with churches. Three hundred and fifty-nine at last count, a little over one per every square kilometer. Sixty-three different parishes. St. Magyar’s is one of the wayside chapels, off to itself, not open to the public.”
“It’s owned by the order,” Pollux said.
That was interesting.
“The original stone church was rebuilt by the knights in the 16th century,” Pollux said. “It stays sealed, but we maintain the site. I can call our representatives here on the island and have it opened, waiting for us.”
“Do it,” the cardinal said.
Clearly, Pollux did not appreciate being given an order by his brother, but no argument was offered and Pollux left the office to make a call.
Something was bothering Cotton.
“What is it about this church you’re holding back?” he asked the curator and the cardinal.
“When Napoleon ravaged the island,” the curator said, “he didn’t plunder St. Magyar’s. It’s always been a simple place, with no ornamentation. There was nothing there to steal. So it’s intact. Just as it was in the 16th century.”
“It was also the Secreti’s private chapel,” the cardinal added.
Now we’re talkin’.
Gallo explained that the Secreti had always maintained a certain distance from the rest of the knights. The whole idea of their select association was to be aloof. So after the order was gifted Malta, the Secreti constructed a chapel to be used only by members, the grounds declared off limits to all but those who wore the five-word palindrome that formed an anagram of Pater Noster. Our Father. The sign of Constantine.
“It was regularly used up to the time of Napoleon’s invasion,” the curator said. “Records show that French soldiers visited the site, but as I mentioned there was nothing there of value.”
Apparently they were wrong. Cotton decided to shift tacks and faced Gallo. “You can go back to Rome now.”
“I’ll head there as soon as this is finished.”
“Forgive me, Eminence, but what interest would a cardinal of the church have in all this? As I understand it, whatever there is to find belongs to the Knights of Malta.”
“That’s a matter of debate. And I’m the papal representative to that order. It’s my duty to see this through.”
“We can report our findings to you. Why does it require your personal involvement?”
He could see that scarlet feathers had been bristled by his directness. But he was pressing for a reason.
“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Gallo said.
“No, you don’t. But by your own statement there are men on this island trying to kill you. A conclave starts in just a few hours. Yet you insist on staying around. Some might call that reckless.” He paused. “Or perhaps deliberate.”
Like a cold mist, anger rose in Gallo’s eyes.
“I’m a prince of the Roman Catholic Church, Mr. Malone, who customarily is shown respect. Even by those not of the church.”
“Even when you lie?”
Before the cardinal could reply Pollux reentered the office, breaking the moment. “A representative will meet us at St. Magyar’s with a key to the doors. The building has electricity. They will also bring some tools, as we have no idea what there is to find, or how to get to it.” Pollux paused. “Mr. Malone, we can handle this ourselves from this point forward.”
“I agree,” the cardinal quickly added. “Go home.”
Now a double team.
Interesting.
“My orders are to see this through to the end. We’re not at the end.”
“You’ve helped tremendously,” Pollux said. “Your solving of the prior’s message was masterful. But I have to concur with my brother, which is rare for me. This is an ecclesiastical matter, one we can now handle internally.”
“The head of the Entity is dead. This is far more than a religious matter.”
“I understand, and we’ll address the Secreti,” Pollux said. “All those responsible for any acts of violence will be dealt with. But the Nostra Trinità is a sensitive, internal issue, one we would prefer to keep to ourselves.”
“How about this,” he said. “Let’s go have a look and see what’s there. After that, I’m out of here. That would be the end, as far as I’m concerned.”
“We don’t need you,” the cardinal said, with finality.
But Pollux nodded. “That seems reasonable.”