Waltzing with the Wallflower (Waltzing with the Wallflower #1)(24)

“What is it, Marcus?” he asked with a gentle smile.

“Remains, Your Holiness. They found human remains buried there as well as some other artifacts. The bishop is saying Valentine.”

“What other artifacts, my son?” His white eyebrow arched in sudden piqued interest. If it was what he thought it was, this was indeed an important interruption.

“A small vessel tinged with blood, some preserved letters, and—they found a ring cast with the head of a lion.”

“A lion’s head, you say?” His Holiness grew more intrigued, then he whispered as though only to himself, “The Sacred Ring.” His tone intensified as he directed his gaze back to Marcus. “They are certain?”

“The bishop sent these sealed papers.” Marcus set the bundle respectfully on the dark oak desk. Pope Gregory reached across and slid the papers towards himself. He slowly broke the seal and opened the messages. His sparkling eyes scanned the parchment for a moment, and he furrowed his brow thoughtfully. “This is news indeed,” he finally spoke.

Taking a sheet of parchment, he lifted the quill to the ink well and penned a brief reply to the bishop. “Deliver this to the bishop posthaste,” he commanded while pressing his ring into the blob of softened wax.

Marcus took the offered envelope and bowed slightly before hurrying out of the room, leaving Pope Gregory alone with his thoughts. He rose and strode to the broad window looking out over the Vatican courtyard.

Stroking his chin between his finger and thumb, he thought aloud, “The Ring. If it’s true, we may have a war on our hands.”





****





Bishop Hébert’s suspicions were indeed correct, but the power of the Ring was not a thing to be trifled with. If it were to fall into the wrong hands, there’s no telling what would happen. The pope’s instructions were simple. Secure the Ring. Get it to the Vatican as quickly and as quietly as possible.

Already the men working on the site seemed to realize there was a powerful relic in their midst. They stood in small groups speaking in hushed, respectful tones. The bishop did a quick head count. All were accounted for except Leonides of the Santini family. Come to think of it, he had been missing since they pulled the remains out of the crypt. He had taken one look at the artifacts and turned white as marble. Perhaps the sight of the disinterred bones had made him ill.

He signaled a workman to bring him the leather pouch that contained the artifacts they had uncovered. An errand this sensitive required Bishop Hébert’s personal touch. Clutching the satchel, he climbed into the waiting carriage and instructed the driver to make haste to the Holy City.

The coach lurched forward and rattled down the cobblestone street. Hébert lifted the flap of the pouch and peered inside. Over fifteen hundred years of burial deep in the catacombs had done nothing to taint the shine of the Ring. It fairly glowed from the darkness of its leather satchel. The ancient carving of a lion’s head in gold wrapped the circumference of the Ring, bedecked with two diamonds for eyes and a startling bright ruby set deep in the mouth. He had never seen its equal.

The trip was short, and upon his arrival at the Vatican, Bishop Hébert was ushered straight to the pope’s chamber.

“Your Holiness.” The bishop leaned over and kissed Pope Gregory’s ring.

The pope accepted the satchel, and his gaze burned into the bishop’s eyes. “Have you determined?” he prodded. “Is it the Sacred Ring?”

“I believe so.”

The pope lifted the flap of the pouch and reached inside, withdrawing the lion’s head in a slow deliberate hand, turning it over in his palm to inspect it reverently. His voice lowered almost to a whisper as he scrutinized the Ring in his fingers. “Did you tell anyone?”

“The men at the site know.”

“Saint Valentine’s Sacred Ring is an important relic, but in the wrong hands it could cause a war. The legends of the Ring will draw the attention of those who would use its power for evil. The wisest course of action would be to throw off the treasure hunters.” His Holiness took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “The remains will be the key. Divide the remains and the artifacts among several churches. And one in Ireland. The friar who was visiting Rome last year. The one who was such a popular speaker. Make a gift to him. The Church is newly revived there, and another saint in Ireland will increase the interest.” He was pacing now, hands clasped behind his back, his robes swishing across the floor. “Friar…the Carmelite. What was his name, Hébert?”

“Spratt.”

“Yes, Friar Spratt. He was a good speaker.” Pope Gregory moved suddenly to his desk and slipped another parchment from the stack. “I’ll write him letters explaining the importance of our request.”

“Perhaps Your Holiness should address the letters to Archbishop Murray of Dublin. He is well-acquainted with the area.”

“Yes, of course. I will leave the procession arrangements to you then, Hébert. In the meantime, we will hold the Ring in safekeeping. Perhaps the scattering of the saint’s remains will throw off those who would seek this for their own gain.”

There was a solid knock on the door, and Marcus slipped in quietly. “Your Holiness.” He bowed slightly. His eyes were wide, and he seemed uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot and casting nervous glances at the door behind him.