The Omega Factor(58)
He understood. “Because of me? And what happened last night?”
She nodded. “It was an unprecedented breach of our security. You heard Friar Dwight. He knows where to go now. He doesn’t need those images you guard. They are irrelevant now. The path straight to us has been brightly illuminated.”
“Where will they go?”
“To our motherhouse, in southern France. They came here first. To be sure. Now they are.”
“It would help if you’d stop talking in riddles and tell me the situation.”
He could see the older woman was conflicted. A part of her seemed to want to talk, while another part, one trained and hewn from years of experience, cautioned silence.
Finally, she said, “Do you know much about Jan van Eyck?”
“Only that he created the Ghent Altarpiece, finishing what his brother started.”
“He did just that. But he also went a step further.”
In late spring of 1428 Jan van Eyck found himself along the border with Spain and the Languedoc. He’d been sent south from Burgundy by his patron, Philip the Good, on a reconnaissance mission to map mountain passes. Philip was then in a state of civil war against the French dauphin, blaming Charles for the murder of his father, John the Fearless. Charles saw Philip’s Burgundian state as a serious impediment to the expansion of French royal authority. Finally, in 1420, Philip formally allied himself with Henry V of England against Charles. In 1423, the marriage of Philip’s sister Anne to the Duke of Bedford, regent for Henry VI, further strengthened the English alliance.
During all of those conflicts van Eyck engaged in covert missions for Philip, using the guise of an artist to make detailed observations. He was nearly the perfect spy and Philip had been thrilled with the results. So much so that in 1428 he dispatched van Eyck to the south and the cursed Languedoc, a place that had been a thorn in the French monarchy’s side for a long time. Philip planned to sow further discontent for Charles by stirring up the south. Van Eyck completed his mission but was discovered by Moors and chased over the border into the Pyrénées, where he happened upon a mountain convent. Women the Moors would not defy. Women who bore a strange name.
Les Vautours.
He spent a week with the Maidens of Saint-Michael, marveling at their closed community and making friends. That friendship was tested in 1431 when Joan of Arc was burned at the stake. By a stroke of good fortune van Eyck’s patron, Philip the Good, had been the one who captured and sold Joan to the English. During her four-month trial the maidens reestablished contact with Jan van Eyck. Their first desire was to effect a rescue. But when that became impossible, it had been van Eyck who aided them in retrieving Joan’s ashes. Those were taken south, to the mountains and the motherhouse, where they were reverently buried in what was known as the Chapel of the Maiden.
“Joan was one of us,” the mother superior said. “She was so young. A mere postulant, who left the motherhouse and ventured north, thrusting herself into the Hundred Years’ War. But we revere her and, from 1431 onward, we wore gray smocks in honor of Joan, who wore one to her death. And if that had been the end of the story, all would be good. But there’s more. Jan van Eyck betrayed us.”
He waited for her to explain.
“For reasons known only to him, after helping us secure Joan’s remains, he included a way to find them on the Ghent Altarpiece,” the mother superior said, “which he was working on at the time. A map, if you will. Cleverly presented. Hidden. But there nonetheless. We became aware of that sometime in the late fifteenth century, but it never grew into a problem until 1934. That was when the Vatican first learned of the connection between the altarpiece and les Vautours. How? That’s unknown, but we were able to steal the Just Judges before any detailed examination could be made.”
“The maidens stole the Just Judges?”
“We did.”
“But there were other copies of the altarpiece,” he said. “Several, in fact, around Europe.”
“That’s true, but none contained the detail of van Eyck’s original. How could they? The dirt and grime on the panels was extensive, masking so much. Any artist trying to make a copy would be hampered. It was not until recently, when the latest restoration was performed, that all was revealed in its original glory. I’m sure those copies were examined after 1934 by the Vatican, but they led nowhere.”
He was puzzled. “This is about the ashes of Joan of Arc?”
“No, Mr. Lee. It is about something far greater, something far more important. Something the Vatican and the maidens vehemently disagree upon.”
He’d definitely stumbled into something significant. Maybe even extraordinary, involving far more than the willful destruction of a national art treasure. His job was to investigate, so that’s what he planned to do.
A knock came to the door, which opened, and Sister Ellen entered. “Excuse me, Mother Superior, but the Vestal wants to speak with Mr. Lee.”
He accepted a cell phone.
“My name is Claire,” the voice said in his ear. “I believe you were in my room last night.”
“I was.”
“I assume you’re not going to go away?”
“I can’t. Not now. But I’m not the police. I’m not the Vatican. My focus is protecting cultural heritage. Something was lost yesterday. Help me understand why, then maybe I can walk away.”