The Omega Factor(76)
She rubbed her eyes.
The hour was late and she was beginning to lose steam. So far fear and anger had given her a second and third wind. She recalled something she’d read once about the altarpiece. Van Eyck was clever. So we must be equally so in deciphering what he did. She decided to start in the upper left corner, keeping the two images side by side, slowly scrolling down each one, bit by bit, looking for inconsistencies. Had Jef Van der Veken’s copy been inexact?
Apparently so.
Or so these women thought.
She examined the left half of both panels, finding everything identical between the original and the copy. Back to the top right corner and she started down. The buildings in the distance were like all of the others in the remaining panels. Fantastical. Unreal. Only a few bearing any resemblance to actual places. She passed over the top of the grassy cliff and moved down its rocky face, where van Eyck had included tiny petaled white flowers sprouting from the outcrops.
She found the men on horseback again.
One bearded, dressed in an orange-colored fur hat, the man in front of him clean-shaven in brown robes and another fur hat. One looked Middle Eastern, the other European. Between those two rode another beardless man in green robes, with a silver-and-blue fur hat. A gold chain draped his neck from which a ring hung.
Then she saw it.
The faces between the original Just Judges and the copy were definitely different. Van der Veken had changed them. But something else stood out. About halfway down the right side of the panel. She stopped scrolling and checked again, comparing the images.
Definitely. No doubt.
The paintings were different.
The overpaint had left something out.
Something quite clearly there—
In the original.
Chapter 49
Fuentes could not sleep. But why would he? Everything was dropping into place. Finally. He’d been a cardinal a long time and had learned a lot about his colleagues. In the beginning, long ago, they were mere assistants of the pope. But by the twelfth century they were the sole means of anyone becoming pope, which provided them with extraordinary power and influence. Today, they controlled the church’s theology, its inner workings, and were in total control of all priests, bishops, and archbishops, second only to the pope himself. But they were a peculiar lot. Easily influenced. And happily led. Thankfully, few among them ever aspired to be pope, looking to others for leadership.
Which he intended to provide.
He sat upright in the bed and stared at the iPad in his lap.
Then he tapped the screen a few times and opened the file.
After Christ’s Ascension Mary lived for three years on Mount Sion, for three years in Bethany, and for nine years in Ephesus. During the fifteenth year after our Lord’s death Mary left Ephesus and, with others, myself included, climbed into a boat, launched onto the sea at the mercy of the elements. By divine guidance we followed the northern coast of the great sea, heading ever eastward. Her journey ended in the Provincia Romana, in a region known as Volcae where she stepped ashore at Narbo. From there she journeyed inland, toward the mountains, where she settled to live out her days in repentance.
Mary’s home occupies a hill, to the left of the road, some three and a half hours by walk from the sea. Narrow paths lead southwards to another hill near the top of which is an uneven plateau, some half-hour’s journey in circumference, overgrown, like the hill itself, with trees and bushes. It is a lonely place but has many fertile and pleasant slopes as well as rock-caves, clean and dry and surrounded by patches of sand. It is wild but not desolate, and scattered about it are a number of trees, pyramid-shaped, with big shady branches and smooth trunks.
Several Christian families and holy women traveled with us from Ephesus. Some made their homes in caves or in the rocks, fitted out with light woodwork to craft dwellings. Some built fragile huts or tents. All had come to escape persecution, which many who worship Christ have come to endure. Their dwellings are like hermit’s cells and, as a rule, they live a quarter of an hour’s distance from each other. The whole settlement is like a widely scattered village. Mary’s house is built of rectangular stones, rounded or pointed at the back. The windows are high up near the flat roof. The house is divided into two compartments by a hearth in the center. To the right and left of the hearth doors lead into the back part of the house, which is darker than the front and ends in a semicircle. It is all neatly and pleasantly arranged. The walls are covered with wickerwork and the ceiling is vaulted. Its beams are decorated with a mixture of paneling and wickerwork and ornamented with a pattern of leaves, all of it simple and dignified.
The farthest corner of the room is divided by a curtain and forms Mary’s oratory. In the center of the wall is a niche in which has been placed a receptacle, like a tabernacle, which can be opened and shut by pulling at a string to turn its door. Inside lies a cloth which has the impression that it was the one with which blood was wiped from all the wounds in Our Lord’s holy body after it was taken down from the cross. At the sight of the cloth I can see the manifestation of the Blessed Virgin’s motherly love in her eyes.
Fuentes stopped reading the account.
He’d read it many times before but, given what was happening, he felt a refresher was needed.
The Testimony of John.
Dated to the fifth century. A copy of a far older original from the first century. Being a copy immediately raised questions of reliability. Was it complete? Edited? The document had been part of the Vatican archives for a thousand years. Several investigations had occurred into its authenticity and each one had stamped it real. But the time lapse between the events themselves and the surviving copy had always cast a shadow of doubt. So much so that the church had ignored it, and forged ahead, creating its own Mariology and bestowing upon Mary an untarnished life and a magnificent end.