The Omega Factor(82)
The car kept speeding down the highway, Sisters Ellen and Isabel in the front seat, not bothering her.
No way existed to contact anyone. No email accounts were associated with the laptop. Same with text. No icon led to any texting platform. But she did not feel the need. She was no longer afraid or angry. Instead, she was interested and engaged.
She focused on the two identical faces from the original Just Judges.
Both were clean-shaven, and one wore a green robe with a silver-and-blue fur hat. He was facing ninety degrees to the right, his gaze across, straight toward the center panel. Both hands were visible, the left empty, the right holding a short stick balanced atop the index finger, held in place by the thumb. It pointed in the direction the face was looking.
To the right.
The face was the same as the image behind Hubert van Eyck. The one generally believed to be Jan van Eyck.
Why had Jan included himself twice?
Her gaze followed the pointer in Jan’s hand across to the adjacent panel, the one known as Knights of Christ.
She clicked and enlarged the image.
Nine people on horseback.
Several wearing crowns denoting kingship. The lead figure sported silver armor, holding a banner pole in one hand and a shield in the other. It was the same figure she’d shown Nick, pointing out the strange words that appeared within the red cross atop the shield. She knew the story of this figure. The neutral face, not male or female. A laurel encircling the head. The decidedly feminine touch to the armor.
Most art historians said this was Joan of Arc.
Entirely possible given that Jan van Eyck had a connection to her. His benefactor, Philip the Good, the Duke of Burgundy, had been the one to both capture and turn her over to the English. She was executed in 1431. The altarpiece was completed in 1432. If the two faces on the Just Judges were Jan van Eyck, then Jan had painted a pointer in his hand that was aimed straight at Joan of Arc.
With her finger, Kelsey kept going in a straight line beyond Joan, off the Knights of Christ and onto the larger main panel. The path took her finger across a hedgerow that filled the painting’s upper left quadrant. Toward the center the bushes dipped, forming a distant valley, before rising ever skyward toward the Holy Ghost who shone down on the entire scene. The valley seemed a blue-gray smudge, far off in the distance, misty and foreboding. But high-resolution imaging allowed her to enlarge the area and, as she did, something remarkable formed out of the blur.
A building.
Distinct. Unusual. Multistory, with several wings, stepped gables, and a conical tower. It seemed to fill a promontory high among the trees, off to itself, quiet and alone. Surely it had been noticed before, since the minute details of the altarpiece had been analyzed to death. It had most likely been dismissed as just more of Jan van Eyck’s realism, part of a thousand other miniature details he’d included. But no one, other than she, since 1934, had been privy to the original Just Judges being a part of the altarpiece.
Was all this nothing more than coincidence?
Something told her no.
Jan van Eyck had left that trail intentionally.
“Has your order always been called the Maidens of Saint-Michael?” she asked the two women in the front seat.
Sister Ellen turned back to face her. “Not in the beginning. They were the Sisters of Saint-Michael. That all changed in the mid-fifteenth century when they adopted the moniker of maiden.”
“Did that have anything to do with Joan of Arc?”
She asked because of the nickname Joan subsequently acquired after her death. La Pucelle d’Orléans. The Maid of Orléans.
“It did,” Isabel said. “She was one of us, a postulant, who left the motherhouse during her training and did great things. She died far too young. But we drew strength from her martyrdom. So, with her vindication in 1456, our name was changed to honor her.”
After 1431 Joan’s negative image changed. Apparitions began. Miracles attributed to her happened. Imposters flourished. She was no longer deemed a heretic. Instead, many began to call her a saint. For Charles VII, time had draped a taint of illegitimacy over his anointing, since Joan had played a key role in making that happen. If she was a heretic and sorceress, as the tribunal had decreed, had the king gained the throne by using her powers—which, by default, made him a heretic too? That question kept being raised. So much so that, in 1450, Charles ordered an investigation into her conviction. Five years later the pope joined the effort, urged on by Joan’s mother, calling for the tribunal’s original verdict to be overturned.
Which happened in 1456.
The original tribunal was declared tainted with fraud, iniquity, and contradiction, manifest with errors of fact and law. Joan’s conviction was deemed null, invalid, worthless, and without effect. She was washed clean of all sin. And ultimately made a saint.
“There was a grand celebration in Orléans after her vindication,” Ellen said. “Our response to that was to change the name of the order. We became maidens. Why do you ask?”
“Simply curious.”
But she wondered. Was there more to that story? If so, she doubted these two women would be sharing it. She needed to speak to whoever was in charge.
“Have you found anything?” Ellen asked.
May God forgive her.
“Not yet. But I’ll keep looking.”
Chapter 54