‘Let me guess. He was poisoned by a priest.’
‘Nope. He died giving birth. You see, it turns out John VIII was actually a pregnant woman.’
‘A woman?’
‘Amazing, isn’t it? The head of the Roman Catholic Church lied to everyone for several years in order to get what she wanted out of life. Her vows didn’t matter. Catholic law didn’t matter. The only thing she cared about was becoming Pope Joan.’
‘Pope Joan? That was her name?’
‘Not her actual name. That’s what fourteenth-century academics named her.’
The legend of Pope Joan goes beyond Christian history. Medieval tarot cards used to honor her with the papess card (la papessa in Italian) before the Catholic Church applied enough pressure to have the card changed to the priestess card, hoping to minimize the scandal.
‘And she isn’t the only one who has broken church laws. From what I’ve read, popes have fathered several hundred kids over the years. Plus many popes obtained the papal throne through illegal means to begin with: bribery, blackmail, extortion. And even worse, many of them committed crimes while they were the pope, everything from theft to assault to murder.’
Payne grew silent as he thought about Jones’s words. Finally, he said, ‘If you worked for the Vatican and you heard rumors about an ancient scroll that threatened everything that you’d dedicated your life to, what would you do to stop it?’
‘Not to be rude, but I think you just asked a flawed question. In my mind a more appropriate question would be: What wouldn’t I do?’
Their truck stopped a quarter mile from the palace. Payne made his way to the driver’s window, anxious to talk to Ulster and Franz about the Hofburg. He knew both of them had been there. What he didn’t know was how knowledgeable they were about the security and the layout of the grounds. He asked, ‘How many times have you been inside the palace?’
Franz answered. ‘That is tough one. I lose count after all the years. Maybe thousand times?’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Ja! Didn’t Petr tell you? Scholars from Vienna have been coming to Archives for years, mostly because of Petr’s grandfather. The Hofburg is a national museum, several large museums all tied together. Their curators have brought many items to the Archives for us to study. Often they were too large or valuable to be moved without help. That is why we have the trucks.’
‘I guess that means you know the security guards, too?’
Franz smiled. ‘Ja, ja! I know them all by name.’
Suddenly, getting inside the Hofburg wouldn’t be as tough as Payne had thought.
Jones stayed in the truck with Ulster and Franz while Payne led the way across the Volksgarten, a colorful stretch of land that decorated the area near the Parliament Building. Maria followed several steps behind, her hair tucked under a ball cap, her face hidden behind a pair of movie-star sunglasses that she had bought from a street vendor.
Further back was Dr Boyd, the person Payne was most concerned for since his picture was on the front page of every newspaper in town. Thankfully, he blended in perfectly with a Scottish tour group that happened to be walking in the same direction. His pale features and bald head were buried under a red sun hat. His nose was slathered in a thick layer of zinc oxide. He objected to it at first, claiming that he’d look like an old man. Payne assured him that was the point. Everyone in Europe was looking for a ruthless killer, not a pasty-faced geezer covered in lotion.
It took several minutes to snake their way to the front edge of the Heldenplatz, the main courtyard in front of the Hofburg. Payne pretended to tie his shoe on the cobblestone sidewalk, allowing Boyd and Maria to catch up. Then, as a group, they crossed in front of a row of Fiakers, horse-drawn carriages that have been used in the Inner City for over three hundred years.
Boyd asked, ‘How are we to do this? May I walk over and examine the statue?’
Payne answered, ‘I don’t see why not… But when the truck arrives, we leave at once.’ He pointed to an equestrian statue near the Outer Gate. ‘I’m gonna hang back there and keep on an eye on you. While I do, please do me a favor and find out why that bastard is laughing.’
The laughing man statue was identical to the one in Milan. The weathering of the marble was different due to Austria’s harsher climate, yet there was no doubt in Maria’s mind that the two were made by the same artist, a fact that confused Boyd. Why would an artist waste his time and chisel two identical statues? Why not vary the positioning of the subject or the look on his face? And why was the laughing man grinning so broadly in every piece of art?
Maria whispered, ‘Is there any way we can trace the sculptor?’
Boyd blinked a few times before her question sank in. ‘It’s funny you should ask, for I was thinking the same thing myself. Alas, any research we conducted would probably result in a bloody cul-de-sac. Although a great number of sculptures and paintings exist from the days of the Empire, the names of very few Roman artists were ever recorded. In their culture, art was created for viewing not for creative recognition.’
‘Not even the masters?’
He shook his head. ‘Tell me, my dear, who designed the Colosseum? Or the Pantheon? We’re talking about two of the most famous buildings in the world, yet no one knows who designed them. That’s simply the way the Romans were. They didn’t value the artist.’
‘Then let’s ignore the artist and focus on the history of the piece instead? If the Romans cared about record keeping as much as you claim, maybe we’ll determine where the statues were created or why they were placed in separate cities. Who knows? Maybe everything we’re looking for is somewhere inside these walls.’
Boyd sighed. ‘I hope so, my dear. Otherwise the truth about Christ may never be learned.’
63
Austrian National Library
(located inside the Hofburg),
Vienna, Austria
Franz pulled their truck into the Josefsplatz, a small square on the eastern side of the Hofburg. Half a century ago, American troops risked their lives smuggling the Lipizzaner stallions out of German hands. Now he was repaying the debt by smuggling Americans into the home of the Lipizzaner stallions, past an armed guard whose father had fought for the Third Reich in World War II.
Irony, delicious irony.
From the security booth, Karl recognized the truck and hit the button that opened the security door. The massive gate, made of iron and topped with a series of decorative spikes, screeched as it inched its way across its mechanical track. Franz pulled into the narrow courtyard, making sure he didn’t pass directly under the security camera.
‘Hello,’ the elderly guard said in German. ‘I was wondering if I’d ever see you again.’
Franz climbed from the truck and greeted him with a warm hug. ‘Why is that, Karl?’
‘I figured one of us would be dead by now.’
Franz laughed as he pointed to the passenger seat. ‘Do you remember my boss, Petr Ulster?’
‘Of course!’ Karl assured him. ‘The Ulster family is revered in these parts.’
Ulster shook the guard’s hand. ‘Nice to see you again.’
The three strolled to the back of the truck, completely comfortable in each other’s presence. Normally Karl was a lot more wary about deliveries, but not when it came to Franz. Their paths had crossed so many times that they had developed a casual friendship.
‘You know you’re lucky I opened the gate for you. I really shouldn’t have.’
A number of things flashed through Franz’s mind. ‘Why’s that?’