"Sometimes I think that the demon has possessed you. You have become hard and cruel. You feel pity for no one, nothing. Is that in service to your vows, Addaio? Or is it someone who all your life you did not want to be?"
They stood in silence, staring at each other. Guner realized that he had said more than he should have, and Addaio surprised himself by accepting, without a word, Guner's reproaches. Their lives were irremediably intertwined, and neither of them was happy.
Was Guner capable of betraying him? Addaio rejected the thought-no, he was not. He trusted Guner; in fact, he entrusted his life to him. "Pack my bags for tomorrow," he finally ordered.
Without replying, Guner turned and busied himself closing the windows. His jaw ached as he clenched his teeth. He breathed deep when he heard the quiet sound of the door closing behind the pastor.
He noticed a piece of paper on the floor, beside Addaio's bed, and he stooped to pick it up. It was a letter written in Turkish, unsigned. The person who wrote it was informing Addaio that the parole board in Turin was studying the possibility of freeing Mendib, and he asked for instructions, especially what to do if Mendib was released.
Guner asked himself why Addaio hadn't put away a letter as important as this. Had he wanted Guner to find it? Was he testing Guner-did he think he was the traitor?
Carrying the letter, he strode to Addaio's office, knocked softly at the door, and waited for the pastor to give him permission to enter.
'Addaio, this letter was on the floor next to your bed," he said without preamble when he again faced his master.
The pastor looked at him impassively and put out his hand for it.
"I read it. I imagine you intentionally dropped it so I would find it and read it-a trap to see whether I'm the traitor. I'm not. I have told myself a thousand times that I should leave; I've thought a thousand times about telling the world who we are and what we do. But I haven't, and I won't, in memory of my mother, and so that my family can go on living with its head held high and my nieces and nephews can enjoy a better, happier life than mine has been. For their sake, and because I do not know what would become of me, I don't reveal our existence. I'm a man, a poor man, too old to start a new life. I am a coward, like you-both of us became cowards when we accepted this life."
Addaio looked at him in silence, trying to see in Guner's expression some thought, some emotion, the trace of something that would tell him that his only friend still felt some affection for him.
"Now I know why you're leaving tomorrow," the little servant continued. "You're worried, you're afraid of what might happen to Mendib. Have you told his father?"
"Since you are so certain that you will never betray me, I will tell you that I'm worried that they will set Mendib free. If you've read the letter, then you know that our contact in the jail saw the head of the Art Crimes Department visit Mendib, and tells us that it seems clear that the warden is planning something. We can take no risks."
"What are you going to do?"
"Whatever may be necessary to ensure the survival of our community."
"Even have Mendib murdered?"
"Is it you or I who has reached that conclusion?"
"I know you, and I know what you're capable of."
"Guner, you are the only friend I have ever had. I have never hidden anything from you; you know all the secrets of our community. But I realize now that you feel no affection for me whatever, and never have."
"You are wrong, Addaio, you are wrong. You were always good to me, from the first day I arrived at your house, when I was ten. You knew how it grieved me to leave my parents, and you did everything in your power to help me see them. I shall never forget how you would go to my family's house with me and let me spend the evening while you wandered through the countryside, taking your time so that your presence would not be a burden to us. I can never fault you for your behavior toward me. But your behavior toward the world, toward our community, the terrible pain you cause-that I cannot countenance."
Guner left the office and made his way toward the chapel. There, kneeling, he allowed his tears to wet his cheeks as he sought in the cross lying on the altar an answer to the questions that tormented him.
26
A.D. 944
Edessa was in flames. The cries of its people rose above the crash of burning timbers and the sounds of battle as the emperor's army began to engulf the city.
Why had God abandoned them?
The old bishop rose unsteadily to his feet as the towering commander of the emir's forces entered the chapel, his battle-weary face creased with regret. The Muslim defenders of the city had fought fiercely on the Christians' behalf, dying by the hundreds to preserve for Edessa the Mandylion of the great prophet Jesus, may Allah protect him.
But now there was no choice. The Mandylion must be surrendered. A great cry rose from the throng of Christians filling the church as the bishop moved forward to the altar and removed the precious cloth from the simple casket in which it had rested.
Then, with the elders of his community clustered around him, he made his way with halting steps to the waiting soldier and gave the carefully folded cloth over to him. They fell to their knees as the shroud of Jesus was taken from them, to begin its long journey from its ordained place in Edessa into the hands of the Emperor of Byzantium. They had broken their oath, the oath their forebears had died to uphold.
These men-descendants of the scribe Timeaus, the giant Obodas, Izaz the nephew of Josar, John the Alexandrine, and so many Christians who had sacrificed their lives for the Holy Shroud-would recover it, and if they did not, then their own children, and their children's children after them, if need be, would not rest until that mission had been accomplished.
They swore this before God, before the imposing wooden cross that hung above the altar, before the painting of the Blessed Mother, before the Sacred Scriptures.
27
"YOU'RE GETTING A LITTLE NEUROTIC ABOUT his, boss," Giuseppe complained as Marco brought up the subject of the Turin tunnels yet again. "We've studied the maps, and there's no tunnel that goes to the cathedral. Period."
"Listen, Giuseppe, these guys are going in and out through something other than the front door. The ground under Turin is like Swiss cheese. It's full of tunnels, and they're not all on the maps."
Sofia thought Marco was right. The cathedral intruders seemed to appear and disappear as though by magic, and without a trace.
Her boss had decided at the last moment that he'd go to Turin with them. The Minister of Culture had persuaded the Ministry of Defense to issue Marco a permit to explore the tunnels, including those closed to the public. On the army maps of Turin's subsurface infrastructure, there was no tunnel that led to the cathedral, but Marco figured the maps were wrong. With the help of a commander in the engineering section and fortifications specialists from the Pietro Micca regiment, he was going to explore the tunnels that were closed. He had signed a waiver exempting the army and the city government from all responsibility if he got himself killed or injured, and the minister had told him in no uncertain terms that he was not to endanger the lives of the men who accompanied him.