‘Trees produce one tree ring each year, and if we compare the carbon fourteen concentrations in tree rings of a known age, we can accurately check our age range for any specimen.’
Mr Whittaker looked a lot less smug but he was not done yet.
‘Show me a tree that is more than six thousand years old.’
‘Indeed, Mr Whittaker, there are none,’ Allegra responded easily, ‘but we have overcome that problem. We can extend this theory by using non-living specimens from the wood of ancient buildings where the date of construction is known quite accurately.’
‘And I think there was a question up the back,’ Professor Rosselli interjected pointedly.
The audience applauded, delighted that Mr Whittaker had been dispatched, along with his theory of the world being only as old as last Tuesday.
Giorgio Felici calmly adjusted the range to the 77 metres he had measured earlier and refocused the cross-hairs on Allegra’s breasts as she answered more questions.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Jerusalem
G iovanni pushed open the now familiar rusty gate to the Sisters of Charity Convent in Jerusalem and climbed the steps. It had been over five years since he had first arrived in the Holy Land, although it seemed like only yesterday, and his little church in Mar’Oth had been completely rebuilt. Poor as they were, the villagers of his home town of Maratea had raised the money for two statues. One of Christ in thigh-length boots with a gnarled walking stick, and one of the Virgin Mary in blue. Very Italian and a little out of place in the Middle East but when Giovanni had unpacked the crates he had fought back tears. Patrick, who had educated him on Jerusalem and the Holy Land as no other guide ever could, had re-consecrated the church. He had seemed genuinely surprised, not only at the sight of the rejuvenated little church but at the lack of hostility and the beginnings of friendships between Muslims and Christians. When Ahmed and the whole of the Muslim community of the village turned up and stood outside the church to offer their support for its consecration, Patrick promptly moved proceedings to the front porch. Abraham would have been pleased.
There had been other highlights during Giovanni’s posting. Without any reference to the Vatican, Patrick had organised an invitation for them both to attend the Conference of Latin American Bishops in Quito, the capital of Ecuador. Giovanni’s paper on the Palestinians had earned him a standing ovation, and he had formed some very strong friendships in South America, including Cardinal Medici, the Head of the Church in Ecuador.
The lowlights usually came at night when he was alone, reading by the glow of a candle. There was no newspaper or television to keep him informed of things outside Mar’Oth. To the bemusement of the villagers he had rigged up an aerial, and on a good night he was able to pick up the shortwave service of the BBC, which allowed him to keep track of the world, but he longed for news of his home. When his spirits were at a low ebb, God seemed very distant, unhearing and unseeing, and Giovanni’s thoughts often turned to Allegra.
Although they had kept in touch – Allegra letting him know how her research was going, and him keeping her up to date with events in Mar’Oth and the Middle East – Giovanni missed their regular discussions. He was still concerned as to why she had suddenly left the Church but he knew he wasn’t going to hear her story until she was ready to tell it. He could only understand the pain and doubt she must have gone through to come to her decision. Giovanni often wondered what his life would have been like if he and Allegra had decided to stay together.
‘Father Giovanni, let me take your bag, Bishop O’Hara’s in the study. Come through, come through. How have you been?’ Neither Sister Katherine’s enthusiasm for life nor the warmth of her welcome ever waned.
‘Giovanni! It’s good to see you. Whiskey?’ Patrick asked, not waiting for a reply and already heading for the sideboard.
‘Good to see you too, Patrick, and thank you for the invitation to dinner. Sister Katherine’s cooking beats mine any time.’
‘And mine. It’s a strange vocation, isn’t it? They provide a welter of theological training and then expect you to live on your own without so much as an introduction to the kitchen. Shalom!’
Giovanni accepted the generous glass of Irish whiskey.
‘I’ve had a letter from Cardinal Medici. You left a very favourable impression.’
‘And they on me. They have some very impressive thinkers in that part of the world, speaking of which, I’m really looking forward to catching up with Yossi tonight.’
‘Yes, not only a great thinker but a man with a very strong Jewish faith.’
‘The more time I spend here, the more I come to realise that Islam and Judaism and the other faiths provide just as much guidance and support as our own.’
‘Then your time here has not been wasted, Giovanni,’ Patrick observed thoughtfully. ‘Although that time may be coming to an end. As you know, I came back through Rome on the way home from South America. Your name came up in some interesting company. Care to hazard a guess?’
Giovanni raised his eyebrows. He never tired of Patrick’s love of conspiracy.
‘The Secretary of State?’
‘Nice try but…’ Patrick raised a finger and pointed upwards.
‘His Holiness? You met with His Holiness?’
Patrick nodded. ‘Il Papa. I had a private audience. Someone had mentioned to him that you were here and he wanted to know why. I gather you’ve met?’
‘Only once. I wrote a paper on science and religion for a conference he addressed and he made a point of meeting me. He doesn’t miss much.’
‘Which is no doubt why he is intrigued at your posting to Mar’Oth. Don’t expect to be here much longer, I think Il Papa may want you back in the Vatican,’ Patrick said, only giving Giovanni half the news.
Before Giovanni could comment, Sister Katherine showed Yossi Kaufmann in to the study.
‘Yossi! Come in, come in. You’re looking taller, or perhaps I’m getting shorter.’ Patrick winked at Giovanni.
‘Dinner will be ready very shortly, Bishop,’ Sister Katherine announced from the doorway, ‘so no settling in here with the whiskey.’
‘Mothers me terribly. Sister Katherine would sign me up to a gym if she could.’ Patrick chuckled at the thought. ‘So how is the code-breaking going, Yossi?’
‘Progress is slow, Patrick,’ Yossi replied with a smile. ‘I need a bigger computer. Eliyahu Rips found a fascinating code on DNA in the Torah, so I ran one as well and it turned up in a Dead Sea Scroll, The Rule of the Congregation. I’ve sent my findings off to Antonio Rosselli. He’s giving a lecture on it tonight.’
Giovanni immediately thought of Allegra. She had written to tell him she was giving her first public lecture as part of a double act with Rosselli. It seemed that the reminders of her were constant.
‘I’ve made some progress with the warning though. It seems to be connected with Mount Hira.’
‘Islam,’ Giovanni responded.
‘How do you get Islam from Mount Hira?’ Patrick asked.
‘Every year Muhammad used to climb Mount Hira to a cave near the summit and meditate,’ Yossi explained. ‘It is there that he received God’s revelations in his native language of Arabic. Other than the fact that there appears to be a clear countdown for civilisation, I haven’t got to the precise nature of it yet, although it is somehow connected with the Christians, Jews and Muslims.’
‘It’s ironic, isn’t it,’ Patrick said, ‘that one of the greatest threats faced by humankind is religion. The Islamic fundamentalists want nothing less than the entire human population to show obedience to Allah, while many in our own Church claim that salvation can only be found within the confines of the Catholic community. God is entitled to be a bit confused,’ Patrick chuckled.