Brotherhood itself has only ever printed a few hundred copies. I stole this one from my father’s library just before I came to Rome. It’s an Italian translation. Let me read James’s account of the death of Jesus.
“He went up to the cross, and they nailed him and hung him on it, as the prophet had foretold. And he suffered greatly from the sixth hour until the ninth, whereupon he cried out with a loud voice and hung upon the cross as one dead. And yet he had not died,
but still lived. For when they came to take him down that they might carry him to the tomb, they rejoiced that they found him still alive.
“His mother and Mary Magdalene tended his wounds and nursed him by day and night for three months, until he recovered. And in those days but a tiny number of his followers knew what had passed, that he had not died as predicted, but was still alive. For most of the disciples thought he had been buried and had risen from the dead.
“For three months, his mother and the Magdalene tended him in secret. They let the Sanhedrin and the Romans think him dead, for in that thought lay his only hope of safety. It was their plan, once he was fully come once more to his strength and could walk again, that they might find a way for him to take himself out of Palestine, into another country. And he himself desired it greatly, for the cross had broken him, and he could not face the nails again.
“But I, James his brother, together with Simon the Canaanite, Andrew the brother of Peter, and seven others from among the disciples other than the twelve, all of us who knew the truth thought otherwise. For God’s will had been thwarted, and His Sacrifice remained unfinished. Wherefore, we met together in Simon’s house that is in the Street of the Water Gate and swore a solemn oath binding us to finish what had been left undone. That night, we came to a place outside the city, where Jesus had been hidden, and took him from there over the cries of the women that watched over him, and carried him to the place outside the city, where Joseph of Arimathea had given a tomb for his burial. And he was bound with cords and his mouth tied with cloth, lest he break free or the Romans hear his cries and send men to investigate.
“And we laid him in the sarcophagus that Joseph
had inscribed with his name and the circumstances of his crucifixion under Pilate. It was a great anguish to us to treat him thus, but we remembered God’s promise to us that He would forgive us all sins through the blood of His son, and the sins of all men. And so we laid him in his place and covered him with the stone and sealed the tomb.” ‘
She stopped reading and the room filled with a terrible silence. Minutes passed and still no one spoke. At last Assefa turned to Father O’Malley.
‘Do you believe this?’ he asked.
The priest laughed loudly, breaking the spell of gloom that had settled round them all. ‘Good God, no,’ he said. ‘I can’t say it isn’t all true, of course. How would I know? How would anyone know? But the world is full of apocryphal Gospels, isn’t it? Sure, the Gnostics had Gospels and Epistles and Apocalypses and God knows what coming out of them like eggs out of a chicken. I choose not to believe in the Gospel of Thomas or the Gospel of Peter or the Gospel of the Ebionites, or, for that matter, the Acts of Paul or Peter or Thomas, and the Lord alone knows what besides. So why on earth should I believe this Gospel of James? And if it is true, what difference would it make to anything? If the saints are in hell, I’d far rather be there with them than in heaven with James and his gang.’
He paused and looked sadly at Assefa.
‘I don’t doubt that the Brotherhood exists; I know too much about them and their doings for that. And the papyrus I showed Patrick is proof enough that they go back a long way. But it doesn’t mean they know all there is to know.’
He smiled.
‘Listen, we’ll talk about this later. In the meantime, I’ll let Francesca get to the end of her story.’
Francesca laid the book back on the table.
‘There’s not much more to say,’ she continued. ‘The Brotherhood grew, at first in Egypt, later in Italy. My ancestor Pietro Contarini met some Brothers there and was initiated into their secret. By that time, Egypt was under Muslim rule, and the Brotherhood wanted to find a way into Christian territories. From Venice, they spread to Rome, and in Rome they became bishops and cardinals. About the same time Pietro brought the faith to Italy, an Irish pilgrim on his way back from Jerusalem had taken it to Ireland. During the Crusades, French and English knights were welcomed into the Brotherhood by a branch living in Jerusalem, the Guardians of the Tomb itself.
‘As the years went by, the Brotherhood grew powerful. My family and others like it in Venice made it the centre of their existence. It was a tie that bound them more tightly than any bonds of kinship. Well, in one sense the bond was one of blood. It was not just the secret they shared that held them to one another: it was something darker and more primitive than that.
‘When the Brotherhood first reached Egypt, their faith had been tested to breaking point. Jerusalem had been destroyed, the Temple razed to the ground, the Holy of Holies put to the torch. They had no way of knowing how long the Tomb of Jesus would remain inviolate, or whether it had already been found and desecrated.
‘The Jews of Alexandria were of no help to them. They prayed and wrung their hands, but they were powerless. So the Brothers vowed that one day they would avenge the destruction of their Holy City. And in confirmation of that vow, they put to death their own children, their first-born sons and daughters, regardless of age. Jesus had not been enough, otherwise the Temple would never have been burned. God
was angry, He required more blood. If they were to come out of Egypt once more, like the Children of Israel following Moses, Passover had to be repeated. Not the blood of Egyptians this time, but their own blood freely given, a sin-offering, reparation for the sins of an entire people.
‘So it went on. Of course, they could not put all their first-born to death in every generation. So the institution of the Dead was introduced. I explained earlier that they were substitutes: instead of physical death, they embraced the grave while still living. From time to time, a child would actually be sacrificed. By then, child sacrifice had become more than a ritual of atonement. The leaders of the Brotherhood, the Seven, knew that involvement in murder would hold their followers together more firmly than any vows. Who would betray such a secret, to bring himself and his whole family into disgrace and worse?’
She stopped speaking. Patrick could see that she was growing agitated again.
‘I found out all of this by accident,’ she said, her voice almost inaudible. ‘Most of us had no idea, you see. Only the Seven, the Apostles immediately below them, the abbots of the Order of the Dead, and the heads of the families ever knew the full truth. But ... I learned of it and ... witnessed it. I saw my own father ... I’m sorry, I can’t...’
Francesca was shaking now, haunted by a memory she could not exorcise. She had no need for words, the horror was in the room with them, raw and bloody and full of strength. Patrick went across to her, oblivious of the others. He took her hand and lifted her from the chair, taking her gently into his arms, not as a lover, but as someone bound to her by grief.
‘What has happened to you has happened to me,’ he repeated.
But she shook her head and pulled away from him.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Love doesn’t enter into this. Whatever you felt for me, whatever I felt for you, it’s all irrelevant. They don’t care a thing for love. Not even the love of God. They don’t want God to love them, they want Him to reward them in return for what they offer Him. Not love, but power, Patrick. Power and the forgiveness of sins. Power in this world and glory in the next. They will sacrifice anything for that: their feelings, their loves, their children ... their souls.’
He stood watching her, perplexed, frightened, understanding nothing.
‘Mr Canavan.’ It was Quadri’s voice. ‘Please sit down. We have not finished yet.’ He turned to Francesca. ‘Please, Francesca, sit down too. You did well. I’m grateful to you.’
He paused and looked round the room slowly. His thin face showed signs of pain. His eyes were full and hard.
‘Mr Canavan, Father Makonnen,’ he continued. ‘For several years now, with Francesca’s help, a small group of people chosen by Father O’Malley and myself has been investigating the Brotherhood. We have identified several of its leading members, gathered evidence of their activities, compiled a dossier for presentation to the Public Prosecutor when the time is ripe. Because of the size and secrecy of their organization, we have had to proceed with the utmost circumspection. Every step we have taken has been planned and debated most carefully. At every
