“Sit down, Abbot,” the figure commanded.
Brenos wanted to remain standing, the better to bolt from the room if need be, but did as he was asked and sat, choosing the chair nearest the lamp, where he could see the specter more clearly. Smyrna had towered over him by at least a head when standing; now that he was seated, the costumed figure still loomed like some overpowering courier of evil.
“Our plan, Abbot, seems to have gone wrong,” the voice intoned through the Smyrna mask, “just as an unexpected storm at sea may destroy a galley.”
Brenos’ scalp tightened at the confirmation of what he feared. “So…so it’s been hinted to me. I was delayed by such a storm and came later than I expected.”
“An unfortunate circumstance, Abbot. It may be yet a further whim of Fortune, but the testament of the Nazarene seems to have been unearthed by those who are not Gallicans.”
“I’ve just learned that, but only one other person may be aware of it, the Emperor’s mother. We need only find where the will is now. I believe it to be in the palace.”
“And you were the building’s architect?” Smyrna mocked. “Go, then, find the document.”
“I…I meant that the papyri must be near the librarian’s room. Wherever he was testing the manuscripts.” Brenos was sweating now, intimidated by the apparition in a way he had not been since his novice days at Clonard. He needed to impress this Smyrna, and so he blurted out, “Did you know that Theokritos declared the will to be authentic?”
“Authentic? Who told you this?” Smyrna demanded, his sarcasm replaced by a tone of angry surprise.
“I…” Brenos hesitated. No one knew he had looked inside the librarian’s cabinet after suffocating him. “Th…the old man told me before he died.”
“And you told whom?”
“No one. Nobody. On my oath to Ciallanus, no one,” Brenos babbled. “Now, only you. But we must locate the Nazarene’s will in time for the Nativity Mass.”
“You sound desperate, Abbot, and you should be. The fate of our Gallican League depends on finding the document in time.”
“Yes, yes. I discovered only the librarian’s result…” Brenos stopped. He had almost slipped again, after saying he had been told the results of the tests, but Smyrna either did not catch the error or ignored it.
“You mentioned the librarian’s room,” the muffled voice said, “but the will could be with the Empress Mother. I will try to locate it.”
“Wh…what of the prophecy?” Brenos asked nervously. “Behan evidently failed to announce it.”
“The fool drowned beforehand, in one of his penances.”
“I received word of his death at Culdees, and the note—your note—about the cockerel being ready to crow. We agreed Behan’s murder was the signal for me to come, but you mentioned no accidental death, nor that the prophecy had not been revealed. How were the two papyri discovered?”
“All you need know, Abbot, is that the witnesses were…are…being silenced.”
Brenos felt resentment surface at the man’s arrogant and patronizing attitude. He had called it “our” Gallican League. This Smyrna was meant to be a mere instrument for bringing about a theocracy that was his, Brenos’, idea.
“Abbot? Your mind has wandered.”
Smyrna’s voice brought Brenos back. “Yes. There…there isn’t much time for you to find the Nazarene’s will.”
An eerie chuckle sounded from behind the mask. “Only until the cock crows twice more.”
“Twice more?” There were two dawns until the Nativity, but was the comment intended as a taunt about Peter’s betrayal of the Nazarene? Does this…this satanic apparition think he is being deceived, that I have betrayed my own Gallicans? The pain in Brenos’ side was excruciating. He realized that he had to get out of the oppressive room, try to sleep, but first he must arrange another meeting. “When will you contact me again?”
“Tomorrow, at the monk’s funeral, I will tell you what I have found out. Now, Mutus will take you back to Ravenna.”
When Brenos stepped up into the black carriage again he was trembling. A blinding white light behind his eyes pulsed regularly, mimicking each beat of his heart. Nauseous, it was all he could do to keep from vomiting. There was no choice but to trust Smyrna, yet there were only two days left in which to locate the papyri. If the prophecy had to be announced after the disclosure of the Nazarene’s will, Behan’s accidental drowning would be a suitable excuse, but once the terms of the will were made public, no one would really care any longer.
No, wait, Brenos thought. I could announce the prophecy at my eulogy for Behan. It’s not the way I had planned it, but the will itself is the crucial document. Smyrna must locate that papyrus.
As the carriage rattled back across the bridge Brenos rankled at his humiliation. Smyrna had questioned him as if he were a novice monk and only a small part of the conspiracy, not an abbot and head of the Gallican League. Yet he would be patient. Once the Nazarene’s testament was made public and the League triumphant, an arrogant associate like Smyrna would be humbled—destroyed in the winepress of God’s wrath!
Chapter twenty-two
Late on the afternoon of December twenty-third, Getorius was pleasantly surprised when Charadric admitted both Arcadia and Silvia to his room.
Arcadia called the guard back as he turned to leave, “A moment, Charadric. How is your wife Ingunda’s leg? The Surgeon treated her after I…I—”
“Yes, I leeched her,” Getorius broke in to cover his wife’s embarrassment.
“She’s better, Domina,” Charadric replied. “The redness has gone away.”
“Good.”
“Full use of your hand again?” Getorius asked. “That was a nasty wound I stitched up.” In answer the guard grinned and rapidly flexed the fingers of his left hand. “Fine. I heard you’ve been promoted to lead one of the elite Germanic units that Aetius is forming from some of the palace guards.”
“After the new year,” Charadric replied. “I’ll go now…let you visit with your wife.”
“Good fortune to you.”
“We brought your supper instead of having Brisios come,” Arcadia
