“You really think they’ll just let us in?” asked Karl, following Greta through the crowds.
Hundreds of people had gathered outside Castel Sant’Angelo, and hundreds more were standing upon the bridge and lining the far bank of the Tiber. Karl knew that the bridge had collapsed once before and hoped it wouldn’t happen a second time tonight.
“I know some of the guards,” replied Greta, her arm linked with his. “One or two of them owe me a favor.” She glanced at her old friend with a brief smile. “And the way you’re looking, you could offer to hear their confessions. You would have made a good priest.”
“At least I would have been constantly surrounded by handsome men,” grumbled Karl. “Sodomites are common among monks—I know what I’m talking about.”
After Karl and Greta’s conversation outside the church, they had paid a brief visit to the hospital. Greta had rummaged through the clothes room until she’d found an old monk’s habit that Karl had slipped over his clothes. He had insisted on accompanying Greta to ensure little Sebastian’s well-being. He couldn’t bring himself to believe that Faust had deceived him.
To Karl’s surprise, they didn’t head toward the main entrance but walked around the fortress until they came to a smaller gate in the eastern wall. It was manned by two soldiers of the Swiss guard. With their halberds, swords on their belts, and grim expressions, they looked like two statues of Mars, the god of war. But when the men recognized Greta, they broke out in friendly smiles.
“Sister Greta!” exclaimed one of them. “My uncle sends his regards. His stomach pains have indeed gone.”
“Tell him to continue taking the powder for another five days.” Greta raised a finger. “And no meat or fatty foods during Advent.”
The watchman grinned. “Old Greedy Guts will find that rather difficult.” His eyes turned to Karl with curiosity. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit, Father?”
“We would like to check on my son,” replied Greta. “Sebastian has been suffering from a nasty cough since yesterday. And Father Rupert is one of the best doctors over at the hospital.”
“Better than you? That’s hardly possible,” said the second watchman, a gaunt fellow with a freshly healed scar on his face. “Your ointments work miracles, Sister. But I understand—a second opinion never hurts.” He stepped aside and opened the gate. “I hope your son feels better soon, Sister Greta.” He winked at her. “And don’t be surprised if some of the guards aren’t at their posts tonight. I think a few of them wanted to sneak out to the balustrades to watch the fireworks. They should start at any moment.”
Greta gave the guards a nod, and she and Karl walked into the gloomy building.
“I hope God will forgive my small lie,” she murmured. She folded back her head scarf so that Karl could see her blonde hair. Her eyes were flashing with the same willfulness he knew from years ago. “I don’t even know why I agreed to this charade. My son is perfectly well—you’ll see.”
“I wish that you’re right, Greta,” said Karl. “Truly, I wish it with my whole heart. And if you are right, then at least we’ll have spent some time together before we go our separate ways for good. I am going to leave Rome soon.”
She squeezed his hand. “It was wonderful to see you again, Karl.” She turned abruptly. “Now let’s go. Before more guards ask stupid questions about the handsome monk in the musty robe.”
They were standing inside a narrow corridor that ran between the outer wall and the cylindrical main building. Every ten paces or so stood a firepot, bringing a little light into the night. A larger gate led inside the castle. Here, too, the soldiers let Greta and Karl pass with a nod at Greta.
“You seem to have a lot of friends here,” whispered Karl.
“Everyone gets sick sometimes or suffers from one ailment or another. And there are hardly any women at Castel Sant’Angelo—the guards are grateful for any distraction.” Greta strode ahead. “But don’t forget—this is merely the lower area. The higher up we go, the more heavily guarded you’ll find the castle. I don’t have access to the upper levels.”
As they followed a wide rampart that was shaped like the inside of a snail’s shell, Karl had to concede that the papal castle truly was an impregnable fortress. They walked across a trapdoor more than three paces long and as wide as the rampart. In the sides and the ceilings he noticed narrow and deep slits. The walls here seemed to be thicker than some houses, and with no windows or doors. The dim source of light was torches sitting in brackets on the wall at regular intervals.
After a while, Greta took a corridor that turned off to the left. It led them to a small courtyard where young lemon trees grew inside clay tubs; several doors led in all directions. Karl had completely lost his bearings. The moon above him was his only point of orientation, and he faintly heard the cheering crowd outside the walls.
Greta looked around in bewilderment. “There should be guards here,” she said, shaking her head. “I guess they wanted to see the fireworks. So long as Martha is still there.”
“Who is Martha?”
“Sebastian’s nursemaid. She’s a kind and caring woman who has raised many children. Sebastian loves her.” She paused. “Probably more than his own mother,” she added softly.
She walked to a small door in the corner. She was about to push down the handle when she froze. Karl walked up beside her and saw what had made Greta stop short.
The door was ajar, and all was dark on the other side.
“Martha, are you there?” called Greta into the darkness. “It’s me, Greta. I know it’s late, but—”
She fell silent when Karl touched her by the shoulder. He pointed at the ground. A child-sized shoe was lying in front of the doorstep, and a wet spot gleamed next to it in
