“It means your journey is almost over, and all of your questions will be answered.”
Tired of riddles, Samuel walked over to Sister Bravo. “What’s the name of this place?” he asked forcefully. “I have a right to know.” Sister Bravo’s eyes narrowed, but a smile crept on her lips. “This is Bracciano Castle,” she answered. “One of the oldest and most magnificent of its kind in all the world. It’s a place for royalty.”
“I don’t care about royalty. How long will we be here?”
“As I said, all questions will be answered soon. So, make yourself comfortable, you’ve had a long journey. Besides, don’t you want to make your brothers’ acquaintance?” Samuel looked around at the two, who stood ramrod still. “I’ll leave you three to get acquainted,” Sister Bravo told them, shutting the door as she left.
Samuel faced the two boys and looked them over. He remembered their names. The boy with the long black hair was Eduardo, the blond one, Felipe. He walked over to the two, mesmerized. Eduardo, mouth open, raised his right hand, touched Samuel’s face, and ran his fingers over his forehead, cheeks and mouth.
Samuel looked around the large room. It was much nicer than the one he’d been holed-up in for the last month, with three large beds, fancy curtains and rugs, and artwork that didn’t impress him, but looked old and expensive. He was sure someone, like his mother, would find the room a delight.
He turned back to his brothers. “Hello,” he said, extending his hand.
“My name’s Samuel.” Both boys just stared back, confusion all over their faces. “Samuel Napier,” he continued. “I guess I’m your brother.”
“I’m Eduardo,” said the boy with the dark locks, in a very thick Italian accent. “He-llooo.” Eduardo’s English was broken, but adequate.
He finally shook Samuel’s hand, looking relieved.
Felipe walked over to Samuel, smiled, gave him an extended hug, and kissed both his cheeks. “Bonjour, Samuel.”
“Bonjour,” Samuel answered, unsure of himself.
The three of them shuffled their feet, uncomfortable, silent. Samuel didn’t know what to say. He didn’t speak their language, nor they his, at least not very well, and he still couldn’t get over their resemblance. The longer he looked at them, the more amazed he became. Except for hair color and language, there was no difference at all.
Samuel nervously stared at his shoes. When he looked up, Eduardo and Felipe looked as though they were waiting for orders, their eyes fixed on him.
“Would you like to sit down?” asked Samuel, pointing to the floor.
“Sii-t, down?” stammered Eduardo.
“Yes,” answered Samuel, sitting on the floor, inviting them to do the same. “Have a seat.”
Eduardo slowly lowered himself to the floor. “Si, accomodarsi,” he said, smiling.
Felipe sat down quickly. “We, s’asseoir! Je comprendre!” The boys looked at each other, then burst into laughter. Samuel felt better. The ice had been broken, and he appreciated not being alone.
For the next two hours, the boys worked hard to learn how to communicate with each other. Samuel was surprised at how much progress they made in a short period of time. The longer they talked, the more he trusted them, and hoped they felt the same way.
“Je suis affame,” said Felipe, rubbing his stomach.
“Yeah, I’m hungry too,” answered Samuel, his stomach growling on cue.
“Ask for food,” said Eduardo, proud of himself for pronouncing the English words.
“I’ll knock on the door and ask,” said Samuel, pointing. He rose, walked to the door and knocked hard. “We’re hungry,” he bellowed.
“Can we get something to eat?”
He turned to Eduardo and Felipe and made a funny face that sent them laughing and rolling on the floor. Nobody answered. Samuel knocked again, this time harder. He turned to his brothers. The lock on the door unlatched, and he turned to face Sister Bravo, ready to bark out their order, but the twisted face staring down was not Sister Bravo, but Father Sin. “Why are you making so much noise?” he asked.
Samuel took several steps back, nervous, but not afraid. The same surge of energy he felt earlier returned. “We’re hungry, and we want something to eat.”
“Later, when the rest of us eat,” said Father Sin.
Samuel moved forward. “Now!”
Anger swelled up on the priest’s face. “Don’t make me beat you silly,” growled Father Sin. “You’ll wait with the rest of us.” Samuel looked back at Eduardo and Felipe. Both boys were frozen with fear. Samuel turned his gaze back to Father Sin. “You won’t hurt me. You wouldn’t dare. Now, get us something to eat, or I’ll scream for Sister Bravo.” Father Sin rushed over, snatched Samuel off the ground and pulled him nose to nose. Samuel struggled to break free. “Put me down!” he demanded.
Father Sin shook Samuel so hard he thought his head was going to snap off. “I said wait!” the priest bellowed.
Samuel slapped at Father Sin’s face, hitting him in the eyes and nose.
The priest pulled back an open hand, ready to strike back, then hesitated.
Samuel, filled with rage he’d never known, slapped Father Sin as hard as he could. The priest dropped him on the floor.
Eduardo and Felipe rushed to Samuel’s side and helped him to his feet. Felipe pointed to Father Sin, a ghoulish anger on his face. “Tes jours sont comptes,” he said, angrily. “Your days are numbered.” Eduardo moved in front of them, ready to take on the gargantuan priest towering over them.
“We’re hungry, and want something to eat,” Samuel repeated, out of breath.
Father Sin stared at them, amused. He backed out of the room and slammed the door.
Felipe pointed at the door. “Meurtrier!” Samuel didn’t understand. Felipe kept pointing, and pulled him close.
“Murderer!”
Samuel walked over to the spot where they sat earlier and resumed his position, his eyes narrow, teeth grinding. His brothers sat down next to him.
I have to make us a team, so we can get out of here. He held up three fingers. “Three are better than one,” said Samuel.
Eduardo and Felipe held up three fingers.
“Trois,” said Felipe.
“Tre,” repeated Eduardo.
“Good,” said Samuel, smiling. “We’re going to beat them.” The boys edged in closer together, to teach and learn.
54
C ardinal Polletto sliced through the throng of reporters and well-wishers outside the hospital, wearing a look of serious concern, ignoring questions and comments about Cardinal Maximilian’s medical status.
He reached the intensive care unit, and gave two of his Vatican colleagues long hugs and kisses on each cheek before making his way to Cardinal Maximilian’s bedside, whose fierce eyes and fiery aura had been replaced with the helplessness of a child. Tubes flowed in and out of the cleric, surrounded by more medical equipment and wires than Cardinal Polletto had ever seen. A large tube disappeared down Cardinal Maximilian’s throat, and the black, glass enclosed ventilator pump worked hard to keep him alive.
“What’s his prognosis?” Cardinal Polletto wondered out loud.
“He’s been in a coma for almost twelve hours,” a voice behind him answered.
Cardinal Polletto turned to find Bishop Giovanni Ruini, a stout, round-faced Italian, with a large bulbous nose, slightly kowtowing before him.
“His condition is touch and go for the next twenty-four hours, Your Eminence. If he hangs on until then, he’ll be out of the woods,” said Bishop Ruini.
Cardinal Polletto thanked the bishop, then turned back toward the man who’d given him more difficulties than
