The Secret Supper (25 page)

“Yes, yes…” The Pope stifled a yawn. “And you’ve also mentioned Ficino.”

Father Torriani nodded.

“Is that not the man you’ve spoken of a number of times, my dear Nanni?”

“Indeed it is, Holy Father.” The assistant bowed his head with an obsequious smile. “Ficino is an extraordinary character. Quite unique. I doubt very much that he’s a heretic such as Father Torriani has portrayed for us. He’s now in his midseventies and the canon of the Florence Cathedral. His bright spirit would enchant you.”

“Bright spirit?” The Pope coughed discreetly. “Not another Savonarola, is he? Are they not both canons in the same church?”

The Pope winked at Torriani, who had started at the mention of the name of the exalted Dominican who preached the end of the “wealthy Church.”

“It is true that they share the same roof, Your Holiness,” the Weasel said apologetically, “but they are men of distinctly opposed personalities. Ficino is a scholar who deserves all our respect, a learned man who has translated into Latin innumerable ancient texts, such as the Egyptian treatises that helped Pinturicchio decorate this ceiling.”

“Indeed?”

“Before working on your frescoes, Pinturicchio studied the books of Hermes that Ficino had just finished translating from the Greek. In them are the stories that tell of the love between Isis and Osiris—”

“And Leonardo?” the Pope said gruffly. “Has he too read Ficino?”

“And shared his friendship, Holy Father. Pinturicchio was well aware of their relationship. Both were his students in Verrocchio’s workshop and both followed his classes on Plato and the immortality of the soul. Is there any idea more profoundly Christian than that?”

Nanni pronounced these last words as a challenge to Father Torriani. He knew well that most Dominicans followed the teachings of Saint Thomas Aquinas, inspired in turn by Aristotle and much opposed to rescuing Plato from oblivion. The Master General felt that he was at a disadvantage before Father Annio and bowed his head meekly before taking his leave.

“Your Holiness, Reverend Annio,” he courteously saluted them. “It is useless to continue to speculate on the sources of inspiration for Leonardo’s Last Supper in Milan until our investigation is at an end. With your blessing, we’ll continue our research and try to determine what exactly is Leonardo’s sin against our doctrine.”

“If sin there be,” commented Nanni.

The Pope returned Father Torriani’s salutation and, drawing the sign of the Cross in the air, added:

“A piece of advice before you leave, Father Torriani. From now onward, watch where you tread.”

35

I never saw such long faces as those of the brethren at Santa Maria on that Sunday morning. Sometime before matins, the Father Prior had gone through the entire monastery, cell by cell, rousing us from our sleep. He shouted at us to make our ablutions as quickly as possible and to prepare our conscience for what is known in the Church as a “chapter extraordinary.”

Of course, no one dared object. The brothers all knew that sooner or later they would be asked to account for the sexton’s death. Perhaps that is why they had begun to eye each other suspiciously and, for a stranger such as myself, the situation was untenable. The monks began gathering in small groups according to their place of origin. Those from south of Milan would not speak to those from the north who in turn would not mix with those from the lakes, as if the others had had a hand in the ignominious death of Brother Giberto. Santa Maria was divided. And I still had no solution to offer them.

That morning, as I washed and dressed in the dark, I pondered on the gravity of the crisis. Though it was true that every one of the brothers seemed to be muttering against the others, it was also true that they all agreed on one thing: to keep me at a distance from their troubles. Because what terrified them more than anything else was that I, in my capacity as inquisitor, might begin procedures against their community. The rumor that Brother Giberto had died preaching the Cathar gospel filled them with fear though none, of course, dared say so openly. They looked at me accusingly, as if I had forced Father Alessandro to hang himself and Brother Giberto to lose his mind. They seemed to think that I possessed some kind of diabolical powers.

What impressed me most, however, was to see how the Father Prior took advantage of their fears.

After waking us, the Father Prior led us to a large empty table that he himself had set up in a room close to the stables. The room was cold and even more badly lit than the cells, and in that frozen gloom the Father Prior informed us of what was in store for us. From matins to compline, we would examine our sins, perform acts of contrition and publicly confess our misdemeanors. And when the day was over, a group of brothers chosen by himself would go to the Cloister of the Dead and exhume Father Alessandro’s body. Not only would his remains be taken from the earth but they would be carried beyond the city walls where they would be exorcised, burnt and cast into the wind. The same would be done with the bones of Brother Giberto.

The Father Prior wanted his monastery clean from heresy before sunset. He, who had believed in the innocence of the father librarian and had even suggested that there was a plot afoot against his life, now knew with certainty that Father Alessandro had lived with his back turned to the True Christ, placing the monastery’s moral integrity in serious danger.

I noticed the brother grave digger, Mauro Sforza, cross himself nervously at one end of the table.

We found the Father Prior more stern and taciturn than ever. He had not slept well. The bags under his eyes lent his face a ravaged aspect. I knew that I was partly to blame for his deplorable state. On the previous afternoon, while Master General Torriani and Pope Alexander were meeting in Rome, the Father Prior and this humble servant of God were discussing the implications of having two Cathar heretics infiltrate our community. Milan, I explained to the Father Prior, was under siege by the forces of evil as never before in the past hundred years. All my sources confirmed it. At first, the Father Prior looked doubtful, as if he did not believe that a stranger only recently arrived might understand the problems of his diocese, but as I lay my arguments before him, he gradually changed his mind.

I contended that the strange sequence of deaths that we had endured did not obey simple laws of chance. I explained how they were linked to the murdered pilgrims in the church of San Francesco. Even the duke’s police had agreed with me, concluding that those poor unfortunates had died without offering resistance, just like Father Alessandro. Furthermore, the site in which the crimes had taken place was by the main altar, under the painting by Leonardo known as the Maestà. That fact, together with the discovery that the pilgrims had with them nothing but a piece of bread and a handful of painted cards, made me suspicious. All of them carried the same objects, as if these were part of some obscure ritual. Perhaps of some Cathar ceremony, unknown until now.

It was all so strange. Leonardo, as I suggested to the Father Prior, was a singular source of problems. Father Alessandro had died after sitting for him as Judas Iscariot, and I knew that, among the brethren, he was the one closest to Leonardo. And Donna Beatrice, of course: dead after having granted him her protection. How could one ignore the subtle thread linking both occurrences? Was it not evident that Leonardo was surrounded by powerful enemies, as much opposed to his heterodoxy as we were, but capable of taking up arms against him and his friends?

These victims, and the impending threat that there might be more, obliged me to speak to the Father Prior about the Soothsayer. I believe I was right in doing so.

At first he stared at me in disbelief when I explained to him that Rome had already been informed about this spate of misfortunes. In fact, highly placed officials in the service of the Pope had long been receiving communications from a mysterious correspondent who had announced what would happen if the work on the Cenacolo was not stopped. The profile of this emissary (I explained) was that of a cunning individual, intelligent, probably a Dominican, who was hiding his identity for fear of the duke’s revenge. A man who, no doubt, was acting out of hatred toward Leonardo and whose only obsession seemed to be to lead him to his discredit and ruin. Someone, therefore, whom we needed to track down immediately if we wanted to stop the incessant trickle of deaths and lay our hands on the clear incriminatory proofs against Leonardo that he said he possessed.

“If I’m not mistaken, Father Prior, the passivity of Rome has obliged him to take justice into his own hands.”

“And why, Father Agostino? What can this man possibly have against our painter?” asked the Father Prior.

“I thought about it carefully and, believe me, there’s only one answer that I find plausible.”

The Father Prior looked at me inquisitively, inviting me to proceed.

“My theory is that in the recent past, the Soothsayer was Leonardo’s accomplice and even shared his heterodox beliefs. Then, for some obscure reason that we must still determine, this man felt himself disappointed in the painter and made up his mind to betray him. First, he wrote relentless letters to Rome, informing us of Leonardo’s crimes against the Catholic faith and of the evil he was hiding inside his Cenacolo, but in view of our skepticism, he lost all hope and decided to act.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I can’t blame you, Father Prior. I myself don’t yet have all the clues. But my theory makes sense if we assume that the Soothsayer was a Cathar, just like Father Alessandro and Brother Giberto. For a time, he too must have thought himself the heir of the true apostles of Christ and, like them, he decided to await patiently the Messiah’s Second Coming. That is the dream of every bonhomme. They believe that on that day, their ‘True Faith’ will be confirmed in the eyes of the whole of Christendom. What I believe is that, after a long and fruitless wait, upset by some serious mishap, the Soothsayer lost his senses, reneged on his vows of not committing violence and demanded to be paid back in blood for the time he had lost among the ‘pure men.’ ”

“That is a ghastly accusation, Father Agostino.”

“Let us study the facts, Father Prior,” I suggested. “The Cathars’ sourcebook is the New Testament. When the Soothsayer killed Father Alessandro, he set up the crime so that it would look like suicide. Leonardo realized this at once and, even though he tried to divert the attention of the police, he unwittingly gave me a fundamental clue: Father Alessandro had died in the same manner as Judas Iscariot after betraying Christ.”

“And what importance do you attribute to this fact?”

“A great deal of importance, Father Prior. The Cathar universe proceeds along a path of symbols. If the Soothsayer managed to have the community of bonhommes believe that they were reenacting the events that led up to the death of Christ, he might convince them that the Second Coming was at hand. Don’t you see? The librarian’s ‘suicide’ was announcing to them that the prophecies of old were coming to pass, that Christ would soon walk the Earth again and that His faith would once again reappear from among the shadows.”

“The Second Coming of Christ—”

“Indeed. Because of this, Brother Giberto, impressed by the revelation, abandoned his fears and went out to preach the Cathar way, giving up his life unafraid, certain that when His Lord had returned, he’d be raised from among the dead. The Soothsayer was taking his revenge with fiendish cleverness.”

“You seem very certain of your theory.”

“I am,” I agreed. “I’ve already told you that our informant has a complex personality. He’s a brilliant man who has left nothing to chance, not even the place he chose to hang Father Alessandro.”

“You mean—?”

“I thought you’d have realized.” I smiled somewhat cynically. “When I went to scrutinize the portico of the Palazzo della Ragione and in particular the beam from which our librarian was hanged, I saw a curious bas-relief. It is inscribed to a certain Orlando da Tressano with the words ‘Spada e Tutore della fede per aver fatto bruciare come si doveva i Catari.’ That is to say, ‘Sword and Master of the Faith for having burnt to death the Cathars as they well deserved.’ A curious mockery, don’t you think?”

The Father Prior was astonished. The plague of heresy had infected his monastery far beyond what he might have imagined.

“Tell me, Father Agostino,” he asked, his voice full of concern. “How far do you suppose that the Soothsayer has gone in deceiving his own comrades?”

“Enough to have convinced those pilgrims murdered in San Francesco to abandon their hiding places in the mountains and travel to the city in search of salvation. They’ve offered their lives meekly in expectation of the Second Coming. The Soothsayer has managed to force the Cathars to make themselves visible. And, I’m sure, he believes that it’s only a question of time before Leonardo too takes a wrong step.”

“Then…” The Father Prior hesitated. “You think that the Soothsayer is still among us.”

“I’m convinced of that. And he remains hidden because he knows it’s too late for him to obtain your pardon. Not only has he sinned against the doctrine of the Church but he has broken the fifth commandment: ‘Thou shalt not kill.’ ”

“How are we to know who he is?”

“Fortunately, he’s made a small mistake.”

“A mistake?”

“In his early letters, when he was still hopeful that Rome would intervene, he gave us a clue to help us find him.”

The Father Prior looked astonished. His quick mind, trained to sift through information and solve problems, hit at once on the solution.

“Of course!” He hit his forehead with his hand. “That is your riddle! The Soothsayer’s signature! That’s why it was written on the card we found next to the librarian!”

“Father Alessandro attempted to solve the mystery on his own. Rashly, I gave him the text of the riddle, and his own curiosity may have led him to his death.”

“In that case, Father Agostino, we already have him. All we need to do is solve the conundrum to know his name.”