Deathly Relics by Sam Siciliano

Author:Sam Siciliano
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags:  
Publisher: Titan

Chapter Seven

That afternoon Holmes and I felt we needed some respite from murder and violent death, so we again went out with Monsignor Greene. We took a boat ride down the Tiber which would have been pleasant were it not for the circumstances. We had dinner in a small restaurant in the Trastevere neighborhood not far from the Vatican. By then we knew we could not go wrong with any of the monsignor’s choices, but we were subdued after the events of the past two days.

As we sat sipping our digestivi, Monsignor Greene let out a long weary sigh. “I cannot believe that Cardinal Cicogno is really gone. He was always a difficult man, but even so… Always so angry. Anger is one of the seven deadly sins, you know, and he had it in spades. I’m afraid many of us clerics are hardly exemplary.”

I smiled at him. “You, on the other hand, seem one of the least angry men I have met.”

Holmes nodded. “Even so.”

Greene gazed down at his plump hands resting on the table. “I doubt I can take much of the credit. It seems somewhat a matter of native disposition. I have never been one of a truculent nature. Partly it is merely being practical—of what use is anger? All it does is stir you up, muddle your thinking, and make for trouble.”

One thing we did not talk about was how the case would be pursued and what might happen next. It all seemed rather hopeless to me, although I could not fathom what the Camorra might want with a bunch of relics.

Before we left, Greene asked if we might want to attend Mass with him the next morning. There was a small church, Santa Maria della Vittoria, near the train station, which had the famous Bernini statue of Saint Teresa. When he heard I had not seen the statue, Greene said I absolutely must make the visit. “Besides,” he added, in French, “we must make you Catholic again.”

Holmes and I both smiled. “I fear I’m something of a lost cause,” I said.

“No one is ever a lost cause,” Greene murmured.

* * *

The Hotel Eden was only a ten-minute walk from the church, and Greene met us in the lobby at quarter to ten, Sunday morning, so we could be there for the Mass starting on the hour. The exterior of Santa Maria might be rather plain and unimposing, but the interior made up for it. Although small compared to the monumental churches we had visited, the inside was a riot of color and ornamentation. There were more fabulous shades of marble filled with black, blue or a flecked golden-brown, and more gilt friezes all around the painted ceiling where Mary reigned supreme while sinners fell into Hell at the other end. White sculpted angels hovered everywhere on high. Pillars of every assortment abounded—round and square, small and large, while balusters and balustrades of spectacular marble stood before each of the three altars.

And there, above the altar

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