Read The Quest: A Novel for Free Online

But you must move quickly, he said, because the monks would spirit the relic away through underground passages if they thought they were being overpowered. He spoke as if he knew something of this.” Father Armano needed more water, and Purcell took the canteen and poured it slowly around his lips as Vivian translated.
    The priest asked to be propped up so they sat him against the wall in the corner. He began talking without prompting. “So, a bold priest asked, ‘How will we know what to look for and what to do when we enter the monastery?’ And the cardinal said, ‘The words of His Holiness are in the envelope, and if you should ever arrive at your destination, you will open the envelope and you will know all.’ ”
    Father Armano paused, and a faraway look came into his eyes. At first Purcell thought he was dying, but the priest smiled and continued. “Then something happened which I will never forget. His Holiness himself came into the small room where we sat with the cardinal. He spoke with the cardinal and we could hear him address the cardinal by his Christian name. He called him Eugenio. So now the cardinal with no name had a name we could use in our heads when we thought of him. But we could not call him Eugenio, could we?” The priest asked for some time to rest.
    Mercado seemed to be thinking, and Purcell asked him, “Do you know who this Cardinal Eugenio could be?”
    “No…”
    Purcell asked, “How many cardinals would there be living in Rome at that time? And how many do you think were named Eugenio?”
    Mercado replied, “I wasn’t a believer in those days and cared not at all for cardinals… but there was one who was secretary of state for Pius XI… Eugenio Pacelli.”
    “Sounds familiar for some reason.”
    “He assumed another name in 1939. Pius XII.”
    “That sounds more familiar.”
    Vivian pondered this information. “But we don’t know for sure…”
    “No,” said Mercado. “We’ll have to go to the Italian Library when we get back to Addis.”
    The old priest was following some words. Mercado turned to him. “If I showed you a picture of this cardinal as he looked in 1935, would you—”
    “Yes. Of course. I could not forget that face.”
    Realizing that Father Armano might not live long enough to see a photograph, Mercado asked, “Was this cardinal tall, thin? Aquiline nose? Light-complexioned?” He added a few more details.
    “That could be him. Yes.”
    Mercado leaned closer to Father Armano and asked, “And did His Holiness say anything to you?”
    “Yes. He came right up to us. We were standing, of course. He seemed a kind man. He even tried to speak in the Sicilian dialect. He spoke it with a bad accent, but no one laughed, of course. He spoke of humility and obedience… he spoke of duty and he spoke of the Church, the true Church. He said we should treat the priests of the Ethiopian church with respect, but also with firmness… He did not mention the envelopes. The cardinal still had them on his person. His Holiness seemed not to know of the mission sometimes, but other times he seemed to know. The words were general. You understand? He blessed us and left. The cardinal then gave everyone an envelope and also we took an oath of secrecy. I am still bound bythat oath, but I must tell you all that happened, so I am breaking my oath. It is of no importance after such a long time… And we made the oath under false…” His voice trailed off.
    Mercado touched his arm and said, “It’s all right, Father—”
    “Yes. Yes. Let me finish. So, we were taken to the Piazza Venezia. There was a military procession there. Tanks, cannons, trucks. I had never seen such things. It seemed that all Italy was in uniform. And he was there, also. The new Caesar, Il Duce. He stood like Caesar on a balcony. I did not like that man. He was too much with guns and the talk of war. And the king was there too. Victor Emmanuel. A decent man. Is he…?”
    “Dead. There are no more