The Book of Love (15 page)

Anselmo had listened carefully to Isobel as she recounted the most recent, miraculous events of Matilda’s young life. Now he had a more complete picture of why the girl had given her gold to him. The
Volto Santo
had spoken to her in San Martino’s. It was a beautiful omen.

Isobel smiled at him, her deep dimples showing in a most fetching way. He returned the expression, adding, “We are all so proud of the work you have done with her. But no one more than I, my love.”

Anselmo moved to close the space that had separated them. The door was closed and there was little enough chance that they would be disturbed at this time of night. Besides, they were within the territory of the Order, a place that held the sacred union of beloveds to be the highest sacrament. It was a most important part of their teaching and it was emphasized in the Book of Love and therefore took precedence over any laws created by men. Within these walls, the vows he had taken for public scrutiny at the behest of his uncle the bishop, so that he might one day inherit a Church position of high rank, could be placed aside. Here he could be himself and celebrate the love that brought infinite joy to his soul, the love that God gave to all mankind as his greatest gift, so that they might find divinity within each other.

Isobel came to him then, slipping into the warmth of Anselmo’s welcoming embrace, the touch she had missed so much since taking her position as Matilda’s nurse. The two of them had been together since they were children in Lucca, and their love for each other was surpassed only by their love for the Order and the teachings of the Master, the teachings of the Libro Rosso, which they were both sworn to preserve.

She whispered the first lines of the sacred song, inflecting it with the softest sensuality as her lips approached his.

“Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth. Your love is more delightful than wine.”

He should have whispered the reply, but he was already too lost in her to speak. They joined together through the slow, sweet sanctity of their kiss, blending souls in the prelude to blending bodies.

The sacred union of beloveds would assuredly find its most passionate expression on this night.

It had been far too long in the waiting.

Matilda was screaming.

Isobel ran down the short hallway where she had been asleep on a novice’s pallet. Matilda had stayed awake very late, working in the chapel with the Master, who had decided she should spend the night here in the simplicity of the Order’s dormitory. Isobel’s first thought was that the child had awakened in a room that she did not recognize. She chided herself for leaving the girl alone. She should have stayed with Matilda herself but had rationalized fairly that the child had been so tired, it seemed entirely unlikely she would awaken before sunrise.

Matilda was sitting straight up in her little bed, sobbing now.

“What is it,
ma petite
?” Isobel wrapped her arms around the girl and rocked her gently as she cried, until her sobs began to calm in the warmth and safety of her surrogate mother’s embrace.

“Papa.” Matilda tried to get the words out through her hiccups, but she was still crying too hard.

“Were you dreaming?”

She nodded. “Papa. Something terrible happened to Papa in the dream, Issy. God is angry with him.”

“Nonsense. God is loving and just; he is not an angry and vengeful God. He would not hurt your papa.”

“Fra Gilbert says that God punishes the unrighteous, and he says that Papa is unrighteous.”

“Matilda, I am surprised at you. You have just spent an evening in the presence of our most sacred treasure, which is called the Book of
Love
for a reason. It is a celebration of God’s love for his children.”

Isobel was usually quite careful to respect the beliefs of orthodox Catholics, but at times they truly tried her patience—particularly when she had to undo the damage that preaching did to her precious child. Besides, it was late, she was tired, and she made no personal claims to sainthood. She snapped, “Fra Gilbert is a harsh man who knows little enough about the nature of God, or about your father or, I dare say, about love.”

Matilda giggled in spite of herself. Isobel embodied the Way of Love very nearly all the time. As such, she was rarely angry; thus it was interesting to behold her when she was.

“But Issy, my father does not want to give money to build a church for the Holy Face.”

Isobel nodded. “Your father is generous in his own way, Matilda. I know it is hard for you to understand, but there are a lot of adult reasons why he cannot give money to the building of a church at the moment.” Isobel did not want to explain to a six-year-old that Bonifacio was well aware that any funding he provided to expand San Martino would likely go first into a number of clerical coffers that were not of his choosing and would have nothing to do with erecting a new church. But in her childish innocence, all Matilda could see was her father’s refusal to help her Lord.

“In my dream, God was angry that Papa wouldn’t build a new church and…something terrible happened. I need to see Papa. I need to tell him we will build a new church and then God will not be angry.”

Isobel sighed. There would be no reasoning with her like this, not when she was still in the emotional throes of the nightmare. And Isobel was secretly concerned. Matilda’s dreams had turned out to be prophetic more than once, which was to be expected given the circumstances of her birth. She kissed Matilda on the forehead for reassurance
and prayed silently that this dream was simply the manifestation of a little girl’s fear, and not a prophecy.

“Your father left this evening to go on his hunting expedition. But I promise you, as soon as he returns, we will discuss the rebuilding of San Martino with him. Will that do?”

Matilda nodded, then snuggled back into her bed, exhausted now by the whole ordeal.

“Stay with me, Issy,” she commanded.

“Of course I will, my sweet,” Isobel reassured her, and she sang the child softly back to sleep with the song that always calmed her down, the one in French, about eternal love.

The news came first to Mantua, where Matilda’s mother, Beatrice of Lorraine, had stayed behind to run the household. The castle was thrown into immediate chaos, and the lady Beatrice had to be attended by a team of physicians after she collapsed in a hysterical heap. This was too much. God had taken far more from her than any woman should endure in one lifetime. Why would he punish her so? Fra Gilbert was surely correct. God took his vengeance on the unrighteous.

“Where is Matilda?” she shrieked through her tears. “Bring my daughter to me!”

Beatrice was reminded that Matilda was still in Lucca, but a retinue would be sent immediately, along with a double guard of heavy horse, to return her to her childhood home in Mantua. She must be home for the funeral.

As impossible as it seemed, the great Bonifacio, Count of Canossa, Marchese of Mantua, and Grand Duke of Tuscany, was dead. He had been killed suspiciously by a stray arrow that struck him squarely in the throat during his hunting expedition, the morning after Matilda’s prophetic dream.

Rome
present day

“
W
ow.”

Maureen’s legs were tucked underneath her as she sat on the bed, staring out the window at the Pantheon. It was full dark now, and the floodlights had come on, illuminating the magnificent monument to its grandest expression. Her single word of exclamation was in appreciation both of the ancient sight before her and of the story that Peter had just related.

“Do you realize,” Maureen began thoughtfully, “that when Matilda came to Rome, the Pantheon would have looked exactly like it does today? That it’s possible she would have stood somewhere in this square and admired it in precisely the way that I am doing right now?”

“That’s why they call it the Eternal City,” Peter responded. “It’s a great credit to the Italians, really, how carefully they preserve what remains.” Peter had walked every inch of Rome in his time here and had certain routes that he cherished because they took him past the often awesome ruins of ancient civilizations. Rome was a marvel on foot. Around every corner there was a chunk of history by the roadside just waiting to be observed.

She returned her attention to Peter. “Are you exhausted?”

“Hungry. Shall we go to Alfredo’s for dinner? It’s right across the square.”

“Can’t do it.” Maureen sighed dramatically. “Alas, I hear from Lara at the front desk that they have the best saltimbocca in all of Rome.”

“And that’s a problem because…?”

“Because I’ll hate myself if I eat veal. So lead me not into temptation. But I could be convinced to go after Florentine cuisine at Il Foro. Porcini mushrooms? A great Brunello? A worthy reward for all of this work. And it only seems right that we should eat Tuscan food in Matilda’s honor.”

“Twist my arm. You know I love that place.”

Maureen had a lot of questions about what she had just heard. She knew that Peter would be far more inclined to answer them if he was well fed and able to relax for a bit. He was a master at language, but this type of translation was definitely taxing. Besides, the walk to the restaurant would be good for both of them. They stopped at the front desk to be sure that they didn’t need a reservation, then walked the short distance, past Peter’s church of Ignatius Loyola, and down the picturesque alley with its antique shops to the trattoria.

The staff knew Peter and welcomed him by name, leading them to one of the small, quiet tables in the rear room, against the window. Once the rich, red wine from Tuscany had been poured, Maureen began her questions.

“So, help me to be clear on this. The Book of Love and the Libro Rosso are not the same thing?”

Peter nodded. “Correct. Sort of. The Libro Rosso
contains
the Book of Love, or at least a copy of it. It seems to me that it was structured rather like the New Testament is in our traditional canon. For example, we have the four gospels: Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. But then we also have the Acts of the Apostles as written by Luke, and then we have the epistles of Paul and assorted other letters, then finally the Book of Revelation. Those put together form what we call the New Testament. With me so far, right?”

Maureen nodded.

“So now let’s compare. In terms of the book that Matilda’s Master has in his possession, this is my understanding so far. Here we have a copy of the gospel of Jesus, which is called the Book of Love…”

Maureen was scribbling notes. She interrupted him for clarification. “A copy. This is the copy made by the apostle Philip. Because the original, written in the hand of Jesus, is still in France at this time, as far as we know.”

“Also correct. Then the Book of Love is followed by the collected prophecies of his daughter, Sarah-Tamar. Certainly, the corroboration of The Expected One prophecy here is fascinating. How do you feel about it?”

Maureen took a sip of her wine and thought for a moment before answering. “Hmm. I feel strangely close to Matilda. We are similar in appearance, or at least in coloring and body type, we have the same birth date within a day or so of the equinox, and we both lived with the scrutiny and pressure of this crazy prophecy hanging over our heads. And Bonifacio’s death made me cry. The parallels are interesting, at the very least.”

“Given what you’ve been through, I’m going to say they’re more than interesting.”

“And what do you think they are?”

“I don’t know yet. But I do believe that it is all part of some divine plan, Maureen. I really do.”

“‘The time returns’? And what do you think that means, exactly?”

Peter shook his head. “Let me work on that awhile longer before I speculate.”

She knew he was holding back. “No good, Pete. I want to hear what your first impression is. Just think out loud for a minute. Humor me.”

He shrugged. “Okay. You know, my first thought if I’m just thinking out loud…well, it’s about the prophets. Remember that in the time of Christ it was believed that John the Baptist was the second coming of the prophet Elijah? Jesus says, while speaking of John the Baptist, ‘And if ye will receive it, this is Elijah who was for to come.’ Which is a reference to a prophecy that Elijah will return to herald the coming of the
Lord. And then later, after John is executed, Jesus says, ‘I say unto you that Elijah has come already and they knew him not.’ So we see that there is a biblical tradition of certain prophets coming back to fulfill prophecy.”

“So is it a reincarnation thing? Is John the Baptist the reincarnation of Elijah the prophet? Is Jesus actually Adam come back to earth? Do they share the same soul, or simply the same destiny?”

The more conservative aspects of Peter’s religious training rebelled at the mention of anything resembling past lives. “I would certainly shy away from calling it reincarnation or putting an Eastern or a New Age label on it. But there is definitely biblical tradition that backs up this idea that the prophets come back when they are needed to do the jobs laid out for them by God. In the Gospel of Luke, when John’s coming is foretold to his father Zacharias, it says, ‘He shall go before them in the spirit and power of Elijah.’ So I think that’s where we have to look, perhaps.
In the spirit and power
of one prophet comes another to finish the job. Now to your point, the interpretation of the word
spirit
can take us in several directions. It could be literal—as in, they are actually the same spirit. Which forces us to look at the reincarnation question. But I am personally inclined to interpret
spirit
in a broader form.”

Maureen knew they weren’t grasping it yet. “The time returns. In my dream, Easa told me it was the one thing I needed to remember. And it’s in the Libro Rosso, and it’s part of Matilda’s nightly prayer ritual. This concept had extraordinary meaning to these people on a daily, living basis. I’m not discounting what you’re saying, I’m just suggesting that there’s more.”

“I’ll get more translations finished over the next twenty-four hours. We’ll just have to keep reading and hope that our redheaded countess gives us some more valuable information.”

Maureen raised her glass. “To Matilda.”

Peter met it with his own. “The time returns.”

Back in his study, Peter reflected on his own set of concerns and areas of fascination in terms of what they had read in Matilda’s manuscript. The theological implications within the Libro Rosso were astonishing.

The idea that the apostle Philip made a copy of the Book of Love was highly significant. Philip would eventually author his own gospel, a later copy of which was found in the cache of Gnostic discoveries in the Egyptian town of Nag Hammadi in 1945, and it was from Philip’s gospel that Jesus was quoting in Maureen’s most recent dream when he said, “You must awaken while in this body.” Or was he? Could it be that Jesus was quoting from his own gospel, from the Book of Love, and that later his words were attributed to Philip?

Could Philip’s early work on the translation of the Book of Love have inspired the majority of teachings from his own gospel? Could it be possible that his gospel was really an attempt to recall the Book of Love teachings? This was an important question, as it could mean that since 1945 the human race has had a decent copy of the original teachings of Jesus via the Gospel of Philip. But could this also mean that, if found, the Book of Love was going to have explosive repercussions about the sexuality of Jesus?

Philip’s gospel was keenly focused on the physical aspects of sacred union and the sanctity of the bridal chamber—and on Mary Magdalene’s importance as the beloved of Jesus. It was by no means a casual relationship according to Philip; it was committed, it was sexual, and it was holy.

This was highly problematic. Whereas the Gnostic material was authenticated and translated by many noted scholars, there was still great controversy about any passage that could be interpreted to indicate that Jesus was a healthy, sexual male. This was simply a concept that many Christians were not prepared to consider. Peter was surrounded every day by men who would die rather than accept this as a possibility. He knew that for certain, as it had been exclaimed outright by several of the members of the committee to authenticate the Arques Gospel of Mary Magdalene.

Over the next few sleepless hours, Peter made the decision to nar
row his search for information by focusing on the history of the labyrinth. Clearly, this was a tool of extraordinary importance in the world of the “heretic” cultures, and he was fascinated by the multiple references to it within Matilda’s story. In scouring the literally unequaled reference library at his disposal, Peter began working feverishly on a series of time lines to help him organize what he uncovered.

He was certainly aware of the numerous church labyrinths that could be found within Gothic structures. There were several that he knew of in France, and a few smaller maze patterns in Italy. As far as Peter was concerned, no one had ever offered a credible explanation for the presence of this pagan symbol within emphatically Catholic edifices. Now, with Matilda’s manuscript, he was aware that there was much more to this ancient symbol than he had ever imagined.

Peter knew there was a very large labyrinth built in stone across the floor of Chartres Cathedral in France, a Gothic masterpiece located about fifty miles outside Paris. It covered the majority of the expansive nave, yet he hadn’t actually seen it during his visits there. For reasons that he could never really understand, the powers in the Church who administer Chartres made the decision nearly two hundred years ago to conceal the labyrinth by covering it with rows of movable chairs.

Was there another reason that the Catholic Church wanted to keep the labyrinth covered and out of public view? Certainly, it was an architectural masterpiece, and just the fact that it was eight hundred years old and built to perfect mathematical precision at the height of the Gothic period should make it worthy of display, if not protection. And yet the portable chairs had scratched, chipped, and damaged the ancient stone of the labyrinth over the years and no one in the Church seemed to care a bit about it. At best, such treatment seemed negligent. At worst, it seemed like a deliberate act of vandalism by his brother priests who were physically responsible for the presence of the chairs and the systematic damage that they caused to the labyrinth. Was that damage intentional?

Further, Chartres Cathedral was enormous and easily held several thousand people. It was said that a full-sized soccer stadium could be
placed within it, and it was twelve stories high in terms of the vaulting. Those extra rows of chairs could not be needed for seating purposes, except perhaps on the most extreme special occasions or the largest holy days, like Easter and Christmas. Peter began to feel more and more as though he were seeing a deliberate act of obscuring the labyrinth, a literal cover-up that had begun in the early nineteenth century and continued to this day.

Peter’s stomach started to turn as he thought about this. As a priest, it was painful for him to come face-to-face with actions in the Church that were entirely counter to what Jesus may have actually stood for. But in the last two years, he had seen more and more of this evidence. It was, in fact, becoming his daily challenge. And while he wasn’t quite ready yet to make a case for the sanctity of the labyrinths in terms of Christ’s teachings, he felt that they at least needed to be respected as works of sacred art that were carefully installed in places of worship by master builders and craftsmen from the golden age of architecture.

Peter moved through the notes he had made, dividing them into categories for further research: church labyrinths, France, Italy, biblical connections. What of the King Solomon connection that had been mentioned by the Master? This was certainly worthy of exploration. There were a number of reasons why Solomon could have been associated with the construction of a labyrinth; the most obvious of course was that he was credited with building the Temple in Jerusalem. So the architectural applications were obvious. And certainly, as a son of the Davidic line—David was Solomon’s father—Jesus might have been heir to the plans for the Temple, as well as other architectural devices. In fact, it was entirely likely that there would be secret wisdom teachings found in a family of such legendary blood and wisdom. Did Jesus possess blueprints for the Temple and for other structures that were preserved in his family? Was Solomon’s specific eleven-circuit labyrinth one of these teachings? What else did Solomon pass down to his most holy descendant? And did Jesus use any or all of these things in the Book of Love?

Peter’s hands began to shake when he found the references to a per
fectly constructed labyrinth that was chiseled into the exterior wall of the west portico of the Church of San Martino in Lucca in the year 1200, the very church that housed Matilda’s Holy Face. Built at eye level, it was a “finger labyrinth,” a small version only two feet across—as opposed to the Chartres version, which covered a gargantuan forty-two feet of floor space. This Lucchesi labyrinth was unique in that it allowed the faithful to run their fingers along the pathways prior to entering the shrine of the church. These small labyrinths were convenient for two reasons that Peter could ascertain. The first and most obvious was that they provided the sacred symbol where there might not otherwise be space for one in the floor. The second was that labyrinths inscribed on the walls could not be covered up with chairs.