The Descent

'A moderate burst  of radiation that created  a  negative  image  with  details  of  the  face and  body?  How  can  that  be?  At  best  it  would  show  a  silhouette  of  a  form.  Or  just  a large blob of darkness.'

These  were  old  arguments.  Parsifal  made  his  standard  replies.  De  l'Orme  raised other difficulties. Parsifal gave  complicated responses.

'All I'm saying,' said de l'Orme, 'is that before you kneel,  it  would  be  wise  to  know  to whom you kneel.' He placed himself beside the Shroud. 'It's one thing to know who  the

shroud-man is not.  But  today  we  have  a  chance  to  know  who  he is. That's  my  reason for asking for this display.'

'The Son of God in human form,' said the younger Dominican.

The   older  Dominican   cut   a   sideways   glance   at   the   relic.   Suddenly   his   whole expression widened. His lips formed a thin O.

'As God is my  Father,' the younger one said.

Now  Parsifal  saw  it,  too.  And  the  rest  of  them,  as  well.  Thomas  couldn't  believe  his eyes.

'What have  you done?' Parsifal cried out.

The  man in the Shroud was none other than de l'Orme.

'It's you!' Mustafah laughed. He was delighted.

De l'Orme's image was naked, hands modestly crossed over  his genitals,  eyes  closed. Wearing a wig and a fake beard. Side by  side, the man and his image on the  cloth  were the same size, had the same short nose, the same leprechaun shoulders.

'Dear Christ in heaven,' the younger Dominican wailed.

'A Jesuit trick,' hissed the older.

'Deceiver,' howled the younger.

'De l'Orme, what in the world?' said Foley.

The  carabinieri  were  excited  by  the  sudden  alarm.  Then  they  compared  man  to image and  put  two  and  two  together  for  themselves.  Four  promptly  dropped  to  their knees in front of de l'Orme. One placed his forehead on the  blind  man's  shoe.  The  fifth soldier, however,  backed against the wall.

'Yes, it is me on this cloth,' said de l'Orme. 'Yes,  a trick. But not of Jesuits. Of science. Alchemy, if you will.'

'Seize  this  man,'  shouted  the  older  Dominican.  But  the  carabinieri  were  too  busy adoring the man-god.

'Don't worry,'  de l'Orme said to the panicked Dominicans, 'your original is in the  next room,  perfectly  safe.  I  switched  this  one  for  the  purpose  of  demonstration.  Your reaction tells me the resemblance is all I'd hoped for.'

The  older  Dominican  swung  his  wrathful  gaze  around  the  room  and  fastened  the look  of  Torquemada  upon  that  fifth  carabiniere,  haplessly  backed  against  the  wall.

'You,' he said.

The carabiniere quailed. So, thought Thomas, de l'Orme had paid the  soldier  to  help spring   this   practical   joke.   The   man   was   right   to   be   frightened.   He   had   just embarrassed  an entire order.

'Don't blame him,' de l'Orme said. 'Blame yourself. You were  fooled.  I  fooled  you  just the way  the other shroud has fooled so many.'

'Where is it?' demanded the Dominican.

'This way,  please,' de l'Orme said.

They  filed  into  the  next  chamber,  and  Vera  was  waiting  there  in  her  wheelchair. Behind  her,  the  Shroud  was  identical  to  de  l'Orme's  fake,  except  for  its  image.  Here the  man  was  taller  and  younger.  His  nose  was  longer.  The  cheekbones  were  whole. The  Dominicans hurried to their relic and alternated  between  scrutinizing the linen for damage and guarding it from the blind trickster.

De  l'Orme  became  businesslike.  'I  think  you'll  agree,'  he  spoke  to  them,  'the  same process produced both images.'

'You've  solved  the  mystery  of  its  production?'  someone  exclaimed.  'What  did  you use then, paint?'

'Acid,' another suggested.  'I've  always  suspected  it.  A  weak  solution.  Just  enough  to etch the fibers.'

De  l'Orme  had  their  attention.  'I  examined  the  reports  issued  by  Bud's  STURP.  It became  clear  to  me  the  hoax  wasn't  created  with  paint.  There's  only  a  trace   of pigment,  probably  from  painted  images  being  held  against  the  cloth  to  bless  them.

And it was not acid, or the coloration  would  have  been  different.  No,  it  was  something else entirely.'

He gave  it a dramatic pause.

'Photography.'

'Nonsense,'  declared  Parsifal.  'We've  examined  that  theory.  Do  you   realize   how sophisticated   the   process   is?  The   chemicals  involved?   The   steps   of  preparing   a surface,  focusing  an  image,  timing  an  exposure,  fixing  the  end  product?  Even  if  this were   a   medieval   concoction,   what   mind   could   have   grasped   the   principles   of photography so long ago?'

'No ordinary mind, I'll grant you that.'

'You're  not  the  first,  you  know,'  Parsifal  said.  'There  were  a  couple  of  kooks  years ago. Cooked  up  some  notion  that  it  was  Leonardo  da  Vinci's  tomfoolery.  We  blew  'em out of the water.  Amateurs.'

'My approach was different,' de l'Orme said. 'Actually, you should be pleased, Bud. It is a confirmation of your  own theory.'