The Quest

“The envelope…?” He paused. “Yes. There was an envelope for each priest. The cardinal told us we must keep the envelope in our possession always. Never, never must it leave our person… we were never to mention the envelope to anyone. Not even to the officers. The cardinal explained that when a priest dies in the army, all his possessions are given to another priest. So the envelope would always be in the hands of those who were sworn… we had to take an oath… sworn never to open it… but we would know when to open it. This cardinal with no name said that as a further precaution, the message on the inside was written in Latin, so if someone else should open it, he would have difficulty with the words. My Latin was bad and I remembered being ashamed of that. Latin is not used so much by a country priest. Only in the Mass. You understand? But the letter was in Latin, so that if it was opened by error, it would no doubt be taken to a priest for translation. This cardinal said that if we ever came upon the letter in that way, we were to say we had to take the letter and study it. Then we were to make a false translation on paper and burn the letter.” The priest breathed heavily, then moaned.

Vivian finished translating for Purcell, then said, “This is getting interesting.” She suggested, “Henry, push him just a little.”

“In his own way,” Mercado answered flatly. “He will get it all out.”

The priest moaned again. Vivian put her hand on his sweaty forehead. “He has fever, Henry. Isn’t there anything we can do?”

“I’m afraid not. If he holds out till morning, we can make Gondar in a few hours. There’s an English missionary hospital there.”

Purcell reminded them, “Prince Joshua’s army and the Provisional government army are less than an hour away-in those hills. I wouldn’t try it now, but in the morning, maybe. They should have a surgeon.”

Mercado thought a moment, then replied, “I don’t know. He is obviously a fugitive of some sort. When we find out from whom, then we can decide where to bring him.”

“Right. But push him just a little, Henry,” he said, mimicking Vivian’s words.

Mercado turned his attention back to the priest and asked him, “Father? Can you continue?”

“Yes. What are you talking about? I cannot go to Gondar.”

Mercado told him, “We will take you to an English hospital in the morning. Continue, if you feel-”

“Yes. I must finish it. The envelope… he told us that we were on no account to open it, unless, when we got to Ethiopia, we should see in the jungles a black monastery. Black like coal, made of black stone, he said. Hidden… in the jungles. There was none like it in all of Ethiopia, he said. It was the monastery of the old believers… the Coptics. And in this black monastery was a reliquary and within that reliquary was the relic of a saint, he told us. An important saint. A saint of the time of Jesus, he told us… The relic of the saint was so important that His Holiness himself wanted very much to have the relic carried back to Rome where it belonged, in the true church of Jesus Christ. In the Church of Saint Peter.”

Vivian translated for Purcell, who commented, “Don’t they have enough stuff in the Vatican?”

Mercado leaned closer to the priest. “Which saint? What kind of relic? A lock of hair? A bone? A piece of a garment?”

The priest laughed. “It was not the relic of a saint at all. Can you imagine such a thing? A cardinal of the Sacred College lying to a flock of rustic priests… Yes, we were well chosen to follow and serve with the Italian infantry. We asked no such questions as you ask now, Henry. We were simple country priests. We had strong legs and strong hearts and strong backs for the infantry. And we asked no questions of the cardinal who spoke to us in the shadow of the Basilica of Saint Peter, a man who had no name himself, but who spoke in the name of His Holiness. One priest, though, a young man… he asked why we should take a relic from a Christian country, even though it was not a Catholic country. It was a good question, was it not? But the cardinal said the relic belonged in Rome. That priest did not go to Ethiopia with us.” The old priest laughed softly, then let out a long groan and lay back.

Purcell listened to Vivian’s translation and said, “It sounds to me like Father Armano actually saw this relic-or whatever it was.”

Mercado nodded.

Purcell continued, “And probably tried to grab it for the pope, as per orders. And that’s what got him in the slammer for forty years.”

Again, Mercado nodded and said, “That’s a possible explanation of what he’s saying.”

“There may be a good story here, Henry.”

Mercado looked at the priest, who was now sleeping, or unconscious, and said, “This may be the end of the story.”

“Wake him,” suggested Purcell.

“No,” said Vivian. “Let him sleep.”

Purcell and Mercado exchanged glances, knowing that the priest might never wake up.

But Mercado said, “If it’s meant to be that we should hear the rest of this man’s story, then it will be.”

“I envy you your faith, Henry,” said Purcell.