“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 im
portance 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 narrow 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 perfectly 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.
Unique to San Martino in Lucca was the legend inscribed in a vertical column along the length of the labyrinth, a pagan legend that on the surface had no business on the exterior of a Catholic cathedral and defied explanation. In three hexameters, it reads in translation from Latin,
HERE IS THE LABYRINTH THAT DAEDALUS THE CRETAN BUILT AND WHICH NO ONE CAN EXIT ONCE INSIDE. ONLY THESEUS WAS ABLE TO DO SO, THANKS TO ARIADNE’S THREAD.
Peter discovered in one source another very interesting allegation regarding Lucca. One obscure Italian reference claimed that the center of the labyrinth, now destroyed along with an image of Theseus, once contained the continuation of the legend, representing the moral of the fable:
AND ALL FOR LOVE.
That there was a perfect eleven-circuit labyrinth in Lucca couldn’t be a coincidence. That it was so similar to the Chartres labyrinth in terms of geometry and the design of their rounded paths couldn’t be either. Specifically, Chartres and Lucca were connected in a more intimate way than the other labyrinths, almost as if the same person designed both.
The labyrinth had associations to sacred union as a result of the powerful and enduring Ariadne legend for several thousand years; Matilda’s manuscript indicated that this legend may even have been recognized by Jesus. However, evidence from the Middle Ages indicated that the monks who transcribed the Grecian labyrinth legends for posterity made a deliberate decision to change their focus. Rather than preserving the elaborate and powerful nuances of love and loss, the transcribing brothers rewrote the legends—inexplicably—as treatises of architecture. The presence of Ariadne was eradicated in total. This couldn’t be a coincidence. Ariadne was erased from her own story. By many accounts, including archaeological evidence, the legend originally existed for the purpose of showcasing the importance of Ariadne as the Lady of the Labyrinth who protects her man and the innocent people with her love. Yet her presence was completely, and quite possibly deliberately, eradicated in later versions.
In much the same way, Mary Magdalene was diminished and sometimes removed from the accepted chronicles of Jesus’ life, also by men of the Church. Peter began to work through a radical theory: Ariadne became an allegorical symbol for Mary Magdalene for the “heretics” who would not let her importance die. Theseus’ survival—his reemergence from the labyrinth af
ter facing death—was a metaphor for resurrection. Ariadne, who protected him with her love, was the first to witness his glory as the savior of his people, just as Magdalene, who anointed Jesus, was the first to witness the glory of his resurrection as the Savior of his people. The union of Theseus and Ariadne could represent the love of Jesus and Mary Magdalene; their story would allow the heretics to depict their teachings in plain sight. Ariadne’s thread was symbolic of Mary Magdalene’s devotion, how she brought the Book of Love to Europe and dedicated her life to its preservation. By following this thread of truth, like Theseus, we can emerge from the darkness of the Minotaur’s lair and find the light of freedom.
The following morning, after very little restless sleep, Peter resumed his search and found a reference to another church in Italy that struck him hard. San Michele Maggiore in the northern Italian city of Pavia was built in Matilda’s time and would have been in her territories. A labyrinth was installed in the chancel there at some point in the twelfth or thirteenth century, now mostly destroyed. But drawings existed of the original structure when it was intact, and he was able to pull them out of the Biblioteca Apostolica in the Vatican. It was a perfect eleven-circuit labyrinth, as at Chartres and Lucca. In the center was the legend, “Theseus went in and killed the hybrid monster.” Here the monster was specifically not the Minotaur but a centaur—a creature who was half horse and half man. There appeared to be a trend in the labyrinth designs of the Middle Ages, lasting into the Renaissance, which replaced the Minotaur with the centaur. Was this deliberate? Was it a reference to slaying some other kind of beast?
Could the “hybrid monster” be the Church that was beginning its persecution of the “pure” Christians in the Middle Ages? Peter contemplated this idea for a moment. Over the last two years, this was precisely what his Church had become for him. It was a hybrid of beauty and pain, truth and lies. It was an institution that he still believed in with a great passion half the time, and was completely in despair over the other half.