Was it possible? Could it be…over?
He did the only thing he could think of to do. He fell to his knees and began to recite the Pater Noster in Greek, the way he had first learned it. The way that she had taught it to him in her infinite mercy, all those centuries ago.
Tears slid down his ancient face, unbidden and uncontrolled. The man who had been known by so many names over so many centuries rose slowly.
It took some time for him to reach the antique mirror that had graced this chamber since it had been given to him by his own beloved so many years ago as a wedding gift. For the greatest curse of immortality was watching those you loved disappear, over and over again. Upon reaching the weathered glass, he met his own gaze steadily and viewed his face as it changed. Here first he was Destino, the wizened keeper of the greatest stories never told, the man who must not fail his final challenge—to ensure that the complete teachings of the Libro Rosso found a modern storyteller to restore them for a new millennium; that the true history of the people would never be lost. He believed now that he had succeeded in this.
Going back further, he was the architect who orchestrated the masterpiece that was Chartres Cathedral. Then back further still, to a time that brought him great happiness in the memory of his favorite pupil, the miraculous Matilda of Canossa. If ever there was a woman worthy of her bloodline, it was she. Even today, the thought of her could make him smile, particularly when he thought of both Matilda and Maureen in tandem. How alike they were despite the fact that nearly a thousand years separated their lives and times; how much they proved together that the time returns.
Through his tears he watched in the mirror as the planes of his face took on the characters he had assumed through time, characters who worked tirelessly in search of a penance that never came. He reached up to touch the one element that did not change—the jagged scar on the left side of his face. It was the one constant of all these figures; all possessed the scar, because it was the same scar, on the same face of the same man.
He allowed himself, finally, to go back to the time that started it all, to the time when he received that scar in the service of Pontius Pilate. The recollection of that pain was not what tormented him now, rather it was the memory of his own misdeeds that had enslaved his mind and spirit for the past two thousand years of living hell. Every night of his interminable life was haunted with the memory of those actions: his own sadistic laughter rang in his head as he ripped the flesh from the Son of God with his scourging arm; he drowned nightly in his own disdain as he shoved the point of his spear into the side of the dying Jesus.
Closing his eyes now, he allowed himself to recall the great blessing and curse that had been placed upon him by his most heavenly father:
“Longinus Gaius, you have most offended me and all people of good heart with your vile deeds on this day. Your punishment shall be one of eternal damnation, but it will be an earthly damnation. You shall wander the earth without benefit of death so that each night when you lie down to sleep, your dreams will be haunted by the horrors of your own actions and the pain they have caused. Know that you will experience this torment until the end of time, or until you serve a suitable penance to redeem your tarnished soul in the name of my son Jesus Christ.”
He had indeed been driven to the brink of madness by this sentence, until the day that he went in search of Maria Magdalena to beg her forgiveness and receive her grace. She shared with him the glory of God to be found through the teachings of the Way of Love. And on the day that he stood at her gravesite as an accepted member of her family, beside her mourning children and her great companion and protector Maximinus, alongside Praetorus and Veronica, he took a vow before all of them. He would spend every waking minute of his eternal life teaching the lessons of the Book of Love. He would share the beauty of the Way as it had been taught and lived by his Lord Jesus Christ and his beloved wife, Maria Magdalena, and their holy children.
There was no man in the world who could understand the transformational power of love and forgiveness better than Longinus Gaius, the accursed centurion.
The preservation of the Book of Love became a greater hardship through history than he could have ever imagined when he first took that vow. In those days, they all still believed that the authentic New Covenant would be readily heard and accepted by the children of the world. It was a task that had challenged his physical and mental stamina through two millennia. He had watched in horror as the most beautiful souls were martyred for their belief in love, torn apart in horrific ways by the unconscionable laws of men and power, men who violated every true law of Jesus Christ in his own sacred name. He endured the atrocities of the Inquisition; he had lived the anguish of watching the truth die a wretched and unjust death, of watching the most miraculous teachings become twisted beyond recognition in the pitiless hands of liars and powerbrokers. He had witnessed the intentional and systematic desecration of Mary Magdalene’s sacred name.
How could any of them have ever known that, two thousand years later, the world would still not have access to the true teachings of the Book of Love? And that such simple teachings of love and faith and community would be considered more dangerous today than they were even then? Of all the horrors he had witnessed, this was the greatest hell he had endured on earth.
As a part of his self-imposed penance, he began to record for posterity the glory of those who had lived and died for the true teachings of the Way. Who better to keep the records of history than a man who cannot die and remembers it all exactly as it transpired? Thus was the Libro Rosso born in his early refuge in Calabria. And now, it appeared that it could be resurrected for a new age and a new time, that the children of a fledgling millennium were ready to read it in its entirety.
We were entering a new era for those with ears to hear.
“Please…let them hear it,” he whispered to himself and to his Lord before rising again. He realized that there was very little time to do what must be done. And now that it was finally here, he was struck deeply by the sadness of it all. For there was truly great beauty in this world, in what God had created and in what man had created in his image, and hers. This longed-for death would be bitter in its sweetness.
But as Destino lay back down in what, he believed, was his preparation to die, he saw a vision of his Lord. It was Easa with his kind, dark eyes, whispering to him across time and space.
“You are my son, in whom I am well pleased. But your work is not yet finished.”
Destino smiled. Death would not claim him yet, and that was all the better. He had so many more stories to share with Maureen. Just as soon as she was finished with the book she would be charged to write about how, precisely, to read the Book of Love as it had been preserved within Chartres Cathedral.
Chartres
present day
MAUREEN HAD HER WORK cut out for her. There were over a thousand pieces of art in Chartres. The task of interpreting it all through the lens of the Book of Love and the Libro Rosso was gargantuan, one that could take years. But she would not have to do it alone. She would do it surrounded and assisted by those she loved, as there were many around her who had ears to hear and eyes to see. This was the greatest blessing that God had given her in a very blessed life—to have beautiful friends, a family of spirit, the most remarkable mentor in history, and an extraordinary man who had gifted her with the greatest sacrament of their people: the sacred union of beloveds.
Together, they would all prove the truth of the prophecy that the time returns. They would create something as beautiful and as enduring as the extraordinary men and women in history who had come before them with the same mission. They would invite the world into an understanding that all men and women who wish to be a part of the prophecy already are. For the time returns referred most of all to creating heaven on earth, and this would require the participation of the entire human race, because everyone is a prophet and everyone is one with God, just as all men and women are created equally in love.
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On earth as it is in heaven.
This was a gargantuan and utopian task, perhaps, but Maureen had learned to believe in miracles over the last years of her life.
But first, she would add to the Libro Rosso herself. It was, after all, her destiny as an Expected One. Like Matilda before her, she would create her own monuments to the teaching of the Way and to the great men and women who had lived and died for so important a cause. Her twenty-first-century monuments would be in print and on paper, rather than stone or stained glass or canvas, and published around the world in many languages. She would add to the Libro Rosso by chronicling the lives and loves of Matilda and Brando, and the comrades who populated their story. They, more than anyone, deserved to be remembered for their contributions to the Way of Love. And there would be others. Destino had told her as much, and she looked so forward to exploring the lives of the other extraordinary men and women who awaited her in the past—and in the future.
Maureen was already planning to meet Destino as soon as possible in Florence, where she would begin formal training in the ways of the Order, the same training that Matilda had—under the same teacher. Bérenger would join them, as he had his own mission and prophecy to fulfill. They would work together to fulfill their destinies and their prophecies; they would work together to bring the Way of Love back to the people, under the guidance of a most extraordinary teacher.
And perhaps, one day, Destino would allow her to tell his own story. Most of all, Maureen wanted the world to know of the great and tormented man whose name meant both destiny and destination. For his was the story of the human race. It was the story of redemption, through the power of faith and forgiveness. But most of all, it was the story of rebirth, through the power of love.
For those with ears to hear, let them hear it.
Maureen had one final dream before leaving Chartres. Destino had warned her that after her encounter with the Book of Love, her dreams and visions would increase at an alarming rate. She would have to learn to live with this, and it would take adjustment. But she felt indescribably different since her encounter with the Book of Love. Something within her had changed, a door to the divine had been opened within her mind and her heart, making the dreams more vivid than ever before.
She was an observer in this dream, rather than a part of it. A low drone of chanting swirled in the darkness around her as she watched a strange procession work its way through the narrow, cobbled streets of a medieval Italian town. It was night, and the men who marched in the procession carried torches. She thought they were men, but there was no way to tell. They were dressed head to toe in robes, with separate hoods that covered their heads completely. The robes were pristine in their snow white fabric. On the sleeves of each robe was an emblem, embroidered in scarlet thread—an alabaster jar to symbolize Maria Magdalena and the Order to which they were devoted.
The procession wound through the streets. At the center of the parade, two hooded figures carried a banner, painted with a life-sized image of the Magdalena enthroned, depicted with grandeur as the female aspect of God.
As the devotional procession passed her, Maureen was now able to see two figures standing at the side of the road. They were not hooded and did not participate in the parade. Maureen saw that one was an older man, gray-haired, yet very tall and strong, and definitely aristocratic. He had the air of a king. Beside him was a teenage boy with glossy black hair and keen, intelligent eyes. This child was noble and wise beyond his years.
Like Maureen, they were observers, and yet they were deeply connected to the events that they were witnessing. Tears streamed down the boy’s face as he watched the procession pass them. There was a light in his eyes as he spoke to the older man.
“I will not fail you, Grandfather. Nothing will stop me. I will not fail our Lord or our Lady, and I will not fail the legacy of the Medici.”
Maureen was swept up in her visceral reaction to this boy and his declaration. She was overwhelmed by the mixture of love and fear and sadness and awe that she felt as she watched. Destiny radiated from him. His was tangible with the promise of a life that would be filled with both triumph and tragedy.
The older man put an arm around the boy and smiled at him. “I know that, Lorenzo. I know that more than I have ever known anything. You will not fail because it is your destiny to succeed. You will be the savior of us all.”
The older man’s final words were the last thing that Maureen remembered.
“You will not fail because you are the Poet Prince.”
Maureen awoke to find Bérenger beside her. He smiled as she opened her eyes.
“You cried out in your sleep. Were you dreaming?”
Maureen nodded sleepily. “Mmm-hmm.”
“About what?”
Maureen reached up to run a finger lightly over Bérenger’s aristocratic features. “I think I was dreaming about you.”
“About me? It must have been a magnificent dream.”
She laughed with him. “Magnificent? Yes, I believe you were. And I also believe…that I have loved you before.”
“And do you love me today?”
“I love you today. And I have no doubt that I will love you again.”
Maureen reached up to touch Bérenger’s lips gently with her own, and then snuggled into his arms.
“Good night, sweet prince. The time returns.”
He laughed into her hair, as he pulled her close. “The time returns. Thank the Lord and his beautiful wife.”
And the lovers of scripture came together yet again. No longer were they two. They were One.
THE HISTORIES OF THE BOOK OF LOVE AND THE LIBRO ROSSO
The Book of Love (original)
First Century: The original manuscript is written by Jesus Christ. Following the crucifixion, it is taken by Mary Magdalene first to Alexandria, and then to France.
Mary Magdalene teaches from the book, handing it down to her daughter, Sarah-Tamar, as her successor upon her death. While other traditions from Sarah-Tamar and the bloodline families are preserved within the French culture, they are not immediately documented as they will be in Italy. In France, the Book of Love remains in its pristine and untouched format, although it is bound in leather to protect it.
Second to Thirteenth Centuries: The Book of Love in its original form is protected by bloodline families in France, who continue to teach from it. It is the foundation of a “heresy” that is preserved in France to this day, most commonly referred to as Catharism.
Thirteenth Century: Maureen’s ancestress, La Paschalina, saves the Book of Love from the Crusaders at Montségur and smuggles it to safety, taking it to the Cathar sympathizers at the monastery of Montserrat, on March 22, 1244.
Thirteenth to Sixteenth Centuries: The Book of Love remains hidden by the blood-line families in Catalonia (northern Spain).
Mid-Sixteenth Century: Ignatius Loyola discovers the secret of the Book of Love and reveals it to the pope. The Book is taken to Rome, where it becomes the highly protected and secret property of the Church. It is never spoken of publicly, and all historical records that refer to it are destroyed.
Seventeenth Century: Pope Urban VIII rebuilds St. Peter’s to honor the secret traditions of the Book of Love, in emulation of the decoration of Chartres Cathedral.
The Libro Rosso (copy)
First Century: A copy of the Book of Love is made by the apostle Philip, at the request of Mary Magdalene during her confinement in Alexandria. This copy goes to Jerusalem, where it is protected by the Order of the Holy Sepulcher, a secret society formed on the first Easter by Saint Luke, Nicodemus, and Joseph of Arimathea.
Luke takes this copy to Italy, where he installs it in a monastery in Calabria. A tradition is born, wherein Calabrian scribes begin to chronicle the lives and deaths of the holy family and their descendants. The Calabrians add the prophecies of Sarah-Tamar to their manuscript, and along with their copy of the Book of Love, they begin referring to this as the Libro Rosso after it is b
ound in red leather.
Second to Eleventh Centuries: The Libro Rosso moves to Lucca in the second century as the Order of the Holy Sepulcher creates a base in Tuscany.
Eleventh Century: Matilda sends the Libro Rosso to Chartres in France, where it is the inspiration for the rebuilding of the Gothic masterpiece that is Chartres Cathedral with its enigmatic labyrinth, designed by the hand of Jesus.
Twelfth to Fifteenth Centuries: The Libro Rosso is in the hands of the French royal family, until it is returned to Italy by King Louis XI as a gift to the Medici family.
Mid-Sixteenth Century: The Libro Rosso is in the possession of the Medici popes, Leo X and Clement VII, and remains in the Vatican until the Barberini family smuggles it out following the death of Urban VIII. It disappears from history at this time.
Seventeenth Century: Pope Urban VIII moves Matilda’s remains to St. Peter’s Basilica and, with Bernini, also honors Longinus and Veronica for their roles in protecting the holy teachings that came directly from Jesus.
AUTHOR’S NOTES
The subject matter of this book is one that, to my knowledge, has never seen the light of publication anywhere in the world. As such, the research required to put all the pieces together was years in the making and paralleled my search for Mary Magdalene as chronicled in the first novel in this series, The Expected One. As a result of the multiple layers of time and history, the first draft of this book was well over 1,400 pages and completely unruly for both this author and my future readers. With the aid of a team that features a gifted agent and editor, I made those tough choices that most writers dread—cutting entire storylines and characters, and hundreds of pages of historical detail. These author’s notes could easily run half the length of the book itself. But as space (and trees) will not allow that, I invite those who are interested in exploring this world in more depth to visit my Web site at www.KathleenMcGowan.com, where I will share extensive annotations, anecdotes, and addenda.