weight of history was palpable in the paintings and the statues, in the thick, figured carpets. The worries and triumphs, the work and the scheming—the prayers and uncertainties—of centuries of churchmen could be breathed in with the air. Two days ago, he’d sat in a dusty archive in London, reading a letter from an implacable enemy of this place, and now, he was breathing this air. He set down his coffee cup.
“It’s not here.”
Whatever Lorenzo had been expecting Thomas to say, it clearly wasn’t that. “Excuse me? You’ve suddenly developed unshakable faith, and it’s not in vital theological doctrine but in the efficiency of the Archivist’s staff? Just because we can’t find it, you conclude it’s not here?”
“That’s not what I mean. I’ve never heard of this Concordat until today, but . . . Does the name Mario Damiani mean anything to you?”
“No. Should it?”
“Possibly.” Thomas resettled himself, hearing his cassock rustle. “Damiani was a poet of the Risorgimento. A captain in Garibaldi’s army. It’s likely he was involved in the looting of the Archives in 1849.”
Lorenzo’s gaze was steady. “You think that was when the Concordat disappeared?”
“I think he stole it. Deliberately.”
“Do you now? Based on what?”
“There’s a letter he wrote to Margaret Fuller. The American journalist?” No light went on in the Cardinal’s eyes, but it didn’t matter. “It’s what I’ve been doing in London. Going through Fuller’s papers. She was enormously important in Italy. Her reporting shaped the American view of the uprising and helped make Garibaldi a hero. She was married to a partisan, knew them all, and didn’t pretend to be objective. Damiani and she were particularly close. In his letter he tells her he stole something from the Vatican. He’s coy about what it is, but calls it, quote, ‘a document that will shatter the Church.’”
Briefly, Lorenzo was silent. Then: “No, I don’t think so. If he had it and knew what it was, why didn’t he use it?”
“I’m not sure he got the chance. He claims to have hidden it somewhere safe. He made a copy and sent that to Fuller with instructions not to read it, but to take it to Garibaldi if anything happened to him. Something did, though it’s not clear what. That letter, from 1849 just before the French entered Rome, is the last time he’s heard from.”
Lorenzo sat very still. “There’s a copy?”
Thomas shook his head. “Fuller headed for New York a year later, on a sailing ship. No one’s ever been sure why.”
“Why she went? Or why a sailing ship?”
“Either. But both make sense in light of Damiani’s letter. He tells Fuller to take care, because the Vatican will be after the document, and to give it to Garibaldi if she hasn’t heard from Damiani in a year. By then Garibaldi was already in New York. Steamships had just begun to cross the Atlantic, faster than sailing ships but also bigger. More danger of being followed. On Fuller’s ship, besides her family, there was only one other passenger, an American named Horace Sumner, who boarded at the last minute. The ship turned out to be a legendary mistake, though: they sank in a storm within sight of the New York coast. Most of the bodies were never found, and all Fuller’s papers were lost. Besides her published books and articles, she only left behind a few scattered items.”
“Which you, my eminent scholar, have discovered?”
With a grin, Thomas said, “This is my period, you know.”
“Well, don’t you look pleased with yourself? I seem to recall it wasn’t your period until some wise man recommended it to you. Nevertheless, a little back-patting might be in order, if you’re correct.” The Cardinal smoked in silence for a time. Finally he said, “If that document was the Concordat, it would answer two questions: why we haven’t located it here, and why it hasn’t come to light.”
“Exactly.”
“Well.” Lorenzo laid
“It’s not here.”
Whatever Lorenzo had been expecting Thomas to say, it clearly wasn’t that. “Excuse me? You’ve suddenly developed unshakable faith, and it’s not in vital theological doctrine but in the efficiency of the Archivist’s staff? Just because we can’t find it, you conclude it’s not here?”
“That’s not what I mean. I’ve never heard of this Concordat until today, but . . . Does the name Mario Damiani mean anything to you?”
“No. Should it?”
“Possibly.” Thomas resettled himself, hearing his cassock rustle. “Damiani was a poet of the Risorgimento. A captain in Garibaldi’s army. It’s likely he was involved in the looting of the Archives in 1849.”
Lorenzo’s gaze was steady. “You think that was when the Concordat disappeared?”
“I think he stole it. Deliberately.”
“Do you now? Based on what?”
“There’s a letter he wrote to Margaret Fuller. The American journalist?” No light went on in the Cardinal’s eyes, but it didn’t matter. “It’s what I’ve been doing in London. Going through Fuller’s papers. She was enormously important in Italy. Her reporting shaped the American view of the uprising and helped make Garibaldi a hero. She was married to a partisan, knew them all, and didn’t pretend to be objective. Damiani and she were particularly close. In his letter he tells her he stole something from the Vatican. He’s coy about what it is, but calls it, quote, ‘a document that will shatter the Church.’”
Briefly, Lorenzo was silent. Then: “No, I don’t think so. If he had it and knew what it was, why didn’t he use it?”
“I’m not sure he got the chance. He claims to have hidden it somewhere safe. He made a copy and sent that to Fuller with instructions not to read it, but to take it to Garibaldi if anything happened to him. Something did, though it’s not clear what. That letter, from 1849 just before the French entered Rome, is the last time he’s heard from.”
Lorenzo sat very still. “There’s a copy?”
Thomas shook his head. “Fuller headed for New York a year later, on a sailing ship. No one’s ever been sure why.”
“Why she went? Or why a sailing ship?”
“Either. But both make sense in light of Damiani’s letter. He tells Fuller to take care, because the Vatican will be after the document, and to give it to Garibaldi if she hasn’t heard from Damiani in a year. By then Garibaldi was already in New York. Steamships had just begun to cross the Atlantic, faster than sailing ships but also bigger. More danger of being followed. On Fuller’s ship, besides her family, there was only one other passenger, an American named Horace Sumner, who boarded at the last minute. The ship turned out to be a legendary mistake, though: they sank in a storm within sight of the New York coast. Most of the bodies were never found, and all Fuller’s papers were lost. Besides her published books and articles, she only left behind a few scattered items.”
“Which you, my eminent scholar, have discovered?”
With a grin, Thomas said, “This is my period, you know.”
“Well, don’t you look pleased with yourself? I seem to recall it wasn’t your period until some wise man recommended it to you. Nevertheless, a little back-patting might be in order, if you’re correct.” The Cardinal smoked in silence for a time. Finally he said, “If that document was the Concordat, it would answer two questions: why we haven’t located it here, and why it hasn’t come to light.”
“Exactly.”
“Well.” Lorenzo laid
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