‘Okay, you can always recognize a Jesuit church from its symbol. We’re talking about the sixteenth century, and they already had a notion of a sign.’ He pointed to the altar and to the acronym above the image of Christ. ‘IHS. You’ll find those letters on the facade, too.’
‘IHS?’
‘Yes, it signifies Jesus in Greek, composed of the letters iota, eta, sigma. Iota and eta are the same in Greek and Latin. Sigma was transliterated as S, and in some cases C, because they have the same sound. They also interpret the acronym in Latin as Iesus Hominum Salvator, which means Jesus Savior of Men. If until the Council of Trent the Benedictines were the ones to follow in the matter of ritual, afterward the Jesuits revolutionized everything. Do you see that pulpit?’ He pointed to a kind of marble veranda on top of a carved cap on a column supporting them.
‘I’m looking at it.’
‘The Jesuits were adept at preaching, as opposed to turning their backs on the people. Don’t forget, we’re talking about the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Mass was celebrated in Latin, but the Jesuit fathers made a point of preaching facing the faithful, very close to them, in a way they understood.’ Jacopo was silent for a few moments. Many priests had preached their sermons from those pulpits. ‘And for me one of the most inspired inventions of the church: the confession,’ Jacopo added.
‘The confession? How so?’ Gavache looked perplexed.
‘It was the Jesuits who invented confession as we know it today. I know we grew up thinking that these things existed forever, but it’s not true. Everything has a beginning.’
Gavache had to think about that.
‘Marriage…,’ Jacopo proceeded.
‘Don’t tell me that was one of their inventions also?’ Gavache cut him off.
‘No, marriage was before them, but the ritual as we know it today comes from the twelfth century. I mention it to illustrate how things aren’t as we think they are. Someone thought them up, someone created them… men, not God.’
Jacopo let the idea sink in. It was a theory that made people, especially laypeople, think.
‘You’re a sensationalist, Jacopo,’ Rafael accused.
‘Am I lying?’
‘You put things in a very simple way. As if they’d tried to think up ways to exploit the faithful,’ Rafael argued. Gunter was really taking a long time.
‘And didn’t they? What was confession?’
‘You tell me.’
‘What better way to create the omnipresence of God,’ Jacopo said, his face flushed. The subject was dear to his heart.
‘Please, Jacopo. That’s absurd.’
‘I don’t think it’s absurd,’ Gavache put in.
‘You see?’ Jacopo agreed. ‘Any person with any sense agrees. Confession was a pleasant procedure for getting to know the lives of everyone around you. Even today a Jesuit priest hears confession from the pope every Friday. I tip my hat. It was ingenious.’
‘The confession is protected by secrecy on the part of the confessor,’ Rafael replied, tired of the conversation.
‘What does that matter? As soon as you tell me your secret, even in confession, I have power over you because I know something no one else does. Besides, a superior can oblige a confessor to divulge the confession, as you know very well. There’s a reason they call the superior general of the society the black pope.’
‘The black pope?’ Gavache inquired.
‘Yes, because the Jesuit suit is black,’ Jacopo explained. ‘There are some who claim that the black pope has more power than the pope himself.’
‘Interesting.’ Gavache was visibly intrigued.
‘It’s the society’s mission to serve the Supreme Pontiff wherever he desires, without question, fulfilling his will, always, but it’s said that whoever opposes the society finds himself in a war that can end very badly, even for the pope himself. There are rumors that some popes died at the hands of the society.’
‘That is outrageous,’ said a thundering voice behind them. It was Gunter, who crossed the nave from the altar with firm steps. ‘The Jesuits answer only to the pope and carry out what His Holiness wants, when he wants, without question. We preach the word of the Lord all over the world — love, understanding, tolerance — and we help society progress down a good path. We never put a life at risk,’ he added. ‘I’m sorry I made you wait. My name is Gunter.’ He introduced himself to Gavache with a handshake. When he came to Rafael, he embraced him. Two friends separated by distance. He did not greet Jacopo.
Gunter appeared to be in his forties and in great shape, emanating energy through every pore.
‘To what do I owe this visit at such an inopportune hour for the servants of God?’ Gunter asked.
‘I’m sorry for the late call, Father Gunter, but servants have been assassinated and others need your help,’ Gavache said in his nasal tone, not caring if he seemed sarcastic. Gavache was Gavache. Who could blame him?
‘I’m not sure I understand.’
‘We need your help, Gunter. Show him the recording, Inspector,’ Rafael said. It would be easier if Gunter was informed about what has happened as quickly as possible. Tell him everything, or almost everything, and show him the recording. Gunter remained pensive. A phrase went though his mind. Ad maiorem Dei gloriam. Saint Ignatius uttered these same words in the sixteenth century, in the same city of Montmartre, where he founded the Society of Jesus with Peter Faber, Francis Xavier, Alfonso Salmeron, Diego Laynez, Nicholas Bobadilla, and Simao Rodrigues, on August 15, 1534. It was one of the rules that governed the Society. For the greater glory of God. For Loyola this was the most important thing. Gunter listened and watched everything in silence and then went on thinking.
‘Did you know the archaeologist or theologian?’ Gavache proceeded. He needed to start putting the pieces of the puzzle together.
‘I don’t believe so.’
‘Jean-Paul, show the photos of the victims to the father,’ the inspector ordered.
Jean-Paul did so promptly, handing over the photos he was carrying. Gunter carefully examined the faces but not one was familiar.
‘I don’t recognize anyone. Sorry, Inspector.’
‘Do you think it could be the work of a Jesuit father?’ Gavache continued.
‘It doesn’t seem believable to me that priests, Jesuits or not, would go around killing people. We preach love, the way of God, the good. Having said that, anything is possible.’
‘Let us suppose that these guys’ — Gavache pointed at the photos of Yaman Zafer and Sigfried Hammal — ‘were enemies of the church. The reason doesn’t matter. Imagine they knew a secret that could bring down the church. Would you be the people to get to resolve the problem?’
Gunter chuckled, ‘For the love of God, Inspector. The church doesn’t do these things, much less the Jesuits.’
‘Bullshit,’ Jacopo stammered.
Gunter didn’t respond.
‘We’re not going to get anything here, Jean-Paul,’ Gavache muttered, turning his back on the conversation.
‘Well, no, Inspector.’
‘Paris has nothing, Marseille nothing. We have nothing.’ Gavache was thinking out loud. ‘Where are we going to start over, Jean-Paul?’
‘At the beginning, Inspector. Always at the beginning.’
Rafael took advantage of the moment to get close to Gunter so that no one would hear them. ‘Do you have something for me? You can fool the inspector, but I know it was a Jesuit priest. I want to know who it was and who gave the order.’
‘Are you crazy?’ Gunter whispered. ‘Bringing a cop with you. Where’s your common sense?’
‘My common sense ended when Zafer died at the hands of a Jesuit priest,’ Rafael replied coldly.
‘I can’t help you, Rafael.’
‘This Loyola,’ Gavache mentioned with a quizzical expression.
‘Who?’ Gunter and Rafael answered simultaneously.
‘The Loyola the historian was talking about.’
‘Saint Ignatius,’ Jacopo explained.
‘What about him?’
‘What was he all about?’
Rafael and Gunter looked at each other.