“As in me?”
“As in you, mio Principe.”
“I am the product of the marriage of secrecy and power? King of the Jews and Holy Roman Emperor?”
“Neither Charlemagne nor Aimery had any problem with the double title.”
“But Charlemagne’s daughter …”
“Aldana.”
“Certainly she wasn’t Jewish, so none of her children were Jewish …”
“Mi scusi, mio Principe. But you will find that none of the books in the Sanctum Sanctorum, including the Septuagint and the many Torahs, insist that Judaism is passed down by the mother.”
“Still …”
“Simplex sigillum veri. The simple is the sign of the truth.”
“What is simple?”
“Charlemagne and Aimery decided it was so. Simple.”
“As simple as that?”
“You are both King of the Jews and Holy Roman Emperor, mio Principe. It all depends on how one looks.”
“I would hardly call that simple!”
“Then think of it as useful,” Settimio continued, “a trick of the light if all other explanation fails.”
“Useful in what way?”
“There was a time,” Settimio explained, “when many of the crowned heads of Europe looked to Rome and the King of Septimania to reveal himself and save civilization.”
“And what happened?” Malory asked.
“The guillotine,” Settimio said. “The French Revolution proved the wisdom of discretion. Better to see all of Rome, while Rome sees nothing of us.”
“And now the crowned heads of Europe — what do they expect of Septimania? What do they expect of me?”
“Expect, mio Principe?” Settimio said. “You are the one who expects. Nothing is expected of you.”
Nothing. Nothing was expected of him.
“Except in fifteen minutes — Suor Anna shall be with Suor Miriam.”
FOURTEEN MINUTES LATER, MALORY AND SETTIMIO STOOD BEFORE SUOR Miriam in the long ward, now fledged in late-afternoon shafts of light shooting in through both sets of windows from the sun over the sea at the mouth of the Tevere. It didn’t appear to Malory that Suor Miriam had moved since the midnight before. But now there was a younger nun standing by her, small, eager, and undernourished.
“Gentlemen,” Suor Miriam said softly, “welcome back. As I promised, I have invited Suor Anna to speak with you.”
“Buona sera,” Settimio said.
“Buona sera,” Suor Anna said.
“It’s not her,” Malory said.
“Not her?” Suor Miriam repeated. The light intensified around the old nun, or perhaps it just dimmed on Malory in sympathetic annoyance. Still, Malory pressed on.
“I’ve never seen you before in my life,” Malory said. The young nun’s eagerness turned into a blotchy confusion. “Have you seen me?”
“Sì, signore,” the young girl said and moved a step closer to Suor Miriam.
“Principe!” Suor Miriam corrected her.
“Yesterday afternoon, in the hospital. You were carrying a young lady in your arms. You came into the room very quick and put her on the bed.”
“Is this not true?” Suor Miriam turned her blinking eyelids up to Malory.
“I’m telling you,” Malory said, not caring whether it was impatience or disappointment speaking, “that I have never seen this girl, this nurse before in my life. The nun I saw was English.”
“English, mio Principe? In Fatebenefratelli?”
“Settimio, you were there. You saw the red-bearded doctor and the English nurse.”
“I am afraid I only saw you in the corridor, mio Principe. And only the doctor and your Rumanian friend were in attendance.”
“But it is impossible,” Suor Miriam said. “There are no English nurses in Fatebenefratelli and certainly no English nuns.”
“The Principe is correct.” The little nun with the blotchy cheeks stared at the pavement of crushed marble and waited for a reaction.
“In che senso—in what sense correct?” Suor Miriam repeated. “Were you telling a story just now, that you were there in the room with the Principe?”
“No, no,” Suor Anna said with a firmness that smelled of honesty. “Perhaps the Principe did not see me, but I was in the room. He was wearing a jacket the color of …”—Suor Anna searched the room and pointed at the lintels of the windows—“of terracotta and made out of a funny material that looked as if it had been scratched by a cat.”
“Corduroy,” Malory said.
“Sì! And you had a funny bag across one shoulder.”
“My Kit Bag,” Malory said, “yes.”
“I was standing behind the door. You were in a big hurry. But,” she added, looking with more confidence up at Malory, “the Principe is correct. There was an English nurse. I did not recognize her habit. She was not a Franciscan or a Dominican, or from Santa Birgitta or Santa Sabina. I thought perhaps that she came from the Colegio Inglese, the English College, on via di Monserrato. She was very firm. As soon as the Principe entered the room carrying the young woman, the English nurse told me she would manage. I was very sorry to leave. I spoke only four words with the Rumanian signora, but she seemed very nice.”
“What a nuisance,” Suor Miriam said. “Forgive me, Principe, for raising your hopes with this silly girl.”
“Grazie, Suor Anna,” Settimio said. “We are sorry to have bothered you.” He inclined his head to both nuns — less a bow than a crumb of politesse frosted with disappointment — and signaled to Malory that the interview was over. But Malory wanted to hear more from this little nun, this nothing of a girl who was born afraid and neglected and reminded him of a young, deserted boy who had learned that survival depended on standing behind doorways and overlooking while being overlooked.
“Suor Anna,” he said, holding her gaze. “You saw more, didn’t you? You saw what happened to the lady I brought in. And even perhaps to the nice Rumanian signora.”
Settimio stopped in mid turn. Suor Miriam’s eyelids fluttered.
“Sì,” Suor Anna said. “I did. I saw the doctor, the big doctor enter the room.”
“The American doctor with the red hair?”
“Sì, I remember the red hair. And he had a beard and he was very tall.”
“You are not inventing this, Suor Anna?” Suor Miriam asked.
“Oh, no,” Suor Anna said. “He passed me in the corridor. It is easy for me to look up at people. They are always looking ahead at something above me.”
“And that’s all?” Malory asked.
“The English nurse told me to leave the room. But I had nowhere else to go. My instructions were to assist in the maternity ward. I stood in the corridor, perhaps three meters from the door, and waited against the wall. I saw the Principe leave with the husband of the Rumanian woman. I saw this gentleman …”
“Settimio …”
“Sì, I saw him introduce himself to you, Principe. I saw you leave with him. I saw the Rumanian man walk down to the cortile. I watched him smoke a cigarette.”