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THE JESTER
a new Little, Brown
hardcover available wherever books are sold.
Prologue
THE FIND
WEARING A BROWN TWEED SUIT, and his customary dark, tortoise-shell sunglasses, Dr. Alberto Mazzini pushed through the crowd of loud and agitating reporters blocking the steps of the Musee de Histoire in Blois.
“Can you tell us about the artifact? Is it real? Is that why you’re here?” a woman pressed, shoving a microphone marked CNN in his face. “Have tests been performed on the DNA?”
Dr. Mazzini was already annoyed. How had the press jackals been alerted? Nothing had even been confirmed about the find. He waved off the reporters and camera operators. “This way, Dottore,” one of the museum aides instructed. “Please, come inside.”
A tiny, dark-haired woman in a black pantsuit was waiting for Mazzini inside. She looked to be in her mid-forties and appeared to almost curtsey in the presence of this prestigious guest.
“Thank you for coming. I am Rene Lacaze, the director of the museum. I tried to control the press, but….” she shrugged. “They smell a big story. It is as if we’ve found an atom bomb.”
“If the artifact you’ve found turns out to be authentic,” Mazzini replied, flatly, “you will have found something far greater than a bomb.”
As the National Director of the Vatican Museum, Alberto Mazzini had lent the weight of his authority to every important find o
f religious significance that had been unearthed over the past thirty years. The etched tablets presumed to be from the disciple John dug up in western Syria. The first Vericotte Bible. Both now rested among the Vatican treasures. He had also been involved in the investigation of every hoax, hundreds of them.
Rene Lacaze led Mazzini along the narrow fifteenth century hall inlaid with heraldic tile.
“You say the relic was unearthed in a grave?” Mazzini asked.
“A shopping mall….” Lacaze smiled. “Even in downtown Blois, the construction goes night and day…. The bulldozers dug up what must have once been a crypt. We would have completely missed it, had not a couple of the sarcophagi split open.”
Ms. Lacaze escorted her important guest into a small elevator and then up to the third floor. “The grave belonged to some long-forgotten Duke who died in 1098. We did acid and photoluminescence tests immediately. Its age looks right. At first we wondered, why would a precious relic from a thousand years earlier, and half the world away, be buried in an eleventh century grave?”
“And what did you find?” Mazzini asked.
“It seems our Duke actually went to fight in the Crusades. We know he sought after relics from the time of Christ.” They finally arrived at her office. “I advise you to take a breath. You are about to behold something truly extraordinary.”
The artifact lay on a plain white sheet across an examiner’s table, as humble as such a precious thing could be.
Mazzini finally removed his sunglasses. He didn’t have to hold his breath. It was completely taken away. My God, this is an atom bomb!
“Look closely. There is an inscription on it.”
The Vatican director bent over it. Yes, it could be. It had all the right markings. There was an inscription. In Latin. He squinted close to read. “Acre, Galilee…” He examined the artifact from end to end. The age fit. The markings. It also corresponded to descriptions in the Bible. Yet how did it come to be buried here? “All this, it does not really prove anything.”
“That’s true, of course,” Rene Lacaze shrugged, “but Dottore… I am from here. My father is from the valley, my father’s father, and his. There have been stories here for hundreds of years, long before this grave tumbled open. Stories every schoolchild in Blois was raised on. That this holy relic was here, in Blois, a thousand years ago.”
Mazzini had seen a hundred purported relics like this, but the tremendous power of this one gripped and unnerved him. A reverent force gave him the urge to kneel on the stone floor.
Finally, that’s what he did—as if he was in the presence of Jesus Christ.
“I waited until your arrival to place a call to Cardinal Perrault in Paris,” said Lacaze.
“Forget Perrault,” Mazzini looked up, moistening his dry lips. “We are going to call the Pope.”
Alberto Mazzini couldn’t take his eyes off the incredible artifact on the plain white sheet. This was more than just the crowning moment of his career. It was a miracle.
