The Seventh Sinner - Elizabeth Peters [18]
“You may sneer,” José said. “But you must admit that many of these so-called legends have been substantiated by archaeology.”
Dana shrugged. Four pairs of masculine eyes shifted hopefully, but were disappointed; she had calculated the shrug to a hair’s breadth.
“José, darling, don’t bring up the Vatican excavations again.”
“But they prove my point.” José turned to Scoville, who nodded knowledgeably. “Even to a skeptic, the ruins found under the basilica of St. Peter must be impressive. Legend said that Saint Peter was buried beneath the high altar; and behold, a cemetery was found. There are Christian tombs among them; they date from the period of Nero, when Peter was supposed to have been martyred. At the base of the altar, human bones were found—the bones of a man of strong physique and advanced age. But the skull was missing. And, since the sixteenth century, there has been in the church of St. John Lateran a reliquary containing the head of Saint Peter.”
The argument wasn’t new to Jean; they had fought it out, animatedly but good-naturedly, after their joint expedition to the excavations. It was evidently new to Jacqueline, though, and her reaction amused Jean; she was so intrigued she caught José by the arm.
“Is that true? I read something about the excavations, but I didn’t know they had actually found the remains of Saint Peter!”
“Uh-uh,” Andy warned. “Don’t flip, my love. Not even the Vatican has come out with a definite statement on that. The bones were there, but there were a lot of bones—tombs and graves all over the place.”
“But the bones of an elderly man…the missing skull…”
With her face animated and her green eyes shining, she looked almost as young as the students around her. Scoville beamed approvingly at Jacqueline, and his son said tolerantly,
“Look, Marian, this happens to be a particularly complicated problem in excavation. It would take me two days to give you a summary of the details. But José is cheating a little. For one thing, there’s not a single inscription mentioning the name of Saint Peter. When the early pilgrims visited the tombs of the martyrs they scribbled prayers on the walls. There are such prayers at Bethlehem and Jerusalem, at St. Peter’s shrine on the Via Ostia—but not on the walls under the basilica.”
“The name is there, in the cryptic alphabet,” said José.
Andy took himself by the hair and appeared to be trying to lift himself up off the ground.
“I knew you were going to say that! Don’t say that! There is no cryptic alphabet! It’s just another one of those nutty theories—”
“Andy,” said his sister firmly.
Jacqueline, her eyes still fixed on Andy, plunged one hand into her purse and began to rummage. The others watched, fascinated, until the hand finally emerged with a pen and notebook.
“Give me some references,” she ordered.
Grinning, Andy obliged.
“Talk about a busman’s holiday,” he remarked. “Don’t take us too seriously, Marian. Basically, Ignatius and I agree.”
“These nicknames of Andy’s!” José complained. “They drive me insane. I do not mind being addressed by the name of the founder of my order, but I do not comprehend, Jacqueline, why he calls you ‘Marian.’”
“I was afraid someone was going to remember that,” Jacqueline said resignedly. “There is a charming musical comedy whose heroine has that name. She is a librarian. Now—” she said quickly as Andy showed signs of being about to break into song, “tell me on what you both agree.”
“On the basic factuality of legends,” José said.
“The thing is,” Andy explained, “when we talk about legends being confirmed by archaeology, we mean that the basic fact is confirmed. The details always turn out to be quite different from those in the story. And, sadly enough, the romantic, magical elements are the ones that vanish under close examination. There probably was a British chieftain named Arthur, or Artos, who lived in the sixth century; but