The Seventh Sinner - Elizabeth Peters [54]
“Oh,” said Ted innocently. “I would very much like to see that. Can we go into the church?”
“You know very well,” said José, “that no one believes—”
Grinning, Andy glanced at his watch.
“We’re a little early. I guess we can run quickly around the interior of the basilica. I’d hate to have Moshe miss any relics.”
“Moshe?” Jacqueline asked. “I know you all have a passion for nicknames, but—”
“I developed an eye infection the first week I was here,” Ted explained soberly.
“Silly joke,” Dana muttered. She was still sulking, but at least she was condescending to talk. Jean fell into step with the other girl as they crossed the road and, in an effort to improve her humor, asked,
“Aren’t those catacombs we visited out this way somewhere?”
“There are catacombs all over the place,” Andy answered, before Dana could speak. “We’ll see one set this morning. Possibly the originals. This area was called catacumbas in ancient times, so the name came to be applied to the underground cemeteries in the region. That’s what catacombs are—burial places. They weren’t limited to the Christians, either. There are pagan catacombs and Jewish catacombs—at least four of those have been located, and Ted thinks he may be on the track of another.”
“Is that right?” Scoville asked, turning toward Ted with considerable interest. “What material are you using?”
Ted looked as sly as a round-faced, amiable youth could look, and Dana said, with a laugh,
“You ought to know better than to ask another archaeologist a question like that, Sam.”
“He’s safe from me,” Scoville said, smiling. “If it were an Etruscan cemetery, now…”
Glancing over her shoulder, Jean caught a peculiar expression on Jacqueline’s face and wondered what, if anything, in the conversation had prompted that look of sudden surmise. She had no opportunity to ask; Andy marshaled them into a group and led the way into the church.
Ted enjoyed the relics thoroughly. The footprints, twice normal size, were such crude fakes that even José was unable to keep a straight face. Chuckling with quiet malice, Ted pointed out an arrow in a glass case. He said nothing, merely raised an eyebrow inquiringly. Glumly, José nodded.
“You know too much about the legends of the saints,” he said. “I think you read them only to annoy me…. Yes, Sebastian was the saint who was martyred by being shot full of arrows.”
“All right, all right, break it up,” Andy interposed. “Let’s go. We’re supposed to meet our guide next door, in the museum.”
Padre Montini, wearing a coarse cowled robe and rope belt, was a lean man of middle height with a rugged peasant face. He greeted the girls with broad appreciative smiles, and José with reserve. Scoville got a deep bow and a handclasp that lasted longer than he wanted it to last. The padre knew him by reputation, it seemed.
Montini began by showing them a cleverly constructed model that showed the existing basilica in relationship to its fourth-century predecessor and to the ancient cemetery which had preceded both churches. Andy had already explained that the basilica had not always been named after Saint Sebastian. In the early Christian centuries it had been known as the Church of the Apostles; and the ruins of a Christian cult center, under the church, confirmed the fact that the two great saints were connected in some fashion with the place.
Andy interrupted at this point to ask a question. Jean didn’t follow his Italian, which was considerably more fluent than hers; but the effect on Montini was amazing. His face turned bright red and he burst into speech. Scoville Senior backed up his offspring, and the argument raged. Bewildered, Jean turned to José, who stood beside