The Seventh Sinner - Elizabeth Peters [58]
Even then Jean couldn’t understand what she was getting at. But she did as she was told; and as the strokes emerged, smudged and dark, they had an unnerving resemblance to the uneven strokes Albert’s finger had made. Jacqueline snatched the pad and waved it in the air.
“I thought so,” she exclaimed. “How we could have been so stupid…. Not the number—the numeral! The Roman numeral seven.”
8
A CHASTENED JACQUELINE WAS LED, GENTLY BUT firmly, across the street to the bus stop. She was still muttering to herself. Padre Montini, who had been vexed by Jean’s adventure, found Jacqueline’s outburst the final straw. He was glad to bid them all farewell and retire to his pasta.
The others knew what Jacqueline was talking about, but Dana voiced their mutual feelings when she said she couldn’t understand what the flap was all about.
“What difference does it make? A seven is a seven whether it’s a Roman or an Arabic numeral.”
There was a soft-drink stand in the shady parking lot across from the church, and after their tramp through the dusty centuries they were all glad for a drink. They stood around sucking soda pop through straws like a party of Scouts on an outing. Andy said thoughtfully,
“It does make a difference. It provides a context.”
Jacqueline, drinking Coke with such concentration that her cheeks were concave and her eyes practically crossed, looked at him.
“You’re a bright lad, Andy. Jean, why didn’t you—”
“I’m stupid,” Jean admitted. “But as Andy said, we all think in Latin half the time. Every contemporary document I refer to is written in Latin—manuscripts, inscriptions, everything. Even graffiti. I’m so used to seeing it….”
“I know. I’m sorry I yelled at you. Was I awfully rude?”
“As invective,” Andy said meditatively, “it was pretty feeble. But it had a familiar ring.”
“Stop it, Junior,” said his father, affectionately but firmly. “Haven’t I taught you to be polite to a lady?”
“Jacqueline is not a lady,” said Ted. He smiled at her. “She is one of us.”
Jean felt a chill run up her spine. Before Ted’s smiling regard, Jacqueline changed color and looked away.
They split up after that, the majority of them returning to the Institute. José had a sketch he wanted to finish, and Andy admitted that he could spend a few hours working without actually hurting himself. Ted said nothing about his plans. When the bus disgorged them beside the Colosseum he simply removed himself, smiling affably, and strolled away down the Via dei Fori Imperiali.
Turning, Jean met Michael’s eye, and knew what he was thinking. Ted had taken the shortest way to the Piazza Colonna.
II
Jean went to the library with the others, but she was unable to concentrate. Instead she sat and doodled idly on a piece of paper. There were a few people in the reading room at that time, the drowsy, warm, post-lunch hour. The three art students had gone to their studios and Andy had retired to his private cubicle in the stacks. The sunlight pouring in the big windows made Jean sleepy. She drew stiff Byzantine figures across the pages of her notebook, and brooded.
After all the excitement of Jacqueline’s discovery, she couldn’t see that they had progressed. What difference did it make whether Albert’s last message was in Latin or Arabic numerals? Andy had said something about the context. Jean understood; like the others who worked with Latin, Albert would be more inclined to use that numbering system if the subject uppermost in his mind related to things Roman. Which meant precisely nothing. Saints, hills, churches, many of the other exotic ideas they had considered were “Roman” subjects. None of these subjects had offered any fruitful ideas to begin with, and they still didn’t.
Jean groaned, and regarded her drawing with disfavor. Unconsciously she had been sketching a mosaic from one of the Ravenna churches—a long line of lady saints, more or less identical except for the symbols that distinguished one from the other. Saint Agnes and her lamp, Saint Catherine and her wheel, Saint Barbara and her tower…
Could there be some meaning