Heinrich sat on the dirt in front of the church and thought carefully. “Ach, dolt!” he muttered to himself. He reached into his satchel and dug for the relic and the letter from the Carthusians. When his fingers brushed against his mother’s medallion, however, he hesitated. Then, with a measure of resolve, he lifted it from its sanctuary and dangled it from his hand. It twirled in the cool evening breeze and he thought it a most beautiful thing. His mind flew to his hovel and to his mother. He grasped the medallion in his hand and wept.
Whether it was the tears or gold none could know, but the church door suddenly creaked on its rusted hinges and opened slightly. A little man stepped from its recesses with a wary eye on the stranger. He had been watching the visitor all along. “German?”
Heinrich was startled. “Ja!”
“Humph.”
“Pater?”
“Si.”
The priest stared at Heinrich for a long moment. He was a short, aging man with a close-cropped ring of white hair running from temple to temple. His complexion was olive; he was dark eyed, round faced, and slightly rotund. His eyebrows angled upward at the far side of each eye, giving him the appearance of perpetual anticipation. “And what to do for you?” His German language skills were weak, probably by choice. Romans had been annoyed with their shaggy German guests ever since Charlemagne and his heirs dared claim the name of “Holy Roman Emperor.”
Heinrich handed the priest his letter of introduction and followed him to a dimly lit chamber attached to the church’s sanctuary. The priest lit several candles, read the letter with increasing interest, then turned to Heinrich. “The relic?” His tone had changed.
Heinrich said nothing for a moment. He looked around the little room and wondered. With reluctance he extended his fist, then opened it to reveal the treasure lying in his calloused palm. The father knelt and crossed himself, then lifted the medallion reverently and laid it gently on an open Bible. He knelt again and murmured another prayer. Heinrich waited respectfully, then followed the little man down a dark hall and into a larger room where dozens of children prepared for sleep. Attending them were two more priests, a novice, and three nuns. Heinrich followed farther, past an infirmary filled with coughing, fevered children, and finally to a small cell with a single candle and one cot. The priest lit a stubby candle with his own. “Your room.”
Heinrich stared.
“I am Don Vincenzo. We speak in morning.” With that the little priest vanished and left Heinrich to his first night in the Eternal City.
It was squeals of laughter that awakened Heinrich from an unhappy dream. He sat up with a start and stared about his dark, little cell. He quickly checked for his rucksack and satchel. All was in order, except for the unfamiliar noise.
The man gathered his things and followed the happy sounds into the larger, straw-covered room he had passed through the night before. The children stopped playing and stared in terror as the one-eyed man with long red curls stepped toward them. Heinrich peered into each little face and smiled. Children! he thought. ‘Tis good to hear them laugh! A voice caught his attention. It was Father Vincenzo. “Come.”
Heinrich obeyed and followed the priest through a maze of short hallways and rooms to a small office. He was seated in front of two other priests and one ancient woman dressed in a habit. Heinrich assumed she was a nun.
Vincenzo introduced each by name. “Father Arturo of Rome, Father Florian of Lombardy, and Sister Anoush of Armenia. Only sister speaks your tongue well.”
Heinrich nodded to each, then turned to the aged nun. He bowed respectfully.
Anoush wore a simple nun’s gown, a homespun white habit with a plain black apron. Her hair was covered by a black hood. Nearly bent in two by more than eighty years of life, the kindly sister smiled and took Heinrich’s hand in her own—one curled and knotted by years of difficult labor. “Dear boy,” she began, “sit with us.” Heinrich felt good; he hadn’t been called “boy” for a very long time! The sister’s voice was as clear as her shining brown eyes. “Don Vincenzo has shown us your letter, and we spent the New Year’s Eve in fasting and prayers of thanksgiving.” She was pious, but not pretentious. She leaned close to Heinrich and wiggled her finger for him to lower his ear. She whispered, “Truth is they spent most of their time speaking of today’s Feast of Fools at the Ruffini’s!” She chuckled.
Heinrich smiled. He felt safe with the aged nun. Her face was wrinkled and spongy, her smiling mouth vacant of all teeth. She was tiny and frail and her expression wistful, yet she exuded a quality of love that struck Heinrich as heaven-sent.