Free The Parchment by Gerald T. McLaughlin

overnight bag entered Barbo's office. For a moment, Barbo stared vacantly at his early morning visitor.
    “Jean Calvaux! My mind was elsewhere. I apologize — I didn't recognize you.”
    Calvaux smiled. “Without a red hat, a cardinal is indistinguishable from the rest of mankind.”
    “Come, sit down. I didn't expect you so early.” Barbo moved some books off his office couch.
    “My brother volunteered the use of his company's Lear jet. I arrived here much faster than I expected.” Calvaux put down his overnight bag and fell back onto Barbo's couch. “How are the hostages doing?”
    “There have been no reports for several hours. If Israel will agree to free all the terrorists, the crisis would be over. We've pushed the Israelis as far as we can. It's up to the Americans now.”
    “How much time is left before Hamas starts executing the hostages?”
    “Seven hours.”
    Calvaux paused for a moment. “And why does the Holy Father wish to see me?”
    “I'll let His Holiness tell you himself. You know it's a coincidence that you should be here in my office. Tonight I've been reading a history of medieval France, and your family's name is mentioned prominently in several places.”
    “Yes, during the twelfth century, the Montelamberts became vassals of the Duke of Provence and were given seisin over the castle of Cours-des-Trois. There's even a legend associated with the Montelamberts. As I'm sure you can appreciate, Francesco, there's nothing better than a family legend to increase notoriety.”
    “What's the legend? This history I'm reading makes no mention of it.”
    “During the Crusades, an ancestor, Gerard de Montelambert, is said to have discovered a cave where in 70 AD Jewish priests had hidden sacred vessels and census records from the Temple of Herod. They were put there to keep them from being destroyed by the Romans.”
    “Census records?” A chill ran through Barbo's body.
    “Yes. Historically, Jews have always kept meticulous records of births and marriages, because it proves who they are as a people.”
    “I want to hear the legend.”
    “Perhaps there will be time after meeting with the Holy Father.”
    “We'll make the time.” Barbo looked at his watch. “It's almost five thirty. You must be exhausted. Let's find you a room in our new Vatican hotel, the Domus Sanctae Marthae.”
    “Thank you, Francesco. The Domus has turned out to be a boon for visiting prelates like me.”
    Barbo picked up the phone. “Not only that, Jean, it will also make the next conclave easier for all of us.”
    “No more cots outside the Sistine Chapel?”
    “No more cots.”
    Calvaux smiled. “Too bad, though. The cots usually made for a short conclave.”Cardinal Barbo awoke with a start. Sister Fiorina was standing over him.
    “Eminence, it is time to go home.” She handed him a towel and an enamel basin of cold water.
    “Thank you, Sister.” Barbo splashed the cold water on his face.
    Fiorina organized the piles of correspondence that lay scattered around Barbo's office. She took the history of medieval France from the cardinal's lap and laid it on his desk. “No more reading, Eminence. Your eyes are bloodshot — as red as your zucchetto.”
    “I will go home after I say Mass for Pope Benedict.”
    Fiorina threw up her hands in exasperation. “Do they make every Prince of the Church as stubborn as you?”
    Barbo climbed the staircase to the pope's apartment. A rather animated Sister Consuela met him at the door.
    “Your Eminence, you must talk some sense into the Holy Father. He has dressed himself and wants to go to St. Peter's tomb under the Basilica. It is too dangerous for him.”
    The pontiff's eyes lit up when he saw Barbo.
    “Francesco, Sister Consuela won't let me go by myself. Maybe she'll relent if I'm accompanied by the cardinal secretary of state.”
    Barbo knew it was unwise to incur Sister Consuela's wrath. “Holy Father, it is difficult for men our age to climb down to the