The Secret Supper Read Online Free PDF

that Torriani was roused by my conclusions.
    The Master General alerted Brother Giovanni of his intentions, and on the following morning, while snow was still falling over Rome, he left his rooms in the Monastery of Santa Maria sopra Minerva set upon attacking the very root of the problem.
    Defiantly riding a mule up the snow-laden roads leading out of the Eternal City, Torriani reached the headquarters of Bethany and asked to see me as soon as possible. I never learned what terms Brother Giovanni had employed to inform him of my concerns, but it was obvious that they had impressed him. I had never seen our Master in such a state. Two bruised bags hung under his gray eyes, extinguishing all light; his back seemed bowed under the weight of the bleak responsibility that now stifled his joyful character and made his shoulders drop despondently. Torriani, my mentor, guide and old friend, was hastening toward the end of his life with all marks of disillusionment on his face. And yet, a faint glimmer in his look betrayed a sense of urgency.
    “Can you attend to a servant a God, drenched and sick?” he asked as soon as he saw me in the atrium of Bethany.
    I was surprised to see him there at such an early hour. He had ridden up alone, without a retinue, a blanket flung over his habit and his sandals covered in rabbit skins. For the superior of the Order of Saint Dominic to have abandoned in such a state our Mother House and his parish, and crossed the city in a storm in order to meet with the head of his intelligence service, the matter had to be of utmost gravity. And even though his somber features invited immediate discussion, I dared not ask any questions. I waited for him to divest himself of his humble wraps and to drink the glass of hot wine that was offered him. We climbed up to my small study, a dark room full of boxes and manuscripts, from which all of Rome could be seen, and as soon as the door was closed, Father Torriani confirmed my worst fears:
    “Of course I’ve come about those blessed letters!” he cried, arching his white eyebrows. “And you ask me who I think is the author? Precisely you ask me that, Father Agostino?”
    Torriani took a deep breath. His wizened body struggled for warmth, aided by the wine. Outside, the snow continued to fall heavily on the valley.
    “My impression,” he continued, “is that our man must be someone in the duke’s service or, if not, a brother in the new monastery of Santa Maria delle Grazie. It must be someone well familiar with our customs, someone who knows into whose hands these letters are delivered. And yet—”
    “And yet?”
    “You see, Father Agostino, since I read the letter I sent to you yesterday, I have not slept a wink. Out there is someone warning us of a serious act of treason against the Church. The matter is of greatest urgency, especially if, as I fear, our informant belongs to the community of Santa Maria—”
    “You believe the Soothsayer to be a Dominican, Father?”
    “I am almost certain. Someone from within, witness to Ludovico’s advances, who doesn’t dare denounce him for fear of retaliation.”
    “And I suppose you’ve already examined the lives of all those friars in search of your candidate. Am I mistaken?”
    Torriani smiled with satisfaction.
    “All. With no exception. And most of them come from good Lombard families. They are men of the cloth loyal to both Ludovico and the Church, men not inclined to fantasies or conspiracies. In a word, good Dominicans. I can’t imagine which of them might be the Soothsayer.”
    “If it truly is one them.”
    “Of course.”
    “Let me remind you, Master Torriani, that Lombardy has always been a land of heretics…”
    The Master General, shivering, stifled a sneeze before responding. “That was long ago, Father Agostino. For the past two hundred years, there hasn’t been a trace of the Cathar heresy in the whole area. It is true that those cursed souls who inspired our beloved Saint Dominic