The Last Cato Read Free Page A

found myself more and more disoriented and perplexed, as if this were all a dream and not a tangible reality. What had I done to be here?
    The other people in the room watched the scene with the same attention and curiosity as I. They were His Eminence Cardinal Carlo Colli, the vicar of Rome and president of the Italian Episcopal Conference, a calm man who seemed good-natured; the archbishop secretary of the Second Division, Monsignor François Tournier (whom I recognized by his violet zucchetto, worn only by the cardinals); and the quiet, blond soldier, who deeply knitted his transparent eyebrows as if the entire display was displeasing to him.
    Suddenly, the prefect turned and ushered me forward by the shoulder until I stood even with him.
    “This is Dr. Ottavia Salina, Eminence,” he said. Sodano examined me from head to toe in a matter of seconds. Fortunately, that day I had worn a pretty gray skirt and a salmon-colored sweater set.
    “Eminence…,” I whispered, curtsying and bowing my head in respect; I kissed the ring the secretary of state placed before my lips.
    “Are you religious, Doctor?” he asked.
    “It’s Sister Ottavia, Eminence,” the prefect hurried to clarify. “She’s a member of the Order of the Blessed Virgin Mary.”
    “Then why are you dressed in secular clothes?” the Archbishop Monsignor François Tournier inquired suddenly without even rising from his seat. “Can it be that your order does not favor habits, Sister?”
    His tone deeply offended me, and I decided right then that I wasn’t going to be intimidated. At this point in my life in Vatican City, I had been in this situation a zillion times, and I was hardened by a thousand battles on behalf of my gender. I looked him in the eye and answered, “No, Monsignor. My order gave up our habits after the Second Vatican Council.”
    “Ah, the Council…,” he muttered with clear disgust. Monsignor Tournier was a very good-looking man, a viable candidate for prince of the church, one of those dandies who always take a great photograph. “Is it proper for a woman to pray to God with a bare head?” he asked himself aloud, citing Saint Paul’s First Epistle to the Corinthians.
    “Monsignor,” the prefect emphasized, in my defense, “Sister Ottavia has a doctorate in paleography and art history and holds numerous other academic titles. She has directed the Restoration and Paleography Laboratory of the Vatican’s Classified Archives for eight years, is the educational director of the Vatican School of Diplomatic and Archivist Paleography, and has won numerous international prizes for her investigative work, among them the prestigious Getty Prize. Twice, in 1992 and 1995.”
    “Aha!” exclaimed the secretary of state, Cardinal Sodano, as he took the vacant seat next to Tournier. “Good! That’s why we have requested your presence, Sister.” Everyone looked at me with evident curiosity; but I remained silent, expectant, so that Sodano wouldn’t even think of reciting—for my benefit—the passage from Saint Paul that reads “The women shall fall silent at the assemblies/ That they are not permitted to take the word.” I supposed that the monsignor—like the rest of those in attendance—would prefer his own sister-servants (they each must have at least three or four) to someone like me. Or perhaps even those little Polish nuns from the Order of Infant Mary who, dressed in their habits and with a veil covering their heads, occupied their time by preparing the meals for His Holiness, cleaning his living quarters, and making sure that his clothing was always spotless; or like the sisters belonging to the Congregation of the Pious Disciples of the Divine Master, who are the Vatican’s telephone operators.
    “Now,” continued His Eminence Angelo Sodano, “the archbishop secretary, Monsignor Tournier, will explain why you’ve been summoned, Sister. Guglielmo, sit here, next to me. Monsignor, I yield the floor to