Gabriel's Promise (Gabriel's Inferno 4)

he chaplet. The carvings and designs on the chaplet are identical to those on your bead. There’s a repeated pattern.” Judith took her finger and moved from the bead to the photograph, carefully pointing out the similarities.

Gabriel frowned. “Wasn’t Alessandro murdered?”

“Yes,” Dottor Vitali interjected. “He was assassinated by his cousin Lorenzino. Of course, now that we know your bead matches the chaplet at Palazzo Riccardi, I’m sure the director will contact you.” Dottor Vitali smiled hopefully.

“Yes, of course.” Gabriel was distracted, still trying to process what had just been revealed. “Massimo, why was Alessandro assassinated?”

“There are several theories. In my opinion, Lorenzino assassinated his cousin for revenge.”

“Revenge?” Gabriel’s eyebrows instantly shot up.

“Lorenzino was a friend of Filippo Strozzi. Alessandro tried to assassinate Strozzi and failed. Strozzi persuaded Lorenzino to kill Alessandro in revenge. But this is my opinion. There are other explanations.”

“Did you discover anything about the more recent provenance of the object?”

“No.” Judith glanced over at Massimo. “We were hoping you could help with that.”

“I’m afraid I can’t. The bead was found on my property in Cambridge. I contacted Interpol, through a friend, but the bead wasn’t listed in their database of stolen artwork.”

Dottor Vitali tapped his fingers on the table in front of him. “We can make discreet inquiries.”

“I’d appreciate that, my friend. Since I’m not sure who the rightful owner is, I’d be grateful for any assistance in locating him or her.”

Judith appeared disappointed, but she didn’t comment.

“Certainly, we can help.” Massimo’s tone was reassuring.

“Thank you. Judith, it was a pleasure meeting you. Thank you for your research. I’m very grateful.”

Judith inclined her head respectfully. “Thank you, Professor Emerson. It’s a wonderful piece and I hope, if I may, that the piece can be reunited with the chaplet someday.”

“Give my best to Julianne.” Massimo artfully redirected the conversation.

“I will. Speak to you again soon. Good-bye.” Gabriel signed off FaceTime quickly.

He pulled out his laptop, entered his password, and quickly pulled up an online edition of the Latin Vulgate. He scrolled through the book of Ecclesiasticus, commonly known as the book of Sirach, and found the verse from which the inscription on the memento mori had been taken.

“O death, how bitter it is to remember you for someone peacefully living with his possessions, for someone with no worries and everything going well and who can still enjoy his food!”

Gabriel scrubbed at his face. The purpose of a memento mori was to call to mind one’s mortality. But the Scripture contrasted the bitterness of mortality with the peaceful life of a prosperous man.

Something about the Scripture reminded him of a reference in Dante. It took a few minutes of searching for Gabriel to find it, but in the first canto of Inferno he read,

“Tant’ è amara che poco è più morte;

ma per trattar del ben ch’i’ vi trovai,

dirò de l’altre cose ch’i’ v’ho scorte.

So bitter is it, death is little more;

But of the good to treat, which there I found,

Speak will I of the other things I saw there.”

Gabriel leaned back in his chair, removed his glasses, and closed his eyes.

Dante was referring to the dark wood he’d entered midway through his life. The memory of the wood was itself bitter, just like the bitterness of the memory of death.