The Book of Love Read online

  Solomon was mightily taken by Makeda’s beauty and presence, and disarmed in total by her honesty. The wisdom he saw in her eyes reflected his own, and he knew immediately that the prophets were correct. Here was the woman who was his equal. How could she be else, when she was the other half of his soul?

  And so it was that when Makeda, the Queen of Sheba, had seen all the greatness of Solomon, all that he had created in his kingdom, and most of all, the happiness of his subjects, she said to the king, “The report was true which I heard in my own land of your affairs and of your wisdom, but I did not believe the reports until I came and my own eyes had seen it; and, behold, your wisdom and prosperity surpass the report which I heard. Happy are your men! Happy are your subjects, who continually stand before you and hear your wisdom! Blessed be the Lord your God, who has delighted in you and set you on the throne of Israel! He has made you king, that you may execute justice and righteousness.

  “And blessed is the Lord your God who has made you for me, and me for you.”

  And it was then that the Queen of Sheba and King Solomon came together in the hieros-gamos, the marriage that unites the bride and the bridegroom in a spiritual matrimony found only within divine law. The Goddess of Makeda blended with the God of Solomon in a union most sacred, the blending of the masculine and the feminine into one whole being. It was through Solomon and Sheba that El and Asherah came together once again in the flesh.

  They stayed in the bridal chamber for the full cycle of the moon in a place of trust and consciousness, allowing nothing to come between them in their union, and it is said that during this time the secrets of the universe were revealed through them. Together, they found the mysteries that God would share with the world, for those with ears to hear.

  And yet neither Solomon nor Sheba became a consort of the other, for they were equals, each a sovereign over his and her own domain and destiny. Both knew the time would come when they must separate and return to the duties of their respective kingdoms, each to stand alone yet again, in newfound wisdom and power. Their triumph and celebration was in what they brought, each to the other, to use well and wisely in their individual destinies.

  Solomon wrote over a thousand songs following the inspiration of Makeda, but none as worthy as the Song of Songs, which carries within it the secrets of the hieros-gamos, of how God is found through this union. It is said that Solomon had many wives, yet there was only one who was a part of his soul. While Makeda was never his wife by the laws of men, she was his only wife by the laws of God and nature, which is to say the law of Love.

  When Makeda departed from holy Mount Sion, it was with a heavy heart to leave her one beloved. Such has been the fate of many twinned souls in history, to come together at intervals and discover the deepest secrets of love, but to be ultimately separated by their destinies. Perhaps it is love’s greatest trial and mystery—the understanding that there is no separation between true beloveds, regardless of physical circumstances, time or distance, life or death.

  Once the hieros-gamos is consummated between predestined souls, the lovers are never apart in their spirits.

  For those with ears to hear, let them hear it.

  THE LEGEND OF SOLOMON AND SHEBA,

  PART TWO, AS PRESERVED IN THE LIBRO ROSSO

  Vatican City,

  Italy present day

  “THANKS, MAGGIE.”

  Margaret Cusack placed the tea tray carefully on Father Peter Healy’s desk. She clucked around him and the tray like the Irish hen that she was, pouring his tea, measuring the sugar, adding the milk just so. Maggie was what Peter’s mother would have referred to as a spinster, a woman of a certain age with “neither chick nor child of her own.” Instead, she had made a life and career as a priest’s housekeeper, beginning with her years as a teenager in County Mayo. When the priest she worked for was transferred to Rome, she came with him, and never left. She had been here for fifty years.

  When Father Bernard passed away last year, Maggie had proven herself so loyal and indispensable a fixture that she was kept on until a new position could be found for her. Her absolute devotion to the Church knew no limits.

  She had written to her family to tell them that it was her blessing from the Lord that this lovely man, Father Peter, had come to Rome at just the right time. That he was young and charming—and Irish—was an even greater boon to her. Maggie missed Ireland tremendously and often hummed the folk ballads of her native land while cleaning up after Father Peter’s busy day.

  Today she was humming something that startled Peter with recognition. He hadn’t heard it in years. It was a hymn written in the Irish language that he had learned as a boy at the Christian Brothers school. He surprised Maggie by joining in with her.

  “Céad mile fáilte romhat, a Iosa, a Iosa…”

  A hundred thousand welcomes, Jesus. It was a song about welcoming Jesus into our hearts and our lives. It was traditional, but Peter thought he remembered that it came from an ancient hymn dating back to the dawn of Christianity and the time of Saint Patrick. The Irish pronunciation of his name, Iosa, sounded like Easa.

  “Such a lovely song, isn’t it, Father?”

  “It is, Maggie. And it only just now occurred to me that Jesus in Irish is pronounced Easa. Did you know that he is called Easa, or Issa, in a number of languages?”

  “I can’t say that I knew that, Father, other than the Irish part. And only because of the song. I haven’t much Irish anymore, but the songs and poems stay with you.”

  “Aye, they do.”

  He let the subject drop. Maggie wasn’t one for discussions on anything alternative in her Catholicism. She was staunch in her orthodoxy, like many Irish countrywomen of her age and time, and like virtually everyone else whom Peter was surrounded by here in Rome. She likely wouldn’t want to hear about why Mary Magdalene called him Easa in her own gospel—that it was a familiar form of his Greek name, familiar because she was married to him. In fact, Maggie would probably inflict a penance of ten thousand Hail Marys on herself just for hearing such blasphemy from his lips. Her previous employer, Father Bernard, was an old-school traditionalist just as she was.

  Maggie was happiest when she was mothering Peter, delivering his food and tea and tidying up his living space, which doubled as his office. As long as he restricted their conversations to daily living and reminiscing about home, she was happy as a little lark.

  In addition to her duties as a Vatican housekeeper, Maggie was also a committed member of the Confraternity of the Holy Apparition, a group devoted to the understanding and promotion of the Virgin Mary’s appearances around the world. She carried a number of booklets and small paperbacks with her so that on her breaks she could study the accounts of these apparitions. At this particular moment, as she fussed over Peter’s tea, she had a dog-eared paperback sticking out of the wide pocket in her apron.

  “What are you reading?” Peter was always curious.

  “The life of the Holy Sister Lucia,” Maggie replied, pulling the book out of her apron to show it to Peter. Lucia Santos: Her Life and Visions.

  “Ah, Fátima. Are you preparing for the anniversary this year?”

  “We are, Father. Ninety years since the Blessed Virgin appeared before the little children of Fátima. We are having a special commemoration for it.”

  The phone rang in the adjoining hallway, and Maggie ran to answer it while Peter sipped his tea. He needed some peace now, to think about the earlier phone call he had received from Maureen. He was not only her closest living relative, he was and had always been her spiritual counselor. They had lived through some trying times together, and both had endured extraordinary tests of faith during her search for Mary Magdalene’s gospel. There was not an hour of the day that passed when Peter didn’t wonder if he had passed or failed those tests.

  After Maureen had risked her life to obtain the ancient documents from their hiding place in a French cavern, Peter had taken it upon himself to remove the gospels from France and turn
them over to the Church. To do this, he had been forced to deceive Maureen and all her friends at the Château des Pommes Bleues who had aided and protected her during the adventure. Essentially, he had stolen the documents like a thief in the night. While he now wallowed in self-loathing for that decision, his reasons for making it at the time were manifold. Primarily, he had convinced himself that he was protecting Maureen. Unfortunately, she and her associates didn’t see it that way. It had taken the better part of the last two years to completely mend their relationship, and that was much to the credit of Mary Magdalene herself. Because her gospel emphasized the power and importance of forgiveness, Maureen had decided that she would be the ultimate hypocrite if she didn’t forgive Peter under the circumstances.

  But Peter had yet to forgive himself. At the time of the discovery and as he translated the gospel, he was shaken to his core by the revelations within it. He simply could not accept that such a critical link to the history of Christianity should not be in the hands of the Church, where every expert available could be utilized to analyze the material and authenticate it. So he did what he thought was best by turning over the originals to authorities in Rome. In return, he was allowed to participate in the ongoing investigation into the controversial gospel.

  It was a miserable existence. Peter was immersed daily in the red tape and hierarchy of a Vatican structure that viewed him as an outsider. He was not a hero for delivering this priceless document. In fact, the opposite was true. He was suspect at all times as a participant in a potent heresy. Because Peter had translated the material first, prior to turning it over to the Vatican authorities, he was problematic. He knew precisely what the gospel said and, worse, had shared that translation with his cousin, who was a best-selling author as a result. And in his own heart he was convinced of its authenticity without so much as a single test. There were many here who opposed that idea, and Peter was often stymied and silenced in his attempts to be heard. There were moments when he felt far more like he was under house arrest than an active participant in the authentication process. He had only one ally in all of Rome whom he could really depend upon. Thankfully, it was a very powerful ally. Peter prayed for hours each night that the other members of the Vatican council would allow the light of the truth to enter their hearts during this process. He lived for the possibility that he might one day be able to tell Maureen that Mary Magdalene would be authenticated—and vindicated.

  But now he had a new complication. Maureen was on the verge of another spiritual breakthrough, whether she knew it yet herself or not. Peter had watched this all happen before: the increase in the visionary dreams that led to a rapid series of synchronistic circumstances, all of which were inexplicable outside of divine intervention. Such events had led Maureen to the Magdalene gospel two years ago. So here she was having the dreams again, and this time Jesus was quoting scripture to her.

  Be ye therefore perfect.

  The line was from Matthew, chapter five. It was a commandment from the Sermon on the Mount that followed the instruction to love your enemies and bless those that curse you. Certainly, this was foundational to Christianity, but what did it mean in the context of her dream?

  Stranger still was this line: You must awaken while in this body, for everything exists in it. Peter knew the context of that sentence immediately. It was from one of the controversial Gnostic Gospels that were discovered in Egypt in 1945. He knew with certainty that it came from the Gospel of Philip. He was even more certain which line came next within the ancient text: Resurrect in this life. He had participated in a number of heated debates over the meaning of these lines while living in Jerusalem in the earlier days of his Jesuit studies. Part of the controversy over the Gnostic material came from this very idea that life on earth, here and now and with an emphasis on this body, was as important as the afterlife. Perhaps more important. This was a concept not generally embraced by orthodox Catholicism for obvious reasons; some would assert that it was heretical. Yet it was key in the Gnostic texts. Peter had long been fascinated by the Gnostic perspective, and he argued with his more conservative brethren that the fact that these gospels had not been altered, dissected, edited, and translated to death over the last two thousand years made them pure and ultimately worthy of serious consideration. The opponents of the Gnostic material took the position that they were written too many generations after the life of Jesus to be considered valid, given that some of them were dated to the mid-third century.

  Peter thought it was unfortunate to the point of tragic that the Church had taken such a harsh position against the importance of the Gnostic codices. Why was it always black and white, either/or? Why did the Gnostic Gospels have to stand in opposition to the canon? Could they not be read together, as complements to each other, to see what greater learning they might take us to about who Jesus was and what he was trying to teach us?

  Maureen was dreaming about Jesus again, and the Lord himself was quoting from both the canonical and Gnostic Gospels. Fascinating. And given her history, it was very likely significant in ways he could not even dream of yet.

  And now, there was a pair of medieval scrolls to consider.

  Peter wouldn’t have time to consider them much longer. Maggie waddled into the room, flustered as she always was when a high-ranking member of the clergy had business with Peter.

  “Father Girolamo rang. He says he needs to see you in his office immediately on business, something regarding Cardinal DeCaro and an ancient document.”

  Confraternity of the Holy Apparition

  Vatican City

  present day

  FATHER GIROLAMO DE PAZZI was tired, with the kind of bone-weary exhaustion that comes from a very long life given in service to something more important than one’s own comfort. In his case, that service was to the Immaculate Heart of the Blessed Virgin Mary through his tireless dedication to the Confraternity of the Holy Apparition. His public work focused on understanding the visions and visionaries who had been sanctified by the Church as authentic over five hundred years.

  But his private work had a different focus. Behind closed doors, he was preoccupied with another, more intriguing kind of prophet—or more accurately, prophetess. This was a lineage of women, connected by blood and birth rights, who through time had experienced visions of exceptional clarity and power. They had been called by different titles through history, some more heretical than others. They were known alternately as Magdalenes, shepherdesses, black madonnas, popesses, and Expected Ones. Father Girolamo studied the details of their biographies; some of them were scant in their antiquity, like the elusive Sarah-Tamar and Modesta; others were well documented, like Teresa of Ávila. He combed through their lives in search of the answer to the questions that burned within him:

  Why? Why was it that these particular women were gifted in such a way by the Lord?

  And what? What was it that they knew that was out of the reach of even the holiest of men?

  He looked down at the aged manuscript that covered his desk, the one that preoccupied his days and his nights. It had once been in the highly prized personal collection of Pope Urban VIII, and it contained a series of prophecies. Written like poetry, the verses—sometimes in French, sometimes Italian—had been committed to paper over many generations. Because the verses were quatrains, consisting of four lines each, some scholars before him had credited these verses to the famous French prophet Nostradamus. Indeed, this manuscript had been filed in the Biblioteca Apostolica as the work of Nostradamus for a hundred years until Father Girolamo rescued it. He knew that this document was potentially priceless, and certainly not the work of one author. Rather, it was a work that appeared to span centuries. And while the verses had been translated over and over again, he still did not have the key to their true meanings. The quatrains were written in a type of code, a prophetic language that could not be interpreted except by those who were born to comprehend it.

  And still, he tried. He took the lines apart, one by one, for hou
rs at a time. There was a specific prophecy that had become an obsession for him, the French one that began with “Les temps revient.” The time returns.

  Father Girolamo studied the page, willing the meaning of the phrase and the prophecy which followed to come to him. In one hand he clutched a lovely and delicate crystal case, shaped like a locket, which contained the relic of a visionary. He prayed that the reliquary would aid him in his translation, but thus far the words had not revealed their secrets to him.

  The old priest sighed and sat back from his task. While Father Girolamo was based in Rome and had been for the majority of his long life, his confraternity had had its origins in Tuscany, in the Middle Ages. Today he felt as though he had been running it since the Middle Ages. Yet there was more work to be done, and he had another document that must occupy his time for the moment. Gently, he replaced the book of prophecies in the locked drawer that was its secret resting place.

  Peter Healy was on his way over, and Father Girolamo must be prepared to address him regarding this fascinating new development.

  Peter stood before the enormous tapestry that covered one wall of the confraternity’s private offices. It was created in the Netherlands in the late fifteenth century, as were the more famous unicorn tapestries that were now housed in museums in New York City and Paris. This one, called The Killing of the Unicorn, illustrated an elaborate hunting sequence. The mythical beast was surrounded by hunters wielding lances, and several in the hunting party were thrusting their spears into the trapped creature’s body. The unicorn bled profusely from those wounds, and others inflicted by the hounds which were viciously tearing at its flesh. A trumpeter announced the death of the beast with great ceremony and celebration, in the foreground of the textile. While the tapestry was a masterwork of Flemish craftsmanship, the subject matter might appear disturbing to the uninitiated.

  “Profoundly beautiful, no?” Father Girolamo de Pazzi’s voice, raspy with nearly seven decades of preaching, greeted Peter as he entered the room behind him.