Mario’s voice grew serious, as if sharing a secret. “Pope Clement V’s words. He absolved the Knights Templar of heresy back in 1308.”
The room fell silent for a moment as the weight of the revelation sank in. The two friends exchanged a knowing look, appreciating the significance of the document.
“The Templars got screwed over by King Philip ‘the Fair’ with those false accusations,” Roberto intoned, holding up air quotes to make clear his opinion about the king of France.
“But this parchment absolves them of those charges.”
Roberto’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Did you know that’s where Friday the Thirteenth comes from?”
Mario leaned in, eager to hear the story.
“The King of France was jealous of the Templars’ wealth and power,” Roberto began, his voice filled with intrigue. “On the morning of Friday, October 13, 1307, he had over six hundred Templars arrested. They were charged with heresy, devil worship, and even spitting on the cross.”
Mario’s eyes widened upon hearing this news.
“But that’s not all,” Roberto continued, his voice dropping. “The King had them brutally tortured until they confessed to things that weren’t true. Their bodies were stretched on racks, their limbs dislocated. Some even had their feet dipped in oil and set on fire.”
Mario’s face twisted in disgust. “That’s like something out of a horror movie.”
Roberto nodded solemnly. “You know what’s even more fascinating? The Templars smuggled out all their treasure before the King could confiscate it. You know what that treasure was?”
Mario nodded side to side, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.
“They had King Solomon’s treasure,” Roberto revealed, his voice filled with awe.
Mario’s jaw dropped. “You mean, the Ark of the Covenant? The Ten Commandments? The Holy Grail?”
Roberto nodded, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “That’s right. The Templars had it all.”
Mario’s face scrunched in disbelief, but a part of him couldn’t help but wonder if there was some truth to the rumors. “Roberto, your endless pursuit of knowledge is incredible.”
“Boy, what I wouldn’t give to have a look at that treasure.” Roberto’s gaze drifted away, picturing the invaluable cache of Solomon’s riches.
“You’ve done pretty well for yourself.”
“True, I’ve done well enough.” His eyes swept across his opulent abode. “And you too. Remember the safety net I’ve arranged for us?” He was referring to the special Swiss account he’d set up, a safeguard against any unforeseen circumstances that might befall them. Roberto was a man of caution, always prepared for the worst. This hidden fortune—a cool ten million stashed away in a Swiss bank—was his insurance policy in case anything went terribly wrong.
“I appreciate it, but I have faith in my future. The Church will provide for me when I retire.”
“Of course. But remember, I got your back, brother.” Roberto turned his attention back to the oven to check on the lasagna. “What other secrets from the Archives?”
“I heard there’s a petition from King Henry VIII to the pope seeking an annulment from Catherine of Aragon in 1533.”
“No kidding.” Roberto checked the thermometer for doneness. “Did you know the pope denying that request led to the birth of the Church of England?” he interjected, flaunting his wealth of knowledge. “Must’ve hurt the Vatican coffers to lose all that revenue.”
“Wow, there’s that brain of yours again,” Mario said, straightening up and nodding in admiration.
“What else?”
“Records from Galileo’s trial.”
“Yep. They thought he was crazy; now he’s hailed as a genius.” Roberto chuckled at the irony.
“Letters from Mary, Queen of Scots. And a grand empress from China. All dating back centuries.”
“Holy crap, they’re hoarding some serious stuff in there.”
Their conversation was abruptly cut short by the oven’s insistent beeping.
“Saved by the bell,” Roberto quipped, opening the oven door to retrieve the bubbling lasagna. “Let’s eat.”
After plating the food, they moved to the dining room to enjoy the delectable leftovers. Mario cut his fork through the steaming layers of lasagna. “Mmmm. Even leftover, your lasagna never fails to impress,” he said, talking through a mouthful of rich flavors that danced on his tongue.
Roberto chuckled, a hint of pride lighting up his eyes. “I think it actually tastes better the second day.”
Mario took another bite, closing his eyes and savoring the rare treat. “I agree. This one is better than the last. Did you do anything different?”
“I used a nice bottle of Chianti in the meat sauce as usual, but as a twist I added some truffle sauce. Gives it that earthy flavor. You like it?”
“Delicious. I’ll happily be your guinea pig for your experiments any day of the week.” Mario consumed another forkful of the signature dish.
“Anything else of interest happening at work?” Roberto probed, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.
“I’m not sure.” Mario’s gaze dropped to his lasagna, unsure whether to reveal his peculiar discovery involving the concealed brown-paper package.
“What is it?” Roberto had recognized Mario’s change in demeanor.
“I . . . um, stumbled upon a rather unusual document in the Archives yesterday,” Mario confessed, his voice hesitant.
