sky like a sign of divine favor on the future emperor, the child Claudius. Why wasn't a pigeon feather a lucky omen? Ursula needed all the help she could get.
Next day after school Ursula stopped again at her favorite shop, because Mrs. Kelly had given her money to pay for pretty ribbons and flower-patterned calico and pink velveteen, and then she wouldn't take back the leftover coins.
"Which is it to be today, little one?" said the man behind the counter.
Ursula considered. She had so many of them now. Only the less attractive ones were left. "Well, that one's okay, I guess," she said at last. "Grazie."
*24*
Sam had learned another damning fact about the fragments of wood from the Treasury of San Marco. After consulting a couple of sources in the library of the university—a silly book in English, The Trees Jesus Loved , and an exhaustive German treatise, Den Baumen des Biblischen Landes —he had come to the only possible conclusion. None of the little pieces came from trees that grew within a thousand miles of Jerusalem in the first century of the Christian era.
There was no necessity for carbon dating. And there was no need to say anything yet to Father Urbano about the results of his examination, not until all the other relics had been looked at. Among them there might be one or two that were at least plausible.
So these could go back to the Treasury, and he could ask for more. Sam called the number he had been given by Father Urbano. The phone buzzed and paused and buzzed. Somewhere in the depths of San Marco it was ringing and ringing. Sam had a vision of the telephone shrilling right there under the Ascension dome, setting up a clamor throughout all the glittering volumes of golden air. Answer that! one of the mosaic angels would shout, opening its tessellated mouth, and another would cry, It's your turn , and then Saint Mark would have to rear up out of his sarcophagus and say, Pronto?
"Pronto?" said the telephone, but it was only Father Urbano.
Sam explained that he was finished with the first relics and would like to exchange them for more.
"Tell me," said Father Urbano eagerly, "what did you find out?" His voice trembled a little, and Sam guessed how much it mattered.
"I'll tell you when I come. You'll send a guard to come with me?"
" Certamente. At once."
But when the carabiniere arrived, Sam wasn't ready. He had to rush back from the Marciana, apologize to the waiting officer, lead him upstairs into his study and gather up the relics in a hurry. Then they marched together along the Riva to the Piazzetta and the basilica, the carabiniere carrying the relics in a cardboard box sealed with mailing tape, holding it delicately in front of his stomach with both hands.
The north entry into the basilica was sloppy with water, but the sacristy was up several steps and perfectly dry. Here Sam and the young officer watched Father Urbano open the tissue-paper packets of Sacro Legno and count, "Una, due, tre, quattro." He looked up at Sam. "Only four?"
"But there should be five," said the officer. "I brought you five last month, remember?"
"You must have left one at home," said Father Urbano, smiling doubtfully at Sam.
Sam was dumbfounded. "I don't think so." They were looking at him with questioning faces. "But, good Lord, I must have."
"And there are only nine pieces of bone," said Father Urbano, opening another packet and counting. "Didn't I give you ten?"
"Of course you did." Sam gazed at the pitiful little bones. "I don't know what to say. They must be still at home."
"Bene," said the officer. "We'll go and see." His voice was pleasant, but Sam knew there'd be hell to pay if the lost relics were not returned.
The journey was fruitless. Sam ransacked his study, but no other bone was to be found, nor any other fragment of sacred wood.
"I will make a report to Father Urbano," said the officer, his face expressionless.
But then, to Sam's astonishment, the priest was magnanimous. He called to say,
Next day after school Ursula stopped again at her favorite shop, because Mrs. Kelly had given her money to pay for pretty ribbons and flower-patterned calico and pink velveteen, and then she wouldn't take back the leftover coins.
"Which is it to be today, little one?" said the man behind the counter.
Ursula considered. She had so many of them now. Only the less attractive ones were left. "Well, that one's okay, I guess," she said at last. "Grazie."
*24*
Sam had learned another damning fact about the fragments of wood from the Treasury of San Marco. After consulting a couple of sources in the library of the university—a silly book in English, The Trees Jesus Loved , and an exhaustive German treatise, Den Baumen des Biblischen Landes —he had come to the only possible conclusion. None of the little pieces came from trees that grew within a thousand miles of Jerusalem in the first century of the Christian era.
There was no necessity for carbon dating. And there was no need to say anything yet to Father Urbano about the results of his examination, not until all the other relics had been looked at. Among them there might be one or two that were at least plausible.
So these could go back to the Treasury, and he could ask for more. Sam called the number he had been given by Father Urbano. The phone buzzed and paused and buzzed. Somewhere in the depths of San Marco it was ringing and ringing. Sam had a vision of the telephone shrilling right there under the Ascension dome, setting up a clamor throughout all the glittering volumes of golden air. Answer that! one of the mosaic angels would shout, opening its tessellated mouth, and another would cry, It's your turn , and then Saint Mark would have to rear up out of his sarcophagus and say, Pronto?
"Pronto?" said the telephone, but it was only Father Urbano.
Sam explained that he was finished with the first relics and would like to exchange them for more.
"Tell me," said Father Urbano eagerly, "what did you find out?" His voice trembled a little, and Sam guessed how much it mattered.
"I'll tell you when I come. You'll send a guard to come with me?"
" Certamente. At once."
But when the carabiniere arrived, Sam wasn't ready. He had to rush back from the Marciana, apologize to the waiting officer, lead him upstairs into his study and gather up the relics in a hurry. Then they marched together along the Riva to the Piazzetta and the basilica, the carabiniere carrying the relics in a cardboard box sealed with mailing tape, holding it delicately in front of his stomach with both hands.
The north entry into the basilica was sloppy with water, but the sacristy was up several steps and perfectly dry. Here Sam and the young officer watched Father Urbano open the tissue-paper packets of Sacro Legno and count, "Una, due, tre, quattro." He looked up at Sam. "Only four?"
"But there should be five," said the officer. "I brought you five last month, remember?"
"You must have left one at home," said Father Urbano, smiling doubtfully at Sam.
Sam was dumbfounded. "I don't think so." They were looking at him with questioning faces. "But, good Lord, I must have."
"And there are only nine pieces of bone," said Father Urbano, opening another packet and counting. "Didn't I give you ten?"
"Of course you did." Sam gazed at the pitiful little bones. "I don't know what to say. They must be still at home."
"Bene," said the officer. "We'll go and see." His voice was pleasant, but Sam knew there'd be hell to pay if the lost relics were not returned.
The journey was fruitless. Sam ransacked his study, but no other bone was to be found, nor any other fragment of sacred wood.
"I will make a report to Father Urbano," said the officer, his face expressionless.
But then, to Sam's astonishment, the priest was magnanimous. He called to say,
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