The abbot smiled knowingly. I see, he said. You are also not convinced that the truth would stop the Archbishop from acting upon such rumors?

I was tempted to tell Don Marco of the Archbishop’s disdain for the Jews and his resentment over the debt he still owed to one of their own. Instead, I said, In such desperate times I worry how people might respond to such hearsay, especially if it were to come from the lips of someone of authority.

Doctor Pasqua, we are all God’s creatures. I abhor cruelty and maltreatment, particularly toward the helpless. However, with all the suffering that envelops us, why are you concerned over the welfare of a few Jews?

I have a colleague, Jacob ben Moses. He is an honorable man with a good family. He is my friend.

Don Marco considered that for a quiet moment. A soft answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger, he quoted from the Book of Proverbs. Yes, I will speak to the Archbishop. And you should pray that he listens.

Chapter

Forty-Two

Alana has been going nonstop since leaving the university that morning, and yet she’s still troubled by the sense of time slipping away. Outbreak responses are always races against the clock, but she has never felt the pressure more acutely. With the confirmed case of plague in Rome, the threat of the epidemic going global is more real to her than ever.

Nico is fifteen minutes late to pick her up, which only compounds her anxiety. His SUV finally rolls to a stop at the curbside shortly after five p.m. As she climbs inside, one glance at Nico makes her forget about his tardiness. His hair is askew and the veins in the pouches beneath his eyes appear as if they could pulsate. He looks as if he hasn’t slept in days. “What is it, Nico?”

“The hospital.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Worse.” He sweeps a hand through his hair. “So many more have died. I had to break the news to a patient’s fiancée just now. She wouldn’t believe me. Kept saying I was lying. Screaming at me.” He exhales. “The wedding would have been tomorrow.”

Alana reaches out and touches his arm.

His shrug doesn’t hide his pain. “It’s not only the new cases. Or even the deaths.”

“What else?”

“The hospital, it is under siege. Outside, reporters and cameramen multiply faster than the victims. And inside, I do not know what is worse: the sense of panic or defeat.” He swallows. “For every real case, we have twenty hypochondriacs arriving with nothing. And the staff . . .” He thumps the steering wheel in frustration. “Alana, the staff are losing hope.”

None of this is news to her, but it’s still deflating. She withdraws her hand from his arm. “It’s only been one week, Nico. That’s all.”

“And every day is worse than the previous.”

“It’s to be expected, Nico. That’s how it is with a new outbreak. Always. Until you contain it.”