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- Колин Маккалоу
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Archbishop
di
Contini-Verchese
preferred
to
stay
in
a
secular
hotel
than
avail
himself
of
the
offered
quarters
in
an
Athens
Orthodox
palace
.
His
mission
was
a
very
delicate
one
,
of
some
moment
;
there
were
matters
long
overdue
for
discussion
with
the
chief
prelates
of
the
Greek
Orthodox
Church
,
the
Vatican
having
a
fondness
for
Greek
and
Russian
Orthodoxy
that
it
could
n't
have
for
Protestantism
.
After
all
,
the
Orthodoxies
were
schisms
,
not
heresies
;
their
bishops
,
like
Rome
's
,
extended
back
to
Saint
Peter
in
an
unbroken
line
.
The
Archbishop
knew
his
appointment
for
this
mission
was
a
diplomatic
testing
,
a
stepping
stone
to
greater
things
in
Rome
.
Again
his
gift
for
languages
had
been
a
boon
,
for
it
was
his
fluent
Greek
which
had
tipped
the
balance
in
his
favor
.
They
had
sent
for
him
all
the
way
to
Australia
,
flown
him
out
.
And
it
was
unthinkable
that
he
go
without
Bishop
de
Bricassart
,
for
he
had
grown
to
rely
upon
that
amazing
man
more
and
more
with
the
passing
of
the
years
.
A
Mazarin
,
truly
a
Mazarin
;
His
Grace
admired
Cardinal
Mazarin
far
more
than
he
did
Cardinal
Richelieu
,
so
the
comparison
was
high
praise
.
Ralph
was
everything
the
Church
liked
in
her
high
officials
.
His
theology
was
conservative
,
so
were
his
ethics
;
his
brain
was
quick
and
subtle
,
his
face
gave
away
nothing
of
what
went
on
behind
it
;
and
he
had
an
exquisite
knack
of
knowing
just
how
to
please
those
he
was
with
,
whether
he
liked
them
or
loathed
them
,
agreed
with
them
or
differed
from
them
.
A
sycophant
he
was
not
,
a
diplomat
he
was
.
If
he
was
repeatedly
brought
to
the
attention
of
those
in
the
Vatican
hierarchy
,
his
rise
to
prominence
would
be
certain
.
And
that
would
please
His
Grace
di
Contini-Verchese
,
for
he
did
n't
want
to
lose
contact
with
His
Lordship
de
Bricassart
.
It
was
very
hot
,
but
Bishop
Ralph
did
n't
mind
the
dry
Athens
air
after
Sydney
's
humidity
.
Walking
rapidly
,
as
usual
in
boots
,
breeches
and
soutane
,
he
strode
up
the
rocky
ramp
to
the
Acropolis
,
through
the
frowning
Propylon
,
past
the
Erechtheum
,
on
up
the
incline
with
its
slippery
rough
stones
to
the
Parthenon
,
and
down
to
the
wall
beyond
.
There
,
with
the
wind
ruffling
his
dark
curls
,
a
little
grey
about
the
ears
now
,
he
stood
and
looked
across
the
white
city
to
the
bright
hills
and
the
clear
,
astonishing
aquamarine
of
the
Aegean
Sea
.
Right
below
him
was
the
Plaka
with
its
rooftop
cafés
,
its
colonies
of
Bohemians
,
and
to
one
side
a
great
theater
lapped
up
the
rock
.
In
the
distance
were
Roman
columns
,
Crusader
forts
and
Venetian
castles
,
but
never
a
sign
of
the
Turks
.
What
amazing
people
,
these
Greeks
.
To
hate
the
race
who
had
ruled
them
for
seven
hundred
years
so
much
that
once
freed
they
had
n't
left
a
mosque
or
a
minaret
standing
.
And
so
ancient
,
so
full
of
rich
heritage
.
His
Normans
had
been
fur-clad
barbarians
when
Pericles
clothed
the
top
of
the
rock
in
marble
,
and
Rome
had
been
a
rude
village
.
Only
now
,
eleven
thousand
miles
away
,
was
he
able
to
think
of
Meggie
without
wanting
to
weep
.
Even
so
,
the
distant
hills
blurred
for
a
moment
before
he
brought
his
emotions
under
control
.
How
could
he
possibly
blame
her
,
when
he
had
told
her
to
do
it
?
He
understood
at
once
why
she
had
been
determined
not
to
tell
him
;
she
did
n't
want
him
to
meet
her
new
husband
,
or
be
a
part
of
her
new
life
.
Of
course
in
his
mind
he
had
assumed
she
would
bring
whomever
she
married
to
Gillanbone
if
not
to
Drogheda
itself
,
that
she
would
continue
to
live
where
he
knew
her
to
be
safe
,
free
from
care
and
danger
.
But
once
he
thought
about
it
,
he
could
see
this
was
the
last
thing
she
would
want
.
No
,
she
had
been
bound
to
go
away
,
and
so
long
as
she
and
this
Luke
O'Neill
were
together
,
she
would
n't
come
back
.
Bob
said
they
were
saving
to
buy
a
property
in
Western
Queensland
,
and
that
news
had
been
the
death
knell
.
Meggie
meant
never
to
come
back
.
As
far
as
he
was
concerned
,
she
intended
to
be
dead
.
