The Heirs of the Lost Legacy

16

 ...When their flight landed in Rome, the city seemed to embrace the trio as though it had been anticipating their arrival. Its timeless allure wove itself around them like an invisible thread, carrying with it the secrets of centuries past.

  The golden light of the late afternoon bathed the Eternal City in a warm, honeyed glow, softening the edges of history while imbuing every stone and arch with life. The Colosseum, weathered yet majestic, stood as a silent sentinel of Rome’s storied past. Its grand, fractured arches cast long shadows across the arena floor, whispering tales of gladiatorial combat, imperial grandeur, and an empire whose echoes still lingered in the air. Nearby, the Roman Forum unfolded like a timeless tableau, its crumbling columns and sweeping arches standing resolute against the tide of centuries, a poignant testament to the rise and fall of power. 

  In Piazza Navona, Bernini’s Fountain of the Four Rivers seemed to come alive in the golden light. The water sparkled like scattered diamonds, sending playful ripples across its surface as the sun’s last rays danced among the sculpted figures. Around them, the hum of Vespa engines wove through the air like a lively refrain, blending seamlessly with the laughter of tourists and the resonant chime of church bells. The city’s symphony of life felt eternal and unchanged, as though Rome existed outside the bounds of time itself.

Laurent paused on the steps of their modest hotel near Campo de’ Fiori, the vibrant market district at the city’s heart. His gaze lingered on the bustling square below, where street vendors displayed colourful awnings and filled the air with lively banter. Stalls overflowed with fresh produce, handmade trinkets, and fragrant flowers. At the square’s centre stood the imposing bronze statue of Giordano Bruno, his hooded figure solemn and contemplative, a stark reminder of his tragic fate. Bruno, a philosopher, mathematician, and cosmological theorist, had been executed here in 1600 for his unorthodox beliefs, including the idea of an infinite universe. Today, his statue served as both a memorial to free thought and a silent witness to the lively marketplace surrounding it.

“There’s a vibrancy here,” Laurent said, his voice tinged with wonder, as though he had stumbled upon something profound. “It’s as if history and the present are alive together, breathing the same air, their stories intertwined in the streets and squares.”

As dusk descended, painting the sky in soft hues of lavender, gold, and rose, the trio ventured further into the labyrinth of cobbled streets in Rome. The fading light seemed to beckon them to slow their pace, to savour the city’s rhythm. The distant murmur of conversation and the gentle clink of café cups mingled with the rustling of leaves in the evening breeze. They wandered past narrow alleys, their stones worn smooth by countless footsteps, and watched as the first stars began to glimmer in the twilight sky. Their steps were unhurried, their senses attuned to the pulse of the Eternal City. Each turn revealed a new layer of Rome’s rich tapestry. Eventually, they stopped at a tiny café tucked into a quiet corner near the Pantheon, an ideal spot to absorb the grandeur of the ancient dome looming above them like a silent guardian. They savoured rich, velvety espresso, the deep flavour lingering on their tongues as they marvelled at the engineering feat that had defied time for nearly two millennia. Everywhere they turned, Rome offered another glimpse into its layered history. A forgotten obelisk, its surface smoothed by centuries of wind and rain, stood quietly in a shaded piazza, its hieroglyphs faint yet evocative of a distant era. A Renaissance church, its ornate façade glowing in the twilight, beckoned with graceful carvings and soaring spires. Each discovery felt like an invitation, a call to delve deeper into the soul of the city, to uncover the stories it held, both celebrated and obscured by time. In that moment, Rome felt alive, not merely a city of stone and mortar but a living, breathing entity, its history palpable in every breath, every step, and every glance at its enduring monuments.

17

  Back at their lodgings, the apartment in Rome was hushed, save for the faint hum of Sophie’s laptop as she adjusted the webcam. Laurent sat at the dining table, his notebook open, pen poised above the page, while Étienne leaned against the windowsill, his gaze fixed on the sprawling Roman skyline. Hours of discussion had yielded no clear path forward, so they now turned to someone who might provide the clarity they desperately sought.

  Sophie leaned forward, her hands clasped tightly, her voice steady but tinged with earnestness. “Before we proceed, Professor Bonheur, we want to express our heartfelt gratitude. Your offer to contribute to our expedition is incredibly generous and deeply appreciated. While we’ve planned carefully and are in a good position, your support, both financial and moral, means so much to us.”

  On the other side of the screen, Bonheur’s expression softened, a warm smile curving his lips as he waved a dismissive hand. “Nonsense, my dear Sophie. The three of you are not just former students but individuals of remarkable integrity and brilliance. This isn’t merely financial assistance; it’s an investment in a cause I deeply believe in. And…” He paused, his smile growing wistful, “perhaps it’s also my way of living vicariously through your adventures. Your journey rekindles the spirit of exploration I cherished in my youth. You remind me that the world is still brimming with mysteries waiting to be unravelled. Now, let us delve into those mysteries, shall we? I understand you’ve uncovered something extraordinary in Malta – a ..., was it? And an inscription in Latin?”

  Sophie nodded, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Yes, Professor. As we told you, the ... is an otherworldly, beautiful artefact. The inscription reads: ...”

  Bonheur’s lips curved into a small smile. “An astute deduction. Raphael’s masterpiece is no ordinary fresco. It is a visual symphony, a gathering of the greatest minds in history. But tell me, what do you know of the secrets Renaissance artists wove into their work?”

  Laurent leaned forward, his brow furrowed. “We’ve heard theories, hidden symbols, geometric patterns, encoded messages. But how does that relate to Raphael?”

  Bonheur’s hands moved, palms upward, as if offering the idea on a silver platter. “The Renaissance was a time of rediscovery, of ancient wisdom, mysticism, and the harmony of art and science. Artists like Raphael, Leonardo, and Michelangelo were not merely painters; they were philosophers, mathematicians, and seekers of truth. The School of Athens is no exception, it is a treasure map of ideas, a labyrinth of hidden meanings.”

  Étienne’s brow furrowed with curiosity as he interjected, “But how exactly do the ... and the Order of St John of Malta connect to Raphael’s School of Athens? Is there a symbolic or historical link we’re missing, or is it something hidden within the painting itself?”

  Bonheur nodded, his tone deliberate. “Consider the Order of St John of Malta – renowned for their military and medical expertise – but rumours throughout history suggest they harboured a secret network of scholars and philosophers dedicated to preserving ancient knowledge. This clandestine faction, known as The Circle of Rhodes, believed the resurgence of classical philosophy in Renaissance art could serve as a covert method to encode and transmit sacred teachings. They saw art not merely as an aesthetic pursuit but as a powerful tool to preserve and disseminate knowledge that was too dangerous to record openly. Their goal was to safeguard these teachings for future generations while keeping them hidden from those who might exploit or destroy them. In my research,” Bonheur continued, “I discovered that in 1507, while the Order was still based in Rhodes, a high-ranking member named Brother Luca Aretino – a polymath, cartographer, and deeply trusted member of the Circle – was dispatched to Rome under the guise of a diplomatic envoy. However, his true mission was far more profound. The Circle had identified the Renaissance as a critical moment in history when the revival of classical ideals could be harnessed to encode their esoteric knowledge. Aretino’s task was to forge alliances with influential artists who could subtly embed these teachings into their works, ensuring their survival under the guise of artistic innovation. Aretino, with his charisma and intellectual prowess, quickly gained the trust of Raphael, a rising star in the Vatican’s artistic circles. Raphael, already enamoured with the ideals of classical philosophy, found the proposal intriguing. The two men, bound by a shared vision, entered into a secret pact. Aretino would provide Raphael with access to the Order’s vast repository of ancient texts and symbols, along with detailed instructions on how to encode these elements into his art. In return, Raphael would integrate these teachings into his masterpiece, The School of Athens, creating a visual cipher that could only be deciphered by those initiated into the Order’s secrets. Together, they devised an ingenious plan: the alignment of the philosophers, their gestures, and even the architectural elements of the painting would serve as the key to a hidden map. This map, Aretino claimed, would not lead to mere treasure but to knowledge; knowledge that could unlock the mysteries of the ancient world and guide humanity towards enlightenment.”

  Étienne tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. “So, are you saying Raphael deliberately encoded secrets into the fresco?”

  Bonheur nodded, his expression grave. “Precisely. The Order of St John of Malta was deeply concerned that the escalating tensions between Christian Europe and the Ottoman Empire would jeopardise their vast stores of knowledge and even their island stronghold in Rhodes. They understood that physical repositories could be destroyed or seized, but ideas encoded in art could endure, hidden in plain sight. By embedding some of their secrets within Raphael’s School of Athens, they ensured their legacy would survive, accessible only to those with the wisdom to decipher it. Raphael, ever the intellectual and eager to cement his place among the learned elite, found the proposal irresistible. For him, it was more than a commission, it was an intellectual challenge and an opportunity to align himself with the great thinkers of history.”     

  Bonheur gestured toward an imaginary painting, his voice lowering slightly. “Take a closer look at the architectural elements framing the scene. The grand arches, the meticulously calculated vanishing points – these are not merely decorative flourishes. They guide the viewer’s eye, creating an illusion of infinite depth. Some scholars believe these elements conceal numerical patterns, subtle yet deliberate – perhaps even ancient geometric grids or proto-coordinate systems.”

  Sophie’s lips parted slightly, her eyes widening as she processed his words. “Proto-coordinate systems?” she murmured, her voice tinged with awe. “Could they point to another location? Somewhere significant?”

  Bonheur smiled cryptically. “It is possible. Remember, Raphael was deeply influenced by the Neoplatonic idea of the anima mundi, the world soul, which connects all things. If he encoded proto-coordinate systems, they might lead to a place of great spiritual or intellectual significance.”

  Laurent’s voice was quieter now. “And the geometry? Could it be a code?”

  Professor Bonheur leaned forward in his chair, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. His eyes sparkled with the intensity of someone about to share a profound revelation. “You’re all familiar with Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper, aren’t you?”

  Sophie nodded, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear as she sat up straighter. “Of course. But what about it? Surely, you’re not going to tell us something as mundane as the perspective techniques he used, or the endless debate about whether the figure next to Jesus is John or Mary Magdalene.”

  Bonheur’s lips curved into a small, indulgent smile. “Ah, the Magdalene theory. Intriguing, yes, but no, I’m not here to tread well-worn paths. I want you to think deeper. What if I told you The Last Supper and Raphael’s School of Athens are connected in ways that go beyond mere artistry?”

  Laurent, who had been absently tracing the rim of his coffee cup, froze mid-motion. His eyes widening as he leaned forward. “Connected? How? They’re completely different subjects – one religious, one philosophical.”

 “Precisely. Yet both are imbued with signs and symbols that transcend their surface themes. In The Last Supper, Leonardo encoded a celestial map, aligning the apostles with the zodiac. Decades later, Raphael mirrored this approach in The School of Athens, embedding his philosophers within a similar cosmic framework. Consider the central figures: in The Last Supper, Christ sits at the heart of the composition, his arms outstretched to form a perfect equilateral triangle. In The School of Athens, Raphael places Plato and Aristotle at the centre, their gestures creating a visual dialogue. Plato points upwards to the heavens, while Aristotle extends his hand outward to the earth. Two philosophies, two realms – yet both paintings use geometry to express cosmic order.”

  Étienne tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. “But how does this tie into the signs and symbols? Are you suggesting Raphael borrowed Leonardo’s zodiacal alignment?”

  Bonheur tapped his temple with one finger, a knowing glint in his eye. “It’s not a direct imitation but a shared visual language,” he began. “Take da Vinci’s The Last Supper as an example. The apostles are grouped in threes, their gestures and expressions subtly reflecting the traits of the zodiac signs. Each apostle’s posture, emotion, and interaction align with qualities traditionally associated with the twelve signs – from the boldness of Aries to the wisdom of Sagittarius. It’s as if da Vinci embedded a cosmic map within the scene, portraying the apostles not merely as biblical figures but as representations of universal forces.” He leaned forward slightly, his voice gaining intensity. “Raphael employs a similar technique in The School of Athens. Look closely at the clusters of philosophers. Each group represents a distinct school of thought, but their postures and positions also echo celestial archetypes. Raphael appears to channel the alignment of the stars, arranging his figures to suggest a balance between earthly knowledge and cosmic harmony. Both artists drew from a tradition of ancient wisdom, using their art to bridge the intellectual and the divine.”

  Bonheur’s tone softened as he continued. “So, when you stand before The School of Athens, you are not just observing philosophers immortalised in paint. Their gestures, their placements, the interplay of light and shadow – all contribute to a grander dialogue. This is a conversation that began long before Raphael picked up his brush and continues now, with you. Great art doesn’t merely depict; it reveals. It challenges. It transforms the viewer. Raphael and Leonardo understood this profoundly. They weren’t just creating images – they were embedding ideas, mysteries, and codes, waiting to be unravelled by those who dare to look deeper.”

  The professor rose from his chair, signalling the end of their discussion. “Tomorrow, when you stand before The School of Athens, let the painting speak to you. Let it challenge what you think you know.”

  As the Skype connection with Professor Bonheur ended, the screen fading to black, Sophie turned to Étienne and Laurent, her eyes wide with a mix of wonder and contemplation. Her voice, barely more than a whisper, carried the weight of her thoughts. “I don’t think I’ll ever look at a painting the same way again.”

  Étienne grinned, his usual bravado tinged with genuine excitement. “Well, at least now we know what to look for. Or at least, what questions to ask.”

  The three of them walked on in silence, their thoughts swirling with Bonheur’s revelations. Tomorrow, they would stand before Raphael’s School of Athens, their eyes no longer clouded by the surface of the image. They would see the philosophers and their gestures, the celestial alignments and hidden geometries, the interplay of light and shadow – not just as art, but as a map, a message, a mirror. And perhaps, just perhaps, they would find the answers to questions they hadn’t yet thought to ask...