The Power of Five Oblivion

language.
    He followed her into a hallway with black-and-white tiles, a gold mirror and solid oak furniture. There were doors opening into rooms in every direction and a wide, marble staircase, leading up. Classical paintings, mainly portraits, hung on the walls. As soon as the woman had closed the front door, she turned and looked at him.
    “Your name is Pedro,” she said.
    “Yes, signora .”
    “You were with Francesco Amati in Naples?”
    “Yes.”
    “Is it true that the entire city has gone?”
    “The volcano erupted. I don’t think there can be very much of it left.”
    “Dear God!” The woman crossed herself. “Where will this end? What is expected of us?” She examined him. “You’re wet. You look worn out. Have you eaten?”
    “I’m very hungry,” Pedro admitted.
    “Then come with me. We do not have much but you are welcome to what we have.”
    She led him into a gloomy kitchen with a high ceiling, a wooden table, and pots and pans hanging from hooks. There were no lights on anywhere but Pedro knew the house must have electricity. Both the doorbell and the front gate had worked. The woman gestured and he sat down at the table while she opened various cupboards and produced some rough brown bread, ham and salami, cheese and salad. Finally, she uncorked a bottle and gave him a glass of wine. The food looked meagre, spread out on the empty table, but Pedro wolfed it down as if it were a banquet. The wine was the best of all. The liquid was dark red, almost black, and warmed him inside, at the same time making him sleepy.
    The woman examined him intently while he ate. It was only when he had nearly finished that she continued with her questions. “My name is Carla,” she said. “Emmanuel told me you were a prisoner in Naples. What did they want with you?”
    “I don’t know.” As always, Pedro wasn’t sure how much to say. “I think they wanted to kill me.”
    “You are one of the Five.”
    Pedro said nothing.
    “You must tell me! I have a son in the Vatican … he is a priest, with high office. With his help, I have been given access to books in the Vatican library and I know about the Five, the Gatekeepers, the Old Ones. So you have nothing to hide from me. Are you one of the Gatekeepers?”
    “Yes, signora .” Pedro nodded. He saw no point in lying.
    “It is unbelievable. It is extraordinary to have you here in my house. All my prayers have been answered. My son, Silvio, will be home in a few hours. He will wish to speak to you at length. For now, I thank God for sending you to us.”
    Pedro was becoming uneasy. Carla Rivera was gazing at him with a sort of fervency he had never experienced before. He was also very tired. The events of the past twenty-four hours had finally caught up with him and the wine had helped to knock him out.
    She saw this. “You need to change your clothes,” she said. “You’re soaking wet. And you must sleep. I do not know what you have been through and you will tell us everything when Silvio arrives. I cannot imagine how much you must have suffered. But that is over now.”
    “Am I safe here?” Pedro asked.
    “You are not safe in Rome. I do not think anyone is safe anywhere in Italy. But while you are in this house, you are protected.”
    Pedro yawned and as if taking this as her cue, Carla rose to her feet. “We have a spare room where you can rest,” she said. “Please, follow me.”
    She led him out of the kitchen and up two flights of stairs, passing a long line of gloomy-looking portraits, hanging in gold frames. The house was empty and silent, the carpet threadbare, but Pedro got the impression that this had been a wealthy family once. They arrived at a hallway with an antique cabinet in front of them and a chandelier above. Two doors stood facing each other. Carla led him to the one on the left, but even as he went, for reasons he couldn’t understand, his eye was drawn to the door opposite.
    She noticed this. “Do not go in there,” she said. “It is my daughter’s room. She is resting. She is not well.” She opened the other door. “Here you are.”
    Pedro found himself in a small, square room dominated by a brass bed and with a double window looking over the garden where he had entered. There was a chair and a wardrobe but no other furniture. A wooden cross hung on the wall. A second door led into a bathroom and toilet.
    “The water is warm,” Carla said. “Leave your clothes outside the door and I will wash them for you.