The Mafra National Palace, one of the most important architectural relics of Portugal, was located in the town from which it got its name. The enormous edifice was built according to the wishes of King Juan V of Portugal, who had promised to build it if the queen, Doña María of Austria, gave him an heir. The birth of Princess Doña María Bárbara made him keep his promise, and the king spared no expense in building that baroque architectural masterpiece. The luxurious royal quarters occupied the entire top floor, but the building also contained a monastery for more than 300 Franciscan priests, a basilica, and one of the most beautiful libraries in Europe, covered with marble and exotic woods. Its rococo shelves now housed more than 40,000 volumes, leather-bound with gold engraving. In addition to many other literary marvels, it held a first edition of Os Lusíadas, by Luíz Vaz de Camões. The building had not housed any Franciscan fathers for a long time now, since the religious orders were dissolved in 1834. In addition to its great intrinsic value, the palace also held many treasures. The basilica had two towers and a cupola, six pipe organs with an exclusive repertory, which couldn’t be heard in any other place, and two carillons of ninety-two bells, considered the best in the world.
“What are we doing here?”
“We’re going to meet your father.”
“Here?” Sarah was in a terrible mood. “He’s coming here?”
“He’s already here.”
They passed the enormous doors of the monastery and went into its magnificent interior. Rafael’s manner suggested he knew where they were going.
The serenity of the monastery began to ease Sarah’s anxieties. This environment served as a balm. A group of students was ahead of them, with a guide explaining the history of the place.
“Saramago, the Nobel Prize winner in literature-in his book Memorial do convento, which I recommend, by the way-describes the misfortunes and complications that occurred during the construction of this building.”
Rafael and Sarah were sneaking through a restricted-access doorway. Her heart began beating much faster. “He’s close.”
“Did you know it’s said that the height of this monastery is the same as its depth underground?” she asked nervously.
“I’m sure,” Rafael answered mechanically, obviously thinking about something else.
They went into what had once been a hospital, with an adjoining chapel, from which the patients could hear the Lord’s words. In one corner, Rafael skillfully opened a small wooden door.
They descended a narrow spiral staircase, illuminated by the flashlight Rafael had pulled out of his pocket.
“It’s also said that the basements have been inaccessible for centuries, due to the thousands of rats living there.” Sarah’s voice sounded tremulous, revealing her anxious jitters. “Countless treasures were lost because of that.”
They came to a very old door with rusty hinges and moldy wood. There was utter darkness. Sarah began picturing bats awakened from their sleep, infuriated by the two intruders. Rafael opened the door, which screeched sharply.
“Watch your head,” he warned, stooping to go through the narrow doorway. Sarah followed him, convinced she was about to enter fifteenth-century Portugal.
“What is this? Where are we?”
“Take this,” Rafael said, handing her the small flashlight.
Sarah grabbed the chance to survey the place, disregarding Rafael’s moves. But the only thing she managed to see was dirt. Dirt and more dirt. She couldn’t tell if it was a continuation of the passageway or a kind of catacomb.
“Would you mind pointing that over this way?” Rafael asked. “It has to be somewhere around here.”
“What?”
Set in the rock, or dirt wall, Sarah couldn’t tell, was a stick with a cloth wound around one end. A primitive torch.
Seconds later, using a lighter, Rafael ignited it. The fire spread an orange light that partly lifted the darkness. Before them was an enormous tunnel that looked endless, dug out of the rock.
“Where are we?”
“Welcome to the catacombs of the Mafra monastery,” Rafael said, noticing Sarah’s bewildered expression. “Shall we go?”
Sarah didn’t answer for a moment, stunned into silence.
“My father’s coming to meet us here?” she finally asked.
“No, your father lives here.”