by Izak Botha
It also occurred to Jennifer that it was common practice in some cultures for a man to marry his friend’s wife if the friend died, so perhaps Mark was Jesus’s natural son and Peter’s by adoption. If Mary was with Jesus first, but later married Peter as the story in the Gnostic Gospel of Philip portrayed, it would make sense for Peter to be aggravated when Jesus kissed her more often than seemed necessary. If Peter were in Antakya while Mary was in Jerusalem, would that indicate a separation between them? It would account for Peter’s annoyance with Jesus’s close connection with her. Or perhaps Mary had relationships with both Peter and Jesus, in which case, either man could have fathered Mark. That would explain the long tradition that had labelled her a prostitute, and would also explain why she had lived as a hermit after every man she loved had been killed. Considering all that had happened, Jennifer felt for her.
*****
By the time Simon had placed the purified DNA into a thermal cycler for isolation, Jennifer was exhausted. Apart from eating lunch at the canteen, she had been sitting on a stool for the entire day. ‘Simon has a great team,’ she thought, stretching her back. The way they had worked around the clock for twelve hours or more was extraordinary.
To determine the evolutionary relationship between the relics, Simon and his team had selectively amplified specific regions of the DNA, a process called fingerprinting. If they were related, the four evangelists would have inherited a substantial amount of Peter’s fingerprint.
With the preparations completed, Simon asked a researcher to call Rabin on the intercom. He wanted his colleague present for the results. He saved the work onto a memory stick, and returned to his office to transfer the data onto his personal computer.
Rabin arrived as Simon placed several images side by side on his large screen monitor for comparison. The two scientists studied the results intently for some time, before sitting back.
Jennifer could hardly contain her curiosity. ‘Well?’
Simon gazed at her with an amused gleam in his eyes and said, ‘Mark was not Peter’s son.’
‘But the ossuary says he was.’
Simon shook his head.
Jennifer had just suspected as much, yet she could not get her head around the fact.
To highlight why Mark and Peter were not related, Simon compared their DNA. The differences were striking. He called up Matthew and Luke’s fingerprints and placed them with Mark’s. Though there were differences, there were, indeed, striking similarities to prove a blood relationship.
‘It would appear all three had the same mother,’ Simon said finally.
Jennifer was quick to pounce: ‘But different fathers.’
‘Two fathers,’ Simon said, correcting her. There was a difference.
Rabin nodded approvingly. From the DNA fingerprints, it was clear that Matthew, Mark and Luke were half siblings. Mark, though related, had been fathered by another man.
Jennifer felt sick. She had anticipated that Mary Magdalene would be the mother, but the revelation of the celebrated biblical figure having been with two men still came as a shock. But who fathered Mark? There could be only one answer. …
‘Jesus fathered Mark,’ she whispered. ‘And Peter was his stepdad. He brought Mark to Antioch and claimed him as his own, thus hiding him.’
For once, Rabin agreed with her. Of course, there was no way of knowing without DNA that had, per the Gospels, escaped into Heaven. As for Mary’s DNA, they could have a sample of Mary’s skull tested in France. That would shed light on the identity of the mother. But Rabin was already convinced. If the skull was indeed Mary’s, the results would confirm their hypothesis. Jennifer’s explanation was reasonable and it agreed with everything they knew about the Apostles and their culture.
Jennifer was deep in thought. Mary would have likely taken another husband. She would have been about Jennifer’s age; young enough to start anew. John and Mark record how Mary was first to see Jesus’s empty tomb, and it was to Peter she had then run to tell. They must have been close. The idea of Peter supporting Mary in raising Jesus’s child and being separated so Peter could save Mark from Paul also made sense. Similarly, it explained why Mark had fled from Paul. Paul had not just been trying to rid the world of Nazarenes and pervert their faith; he had been out to kill Jesus’s and Peter’s successors as well.
Jennifer needed to be clear on the facts. ‘Mark was the older of the siblings, which explains why his Gospel dates first and why his work differs from Matthew’s and Luke’s,’ she said hurriedly, before adding: ‘Put Bartholomew’s DNA up.’
Simon complied, and he and Rabin were shocked. Unlike Matthew’s and Luke’s, Mark’s DNA matched Bartholomew’s. The two evangelist’s fingerprints were nearly identical.
Jennifer could not be any happier. Not in her wildest dreams could she have anticipated discovering something as important. The find surpassed anything she could have imagined. ‘You said, Professor, that there was a name problem with Bartholomew. Well, I looked it up last night, and “Bartholomew” has no translation. The “tlm” in “Bar-tlm” is never used in the Bible. It is a word much like “y-w-h-w”, which itself has no meaning except for the name of God. I also read that some scholars believe it’s related to the Aramaic “telem”, making Bartholomew the “Son of the Furrow”. We might then see this as “son of the ploughman”, or it might be an early Nazarene code, a play on words. Many of Jesus’s parables compare believers to seeds and God to a gardener. A furrow is a trench dug in the ground—by a gardener.
‘If Bartholomew was Jesus’s younger son, it would explain why he kept the connection to his brother even though they were physically separated, one being in Antakya, the other in Armenia; and it would explain why a pseudonym was used by fellow Nazarene writers, while his given name, Nathaniel, was used by the Pauline John. The former was hiding him, but the latter intended to expose him. He was the son of the spiritual ploughman. And he is never spoken of except in passing in the synoptic texts. Only in John is there a story about him sitting under a fig tree, and his behavior when Philip brings him to Jesus is characteristic of a child. Even the Gospel of Bartholomew describes the interaction between Jesus and Bartholomew as that of a father and a son.’
Rabin expected nothing less. ‘I don’t suppose you’d got much sleep last night?’
Jennifer was about to put his mind to rest when she realized something. She could not believe she had not thought of it earlier. ‘Bartholomew fits the two-source theory, which says that the Gospel of Mark and Q—the long hypothesized source—served as inspiration for Matthew and Luke. Bartholomew as Q matches perfectly. He and Mark both recorded their memories of their father’s death and Matthew and Luke later used their Gospels as source. Whether transmitted orally or in writing is beside the point. Mark, being the older brother would have influenced Bartholomew’s work. We can test this hypothesis by asking Pope Gregory for access to the hidden Gospel I’d seen when I broke into their bunker.’
When Jennifer had finished, Simon smiled and Rabin clapped.
Never had the New Testament made more sense. Even the discrepancies between the Gospels, which had been an enigma for ages, suddenly made sense. And never in Jennifer’s wildest dreams could she have imagined being a critical player in revolutionizing Christianity. But the evidence now clearly demonstrated that Paul had lured Peter to Antioch under false pretenses. Peter most likely arrived anticipating they would settle their differences or even start a ministry together, only to be persecuted anew. His crucifixion left Paul free to annex the Nazarene faith as he willed, and Mark, who had been old enough to accompany Peter, had fled back to Judea. With Jesus and Peter eliminated, Mary was left on her own to fend for herself and her boys. Hence, her sons recorded their gospels years later to undo the damage wreaked by Paul. What a tragic story! Mary Magdalene had seen both her husbands crucified by the same man. She had probably seen her sons killed too. Her date of death was never recorded. Tradition claims she was lifted to Heaven by angels. No martyrd
om was ever mentioned. Had she lived out her elder years in a cave, having lost everyone she had ever loved?
Simon saved the work and closed the program. It was nearly six and the sun was setting.
‘Supper,’ he said, gazing over his shoulder at Rabin. ‘My place. Seven o’clock. I’m also inviting Colonel Schreider and his captain. They’re still down in the city. Pope Gregory has ordered them to stay until he can be sure the dissenting cardinals pose no further risk.’
Chapter 54
Jennifer stood on Simon’s veranda. Dressed in a simple black dress, with a shawl around her shoulders and comfortable balmorals on her feet, she was sipping a cup of coffee. The glow from a distant peak backlit by the rising sun drew her attention. Wisps of vivid color reminiscent of peacock feathers fanned across the sky. As the glory of the morning sun lit the valley, she laughed silently as joy infused her being.
Jennifer remembered returning to the States the day after the DNA results. Flying first to Key West to see her father, she had related every detail of her epic journey. They sat at a beach cafe as she explained her abortive meeting with the high-ranking cardinal, the ensuing pursuit and her escape to Antioch where she unwittingly found Apostle Peter’s remains. She told him about their capture and the shootout with Verretti, their trial and what she could remember of the pope’s speech, then their second discovery and Friar Malone’s attempt at destroying the evidence. Concluding her story, she said it had been an adventure like no other.
Her father restrained himself from reprimanding her for her break-in at the Library and not contacting him. He had been terrified. He was happy for her to be safe home again, but he had been just about to fly to Rome when she finally called him the week before. He had even bought tickets for himself and a return ticket for her.
Jennifer remembered apologizing for making him worry, but first escaping from, then being drugged and kidnapped by the gendarmes had made it impossible to call before she did. Anyhow, she was safe now, and since she was going to present her story to Geographic America for consideration, it seemed the trip would help her professionally. Her friend from the journal, who had helped her gain entry to the Vatican Library, had made her promise that Geographic America would have first claim on international serial rights. Strictly speaking, her trip had not involved the codex, but her friend said he would present the story to the managing editor anyway.
At her flat in New York a week later, Jennifer was acutely aware that although she had bid farewell to Simon in Antakya, he was still very much on her mind. It felt to her the time they had spent together had changed her. She pondered her attraction to him for hours. Was he in love with her? She had never had a ‘one-night stand’ before, and perhaps she was reading more into it than it warranted. Maybe their sleeping together was just stress release after the tension and the danger they had experienced. She wondered if she should visit him, and how would he respond if she did? The thought of finding out did not scare her half as much as being strapped to that stretcher in the ambulance, but it still frightened her all the same.
Meanwhile, she did have other problems—real problems. As she opened her apartment door, she saw a notice to pay the rent or quit, lying on the doormat. She needed the job at Geographic America, but it would mean going back to Antioch for sure. At least she would have an excuse. If Simon did not love her, well, she could be professional about it. Of course, it would hurt. It would really hurt. She could not help admitting to herself that she had fallen for him. If only she could take her mind off him long enough to deal with her life.
Attempting to bring herself back to Earth, she put the kettle on for a cup of noodle soup when gut-wrenching sobs took hold. Her despair was overwhelming. Her heart beat wildly, her gut twisted and she had to vomit. Did she make a mistake by sleeping with him? And would she make an even bigger mistake if she tried to go back? Tears poured as she sat on the living-room floor trying to make a rational decision. She had had boyfriends before, but she had never loved them. Not like this. It did not seem as if she could function without him. Listening to Anastasia’s ‘Heavy on my heart’ did not help either. By the time the artist belted out the final chorus, Jennifer was sobbing uncontrollably.
Over a week passed and Simon did not call. Her doubts increased daily, and with them came a fear of calling Geographic America. Although she now had the opportunity of a lifetime, how could she just turn up in Antioch without knowing if Simon wanted her there? It would be unbearable if it had just been casual for him. If that were the case, she would rather give the assignment to someone else.
She was a mess, sitting on the floor in a ratty hoody and a pair of gym shorts. A mug of cold soup stood on one side of her, a pile of Kleenexes on the other. She remembered glancing at her phone every few minutes, picking it up several times but put it back down, not wanting to bother someone who did not want to talk to her. She got up to stare across the Hudson at the New York skyline. Then, she noticed her reflection. She looked worse than after her beating by Verretti, and suddenly, she stopped caring what Simon thought. She called his laboratory and a researcher answered. They were extremely busy, but he would see if Simon could take the call. Minutes passed like centuries until Simon’s voice came on the line. Their conversation started out cautiously with small-talk, but then he seemed to get his mind off his work and he relaxed. She found herself reassuring him that she did not have the job yet but that, if she got it, work would come first and he would hardly notice her. He chuckled and replied that he liked having her around and wanted to see her again. At that she had to restrain herself from singing. She was giddy and a little embarrassed by how much he affected her.
After the call, Jennifer felt more settled, though still was not certain where she stood. She could not tell whether he was just being friendly or if he wanted her there. After all, she would be in his space for some time. Would that scare him? It could. She told herself that being in a laboratory, surrounded by technicians and researchers, was not exactly conducive to romance.
She was still mulling over the conversation, when the phone rang.
Snatching it from the floor, she quickly repeated, ‘Simon, you do understand I’m only coming because of the job, right? I mean, you will hardly know I’m ...’
The voice on the other end of the line cut her short: ‘Shut up and listen, Jen.’
It was her friend, Ted, from Geographic America. He was offering her an assignment to investigate the latest discoveries at the Cave Church.
‘Of course, yes,’ she said. ‘But how did you hear about the latest excavations?’
Professor Rabin had called to offer them an exclusive. He had also insisted on her. Actually, he had refused to work with anyone else.
‘Yes, Ted. Email me the flight details. I’ll leave on the earliest one you can get.’
Frantically, she ran to her room to repack her bags.
Simon insisted on picking her up, and ignoring the fact that she had booked a hotel took her straight to the farm. As he unloaded her suitcases from his Range Rover, he expressed his hope she would not mind staying over. Anywhere was better than a hotel.
She was not sure what he meant. Did he mean she was sleeping in the spare room? She only found out later that evening when they went to bed. Instead of turning into the spare bedroom, he hooked his arm around her waist and lead her to his.
Jennifer loved the firmness of his bed, the texture of his pure cotton sheets, the pure silk duvet, which felt lighter yet warmer than down, and the scent on his pillows. After showering, she slipped between the sheets still wearing a t-shirt, but he gently removed it before pulling her close. They laid awake for hours talking, his arm curved protectively around her neck. She never wanted to leave him again. She never would.
*****
The sun was rising now but the cool breeze from the mountains lingered, forcing Jennifer to draw her shawl tighter around her shoulders. It was April 6th, Good Friday. It occurred to her that she was unable to see herself celebrating E
aster as she had before. Religious holidays had taken on a new meaning. Based on her new knowledge they seemed pagan. Luckily, she was spared the usual, gaudy consumerism she would have suffered in the States.
A hundred yards away, mourners were wending their way along an avenue of oaks to a small cemetery. By a nearby pond, children were skimming pebbles across the water, sending the ducks into a panic. Beside the empty grave was John’s wooden coffin. In the brief space of time since his premature death, he had become a martyr for the Jewish community of Antakya. Were it not for John the relics might never have been recovered. Christians and Jews alike were reorienting themselves in the wake of the new information. Attitudes were changing and many were calling for a return to the original form of Nazarene-ism, at least insofar as anyone could tell what that was.
Professor Rabin stepped onto the veranda and straightened his black jacket. Out of respect for John and Simon, he had closed the laboratory and declared a day of mourning. He stood beside Jennifer as they watched the townspeople gather at the burial site. Some were conversing in groups, while others huddled around Simon.
