The Testimonium

by Lewis Ben Smith

  “The inscription,” he said. “You wrote ‘This is the King of the Jews.’ It should read that he called himself the King of the Jews.”

  I had had just about enough from these fools at this point. “I have written what I have written!” I snapped. “I will hear no more of this!”

  It was a strange day after that. Within the next hour, the sky grew black as night, even though there was not a cloud in view. The light of the sun simply faded—not blotted out gradually, as in an eclipse, but all at once, and did not return to normal for three hours. At the third hour past noon, a huge earthquake shook the city. My centurion told me that it happened at the exact moment that Jesus died, and he was much shaken, babbling that we had murdered a living god—although he was quite drunk when he said it.

  Not long after that, a very different sort of Jew came to see me. His name was Joseph, and he ignored religious protocol and entered the Praetorium to speak with me. He explained that, while he was a Pharisee and a member of the Jewish Senate, he had not even been informed of the charges against Jesus, or been present at his trial. He asked me for Jesus’ body, that he might give the Galilean a decent burial. I instructed my soldiers that he could take custody of the body, as soon as they had made sure that Jesus was truly dead. The least I could do for this harmless man I had failed to save was let those who loved him bury him according to their own religious rituals.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Josh would later remember that perfect April Sunday in Naples as one of the happiest days of his life. He rolled out of bed at seven that morning and pulled on his trunks, swimming a few laps at the pool, and then enjoyed a continental breakfast in the hotel’s luxurious dining lounge. He gave his dad a call, knowing it would be evening back home. After a pleasant conversation, he decided to look for a church to attend. He figured that Italy would not be rich in Baptist churches, and he was right. So instead he decided that the old adage ‘When in Rome. . . ’ applied to Naples as well, and headed to the largest and most magnificent cathedral in the city, the Duomo de San Genarro. The soaring Gothic structure was one of the most beautiful buildings he had ever seen, and the Latin mass was colorful, moving, and gorgeous to behold. He had briefly visited the gorgeous Cathedral at Amiens in France years before, and had seen many ancient churches, both Catholic and Orthodox, in Ephesus and other cities where he had worked and dug, but rarely had an opportunity to attend services at any of them.

  Joshua’s feelings about Catholicism were mixed. He had a tremendous respect for the history and traditions that the Church had accumulated, and knew that both Christianity and Western Civilization owed the Church a tremendous debt for the preservation of both the Scriptures and the Greek and Latin classics through the turbulent early medieval era, which Josh still thought of as the Dark Ages. Josh had little respect for those fundamentalists in America who routinely portrayed the Catholic Church as the ‘great whore of Babylon’ and the Pope as an antichrist. On the other hand, though, the cavalier attitude the Church seemed to have toward the Bible was bewildering and frustrating to him. He understood the intellectual arguments used to justify the subordination of Scripture to tradition and Church Councils, but the idea that any cleric in the modern world, however learned, would place man-made traditions over the words of the Apostles themselves was incomprehensible to him. He also believed that whenever any church, Catholic or Protestant, abandoned the clear teachings of New Testament Scripture, they were riding for a fall. His arguments with Father MacDonald were partly good-natured fun, but also had a serious side—he respected the priest enough to hope that perhaps the man might at least come to understand his point of view. It wouldn’t reverse five hundred years of negativity between Catholics and Protestants, but in Josh’s book, anything that increased understanding between Christians was a good thing.

  Once he left the Cathedral, he turned his cell phone on and saw that he had missed a call from Isabella. He called her back, and she sounded more relaxed than she had all week. A night at home, in her own bed, had apparently been exactly what she needed. She asked Josh to join her for lunch, and they met at a small bistro a few blocks from his hotel. The menu was mainly soup and salad, which was normally not Josh’s favorite fare, but after a week of Mrs. Bustamante’s rich cooking, he found it welcome change. Isabella looked positively radiant, her dark eyes flashing as she spoke.

  “I thought this might be the last chance we have to dine out in anonymity,” she said. “I’m not sure how the press conference tomorrow is going to go, but I imagine it will be widely viewed. So let’s enjoy the day together!”

  “You think we will be stalked by paparazzi after tomorrow?” Josh asked with a smile.

  “I think paparazzi may be the least of our problems,” she said.

  “I guess you’re right,” he responded. “So what do you want to do?”

  She laughed. “How about a museum tour for starters?”

  The museum was officially closed on Sundays, but minimal staff remained on the grounds, and the team’s credentials opened every door in the place. For the next three hours Josh was enthralled with Mesopotamian figurines, Egyptian mummies, Greek and Roman statuary, and ancient documents of all sorts. He had heard of the National Archeological Museum’s incredible collections, but the reality of it all, even on a brief tour, eclipsed anything he had imagined. After going quickly through the main floors, Isabella took him through a locked door that was intriguingly labeled “The Secret Collection.” Josh fled a few moments later, blushing a deep scarlet, when he realized that the Secret Collection was, in fact, the largest extant exhibit of Greek and Roman erotic art in the world! Isabella’s laughter trailed after him as she locked the door behind them.

  “You should be ashamed of yourself, trying to corrupt the morals of a preacher’s son!” he gasped through his own laughter.

  “Joshua, we are scientists!” she said, laughing. “We should not let outmoded moral codes from the past deter us in our quest for truth!”

  “Truth?” Josh said. “The ancient Romans were perverts, and that’s the truth!”

  Isabella laughed some more. “I wish I could disagree, but unfortunately, you may have a good deal of scholarship on your side there! This place has awkward memories for me, too. When I was a grad student, the professors thought it was an absolute riot to send a pretty female lab assistant to go fetch some item from ‘The Secret Collection.’ It is available for public viewing on request, and some of the patrons that made the request were . . . well, interesting characters to say the least!”

  “And so you avenge your past humiliations by inflicting them on me?” Josh asked.

  “Something like that,” she replied. “I guess in fairness, I should ask what you would like to do next.”

  “I’d love to see the art galleries at the Museo di Capodimonte,” he said.

  “I love Renaissance art!” she replied. “I haven’t been there since before. . . ” She paused. For the first time that day, she thought of her long-dead husband. Forgive me, Marc, she thought, and went on. “Since before I was married,” she finished.

  Josh saw the brief memory of pain flash across her face, and paused in the street. “Isabella,” he said. “I know you must have loved him very much. It doesn’t bother me when you mention him, or remember him. He must have been a remarkable man to attract a woman as wonderful as you.”

  “He was,” she said sadly. But then she smiled again, and the memory of grief faded from her face like a morning mist chased away by a spring sunrise. “But I think you are pretty remarkable yourself!” she exclaimed, and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek.

  “Well, well, what have we here?” a booming voice said from behind them. For the second time that day, Josh flushed red, as Giuseppe Rossini and Simone Apriceno approached.

  “None of your business, vecchia ficcanaso!” laughed Isabella.

  “Old busybody, is it?” said Rossini. “My child, you wound me! I just wanted to make sure this wicked American was not inflict
ing his charms on you against your will!”

  “Hey!” Josh protested. “I am the victim here!”

  “Giuseppe, you dirty old man, leave these young people alone!” said Simone Apriceno, elbowing her companion in the ribs.

  “You see, Joshua, what happens when you let women into your life,” the old professor said in a mock injured tone. Both women rounded on him for that, and the Italian banter flew back and forth for a moment faster than the bewildered young American could follow.

  Finally he spoke in English to break up the mock squabble. “Isabella and I were going to the Capodimonte to look at the galleries,” he said. “Why don’t you two join us?”

  “Actually, that is where we were headed,” said Apriceno. “I haven’t been there since I was a girl, and Giuseppe offered to give me the grand tour.”

  Rossini proved to be an excellent tour guide, knowing all the back stories and salacious yarns about the various artists and paintings housed at the famous gallery. Time flew, and before they knew it the security guards were ushering them toward the entrance. Their party had acquired a large group of followers who applauded Rossini on the steps of the museum for his entertaining commentary. He bowed with a courtly Old World flourish, and the tourists went their separate ways.

  “Isabella, you let me choose the museum, but now it is your turn,” Josh said. “What next?”

  “Supper,” she said. “And then dancing!”

  Rossini protested. “I am afraid my dancing legs were ruined several years back,” he said.

  “Nonsense!” said Simone. “I have been watching you all week, and I have decided that you are exactly as crippled as you want to be!”

  “Well, I might be able to manage a slow waltz,” allowed Giuseppe, “if I had a very patient and considerate partner!”

  So they found themselves eating a delicious supper at La Belle Gourmet, a popular French restaurant, and then crossing the street to the Don Giovanni Ballroom, a popular swing club for those who liked 1940s era Big Band dance tunes. For the next two hours they waltzed, tangoed, and fox-trotted with abandon. Rossini managed the slower dances quite well, and Simone Apriceno quickly figured out just how often he needed to sit and rest, and which moves were too much for his bad leg. Josh had never been much for dancing, but Isabella was a natural, and under her patient instruction he managed to master some of the simpler steps pretty quickly, although the faster tunes left Isabella with a bruised toe or two, and Josh with bruised ribs from where she elbowed him in retaliation. At one point he found himself sitting next to Rossini while the two ladies visited the powder room. The older man leaned toward Josh.

  “Young man, I must thank you,” he said.

  “For what?” asked Josh.

  “You have given Isabella her smile back!” he replied. “I haven’t heard her laugh like that in years. Whatever the future may hold, you have done a good thing today.”

  Josh looked across the room as the two women emerged and walked toward their table. Isabella’s eyes were flashing and her smile lit up the room. “You know,” he said, “I don’t think I have ever seen anyone more beautiful.”

  “My dear ladies,” said Rossini, “as much fun as this has been, we have a very big day ahead of us tomorrow. Might I suggest we return to our respective quarters?”

  “Spoilsport!” Josh said, but he was secretly relieved. Dancing with Isabella was enjoyable, but he was too keyed up to relax, and the day had worn him out. As they rode back toward the hotel together, chatting about various things, he asked Giuseppe, “Where is Father MacDonald today?”

  “He and Cardinal Raphael were having some sort of meeting most of the day,” said Rossini. “I spoke to him just before we met you, and he was getting ready to go to an evening mass.”

  “I would have enjoyed having him along,” said Josh, “but I must say that it was a perfect afternoon and evening regardless!”

  “Somehow, I don’t see the good Father cutting a rug with us at the Don Giovanni!” said Isabella.

  Moments later they pulled up at the hotel. Rossini got out with a groan, and Simone helped him toward the front door. Isabella asked the cab to wait and got out for a moment, taking Josh by the hand. “Josh,” she said, “why don’t you come and spend the night with me?”

  Josh groaned inwardly. This was a moment he had anticipated and dreaded at the same time. With a quick prayer for strength, he responded. “Isabella, I have had a beautiful time with you tonight. But I don’t think that is a good idea.”

  Disappointment, hurt, and anger chased each other across her features in quick succession. “I thought you were interested in me as much as I am in you,” she said. “I see I was mistaken. Good night!” She turned back toward the cab.

  “Wait!” he exclaimed desperately.

  “Why?” she asked. “I do not make such offers lightly, and I do not like rejection. Why should I wait?”

  Josh sighed. “I am interested in you!” he said. “I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you from the moment we met. You are the most beautiful, intelligent, captivating woman I have ever known!”

  She looked at him and saw the tortured sincerity in his eyes. “Then why make a fool of me?”

  “That is NOT what I am trying to do!” he said. “You think I don’t want your love? There is nothing I want more. I want your face to be the last thing I see when I shut my eyes at night, and the first thing I see when I open them in the morning—and not just tomorrow, but every day! But I refuse to accept your love in a way that dishonors you, and dishonors God.”

  She hesitated. Religion again, she thought. “I don’t understand,” she finally said.

  Josh tried to explain. “I believe that sexuality is best reserved for marriage,” he said. “Virginity is a gift you can only give away once. I have guarded mine for my entire adult life so that I can give it as a gift to my bride, on our wedding night. It is the Biblical, Christian approach to love. I’ve never met anyone I want to share that moment with, until now. But not until the time is right!”

  Isabella finally smiled and rolled her eyes. “I have a hard time believing the Almighty Creator of the universe is going to be offended if you come spend the night in my apartment,” she said.

  “But he is a God of small things, as well as great,” said Josh. “It just would not be right for me to do this. I do love you, and I want you to know that. I’ve never been in love before—I’ve never felt for anyone what I feel for you. But I want to do this right, because I only intend to do it once. If you can’t share my beliefs yet, please, at least, respect them.”

  “I don’t like this God of yours very much sometimes,” she said. “In Italy, we believe that God winks at small things! But tell me—” She stepped closer. “Where does your God stand on goodnight kisses?”

  Josh heaved a sigh of relief. “I think a goodnight kiss would be lovely,” he said.

  Isabella pulled him close and kissed him so hard that he was left gasping for breath. Several bystanders, watching the drama unfold between them, actually applauded. She turned to them and gave a quick curtsy and smile, leaving Josh red-faced on the sidewalk. He finally turned and headed into the hotel. Despite being very tired from the long day, he swam fifty laps before heading up to his room for the night.

  * * *

  The next morning the five team members met Dr. Castolfo at the lab. He walked them over to the main museum and showed them the area where the conference would be held. Over a hundred chairs were waiting for members of the media, and a few reporters were already touring the museum, looking for backdrops for teaser sound bites. Three long stainless steel tables were laid lengthwise across the front of the room, with five chairs behind them for the team members. Overhead, a large flat-screen digital monitor would play the video clips of the excavation they had prepared. After walking them through the room, Castolfo showed them the back door, which led to a narrow corridor and a rear exit to the museum. “This way you can bring in the artifacts you wish to display during the
press conference unnoticed.”

  This done, the five archeologists went and retrieved the items they planned to show to the press. Rossini would discuss the initial excavation of the chamber, and then Simone Apriceno would show several vials of dust, numerous photographs and video clips of the original condition of the chamber, and several blown-up photographs of ancient pollen samples she had taken. In addition, she had the inkwell and signet ring from the top of the writing table as visual aids. Father MacDonald would show the Tiberius scroll itself, still immovably molded to the top of the ancient writing table. Josh would be discussing the translation of the Tiberius scroll, and then presenting the sword of Caesar. Isabella would begin by describing the discovery of the tomb, and conclude by showing the ancient key and cameo portrait they had discovered. Then, last of all, she would reveal the existence of the other two scrolls.

  As they retrieved the artifacts they intended to display, Father MacDonald walked over to the rehydration tanks to look at the scrolls. “Josh, come here!” he exclaimed. “In fact, all of you look at this!”

  It took a moment for them to realize what they were seeing, but then it registered. The seals on the ancient scrolls were loosening—in fact, on the Pilate scroll, there was a gap of two millimeters between the center of the wax seal and the papyrus it had clung to for so long. “I think they will both come right off now,” said the priest. “Then it will not be long before the scrolls begin to unroll on their own. We should be able to read the first parts of each scroll tomorrow.”

  He then carefully reached through the access holes in the front panel of the tank, wearing the acid-free gloves used to handle ancient perishables. Using a fine scalpel, he very gently pried at the wax seals. Each one popped off without difficulty, and he used a pair of forceps to extract each seal from the tank. Since the wax was not nearly as fragile as the papyrus, the two seals were transferred to the viewing table for photography, then each was assigned a separate catalog number and transferred to a controlled climate storage cabinet. After this was done, they walked over to the tanks. Each scroll had visibly expanded once the seals were removed, and it was obvious that as the papyrus became more and more pliable, the scrolls would unroll on their own.