The Testimonium

by Lewis Ben Smith

  He turned to Josh and Isabella. “I will be riding with the family,” he said, “but I will wait for you on the steps of the church when we arrive.”

  The cathedral was about a mile away, through fairly thick traffic, but they left in plenty of time and arrived at about ten minutes till two. The body was already prepped and lying in state at the front of the church, which Josh thought more efficient than the American tradition of a long funeral procession that blocked up traffic and left the mourners waiting for the body to be carried into the church. The first limo discharged its passengers. Andrea and Guillermo and their spouses got out and headed up the stairs into the church, while Father MacDonald waited for them to get out and meet him.

  “There is a small side pew reserved for those who are speaking,” he said. “Follow me in and have a seat. I will get up and speak the eulogy after the organ finishes playing, then Isabella, and finally Joshua. Then I will conduct the funeral mass.”

  “Will there be a graveside service?” Josh asked.

  “That will be conducted at sunset, and it is a private service for the family,” said MacDonald.

  Josh nodded in agreement and they headed up the steps. The cathedral was gorgeous, with five-hundred-year-old stained glass windows and a magnificent altar at the head of the long aisle. The people of Naples still referred to it as the “new cathedral,” since it had not been built until 1519. He smiled inwardly as he thought of how proud his hometown in Oklahoma had been that there was a log cabin there built in 1840!

  Within a few moments they were seated next to Father MacDonald up next to the altar, as the organ swelled and the choir joined in the beautiful introductory notes of Giuseppe Verdi’s Requiem. The casket was open, and Rossini’s face was calm and serene in death. The mortician had done a masterful job, not only of concealing the damage wrought by the blast, but also of giving the old archeologist a natural expression, with the subtlest hint of a smile playing about his lips. Josh thought his friend looked to be merely sleeping.

  When the music fell silent, Father MacDonald rose and greeted the audience in English and then in Italian. He blessed them and thanked them for coming, and then spoke the eulogy he had been practicing.

  “Friends and family,” he said. “Giuseppe Anton Rossini was born in Capua in the year 1950. He was the child of Hermon Rossini and his wife Andrea, both now deceased. Raised as the son of an Army officer whose sense of justice saw him jailed for opposing Mussolini, and of a local farmer’s daughter who married his father after the war, Giuseppe grew up to be one of the foremost archeologists of our time. He married Maria, the love of his life, in 1972, and they enjoyed thirty years of blissful marriage together before her passing ten years ago. Together they raised their children, Major Guillermo Rossini and his sister Andrea, to be respectable and solid citizens, children any father could be proud of. Until his devastating injury fifteen years ago, he was one of the most renowned field archeologists in the world. After he recovered, he told me his biggest regret was that his injury would keep him from fulfilling his secret dream—to make a find so significant that his name would never be forgotten!” MacDonald looked out at his audience. “It gives me some pleasure today to tell you that Giuseppe’s prediction was wrong. Just weeks before his untimely end, he made the greatest discovery in the history of Biblical archeology! I imagine all of you have heard of the “Testimony of Pontius Pilate” by now. It was Giuseppe who discovered the chamber, and it was Giuseppe who discovered the letter from the Emperor Tiberius which was the first artifact recovered. And it was Giuseppe, together with myself and my colleagues, who found the scroll that has confirmed the teachings of the Church about Jesus of Nazareth before the whole world. It was a truth so big that the forces of evil had to try and destroy it, and although the Testimonium lives on, I am sad to say that Giuseppe fell victim to those who would keep its truth from being made known to the world.”

  Andrea was sobbing softly, and her husband took one of her hands while her brother grasped the other. “It is sad, dear child,” said Father MacDonald. “It is always sad when good men are taken from us by those who have sold themselves to do evil. But we have a promise from on high that evil shall not endure. Our Lord founded a church and promised that the gates of hell should not prevail against it. He also promised that whosoever believed in him would have eternal life. I know that my friend Giuseppe believed. And because of that, I know that there will be a day when we will see him again.”

  He paused. “Giuseppe’s children asked that those who knew him best during the last weeks of his life be allowed to stand and speak here today. Dr. Isabella Sforza was not only our team leader and colleague as we excavated Giuseppe’s remarkable find, she also was a close friend and second daughter to him. She will now share her memories.”

  Isabella stood, the scar on her forehead from the blast still visible, and looked out at the cathedral. Several hundred people were there to pay their respects to one of Capri’s most beloved residents, and one of Italian archeology’s brightest stars. She cleared her throat and began to speak in Italian. Josh was able to follow most of what she said, although he did have to ask her about some of her remarks later.

  “Giuseppe Rossini was my inspiration even before he was my friend,” said Isabella. “When I was a schoolgirl he came and spoke about classical archeology at our school, and that day I found my vocation. When I went to college, he became my favorite teacher. I had the chance to work with him on one dig before his accident, while I was still an intern. He was kind, warm, and funny, and he and Maria would cook up the most wonderful dinners for all of us starving grad students. When I got my degree and began doing actual field work of my own, he was the one I called for advice and guidance. When he broke his leg, I came to see him in the hospital several times, and grieved with him when I realized that he would be handicapped for the rest of his life. When Maria died, I came to the funeral and he wept on my shoulder as if I were one of his own children. In turn, his kindness when my own husband passed five years ago, and again when I lost my dear papa not long afterwards, won him a place in my heart that no one else could hold.”

  There were tears streaming down her cheeks, but she swallowed hard and kept going. “Dr. Rossini was an archeologist through and through. Even with his limited mobility, he loved giving tours at Capri, identifying relics found by local children, teaching seminar classes in Naples every fall, and going to the primary school in Capri village and entertaining the children with his matchless stories about Caesar and Cato and Pompey the Great. I do not know how many young people he inspired to embrace the disciplines of history and archeology, but I know there are a dozen or more of them here today.

  “Sharing those last weeks with him, as we uncovered the priceless artifacts from the chamber of Tiberius, was like seeing him turned young again. We laughed and celebrated, dug and catalogued, and even went out dancing the night after we returned to Naples with the wonderful artifacts we had recovered from the chamber. Giuseppe Rossini loved archeology, but more than that, he loved life. He loved people. He loved every member of our team. And it is my everlasting honor to say that he loved me too. Andrea, Guillermo, from this day forward I will consider you my siblings, if you will allow it. Because your father became a second father to me when my life was laid waste by grief. He helped me find the courage to keep on living, and he urged me to find love again before I grew too old to cherish it. He was the dearest friend I could have ever asked for.” Overwhelmed with emotion, Isabella bowed her head and sobbed, then turned from the lectern and sat down next to Josh. He gave her hand a quick squeeze and stood.

  His heart sunk. The church was more than a third full, a daunting prospect when you realized that it seated well over a thousand. The vast majority of them were Italian, and he had no idea if they would understand him or not. His prepared remarks suddenly seemed trite and feeble. But then he looked about a third of the way back and saw his mother and father, along with Luke and Alicia Martens. They were looking
straight at him, and his father gave him a smile and a nod. Dr. Martens mouthed some words of encouragement. Suddenly Josh felt confident again.

  “I came here from America two weeks ago,” he said. “I was a last-minute replacement for a far more experienced archeologist, Dr. Martens, who was not able to travel at the time, although I am glad to see him here today. My job was to help with the excavation and translation of any ancient documents recovered at the Villa Jovis. One of the first people I met on Capri was Giuseppe Rossini. We hit it off pretty quickly—at least, once he realized that I was not going to take advantage of his dear Isabella! We became good friends over the next two weeks. He was a tireless worker, a consummate professional, a fun-loving companion, and a steadfast friend. Although our acquaintance was very brief, I had already come to regard him as one of my best friends by the time last Friday’s awful events happened. I helped rescue him from the rubble and was able to spend a few moments with him in the recovery room after he got out of surgery. When we heard that he had succumbed to his wounds, I wept for a brother I had barely come to know, but already treasured. You may find it odd that I refer to a man so much older than me as my brother, but I want to explain my choice of words.”

  He looked across the audience. Guillermo and Andrea were looking at him intently, with a kindness that touched him deeply. He cleared his throat and continued. “All of you know what we found—a first-hand account of the trial and execution of Jesus of Nazareth, and a direct reference to His resurrection from the dead. Some are saying that this is the first-ever eyewitness account of those events, but Giuseppe and I knew that was not true. All the Testimonium did was confirm what the Gospel writers told us long ago: that Jesus rose from the dead on the third day, in accordance with prophecy, triumphing over death and proving once and for all that what He said about Himself was true—that He really was the Son of God. Giuseppe and I had talked at length about what we might find, and what we did find, in that tiny hidden chamber. He was like many of you—he had been raised in the Church, but never gave a great deal of thought to his faith. In the wake of his wife’s death, he had questioned God, but he had never abandoned Him. I have believed all my life that the Jesus of the Gospels is the Jesus of history—that He really was the Son of God, and that the New Testament does accurately record His teachings, and that of his disciples. What we found on Capri forced Giuseppe to reconsider his beliefs about the Gospels, and to rediscover his faith in Christ before the end. After Friday’s horrible events, Guillermo found this Bible on his father’s nightstand, open to the Gospel of John. This verse was underlined: I am the resurrection and the life; he that believes in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live. And he that lives and believes in me shall never die. Believest thou this? In the margin next to it, Giuseppe had written ‘I do!’ and underlined it.”

  Many of the audience were listening intently, and some of them were sobbing softly. Josh looked directly at them, and finished his statement. “I am here, like you, to mourn the loss of a friend. But I am also here to tell you that Giuseppe Rossini is not lost to us forever. He waits for us by the side of that same Jesus he believed in so fervently before the end. I can think of no finer tribute to this good man than each of you finding your way to the same faith that he found.” By now his own voice was catching, and as he sat down his own tears finally came. He glanced through them and looked at the still figure in the coffin. Goodbye, my friend, he thought. We shall meet again. He watched as Father MacDonald got up and led the audience through the majestic cadences of the funeral mass, and Isabella caught his hand and held it tight as they bowed in prayer together.

  * * *

  The funeral service made the news all over Italy that night, and some of the remarks of all three team members were broadcast. Even the big news networks gave some time to Rossini’s service on their international news segments. From his cheap hotel room, Ibrahim Abbasside watched with contempt as all three of the archeologists—the priest, the American fundamentalist, and the Italian harlot—wept over the coffin of the dead infidel. Weaklings! he thought. In the end, that is why the forces of the Prophet would triumph. Westerners shrank from death, grieved at it, wept over it. The jihadi embraced it smiling, knowing that it was nothing more than a glorious transition to the ever-flowing streams of paradise, and the hourris waiting to service the faithful for all eternity. He knew that, one day, his own hour of martyrdom would come, and he hoped to face it bravely and resolutely.

  Suddenly his cell phone rang. He was startled, as very few had his number.

  “Yes?” he answered cautiously.

  “This is Ali’s pet store,” said the voice on the other end. “I just wanted to let you know that the pet supplies are ready for delivery.”

  “You did not have to call to tell me that,” he said in a deadly calm tone. This had better be important, he thought.

  “Actually, I did,” the voice said. “Someone tried to steal the supplies. An employee of mine, actually. But he failed, and is no longer working for the store.”

  Abbasside was shocked. An informant in the cell! He had picked most of these men himself! “This will not interfere with the timely delivery, will it?” he asked.

  “Not at all,” said Falladah. “He did not know the delivery address or the date yet, so your products should arrive safe and sound.”

  “Excellent!” said Abbasside. “I will call you Thursday to arrange pickup.”

  <<>>

  GARCIA: Colonel, we have bad news!

  BERTRAND: What is it, Dingo?

  GARCIA: Remember I told you that two sleeper cells had been activated? Well, I had an inside man in one of them. Been in place five years, and never a hint he had been made. He told us there was a large cache of weapons at a storage facility south of Rome, and that his group was detailed to go pick them up for an impending big op. We were going to swoop in and nab them in the act, see if we could sweat a couple of them into giving up the Ethiopian. But it was a set-up!

  BERTRAND: How bad?

  GARCIA: Bad, boss. They cleaned out the weapons hours before we got there, and all we found was my agent with his head cut off and severe burns to his lower abdomen. I am guessing that they got everything he knew from him before he died. Not many people can keep mum when they have a blowtorch aimed at their crotch.

  BERTRAND: Damn! That’s about as bad as it can get. I am going to tell the Italians they will need massive security on that transport route. I am guessing they are going for the scroll and everyone associated with it.

  GARCIA: I think you are right, boss, and we just lost our inside link. I am activating every asset and tapping every line I can, to see if I can figure out when and where. But if you have not warned the Italians yet, I think it’s time.

  BERTRAND: Agreed, Dingo. Stay on it, keep me informed.

  GARCIA: Aye, sir. Garcia out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Josh slept soundly the night of the funeral, his dreams chasing each other through his head, until his wake-up call came at 6 AM. He rolled out of bed, splashed cold water in his face, and donned his trunks. He figured it was time to resume his normal routines as much as possible, so he went down to the pool, swimming a dozen laps or so. The aches and pains of the blast were fading away quickly as his body healed itself, and the water felt soothing to him, as it always did. He was out of the pool well before seven, and took a hot shower when he got back to his room. He grabbed a quick and light breakfast, and then called his mom and dad’s room.

  “Good morning, Dad!” he said. They had spent a good part of the evening together after supper, but it had been a subdued visit, everyone still recovering emotionally from the emotional service that afternoon. Isabella had been unusually quiet, and wound up heading back to her apartment early in the evening. Josh had also retired early.

  “Hello, son!” his father said. “D
id you rest well?”

  “Slept like a log,” Josh replied. “Have you and Mom thought about my invitation?” Josh had invited them to come to the museum with him that morning and see the Pilate scroll for themselves.

  “I think we would enjoy it very much,” his dad said. “We are finishing up breakfast, and can meet you in the lobby in about thirty minutes.”

  “See you there,” Josh said. He sat down at his desk and used the next half hour to answer some of the letters from the massive stack he’d received over the weekend. They were still coming in, but the flood was starting to slow down some. Three-quarters of them were junk of one variety or another—hate mail, crackpot theories, and love letters from total strangers. But he still had a stack of over 100 that he had designated worthy of a reply. He had his laptop hooked up to a small printer, and was pretty fast on the keyboard. He managed to get about five letters written, printed, and addressed before heading downstairs to meet his folks at 8:00.

  It was a gorgeous morning, and they walked the short distance to the museum, chatting about friends and family members back home. His dad had spent the evening emailing and calling friends back in Texas and Oklahoma, catching them up on events and touching base with his church. He had agreed to return home Friday, so as not to miss two Sundays in a row.

  Once they got to the museum, Josh had to call Dr. Castolfo to get his parents cleared through security, and they took the elevator down to the lab. Father MacDonald and Isabella were already there when they arrived.

  “Good morning, lad!” said the irrepressible Scot. “Reverend and Mrs. Parker, good to see you two again.”

  “Delighted to be here, Father,” said Louise Parker. “Joshua promised us a quick peek at the Pilate scroll this morning.”