When they were alone again, the leader of the three motioned his companions to him. In only a few hours the next stage of their long journey would begin. They would either reach their homes or be detained—or killed. Fortune had not totally frowned on them so far; they were alive, after all. And yet the way home was mined with peril. They prayed that God would hear their prayers and allow them to reach Addaio.
Their tears mixed as they embraced one another.
Josar! Josar!”
A young man ran into the chamber in which Josar was sleeping. Light was just appearing on the horizon.
It was difficult for Josar to open his eyes, but when he did so they met the tall, thin figure of Izaz, his nephew, a bright and promising boy.
Izaz was learning to be a scribe. Josar was teaching him, and so they spent much time together. The boy was also taking lessons from the philosopher Marcius, from whom he was learning Greek, Latin, mathematics, rhetoric, and philosophy.
“A caravan is arriving, and a merchant has sent a message to the palace asking for you. He says that among the travelers is a man called Thaddeus, a friend of Jesus, and he is bringing you news of Thomas.”
Josar smiled with happiness as he rose from the bed, and he questioned Izaz as he hurried to make his ablutions.
“Are you certain that Thaddeus has arrived in Edessa? You have not confused the message?”
“The queen has sent me to find you; it was she who told me what to say to you.”
“Oh, Izaz! I cannot believe that such happiness is possible. Thaddeus was one of the followers of Jesus. And Thomas…Thomas was one of those the Savior trusted most, one of the closest disciples of the twelve. Thaddeus will bring news of Jerusalem, of Peter, of John….”
Josar dressed himself quickly, so that he might come soon to the place where the caravans rested after their long journeys. He would take Izaz with him so that his young nephew might meet the disciple.
They rushed out of the modest house in which Josar lived. Since his return from Jerusalem, Josar had sold his belongings, his comfortable house and all its furnishings, and given the money to the poor of the city. He had found shelter in this small and humble dwelling, which contained all that he owned and needed: a bed, a table, stools, and parchments—dozens of rolls of parchment that he was reading and others that he used for his own writings.
Josar and Izaz hurried through the streets of Edessa until they came to the outskirts of the city, where they found the place of the caravans. At that early hour of the morning, merchants were preparing their goods for their entry into the city, while a swarm of slaves rushed about, feeding and watering the animals, tightening the ropes on bales of merchandise, blowing on the cooking fires.
“Josar!”
The deep voice of the leader of the king’s guard stopped Josar in his tracks. He turned to find Marvuz with a group of soldiers.
“The king has sent me to escort you to the palace with this Thaddeus who has come from Jerusalem.”
“Thank you, Marvuz. Wait here while I find him, and we will go with you to the palace.”
“I have asked, and the tent belonging to the merchant he accompanies is that large one there, the one as gray as a storm. I was on my way to it.”
“Wait, Marvuz, wait, let me greet my friend alone.”
The guard gestured to his men, and they stood back while Josar made his way to the merchant’s tent. Izaz followed two steps behind him, knowing the emotion his uncle felt at once more meeting this disciple of the Savior. Josar had spoken to him of these men many times—John, the master’s favorite; Peter, whom Jesus trusted though he had been denied by him; Mark and Luke; Matthew and Thomas; and so many others, whose names Izaz hardly remembered.
Josar was trembling as he approached the entrance of the tent, from which at that moment emerged a tall man with open, amiable features, dressed as the rich merchants of Jerusalem were wont to dress.
“You are Josar?”
“I am.”
“Enter. Thaddeus is awaiting you.”
Josar entered the tent and there, sitting on a cushion on the ground, was Thaddeus, writing on a parchment. The eyes of the two men met and both smiled broadly, happy to find each other again. Thaddeus stood up and embraced Josar.
“My friend, I am glad to see you,” he said.
“I never imagined that I would see you again. I am filled with joy—how often I remember you all! Thinking of you makes me feel close to the master.”
“He loved you, Josar, and trusted in you. He knew that your heart was filled with goodness and that you would spread his word wheresoever you might go, wheresoever you might be.”
“And so I have, Thaddeus, so I have, though always fearing that I am not able to speak as I should the master’s words.”
Just then the merchant entered.
“Thaddeus, I shall leave you here with your friend, so that you two may talk. My servants will bring you dates and cheese and cool water and will not trouble you save you need them. I must go now to the city, where my goods await me. I shall return this evening.”
“Josar,” said Thaddeus, “this good merchant is called Joshua, and I have traveled from Jerusalem under his protection. He would often go to hear the teachings of Jesus, yet he hid himself in fear that the master would send him away. But Jesus, who sees all men, told him one day to come closer, and his words were a balm to Joshua’s spirit, for his wife had recently died. He is a good friend who has helped us greatly. His caravans take news from one of us to another, and he helps us spread the master’s word on every journey.”
“Welcome, Joshua,” Josar replied. “Here you are among friends, and you must tell me if there is any way we might help you.”
“Thank you, good friend, but I need nothing, though I am grateful for your offer. I know that you followed the master, and Thaddeus and Thomas hold you in greet esteem. I will return from the city at evening. Enjoy your reunion; you must have much to talk about.”
As Joshua left them, a man as black as night set out plates with dates and other fruits and a jug of water. As silently as he had entered, he departed.
Izaz contemplated the scene in silence. He dared not draw attention to his presence. His uncle seemed to have forgotten about him, but Thaddeus smiled at him and motioned him to come closer.
“And this young man?”
“My nephew, Izaz. I am teaching him my former calling as a scribe, and one day he may hold my old position in the palace. He is a good boy, a follower of Jesus’ teachings.”
As Josar spoke, Marvuz entered the tent.
“Josar, forgive me for interrupting, but Abgar has sent a servant from the palace for news of you and this man who has arrived from Jerusalem.”
“You are right, Marvuz, my joy at seeing my friend again has made me forget that the king expects word from us. He will wish to meet you and honor you, Thaddeus, because Abgar has abandoned the pagan practices and believes in one God, the Father of our Savior. And the queen and court also profess faith in Jesus. We have built a temple, a small one, without adornments, where we meet to ask God’s mercy and speak of the teachings of Jesus. I have written down everything I remember of what I heard, but now that you are here with us, you will be able to speak to us of the teachings of our Lord and explain better than I what Jesus was like and how he died to save us.”
“Let us go, then, and see the king,” Thaddeus said, “and on the way you shall tell me the news. Merchants brought word to Jerusalem that Abgar had been healed of his disease after touching the shroud of Jesus. You must tell me of that miracle done by our Savior and how the faith has taken root in this city.”
Abgar was impatient. The queen tried to calm him. Why were Josar and Thaddeus taking so long? The sun was high above Edessa, and they still had not arrived. The king was eager to hear the disciple of Jesus, eager to deepen his knowledge of the Savior. He would ask Thaddeus to stay in Edessa forever, or at least for many years, so that every citizen might hear from his lips other st
ories of Jesus, in addition to those that Josar had recounted. It was sometimes difficult for Abgar, king of that prosperous city, to understand some of the things that the master had said, but his faith in the man who even after death had healed him led him to accept them all.
He knew that many men and women in the city were displeased by his decision to put aside the gods the people of Edessa had worshipped since the beginning of days and to put in their place a god with no image, who had sent His son to earth to be crucified—a son who, despite the torments he knew awaited him, had preached forgiveness of one’s enemies, who preached that it would be easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven, while the poor might enter freely. Many of Abgar’s subjects continued to worship the ancestral gods in their houses and went up into the mountains, into caves, to make libations to statues of the moon god, Syn, and other gods.
He, Abgar, allowed them to do this; he knew that he could not impose a god upon his people, and that, as Josar said, time would convince the unbelieving that there was but one God.
Indeed, it was not that his subjects did not believe in the divinity of Jesus; it was that they believed him to be another of many gods. In this way, they did accept him, though without renouncing the gods of their fathers.
As they walked toward the palace, Josar told Thaddeus how he had felt the need to take the grave cloth of Jesus, even knowing that none of those at the tomb would dare to touch it. Thaddeus nodded at his friend’s explanation. He had not realized that the shroud was missing; indeed, he had forgotten about that piece of cloth until news reached him that a miracle had occurred—King Abgar had been returned to health. It had surprised and amazed him, although all the followers were accustomed to the miracles that Jesus wrought.
Thaddeus then explained to his friend the reason for his visit:
“Thomas always remembers you with warmth and affection and recalls your pleading with the master that he journey to Edessa to heal your king. He remembers, too, that the master promised to send one of his own. Thus, after learning that the shroud had healed Abgar and that you were spreading the teachings of our Savior, he asked me to come here to serve you as I might and to help you. I shall remain as long as you need me, and I shall help you preach the words of Jesus to these good people. But someday I shall have to depart, for there are many cities and many men and women who must be taught the true words of our Lord.”
“Do you wish to see the shroud?” Josar asked.
Thaddeus hesitated. He was a Jew, and the law was the law—it was the law of the Savior as well. Still, that piece of cloth brought to the tomb by Joseph of Arimathea so that the body of Jesus might be laid to rest in it seemed impregnated with the powers that Jesus once had. Thaddeus was not sure what to say or do. He hardly knew what to think.
Josar saw the dilemma of his friend, and he squeezed his arm in friendship.
“Be not troubled, Thaddeus. I know the law of the Jews, and I respect it. But for us, the citizens of this ancient city, a grave cloth is not an impure object that must not be touched. You need not touch it, or even look upon it, but simply know that Abgar ordered a fine ark to hold the shroud be made by Edessa’s most skilled artisan and that it is in a safe place, guarded by the most trusted members of the king’s personal guard. The shroud works miracles—it healed Abgar and it has healed many more who have come to it with faith. You should know that the blood and sweat of our Savior produced an image of his face and body in the cloth. I tell you, my friend, that as I look upon the shroud I see our master and suffer the very torments that the Romans inflicted upon him.”
“I shall ask you to show me this grave cloth someday, Josar, but I must first seek within my heart to know when it shall be.”
They arrived at the palace, where Abgar received them warmly. The queen, at his side, was unable to hide the joy she felt on meeting a friend of Jesus.
“Welcome to you, friend of Jesus and our own,” the king greeted Thaddeus. “You may remain in our city as long as you desire, where you shall be our guest and want for nothing. We ask only that you speak to us of the Savior, that you remember his words and deeds, and I, with your permission, shall bid my scribes to listen carefully to your words and write them down so that the men and women of my city and other cities may know the life and teachings of our Lord.”
Thaddeus accepted the king’s invitation to remain in Edessa, and during all that day and part of the night, with Josar always close by, he recounted to the king and his court the miracles done by Jesus. When it came time to rest, he accepted only a small room with a bed in a house near that of Josar, and he refused, as Josar had upon his return from Jerusalem, to have any slave to aid him.
And as the days and weeks passed, he spoke with the king so that Josar might be his scribe and write down all the things he remembered of the life and words of Jesus.
NEW YORK WAS FLOODED WITH SPRINGTIME SUNLIGHT— it was one of those perfect days that came so rarely. The old man tore his eyes from the morning splendor pouring through the windows as he turned to answer the ringing telephone. The communications system in the office was configured for absolute security.
“Yes,” he said firmly into the receiver.
“Number one is moving.”
“No problems?”
“They’re still using the same contacts as before and the same routes, and it all looks clear for them. The police haven’t turned up.”
“What about number two?”
“He leaves tonight. Number three, tomorrow; he’ll be moved directly, in a truck carrying screws and bolts. He’s the one who’s most on edge.”
“I’ll speak with our people in Urfa today. We have to know how Addaio is reacting and what he’s going to do.”
“They might be better off if they never made it back there.”
“Let things run their course. We need to know what Addaio does and what he decides. Anything new on his man in the cathedral?”
“His nerves are gone, at least for the moment. But neither the cardinal nor the police suspect him; they’re taking him for a good man upset over what happened.”
“We have to keep an eye on him.”
“Of course. Our people there are on it.”
“What about our brother?”
“They’ve been investigating him. Who he is, what his tastes run to, how he got to where he is today. They’ve been checking up on me and the others too. The cop, Valoni, is sharp, and he has a good team around him.”
“We must be very careful.”
“We will be.”
“Next week in Boston.”
“I’ll be there.”
The members of the Art Crimes team who’d remained in Turin reconvened the morning after the others returned to Rome.
“Where do we start, dottoréssa?”
“Okay, Giuseppe, I think we ought to go talk to the workers again and see if they stick to what they told Pietro. Let’s keep digging—where they live, who they live with, what their neighbors think about them, whether there’s anything unusual in their lives….”
“That’ll take time,” Antonino pointed out.
“Yes, which is why Marco asked the chief of the carabinieri here to lend us a couple of men. They know the city better than we do, and they’ll know if something we’re told is off. Giuseppe can take that angle, and you and I will go back to the cathedral, talk to the employees again, the porter, Padre Yves….”
“Right,” Giuseppe said, “but another round of questions might make them nervous, tip them off that we’re really pushing this.”
“If one of them gets nervous, it’ll tip us off. I also think we need to interview D’Alaqua.”
“He’s a big fish. Maybe too big for questioning at this point. If we step on his toes, Rome could come down on us,” Antonino warned her.
“I know, Antonino, but we’ve got to try. I’m curious about him.”
“Watch out, dottoréssa, don’t let that curiosity of
yours get us in hot water!” Giuseppe ribbed her.
They split up the work. Antonino would reinterview the cathedral employees, Giuseppe would talk to the electricians, and Sofia would probe further into D’Alaqua and his interests and work on getting an appointment with him. They would try to finish up in a week, and then they could decide what to do next, assuming they turned up a lead.
Sofia convinced Marco to pull some strings to make sure D’Alaqua talked to her.
Marco had grumbled a bit, but he agreed that the man had to be interviewed. So the director of the Art Crimes Department made a direct request to the Minister of Culture, who told Marco he must be crazy if he thought he was going to let him stick his nose into a company like COCSA and investigate a man like D’Alaqua. In the end, though, Marco convinced the minister that it was essential to speak to the man and that Dottoréssa Galloni, a cultured and extremely well-educated investigator, would proceed with infinite discretion.
The minister made an appointment for Sofia with Umberto D’Alaqua for the next day at ten. When Marco told her, she laughed delightedly.
“Boss, you’re amazing! I know what this must have cost you.”
“Then you know not to screw this up or we’ll both be pushing files around in the archives division. Please, Sofia, take it slow and easy, all right? D’Alaqua is not just a big deal here but all over the world—he has investments across Europe, the U.S., the Near East, Asia…. You have to handle this guy with kid gloves.”
“I’m with Minerva. I’ve got a hunch about him.”
“I hope your hunches don’t backfire.”
“Trust me.”
“If I didn’t, you wouldn’t be going.”
Umberto D’Alaqua’s secretary looked more like a top executive than a secretary, no matter how important his employer was. He was a discreetly elegant middle-aged gentleman who introduced himself to Sofia as Bruno Moretti and asked if she’d like coffee while she waited for Signor D’Alaqua to end another meeting.
The Brotherhood of the Holy Shroud Page 7
