The Brotherhood of the Holy Shroud

by Julia Navarro

  “Kalman, leave me alone with Eulalius, please.”

  Weakly, the bishop made a sign to the priest to leave them. Kalman worried as he left the room, for he knew that neither of the men was well. In John, it was clear that grief had left its mark; in Eulalius, it was the flesh that was yielding.

  John looked into the eyes of the bishop and, taking him by the hand, sat beside him.

  “Forgive me, Eulalius, I have done nothing but ill since I came here, and the worst of my sins has been to not confide in you. I have sinned by pride in not sharing with you the secret of the place where the shroud is hidden. I will tell you now, and you shall decide what we must do. May God forgive me if what I am about to say betrays doubt, but if upon the shroud the visage of our Lord is truly impressed, then he will save us, as he saved Abgar from sure death.”

  Eulalius listened with amazement to John’s revelation of the secret. For more than four hundred years the shroud of Jesus had lain behind the bricks of a niche cut out of the wall above the west gate of the city. It was the only place that had withstood the battering of the Persian army.

  The old man struggled to sit up and, weeping, he embraced the Alexandrian.

  “Praise God! I feel a great joy in my heart. You must go at once to the wall and rescue the shroud. Ephron and Kalman will help you, but you must go now. I feel that Jesus may still have mercy upon us and work a miracle.”

  “Eulalius, I cannot present myself before the soldiers who are risking their lives guarding the western gate and tell them that I am seeking a niche hidden in the wall. They will think I am mad, or that I am hiding a treasure…. No, I cannot go there.”

  “You shall go, John.”

  Suddenly Eulalius’s voice was firm and strong again. So firm, indeed, that John lowered his head, knowing that this time he would obey.

  “Let me, then, Eulalius, say that you have sent me.”

  “It is I who have sent you! Before you arrived, in my dream I heard the voice of Jesus’ mother telling me that Edessa would be saved. And so it shall be, God willing.”

  Outside, they could hear the cries and shouts of the soldiers mixed with the crying of the few infants who were still alive. Eulalius sent for Kalman and Ephron.

  “I have had a dream. You must go with John to the western gate and—”

  “But, Eulalius,” Ephron exclaimed, “the soldiers will not let us pass.”

  “You will go, and you will obey John’s orders. Edessa can be saved.”

  The captain, enraged, ordered the two priests and their companion to leave the area.

  “The gate is about to give way, and you want us to go and look for a hidden niche—you are mad! I don’t care if the bishop sent you! Begone!”

  John stepped forward and told the captain that with or without his help they would climb the wall above the western gate and dig.

  Arrows fell all around them, but before the astonished eyes of the soldiers, they remained untouched. Calling upon their last reserves of strength, the soldiers redoubled their efforts to defend that part of the wall, as the three men dug frantically.

  “There is something here!” Kalman cried.

  Minutes later, John held in his hands a basket darkened by time. He opened it and gently touched the folded cloth.

  Without waiting for Kalman or Ephron, he clambered down and began to run toward Eulalius’s house.

  His father had told him the truth: He and all his fathers before him had been the guardians of the secret of the shroud in which Joseph of Arimathea had laid the body of Jesus.

  The bishop trembled with emotion when John entered his chamber. The young man took the shroud from under his tunic and held it out to the bishop, who rose from his bed and went down on his knees in wonder at the face of a man perfectly impressed upon the cloth.

  SURROUNDED BY BOOKS, SOFIA WAS SO ABSORBED IN her reading that she didn’t realize Marco had come into the office. She had been there for hours already, taking advantage of the early-morning quiet before their day officially began.

  “Whatever it is must be fascinating,” he said, “because you haven’t even noticed that I’m here.”

  “Oh, sorry, Marco,” Sofia replied, jumping a bit.

  “What are you reading?”

  “The history of the shroud.”

  “But you already know it by heart. Christ, every Italian knows it.”

  “That’s true. But I wanted to dig a little deeper. There might be something in here to give us a lead.”

  “Something in the history of the shroud?”

  “Let’s call it speculative research. No stone unturned.”

  “Interesting. Have you found anything?”

  “Not yet. I’m just reading, hoping for the light to come on.” Sofia smiled and tapped her forehead.

  “How far along are you?”

  “The sixth century, when a bishop in Edessa named Eulalius had a dream in which a woman revealed to him where the shroud was. You know that during all that time, the shroud was lost, no one knew where it was. In fact, there was no knowledge that it even existed. But Evagrius—”

  “Evagrius? Who’s Evagrius?” Minerva dropped her things on a nearby desk and joined them.

  “Evagrius Ponticus. According to Evagrius in his Historia Ecclesiasticus, in 544 Edessa had been besieged by the army of the Persian king Khusro, but the city somehow fought back against the Persians and won—all, supposedly, thanks to the Mandylion, which the city bore in procession along the battlements and—”

  “But who the hell is Evagrius and what the hell is the Mandylion?” Minerva insisted.

  “If you’d let me finish,” Sofia said with barely concealed impatience, “you might find out.”

  “Sorry.” Minerva raised her hands and cringed.

  Marco smiled. “Sofia,” he explained, “is going over the history of the shroud, and we were talking about its appearance in Edessa in 544, when the city was under siege by the Persians. The Edessans were desperate, about to surrender or be overrun. No matter how many fire-tipped arrows they shot at the Persians, the siege engines wouldn’t catch fire.”

  “So what happened?” Minerva asked.

  “Well, according to Evagrius,” Sofia continued, raising her eyebrows at Marco and giving him a nod in acknowledgment, “Eulalius, bishop of Edessa, had a dream in which a woman revealed to him where the shroud was hidden. They went to look for it, and they found it at the western gate of the city, in a niche hollowed out in the wall. The discovery restored the city’s faith, and the shroud was carried in procession along the battlements on top of the walls, while the defenders continued to shoot their fiery arrows at the Persian siege machines. But this time the engines did catch fire, and the Persians wound up abandoning their siege.”

  “Nice story, but is it true?” Minerva asked.

  “Think about it, Minerva. There are any number of things that for long periods were regarded by historians as legends passed down through the ages but that have turned out to be accounts of events that actually happened. The best examples are Troy, Mycenae, Knossos…cities that for hundreds of years were believed to belong to the world of myth but whose historical existence was finally demonstrated by Schliemann, Evans, and other archaeologists,” Sofia replied.

  “But whatever else happened, the bishop must have known the shroud was there, right? No matter how credulous you want to be, you can’t believe that business about the dream, can you?”

  “Well, that’s the story that’s come down to us,” Marco answered, “but you’re probably right. Eulalius had to know where the shroud was hidden, or maybe he had it put there so that he could pull it out at the right moment and say a miracle had occurred. Who knows the truth of what happened fifteen hundred years ago? As for your question about the Mandylion, it’s thought to be a small cloth that was draped over Christ at death, which bore the image of his face. Many consider it to be the shroud but folded to show only the face, not the full body.”

  Just then Pietro, Giusep
pe, and Antonino came in, arguing heatedly about soccer.

  Marco called everyone together to update them on the release of the mute in Turin.

  Pietro looked at Sofia out of the corner of his eye. The two had been avoiding each other as much as possible, and although they tried to maintain a professional, civil relationship, they were clearly uncomfortable together. It was obvious that Pietro was still in love with Sofia and that she was beginning to shun him. Marco and the others did their best to keep them apart.

  “All right, then,” Marco began. “The parole board will be back at the Turin jail in a few days. When they come to the mute’s cell, the warden, the social worker, and the prison psychologist will be asked for their current assessment of him. All three will agree that he’s a petty thief who presents no danger to himself or society and has been in long enough.”

  “Too easy,” Pietro broke in.

  “No, it won’t look that way,” Marco explained. “They’ll go through the motions. The social worker will propose that he be sent to a special center, a psychiatric unit, for evaluation on whether he’s capable of living on his own. We’ll see whether he gets nervous over the idea of being locked up in a psychiatric hospital or stays cool. The next step will be silence. We’ll let him stew for a while and have the guards observe his reactions. If all goes well, a month later the board will go back to the jail again, make their final decision, and two weeks later he’ll be freed. Sofia, I want you to go to Turin with Giuseppe and start putting the team there together. Tell me what we’re going to need.

  “And don’t forget dinner tonight,” he reminded them as he finished. It was his birthday and Paola was having a small party at their house.

  “So you’re going to turn the guy loose. That’s some fucking risk.” Marco and Santiago Jiménez sipped Campari sodas Paola had just brought over as they talked.

  “Yeah, but he’s the only lead we’ve got. Either he leads us somewhere or this case will be open for the rest of our lives.”

  Since the table wasn’t large enough to seat everyone, Paola had prepared a buffet and, with the help of their daughters, was now going about refilling glasses and plates and seeing after the twenty-odd guests. Along with members of Marco’s department and other friends, John and Lisa Barry were coming.

  “Sofia and Giuseppe will start setting things up in Turin next week.”

  “My sister Ana is going to Turin too. I’ve got to tell you—ever since you had us to dinner, she’s been obsessed with this thing. She just sent me a long e-mail about the shroud’s history—that’s where she thinks the key is.” Santiago kept going, in spite of Marco’s annoyed expression. “Anyway, I wanted to let you know. She’s sworn she won’t publish a word of what we talked about, but she’s decided to investigate on her own, in Turin. She’s good, you know—smart, tough, and pushy, like all good reporters, I suppose—and she’s got great instincts. I hope her investigation won’t cause you any problems, but if you hear there’s a reporter poking around where she shouldn’t be and making trouble for you, let me know. I’m sorry, Marco—this is what comes of dealing with the press, even if it’s family.”

  “Could I see the e-mail?” Marco asked.

  “Ana’s?”

  “Yeah. Sofia’s been going over the history of the shroud too. They’re thinking along the same lines, and I have to say I don’t think it’s a bad idea.”

  “No kidding! Sure, I’ll send it to you, but it’s all very speculative. I doubt there’s anything you can use.”

  “I’ll pass it on to Sofia, although I really don’t like getting a reporter involved in this or anything else. Sooner or later they fuck everything up, and to get a scoop they’re capable of—”

  “No, no, Marco, I’m being straight with you. Ana is as honest as the day is long, I swear, and she’s my sister, she loves me—she’d never do anything that would hurt me. She knows I can’t have problems with the authorities here, much less someone I’ve introduced her to.”

  “She’ll tell you if she finds something?”

  “Yup. She wanted to make a deal with you—send you everything she’s sure she’s going to find out, in exchange for which you’ll give her what you know. Obviously, I told her she was dreaming if she thought she could make a deal with you or anybody associated with you, but I know her, and if she finds something out she’s going to need to corroborate it, so she’ll call me and try to get me to tell you—”

  “So we’ve picked up a volunteer—an Art Crimes intern, you might say! All right, Santiago, no sweat. I’ll tell Giuseppe and Sofia to keep their eyes open for her when they get to Turin.”

  “What are we keeping our eyes open for?”

  “Sofia!” Marco turned to the historian as she joined them. “Santiago was telling me about his sister Ana—I don’t know whether you’ve met her….”

  “I think so, a couple of years ago. Wasn’t she with you at that party for Turcio’s retirement?” she asked Santiago.

  “Uh-huh, you’re right. Ana was in Rome then and went with me. She comes to see me a lot—I’m the oldest, and her only brother. Our father died when she was just a little girl, and we’ve always been very close.”

  Sofia nodded. “I remember we talked for a while about press–police relations. She said sometimes there was a marriage of convenience between the two, but that it always wound up in divorce court. I liked her—she’s smart.”

  “I’m glad you liked her, because you’re probably going to run into her in Turin, going after the story of the shroud,” Marco told her.

  Sofia raised her eyebrows in surprise, and Santiago hurried to fill her in.

  “You know what Santiago just told me, though, Sofia?” Marco said when he had finished. “Ana’s been poking around in the history of the shroud too. She thinks that’s where we’ll find our answers.”

  “Yes, I’ve thought the same thing, I told you.”

  “That’s what I told Santiago. He’s going to forward us an e-mail that Ana sent him about it. She may wind up running rings around us!”

  “So why don’t we talk to her?” Sofia asked.

  “Let’s stick with our own team for now,” Marco answered thoughtfully.

  “It wouldn’t be the first time, and you know it, that police have worked with a reporter during a case.”

  “I know, but I want to keep a low profile—and keep the story within a controlled circle—as long as we can. If Ana finds something we can use, then we’ll rethink it.”

  GUNER FINISHED BRUSHING OFF ADDAIO’S BLACK SUIT and hung it in the closet in the dressing room. On his way back to the bedroom he straightened the papers Addaio had left on the desk and put a couple of books back on the shelves.

  Addaio had worked late. The sweetish scent of Turkish tobacco permeated the austere room. Guner threw the windows open and stood for a few seconds looking out at the garden. He did not hear the quiet footsteps behind him or see the troubled expression on his master’s face.

  “What are you thinking about, Guner?”

  Guner turned around, trying not to let any emotion show through his impassive facade.

  “Nothing, really. It is such a lovely day—it makes one feel like getting out.”

  “Why don’t you spend a few days with your family? You can go as soon as I’ve left.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  “Yes. I’m going to Germany and Italy—I want to visit our people. I need to know why we’re making mistakes and where the betrayal lies. My inquiries here have gone nowhere.”

  “You shouldn’t go, Addaio. It will be dangerous.”

  “I can’t have all of them come here; that would be dangerous.”

  “Have them meet you in Istanbul. The city is full of tourists all year long—no one will notice them there.”

  “But not all of them would be able to come. It’s easier for me to go to them than for them to come to me. At any rate, it’s decided. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  “What will you tell people here?”


  “That I’m tired and am taking a little vacation, to visit friends in Germany and Italy.”

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “A week, ten days, no longer than that—so take advantage of it and have a rest for yourself. It will do you good to be rid of me for a while. You’ve seemed tense recently, angry with me. Why is that?”

  “All right, Addaio. I’ll tell you the truth. Perhaps you’ll consider it while you are away. I have suffered, deep inside, about this for months, maybe years.” The servant paused and looked at the pastor, then took a deep breath and continued. “It seems to me that we have come to betray all we have vowed to uphold. My heart breaks for those boys you sacrifice. The world has changed, but you are adamant that everything must go on the same. You cannot go on presiding over these barbaric mutilations and sending young men to their death, and—”

  His master cut him off before he could go further. “We have survived for two thousand years because of the sacrifice and silence of those who came before us, sacrifices against which ours pale in comparison. Yes, I demand great sacrifices—I, too, have sacrificed my life, a life that has never belonged to me, as your life does not belong to you. Dying for our cause is an honor; sacrificing one’s voice is as well. I do not cut their tongues out; they voluntarily offer that sacrifice because they know that it is essential to our cause. By doing that thing, they protect us all and protect themselves.”

  “Why do we not come out into the light?”

  “Are you mad, Guner? Do you actually think that we would survive if we revealed ourselves? You know the power of those who oppose us and the danger we represent to them. Our histories are linked and they have eradicated all, all through the centuries who have tried to follow those links to their origin. We ourselves have found only half-truths and lies, despite all our efforts. What’s wrong with you, what demon has possessed your mind?”

  “Sometimes I think that the demon has possessed you. You have become hard and cruel. You feel pity for no one, nothing. Is that in service to your vows, Addaio? Or is it someone who all your life you did not want to be?”