“Just a brief historical note here,” interrupted Riccardo. “Those who were left behind would return to prosperity about three decades later and establish the city of Ephesus.”
“Fascinating,” said Justine, pausing only briefly before she ask Delmo to read more.
“We women landed in the land of the pharaohs, where the rivers make a fan . . .” he read.
“The Delta!” exclaimed Amir.
“‘. . . among the Israelites, where we lived for many moons,’” Delmo continued.
Startled, Morgan said, “The Jews must have remained or returned after the Exodus some 300 years earlier. They lived together loosely, yet we’ve seen evidence that the small band of Lydians seemed drawn to the moral principles of the Israelites. Perhaps the Torah gave the force of words to the practices of the pagans.”
“Inscriptions from Deuteronomy in the Etrusca Disciplina may inform the Etruscans’ contact with Israelis in the delta,” said Marco, intrigued by the possibility that a pagan goddess culture with a Hebrew morality and the Phoenician language could have once existed in the same place.
“Exactly,” said Morgan, who began to add his firsthand knowledge of the report. “The women of the tomb suggest that contact was made with the Egyptians and the Phoenicians. There’s more, my friends. Patience.” He lifted his open palms and framed his fingers into a tent, as though praying for indulgence.
Justine continued; this part she knew was difficult for her father to accept. “It seems abundantly clear from recovered artifacts that the followers of Artemis welcomed Isis into their pantheon of goddesses. And by the late tenth century BCE, trade with the Phoenicians and others of the Levant had lured the daughters and sons of these Lydian women into the Tyrrhenian Sea. These pioneering mariners were welcomed by the farmers of Elba, Caere, and Tarquinia, so they settled in the Caere Valley. Around 1080 BCE, it appears.”
“Their own words tell us this??” queried Morgan, continuing to be amazed.
“Exactly,” confirmed Delmo.
“No wholesale migration there,” noted Marco, turning toward Guido. “We’re clearly not talking about colonization or even an extensive influx of a foreign population.”
Guido nodded in agreement and appreciation, noting that Marco shared his perspective on colonization.
“Perhaps these two sisters—we now know they are sisters, right?” Everyone nodded. “Perhaps they led these women and brought with them many gifts and skills from Egypt and their homeland, as well as knowledge of iron processing, which they learned from the Hittites,” said Justine, fishing into one of her many pockets for some Post-its.
“Iron processing?? Are you sure?” interrupted Marco. “We’ve suspected that they learned that skill from the Celts.”
“That’s what they tell us,” added Delmo, back in his element. “The papyrus made it clear they also brought skills in hydrology, divination, and a willingness to experiment with governing. Here is a description of the early use of divination. These two women may have even worked with locals to form the first city-state. That’s not clear, but it’s no wonder they were revered.”
“Are you suggesting that the development that peaked during the Orientalizing period in the eighth century BCE may have begun with these two sisters?” asked Riccardo, incredulous. “Several hundred years before the Greek influence became dominant?”
“I share your skepticism,” agreed Guido. He had developed a warm relationship with Riccardo, who shared his interest in fine wines and Raphael.
“When they adopted the Greek alphabet, the Etruscans retained the Phoenician habit of writing from right to left. Yet how they ‘invented’ Etrurian from Phoenician is still unclear,” said Delmo, unbuttoning his tight collar, which he usually wore closed. Delmo’s wife had died several years before, so he now felt compelled to starch and iron his own clothes, including his undershirts.
“So we have no other knowledge on how the Etruscan language was invented, or how it became isolated?” asked Marco, sliding back in his chair, clearly disappointed.
Delmo looked uncomfortable. “Forgive me, but an old man needs to wash his hands often,” he announced, pushing back his chair and slowly rising.
“I think this is a good time for a short break,” Morgan suggested.
“From what the women tell us on the scroll,” said Justine, resettled in her chair, “we can speculate on the answer to Marco’s earlier question: How was the Etruscan language invented? Let me test this out . . . perhaps the answer is fairly simple, as answers often are. We know—or we think we know—that our small delegation joined the Villanovans, and they had their own unique spoken language expressed through Phoenician writing. As the years passed, the two languages morphed into one. Communication with mariners from throughout the Mediterranean would require a highly utilitarian language. The Etruscans would have had to adopt—and invent—words. Right?”
“Language is a living process,” insisted Delmo. “Over a few hundred years, the Etruscan language would have reflected great changes in grammar, the lexicon, and usage.”
“Eventually, the Etruscans would have found the Phoenician alphabet wanting—it didn’t have vowels, you know—and adopted the Greek alphabet instead,” suggested Marco.
“Makes sense,” admitted Guido, nodding to both Delmo and Justine. “Perhaps language is just another artifact of evolution.” He grinned. “Yet a language that is a monolanguage, an isolate, has no known roots to other languages. Many mysteries remain.”
Morgan was momentarily quiet, pensive. “Amir,” he said finally. “What can you tell us about the mtDNA dating?”
Amir, who had worked closely with Guido and Marco on this portion of the report, quickly obliged. “We know that low levels of acid in the tomb’s soil allowed fairly accurate carbon dating of the sarcophagus patina and linen wrappings—but most dramatically, from the women’s teeth,” he began. “The reports from both Barcelona and Florence suggest dating at about 1100–1050 BCE. Does this dating match with the mtDNA findings?” He turned toward Guido, his manner friendly, as though earlier jealousies had subsided.
“Close. Very close,” Guido said, allowing his excitement to overcome his usual skepticism. “Date-wise, our data from the tomb and its inhabitants are a match.”
CHAPTER 33
No greater symbol of harmony exists than a circle closing.
—Michael Grant, American Southwest
“MY MOTHER USED to dry tomatoes on our tile roof for the winter,” offered Riccardo as he considered the pastas added to the limited menu at Rivoire, one of his favorite restaurants. “The house wine here is very good,” he added. Two decisions were quickly made: pitchers of house red and rigatoni pasta with chicken and sundried tomatoes.
Built into the gray stone wall of the historic Piazza della Signoria in 1872, Rivoire was known for its magnificent hot chocolate, which made it a good pick for a cold day. But it was too chilly to sit outside with hot chocolate today, so Riccardo and Marco pulled two tables together just inside the entrance.
A dish of olives and crusty panini soon made its way to the table in the nimble hands of a boy no more than fifteen. Riccardo ordered wine, rigatoni, and salads for all.
Marco, a frequent visitor to Rivoire, nodded his approval.
“We have some incredible finds, my friends!” began Morgan as he swirled the ruby liquid around in his miniature glass. “There is little doubt now that the locals of Rasenna, later Etruria, paid homage to their glorious new residents by burying them together in a sarcophagus embossed with the likenesses of the goddesses Isis and Artemis, who delivered them to the land of Caere.”
“. . . and in a tomb recognizing their gentle passage into the spirit world, as D.H. Lawrence would argue,” added Justine. Wedged into the narrow corner between Marco and Guido, she struggled to take off her leather jacket, her long legs stretching into the space between the two angular table legs. Marco placed his hands on her shoulders and completed the removal, folding and placing t
he jacket behind him.
Her father grinned at her attempt to slip in Lawrence. But he was relaxed, and made no effort to challenge his daughter.
“Gentle passage? Unlikely,” said Marco. Glancing at the woman pressing against his shoulder, he continued the argument that had started a couple months ago at Lucrezia’s dinner table. “I thought I’d convinced you that the Etruscans hardly expected a gentle passage into an afterlife.”
Justine had bigger fish to fry, more pertinent news to offer, so she just smiled and let Marco’s comments stand.
“They could have learned gentleness and cooperation, the value of reciprocity, from a goddess culture as well—don’t you think?” Morgan asked, gazing at his daughter.
Justine stared back at him, incredulous.
“Did you think I was hopeless?” Morgan asked.
“Yes!” Justine exclaimed.
The scene slightly embarrassed Marco. Riccardo and Amir watched with fascination. Delmo fidgeted with his silverware.
Guido winked at Justine. “Men are teachable,” he postulated brightly. “Even the early Etruscan men. As Morgan suggested, our findings here are incredible. We know much more about the origins of the Etruscans, at least a few of them, as well as the possible origin of their language,” he said, his temples flushed with the excitement of a hunt well executed. “Where do we go from here?” The question hung in the air.
After the salads and rigatoni were delivered by an elderly waiter, Justine said nonchalantly, “I have another short report. This might shock you, but the mtDNA of Mary of Nazareth and of the two women of the tomb is a match.”
Everyone looked up. “What do you mean, a match?” Amir asked sharply.
“Let me back up a little,” said Justine. “In the diary, Mary tells us about Joseph giving her the comb. She even drew a little sketch of it! Right, Amir? And you were able to extract root fragments from the little artifact, the report of which you shared with me. We—Amir and I—discovered that Mary’s DNA revealed that she was of Haplogroup J2, common to most Mediterraneans, including those in Anatolia. That didn’t tell us much. So, it took the mtDNA from the two women of the tomb to confirm matching mutation patterns.”
Guido stared at his plate as though the tomatoey pasta were alive. Sending the data to Justine had been professionally questionable. But the results had been worth it.
Justine watched his face, struggled to infer his feelings. “The last translations that I’ve seen of the codex confirmed that Mary hoped to travel to the family home in Ephesus before her death,” said Justine, devouring her rigatoni. And it might be the last we see of the translations. Andrea is clever.
“Mary was Etruscan,” Morgan whispered.
“Mary was Italian.” Delmo had stopped, wasn’t eating a bite.
Deep breaths of astonishment reverberated around the table, causing people in the now-crowded café to turn and look toward the small gathering of scientists. Refractions of light off the brass coffee urn and ancient mirror frame appeared psychedelic to the swimming minds around the table.
Guido was the first to recover his voice. “What does that mean? Better yet, what will that mean?” He held his half-full glass in midair with both hands.
“To the press? To science? The Vatican? The international community?” Morgan cast his questions into the air, letting them float there.
“What’s important here,” said Amir, “is that the two women of the tomb are forebears of Mary. So, we haven’t found her descendents, we’ve found her ancestors.”
“And?” asked Delmo.
“And,” said Marco, fully in step with Amir’s thinking, “that makes Jesus part Etruscan. A people nearly lost in the shadow of the Romans now move to center stage.”
Yes, Andrea is clever, Justine said to herself once back in her apartment, sitting at the kitchen table. She opened the lid of her MacBook Pro.
My dear Justine,
I want you to know several things about this tragic situation. I do love and value you and your family, especially your mother, whom I’ve known for years. Even though I suspect that I may never see you again, I will explain as much as I can. Soon after Francoise was tortured and killed in Algeria, I met Robert Blackburn. He was kind and empathic, and expected nothing from me. As the years went on, I was needy in many ways: for a sexual partner, as well as money. My teaching hardly provided me with an income suitable for traveling, salons, clothes. We became intimate. While I knew that he was involved in certain thefts, I turned my head the other way. But, as you know now, I was the go-between with the Foundation. I set the terms of the sale, completed the transactions, signed off on provenance.
Justine stopped and read the last sentence twice. So, that’s it. Respected linguist from the Sorbonne verifies provenance. She felt a chill, and returned to the message.
I so wish that you hadn’t become so curious, Justine, and had left well enough alone. After all, the Foundation will be returning the original codex to Egypt after it confirms the translations and publishes the findings. And, you have the copy.
As for our partnership on the article, and your receipt of the translations, I’m afraid that neither is now possible.
Fondly, Andrea
“Shit! Shit!” Justine yelled at the computer as tears moved down her cheeks. I don’t have the translations! And—she’s just confessed to accessory to antiquities theft in print. What is she up to?? Why would she do that?
CHAPTER 34
This is Italy, “where you can pull one string and it leads you to a garbled skein of interlocked groups of power.”
—Carlo Lucarelli, Italian novelist
JUSTINE AND AMIR sat side by side on a stone bench in the Piazza della Signoria. As they left the Rivoire the day before, Amir had asked to meet with her. So this morning they returned to the same restaurant for a cup of hot chocolate.
“I must return to Egypt soon,” Amir said almost stoically. “Family matters, new evidence in my grandfather’s death. I think our work is done here for the time being, and the Ptolemic collection in the Egyptian Museum still needs work.”
“New evidence of murder?”
“They’re almost sure—but that’s what we thought, wasn’t it?” He turned his handsome face away. “Hardly a surprise.”
Justine placed her hand on his shoulder and waited. His pain was palpable. “I honestly didn’t think a conclusion of murder would come to light.” Is he also telling me that we are finished, that he is leaving me? Could I blame him?
He turned toward her without acknowledging her gesture. “Our family is influential in Egypt. There was bound to be an investigation. And now a witness has stepped forward. He claims that Grandfather was pushed down the stairs outside his office. You remember how steep and winding the staircase is. It had seemed plausible to the authorities that a man in his eighties with bad knees and a cane could simply fall. Apparently, that’s not the case.”
Justine blanched. She stretched out her sandaled feet, placed both hands on the bench beside her, and dropped her head. If I hadn’t involved Dr. Ibrahim in the translation of the codex—a translation that I’ve now lost—this would not have happened. By giving me the copy of the codex when I left Egypt, he placed himself at grave risk. He must have known that.
Amir stared at Justine’s profile as though he knew what she was thinking. “They have a suspect, and I need to be there to support my parents. This business has been very hard on them.”
“Will you return?” she asked gently, turning to regard his watchful eyes. Memories of their passionate lovemaking flooded her body.
“Do you want me to?” They watched the city awaken in front of them—children climbing on fountains, postcard salesmen moving among the sightseers, women in red spike heels stepping cautiously over smooth stones.
The blood returned to her face, turning it a pale pink. Their uncomfortable silence was punctuated by the chatter of tourists and the roar of motorcycles entering the piazza. “Of course I do.” She paused. �
��Amir, I have something to tell you.” She slowly unwound the story of Blackburn. Andrea. Her confession.
Amir stared at the pigeons in the square, watching their dance, their skittering feet moving rapidly across the smooth surface. Stabbing at crumbs lodged between the stones.
Justine followed his eyes, observing the lively puppetry. She waited.
“Andrea was very close to Grandfather. He admired her greatly. I came to know her as a young man.” Wounded, yet not surprised. “Why didn’t you tell me before? I could have been there with you, supporting your investigation.”
Justine scrambled to understand her own motives, her unwillingness to share secrets. Even now, she would not tell him about the letters. “When I was a young girl, an only child, my mother and I would watch National Velvet. We watched it over and over because I loved it so. I named my doll Elizabeth, begged for a horse. I told my secret thoughts to Elizabeth. She kept my secrets close. It was safe.”
“Safe from what?”
“Exposure, I guess. As an only child with preoccupied parents, I felt alone. I had no sense of whether I was normal—whatever that means . . .”
Amir turned toward her, his eyes moist. “You can trust me, Justine.”
“I know that, Amir.” Their eyes met, exchanging expressions of warmth, empathy. “Come with me to Miranda’s,” she said. “Then go.”
New York Times, April 11, 2008, International News: Rome. The Italian high court has issued an injunction that prevents the return to Egypt of an ancient codex alleged to be the diary of the Virgin Mary. The injunction was sought by the Vatican. Egypt will appeal it to the International Court in the Hague. Page 12.
La Repubblica, April 12, 2008. Man’s Body Found Near Piazza Navona. Rome police discovered the body of an alleged black marketer, Robert Blackburn, in an alley near the antique district of Piazza Navona. A reputedly wealthy American citizen who has lived abroad for many years, Blackburn has been linked to dealings in foreign antiques involving underworld figures in Egypt and Spain, as well as Italy. Police say he was under investigation, most recently in connection with the theft of a codex alleged to be the diary of the Virgin Mary. The Vatican communications director offered no comment. On the eve of the election, Silvio Berlusconi was asked to comment during a news conference, but refused.
The Italian Letters: A Novel (The Justine Trilogy Book 2) Page 24
