The Fourth Nail: An Historical Novel

by Paul Argentini

  The script was Ancient Latin and legible, but written so minutely it was difficult for Roberto to make out the words. He wished he had a magnifying glass. He would do the best he could, making notes as he did his work to refresh his mind later on. The innermost rolls near the scroll sticks were damaged from mold. Areas were blackened, darkened and eaten away. After a brief inspection, Roberto concluded that the culprit was whatever animal glue had been used to attach the scroll to the stick.

  Roberto was unfamiliar with many of the words and phrases, but he was able to get a smattering of the story as he went along. Ah! What he would not give to have Stella here in the room with him on her computer translating the works!

  What he did completely understand, and which made him smile as he read on, was that this certainly was the story of a Marius from Rome who was telling what was to him an intriguing and compelling story.

  Only when he was reminded by the guard that it was time for the evening meal did Roberto become aware of how much time had passed. He cautioned himself that he had only one shot at the three scrolls, and he had to get his work completely done before they left the lamasery or The Marius Diary would return to oblivion.

  His first chore would be to tell the story as he read it to Diura only. He could not get over the feeling that Andreyovich, though a priest, was more temporal than heavenly. He would promise Andreyovich that he would be sent one of his first manuscripts of The Marius Diary, and later a copy of the book, which Diura’s company would publish, autographed, of course!

  On the morning of the third day, Roberto was groggy from difficult mental exertion while going over the three scrolls, and from lack of sleep. By that time he felt he had done as thorough a piece of work as he could, gotten the gist of the story, and had made all the notes possible.

  Finally, when his time was up, Roberto summarized his work. What he had accomplished was sorry at best. It was like hitting the tips of waves a hundred miles apart to cover the ocean. What he was asked to do intellectually was terribly disappointing. He prayed his other options were a testimony to modern technology.

  When he saw Lama Langra, he explained his co-workers, Diura and Andreyovich, would welcome the great opportunity of seeing the actual scrolls for themselves. It would make real and very visible what had only been foxfire, a distant, unreal vision for so long a time. For Diura the scrolls had significantly interfered with her life and suddenly had added magnitude and dimension to it. It would be validation of her faith in Roberto.

  For Andreyovich, who had spent a lifetime in the study of antiquity and its visible remnants, the scrolls would be hard evidence that his work was truly productive and instrumental in the illumination and enlightenment of civilization.

  The Lama had no objection, provided Diura and Andreyovich held to the same rules. The time of departure was close. Each would have some ninety minutes to examine the scrolls.

  Diura went next. When she returned to the room, she told Roberto she could not make out any of the words or wording. She said just looking at the documents, so many centuries old, and knowing what they dealt with, made her feel as if she were in the presence of a most holy spirit.

  Roberto told her he felt exactly the same.

  Andreyovich was anxious to see the scrolls and left to view them with the guard.

  “You must tell me now,” Diura said to Roberto, “Marius was a Roman?”

  “Yes,” Roberto said.

  “And was in Jerusalem?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Roberto said.

  “He returned to Rome with the fourth nail, and came here. Did he stay here? Or did he leave?” she asked.

  “That is the most provocative question,” Roberto said, “because I could only get intimations of what was happening in his life.” Roberto turned to Lama Langra. “Undoubtedly you have records that go back to the time of Marius. Can you confirm for us whether or not Marius himself ever came here, or was it as we read, that he had the scrolls brought here by a trader?”

  “You might wonder about my perspective on now knowing we had these scrolls and that we could have solved the mystery of the fourth nail. Each Lama to supervise our work was able to study only a portion of what was in our repository. So, we know less and less as there is more and more. I’m unable to answer your question. Incidentally, I don’t know if any lama who was ever here since the scrolls were deposited was able to read the ancient Latin, so, the secret was especially safe. Even if I had the time and energy to search through our ancient records, I don’t think I would do that. What difference would it make now as long as you know what happened to the fourth nail, or in the least The Marius Diary? I would be curious to know myself,” the Lama said, “but we do not have regular mail deliveries, in fact, none at all.”

  “Perhaps you should get on the Internet?” Roberto asked.

  The Lama laughed. “The antithesis of our world!” he said. “We would not want to be so exposed even though we could afford generators and massive computer systems. Think of our abode with a web page.” He laughed out loud again. “Just think of a URL for peace and tranquility!”

  “I’m making wild guesses,” Roberto said, “but I’m guessing it has something to do with the solid gold, 24-carat cases that held the scrolls.”

  “You are as brilliant as your father was,” the Lama said. “Both of you forget what I am about to tell you. Our abode was built in this exact spot for two very good reasons. One, security; and two, it is sitting over a gold mine. Literally. That’s why we lack for nothing. Once a year a small group from our abode leave to pay homage to the Grand Lamas, to the Panchen Lama for his spiritual authority, and to deliver gold to the Dalai Lama. We have delivered gold to the Dalai Lama only while he is out of Communist control. While in the world, we purchase whatever we need for our existence here. You understand now why our security must remain stringent and steadfast. There are less than twenty of us here. When we leave the abode it is also to recruit as many novices as we have lost members during the year. We are very structured, every one of us with particular duties. We may work in the mine, or on maintenance or to construct additions to the abode. I can tell you now, that this room in which you were received? Had you or anyone become a threat to the abode in any way? The guard at the door would pull a lever, the hinged floor would drop, and all the occupants would enjoy a slide down into the ravine. If I may, this is one of the reasons The Marius Diary has managed to survive all these centuries when other abodes succumbed to the Huns, raiding parties, treachery, mutiny.”

  Suddenly, the door burst open. The guard spoke in breathless, short phrases to Lama Langri.

  His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed, he turned to Roberto and Diura. “The Marius Diary scrolls have been stolen!”

  XXVII

  Marius slipped up to his father’s side and sat down. The man was stretched out on a divan asleep in the Roman sun. Senatore Justus was on the terrace of his summer home on the outskirts of Rome. Marius listened to his steady breathing while trying to recognize the man. His hair had turned shocking white. His face had become thin and lined. His once robust body was now little more than bones on which his toga was draped. More sensing a presence rather than being disturbed, Senatore Justus opened his eyes.

  “Marius?”

  “Yes.”

  “Marius! I’m glad you are home. Now I will die easier.”

  “Though not right away. I have missed you, and I have a lot to tell you. ”

  He tried to sit up and pointed to the flask. “Wine!” Marius poured a tumbler for each of them. “I wish I could make up for giving you over to someone else to grow you up while I was being a pompous ass of a senator!” He put the wine to his lips, “I salute you, my son. Your mother cried every night for you as she was carrying you. She should have seen you before she died. Was it difficult for you?”

  “For my freedom I had to crucify a Man. He forgave me. What kind of a Man is that...?” Marius drifted off recalling the moment. “He was so unlike any other Man. Eve
r since strange things have occurred. Of three tasks He gave me, I wonder still about the third.”

  “They may come with perspective. In the meantime, here, your task is to settle with Milo before he usurps our entire Estate. Marius, you should have taken my seat in the Senate.”

  “Thank you. Politics is not a calling that draws me. Where is Cora?”

  “Another victim of Milo’s corruptions! She was made to marry Virgil, another part of Milo’s scheme. Little I can do. I dream to make just one more tour of my gardens. Flowers should be our final vision. What is around your neck?” the old man asked. “I am drawn to it. Let me touch it.” Marius leaned over. His father searched under the silk around his neck until he lightly held the leather collar. Justus stared into his son’s eyes then touched his cheek with his fingertips. Marius was startled by their iciness.

  “They are relics of my days in Jerusalem where the women are beautiful, the land not so verdant but sunny.”

  “To be sure the cause of the burns on your body. And no gold bracelet? Are you in difficulty, Marius?”

  “No. I am free Roman. The bracelet serves a better purpose.”

  “Good! Milo took over my seat in the senate. You will need every edge to dispatch him. Do what you can for your sister, Cora."

  “Yes. I must find Beatrice, the girl I injured.”

  “I paid for her care...very, very well.”

  “Thank you.”

  He waved a finger. “Come back later...” He closed his eyes.

  Marius went to find Cora.

  “What are those filthy things around your neck?” she asked after hugging and kissing him.

  “In Jerusalem it was the mark of a Roman gladiator,” he said to dismiss the subject.

  “Well, you’re now in Rome. Take them off!”

  “What of Virgil?”

  “My husband has yet to lie with me. He prefers to go to the baths with his male friends to do whatever it is that men do that way to one another.”

  “And you?” Marius asked smiling.

  “A lover? No, but there is someone who has caught my eye. First, I must find a way to be free of Virgil without endangering myself. Marius, I beg you, set these matters straight. I want a husband with which to have children.”

  “Where is Norma?” Marius asked. “I expected her to take care of father.”

  “Probably plotting with her brother, or giving the servants a going over,” she said.

  Marius found Norma and in the reception hall sitting at a table.

  “Welcome home, Marius” Norma said. “The servants told me you went to see your father. Shall we prepare your room?”

  “Where is Milo?” Marius asked. “I want to see him.”

  “As usual, practicing his daily swordsmanship.” Norma said. “Shall I send for him?”

  “Have him come immediately.”

  A short time later, Milo swaggered into the reception hall. He tossed his head when he saw Marius, let his sword fall and clatter onto a marble table. “I didn’t think you had the fortitude to survive, Marius, but, somehow, you did. Do stay!” Milo said, “We’ll plan a special celebration!”

  “Save your polite hypocrisy, both of you. Let’s be clear. This is my father’s home and he has empowered me to decide who stays where and when and for how long. Milo, you have documents, artifacts, and instruments that belong to this home and this family. They are not yours. Get them, all of them, and deliver them here immediately. Further, you have only minutes to get yourself and your son, Virgil, out of this house. The marriage you and your sister perpetrated for your son and my sister, Cora, has never been consummated. I will see to its expedient dissolution. Kindly leave.”

  Milo, eyes flashing, lips turned down, rose. “I would be cautious if I were you. This is now a foreign land for you where I have planted loyal seeds. Mark my words, and guard well your passages.” He stormed out of the room.

  “Norma, only because of the regard my father has for you and for the illness you say you suffer so badly may you stay here. Plot against me and be prepared to suffer.”

  Shortly after, a messenger returned the documents taken by Milo. Then, Marius returned to see his father. He was surprised to find him touring the gardens. When he caught up to him ambling along, Marius asked, “How is this possible? You could barely move when I left.”

  Justus stopped to look into his son’s face. “Seeing you made it possible. What else?”

  Marius furrowed his brow. His father’s icy fingers on his cheek reminded him of the cold in his hand when he touched Jesus. “I’m delighted for you,” Marius said as they strolled side by side. “I want to assure you our family matters will be stabilized very quickly. You have earned your rest."

  “Marius you were born with a cauls. You are destined to do worldly things.”

  Senatore Justus succumbed at sunset while seated on a bench in his garden beside his son.

  Marius spent the next week in the Senate listening to his father’s peers eulogize him. Milo was noticeably absent.

  The following week Marius went to find Beatrice.

  Madam Chiaro took only an instant to recognize him. “I’m looking for Beatrice.”

  “Who knows where she is?”

  “My father paid a fortune for you to take care of her. Shall you pay it back?”

  The woman glared at him for long moments.

  “If you insist on seeing your handiwork, she’s in the back room by the kitchen. She cleans up, and does whatever is needed. She wants to feel useful.”

  Marius went to the kitchen, and called into her room from behind the screen. “Beatrice?” There was no reply. “Beatrice?” he called again. “May I come in?”

  “No! Whoever you are,” came the instant reply.

  “I am Marius, the son of the late Senatore Justus.”

  A little boy came in from the outside. He looked at Marius and was about to go past him through the door.

  “Hello!” he said to the boy, “My name is Marius. What’s yours?”

  “Have you come to complete the job?” Beatrice said from behind the screen. “Leave the boy alone and go away.”

  “I mean no harm to you. I want to help,” Marius said.

  “I hate you! Go away!” she said.

  “Beatrice, I am so sorry. Truly, deeply sorry for what I did to you. It was unintentional. It has caused me more anguish than you can imagine,” Marius said. “My father paid for you to be protected. You were never to have worked again.”

  “And to what court was I to appeal?” she asked.

  “Beatrice, I can’t go backwards. I can only begin right at this moment to make my amends to you.”

  “Is that so? You can’t give me back my years. Go away!”

  “I was afraid of this. Even more, I thought I would never find you so I could make amends. Beatrice, I was young and stupid. That person is no longer in this world. Show me mercy and allow me to help you.”

  “Mercy! I can give you that by not showing you what you did to me! I can’t cause you enough pain!”

  “Would you feel better if you threw burning oil at my face...?”

  “Go away.”

  “Beatrice, please...”

  “I don’t need anything from you. Leave me in peace. I won’t dance on your grave.”

  “I bought a home for you. I’ll give you enough money to take care of yourself.”

  “No.”

  “If you wish, I will contact you through an intermediary.”

  “I don’t want your generosity. It will never be enough,” she said.

  “Beatrice, at least take a look at the home. You can’t be that selfish not to think of your son. This is not the place to raise him.”

  Beatrice came out peeking through a shawl that hid most of her face. She held the boy’s hand. She stared at Marius for a long time. She took long moments before she nodded.

  Marius saw that she and the boy were settled into the home he bought for her. After, he traveled to the north of Rome to ke
ep his promise to Angelus.

  It was not difficult to find Angelus’s older brother, Davidio. He had become a wealthy and respected country gentleman. He owned a large, well-constructed house and gardens, and acres of farmland. He had a wife and two children. When he first met Marius, he was cautious. His questions were pointed, searching for exactly the reason for this stranger’s visit besides having known his brother, Angelus. His armed guard hovered over them.

  “I first met your brother aboard ship.” Here, Marius deliberately skipped the intervening years. “He died on the way to come here. He was an honorable man. For me, he had a grand funeral. I’m sorry he was not able to see you one last time. I cannot convey to you how badly he wanted that. You must have been close?” It was a verbal feint to put the man off-guard. When Davidio merely grunted, he went on: “He asked me to deliver to you all his worldly goods.”

  “I see,” Davidio said. “Thank you for taking the trouble.”