by Craig Smith
'She may learn good manners from you,' he said with a smile. 'In turn, you may discover a great many things of interest.'
'I am not sure what you want, sir.'
'One imagines Antipas is a coward at heart - like his brother Philip. Herodias, on the other hand, is not. If she sees an advantage, I believe she will take it.'
'My friendship?' Procula asked.
'It will cost you only the trouble of visiting her should she respond to your desire to learn about her country and the local language. I will send Cornelius and a century of men to escort you, so you need not worry for your safety.'
'Am I simply to become this woman's friend or is there something more you desire?'
'What Antipas tells Caesar about us is what he believes, Procula. So long as Antipas sees our purpose as essentially opposed to his own I am diminished. If, on the other hand, he perceives a friendship between you and Herodias and Herodias herself campaigns actively with her husband to see us more favorably, our appointment here will be the beginning of an illustrious career, not the end of a modest one. What I want from you is nothing beyond a genuine affection for a woman who can be of service to our interests.'
'Then I will write to her at once.'
Tiberias on the Sea of Galilee
Fall AD 26.
Procula's second visit to the court of Herod Antipas occurred in the city of Tiberias in the province of Galilee and lasted nearly two months. It occurred after an exchange of letters in which Procula expressed an interest in learning something of the language and culture of the Jews.
Herodias appeared skeptical at the beginning, as if she read all too clearly Pilate's motives, but when she discovered in Procula a young woman more eager to learn from her than to spy, she gradually set aside her suspicions, or perhaps, Procula realized, accepted them and looked for her own advantage in the friendship.
It was Herodias's opinion that nothing should ever be said within the palace that one did not want others to share with Antipas. She therefore suggested carriage rides followed by walks. On such occasions, Antipas's soldiers and Cornelius's guard would withdraw to a discreet distance allowing free and frank exchanges between the women - the only ones they dared.
'Here,' Herodias gestured happily toward the countryside one afternoon, a week or so after Procula's arrival, 'we can speak as freely as trust in our friendship allows.'
'I hope that means as freely as possible,' Procula answered.
Herodias considered the younger woman thoughtfully. By this point she knew a good deal about Procula's background, her life in Syria in the court of Germanicus, interrupted at his death, her return to Rome and subsequent marriage to Pilate at the age of fourteen.
'As we are speaking freely, perhaps you can tell me how the daughter of a senator and ward of a Prince came to marry an equestrian of no great distinction?'
'The emperor,' Procula answered as truthfully as she could, 'knew that I was in love. As the marriage was not against his own interests he allowed it.'
'In love! With Pilate?' Herodias laughed. She saw the plump, overbearing middle-aged bureaucrat and found Procula's statement improbable, but Herodias had not seen Pontius Pilate as she had - sitting on a black horse, a trim young tribune wearing the dashing black uniform of the palace guard.
'Pilate escorted the funeral procession of Germanicus from Brindisium to Rome - a journey of some thirty days.'
'And you became lovers along the way?'
'We never spoke.' Procula blushed suddenly, for those days were the most precious of her life, and she had never told anyone about them. 'Pilate managed to ride by my carriage each day, and we would look at each other. Once, he said to me, 'It is a long journey, is it not?' I was so excited I could not even answer him.'
'Are you still in love with him?'
'I still honour him, Lady.'
Herodias looked at the sky with a thoughtful expression. 'You are too pleasant to the man. If I may say so, I think he will notice you when he fears your anger or, better still, imagines you are willing to enjoy another man's interest. Beauty like yours is wasted if not employed to advantage. You could have any man in the empire with your family and beauty, and Pilate knows it. He only needs reminding now and then and he will behave himself!'
'You would have me become a shrew or a whore with such advice.'
'Tell me,' Herodias remarked, 'does he make an open show of his affairs or is he reasonably discreet about them?'
'Pilate is true to me.'
'You lie very badly, Procula.'
Some evenings after his dinner with businessmen in the city, men he did not need to spoil with excessive attention, Antipas would summon Herodias and Procula to his cabinet, where he drank copiously and asked Procula about Rome. When he discovered a woman of some intellect and an appealingly straightforward manner, he pressed for her opinion of the political climate in Rome.
In particular he was interested in Sejanus, the prefect of the palace guard and virtual regent of Tiberius. Sejanus had taken control of the palace guard shortly after Tiberius ascended the throne. While others in Rome lost Tiberius's confidence through doubtful judgment or wavering loyalty, Sejanus, though still a very young man, had managed to turn Tiberius's trust into something very much like devotion.
'Sejanus is ambitious to a fault,' Procula explained, 'but politically talented.' The truth was Procula feared Sejanus more than any man in the empire. If he were to seize power from Tiberius, which was a very real possibility, she knew he would almost surely eliminate the last of the Claudii family, lest they mount a civil war against him.
'Everyone says it of him,' Antipas answered, 'and yet Tiberius continues to entrust him with new powers and titles!'
'Tiberius is tired of politics and perhaps tired of Rome as well.'
'One hardly knows which of the two one ought to flatter,' Antipas grumbled.
'Sejanus is too careful to boast,' Procula observed, 'but he anticipates the throne. That much is clear. By the same token Tiberius is too clever to name him as his successor.
That would leave him vulnerable to assassination. So long as he keeps the hope of legitimacy hanging before Sejanus he maintains the prefect's loyalty.'
'Do you think he could move against Tiberius, if he were . . . disappointed in Tiberius's choice of an heir?'
'Almost certainly.'
'Could Tiberius resist him?'
'That is the question everyone asks. Tiberius still has friends in the army, though by now they are the sons of the men he commanded. Sejanus, on the other hand, has no influence with the legions. Why should he have? He rarely leaves Rome.'
'There is no reason for it,' Herodias remarked. 'All the wars are finished!'
'A war would strengthen Sejanus,' Procula answered without thinking, and saw her mistake at once. Herodias's eyes flashed, for it had not occurred to her that Sejanus desperately needed the popular and military support that a great military victory and hero's welcome into Rome would afford him.
'It is a wonder Tiberius does not abdicate his throne and let Sejanus have the empire in name, as well as fact,' Antipas offered simply, for he had drunk a great deal that evening and was not thinking clearly.
'Gods die, Tetrarch. They do not retire. Tiberius lives only so long as he sits upon his throne, not one day longer.'
Procula found her evenings with Antipas and Herodias enjoyable because the tetrarch and his wife took her seriously. They valued not only what she knew but her judgment as well.
Other evenings were not so pleasant. Antipas would grumble about matters of history, specifically the ruin his brother had brought the Herodians. Inevitably he drank too much too fast and would demand his pleasure. What the tetrarch demanded those in his company must endure. That meant Salome would be summoned to dance.
One afternoon in the hills above Galilee Procula asked Herodias about it. 'Does it bother you when Salome must dance for the tetrarch?'
'Antipas married me because it was the only way he could
be close to my daughter. I have simply worked it to my advantage.'
'Does Antipas sleep with her?'
'It is my daughter's business to make sure he believes he will have the chance sometime soon, mine to see that it does not happen, at least until I have all that I want. Rather the way Tiberius manages Sejanus, I suppose, only what Sejanus lusts for is the imperial throne, not a twelve-year-old girl.'
'And what is it you want?'
'What Rome will never give Antipas: the old kingdom of Herod. Do not look at me as if I am deluded. I know I must give Salome to one of her cousins and that the kingdom will be theirs in name to rule, but it will be mine all the same - or could be.'
'I do not think you are deluded. It is only that Tiberius will not risk any change in his policies.'Herodias smiled prettily. 'Nor will he live forever - god though he is.'
Zürich
October 8, 2006,
According to everything Ethan had read about the man, and the online material about him was extensive, Jonas Starr was a lunatic, albeit a lunatic with money. The real fortune, however, belonged to Nicole North, Starr's niece by marriage and his successor at NorthStarr Institute.
During the negotiations for the sale of the painting neither Kate nor Ethan had spoken with the buyers. Kate's father, Roland Wheeler, had always handled the sale of their acquisitions. Roland took a third of the profit but for that he handled everything. He found the buyers. He created the cover story. Frequently, he even found the paintings he wanted them to acquire. This project had been different from the start. Ethan had found the painting on his own, using a combination of dumb luck, research and guesswork. There were no guarantees going in. To his knowledge no one had reported seeing Pilate's Portrait of Christ since 1900. Even the reference in 1900 was dubious, very possibly a dying man's last jest, but the more he had discovered about Julian Corbeau, the more Ethan became convinced Corbeau possessed the legendary painting. Before 1900, the only direct reference to it occurred in the second century writings of the theologian Irenaeus.
Kate and Ethan had approached Roland before the break-in to ask if he could find a buyer, assuming they could acquire the portrait. A few weeks later Roland told them he had a perfect fit. That was Roland's specialty. He had contacts in Europe, Asia, the Middle East, South Africa and North America: collectors of art, artifacts, and manuscripts who were not very particular about legalities. He did the necessary research, and in this case was satisfied that the potential buyers would step up with a small fortune in order to possess in his terminology 'the mother of all icons.'
He was so confident in fact that, once Kate and Ethan had acquired it, he approached Starr directly at his home in Texas with a one-time offer of twenty-five million dollars. The oldest extant panel portrait of Jesus was a sixth century icon, the type of which was called Christ Pantocrator. This particular copy of the icon had resided in the monastery of St. Catherine on Mount Sinai in Egypt since its creation, a gift of the emperor Justinian at the inauguration of the monastery in AD 525.
With a painting almost five hundred years older and utterly unique, the enormous price tag was justified, even if its owners could never show it in public. Jonas Starr, knowing he could examine the piece before he made a final commitment, had pretended to accept Roland's narrative of the painting's history, perhaps fearing Roland would shop for a buyer elsewhere if he seemed too particular about its immediate past. Now, with the deal to be closed within twenty-four hours, he had questions.
In Roland's version, his associate had discovered the possible existence of the painting and approached the owner, who had imagined quite naively it was a piece from the Renaissance. Once they had used radiocarbon dating at the University of Zürich, he said, the owner had decided 'to trade it for something he cared about - cold, hard cash.' Whether Roland had promised Jonas Starr he could talk to Ethan at the time of the negotiations or whether, as Roland had told Kate, Starr had come forward with his request only recently, Ethan could not say. Roland handled Kate and Ethan as he did the rest of the world. He told them what they needed to know.
So Ethan appeared at the luxurious Savoy Hotel on the Bahnhofstrasse at eight o'clock Sunday evening. He was dressed casually in a leather jacket, jeans, and a flannel shirt. He had seen photographs of Nicole North, but there was still a moment of reckoning when she opened the door to her spacious suite. Dr North was an incredibly beautiful woman. Tall and slender with full breasts and a perfectly developed if somewhat lush physique, she had the sort of confidence that comes from growing up in the presence of great wealth.
It was not merely that others had taken care of her and would until the end of her days. It was also an understanding that between her wealth and beauty people found her fascinating no matter how she behaved. Despite that, by all accounts, she was a tireless worker, a friend to people in need, and a benefactor of worthy causes - the last person in the world Ethan would have expected to see mixed up in business like this. But here she was, playing the good niece to an old bandit.
What Ethan liked most about the woman was her voice. It had a touch of the South in it, and reminded him of his childhood in Tennessee, though the South of his youth was very different from Nicole North's genteel upbringing. She apparently expected Roland's associate to be a scholarly gentlemen and mistook Ethan for security, but then recovered nicely after the introductions. In fact, Dr North's eyes had a sudden and irresistible intensity when she understood that she was talking to the man who had discovered a painting that was believed lost for nineteen hundred years.
'May I mix you a drink? I have . . . everything, I think.' She walked uncertainly toward her bar. 'We just got in a few hours ago. To tell you the truth, I'm not sure if it's morning or evening.'
'I'm fine, thank you.'
Jonas Starr entered as if on cue. He would like a drink, he said. According to his calculations it was one o'clock in the afternoon, Texas-time, but then Texas was a long way away! Starr was in his mid-seventies, with a full head of white hair and the kind of energy that is difficult to contain in small spaces. He was a thin man with a long nose and small bright eyes. His voice screeched with enthusiasm.
He was born to the working-class and obviously proud of it. Fifty years of wealth had not kicked it out of him either. In fact, those years had hardly made a dent. There was no mistaking Jonas Starr for a common man, however. He was an intellectual without the pretensions that so often accompany a person who lives for ideas.
The moment he stepped into the room and shook Ethan's hand Starr was on the attack. 'Roland tells me your painting was a part of the treasury of the Templars. I have to tell you, I almost passed on it for that very reason. I'm not a fan of the Templars, young man. In my book they were an overrated bunch of bankers with great public relations and not a shred of piety!'
Ethan smiled at the reference to banking. In the vast tradition associated with the Knights Templar it was easy to overlook their importance as the inventors of the modern banking system. In an age when land was the equivalent of money and generally the primary source of income, Crusaders had tremendous difficulties executing the simplest financial arrangements. Circumventing the laws against usury, the Templars developed a method whereby they would advance money to travelers in exchange for promissory notes secured with property in Europe. Prohibited from charging interest for these loans, the Templars provided their service out of Christian goodwill, asking only an administrative fee.
It was a game of semantics, fee instead of interest, but a clever one, and for nearly two hundred years, through the entire life of the Order, the Templars became the indispensable agents of commerce and travel. It was a system that made them not only wealthy but eventually - to their doom - the envy of kings.
'They were extraordinary bankers, Dr Starr, but by all accounts they were also the keepers of the Holy Grail.'
'King Baldwin the First carried the True Cross into every major battle after his defeat at Ramleh, just as every one of his successors did until it was
lost to the army of Saladin in 1187. The Lance of Longinus inspired an exhausted and nearly defeated army to break out of Antioch and charge down on Jerusalem. Those relics were real, young man! Men and women of every nationality and faith saw them and many eyewitness accounts describe their effects on the Christian and Moslem armies. Read the accounts yourself!'
'I have.'
'Well, then, you should have read that the notion that they were the keepers of the Grail - whatever it was supposed to be - is nothing more than a poetic fancy that first appeared after the Crusaders lost Jerusalem. Do you know why that is? It's because they needed the PR! They wanted the financial support in Europe to win Jerusalem back. The only Holy Grail the Templars ever guarded was their bank vault! As soldiers they were more foolhardy than brave, and if any of the charges against them have even a grain of truth, they did not deserve to wear the cross of Christ on their tunics. The fascination with them is entirely out of proportion to what they accomplished. I have my quarrels with the Roman Catholic Church, but I'll tell you this much: when the Pope shut down that outfit he did a good thing!'
'I assume you've read about the head the Templars allegedly worshipped?' Ethan asked.
'Baphomet,' Nicole North said with a touch of well- schooled distaste.
'It was supposed to be the head of a devil,' Starr chimed in agreeably. 'If it even existed!'
'Interesting, don't you think, that the Templars would worship a head and not the Holy Grail - the relic they were supposed to be guarding?'
'My argument exactly! There was nothing to guard.'
'I think the Grail and Baphomet are one and the same.'
That's ridiculous!'
The curious thing about Baphomet is that, like the Grail, there was no consensus of opinion about what it was. Some said it was a rock. Some Templars told inquisitors it was a human skull. Others said it was a mummified head. Still others called it an image. The truth, I suspect, is that very few of the Knights Templar ever actually saw it more than once - and that during their initiation. If my guess is right, they would have encountered it then under the influence of hallucinogens. The point is Baphomet - the father of all wisdom - was an object worthy of their adoration. Those who belonged to command positions probably knew why. The grandmaster certainly did: it was not simply a painting of Christ, it was the True Image - painted in the lifetime of Jesus of Nazareth inside Herod's Palace at the command of Pontius Pilate.'
