“No way. This isn’t right.” She looked down at him.
“I know the ossuary’s patina is genuine,” Bersei protested. “Every single part. Consistent throughout, including the residue covering this relief. Plus I’ve established that the mineral content could only have come from one place—Israel. And the evidence we saw on the bones reinforces that message. Scourging. Crucifixion. We even have the nails and bits of wood,” he
emphasized, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Just how much more obvious could all this be?”
Her mind went momentarily blank, as if a cord powering her rational
thought had been unplugged. “If this is really the body of...Jesus
Christ”—it almost hurt for her to say it—“think about it—how profound
this is.” Charlotte saw the crucifix hanging over her bed. “But it can’t be.
Everyone knows the crucifixion story. The Bible describes it in minute detail and it doesn’t agree with this. There are too many inconsistencies.” She
strode briskly to the workstation.
“What are you doing?” Bersei was out of his chair.
“Here. See for yourself.” She jabbed a shaking finger at the brow of the
skeleton’s skull. “Do you see any evidence of thorns?”
He looked up at her then straight back at the skull. Giovanni knew
what she was implying. Scrutinizing it intently, he failed to detect even
minute scratches. “But surely it’s hardly likely that thorns would inflict
damage on the bone itself?”
Moving around the side of the workstation, Charlotte was now down
by the legs. “What about this? Broken knees?” She pointed at them. “I
don’t remember these being mentioned in the Bible. Wasn’t it a spear in
Jesus’s side that finished him off?” Here she was trying to renew her lost
faith at a time when she most needed to believe in something bigger than
herself, and Bersei—of all people—was tearing it down again. Worst of
all, he was using science to do it.
The anthropologist spread his hands. “Look, I understand where you’re
going with this. I’m just as confused as you are.”
She studied him intently. “Giovanni, you don’t really think these are
the remains of Jesus Christ, do you?”
He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “There’s always the possibility that this symbol was only meant to honor Christ,” he offered. “This
man,” he pointed to the skeleton, “could merely have been some early
Christian, a martyr perhaps. This could all be a tribute to Christ.” He
shrugged. “It’s not exactly a name on that box. But you saw the genetic
profile. It’s not like any man we’ve ever seen. I’d have to say that I’m pretty
certain about this one.”
“But it’s only a symbol,” she protested. “How can you be sure?” Bersei was taken aback by the American’s passionate denial. He wished
he could feel as strongly. “Come with we.” He motioned for her to follow.
“Where are we going?” she called after him, pacing behind him into the corridor.
Without stopping, he turned back to her. “I’ll explain in a minute. You’ll see.”
42
******
Phoenix
Evan Aldrich threaded his way past the workstations heaped with scientific gadgetry, making for the glass-paneled enclosure to the rear of BMS’s main laboratory.
Once inside, he closed the door, reached into his lab coat and removed a sealed glass vial, which he set down next to a high-powered microscope. The prototype scanner sat on an adjacent desk, looking like a streamlined photocopier. He pulled on a pair of latex gloves.
There was a brief knock and the door opened.
“Morning, Evan. What’s happening?”
Glancing over, he found Lydia Campbell, his managing technician for
genetic research, poking her head around the door frame. Aldrich’s hand reflexively moved to cover the vial. “Got some samples I need to look at.”
“The ones you were working on yesterday?” She looked down at the vial beneath his hand. “Thought you’d finished with them.”
“Yeah, I’m just having another look at something.”
“Well, you know where I am if you need anything. Coffee?”
He shook his head with a smile and the door closed behind her.
An hour later, he slipped the vial—now filled with a clear serum—back into his pocket. Feeling an overwhelming urgency to tell Charlotte what he’d found, he reached for the phone...but pulled back. This was something that needed to be done in person. What he needed to tell her was far too sensitive—far too astounding—for an open phone line or an unencrypted e-mail. He remembered her saying that she might extend her stay a few extra days. But this couldn’t wait until then.
Leaving the lab, Aldrich headed directly for his office and plunked himself down in front of his computer. Bringing up the web browser, he logged onto his Continental Airlines frequent-flier account page and booked a first-class ticket on the next flight to Rome.
43
******
Jerusalem
Farouq had just hung up his phone, in utter disbelief, his hands shaking. It was no coincidence that the call came mere hours after the early morning bombing at the Great Synagogue.
The caller had been a voice from the distant past—a dark past that still haunted him on many sleepless nights. The last time he’d heard that unmistakable baritone was just past six p.m. on November 11, 1995. That was the day the Shin Bet—Israel’s most secret and lethal intelligence branch—abducted him on a side street in Gaza, pulling him into the back of a van. They had bound his limbs and slipped a black hood over his head.
As the van sped off, the interrogation began, carried out by the man who now held the second highest position in the IDF power structure. Back then the ambitious Israeli had been assigned the impossible task of hunting down the Engineer—a Palestinian rebel named Yahya Ayyash who, assisted by militant groups, recruited suicide bombers to launch numerous attacks on Israeli civilians in the mid-nineties. The Israelis were closing in, thanks to information forcefully extracted from key informants. One of their prime suspects was Farouq, who had alleged ties to the Engineer’s primary supporter—Hamas.
By the time he’d been tossed from the van in a desolate location not far from the Israeli border, Farouq had suffered three broken ribs, four fractured fingers, cigarette burns to the chest, and seven missing teeth.
But he smiled, blood oozing through his broken mouth, knowing that he had not uttered one word about the whereabouts of the Engineer. No Israeli would ever break him.
He also took great pleasure in knowing that the blood on his face was not only his own. Even hooded and bound he had managed to bite Teleksen’s hand, clamping his teeth into the despicable Israeli flesh, harder, harder, cranking his head sideways until nerves severed and bones cracked. The Israeli had whimpered like a dog.
Shortly after the Engineer was assassinated in his Gaza safe house by a rigged explosive cell phone, Ari Teleksen was promoted to Aluf—Major General. Farouq had seen him a few times since then—news reports mostly—always identifiable by the hand the Keeper had disfigured that night long ago in Gaza.
Now Teleksen had the audacity to call with what initially seemed to be a request for a favor. But after a lengthy explanation, it had become clear that the request would benefit Farouq’s cause equally well.
“Akbar,” Farouq called out to the corridor, struggling to compose himself.
A moment later, the hulking bodyguard appeared in the doorway.
Farouq’s eyes briefly sized him up. “You’re a strong boy. I need you to do something for me.”
44
******
Vatican City
The two
scientists rode the elevator up one level and the doors opened into the main gallery that stood above the lab—the Vatican Museum’s Pio Christian Gallery.
As they exited the elevator, Bersei quietly explained, “You see, Charlotte, for three centuries after Jesus’s death, early Christians did not portray his image. However, these early Christians did use other familiar images to depict Jesus.”
“How do you know that?”
“We have archaeological evidence. And much of it is here,” he said, motioning with his eyes to the art collection that spread out before them. “Let me show you something.”
As Charlotte strolled beside him, she eyed the Christian-themed marble reliefs that were mounted on the walls like massive stone canvases.
Bersei waved a hand at them. “Are you familiar with this collection?”
She shook her head.
“They’re relics from the early fourth century,” Bersei explained, “a time when Emperor Diocletian began his campaign of persecution—burning churches and killing Christians who wouldn’t denounce their faith. It’s also a time when early Christians secretly convened in the catacombs outside Rome to pray among the dead martyrs and saints laid to rest there—some in ornate stone coffins.” He pointed to one mounted on a sturdy platform.
“A sarcophagus,” observed Charlotte, admiring the craftsmanship.
“Yes. A sort of cousin to the Jewish ossuary we’re studying. Many early Christians were converted Jews who undoubtedly developed what were to become Christian burial rituals.”
They had stopped in front of a three-foot-high marble statue. “Here we are.” Bersei turned to her. “Do you know what this image portrays?”
Looking at it, she saw a young man with long curled hair, dressed in a tunic. A lamb was slung over his shoulders and he was holding its legs with both hands. Hanging at his side was a pouch containing a lyre.
“Looks like a shepherd.”
“Not bad. It’s actually called ‘The Good Shepherd.’ It was found in the catacombs. This image is how early Christians depicted Jesus.”
Charlotte gave the statue another once-over. “You’re kidding me.” The shepherd was boyish, with smooth features, its design Greco-Roman—not biblical.
“No. Ironic isn’t it? But keep in mind that this representation blended mythology with the Jesus story. This wasn’t intended to resemble him. It was an attempt to embody the ideal he represented—the protector, the shepherd. Orpheus, the pagan Greek god of art and song, was also blended into this image of Christ. Just as Orpheus’s heavenly music could calm and soothe even the most wild of beasts”—he pointed to the lyre hanging at the shepherd’s side—“Jesus’s words could tame the souls of sinners.”
“Just like the dolphin and the trident represent salvation and divinity.” Now she knew why he had brought her up here.
“Exactly.”
“Why though? Why didn’t they worship icons or the crucifix?” They were everywhere, she thought. Especially in this place. It was hard to imagine Catholicism without its gruesome cross.
“First off, it would’ve sent a clear message to the Romans that they were indeed Christians. It wouldn’t have been wise in an era of systematic persecution. And second, the early Christians didn’t embrace the notion of iconography. In fact, Peter and Paul forbade such things. That’s why images of the crucifix didn’t exist back then. That didn’t happen until Constantine came along.”
“That guy again.”
“Sure. He’s the forefather of the modern faith. Constantine changed all the rules. Crucifixions and even the catacombs themselves were abandoned when he came to power in the fourth century. That’s also when Christ was transformed into a true cult hero—a divine being. Crucifixes sprouted up, grand cathedrals built, and the Bible formally compiled. Literally, the faith went from underground to national stage.”
“It’s amazing—Constantine wasn’t really covered in my history classes—and I went to a Catholic high school! I really don’t know anything about him.”
Bersei took a deep breath, relaxing his shoulders. “In 312 AD, the Roman Empire was split between two factions of emperors—Constantine in the west, and his ally Licinius in the east versus Maximinus and Maxentius. Constantine had decided that the sun god, Sol Invictus, had preordained him to be the sole ruler of the entire empire. So with an army made up of an obscure group known as Christians, he battled his way all the way through northern Italy to within a few kilometers of Rome to the only bridge that crossed over the Tiber River... Milvian Bridge. When rumors spread that Maxentius’s army outnumbered Constantine’s by ten to one, the Christians quickly became demoralized. The dawn before his final push into Rome, Constantine was paying tribute to Sol, when in the sky above, he saw a miraculous sign shaped like a cross—the overlapping X and P, the Greek chi and rho, which were the first two letters of ‘Christ.’ He immediately roused his troops and proclaimed that their savior, Jesus Christ, had told him that ‘with this sign you shall conquer.’ Constantine ordered the blacksmiths to emblazon the symbol on all the shields, and the men had regained their courage. Later that day, the armies clashed in a bloody battle and miraculously Constantine emerged victorious.”
“And his army attributed the victory to Christ’s intervention?”
Bersei nodded. “Yes. And owing a debt to his soldiers, perhaps even inspired by the intoxicating power and persuasion of their passionate faith, Constantine later embraced their religion at the national level. Of course, one must also note that the ‘one god’ worshipped by Christians blended well with Constantine’s self-concept as the sole Roman emperor. However, to honor Sol and to appease the pagan masses throughout the empire who had yet to assimilate into the new religion, Constantine craftily blended many pagan concepts into early Christianity.”
“Such as?”
“Let’s start with the simple things.” Bersei laced his fingers together, eyes scanning the gallery. “The solar halo for instance. Just like our coins from Pontius Pilate, Constantine had minted coins in 315, while his alliance with Licinius was falling apart and about ten years before Constantine took over the entirety of the empire. But Constantine’s coins depicted Sol on them—a solar-haloed Sol in a flowing robe that looks remarkably similar to later Jesus iconography.”
“Interesting.”
“Constantine also cleverly coincided the celebration of Christ’s birth with the December twenty-fifth pagan winter solstice celebration of Sol’s birthday. Of course, I think you won’t be surprised when you hear that the Christian day of worship, once celebrated on Saturday, the Jewish Sabbath, was also moved to a more special day of the week.”
“Sunday.”
He nodded. “Known in Constantine’s time as dies Solis.” Giovanni’s expression darkened. “And then something even more profound emerges during Constantine’s reign. The emphasis on Jesus’s physical rather than spiritual resurrection.”
“What do you mean?”
“The early Greek Gospels used wording that suggested Christ’s body wasn’t necessarily reanimated, but transformed.”
“But in the Bible, Jesus walked out of the tomb and appeared to the disciples after his death, didn’t he?” All those years of Catechism and Catholic school had drilled this stuff into her head.
“Sure. Jesus disappeared from the tomb,” he readily agreed. Then a knowing grin swept across Giovanni Bersei’s face. “Though none of the Gospels say how. In the gospel accounts that follow the empty tomb, Jesus also had the ability to walk through walls and materialize from out of nowhere. And if you recall from the Bible, many whom he appeared to hadn’t even recognized him. Those aren’t attributes associated with a reanimated physical body.”
“Then why does the Church emphasize his physical death and physical resurrection?”
He smiled. “My guess goes something like this. Egypt, particularly Alexandria, was a very influential cultural center in the Roman Empire. There, cults worshipped Osiris, the god of the underworld who was horribly
murdered by a rival god named Seth—cut to pieces in fact. Osiris’s wife, the female goddess of life named Isis, collected his body parts and returned them to the temple and performed rituals so that three days later, the god resurrected.”
“Sounds a lot like Easter,” she concurred. “Are you suggesting the Gospels were altered?”
An older couple was dawdling close by, intrigued by the two people in white lab coats. Bersei drew closer to Charlotte. “Largely untouched, but perhaps reinterpreted in key areas,” he clarified. “I suppose some of this could all be coincidence,” he said with a shrug. “Anyway, the point to be made here is that in the fourth century, Christianity was being practiced inconsistently throughout the empire. Hundreds of scriptures were circulating out there, some legitimate, many wildly embellished.”
“Which meant scrapping all the inconsistent scriptures,” she deduced.
Sacred Bones : A Novel Page 22
