Relics

by K. T. Tomb

  Julie stumbled backward, startled. A gasp came from behind them, most likely from Valery. Flashlights bobbed across the walls, skimming across the fallen cabinet and then back and forth from Julie to Piers, who weren’t only humiliated, but ashamed. Especially Piers who had been involved in a dozen or more expeditions to date, and he knew how to treat a site; destroying items was not part of the agenda. Grindlay walked up to him; part in concern, part in frustration. He couldn’t handle another contaminated site, another excavation to come up empty-handed because of incompetence. Still, he tried not to let the kids see the look on his face. He brushed the back of his hand across his forehead, where sweat was still collecting, even in the coolness of being underground. He rolled his flashlight over the spilled contents; a few near-worthless artifacts. Nothing caught his eye, but still, ‘bag and tag’ were his instruction to them as he began to move back to what he had been inspecting. His light glared across the wall but fell upon nothing but emptiness. No wooden walls, no earth or mud; just nothingness. He felt the corner of his mouth twitch as he moved closer.

  Behind where the cabinet had stood was a narrow opening which had once been covered by the same slats that covered the walls. It had been hacked away and deteriorated with time. The doorway was barely wide enough for Grindlay to squeeze through and did not run down to the floor. Instead, it was a jagged opening with splintered and snapped boards poking towards the center. He smiled, silently thankful that, over the years, his body had lost much of its mass. A sliver of wood tugged at his shirt, but he didn’t allow it to hold him back as he pulled himself free and into the hidden room. His mind was on the crypt that he had just walked into; to the coffins that lined the perimeter and the heavy stone which lined the walls. Unlike the main room, the room felt dry, even if colder, but the air was heavy and stale, not just a hundred years old, but two hundred, maybe three hundred years old.

  Much of the stone was carved with Latin phrases and Grindlay regretted that his years of study in Latin were no longer with him. He could have called Valery in, could have had her begin translation, and she even hovered at the opening with the others, but he didn’t want to share. Not this. Not yet. This one he wanted to do on his own, wanted to have for himself. He heard the grind and strain of the rafters overhead and imagined that he was directly beneath the Altar, or rather, where the Altar had been.

  “What’s the holdup?” Robert stood at the back of the group but was doing what he could to shove his way through them and into the room.

  “Stay there, Jones!” came Grindlay’s stern warning.

  Robert grunted his disappointment as he reluctantly halted at the door. He wasn’t the patient type, wasn’t the type to even take orders with ease, but he decided to hang back and watch, for which Grindlay was thankful. Grindlay looked about him and had to admit that he would probably need the youths’ help with lifting coffin lids, but if he could help it, he’d do it himself. He didn’t want to share.

  “Professor?”

  Sheila sounded concerned, but Grindlay didn’t bother with an answer and the rest of the voices faded out. The team watched anxiously as he shoved a coffin lid back, struggling to keep it from crashing to the floor and shaking the foundation, as unreliable as it already felt. Just leaning into the room, Piers and Gerald could feel the change in pressure as the air had built up for so many unknown years. It had become stale too; the stench of death had long since left the air, but there was still something unsettling about it.

  The lids were heavy, mostly made out of ordinary stone and filled with only the hints of torn fabric and the lost memories of the body that was once in the coffin. Bones were still present, lying eerily in the same burial position since the moment they had been placed there. He searched each with enthusiasm, but he came up empty-handed each time and was tempted to give up; yet another site where he would come up with nothing. He knew he was destined for something, but he was beginning to feel that he’d be dead before he finally made his discovery; The discovery.

  He shoved back another lid; only one more left if this one was a dud. The cloths within were faded to an ugly, dirty brown, or maybe they had always been that color, but the professor knew that it had once been a full tunic and not just decaying sheets, which were nearly as thin as tissue. He bent over, reaching into the depths and fumbling through the material, watching as it sifted through his fingers like flour. And then he brushed across something that didn’t crumble at his touch. It wasn’t solid, but rather soft and moveable under his palm. He clutched it gently, hoping that whatever it was would hold together long enough for him to at least examine it.

  Yellow light strutted across a supple, dark brown leather pouch, the size of a grown man’s fist. The opening was cinched tightly with a thick rope of braided leather weaving in and out of the fabric and tied off to one side. His muddy-brown eyes were wide, his brow slick with cold sweat, mouth dry and rough like sandpaper. He sat on the uneven floor, uncaring and oblivious to the cold that seeped through his jeans. With the pouch sitting heavily on his thigh as he pulled the leather rope free, the contents spilled out and over onto the floor. A handful of silver coins glittered in the dim light of the room and Grindlay found an awkward smile spreading; his lips arid and cracked. Each coin was uneven and several were slightly chipped, yet their facial images and overall integrity had held over the years. He felt a twitch, the twitch that had started at his mouth and was now moving up to his eye. So many years, so much time and energy, and now it looked like it was finally going to change for him. It would be over soon. The rafters above creaked again, moaned and grunted as he rose from the floor and moved toward the doorway.

  “Professor?” Valery whispered his name again, both scared and concerned.

  Grindlay, however, could think of nothing but the future, and what the find could mean for him. He couldn’t be sure of the year they had been struck, but he could at least presume that they were ancient and likely from the time of the Romans, based on the profile on the front of the coins.

  Although, Grindlay thought to himself, these coins were produced for years after Constantine converted Rome to Christianity. Still.

  He admired the coins; their supple, metallic surface could still be felt, even through the gloves, and it did nothing but excite him.

  “Grindlay?” Julie was chiming in now, her voice a bit strained but sounding so very far away.

  The coins were back in the pouch, but he could feel each individual coin pressing against his hand and he could still picture their luster; their brilliance. There was another creak above him, the grinding of boards as they strained against breaking, and then screaming from someone outside of the room. He barely had time to register the sound, the shrillness in the voice, when the moaning and groaning above became a heave, a snap, and a rain of dust fell onto his head, clouding his vision for a moment. He reached up to brush the dust and a loose strand from his forehead while stretching his free hand, the hand that clutched dearly to the pouch, out to the doorway and the waiting kids. He was ready to step a foot through the opening, when the rain of dust became an avalanche, and the boards above came tumbling down onto him, burying him. Crushing his involuntarily twitch and wispy gray hair under the last remnants of the altar flooring above. The only part of him that was left exposed were his gloved fingers still clutching a fistful of leather.

  Valery screamed and Julie leaned against Piers in silent horror while he clutched her tightly. Gerald dove into the room alone to pull the professor from the chaos while Robert stood in the doorway, silent for the first time anyone could remember. His face was twisted in horror and disbelief. Sheila had still been searching cabinets, unaware and unconcerned with the professor’s findings, but now she came running at the sound of the floor falling and the screams that had followed. She snatched at broken boards, alongside Gerald, dug through the dirt and grime, but it was already quite apparent that Grindlay was gone.

  Chapter One

  “This confused and discontented apostl
e, notwithstanding his Master’s specific request to refrain from entering Jerusalem, went in haste to keep his appointment with Jesus’ enemies at the home of Caiaphas the high priest. This meeting was called to discuss the nature of the charges which should be lodged against Jesus and to decide upon the procedure to be employed in bringing him before the Roman authorities for the purpose of securing the necessary civil confirmation of the death sentence which they had already passed upon him.” —The Urantia Book 177:4.1

  “The traitor was presented to Caiaphas and the Jewish rulers by his cousin, who explained that Judas, having discovered his mistake in allowing himself to be misled by the subtle teaching of Jesus, had arrived at the place where he wished to make public and formal renunciation of his association with the Galilean and at the same time to ask for reinstatement in the confidence and fellowship of his Judean brethren. This spokesman for Judas went on to explain that Judas recognized it would be best for the peace of Israel if Jesus should be taken into custody, and that, as evidence of his sorrow in having participated in such a movement of error and as proof of his sincerity in now returning to the teachings of Moses, he had come to offer himself to the Sanhedrin as one who could so arrange with the captain holding the orders for Jesus’ arrest that he could be taken into custody quietly, thus avoiding any danger of stirring up the multitudes or the necessity of postponing his arrest until after the Passover.

  ‘When his cousin had finished speaking, he presented Judas, who, stepping forward near the high priest, said: ‘All that my cousin has promised, I will do, but what are you willing to give me for this service?’ Judas did not seem to discern the look of disdain and even disgust that came over the face of the hardhearted and vainglorious Caiaphas; his heart was too much set on self-glory and the craving for the satisfaction of self-exaltation.” —The Urantia Book 177:4.6-7

  The bottle passed hands rapidly, and before anyone even felt the buzz, felt the heat or the burn of the liquor as it passed down their throats and warmed their bellies, it was empty.

  Julie let out a muffled cry, her eyes still rimmed in red, her body still shaking from the shock of it all. Robert shot her an annoyed look. His eyes were bloodshot as well, but not from crying; rather from the fact that he hadn’t been without a bottle, hadn’t had a moment of sobriety since the afternoon of the professor’s death. The funeral had been earlier that afternoon and he’d even gone to that with a small flask of Jack tucked into his jacket pocket. He hadn’t cared about subtleties, yanking it out and taking several large swigs throughout the procession and receiving nasty, disapproving glares which he chose to disregard.

  Sheila sat in the professor’s oversized armchair, fixing an empty stare on the plastic bags of books and artifacts that had been gathered from the church site. She’d looked at them for so long that she could no longer comprehend what she was looking at. All of it was worthless in the face of what they had lost. She wrung her hands tightly in her lap as her eyes struggled with tears that would not come. They had all cared for the professor, even in his oddities, but after several days of reliving that day, replaying the moment of the ceiling collapse over and over again, she could feel nothing.

  The heavy door across from the desk slowly moved inward, the hinges creaking out a reminder of Grindlay’s last moments. A woman stood in the opening, her pale skin nearly translucent, creating a stark contrast to her swollen lips and eyes, both bruised and bloodshot with anguish and sorrow. She wore faded jeans and an oversized T-shirt, but that had been the only effort made before she had left the house. Her hair was in disarray, thrown haphazardly atop her head in an unruly mess. As she stood there, seemingly lost, the grad students weren’t all too sure that she even saw them in the room. A few felt guilty, as if they were trespassing on the woman’s memories, that the widow may have wanted to be alone with her husband’s things, with his work and his passion, and there were his students, intruding on her time.

  She shuffled across the room, her right hand clenched tightly while the left swung lazily and forgotten. The room was silent, save the woman’s movements, her feet shuffling across the floor, as the others watched in sympathy and regret. She stopped at the far side of the hulking desk, her eyes only half focused on the papers which lay scattered across the surface, unaware of the plastic preservation bags that Sheila had been absently studying. Then she raised her head and met Sheila’s eyes, almost pleading, but with the knowledge that those pleas would mean nothing and would get her nowhere. Grindlay’s students tried to find the words to soothe the woman, but there were no words to be had and they sat watching her in silence.

  A pale arm reached across towards Sheila, who, although at first was taken aback by the movement, stretched out an open hand to receive what Mrs. Grindlay held out to her. The widow’s fingers were cold, near the point of lifelessness and Sheila resisted the urge to pull away, feeling for a moment that she was holding the hand of death itself. For a brief moment, that seemed to drag and inch by, the woman held Sheila’s hand with more strength than the girl had thought possible. Her eyes never left Sheila’s as she finally pulled away and left a leather pouch pulled tightly closed by a braided leather rope.

  Her voice was raspy as if she hadn’t slept a single moment since her husband’s death, “Jonathan was found holding on to this when…” she sniffled and physically heaved, holding back a sob, “when he passed.”

  They had all seen the bag in his hand, but had been too horrified to reach out and take it out of his grasp when they’d discovered that he was gone. They had called for an ambulance and then stood by in stunned silence as the body of their lifeless professor had been uncovered and lifted out of the rubble-filled pit. They had bagged and tagged the contents of the church basement in spite of their shock, believing that the professor would have wanted them to continue with the work, though they had done their work with little enthusiasm.

  With the pouch placed in her hands, Sheila inspected it but didn’t look into the contents immediately. After a few moments, the widow filled the heavy silence of the room.

  “Thank you all for being with him when he…” she stumbled over her words for a moment, searching for the strength to finish, “when he died.”

  Her words were genuine and heartfelt, but none in the room could accept them.

  “He cared for each of you and he would have wanted you to continue your research from the excavation.” She sighed deeply. “He was passionate about it, and hopefully his last find will give him some peace.”

  She turned and walked quickly from the room, as if staying any longer would only cause her more pain. Robert clumsily gathered himself from the floor, where he had been leaning against a paisley papered wall, and strutted confidently to the desk, snatching the pouch out of Sheila’s frozen hand.

  “Bobby! Don’t be such an ass!” she snapped at him, knowing that Robert would only get a kick out of it. She leaned back in her chair just as Gerald opened another bottle of tequila and handed it to her. She took it from him, shrugging her shoulders. There was no use talking to Robert when he was drinking. She narrowed her eyes at him as she took a swig and, skipping the brute, passed it down to Piers.

  Robert laughed. “Aw, come on! You gotta share!”

  He snickered at her again as he pulled the pouch open and the coins overflowed into his open hand. His smile quickly faded as he realized what he was holding. Suddenly, being drunk was the farthest thing from his mind. They were cool and heavy in his palm, and even at their apparent age, still seemed to shine and capture the light as if they had freshly been forged.

  “Uh, guys? I think we need to take a closer look at these.”

  It wasn’t typical for his tone to be so serious, so he quickly had the group’s attention.

  Robert shoved papers across the desk to clear a space before pouring the coins onto the surface. They clinked and clattered together before settling. Valery went to his side, peering around him to see what had caused the stir among them, for once unaware of the man
at her side. She only focused on what had been in the purse.

  “Oh,” she moaned softly, “they’re beautiful!”

  The light seemed to catch in every crevice and crook of the coins, glimmering across the helmeted profile on the front and the eagle that shone on the back. She reached out tentative fingers, skimming across their surface, relishing the feel of the ancient metal as she quickly counted out thirty coins. She gently pushed her glasses up on her nose as she lifted one to inspect it closely and was silent for several moments as she seemed to weigh it in her hand.

  “I’m not positive,” she said and then looked up to see Sheila leaning across the desk, looking from Valery to the coins, and back again, “but, well…” She studied them for a moment longer, the excitement and anticipation building in her eyes. “I think these are the thirty coins.”

  Gerald picked up a coin and inspected it curiously.

  “What thirty coins?”

  Valery, a student at Harvard Divinity School, had a special interest in biblical history and symbolism and felt confident in her speculations.

  “When Judas betrayed Jesus for thirty pieces of silver?”

  A general scoff spread among them as they discounted her words as completely foolish.

  It took Gerald a moment, but when recognition hit him, his eyes widened at the coin in his hand. He turned it slowly, taking in every nick and imperfection.

  “Are you sure?”

  Valery nodded, her brown hair bobbing excitedly.

  “What makes you think so?”

  Valery narrowed her eyes at her friend. She was the brightest of them all, and when it came to those sorts of things, they didn’t usually question her. If she said she knew something, they trusted that she knew it.