by Albert Noyer
Feletheus never finished mouthing the word. The bolt from a small crossbow concealed in the opening caught him in the forehead with such force that it passed through his skull and shattered in the Imperial Shepherd opposite. The librarian’s body swayed on the scaffold an instant, like a puppet whose strings are abruptly cut, then toppled off, spattering blood on Galla Placidia’s white cloak as he fell to the floor with a sickening thump. The square of tiles dropped with him, narrowly missing Arcadia before shattering on the floor.
Placidia instinctively stepped back. Renatus was too stunned to even cross himself. Sigisvult braced a hand on a corner of the scaffold and vomited. Theokritos stood staring down at his mutilated assistant.
“Christ Jesus!” Getorius blurted. “What happened?” He bent down over Feletheus’ body. “H…he’s dead…killed instantly,” he whispered in a hoarse voice, then looked up at the opening where the tiles had been removed. Something glinted inside the lethal trap, next to the bow, as if a metallic object was stored there.
“Archdeacon, cover the poor man,” Placidia ordered, removing her bloodstained cloak and handing it to Renatus. “Isn’t there a prayer you can say? An anointing? Anything?”
Before Renatus could react, two members of Aetius’ Hunnic guard appeared at the door, their swords drawn. Getorius’ first thought was that the violent death was a signal for a palace takeover, and that the two Huns had been assigned to capture or kill the emperor’s mother. He suspected that Flavius Aetius constantly had the fate of Stilicho in mind. Their positions were similar—Honorius’ army commander had been betrayed and murdered—but a wary Aetius would undoubtedly act first.
While one of the Huns bent over the body, the other sheathed his sword and bowed to Placidia. “You are…not…hurt?” he asked in hesitant Latin.
“No. How is it that you came here?”
“The Commander sent us as…as shadows to your person.”
Placida exhaled and color returned to her complexion. “We will commend you to Aetius.” She searched her purse and gave each a gold coin. “Return to the palace.”
As the Huns left, Sigisvult, still retching, followed them into the cold air. Getorius took the cloak from Renatus and covered the body of Feletheus.
“I saw something shining in that niche,” Placidia said, “and I didn’t want those Huns looking at it. Surgeon, get whatever is up there.”
“I noticed it too, Regina.” Getorius gathered up the folds of his bulky toga to climb the framework.
Arcadia looked around and spotted a long-handled grout spatula. “Keep your head down and poke around in the opening with this first,” she advised, handing the tool up to her husband. “There may be some other trap you don’t know about.”
After ducking low, and pushing the spatula from side to side to move the bow, Getorius reached in and carefully pulled out a long tube. His fingers felt the raised designs on the surface before he saw them on the golden cylinder. When he handed the container down to Placidia, he heard an inner case slide forward a short distance.
Getorius clambered down and stood with the others as Placidia turned the case over in her hands. The gold was embossed with designs whose motifs were three-looped triskelion circles, and bands of spirals inlaid with red and blue enamel.
“Celtic work,” Arcadia observed. “My father has a brooch in the style. This must be very old, some of the enameling is broken off.”
“Surgeon, clear that table,” Placidia ordered, indicating a bench where workers cut tiles for the mosaics. “I want to see what this holds that is worth a man’s life.”
Theokritos watched Placidia try to twist off the cover. “It will take a goldworker to open it, Regina.”
“No, the fewer who know about this the better.” She handed the tube to Getorius.
“Surgeon, operate on the lid and open it.”
A golden disc which had been soldered on sealed the container’s bottom, but the top was closed with an overlapping cap, also soldered around the edge. Getorius poked around among the tools he had pushed aside and selected a tile-cutting chisel. Arcadia held the cylinder, while he scraped the sharp edge along the seam until he had worked the cap free. He pulled it off and found the gold case reinforced by a heavier inner cylinder of copper.
“There’s a leather tube inside,” he told Placidia, handing her the container.
When she slid the smaller tube out, a sheet wrapped around it came loose.
“Bring that torch closer,” she ordered Theokritos, unrolling the page to scan the writing. “This is gibberish. The provenance is yours, Librarian.”
Theokritos took the sheet and held it near the light and felt the material. “Papyrus. Old, the ink has turned brown. The writing is Hebrew…no, Aramaic, with some interpolation of Greek words.”
“What does that mean?” Placidia asked. “How old?”
“Aramaic was the language of Judea in the time of Christ.”
“Four centuries ago,” Arcadia remarked. “Are you able to read what it says?”
Theokritos squinted at the words a moment, then read, “I, Simeon bar Jonah, called Petros by the Nazarene, when in the courtyard of the Praetorium, received this from the centurion Gaius Salutus, a secret disciple.”
“Simon Peter?” Getorius exclaimed. “The letter was written by Christ’s disciple?”
Theokritos ignored the question to continue, “It is the Last Testament of the Christ, but the presence of a centurion speaking to me aroused the curiosity of those around the fire. Fearing for the document’s safety, and mine, I thrice denied the Nazarene and fled.
“It came to pass as the Lord had prophesied. After I had presided over the Assembly for twenty-three years, I was instructed in a dream to embark on a boat and sail beyond the Pillars of Hercules. Yet it was the power of God that steered the boat. I sailed north for seven days and sighted no land, and then the boat directed itself to an island where no Roman legions had set foot, to the village of Corcaigh. There, by the grace of God, I built a chapel where I placed the Testament until, in God’s own time, He will choose to reveal these things.”
Stunned, no one reacted. Theokritos stared at the niche as he rolled up the letter.
Renatus was the first to speak. “Peter in Hibernia? Ridiculous. The Apostle died at Rome…was buried in the Vatican Hill necropolis.”
“That is the tradition,” Theokritos agreed, “but there is no real evidence, no body. And the man cannot be accounted for during those years.”
“Peter’s chains,” Placidia countered. “The chains from his imprisonment have been found. Surely, Archdeacon…” Her voice trailed off in a plea for confirmation.
When Renatus did not reply, Arcadia said, “There must be another document. The testament of Christ the letter mentions.”
Her comment revived Theokritos. He examined the leather tube, which was brittle and no longer smelled of tanned hide, and exuded a musty odor. Its shrunken top easily slipped off, revealing a gold foil lining inside that protected another papyrus from the sides of the case. Easing the sheet out, Theokritos read a few lines, then staggered against the bench for support.
Getorius helped him onto a stool. When he took the manuscript from the librarian, Theokritos’ hands felt as cold as had those of Marios’ corpse.
“Can you read it, Surgeon?” Placidia asked in an anxious tone.
“I…I think so. The style is old, but it’s Latin:
THE LAST LEGACY AND TESTAMENT
Of Jesus of Galilee, the Nazarene, Proclaimed Messiah,
The said Son of God and King of the Judeans
Dictated to L. Flav. Secundus
Secretary to PONTIVS PILATVS, Procurator of Judea
In the Imperium of Tiberius Caesar Augustus
AVG. XIX. COS. V. PP. PM.
The Procurator, having asked the accused, “What is Truth?” the Nazarene replied, “I am the truth, the light and the way. But from today the Son of Man shall be seated at the right hand of the power of God. For I am
a king. For this was I born and for this have I come into the world.
“A new commandment I give ye: love one another even as I have loved ye. Love those who hate ye. Do good to those who would do ye harm.
“If ye love me ye will keep my commandments. He who keepeth my commandments, he it is who loveth me, and he who loveth me shall be loved of my Father, and I will love him and manifest myself to him. He who loveth me not keepeth not my word, and the word which ye hear is not mine, but the Father’s who sent me. That the world may know that I love the Father, and as the Father gave me commandments, even so do I give them to you.”
Getorius paused. The text was rambling, made up of well-known sayings of Jesus.
Yet if he actually had dictated the words to Pilate’s secretary—presumably while the procurator was outside trying to convince the crowd that the accused was innocent—Getorius knew Christ would be delirious from his night’s ordeal. Cold, and the thirst induced by loss of blood from whipping and thorn punctures, would be enough to send him into the kind of shock he had seen before in patients.
Getorius continued, his hands trembling and his throat too dry to read the words loudly:
“I give thee a prophecy. Many will come from the east and west in my name. They will be gathered together in a great Assembly under Simeon-Petros bar Jonah.
“And I give to Petros and his successors the keys of the kingdom of heaven, to bind or loose on earth, that it may be also bound or loosed in heaven. For I am a king and for this have I come into the world. Even now I could call down the Twelfth Legion of Angels to avenge me, but Father, thy will be done.”
“This is tedious,” Placidia broke in. “Archdeacon, is this another forgery like that letter of Pilate?”
“What…what is the bequest, Surgeon?” Renatus asked nervously. “Read on.”
“Last night I washed the feet of my disciples and commanded them to love one another. Yet how can I command them to love and do good to their enemies if I do not likewise love my enemies and do good to them?
“My heart is sad that the Children of Abraham have not listened to my words. Even now they are outside crying for my blood and have not listened to my Father. Yet I will remember their sins no more, and what I bind in heaven will be bound on earth.
“I will fulfill the promise made to Abraham and his off spring.
“THEREFORE: I bequeath to the descendants of the Children of Abraham, the sons of Isaac and Jacob, the Hebrews who were brought out of captivity by Moses and given the first Covenant, to them I give all the seas, ports, lands, cities, and estates of the world, to be theirs until I come in Glory to sit at the right hand of the Father.
“this testament and legacy shall be known only to Simeon-Petros and concealed by him until it be revealed in the fullness of my Father’s time.
“My time is short, deliver this to him by Salutus. Petros has just entered the courtyard.”
When Getorius looked up, his face was as white from shock as Lawrence’s supernatural garment. “Th…this papyrus gives the Western and Eastern Empires t…to the people who live in our Judean quarter,” he stammered. “Sixtus, the Bishop of Rome, Christ’s successor, will have to honor it.”
After an interval of silence, Placidia snarled, “No! This could be a forgery. I am binding you all by your oath to the Augustus, my son, not to reveal what you have just seen and heard. Theokritos. You will test the papyrus to determine its authenticity, and report only to me.”
“That Hun guard saw the body,” Arcadia pointed out.
“I doubt that he could identify Feletheus,” Getorius said, “but he will report to Aetius that someone was killed here.”
“I’ll deal with Flavius Aetius,” Placidia retorted. “Meanwhile, I remind you all of your oath. Librarian, you will begin your work tonight!”
Chapter nine
That night Getorius found sleep impossible. The image of Feletheus’ shattered skull and his limp body toppling off the scaffold would have been enough to disturb his rest, but the improbable discovery of the two papyri was a major cause of anxiety. The implications of finding a last will of Jesus Christ, with a bequest that would totally upset the social order, kept him and Arcadia awake.
Getorius’ first sense of relief came from the fact that Placidia’s oath of secrecy seemed to be holding. Two mornings later, at the Lord’s Day service, Bishop Chrysologos did not mention Feletheus, nor was he included in the prayers for the deceased. And none of the catechumens, who had been dismissed before the Profession of Faith, were heard gossiping about the library assistant as they waited for the deacons to distribute shares of the altar offerings.
On leaving the Basilica Ursiana with Arcadia, Getorius was surprised when Publius Maximin stopped him.
“Surgeon,” the senator said affably, with a glance at Arcadia, “I apologize for not being there when you looked in on my mother.”
“Sir, it was a privilege to be asked.”
Maximin smiled at Arcadia. “This beautiful lady is your wife?”
“Yes. Arcadia trains with me in medicine.”
She extended a hand. “How are you, Senator?” Arcadia had always thought him almost painfully handsome, his gray-flecked hair too well groomed, and his clothes always the latest fashion. Today, he wore a tunic of soft wool decorated with the twin purple stripes of his senatorial rank, under an elliptically cut cloak. Calfskin boots dyed red, the prerogative of a senator, protected his feet.
“Medicine. I admire your courage, my dear,” Maximin said, touching her sleeve. “Roman matrons are usually homebodies.”
“Thank you. I prefer to feel more useful.”
“Quite.” He turned back to Getorius. “My payment for your services was adequate?”
“Patients usually pay me in fish or sausages. Yours was overly generous, sir.”
“Good. I wonder if you’d mind going to my home again? Now, Agatha…Mother…is complaining about bed sores.”
“I can apply a poultice to relieve them, Senator, but she won’t get better.”
“Have you something for her pain?”
“Stronger opion, but she’ll be addicted.”
“As long as Mother is comfortable. Could you go now? Unfortunately, I have an appointment and can’t be there with you.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Splendid. My dear…” Maximin acknowledged Arcadia as if to leave, but asked, “I trust you both had a pleasant dinner with the Empress Mother?”
“Very,” Getorius replied cautiously. Is the senator probing?
“I understand that you both were privileged to visit her new mausoleum.”
“Y…yes.” How would he know that? Has he heard about the death, or the twin papyri?
“A rare occasion,” Maximin said without expanding the conversation. “Surgeon, do tell my Mother I’ll be home early this evening.”
“I will, sir.” Getorius watched him walk away, across the basilica’s square. “Who could have told him that we went to the mausoleum, Arcadia?”
“Renatus? Theokritos, or perhaps one of Sigisvult’s guards? The senator is probably no stranger to uncovering palace secrets.”
“Undoubtedly not. I’ll go to his mother and wash her rawness with a boric solution. Her servant can purchase a soft sheepskin for Agatha to lie on. That should help a bit.”
“And I’d better get back and talk to Agrica about our noon meal. I’ve invited Sigisvult to eat with us.”
“Good, we can talk about what happened. Find out what he knows about that hidden niche in the wall. I shouldn’t be at the senator’s very long.”
Getorius found Agatha about the same. He told Fabia to buy the sheepskin and continue the boric washes. She could come to the clinic on the next day for the opion.
Walking home, Getorius looked forward to talking with Sigisvult. Perhaps he could help make some sense of the horrifying incident in the mausoleum. The architect had been too upset after the murder to talk—Getorius had sent over a mild nepenthes sedativ
e for him—but he should be feeling better by now.
As Getorius crossed the Via Theodosius to his villa, he realized he had not seen Sigisvult at the Mass service that morning. Perhaps the man was still not well. When he entered the door from the Via Caesar, Arcadia hurried into the atrium to meet him.
“Getorius, I’ve been waiting for you. Sigisvult has been arrested.”
“What?”
“He’s being held in the palace.”
Getorius slipped off his cloak. “I can’t say I’m too surprised. I’m sure he had nothing to do with placing that case in the niche, but the building’s architect would be the first person suspected. Where is Sigisvult confined?”
“One of the Lauretum anterooms. Flavius Aetius insisted on a form of house arrest, not an underground cell.”
“Then the commander does know what happened, but exactly how much?”
“Probably only about Feletheus. As you said, his Huns would have reported a death.”
“Arcadia, I’m going to my study, have Silvia bring me a cup of wine. Can you come in and talk?”
“I can, since Sigisvult won’t be here,” she said. “I’ll bring us both wine.”
After his wife brought the wine and sat down, Getorius took a nervous gulp of his, then nursed the cup in his hand a long moment before looking up at her. “Arcadia, even though Theokritos is testing the papyri’s authenticity, genuine or not, we have to consider the implications of having them released. And someone was going to do that very soon.”
“What would have happened after the will was made public?” she asked.
“Most probably, Sixtus would convene a council of bishops, like the one called at Ephesus a few years ago over the Theotokos controversy about Mary’s role in the Incarnation. This one would probably be held in Rome. If they decide the will is genuine, Sixtus, as Peter’s…and Christ’s…successor, is bound to fulfill its terms.”
