by Albert Noyer
“Sir?”
“‘Praised is the Lord’s glory throughout the universe.’ Zadok smiled. “Young man, you have taken me back thirty years. Please, both of you. Sit down.”
“You knew my father, then?”
Zadok nodded. “After the Vandal raid on Mogontiacum, I took Treverius into business with me. You see, there was no longer a need for the maps he made.”
“My…mother?”
“Blandina? Beautiful. Intelligent. It was unusual to find a woman in a profession.” He smiled at Arcadia. “Am I to understand you are a medica?”
“Sir, I’m only training with my husband.”
“Then, young woman, you have some of Blandina’s spirit.”
She laughed. “So Nicias used to say. I don’t know if he always meant it as a compliment.”
Zadok nodded in remembrance, then turned to Getorius. “You’ve come to talk about your parents? Gladly. How did you find out I knew them?”
“From Galla Placidia. But, no, that’s not why I came. I do want to know more about them, but I’m here on a…a more important matter.”
“Ah. Then perhaps we can talk about your parents afterward,” the rabbi replied.
“I would like that, sir. I…I’m here for Placidia.”
“The headstrong mother of the Augustus. What is the nature of your mission for her?”
“Rabbi,” Getorius warned, “I must swear you to secrecy.”
“May he who has not taken an oath deceitfully ascend to the mountain of the Lord,” Zadok quoted from a psalm. “If the matter is of such importance, you have my word.”
Arcadia noticed her husband hesitate and interposed, “Sir, an important document has been discovered. We’re sure it’s forged, but there are witnesses. We can’t simply destroy it.”
“And if there were no witnesses except the Lord?”
Zadok’s gentle rebuke flustered her. “Y…you’re correct, sir. It still should not be destroyed.”
“This…document concerns religion?” Zadok asked, stroking his beard in a nervous gesture. “Ours, perhaps?”
“Very deeply,” Getorius said.
“You are Christian,” Zadok continued softly. “It relates in your holy book that when your cult was new, Rabban Gamliel cautioned our zealots, who opposed you as apostate Hebrews. He told them that if your cause were not of the Lord it would fail. But if it were a work of His, they would never be able to overthrow it and would, in effect, be fighting against Him. Let us use Gamliel’s wisdom in dealing with this document. What, then, is it?”
“Supposedly,” Getorius began tactfully, “supposedly a last will of Jesus Christ has been discovered.”
Zadok folded his hands, leaned back, and closed his eyes. “Continue, please.”
“According to a letter purportedly written by the Apostle Peter, this will was dictated to Pontius Pilate’s secretary while the procurator was outside speaking to the crowd.”
“Trying to convince them of the condemned man’s innocence,” the rabbi said.
“Y…yes.” Getorius was surprised, expecting the rabbi to be ignorant of the story.
Zadok opened his eyes and sat up, his white brows knitted into an angry frown. “We had no power to put a seditionist to death…is this another attempt to exonerate the Roman authorities? Letters still circulate that accuse our leaders of forcing Pilate…against his wishes…to execute the Galilean.”
“It’s not that.” Getorius hesitated again. Once he told Zadok the terms of the will how would the old man react? He needed to explain further. “The Galilean…Christ…taught that we should love our enemies. Forgive them.”
“A compassionate precept, yet difficult to observe.”
“Yes, and the ultimate expression of such a love would be to not only forgive your enemies, but to make them your…your inheritors.”
“And the greatest enemy of the Galilean?” Zadok asked.
“The Judeans who…who wanted him crucified.” Getorius let the rabbi absorb the implications a moment, then continued, “It’s a forgery, of course, but suppose Christ did will the world to your people? It would have no meaning at the time, so that’s why this letter of Peter states that the document is to be released at a later date.”
“There are those,” Arcadia added, “who teach that the world will end in sixty years. People who think the final days are almost here will believe any nonsense.”
“Your forger has excellent timing,” Zadok commented wryly. “Today, you Christians own the world, as it were.”
“Exactly the point,” Getorius emphasized. “Under the will, all of it reverts to you Judeans. Sixtus, the Bishop of Rome, who speaks for Christ, is legally bound to enforce the terms.”
Zadok fell silent, toying with an oil lamp whose handle was in the shape of a small menorah, before asking, “You, of course, could not bring this document with you?”
“No, it’s at the palace in Ravenna. The librarian is trying to establish its authenticity before it’s released.”
“Who else knows of this false will’s existence?”
“Seven of us were there when it was accidentally discovered.”
“Where?”
“Concealed inside a niche in Galla Placidia’s new mausoleum. When Theokritos’ assistant removed its tile cover, the bolt from a hidden crossbow struck him. And three other witnesses have already been killed.”
“Time is short then.” Zadok fixed Getorius with brown eyes that expressed both strong resolve and an interior sadness. “You came here to have me predict this document’s impact after it is brought to light.”
“If you would, sir. Especially on your people.”
“For the Hebrews living in the two Roman empires, nothing less than total destruction, the ‘abomination of desolation’ predicted by our prophet Daniel. Your Galilean quoted him in describing the end of Creation.”
“Sir, there are laws to protect you,” Getorius objected.
“Laws are the first casualties in war,” Zadok scoffed. He stood up, rubbed his eyes and sighed. “This is not the conversation I expected, Getorius, when your name was brought to me. I….I must prepare for the afternoon service.”
“Of course, sir. We’ll go now.”
“At evening prayers tonight, when we say Havdalah, the prayer that marks the conclusion of Shabbat,” Zadok said, choosing his words carefully, “I will pray that the creative work we begin after every Shabbat rest will be fruitful in solving this problem. I would like to return to Ravenna with you and examine the document.”
“Yes,” Arcadia quickly agreed. “Please stay with us at our villa.”
Zadok shook his head. “There is a small Judean community there. I will lodge with them.” He came around his desk and put an arm around Getorius “You may not know this, but your father and I helped solve a series of murders at Mogontiacum. A treasonable attempt to set up a separatist province.”
“I didn’t know. Perhaps you could tell us the story on our way back.”
“Perhaps. The Augustus…Honorius…awarded us a golden crown.” Zadok’s smile of recollection faded. “Now we have this new mystery for Treverius’ son to solve.”
“What time shall I pick you up in the morning, sir? We’re staying at the government mansio near the Ravenna Gate.”
“By the third hour. We should not delay.”
“We’ll look forward to the journey with you.”
Getorius was silent on the walk back to the inn. His excitement at the possibility of learning more about his father was tempered by Zadok’s prediction of civil chaos. Surely the forgers of the will realized that this would happen. Why would they want to create such a catastrophe?
Blussus had set up a room for them on the second story of the east wing. Its single window overlooked the garden and gave a view of the shipyards in the hazy distance. The wind had shifted again, coming in from the east and sending inland blackish smoke from tarring ovens, to merge with the low clouds that threatened rain by evening.
Arcadia was pleased with the room, but hoped the bitumen smell would not overpower the taste of Blussus’ food. Cramps in her abdomen had subsided and she felt better. Looking down into the garden, she saw a slave clearing away dead weeds and raking the soil smooth. It seemed Blussus was still convinced that Getorius was there to inspect the mansio and report on its condition. Good. Service should be better.
Blussus served his meals in a large room near the kitchen. The murals on the walls suggested that this might have been the original owner’s study. Arcadia identified some of the scenes as the ships embarking for Troy described in the Iliad. The naval theme was consistent with a shipbuilder’s interest.
Businessmen who looked wealthy enough to eat wherever they wished occupied nine tables in the room. Blussus evidently spent most of his imperial stipend on food—as his own ample frame testified. The other diners gave Getorius and Arcadia a couple of cursory glances, but none were interested in the couple and they all went back to talking in low tones. One man ate alone, a swarthy, bearded fellow, whom Getorius guessed to be Syrian.
The meal was better than they expected. Grilled sea crayfish preceded a pan omelet of salt fish and cheese, without the cumin seasoning being overpowering. Stewed fruits made up the sweet course.
Despite his harassment at the gate by the two ruffians, Getorius was determined to see the harbor. Arcadia went with him, although she would rather have stayed out of the freshening wind and read a chapter in her volume of Soranus.
The Vicus Porti, across from the mansio, led to the docks. It went past the Arian church, where more graffiti condemning the sect’s teaching that Christ was not co-eternal with the Father was charcoaled on its walls. Few people were on the streets in the inclement weather, but Arcadia expected to run into the two thugs in every shop she passed.
At the harbor, a bridge leading to an island was cordoned off and patrolled by guards. Several low-lying war galleys were moored at the curved wharf, being outfitted with new masts. Others in dry-dock ramps across the bay were being equipped with bronze rams salvaged from older vessels. A crew of conscripts sat on benches, straining at long, unfamiliar oars to master the rowing cadences of the hortator’s hammer signals. Getorius thought them a pitifully small force to oppose barbarians who had defeated Roman armies in Gaul and Hispania, then crossed the Iberian straits and conquered Carthage.
A misty rain began to fall as the couple strolled along the commercial anchorage, where a few high-sterned merchant galleys bobbed empty at their moorings. With the loss of the African provinces their grain and olive oil supplies would no longer be shipped to Italy, and most of the Egyptian harvests would go to Constantinople.
On a wharf at the end of the Via Adriatico they watched a man in a wagon dole out free loaves of bread to citizens who held out tokens. He seemed to have enough for now, but the interrupted wheat supply could mean famine—and rioting—when the ration was gone.
When Getorius stopped at a tavern to buy cups of hot mulled wine, Arcadia said she thought she saw the Syrian from the inn following them at a distance. Getorius laughed and pointed out that the docks were full of such Eastern types, but she insisted he take her back to their lodgings.
By the time the couple reached the Via Armini again, a chill drizzle that smelled of bitumen and the sea was driving in from the direction of the Adriatic. Sunset came early, so the rainy afternoon was almost dark by the time Getorius and Arcadia went to their room.
Blussus had closed the shutters against the blowing rain, but water had seeped through and trickled down the wall, puddling on the floorboards. Getorius slid Arcadia’s bed away from the wet area by pushing it against the north wall.
Aside from that, the room was comfortable. A circular iron stove radiated warmth from a blazing pinewood fire. A stack of the wood lay nearby. Even the gentle drumming of the downpour on the tile roof was soothing. Arcadia hung their wet capes on a peg near the stove before they went down to supper.
Julius Blussus’ cook—his wife, he said—had prepared a thick Julian soup of spelt grits, minced pork brain, and rib meat, flavored with lovage and fennel. It was served with fresh bread and a pitcher of Caesena wine.
The meal was filling, and both Getorius and his wife were tired afterward. The early drive from Ravenna, with its unnerving encounter at the gate, the emotional meeting with Rabbi ben Zadok, and the two walks through town had combined to sap their energy.
When Getorius went to bed, the steady, rhythmic patter of rain and the warm room made him fall asleep quickly. Arcadia listened to the rise and fall of his breathing for a moment before wetting her finger and pinching out the lamp wick. Her last drowsy thought was that it would be good to be home again the next day.
Except for a slit of light showing under the door, the room was black when Arcadia was awakened by something brushing her face. Her first reaction was that a roach had crawled onto her, and she lashed out frantically with one hand. The wild fling hit a solid object above her. She heard a muffled curse somewhere near the ceiling, and screamed out her husband’s name.
“Getorius!”
Before he could awaken and react, the room’s door was smashed off its retaining bolt, and left hanging loosely by one hinge. By the dim light from the hallway, Arcadia recognized the bearded Syrian, and saw the glint on the blade of the sword he held. Getorius was just sitting up as the man lunged toward her. Arcadia covered her face with her arms in a reflexive hug of protection, thinking that now there would be two fewer witnesses to tell of the papyri.
She felt the bed sway from the man’s weight, and heard the mattress rip as the ropes holding it in place broke. But she did not feel the expected sword slash. Uncovering an eye, she saw the Syrian thrust his weapon at a leg disappearing up the rungs of a rope ladder dangling from above.
Blussus appeared in the doorway wearing a ridiculously short night tunic. The manager was too stunned to speak as he watched the bearded man, who had eaten a noon meal in his dining room, pull his foot out of the broken bed.
Arcadia’s first reaction was to ask the stranger, “You…you followed us this afternoon. Why?”
“My apologies,” he replied. “Mordecai, with the Rav’s blessing, assigned me to keep a watch on you.”
“Keep watch? Who are you?” Getorius demanded, bringing a trembling Arcadia to sit on his bed and putting an arm around her.
“My name is Nathaniel, a student of the Rav.”
“Judean? You…you broke your Sabbath for us?”
“The Rav teaches that the Commandments are to help us live, not to allow someone to die because of them.” Nathaniel reached up with the tip of his sword and pulled down the frayed end of the ladder until it dangled over Arcadia’s bed.
“That’s what brushed my face!” she exclaimed.
“Strange that bandits positioned the ceiling opening directly above a bed.”
“Nathaniel, my husband moved the bed over there because the floor was wet.”
“Then the Lord protected you through that simple act. If the man had reached the floor in silence you might have both been killed.” Nathaniel indicated the ceiling and broken door to Blussus. “Manager, you have repairs to make and questions to answer about your accomplices.”
“My…my slaves are in charge of this floor,” he stammered in protest. “It’s the cursed Donatist Circumcellions. They’re still everywhere.”
“Leave us,” Nathaniel ordered. “Find these people a room on the first floor for the rest of the night.” Blussus bowed and shuffled off to vent his frustration on the slave staff. Nathaniel propped the door shut and sat on a chair to explain. “I was not told of your reason for visiting the Rav, only that it merited breaking Shabbat.”
“Who are these Circumcellions that Blussus mentioned?” Getorius asked.
“Fanatics of Donatus, one of your exiled heretic bishops. They prey on strangers and gladly die for their beliefs, but I don’t think your attacker was a Donatist. I believe these were common bandits who bribed or
coerced Blussus into letting them rob guests of their belongings. His slaves may have made an honest mistake in preparing this particular room for you.”
“I see.” Getorius was not that sure. Tomorrow he and Arcadia would go back to Ravenna to deal with the deaths of people who had known the papyrus existed. Galla Placidia, Protasius, and possibly Aetius knew about their trip to Classis. The intruder might have been part of a conspiracy, sent to silence them both as witnesses to the will’s accidental discovery.
“Nathaniel, we owe our lives to you,” Arcadia said.
“The act was a timely mizvah, a blessing. I shall accompany you and Rav ben Zadok back to Ravenna.”
Getorius grasped his hand. “We appreciate that, Nathaniel. Thank you.”
Arcadia also felt better at the news, but her sleep for the rest of the night was disturbed by images of the bandit’s hairy legs disappearing up the ladder, and the bloated, leech-encrusted face of Archdeacon Renatus slowly turning toward her inside the grisly vat.
Ravenna
Chapter fourteen
A steady rain that continued all morning slowed the drive back to Ravenna. At the bridge a little more than a quarter of a mile north of Classis, the Via Armini was flooded. Ochre water surged over the paving stones, hampering a detail of sodden legionaries who struggled to clear away tree branches and brushwood. The debris had jammed against the stone arch and was threatening to collapse it.
During the wait Arcadia huddled in her damp cloak, indifferent to the sharp scent of the wet pines. The smell usually invigorated her, but today it had no effect; she was too tired after her restless night. The distant pulse of white-capped surf, the monotonous drumming of rain on the leather carriage top, and the call of jays foraging among the wet trees might have lulled her to sleep, except that the night intruder was yet vivid in her mind. If the man had been sent to silence her and her husband, it meant that the conspiracy extended from the palace all the way to Classis.
