by Albert Noyer
Protasius knew they had come to find Rabbi ben Zadok. If the clerk had gossiped to others—or if Galla Placidia was correct in claiming that Flavius Aetius had informants everywhere—it was not surprising that she and Getorius had been found so easily. Aetius even might have guessed that their unusual journey had something to do with the papyri.
Arcadia wanted to dismiss the idea that Placidia was involved, and yet she was the only person to know the actual reason for the trip. And the papyri had been found in her mausoleum. Was the Gothic Queen diverting suspicion from herself by implicating Aetius? No, that made no sense. Why would the mother of the Augustus make public a document that, in effect, gave away the empire of her son in the West, and that of her nephew in the East, at Constantinople? It was not possible that she would be involved in such a conspiracy.
After the arch was cleared and the mucky water washing over the roadway had subsided, Getorius clucked the mare ahead. The four passengers rode in silence until Getorius decided to ask Zadok about the Mogontiacum deaths.
“Rabbi, you said my father and yourself had been involved in solving some murders. Can you tell me about them?”
“A seditious business.” After a pause in which Getorius thought Zadok would not continue, the old man wiped his eyes with a linen square. “It was during the winter that the Vandals invaded Gaul,” he explained, his voice slightly hoarse from emotion. “The weather was bitter. Citizens…mostly Christians…began dying mysteriously on their namesakes’ days. Treverius reasoned out the cause at a Purim celebration in my home.”
“What is Purim?” Arcadia asked.
“One of our Hebrew festivals.”
“You must have been very close, to have invited my husband’s parents. And, after all that time, to recall this so clearly.”
“Young woman, it’s as if it all happened within last month’s moon,” he said. “An ambitious praetorium curator tried to form a rebel province.”
“Didn’t that kind of treason spring up again when my parents were killed?”
Zadok nodded. “With the usurper Jovinus that time. I was in Ravenna when he was proclaimed Augustus by a Burgond king. My…my wife Penina was a victim of the rebellion, along with your parents. Will the Empress Mother show me the two papyri, or must I be content with hearing them read?”
“No, no, you’ll be able to examine both. And we’ll ask Theokritos how his tests are coming along.”
“Yes, establishing the authenticity of the documents is crucial,” Zadok said, and lapsed into silence.
Getorius surmised that the old man was still shaken at the news, perhaps devising plans for his community to deal with the will, if it was released.
The downpour continued as the carriage clattered toward Ravenna. Rain-swollen swamps on either side of the causeway took on the look of dull hammered silver, from the spattering raindrop patterns.
Ravenna was enduring a less severe repetition of the street flooding that had occurred three weeks earlier. Getorius realized there would also be a flood of patients at the clinic, waiting to be treated.
When he guided the mare through the Lawrence Gate and retraced the previous day’s route back to the villa, there were several people huddled in the shelter of the atrium waiting area. Getorius thought he recognized the Gothic fisherman who had lacerated his hand. Since he had not returned as instructed, it could be presumed that rather than healing, the wound had become corrupt with black bile.
At his gate, Getorius told Nathaniel to borrow the carriage and take Rabbi Zadok to the Judean district, where he and the Rabbi would be staying. Getorius knew very little about the area, except that it was bordered on the south by artisans’ shops and harbor warehouses, on the west by the Via Armini, and on the remaining sides by the new walls that emperor Valentinian was having constructed.
Getorius began seeing patients that afternoon. As he feared, Varnifrid’s hand would be lost. The man had continued working on his boat, and his hand was now a mass of foul-smelling black tissue. Arcadia scheduled an amputation for early the following morning, yet felt sure the Goth would not come.
The next patient was a stevedore who complained that a lump in his lower abdomen had gotten larger, and that he experienced a leaden feeling after eating. Getorius had seen the condition on dockworkers and farmers, but there was little he could do except fit the man with a padded belt to restrain the bulge, and curse his inability to dissect the area in a corpse to investigate what made the mass suddenly appear.
Most of the patients had been treated when a slave arrived from Senator Maximin, with a message asking Getorius to look in on his mother again. Agatha had developed further ulcers on her withered buttocks, from lying in bed. The note ended with the senator apologizing for the inconvenience and promising to be present at his villa this time.
Maximin stayed in the room while Getorius cleaned Agatha’s lesions with a mild vinegar wash, and then applied an olive oil and garlic poultice. He told Fabia to continue the treatment, and saw no harm in the magic amulets the old slave had placed in her mistress’ bed.
Galla Placidia sent word that she would meet with Getorius, Arcadia, and Rabbi ben Zadok on the afternoon of November twenty-sixth. The note also mentioned that Theokritos had succumbed to a feverish phlegm imbalance, but that he would nevertheless be present at the interview.
Placidia chose her private reception room for the meeting. The walls were decorated with paintings that were identical in design to some of the mosaic work in her mausoleum. Spaces between cedar ceiling beams had been painted with floral patterns on a lapis-blue background. Red and lapis border designs repeated the ribbon motif on the arch undersides in the smaller room. Centered in the panels were renderings of fruit baskets, urns and various birds—mallard ducks, doves and a rooster. The mosaic design of two pigeons on the rim of a water basin, against which a frustrated Placidia had flung her wine cup a few days earlier, had been cleaned.
Carpets that had covered the floor and walls of Ataulf’s tent when her Visigoth husband was on a campaign, were hung as backdrops for his war trophies. Statuary, part of his loot from the three-day pillage of Rome—in which Placidia herself had been one of the prizes—stood on pedestals along the wall. Other keepsakes from Gaul and Hispania, which had belonged to her second husband, Constantius, were displayed with them. Prominent on the wall behind the throne where Galla Placidia sat to receive important visitors was her monogram in gold tile work, a reminder of her position as the daughter of a former emperor and mother of the ruling Augustus. The effect of the room was intimidating, either by design, or simply because the mementos accumulated over a twenty-year span reflected the Gothic Queen’s incredible background and present imperial power.
Rabbi ben Zadok had not yet arrived when Getorius and Arcadia were shown into the room. Theokritos lay on a couch that had been brought in for him. A silver bowl, cup, and linen napkin were arranged on a table next to it. Several oil lamps illuminated the room, but a fire in a circular iron stove had done little to dissipate the damp chill that accompanied the rainy weather.
The old librarian seemed to be asleep. Arcadia thought he looked haggard and thin, with skin that stretched over his facial bones like a sausage casing. This alarmed her, but she assumed that Antioches was treating him. A strong aromatic smell came from a linen bag tied around his neck. Getorius nodded when she looked toward him. He too had recognized the pungent odor of camphor, a medication that was obtained from trees growing at the eastern limits of Roman trading routes, and much too expensive for him to prescribe. Next to the sachet hung the oval Abraxas amulet.
Theokritos coughed and roused himself to spit into the napkin, and Getorius recalled with an inward pang that there were several poisons that mimicked the symptoms of a severe phlegm imbalance.
Galla Placidia also looked exhausted. She had countered a pale complexion by rouging her cheeks almost to the henna shade of her hair, and wearing a white silk tunic. Getorius surmised that the deaths of Sigisvult and Renatus,
combined with uncertainty over the papyri and her suspicions of Flavius Aetius, were causing her to awaken after too few hours of sleep. At least for the next month she had one less worry—Aetius was reported to be away at Mediolanum, inspecting the field legions stationed there.
Theokritos coughed again and opened his eyes, but seemed disoriented in the strange room. Arcadia came to him and said, “I’m sorry you’re not well. Would you like me…my husband…to examine you?”
Theokritos stared at her with eyes glazed by fever. “Antioches has done that,” he rasped.
“At least let the surgeon look at your throat,” Placidia suggested. “You sound like a carpenter’s scraper.”
“Antioches has seen it.”
“Antioches hasn’t the eyesight he had twenty years ago.”
Theokritos waved a hand in a weak gesture of impatience. “You didn’t bring me here to discuss my throat, Regina. Where is the Hebrew priest?”
“Ben Zadok was told to be here by the seventh hour.”
“Sir, how is your research on the papyrus fibers coming along?” Getorius asked.
“I was taken ill.” Theokritos did not elaborate.
“Librarian, we hope this Judean can be of help in evaluating the text itself, not only the material.” Placidia turned to Getorius. “I must tell you that Bishop Chrysologos hasn’t yet heard from that dead monk’s abbot at Autessiodurum.”
“The abbot himself wouldn’t come,” Getorius predicted, “the journey is difficult in winter, even for a courier. We’re not even sure that the one who was sent arrived in Gaul safely.”
“All this uncertainty,” Placidia complained. “The bishop expects instructions in a week or two, but with all this rain he was concerned that the monk’s body might be washed downstream to the sea. He ordered it brought to Ravenna.”
“Where is it…is Behan now?” Arcadia asked.
“In an ice storage room next to the palace kitchen. The cooking staff objects of course, but the bishop insisted. It will only be for a short time.”
“I hope the poor man can be laid to rest soon.” When Arcadia saw Theokritos trying to reach for his cup, she went to help him and managed to sniff the pinkish drink. It seemed to be only watered wine. After taking a few sips, Theokritos lay back on the pillows, exhausted by the small effort.
Placidia’s steward Magnaric rapped on the door, then entered with David ben Zadok.
Placidia stood to greet the old man out of respect for his position. “We are grateful you came, Rabbi. Is that your title?”
“The word may be translated as ‘teacher,’” Zadok replied, bowing slightly. “I hope to be worthy of it, Empress, and of your summons.”
“We knew your old acquaintance, Nicias of Alexandria.”
“The legion surgeon at Mogontiacum.” Zadok indicated Getorius with a hand. “He is responsible for this young man being here.”
“Yes, brought to Us in Ravenna.” Placidia smiled. “How truly unexplainable are God’s ways.”
“Indeed, ‘Who can know the mind of the Lord, or be His advisor?’” Zadok quoted. “The eternal question of the afflicted Job.”
“May I present my librarian, Theokritos,” Placidia continued, dropping the formal pronoun. “He is not well, unfortunately.”
“May the Lord grant you health again, Librarian.” Zadok gently grasped his arm.
Theokritos returned his hold. “We meet as scholars unraveling a mystery. You Hebrews have a reputation for learning.”
“A persecuted people must use the pen as a weapon, rather than a sword.”
Getorius looked at Placidia to gauge her reaction at the exchange, but she was smiling. He had thought she might have been worried that Theokritos would be hostile, since he considered the Hebrews’ unbending insistence on the worship of one God arrogant and irrational.
“This is the mystery,” Placidia said, taking two cedar boards off a side table. “Theokritos has flattened the will papyrus onto a wooden panel and held it in place with the golden ribbons you see. The letter of Peter is on this other.”
When Magnaric came in with a cup of hot mulled wine, the rabbi declined and explained to Placidia, “My thanks, Empress, but our dietary laws of kashrut forbid me.”
“Indeed,” she replied with a trace of impatience in her voice, “I recall that you Judeans cannot take foods that are unblessed. Another peculiarity of your religion.”
“May I sit here, Empress, to study the documents?” Zadok asked her, to avoid continuing the subject.
At Placidia’s nod, he took the boards from her and sat on a couch. The silence was broken only by Theokritos’ rasping cough as the rabbi read. Zadok went back over the text again and fingered the edges of the fiber sheets before looking up at the librarian.
“The papyrus is of fine quality. What one might expect to find in a procurator’s office. I’m told you’ve conducted tests to determine its age. May I know your conclusions thus far?”
Theokritos shook his head. “That is only for the Regina to see, after I finish. What did you find out from the text, Teacher?”
“Empress”—Zadok looked at Galla Placidia—“I understand there have been several deaths connected to these documents.”
“Not directly,” Placidia hedged. “Well, one. An assistant to Theokritos.”
“Who would do this?” Zadok probed. “For what purpose?”
“I suspect my military commander may be involved. Two of the deaths have been inside the palace.”
“The first, you say, was the unfortunate library assistant who discovered the documents’ hiding place. Why was the niche equipped with such a trap, do you think?”
“To keep the two papyri from being discovered,” Arcadia ventured.
“But, young woman,” Zadok chided gently, “one could not think of a more dramatic way to call attention to them.”
“My thought also,” Theokritos agreed, struggling to sit up, and animated now that a discussion was under way. “The person who accidentally discovered them was meant to be killed.”
“One less witness,” Getorius said. “And yet hiding the papyri had to be a temporary measure.”
“Surgeon, you do have skills other than medicine,” Theokritos remarked. “Continue your speculation.”
“After the verses on Behan’s manuscript—the prophecy about the will—were revealed, someone obviously was to remove the documents and make them public.”
“Correct,” Zadok agreed, “and the timing would be critical. The discovery was premature, yet the actual date could not be far off, or it would risk exactly what did happen.” He fingered the papyrus sheet with the will. “Christians have a great festival during our Kislev, that is, next month. Near our celebration of Hanukkah.”
“The Feast of the Nativity is in December,” Getorius told him. “The commemoration of Christ’s birth.”
“Yes, that would be most appropriate for such an earthshaking announcement.” Zadok reexamined the letter of Peter. “These Hibernians puzzle me, that this remote people should suddenly be thrust onto the world stage.”
“Not unlike you Hebrews,” Theokritos commented with a husky chuckle.
Zadok nodded, smiling at the quip. “And that these people should be entrusted with such a document, assuming for our purpose that the will is genuine. An unknown land at the extreme northwest corner of your father’s maps, Getorius.”
“Ptolemy called the island Ibernia,” Theokritos recalled, “but the outline he drew is pure fantasy. It was terra incognita at the time, and still is.”
“Then,” Placidia suggested, “what better hiding place for four hundred years?”
“An excellent point for the authenticity of the two documents—”
Zadok was interrupted by Theokritos suffering a spasm of coughing. He spat yellow mucus into the bowl, then leaned back on the pillows, his breath coming in short gasps. “What…of the…text, Teacher? What did…you find in it?”
“The language. Is the Latin writing style of
Pilate’s secretary consistent with the era?”
“Theokritos, save your voice, I could reply,” Getorius offered before the librarian answered. He waved a hand in agreement. “Rabbi, Theokritos compared the text with manuscripts by the younger Seneca. Who else, Arcadia?”
“Quintilian. The styles were the same.”
“And not difficult for any competent scribe to copy.”
“True, Rabbi,” Getorius agreed, “which is why Theokritos concentrated his tests on the material. The ink and papyrus fibers themselves.”
“Yeshua ben Yoseph spoke Aramaic, the language of Judea at the time,” Zadok recalled. “The letter of Simeon…of Peter…is in that language. Our forger is clever.”
“The will is in Latin,” Theokritos croaked. “Latin would be written by a Roman procurator’s secretary.”
“Very clever,” Zadok emphasized. “Empress, have you a copy of the Christian Testament?”
“I do.” Placidia went to a cabinet and brought back a richly bound codex containing the writings of the four Evangelists. “A gift from Bishop Chrysologos. What is it you’re looking for, Rabbi?”
“I may have detected a contradiction.”
“I thought something was out of place, too,” Getorius said. “I have no training in these things, but I believe I spotted an error.”
“There are two contradictions,” Theokritos corrected, “as the Teacher also may have noticed. But go on, Surgeon.”
“I recalled that the text of Matthew read that Christ said he could ask for the help of several legions of angels. May I, Regina?” At Placidia’s nod, Getorius thumbed through the book’s pages. “Here. ‘Do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father to supply me with twelve legions of angels?’”
Zadok nodded. “We have studied these accounts to determine whether or not our Sanhedrin acted improperly. What is the contradiction?”
“The discrepancy,” Theokritos broke in, “is that the papyrus reads, ‘The Twelfth Legion of Angels.’”
“So the forger made a glaring mistake?” Arcadia asked.
“Perhaps…not.” Theokritos’ breathing was labored again. “The writer…was an officer on Pilate’s staff. I…checked some ancient records. Legion Twelve Fulminata…was first levied under Julius Caesar…for his Gallic campaigns. But…at the time Pilate was governor…the unit was stationed in Syria.”
