The Brotherhood Of The Holy Shroud (6 page)

He nailed the two feet together, with a single nail, left foot crossed over the right.

Time seemed eternal, and Josar prayed to God that Jesus might die soon. He watched him suffer, struggling for breath.

John, the most beloved of the disciples, wept in silence at his master's torment. Nor could Josar contain his tears.

As the spring day gave way to evening, and black storm clouds filled the sky, a soldier stepped forward. He thrust his spear into Jesus' side, and from the wound came forth blood and water.

Jesus had died, and Josar gave thanks to God for that.

By the time Jesus' body was taken down from the cross, there was little time to prepare it as the Jewish laws required. Josar knew that all labors, even the clothing of a body in the death shroud, must be halted at sunset.

And because they were in the time of Passover, the body had to be buried that same day.

Josar, his eyes blurred by tears, watched motion-lessly as the body was prepared and Joseph of Arimathea lay Jesus' body upon the fine linen grave cloth.

Josar did not sleep that night, nor did he find rest the day following. The pain in his heart was terrible indeed.

On the third day after the crucifixion of Jesus, Josar made his way to the place where the body had been laid. There he found Mary, the mother of Jesus, and John, and other followers of Jesus, and all were exclaiming that the master's body had disappeared. In the tomb, upon the stone where the body had been laid, was the shroud that Joseph of Arimathea had laid it in, though none of those present dared touch it. Jewish law forbade contact with unclean objects, and a dead man's shroud was unclean.

Josar took it in his hands. He was not a Jew, nor was he bound by the Jews' laws. He held the cloth tight against his breast, and he felt himself filled with peace. He felt the master; embracing that simple piece of cloth was like embracing Jesus himself. At that moment he realized what he was to do. He would return to Edessa and present the shroud of Jesus to his king, Abgar, and the shroud would cure him. Now he understood what the master had said.

He went out of the tomb and breathed the cool air, and then, with the shroud folded under his arm, he sought out the road to the inn. He would leave Jerusalem as soon as he was able.

In Edessa, the midday heat drove the inhabitants into their houses until the cool of evening. In the palace, the queen laid moist cloths on the fevered forehead of Abgar, and she calmed him by assuring him that the sickness had not yet begun to eat away his skin.

Ania, the dancing girl, filled with desolation, had been banished to a place outside the city. But Abgar had not wanted her left to her own fate, and so he sent victuals to the cave where she had taken refuge. That morning one of his men, while leaving a sack of grain and a goatskin of fresh water near the cave, had seen her. He told the king that Ania's once beautiful visage was now a hideous, misshapen thing, its flesh dropping away. Abgar would hear no more and had taken refuge in his chambers, where, seized with horror, he was overcome by a fever and delirium.

The queen herself cared for him and would let no one else approach him. Some of the king's enemies had begun to conspire to overthrow him, and the tension increased as the days passed. The worst thing was that no news had come of Josar, who had remained with the Nazarene. Abgar was fearful that Josar had abandoned him, but the queen struggled to keep the king's hope alive, urging him not to allow his faith to falter. Just then, however, her own faith was weak.

"My lady! My lady! Josar is here!"

A slave girl had run into the chamber where Abgar, fanned by the queen, was lying drowsily upon his bed.

"Josar! Where?"

The queen rushed out of the king's chamber and ran quickly through the palace, to the astonishment of the palace soldiers and courtiers, until she found Josar. The faithful friend, still covered by the dust of the road, stretched out his hands to her.

"Josar, have you brought him? Where is the Nazarene?"

"My lady, the king shall be healed."

"But where is he, Josar? Tell me where the Jew is."

The queen's voice betrayed the desperation she had so long contained.

"Take me to Abgar, my lady."

Josar's voice was firm and resolute, and all who looked upon the scene were struck by his strength. Without a word more, the queen turned and led him to the chamber in which the king lay.

The king's eyes were fixed on the door, and when he saw Josar he breathed deep with relief.

"You have returned, my dear friend."

"Yes, my lord, and now you will be healed."

At the door of the chamber, the king's guard stood in the way of curious courtiers pushing forward to witness the reunion of the king and his best friend.

Josar helped Abgar sit up and he laid in his hands the cloth, which the king held tightly to his breast, though he knew not what it was.

"This is Jesus, and if you believe, you shall be healed. He told me that you would be made whole again, and he has sent me to you with this shroud."

The firmness of Josar's words, his deep conviction, gave hope to Abgar, who held the cloth yet more tightly against his body.

"I do believe," said the king.

And his heart was true. And then the miracle happened. Color returned to the king's face, and the traces of the disease faded. Abgar felt the strength returning to his blood and a sense of peace invading his spirit.

The queen wept silently, overcome by the miracle, while the soldiers and courtiers knew not how to explain the king's sudden recovery.

'Abgar, Jesus has healed you, as he promised. This is the shroud in which his body was laid, for you must know, my lord, that Pilate, with the complicity of the Jewish priests, ordered that Jesus be tortured and crucified. But be not of heavy heart, for he has returned to his Father, and from his place on high he shall help us and help all mankind until the end of time."

News of the miracle of the king's healing spread quickly through the city and throughout the surrounding countryside. Abgar asked Josar to speak of Jesus, to continue the teachings of the Nazarene. He and the queen and all their subjects, he pledged, would take the religion of Jesus, and he ordered that the temples to the old gods be pulled down and that Josar preach to him and his people and make them followers of the Christ.

"What shall we do with the shroud, Josar?" Abgar asked his friend one day.

"My king, you must find a safe place for it. Jesus sent it to you that it might heal you, and we must preserve it from all harm. Many of your subjects have asked me to let them touch the cloth, and I tell you, it has worked yet further miracles."

"I shall have a temple built, Josar."

"Yes, my lord."

Each day, as the sun rose in the east, Josar rose and began to write. His intention was to leave a written testament of the wonders done by Jesus, both those he had witnessed and those recounted to him by the companions of the master while he had lived in Jerusalem. That done, Josar would go to the palace and speak with Abgar, the queen, and many others of what he had learned of the teachings of the Nazarene.

He would see the wonder in their faces when he preached that one should not hate one's neighbors or wish one's enemies ill. Jesus had taught his followers to turn the other cheek.

Josar was supported in his desire to plant the seed of the teachings of Jesus not just by the king but also by the queen. And in a short time, Edessa was a Christian city, and Josar sent epistles to some of the companions of Jesus, those who, like him, took the good news to other towns and peoples.

When Josar had completed his history of the Nazarene, Abgar ordered his scribes to make copies, so that men might never forget the life and teachings of the extraordinary Jew who, even after his death, had healed a king.

AS HE PARKED HIS CAR OUTSIDE THE JAIL, Marco thought he was probably wasting his time. Two years earlier, he hadn't been able to get anything out of the tongueless man, or "the mute," as he always called him. He'd brought in a doctor, a specialist, who examined the man and assured Marco that his hearing was perfect, that there was no physical reason he couldn't hear. Yet the mute had remained so tightly locked within himself that it was hard to know whether he could really hear or, if he could, whether he had any understanding of what was being said to him. It was more than likely that the same thing would happen now, but Marco felt compelled to see him nevertheless.

The warden was not in, but he'd left orders that Marco was to be allowed to do whatever he asked. What he asked was to be left alone with the prisoner.

"No problem," said the head jailer. "He's a real quiet guy. He never makes any trouble-in fact, he's kind of mystical, you know? He'd rather be in the chapel than out in the yard with the others. He hasn't got much time left on his sentence; they let him off easy, three years. So another year and he's on the street. If he'd had a lawyer he could've asked for early out on good behavior, but he didn't. No lawyer, no visitors, nothing…"

"Does he understand when people talk to him?"

"Huh! Now,
that's
a mystery! Sometimes you think so, sometimes not. Depends."

"That clears that up."

"It's that the guy's strange, you know? I mean, I'd never take him for a thief; he sure doesn't act like one. He spends all his time looking straight ahead or sitting in the chapel."

"Does he ever read or write? He's never put in a request for books, a newspaper, anything?"

"No, never. He never watches television-he's not even interested in the World Cup. He's never gotten mail, and he doesn't write to anybody."

When the mute entered the interview room where Marco was waiting for him, his eyes showed no surprise-just indifference. He remained standing near the door, his eyes lowered slightly, his posture expectant but unfearing.

Marco gestured for him to sit down, but the man remained on his feet.

"I don't know whether you understand me or not, but I suspect you do."

The mute raised his eyes off the floor slighdy, in a gesture that would be imperceptible to anyone not a professional in human behavior-but Marco was a professional.

"Your friends have broken into the cathedral again. This time they set a fire. Fortunately, the shroud was unharmed."

The man betrayed not the slightest reaction. His features remained unmoving, seemingly without any effort on his part. Yet Marco had the impression that his probes, his flailings in the dark, were hitting something. Perhaps, after two years in prison, the mute was more vulnerable than when he'd been arrested.

"I suppose it makes a man desperate, being in here. I won't waste your time, because I don't want to waste mine either. You had a year left, and I say 'had' because we've reopened your case in the course of our investigation of this fire in the cathedral a few days ago. A man was burned to death-a man without a tongue, like you. So you may have a long wait in jail while we proceed, tie up all the loose ends-two, three, four years, it's hard to say. Which brings me to why I'm here. If you let me know who you are and who your friends are, we might be able to reach an agreement. I'd try to convince the authorities to let you out early, and if you're afraid of your friends, you could go into our witness protection program. That means a new identity, and
that
means that your friends could never find you. Think about it. It could take me a week or it could take me ten years to close this case, but as long as it's open, you'll be sitting in this prison, rotting."

Marco proffered a card with his phone numbers.

"If you want to get in touch with me, show this card to the guards; they'll call me."

Nothing. Marco left the card on the table.

"It's your life, not mine."

As he left the interview room he avoided the temptation to look back. He'd played the role of the tough cop and one of two things had happened-either he'd wasted a little time or, against the odds, he'd managed to plant the seed of doubt in the man's mind and he just might react.

When the mute returned to his cell, he fell onto his cot and stared up at the ceiling. He knew security cameras covered every inch of the chamber, so he had to remain impassive.

A year-he had thought he would be free again in a year. Now this man had told him it might be
ten
years. It could be a bluff, but it could also be the truth.

Since he deliberately shunned the television and other sources of news in the prison, he knew almost nothing of what was happening in the outside world. Addaio had told them that if they were captured they were to isolate themselves, serve out their sentence, and find a way back home.

Now Addaio had sent another team. He'd tried again. A fire, a brother dead, and the police once more searching for clues.

In prison he had had time to think, and the conclusion was obvious: There was a traitor among them. It was not possible otherwise that every time they planned an action something went wrong and somebody wound up in prison or dead.

Yes, there was a traitor among them, and there'd been one in the past as well. He was certain of that. He had to go back and make Addaio see that, convince him to investigate, find the person responsible for so many failures and for his own misery, the years in jail.

But he had to wait, whatever that meant to him personally. If this man had offered him a deal, it was because he had nowhere else to turn. It was a bluff, and he couldn't fall for it. His strength came from his resolute silence, the strict isolation he imposed on himself, the vows he had made. He had been well trained for this. But how terribly he had suffered during these two years without a book, without news from the outside world, without communicating, even by signs, with the other prisoners.

He had convinced the guards that he was a poor inoffensive mental case, remorseful at having tried to steal from the cathedral, which was why he sat in the chapel and prayed. That's what he'd heard them say when they talked about him. He knew they felt sorry for him. Now he must go on playing his role and hope that they trusted him and would talk in front of him. They did that all the time, because for them, he was just part of the furniture.