The Sacred Bones (20 page)

Sipping more tea, Razak raised his eyebrows. "Go on."

"Fast-forward to the Middle Ages and Joseph becomes a cult hero with monarchs fabricating lineal ties to share his fame. And during this time another story surfaces, claiming that Joseph possessed Jesus's crown of thorns and the chalice he drank from at the Last Supper." Barton paused to let Razak absorb all the details. "Some believed that Joseph collected the blood of Jesus's crucified body in that cup." He noticed Razak's lips purse at the words "crucified body." "Better known as 'the Holy Grail,' the cup was believed to possess healing powers and granted its owner immortality."

"Those certainly are fantastic stories," Razak stated. "Surely you're not suggesting that the thieves thought the missing ossuary contained the Holy Grail?"

Pursing his lips, Barton made a dismissive motion with his hand. "There
are
some fanatics out there," he admitted, "but no. I'd certainly not push that idea." He continued tentatively. "I decided to do a bit more research on Joseph of Arimathea using the most convenient and relevant handbook available." He held up a book.

Razak's eyes bored into the copy of the New Testament he held. "More legend," he said cynically.

Knowing that the New Testament would be a touchy matter, Barton expected this reaction. Any discussion of Jesus had to recognize that Muslims revered him as one in a long series of human prophets that included Abraham, Moses, and Allah's final servant, Muhammad. Under no circumstances would Islam accept any man or prophet as an equal to God himself. It was this pillar of Islamic faith that to Muslims rendered the Christian concept of the Trinity absolute blasphemy, creating the most significant rift between the two faiths. And this book was considered by Muslims as a gross misinterpretation of Jesus's life.

Ignoring the jab, Barton forged on, "Of the twenty-seven books in the New Testament, four give detailed historical accounts of the prophet Jesus: Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. Each specifically mentions Joseph of Arimathea." Barton flipped open the Bible to a section marked by a Post-It note, trying his best to steady his now trembling fingers. What he was about to propose was amazing. He leaned closer across the table. "All four accounts essentially say the same thing, so I'll just read this first excerpt from Matthew twenty-seven, verse fifty-seven." Then he slowly read the passage:

Barton raised his eyes from the pages. "I'll read that one sentence again. '
Joseph took the body, wrapped it in a clean linen cloth, and placed it in his own new tomb that he had cut out of the rock.'"

Razak's mouth gaped open. "Surely you don't think-- "

The waiter suddenly appeared and Razak stopped mid-sentence, waiting for the young man to set down the plates and leave before continuing.

Razak took a deep breath. "I see where you're going with this, Graham. It is a very dangerous theory indeed." He took some bread and scooped hummus onto his plate. It smelled spectacular.

"Please hear me out," Barton continued softly. "We have to at least entertain the idea that the thieves may have truly believed that the missing ossuary contained the remains of Jesus. And this scroll we found in the ninth ossuary clearly references the messiah. It's far too precise to ignore."

As he explained this to Razak, Barton was beginning to feel the full weight of Father Demetrios's subtle warning. The words on this scroll could potentially undermine traditional commemoration of Christ's mysterious benefactor, because the
loculi
deep beneath the Church of the Holy Sepulchre were believed to have belonged to Joseph.

Razak stared at the archaeologist. "You should eat your bread while it's hot."

"Look. I'm not saying I believe all this." Barton tore off some bread and spooned some hummus onto his plate. "I'm simply suggesting a motive. If we're dealing with a fanatic who believed all this to be true, it would make that missing ossuary the ultimate relic."

Razak finished chewing, swallowed, and said, "I'm sure you'll understand that I can't possibly accept the idea that this missing ossuary contained Jesus's body. Remember Mr. Barton, unlike the misguided men who wrote that book," he pointed at the Bible, "the Qur'an speaks the literal words of Allah using the great prophet Muhammad-- peace be upon him-- as his messenger. As Muslims we've been told the truth. Jesus was spared the cross. Allah protected him from those who sought to bring him harm. He didn't die a mortal death but was reclaimed by Allah and ascended to Heaven." He raised his eyes skyward. "And remember, the men to whom I am accountable will react much worse than me. They won't hear of such ideas." He dipped his bread in hummus and popped it into his mouth. "Besides, don't the Christians claim Jesus rose from the dead and ascended into heaven? Isn't that what the Easter holiday is all about?"

"Absolutely," Barton said.

Chewing, Razak looked at him quizzically.

Barton grinned. "The Bible says a lot of things," he admitted. "But the gospels were drafted decades after Jesus's ministry, following a long period of oral tradition. I don't need to tell you how that can affect the integrity of what we read today. Since Jesus's disciples were themselves Jews, they incorporated a
midrashic
storytelling style, which, quite frankly, focuses more on meaning and understanding-- often at the expense of historical accuracy. I might also point out that ancient interpretations of resurrection had much more to do with a spiritual transformation than a physical one."

Razak shook his head. "I don't understand how anyone could believe those stories."

"Well," Barton carefully countered, "you need to keep in mind that the target audience for the gospels were pagan converts. Those people believed in divine gods who died tragically and resurrected gloriously. Life, death, then rebirth was a theme common to many pagan gods including Osiris, Adonis, and Mithras. Early Christian leaders, particularly Paul of Tarsus-- a Hellenistic, philosophical Jew-- knew Jesus needed to fit these criteria. He was selling this new religion in a very competitive environment. We can't discount the idea that he embellished the story. And of twenty-seven books in the New Testament, he alone is thought to have written fourteen of them. Quite influential, I think you'd agree. It's prudent, therefore, for us to put these accounts into their proper historical and
human
context."

Razak eyed him approvingly. "You're a very complex man Graham. Your wife must enjoy you very much," he said, half sarcastic. He pointed to the gold wedding band on the archaeologist's right hand.

"If you think I've got a lot to say, you should hear her. Jenny is a barrister."

"A lawyer?" Razak's eyebrows raised up. "A professional debater. I'd hate to see the two of you fight."

"Luckily that's an infrequent occurrence." The truth was, outside the courtroom she was anything but a contender. Lately, they'd been drifting apart across an ever-widening sea of silence.

"Do you have any children?"

"A son, John, twenty-one. Good-looking lad, with more brains than both his parents put together. Attends university at my alma mater in Cambridge. We also have a lovely daughter, Josephine, twenty-five years old. She lives in the States, in Boston. She's a lawyer, like her mum. And you? Wife and children?"

Razak smiled shyly and shook his head. "Unfortunately Allah has not granted me a suitable wife as of yet."

Barton thought he detected something in the Muslim's eyes. Pain? "Maybe it's not Allah's will, but because you're stubborn," Barton said.

Razak pretended to be offended, then burst out laughing. "Ah yes, perhaps you are right," he said.

Once they had finished eating, Razak turned his attention back to the transcription. "And what about the rest of this...what does it all mean?" He read the second part of the transcription: "'
To reclaim God's testimony from beneath Abraham's altar, to restore the holy Tabernacle
.'"

Barton was hoping to avoid this part of the discussion. "Ah." He paused. "Abraham's altar is most likely referring to Mount Moriah."

"Where the prophet Ibraham was told to sacrifice Ismaeel, son of Hagar," the Muslim stated flatly.

"Okay." Barton let the interpretation slide. Though the Torah clearly stated that Abraham was to sacrifice
Issaac
, the son of his wife Sarah, Muslims traced their lineage back to Ismaeel-- the son born to Sarah's hand servant, Hagar. It was yet another example of the two religions trying desperately to claim as its own the Old Testament's most revered patriarch-- the man credited with monotheistic faith and complete submission to the one true God. After all, that's what Islam literally meant, Barton thought:
submission to the will of Allah
.

"And this reference to '
God's testimony,
'" Razak added. "Sounds as if it is a physical thing that is '
beneath Abraham's altar
.' I don't understand."

A shiver ran down Barton's arm. "I'm still trying to determine what that means," he lied. "I'll need to do a bit more research."

Looking skeptical, Razak nodded. "I trust you'll let me know what you discover."

"Of course."

"So where do we go from here?"

Barton thought about it. Oddly, his thoughts kept drifting to Father Demetrios-- the visit to the Sepulchre's lower crypt that had supposedly belonged to Joseph of Arimathea. It got him thinking again about the chamber beneath Temple Mount, how it lacked some of the features typical in first-century crypts. "Actually, I think we'll need to go back to the crypt. There's something I may have overlooked. When do you think we can get back in there?"

"Let's hold off on that until tomorrow morning," he suggested. "I received a very interesting call late this morning from a good friend in Gaza who heard I was involved in this investigation. He says he has some information that might help us out."

"What kind of information?"

"I'm not sure, actually," Razak said. "He wouldn't say over the phone."

"Which means it's probably good stuff."

"That's what I'm hoping. Anyway, I was going to take a drive...to go and see him this afternoon. If you're not too busy, maybe you should come along."

"I'd like that. What time?"

"I just have something to attend to first. Won't take me long." Razak looked down at his watch. "Can you meet me in the parking lot outside the Jaffa Gate around two?"

"I'll be there."

Razak reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his wallet.

"Please, Razak," Barton insisted, motioning it away. "Let me get this. You run ahead and I'll see you at two."

"Thank you, Graham. That's very generous."

Opposite the cafe on El Wad, a forgettable young man was seated on a bench reading a newspaper and sipping coffee, enjoying the mild afternoon. Occasionally he inconspicuously glanced over to the archaeologist and Muslim delegate. The small headphones plugged into his ears, seemingly connected to an iPod, were transmitting the amazing conversation that was taking place to the IDF's Jerusalem outpost.

V
ATICAN
C
ITY

Bringing up the skeletal scans in full-screen view, Giovanni Bersei scrolled down the grid of miniature images, pausing occasionally to enlarge and analyze a bone in more detail. "That's great, Charlotte. Looks like you got the ribs right too. Not easy. All we have to do now is ask the computer to assemble the skeleton," he clicked the menu options.

Charlotte Hennesey stood behind him as a small window popped up:

He turned to her. "No errors so far. Not bad for a first try."

Twenty seconds later, the screen flashed back a three-dimensional image of the skeleton. The program had scrutinized each bone's smallest detail to re-create the condition of joints and cartilage attachments, providing an accurate picture of the fully reassembled skeletal frame. It had even maintained the minute, awful detail resulting from crucifixion-- the gouges on the ribs and damage to the wrists, feet, and knees.

"Extraordinary." Bersei eyed the on-screen image-- an assembled version of what lay on the workstation behind them. For a moment, he was again awestruck by the amazing capabilities of computer technology. "That's probably just the way our man looked prior to interment into the ossuary."

"What about the flesh?"

He held his hands out as if trying to slow a speeding car. "One step at a time."

"Sorry. Too much coffee."

"We like to take things a bit slower over here," he joked. "Helps longevity."

Charlotte cringed.

Bersei worked the mouse again. "Next we'll ask the computer to assign muscle mass to the skeletal frame. The software will measure every bone to estimate its density and re-create its ligament attachment points."

She knew the basic concept. "Larger muscles place more stress on the bones they're attached to, requiring stronger ligaments and connecting points?"

"Quite so. Call it reverse engineering. Granted, the program can't account for every soft tissue abnormality. But it can detect a skeleton's structural anomalies. If that happens, the program will attempt to re-create it, or we'll get an error message. That said, let's get some muscle on this frame." He refocused on the screen.

The progress window reappeared:

PLEASE WAIT WHILE YOUR SAMPLE IS PROCESSED.