The Testimonium (54 page)

“Different lights?” said Isabella.

“Watch,” said the professor. He flicked a small thumb switch on the side of the loupe’s handle, and a powerful beam of light emerged from just below the magnifying glass, illuminating whatever it was pointed at.

“I have seen that before,” she said. “I have used them on occasion. But that is just plain old white light!”

“Not done yet!” he said. There was a small wheel switch just below the lens, and he rolled it with his thumb. Immediately the light switched to UV. He scrolled it again to get infrared, and then a strong, greenish beam. “Handiest thing in the world for checking fluorescent properties,” he said. “Flint authenticators use them to look for modern tool marks on fake projectile points.”

“You’ve been lurking on the dark side!” said Josh. “Not many archeologists will admit to even knowing a collector, much less a commercial authenticator!”

Henderson laughed. “I realized a few years ago that the average collector of flint points and knives knows far more about them than the average archeologist,” he said. “We are big picture guys, and they focus exclusively on complete tool forms. In the process, some of them acquire a lot of expertise. I’m willing to poach knowledge wherever I can find it. Now, can we take that cover off the scroll?”

Josh grabbed one end and Guioccini grabbed the other, and they lifted the plexiglass cover off of the
Testimonium
. Henderson leaned in very close and inhaled deeply, careful to turn his head before exhaling. Then he straightened up and smiled.

“Your stabilizing solution does mask a lot of the aroma,” he said to MacDonald. “But there is still no smell in the world like ancient papyrus. I find it more exciting than the sweetest cologne!”

He clicked the light on his loupe and began poring over the ancient scroll line by line, occasionally switching the color of the light to study the ink or some of the ancient spots of stain and discoloration. His two assistants assembled a small, rolling tripod and mounted a digital camera with an enormous lens on it, canted at a slight downward angle. Then one of them pulled out what appeared to be a large remote control and hit a couple of the buttons. A small motor whirred as the tripod rolled across the table toward the scroll for a few inches, and then stopped.

“What on earth is that?” Joshua asked.

One of them—Josh wasn’t sure yet which was Cameron and which was Justin—turned and answered.

“A little device Dr. Henderson invented,” he said. “The small servomotor moves the tripod smoothly, without any vibration. It will give us a clear, sharp video image, better than any handheld camera could manage.”

“Impressive,” said Isabella, coming up behind Josh and putting her hand on his shoulder. She stared at the ancient scroll that Dr. Henderson was studying so closely. “It’s still hard to believe it all,” she commented. “The chamber, the artifacts, the scroll and the story it tells, the deaths of our friends, the crazy publicity—every morning I wake up and wonder if it was all just a dream.”

“Are you OK?” Josh asked. “You’ve been awfully quiet since the funeral.”

She nodded toward the elevator, and he turned to Castolfo and Guioccini. “I imagine he is going to be awhile examining the scroll,” said Josh. “I think we may head up to the cafeteria and get a bite to eat.”

“Take your time, Josh,” said Martens. “I’ll text you when he is done.”

The two of them got in the elevator and went to the third-floor cafeteria. Josh got a sweet roll and some cola, and Isabella ordered a small fruit salad. There were quite a few tourists coming and going, but they found a quiet corner and sat down facing each other.

“So tell me what is on your mind,” he said to Isabella. “It hurts me to see you so quiet and sad.”

“I guess I am just mourning for my friend,” she said. “That’s most of it.”

“And the rest?” he asked gently.

“Well,” she said, “after I listened to you at the funeral yesterday, I went back home and read the rest of John’s Gospel. There was so much there that I had forgotten—or perhaps never even knew to begin with. I am wrestling with the whole concept of belief right now. John’s claims about Jesus are so extraordinary, and yet the proofs he lays down are very convincing! I would reject it all as simply good propaganda, but the
Testimonium
confirms so many of the details of Jesus’ trial, it makes it very hard for me to doubt the overall truth of the rest of the story. There is part of me that teeters on the brink of faith, wanting to go ahead and take the plunge and cry out ‘I believe!’ But something keeps holding me back.”

“What is it?” he asked.

“Well,” she went on, “some of it is just good old-fashioned scientific skepticism. That God should become a carpenter in a backwater province of the Empire two thousand years ago—ten years of higher education screams to reject such silliness! And yet that same education has forced me to accept that the
Testimonium
must be authentic. And, to be honest, some of it is personal. Belief demands action, doesn’t it? Taking that step of faith will mean giving up control of my life. I have worked so hard to be independent; the idea of surrendering to anyone—even God—scares me to death! And so I sit here, miserable and conflicted, pulled in two directions and not sure which way to go.”

Josh took her hand. “Do you trust me?” he asked.

“Of course!” she said. “How could I not, after all we have been through?”

“Think about it,” he said. “Why do you trust me?”

“Because you saved my life at the risk of your own,” she said. “Because you are good, and decent, and honorable. And, most of all, because I have fallen in love with you!”

“Isabella,” he said, “I am not that good. Decent? My thoughts are as polluted as anyone’s. I am one flawed, sinful, mortal human being. But I do love you, and I am flattered and astonished that you return my love, and that you are willing to trust me. But if you can trust me, and love me, a wicked, fallen, mortal creature, how can you not trust a loving and perfect God—who has no wickedness in Him, who loves you more perfectly than I ever possibly could?”

She sighed. “Because I don’t know Him!” she wailed. “I know about Him, but I don’t know Him like I know you! And I’m a little bit afraid of Him. He sent His own Son to the cross—what sacrifice might He require of me? I have lost so much already!”

“That’s where faith comes in,” said Josh. “At some point, you just have to put your trust in the goodness and love of God, and invite Him in.”

She bowed her head, pressing his knuckles against her forehead. “I just wish it was that easy,” she said softly.

Josh’s cell phone chimed, and he looked at the incoming text. “Looks like Dr. Henderson has finished his initial examination of the text,” he said. “Let’s go hear what he thinks of our find.”

They walked back to the elevator hand in hand, each one thinking about what the other had said. Josh was hoping that Isabella’s doubts would give way at some point, that she would see a clear path to embracing the faith that was so important to him. Isabella was wondering if she could ever find the strength to do so.

They entered the lab with lighter hearts than they left with—each of them felt a measure of comfort and strength in confiding in the other. Alicia had joined her husband at the table, and Isabella took a long look at them as she and Josh sat down. How confident they seemed, in their love for each other and their love of God!

Dr. Henderson had been taking a last, long look at the
Testimonium,
but as they sat down he turned and faced the group. “Well,” he said, “what I can tell you with confidence is this: we are either looking at an authentic papyrus manuscript from the first century, or else we are looking at the cleverest forgery I have ever seen.”

Isabella bristled. “Don’t tell me you think there is any credence to the venomous slurs that Tintoretto has been—” she began.

Henderson held up his hand. “Hundred-year-old Vatican conspiracy theories?” he said. “I seriously doubt it. I am familiar with Dr. Tintoretto and her anti-Church crusade. I know all of you by reputation at least, and several of you personally. I have no doubt of your professionalism, and I have watched the video footage of the excavation. I believe you! But, we are talking about a document that will have a powerful influence on the faith of over one billion human beings—perhaps more. What I believe is immaterial. What the tests will prove beyond all doubt is whether or not the
Testimonium
was in fact written in the first century AD. The papyrus looks right, the ink looks right, and the document gives every apparent, visible sign of great age. But C-14 dating will confirm the accuracy of our assessments, and prove beyond all doubt the antiquity of this remarkable manuscript.” He paused and looked at the papyrus again. “Or it will prove we have been the victims of the hoax of the century!”

“Well, the reason we chose you to conduct these tests is because your expertise and integrity are above reproach,” said Dr. Castolfo. “We will have the scroll in Rome first thing Friday morning so that you may begin the testing process. Is there anything else we can do while you are here?”

“Of course!” said the Smithsonian paleographer. “I want to see every scrap of papyrus that you still have from the excavation. The
Testimonium
is important, but that does not change the fact that you also uncovered the oldest extant writings of a Roman statesman. In fact, to the best of my knowledge, what you have are the only known handwriting samples of ANY Roman emperor—except for a few Byzantine letters dating from the Medieval era. And those rulers were Roman in name only. I want to see the other things you have found.”

They spent the rest of the morning pulling out the items from the chamber on Capri one at a time. Henderson stared, examined, measured, and photographed artifacts for the next three hours, sometimes calling in his assistants to help him take close-up photographs and measurements. He seemed equally interested in everything—he used as much time to examine Caesar’s sword as he did the letter from Tiberius. The signet ring he examined for a long time, and when he got to the beautiful cameo of Vipsania, he studied it with a fascination bordering on reverence. Last of all, he read and examined the remaining portion of the will of Caesar Augustus, shaking his head sadly at the burned edges.

The Capri team watched him with interest at first, and finally decided to leave him to it, sitting at the table and talking quietly as they waited, occasionally answering questions from the American or from his two grad students. Finally, Henderson finished examining every remaining artifact from the Villa Jovis chamber, and sat down at the table with them.

“So what do you think, old friend?” asked Luke Martens.

“You know, I have examined some remarkable artifacts in my time,” said Henderson. “But I can honestly say that I have never wanted to be part of the original excavation team quite as much as I wish I could have been with you folks two weeks ago. This is truly an amazing discovery!”

“Any doubts, based on your initial examination of the artifacts?” asked Josh.

“Not really,” said Henderson. “Granted, the naked eye can only detect and measure so much, but I see nothing here that is not one hundred percent consistent with an origin in the first century AD. What a shame so much was destroyed in the blast! Looking at the photographs, I could have spent months reassembling and restoring the shredded documents from the rat’s nest!”

“Well, they are still sifting rubble out there,” said Dr. Castolfo. “Perhaps they may yet find some of the remaining artifacts.”

“I sincerely hope so,” said Henderson. “In the meantime, I think my assistants and I are due to catch the evening train to Rome. I look forward to seeing you all in the new research lab there Friday morning.”

“Allow us to escort you to the station,” said Guioccini as he and Castolfo rose. “As for the rest of you, we will see you at the funeral in an hour.”

* * *

Simone’s service was a simple Catholic mass, followed by two touching eulogies, one from her daughter and one from her ex-husband, who seemed far and away the more grief-stricken of the two. For Josh and Isabella, seated in the audience with the board members and Dr. Martens, the sight of their raw pain was difficult to bear. Josh found tears running down his cheeks, and Isabella simply stared ahead, her gaze a mask of numbness. Josh could follow some of what Ricardo said, and Isabella later translated the rest for him. It was a deeply personal and very moving tribute.

“When I met Simone thirty years ago, she was a beautiful college student with a smile that lit up the room, and a laugh that seemed to make the stars themselves twinkle,” he began. “She was also the most magnificent cook I ever met! How could any Italian man not want to make such an enchanting woman his own? We fell madly in love, but she made it clear from the beginning that her career was very important to her. I thought I would humor her, let her look at her silly ancient pollens for a while, until she realized that being home with me was much more fun than staring at ancient relics and taking samples back to the lab for testing. I was foolish. Her fascination with the past was not some schoolgirl fad, but a true vocation. I tried to tell myself that it was all right, but eventually I got jealous of her job, of her absences, of her constantly trying to tell me about her latest project, her latest dig. It was hardly fair—she had made it clear from the beginning that she wanted a career—but I began to resent her job as if it were a lover. And out of that resentment came anger, a desire to settle the score. I began to keep company with other women. She found out, we quarreled, and we split. It was the most petty and vile thing I ever did.”

He broke down and sobbed a moment, then continued. “For a while I told myself I was happier this way; that my girlfriends were more fun than she ever had been; that they did not have careers that took them away from me for weeks at a time. But to tell you the truth, they were boring. Not a one of them had her smile, her brains, or her common sense. It did not take me long to realize what a precious jewel I had cast aside. So I tried to come back to her.” He swallowed hard and looked at the closed casket. “But I had hurt her too deeply. She did not give her heart away lightly, and I had broken it. I kept telling myself that I could make amends, that I could make things right again. We talked on the phone every now and then, and I would beg her to trust me just a little bit. Over the last year, I began to think that the ice was melting. I dared to hope that we could be together again one day. She even called me when the group she was working with returned from Capri, to tell me how exciting the dig had been. I asked her if I could see her when it was done, and she said yes!”