Everyone in the room nodded. Even Josh had heard of the scandalous behavior of Italy’s last president. Isabella stood, frowning, and asked to be recognized. When Castolfo gave her the nod, she spoke forcefully. “Dr. Sinisi, I do not want to compromise sound science in the name of promoting Italian tourism, patriotism, or any other ulterior motive. You have asked me to put on a dog and pony show for the media, and I will. The sword of Caesar and the other artifacts alone should be enough to create the buzz of interest you seek. The existence of the Testimonium Pilatus should NOT be revealed until we know what it contains.”
Tintoretto spoke up. “I disagree, Dr. Sforza. You have been too influenced by these clerics masking themselves as scientists. If you keep the find secret, and its contents wind up debunking the foolish myth of the resurrected carpenter, the last thing any scientist should want is for the find to be smothered in secrecy, so the Church can bury it all over again! I vote for full disclosure!”
The Cardinal looked at her, barely concealing his distaste for her prejudice. “For that very reason,” he said, “I am forced to agree with my colleague, Dr. Tintoretto. The Church has nothing to fear from history, and I am sure the Holy Father would agree with me on this. Let us announce what we have found, and let the die be cast!”
“But don’t you fear creating a media circus that will make it impossible for us to do our work?” asked Rossini.
“The new lab has excellent security,” said Castolfo. “We will hire additional guards and request additional funding so that there will be no danger of unauthorized visitors entering the laboratory. Now, on a matter this important, I do think that everyone’s input should be recorded. First of all, the team itself. You are the ones who have made this fantastic discovery. How many of you favor full disclosure to the media Monday?”
Josh and Simone Apriceno raised their hands, while the other three team members looked on silently. Finally, Isabella spoke.
“This is the board’s decision,” she said, “and I am the youngest and least experienced member of the Board. But as a field archeologist employed on this dig, I must vote no. However, when we vote as a board, I will vote with the majority.”
“So you are in opposition, as a member of the team?” asked Castolfo. “What about you, Giuseppe? And Father MacDonald?”
“I stand with Isabella,” said her mentor. “We need to wait.”
MacDonald hesitated before answering. “I shall cast my vote with my young American friend,” he said. “Our doctrines must be able to bear investigation.”
Castolfo turned to the assembled board of directors, and Isabella crossed the room to stand with them. “Well, colleagues,” the president said. “How say you? Do we release the discovery of the scrolls or not? Let those in favor vote first.”
Eight hands were raised in favor. Isabella’s nay vote was joined by the elderly archeologist Marc Stefani, but she allowed him to voice the opposition. “I must ask that we wait,” he said, his voice trembling with age. “I have been an archeologist for fifty years, and I have seen many careers ruined by a desire for too much publicity, too soon. This is a remarkable discovery—let us not endanger it by premature publicity!” Isabella nodded in agreement.
“Dr. Stefani, we all have the greatest respect for your opinion, but it appears you are outvoted this time,” the president said gently.
“Although I agree with Dr. Stefani, as promised, I will retract my opposition and vote with the majority,” Isabella finally said.
“Very well,” Dr. Castolfo concluded. “The press conference will be held on Monday at the National Archeological Museum. I think an abbreviated version of the presentation you gave us would be a splendid way to announce your triumph to the world, Doctors. So tomorrow you can begin putting it together!” He turned to Dr. Rossini. “Thank you so much for your gracious hospitality,” he said. “It is time for us to return to Naples, and for the artifacts to be removed to the permanent lab. I am asking all five of you to take the rest of the afternoon off—your excellent work has earned it!”
“But should we not help supervise the removal?” asked Isabella.
“Don’t worry, Dr. Sforza,” said Castolfo. “I have three professional curators directing the process as we speak. Everything will be in place, ready for you to begin work, tomorrow morning in Naples.”
With that, the governing board of the Italian Bureau of Antiquities said their farewells and made their exit, leaving the members of the team staring at one another in silence.
SENSATIONAL ARCHEOLOGICAL DISCOVERY TO BE ANNOUNCED MONDAY BY ITALIAN GOVERNMENT
(AP) An anonymous source within the Italian Bureau of Antiquities has informed the press that a historical discovery of ‘paramount importance’ has been made on the isle of Capri, where an earthquake recently revealed a long-sealed chamber. While declining to describe exactly what the discovery might be, the source did say that it could have a “profound impact on both Roman history and the early history of Christianity.” Speculation abounds as to what Monday’s announcement will disclose, and journalists from around the world are congregating in Naples, in advance of Monday’s press conference. The chamber has been confirmed as dating to the reign of Tiberius Caesar, who was Emperor of Rome during the earliest years of the Christian era, when Jesus of Nazareth himself is said to have been crucified.
I had done everything in my power, Caesar, to prevent the execution of an innocent man. But at this point our continued government of this troublesome province seemed to me to be hanging by a hair. Personally, I have never been more revolted by the hypocrisy of the Jewish leadership. I called for a basin of water, and sat down in the judgment seat overlooking the crowd. I dipped my hands in the water three times and carefully dried them, then spoke.
“I am innocent of this man’s blood!” I cried. “I wash my hands of this whole affair!”
Old Annas spoke again. “Let his blood be on us and on our children!” he shouted back. Even his son-in-law Caiaphas scowled at this remark, and many in the crowd howled their opposition, but the old man glared at them and refused to retract his ridiculous statement. But then that hateful cry of “Crucify, Crucify!” drowned out their argument.
I had had enough. “Take him then, and crucify him!” I snapped to the legionaries. “But I find no guilt in him,” I muttered as they left. There was one duty left to attend—listing the formal charge against Jesus, to be posted on the cross above his head. I took a broad-tipped quill and wrote in bold letters: “This is Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews!” and ordered my scribe to copy it in Greek and Hebrew. I would accord the strange man this much honor, at least. For in my heart, I think he may have been a king of some sort.
As I returned to my quarters, I found the young disciple of Jesus, whom I had quite forgotten, staring at me with tears streaming down his face. “Get him out of here!” I snapped, and retired to my chambers.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Well, that was fun,” said Josh a half hour later. He and Isabella Sforza stood side by side on Dr. Rossini’s patio, watching the chopper carrying their discoveries lift off from the Villa Jovis on top of the mountain. Father MacDonald was stretched out on the couch taking a nap, and Dr. Rossini was hunched over a chessboard with Simone Apriceno, waging an epic battle that she was currently winning by a single pawn.
“I cannot believe that they want us to announce the discovery of those two scrolls before we even know what they contain!” she snapped. “I know that Sinisi is a shameless publicity hound, but this is foolish even for him!”
“It’s all about PR and money, if Italy is anything like the States,” said Josh. “Whenever the government spends too much, history always goes onto the chopping block—or the auction block! I guess they are thinking that the more public interest they can gin up about our discoveries, the more money they can milk out of the legislature in the next session.”
“We Italians are proud of our heritage,” said Isabella. “There is a great deal of public support already
for historical and archeological preservation.”
Josh snorted. “I wish that were the case in America!” he laughed. “You are familiar with the Battle of the Alamo, in Texas?”
“Of course,” she said. “And I think Billy Bob Thornton was actually a much better David Crockett than John Wayne.”
“Many Americans would shoot you for saying that!” laughed Josh. “But Thornton’s portrayal was much more accurate, at least. My point in the question was this—the original Alamo compound covered nearly three acres. Most of the fighting actually took place along the perimeter walls or in the ‘Long Barracks,’ not in the famous chapel. But the city of San Antonio grew up around the site and was allowed to devour everything except the chapel and part of the Long Barracks. The actual place where Travis, the Alamo commander, died is now inside a shoe store. They even allowed a McDonald’s to be built on part of the battlefield at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. And as for archeology—well, understand, most of our sites are Stone Age Native American mounds and such, but still, they sit unexcavated, except by amateur hobbyists if they happen to be on private land, while museums often throw away entire artifact collections that have been bequeathed to them. American archeology is a sad remnant of what it once was, I can tell you that.”
She regarded him with affection. He was such a bundle of contradictions, as religious as a preacher, but passionate about science, and with more common sense and decency than any man she had met since—she paused in her thoughts, stunned. It was the first time all day long she had thought of the name of her dead husband. Only a week before, she could not go a minute without recalling his face, his name, his touch. A part of her was angry at the betrayal of his memory, while a larger part was focused on the lanky American next to her. She was so lost in her thoughts that she did not even hear his question. When she saw him staring at her, she realized he was waiting for a response. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was a thousand miles away for a moment there.”
“I was asking how you wanted to handle the press conference on Monday,” he asked.
“Ah, of course!” she said. “Actually, I think that Dr. Castolfo had a good idea. We will prepare a shorter version of the presentation we did for the Antiquities Board, and bring out some of the more durable artifacts to show and tell for the reporters. They will love it.”
“I think that all the other artifacts will be forgotten the moment we announce the Pontius Pilate scroll’s discovery,” said Josh.
Isabella looked at him sadly. “You know, that is probably true. And a shame it is, too. I understand the scroll’s importance, especially if it is what we think it is—but the other discoveries are so amazing, they deserve their day in the sun.”
“That is true,” said Josh. “But you know, regardless of what is in the scroll, I am going to tell my grandchildren that I was the first person to draw Julius Caesar’s sword from its scabbard in two thousand years!”
She smiled. “You know that, in order to have grandchildren, you are, at some point, going to have to have children first.”
Josh blushed and changed the subject. “Boy, that one lady professor—Tintoretto, I think her name was? She has no use for the church, does she?” he asked.
“I am not sure what drives her to be so hostile to religion,” said Isabella. “I am no true believer like you, but I actually got into an argument with her once because she openly expressed doubt that Jesus ever existed as an actual person!”
“Yet she was once the sweetest little Catholic girl you ever met,” said Giuseppe Rossini, who had stepped up behind them without their noticing. They both started, and he laughed. “You two must have guilty consciences!” he said.
“Not particularly,” said Josh. “We were just pretty intent on our conversation when you came up behind us. So what happened to the sweet little Catholic girl?”
“Well, it was several years ago,” said the archeologist. “I was a young professor, and she was a beautiful twenty-two-year-old grad student. She had a torrid affair with a colleague of mine—a married man. Such things were and are common in universities all over the world, I guess. At any rate, she begged Giovanni, my friend, to leave his wife, and he refused. He was just enough of a faithful Catholic to fear excommunication if he abandoned his spouse, whose uncle was a Cardinal. Then Maria got pregnant, and when he still refused to leave his wife, she aborted the baby. Had to go to France to get it done, as I recall. When she returned, she confronted him with the consequences of his actions—I guess she was hoping to show how devoted she was to him. He called her a baby-killing monster and threw her out of his office. She put up a screaming fit that required security to physically remove her from the building. Giovanni’s wife got wind of it and left him, and not long after that, he shot himself. Tintoretto blames the Church for his death and her failed chance at happiness. Ever since then she has dedicated her career to debunking every aspect of Christianity that she can. It has colored her attitude towards archeology to a degree that many in the field refuse to work with her—not because they are true sons of the Church, but because they feel her objectivity is completely compromised.”
Josh gave a low whistle of astonishment. “Wow!” he said. “I knew from her face that she was someone who spent a whole lot of time angry—she just radiates hostility in waves. Now I see why.” He paused, and then continued. “But we can expect a lot of that kind of hostility if the Testimonium indeed is what we suspect. Her kind of militant atheism is rare in the population at large, but in America it is very pervasive in the media, academia, and the entertainment world. There are a lot of people who get rich in my country ridiculing religion, especially Christianity.”
Rossini nodded. “I used to think that American evangelicals were a whiny lot, with a persecution complex,” he said. “But the more I watch American news and commentary shows, the more I see why they feel the way they do. Well, hopefully by this time next week we will have a good idea as to what the scroll says—at least the first part of it. Then we will see what kind of storm descends on us.”
They passed a quiet afternoon at Giuseppe’s, catching up on their rest and talking about trivial matters. Josh wondered how his folks were doing back home, and realized with a start he had not spoken to them since his arrival in Italy. He walked over to Isabella. “I was going to call my dad,” he said. “Since we are making our big announcement on Monday, can I go ahead and tell him a little bit about what we have found?” he asked.
Isabella laughed. “Since the whole world will know Monday afternoon, I see no harm in letting family have a few hours advance notice. I imagine Sinisi is making a ‘strategic leak’ to the press as we speak! Just tell him to keep it quiet till Monday.”
Josh stepped out onto the patio. Twilight was already gathering, and the songs of Mediterranean nightingales were already audible. He watched geckoes scramble under the porch light, ready to snag the small moths that would come flocking as the darkness grew. The phone rang several times before his father picked up.
“Hi, Dad!” he said as the familiar voice came on the line.
“Josh!” his father replied. “I saw a short mention of the Capri site in the paper yesterday! Is that the dig you are working on?”
“That’s right,” replied Josh. “We are working out of the Villa Jovis, which was once the home of the Emperor Tiberius. Listen, you and Mom are going to want to watch the news Monday, about five AM your time—it will be noon here. I imagine all the networks will be carrying it, if not live, then right after we finish our press conference in Naples. In fact, I imagine by Monday evening you and Mom may even be getting some calls from reporters.”
“Goodness,” the old pastor said. “What on earth have you found?”
“Not a word to anyone until Monday, Dad, OK? You have to promise before I can tell you,” explained Josh.
“Of course,” said his father. “I could not have been a minister for nearly fifty years if I was unable to keep a confidence!”
“I know,” said J
osh. “I just wanted it to be clear that this conversation is very much in confidence. For about seventy-two more hours, anyway.”
“Well, now that we have established that,” his father said, “out with it. You have got my curiosity going something fierce.”
“All right,” said Josh. “Here is a very quick summary of what has happened since I arrived Tuesday. The earthquake that hit here on Capri on Easter Sunday tore open a chamber that had been sealed since about 37 AD. Nothing inside had been disturbed since it was sealed, so everything was perfectly preserved. Before I even got here, they had already found a writing desk and stool, and a signed papyrus letter from the Emperor Tiberius himself, and his signet ring and inkwell! Then as we excavated the rear of the chamber, we discovered a treasure trove of first-century Imperial relics. We found the sword of Julius Caesar, and a reliquary cabinet that once held the funeral masks of the Julian family!”
“Amazing!” said his father. “I am proud you could be a part of such an exciting excavation.”
“I haven’t gotten to the exciting part yet, Dad!” said Josh with a grin. “Inside the reliquary, we found that most of the documents it contained had been shredded by rats. But there was one small compartment that was locked. Fortunately we had already found the key to the lock in a secret drawer of the writing desk. We opened the compartment and there were two perfectly preserved scrolls. One of them was the last will and testament of Caesar Augustus—well, at least that is what the writing on the outside of the scroll says. But the other—oh, Dad, I nearly fainted when I read it. The scroll is still sealed, but there is an inscription scribbled on the outside of it—it is in the same handwriting as the letter that Tiberius wrote. It says: ‘The Testimony of Pontius Pilate, Governor of Judea’!”
The Testimonium Page 18