The room was already quiet, but as the Scottish cleric read on, the silence became tangible. When he reached the dramatic narrative about Jesus’ trial, Josh could not restrain the smile that began to form. All these years of defending the Gospels as accurate accounts of the life and death of Jesus of Nazareth were not wasted! Throughout his labors, he had carried that tiny seed of doubt in the back of his head that his faith could minimize but never entirely eradicate. The sense of vindication he felt upon hearing the words out loud for the first time was overwhelming, but he tried to caution himself against overconfidence.
The others reacted in their own way. Giuseppe seemed to lapse into deep thought as the narrative reached its dramatic climax, nodding occasionally, but his eyes turning inward as he reflected on the impact of this discovery on history and faith around the world. Isabella’s eyes widened as the account of the trial was read, and as MacDonald neared the end of the story, she looked long and hard at Josh, then sunk her gaze to the ground. Simone Apriceno remained as unflappable as ever, nodding occasionally, but her face betraying no emotion. Dr. Castolfo was fascinated, engrossed in the narrative from the beginning. Guioccini shook his head in disbelief several times as the narrative unfolded. MacDonald’s clear baritone voice filled the lab, all trace of his accent gone, and his words as clear and crisp as those of a seasoned stage actor reading a long-practiced and well-loved part. His voice rose slightly, and then softened, as he read the account of the empty tomb.
.” . . that is the end of my tale, Caesar. I have tried to conduct myself as a Roman proconsul should. I still do not know what it is I have done. Have I been the victim of an incredibly elaborate fraud? Have I lost my mind? Or was I the unwitting accomplice in the murder of a god? I do not know. So I leave judgment of this matter in your hands. Mine are too stained with blood to deal with it any further. I beg you, Caesar, recall me from this benighted place and let me return to Rome! I remain, respectfully yours, Lucius Pontius Pilate, Governor of Judea.”
He looked over at Josh and gave a small nod. Josh spoke to the group then. “There is one tiny addendum at the end of the manuscript,” he said. “It is not the handwriting used throughout the first section, which was probably penned by Pilate’s scribe, nor is it in the same hand as the last two pages, written by Pilate himself. But it does bear a very strong resemblance to the handwriting on the Tiberius letter, and the postscript Tiberius added to Caesar’s will. It simply reads as follows:
“‘Sergius—this is the most remarkable tale I have read in a while. I would say that Pilate made the whole thing up for my entertainment, were it not for the angry letter I have from Caiaphas the High Priest—and the fact that dear old Pilate is the least imaginative soul in Rome! Send someone you can trust to Judea and see if you can verify any of this remarkable story. And return this original to Capri when you have had it copied—I think I shall keep it with my personal records.—Tiberius Caesar Augustus’
“And that is the entire manuscript, folks. What think you?”
Castolfo spoke first. “I think that there is going to be a political, theological, and historical firestorm that will make the hubbub over the Judas Gospel look like a college debate contest!”
Guioccini nodded. “It certainly will put the historical revisionists on the defensive,” he said. “And I imagine the more radical elements of the Muslim world will not be too happy either.”
Isabella nodded. “The American intelligentsia is going to have a field day with this one,” she said. “Some of the more radical ones, like Hubbard, are going to accuse us of every kind of fraud conceivable.”
Simone Apriceno smiled. “I always believed the Church got it right,” she said. “Maybe not all the doctrinal derivatives, but the central claim of a Resurrection always made more sense to me than any of the so-called explanations did.”
Josh was somewhat surprised. Nothing in her earlier conversations had led him to think she was a person of faith.
Giuseppe Rossini was also beaming. “I agree with Simone. I have not always been a strong Christian, but in my heart, I always believed that Jesus was the Christ of God. Losing my wife made me question that, but I was coming back to my beliefs long before I uncovered that chamber.”
“Let’s not be too hasty,” Isabella said. “After all, Pilate makes no claim to have seen the risen Jesus. Only that the disciples had already made that claim, and that something bizarre did happen at the tomb.”
“Do you have any alternative explanation, Dr. Sforza?” Josh asked.
She thought for a moment. “Not really,” she said. “But what do you think, Joshua? We have talked about your religious beliefs and your scientific convictions over the last ten days. How do you feel now that you have read Pilate’s entire statement?”
Josh thought for a long time before he answered. “I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a sense of vindication,” he said. “I’ve been reading and studying the historical records and accounts of Christianity’s origins all my life. I have read all the major apologetic works from Justin Martyr to Lee Strobel, and I have read many of the criticisms as well, from Thomas Jefferson to Bishop Spong to Bart Ehrman. All along I have been convinced that the Gospels were the best, earliest, and most accurate account of Jesus’ life, and therefore I believed that His life was indeed a supernatural one. But in the end, no historical proof can justify faith. I believe in Christ because of what He has done in my life and the lives of so many through the centuries—not because Pontius Pilate confirmed that the Gospels got the details of Jesus’ trial down correctly.”
Father MacDonald nodded. “The boy speaks true,” he said. “Faith, in the end, is still ‘the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.’ I have always believed that the Holy Church and Her Scriptures rested on a foundation of pure, accurate history. It’s nice to see that belief confirmed to some degree. But I was not going to let the writings of a long-dead governor shake me from my belief in Jesus as the Son of God, regardless.”
“That’s a lot easier to say now than it was when that scroll was sitting there unopened, though, isn’t it, Duncan?” asked Rossini.
The priest threw back his head and laughed. “You can say that again, old friend!” he replied.
“I must ask all of you not to breathe a word of this to anyone yet,” said Castolfo. “I will summon an emergency meeting of the Board of Antiquities tomorrow morning at nine AM. I want all of you in attendance, and I want a clean copy of the translation ready to be handed out to the members. I would also like some recommendations as to what other scholars we can invite to come and examine the scroll and verify the excellent work done by Professor MacDonald and Dr. Parker. The more eyes we have on this document now, the better. As soon as the board gives approval, we will begin planning a press conference to release the findings to the public.”
Guioccini spoke up. “I would like to have my old friend Dr. Luke Martens brought over as soon as possible,” he said. “He was my first choice to be on the excavation team, but was recuperating from a broken leg and not up for the manual labor on Capri. He was the one who recommended Joshua to us, and I think we all agree that was an excellent choice. Now that we are working in the lab, and he is a bit more mobile, I can think of no scholarly opinion I would like to have any more than his.”
Josh nodded. “I’ll second that,” he said. “Dr. Martens is dying to get over here anyway.”
MacDonald spoke up. “I would like to invite Cardinal Heinrich Klein to come as well,” he replied. “He is too old to do fieldwork, but he is the Vatican’s leading historian and specialist in ancient Latin manuscripts.”
The group soon began speaking all at once, talking about the various scholars and specialists each wanted to invite to examine the manuscript, and discussing the remarkable contents of the ancient report among themselves. They split off into pairs and trios and moved apart, the better to hear each other over the buzz of conversation. Josh soon found himself standing face to face with Isabe
lla.
“Congratulations, Josh,” she said. “It looks as if your faith was not ill placed. So were there any surprises in what you read?”
He nodded. “One big one,” he said. “For years, even conservative scholars have wondered exactly how the Apostle John knew what transpired between Jesus and Pilate. Most skeptics think the entire dialogue he described between Jesus and Pilate was completely made up. But it seems that John was right there in the room during Jesus’ interrogation, and never forgot what he heard. It seems he never forgot his promise to Pilate, either—he said more than any of the other Evangelists about Pilate’s reluctance to send Jesus to the cross.”
She nodded, somewhat somberly.
“You don’t seem very happy,” he said.
“This is difficult for me,” she replied. “I am a scientist through and through, and the idea of a supernatural God coming into the world as a carpenter—healing people, raising the dead, then dying to atone for the sins of the world! It’s all well and good for a Sunday morning homily at the Cathedral, but to think of it as historical fact—well, that’s going to take some getting used to.”
Josh looked quickly around the lab, and then planted a quick kiss on her cheek. “Isabella,” he said. “Don’t be afraid of faith! It won’t change who you are. It will only make you better!”
She looked at him fondly, touching her cheek where his lips had brushed it. “I wish I could believe that,” she said.
Moments later Dr. Castolfo’s voice rose above the others. “This has been an incredible day’s work!” he said. “Tonight, supper is on me!”
Josh realized that it was well after six in the evening, and that he was ravenously hungry. It seemed everyone else in the room was, too, as the conversations began to shift from matters of theology, history, and politics to which restaurant would provide them with the most privacy and the best food. However, since the Bureau’s president had made the offer, the pick was his. An hour after he had declared that he was picking up the tab, they found themselves seated in a private ballroom at A Finestella, a fine old restaurant overlooking the bay. Pasta and seafood was the specialty, and huge steaming platters of shrimp, clams, calamari, scallops, and prawns followed one another from the kitchen to the table, preceded by succulent aromas that set every mouth to watering. The archeologists had all skipped lunch, it turned out, and before long they were digging into the delicious cuisine with gusto.
Josh carefully chewed a mouthful of the tenderest calamari he had ever eaten, seasoned with butter, garlic, and a hint of basil and oregano. “You know,” he said to Father MacDonald, “if there is no seafood in heaven, I am not entirely sure I want to go there!”
“You may be out of luck then,” said the priest, “for the Apocalypse of John says that ‘there will be no more sea.’ Will you forfeit your soul for a prawn?”
“Don’t be silly,” Josh said. “All that means is that the shrimp and scallops in heaven live on dry land!”
Isabella, who had consumed about three glasses of wine that evening, found this comment hilarious for some reason, and giggled for several minutes over it. Across the table from them, Simone Apriceno and Giuseppe Rossini were bantering like teenagers as they discussed his best possible strategies for his upcoming date with Signora Bustamante. Castolfo and Guioccini looked fondly at the team as they quietly discussed the plans for the next morning’s meetings.
The dinner party finally broke up after 8 PM, and the team quickly decided that they would return to the lab early and type up the translation for the board, rather than go back to work so late. Josh gave Isabella a quick kiss goodnight outside his hotel, and she waved fondly as he got into the elevator. He was glad that she had decided to respect his convictions about their relationship. If only she knew how very difficult it had been for him to refuse her offer that Sunday night! He was too drained by the day’s events to do any swimming for the evening, and settled instead for a long, warm shower before crawling between the sheets.
In his dreams, a lean, hawk-nosed figure in a toga stood before him, leaning over a table where a long scroll lay, nearly finished. He knew instinctively that it was Pontius Pilate. The man looked troubled, even tormented, as he sealed the scroll he had just finished writing. Then he turned and saw Josh, and opened his mouth as if to speak. Suddenly, a huge gout of flame came shooting from the sky and consumed him, the scroll, and all the furnishings in the room. Josh heard the sound of mocking laugher in his ears before he jerked awake. It was a long time before he went back to sleep.
The next morning’s work went very quickly; Josh was a rapid-fire artist on the keyboard, and he typed up a complete transcript of the Pilate letter in less than an hour and handed it to Father MacDonald for proofreading. After checking the text over for errors and typos and comparing it to their notes from the day before, they copied the transcript and placed each copy in a black plastic binder marked “Segrete e Riservate” on the outside. Then the team met privately for about a half hour. They decided to let Isabella read the finished translation to the board members, and then the members of the team could speak to answer specific questions.
The time passed very quickly, and by 9 AM they were ushered into the conference room where they had met before. Nine faces were seated on the far side of the table. Dr. Castolfo was the picture of dignity and decorum in the large center seat, and next to him Dr. Guioccini looked tanned and elegant. Cardinal Raphael regarded them serenely, without a hint of concern across his pale, wrinkled visage. Dr. Sinisi was wearing a beautiful Armani suit and a pale yellow tie that set off his deeply tanned skin nicely. His customary smile was so bright it hurt to look at, causing Josh to wonder how much the man spent on tooth whiteners. Professor Neapolitano, however, wore a suit that looked as if it came from a second-hand shop, and what was, perhaps, the world’s ugliest lime green bow tie to set it off. Next to him Dr. Tintoretto scowled across the table at Father MacDonald, who returned her glare with a sweet smile and a slightly arched eyebrow. Marc Stefani eyed the team with an undisguised curiosity that belied his years, trying to figure out from their expressions what this meeting was all about. Signore Gandolfo was all smiles, ever the perfect politician, trying to make every person there feel as if he had their best interests at heart. And Professor Castellani, at the end of the table, looked frankly bored—or maybe just drowsy. As the clock next to the antique fireplace struck nine times, Dr. Castolfo rose up and spoke.
“Well, my friends,” he began, “our team has moved with great speed and professionalism in opening and translating the two ancient scrolls from the site at Villa Jovis. I am sure all of you are aware of the text of the Augustus scroll, which was presented to the public yesterday. I am excited to say that the second scroll, the so-called “Testimonium Pilatus,” was opened, read, and translated yesterday afternoon. Dr. Guioccini and I were there for the historic moment, and I have summoned all of you so that you may be the first outside the seven of us to actually hear the contents of this amazing epistle. I have asked Dr. Sforza to speak for the team in presenting to us the contents of this incredible discovery.”
Isabella stood, looking professional but lovely in a black skirt and light green blouse, with a single jewel suspended at her throat from a gold chain. It caught the light as she began speaking.
“I cannot explain what I am about to read. All I can tell you is that these are, without a doubt, the words of Lucius Pontius Pilate, written nearly two thousand years ago. Since there is very little I can say to clarify or change what is here, I am simply going to share the contents.”
In a clear low voice, speaking with great deliberation, she read for the next twenty minutes. As the narrative unfolded, some of the board members sat in silence, while others raised eyebrows, shook or nodded their heads, and in other ways betrayed their emotional reaction to what they were hearing. When she finished with the short postscript that Tiberius had tacked on at the end of Pilate’s tale, she looked at the board members curiously.
“That
concludes the manuscript,” she said. “It is time to discuss what we do for our next step.”
“More scholarly examination of the original papyrus should be the first order of the day,” said Castolfo. “Dr. Guioccini and I have already begun putting together a list of noted archeologists and antiquarians we should like to examine the scroll.”
“We MUST tell the public!” said Sinisi. “This is the most earth-shattering discovery in the history of archeology! Think of the controversy! Think of the publicity! Think of the tourism! People will pay a hundred Euros apiece to stare at the scroll and count it cheap! This could be the greatest boon to the Italian economy since the War!”
“I AM APPALLED!” shouted Doctor Tintoretto. “Do any of you take this seriously? Can you be so easily duped? This is a travesty! The document is obviously forged! Tell me, Father MacDonald”—the priestly title dripped with vitriol coming from her mouth—“when did you substitute this abomination for the real scroll? Or was there ever a real scroll to begin with? Did the Church plant this fraud on the island a century ago, and wait for it to be discovered? I wouldn’t put anything past your two-thousand-year-old social club of pederasts and misogynists!”
“Now see here, lass—” began MacDonald, but she had already turned to Dr. Castolfo.
The Testimonium Page 26