The Sacred Bones

by Michael Byrnes

"Look at this."

  When Charlotte focused on the knee joint, the damage was immediately apparent. Just when she thought it couldn't get worse. "Oh, God."

  "Completely blown out," Bersei gasped. "Look at those tears in the cartilage and the hairline fractures below the knee."

  "His knees were broken?"

  "Yes, of course."

  "What do you mean?"

  Bersei straightened and flipped his lenses up. His complexion was ashen. "It's quite clear what happened here. This man was crucified."

  17.

  TEMPLE MOUNT

  "Surely you don't expect me to desecrate the remains of the dead." Utterly insulted, Razak folded his arms across his chest and frowned at Barton. "Have you no conscience?"

  "It's important, Razak." He held out the gloves again.

  Razak pushed the gloves away. "I will not permit this!" His voice reverberated loudly off the chamber's walls. "You'll have to get authorization from the Waqf."

  Akbar peered through the blast hole, looking alarmed.

  Avoiding the guard's glare, Barton spoke quietly. "You and I both know that will yield no results. In the interest of time, we'll need to take some initiative to find answers. That's why we're here."

  Still fuming, Razak turned to Akbar. "Everything's fine." He motioned for the guard to go away. He rubbed his temples, then turned back to the archaeologist. "What good can come of this? They are only bones in those boxes."

  "That's not certain."

  Razak spread his hands. "If that isn't the case, then why didn't the thieves take these boxes too?" He motioned toward the ossuaries.

  "We need to be sure," Barton remained steadfast. "Every possibility must be explored. As it stands, the only clues we have are in this room. It would be a major oversight to forgo studying these ossuaries."

  For a few seconds, the crypt was deathly silent.

  "All right," Razak finally yielded. "One box at a time. But this you will do alone."

  "Understood."

  "Allah save us," Razak muttered. "Go on, then. Do what you must." He turned to face away from the scene.

  Relieved, Barton knelt in front of the first ossuary, inscribed with the Hebrew characters that translated to "Rebecca." "This may take awhile," he called out.

  "I will wait."

  Reaching out with both hands, Barton firmly clasped the sides of the flat stone lid. He glanced over at Razak. The Muslim still had his back to him. Drawing a deep breath, Barton jostled it loose, pulling it away.

  * * *

  Two hours after he opened the first ossuary, Graham Barton was just replacing the skeletal remains that he had taken out of the seventh ossuary. Much like the specimens he had found in the preceding six burial boxes, this one was remarkably well preserved.

  Though forensic anthropology wasn't his specialty, he had studied enough bones in his time to understand the fundamentals. Certainly, the names on each ossuary eliminated much of the speculation concerning gender, but clues present on the skull sutures, joints, and pelvic bones led him to certain conclusions regarding the age of these skeletons. The four younger females-- the daughters, he guessed-- deceased very young, ranging in age between late teens and early twenties. The three younger males-- by the same logic, the sons-- also seemed to fall into the same range. Typical of families during the first century, the children were numerous and born in rapid succession to ensure family survival.

  Yet as far as Barton could tell, their remains showed no outright anomalies. No telling signs of trauma.

  Assuming these siblings were all born of the father and mother interred in ossuaries eight and nine, it seemed uncanny that all could have died so young. Even in the first century, where normal life expectancy of those surviving their grueling early years might have been as low as thirty-five, this seemed statistically improbable. In fact, it appeared as if they'd all died at the same time.

  Strange.

  Barton stood to stretch for moment. "Still doing okay over there?" He glanced across the chamber where the Muslim was seated in a meditative position, facing the wall. At one point, he had heard him chanting prayers.

  "Yes. How much longer will you need?"

  "Just two more to go. Say half an hour?"

  The Muslim nodded.

  The archaeologist rolled his neck then squatted down in front of the eighth ossuary containing Yosef's spouse, Sarah. Having established a good system by now, he deftly pulled away the lid, flipped it, and rested it on the stone floor so it could be used as a pallet for the extracted bones.

  The hollow eye sockets of a glossy smooth skull stared back at him from inside the box, looking like a ghoulish plaster mold painted in beige shellac.

  Unsure of what he was even looking for, Barton was starting to lose any hope that anything extraordinary was contained in these remaining boxes. Could the thieves really have known this and purposely left these behind like Razak had suggested? Certainly the contents within the tenth ossuary couldn't have been as pedestrian as these. It had him perplexed as to what the thieves knew about the missing relic and how they could've obtained such specific detail in advance.

  Palming the skull, Barton rotated it, then shined the flashlight inside, so that it illuminated like a macabre jack o'lantern. The fusion along the sutures suggested that Sarah had probably been in her late thirties. He set it down on the lid. Then one by one, he plucked the larger bones out and stacked them neatly beside the skull. The small bones that had fallen to the bottom of the box came out in fistfuls. All accounted for and all normal. Aiming the flashlight into the empty ossuary, he carefully examined each surface for engravings, making sure that nothing on the bottom evaded him.

  Reverently returning Sarah's bones to her ossuary and replacing the lid, Barton squatted in front of the ninth ossuary with little enthusiasm. "Come on Yosef, talk to me." Reaching out, he rubbed his fingertips together for good luck and gripped the lid. This time, he was surprised when the top didn't budge. He tried again. Nothing.

  "Hmm. That's odd."

  "What is it?" Razak called out.

  "This last ossuary's been sealed with something." Barton ran the flashlight over its seam. There was definitely something there and it looked like gray caulk.

  "Then perhaps you should let it be."

  Is this fellow mad? He hadn't come this far to stop now. Ignoring him, Barton removed a Swiss Army knife from his pocket, flipped out a medium-sized blade and scraped some of the gooey stuff away onto his gloved palm. Looking at the shavings under the light, he determined it to be some kind of fatty wax. It took him under five minutes to loosen the seal enough to free the lid. He folded the blade and slipped it back into his pocket.

  "Right then," he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. Clasping the lid lengthwise, he coaxed it away, flipped it, and set it on the floor. An unpleasant odor rose up from the box's exposed cavity, making him gasp.

  Grabbing the flashlight, he shone it downward. The longest bones were up top and he began unpacking them.

  When he came to the skull, he flipped it around and lit it up. Judging from the advanced fusion on the skull's sutures and the substantial wear on the remaining teeth along the jaw line, Yosef had been in his late sixties or early seventies at the time of death. When the last of the bones were taken out from the ossuary, Barton drew breath and poked his head into the box, shining the flashlight inside. On the bottom, he was surprised to see a small rectangular metal plate. Retrieving the Swiss Army blade again, he worked it under the plate, prying it away, uncovering a small niche that had been carved into the ossuary's base. And in it was a metal cylinder no longer than fifteen centimeters. Barton smiled. "That's my boy." He grabbed it with his fingers and held it up.

  "Did you find something?" Razak's voice echoed across the crypt.

  "Oh yes. Take a look."

  Without thinking, Razak turned and barely glimpsed the cylinder when his eyes wandered down to the pile of bones. He snapped his head back toward the wall. "Unfortunate soul. May pe
ace be upon him," Razak responded.

  "Sorry. Should've warned you about that," Barton said.

  Throwing up a hand and shaking his head, Razak said, "It's all right. What is that you have in your hand?"

  "A clue." Barton bounced to his feet and walked over to the pole light. "Come and have a look."

  Springing to his feet, Razak went and stood beside Barton.

  Eyeing it closely, Razak noticed that the cylinder-- most likely bronze-- had small caps on both ends. "Are you going to open it?"

  "Of course." Without hesitation, he pulled one cap free and tipped the open end to the light, looking inside. He spotted something rolled up. "Aha. I think we have a scroll."

  Razak was nervously stroking his chin, wondering whether there was a better way to go about all this, but resigned himself to the fact that Barton was the expert.

  Tipping it over his palm, Barton tapped the cylinder a few times until the scroll fell out. Verifying that there was nothing else inside the metal tube, he placed it in his shirt pocket. "Vellum. And excellently preserved." Very gingerly, he unfurled it. It was filled with ancient text, Greek if he wasn't mistaken. The archaeologist glanced up at Razak.

  "Bingo."

  18.

  VATICAN CITY

  Having spent the past two hours completing a comprehensive journal chronicling the forensic examination-- digital photos, written descriptions, case notes-- the two scientists sipped their espressos by the coffee machine in the lab's cramped, white-walled break room. Both were steeped in thought.

  Bersei scrunched up his face. "I've seen human remains of every shape and kind, some mummified, others just bones. Some even melted." He paused. "But that was an absolute first. Although it's not surprising."

  "Why's that?"

  "While it's believed that crucifixion was introduced by the Greeks, in fact it was predominantly practiced by the Romans-- their typical method of criminal execution until the emperor Constantine banned it in the fourth century."

  "You're certain that what we're seeing here is the result of crucifixion, not some other form of torture?"

  "Certain. And I'll tell you why." Bersei drained his coffee. "Let's start with the basics. First off, you have to understand why the Romans crucified criminals. Obviously it was an extreme method of punishment, but it was also intended to send a message to all citizens that Rome was in control. It was a very public death where victims would be stripped naked and hung along major roadways and prime locations. It was considered a dishonorable way to die...utterly humiliating. As such, it was typically reserved for criminals of low social status and enemies of the state. It was the Romans' key method of ruling by fear."

  Charlotte's green eyes flashed. "So we could be dealing with a criminal here?"

  "Perhaps." He shrugged.

  She looked at him curiously. "How do you know all this?"

  "I realize it seems odd, but a few years ago I actually published a formal study on crucifixion, funded by the Pontifical Commission. I tested established theories regarding how it kills the victim."

  Charlotte wasn't sure how to respond. "I've got to ask...why?"

  "Look, I know it sounds morbid. But crucifixion was practiced for centuries and it's hugely relevant to understanding the early Roman government. I prefer to think of it as a niche," he smiled. "It was a popular paper."

  "I'm sure it was. A regular barrel of laughs."

  "Would you like me to continue?"

  "Please do."

  "Before they were crucified, criminals were scourged, usually with a cane or whip, making them more compliant for delivery to the execution site. In the case of our man, it seems the scourging was performed with a flagrum-- a vicious, multi-thong whip with metal barbs."

  "That explains why the ribs were so badly scarred."

  "Si. And judging from the depth of the fissures, his flesh must have been severely flayed. This man would have been in tremendous pain and bleeding terribly."

  "That's so cruel." She fought off the urge to visualize the razor-tipped whip streaming through the air and raking across flesh.

  "That was just the beginning I'm afraid. Crucifixion itself was far, far worse. There were a number of variations on this type of execution, basically all for the same lethal effect. The criminal was impaled on a cruciform by long spikes driven through the wrists and feet. A rope was bound around the arms to provide additional support when the body was hung upright. The cruciform could take many forms: a simple tree or post, two beams crossed like an X, or a solid structure built like a capital T. I'd guess that in the case of our victim, the cross was a crux composita, consisting of an upright post, or stipe, and a crossbar called a patibulum. We know that the familiar images of crucifixion depict victims being nailed to the cross through the hands...."

  Charlotte knew where this was going. "But the small bones and weak flesh in the hands couldn't support the weight of a body, right? Nailed through the hands, the body would slip off the cross." She clenched her hands round the cup.

  "Exactly. So to support the weight, the iron spikes-- huge things measuring eighteen centimeters or so-- would be driven into the wrist, just above the ulna and radius along with a large wooden washer to prevent slippage. Right here." Bersei pointed to a spot just above the crease of his wrist. "It would've crushed or severed the median nerve, sending shock waves of excruciating pain up the arm. The hands would have been instantly paralyzed. Once both wrists were nailed, the patibulum, bearing the full weight of the body, would be violently hoisted onto the stipe. One can't imagine how that must have felt. Unbelievable."

  Hideous images of nails pounding into flesh came into her mind's eye. "That explains the shoulder dislocation."

  "It also explains the gouge patterns and trace residues of hematite we see in the wrists-- evidence of extreme pressure against the bones. Grinding. Like the weight of the body was suspended on nails."

  Hennesey dropped her cup into the sink. "I can't drink any more."

  Bersei put his hand on her arm. "Are you okay?"

  She rubbed her eyes. Maybe bone cancer wasn't so bad after all. "Keep going. I'm fine."

  "Once the body was pulled upright," the Italian continued, "the feet would have been laid over one another, then nailed into the post. It wouldn't have been easy as the victim would have been flailing about."

  "Probably explains the fracture we saw on the foot. There was a struggle."

  "Yes." Bersei's voice dropped. "Sometimes, to avoid that struggle, a supporting peg called a sedile was inserted between the legs. A nail was pounded through..."-- he paused to reconsider this part, but felt the need to be thorough in his explanation-- "the penis and into the sedile to secure victims to the cross."

  For a moment Charlotte felt light-headed, as if she was going to faint. Every time Dr. Bersei added another layer of detail, she felt herself sinking lower, as if her bones were being picked out from inside her one by one. "That's unbelievably brutal," she said in a small whisper. This terrifying knowledge appeared totally at odds with Giovanni's otherwise gentle disposition. She took a deep breath.

  Folding his hands, Bersei paused to marshal his thoughts. "The fact is, in crucifixion no one thing kills the victim. Overall trauma eventually does that. Scourging, impalement, exposure to the elements...they all contribute. Depending on the victim's health before execution, death could take days."

  It was impossible for Charlotte to imagine humans being subjected to such extreme punishment. Equally puzzling to her was Bersei's intensity regarding the subject. She couldn't help but think that men had an innate curiosity for this sort of thing. "And we already know that this man was extremely healthy."

  Bersei nodded. "The damage we saw to the ribs suggests that the intensity of the scourging alone should have killed him. The skin and muscle structure would have been left in tatters, possibly exposing the internal organs. It's incredible that this person could have persevered-- he must have suffered horribly. Which brings me to my last point."

>   Charlotte's stomach contracted. She knew he was about to lay it on her even thicker.

  "If the criminal wasn't moving through the process quickly enough," Bersei continued, "death would be speeded up-- they'd break the knees with a large metal club."

  That visual came quick and she felt her own knees wobble. "Just like we're seeing here," she replied. Fighting to remain objective, Charlotte pondered the consequences of the punishment's final stage. "Without the support of the legs, the full weight of the body would pull across the rib cage. Is that why the cartilage in the chest was torn?"

  "Quite so. With the lungs constricted, the victim would struggle desperately to breathe. Meanwhile what little blood remained would begin to settle lower into the legs and torso."

  "Then basically the criminal would have expired from asphyxiation and heart failure, right?"

  "Right. Dehydration and trauma could also speed up the process." He paused and pursed his lips. "The victim would be kept on the cross for days, until death came. It would have been unspeakably painful."

  "Then what?"

  Lips pulled tight, Bersei offered his explanation. "The corpses would be tossed to the ground, then vultures, dogs, and other beasts would take turns feeding on them. Any remnants were burned. The Romans were very systematic about all of this. It reinforced the last stage of the punishment-- refusing a criminal proper burial-- a huge blow to just about all religions of that period. By burning the bodies, the Romans were actually denying victims any possibility of eventual afterlife, reincarnation, or resurrection."

  "The ultimate punishment." She cast her eyes to the floor.

  "Indeed. The body was completely annihilated."

  "Must've scared the crap out of people to see all this. What a sight that must've been-- walking along a roadway and seeing all those bodies impaled on posts. Talk about suggestive advertising."

  "Rome's forte. It certainly left an impression...kept the subjugated taxpayers orderly."

  A moment of silence fell over the break room.

  "Who do you think this guy was?" she finally asked.