by Tom Pollack
“How did you arrive at the notion of creating such a piece?”
“Well…it was a long time ago. While on a lengthy journey, I watched a bolt of lightning strike sand on a beach and turn it to glass,” Cain explained. “That’s when I conceived the idea of making glass one day. The designs have grown steadily more elaborate.”
The visitor nodded but said nothing. Cain broke the pause in their conversation by inviting him to sit down.
“Will you care to stay and chat until my opponent returns?”
“You are most courteous. May I ask your name?”
“I am called Marcus Flavius Pictor. I grew up in Alexandria but now live in Rome. Here, take this chair.” He drew up the seat his opponent had occupied from the opposite side of the table.
The visitor sat down but then raised his left hand in a quizzical gesture. Cain could see that a small black thorn was embedded in the man’s index finger. The thorn had apparently been on the arm of the chair, although how the youth had avoided impaling his own finger on it escaped Cain. The wound must have been painful, since the thorn was stuck deeply into the stranger’s fingertip, yet he gave only a brief wince. Then, he smiled and even chuckled softly as he removed the thorn and flicked it away.
Not wishing to embarrass his new acquaintance, Cain asked him about his business in Caesarea.
“What has brought you to Judaea’s capital?”
“My father has a carpenter’s shop two days journey to the northeast, in Galilee. He sent me here to deliver the chairs and tables for the game board gathering. I have been walking the square all day to make sure my customers are satisfied.”
“Well, the table in this stall is extremely sturdy, and the chairs are level and don’t squeak. If this furniture came from your workshop, you are to be congratulated.”
“You are very kind, Marcus. May I ask in turn why you have come to Caesarea, all the way from Rome?”
“I wanted to see the new harbor,” Cain replied. “I have been in the merchant shipping business for quite some time now, but never before in Caesarea. It looks like it could become a very prosperous market for me. Also, I am building a large house near Rome, on the Bay of Naples. It is almost complete, in fact, so I have been shopping for some house furnishings here.”
“That is a coincidence. I too shall be building a large house soon,” the visitor said.
“Well, on a carpenter’s wage you will have to control expenses carefully!” Cain joked.
The stranger laughed and nodded.
Changing the subject, Cain gestured to the board and inquired if the visitor was familiar with the game.
“Oh, yes, I know it very well,” he answered with a smile. “Let me see, now. Your opponent seems to be ahead.”
Cain resisted the temptation to request any advice. The carpenter pointed to a tile bearing the image of a green snake near the center of the board.
“The serpent has had you trapped far too long, my friend.” Placing his left index finger on the tile, he slid it toward Cain and added, “You must be set free.” The carpenter removed his finger from the game piece. A drop of blood had collected upon the snake image within the tile’s indentation.
Noticing the stranger was still bleeding, Cain reached in his tunic and offered him a piece of silk cloth.
“No thank you,” the man demurred. “I am sure it could be much worse. But look—I have marred this game piece. I hope its owner won’t be too upset.” Rising from his chair, he continued, “Thank you for the water. As for your opponent, he will not be returning to this table.” The stranger smiled warmly and turned toward the entrance of the tent.
“Are you leaving now?” Cain asked. “I have not even learned your name.”
The visitor turned to face Cain and smiled. “I am called Jesus of Nazareth,” came his reply, and then he strode out to the square and disappeared into the crowd.
Cain was perplexed. Why had this carpenter departed so abruptly? He stared vacantly at the town square, where board games continued even in the twilight. He glimpsed his young opponent, seated at a table about twenty-five feet away. Abaddon had apparently begun a new match with another gamer. He called to him several times but the young man ignored him completely.
Annoyed by the disrespect, Cain glanced back at the leather pouch on the table. Reasoning that the money should be considered forfeit, he attached the pouch to his belt, exited the stall, and strode purposefully toward the harbor. Upon reaching the port, he boarded his ship.
“No shopping today?” asked Felix upon greeting his empty-handed master.
“Actually, I passed the time in the square playing senet.” Cain tossed the leather pouch to Felix. “Here, put this in the ship’s treasury. Nothing too exciting. Only thirty pieces of silver.”
Felix smiled. “Just the same, I’m glad that you and I play the game for fun.” He turned and went below decks. Absently tossing the pouch from hand to hand, it struck him that the bag seemed a bit bulky for the sum Cain had mentioned. But with many more preparations to be made before tomorrow’s sailing for Rome, he simply deposited the pouch in the strongbox, intending to verify the contents later.
CHAPTER 60
Ercolano: Present Day
LUC RENARD’S HELICOPTER TOUCHED down in Ercolano on the stroke of noon. A black Mercedes stretch limo conveyed the travelers and their bodyguards from the helipad to the dig site, barely half a mile away. Alerted by one of his team, Silvio hastened up the makeshift staircase to street level, together with Juan Carlos.
“Benvenuti, Signori,” Silvio welcomed the visitors courteously. Archibald Walker made the introductions.
“Silvio, this is Mr. Luc Renard, one of our most munificent benefactors at the Getty. Mr. Renard, let me present my colleague Dr. Silvio Sforza. Oh, and this is Mr. Rudolph Schmidt, one of California’s most eminent attorneys.”
After handshakes all around, the normally diplomatic Walker, who had fortified himself from a pocket flask in the airport terminal restroom at Naples, plunged onward. Turning to Silvio, he said, somewhat indelicately, “Now, my old friend, you really must explain to us why you permitted Amanda James to enter the chamber so prematurely.”
Silvio sidestepped the question. “We’ll cover all that in a few minutes. The main thing now is to get Amanda out of the chamber.” Gesturing to Juan Carlos, he explained, “We’ve been working on a digital recording to trace Amanda’s steps in solving the word puzzle for the combination lock. We’re almost there.”
Silvio paused and looked dramatically at Walker, making sure he had the man’s full attention. “But Juan Carlos needs your help. I believe you can likely fit through the crack and come to her aid. Please let him explain our progress to you. I’ll keep Mr. Renard and Mr. Schmidt company up here.”
Gratified at what he interpreted as Silvio’s invitation to play a key role, Walker nodded. Excusing himself, he accompanied Juan Carlos down the stairway to an area enclosed by a privacy tarp.
After Walker and Juan Carlos had distanced themselves from the group, Silvio turned to Luc Renard. It was now the archaeologist’s turn to ask direct questions.
“Mr. Renard, we have only just met. But I can’t refrain from asking you about the mineral claim that you have evidently filed in conjunction with your purchase contract.”
Luc waved his hand casually. “Oh, the mineral claim? That’s standard procedure. My company always files such claims when I acquire property.
“It’s only prudent. Don’t take it seriously,” Schmidt added.
“Well, I must inform both of you that in Ercolano such claims are taken very seriously,” Silvio parried. “Let me pursue another point with you, however. When exactly do you anticipate that the title to the property will be transferred from your company to the Getty?”
Luc Renard was on the verge of replying when a helicopter with the Vatican’s yellow-and-white flag and official insignia of two crossed keys flew low overhead. Abandoning his quest for information, Silvio suggested that L
uc and the lawyer should join Walker and Juan Carlos to check on their progress. But Luc, concerned about the arrival of the Vatican helicopter, demurred.
“As the prospective owner of the property, I shall join you in greeting these unexpected visitors, Dr. Sforza.”
A few minutes later, Silvio warmly greeted Cardinal Ravatti and Monsignor Notombo at their car and then made introductions. He informed Luc that Cardinal Ravatti was well versed in archaeology.
“You say you represent the Pontifical Commission for Sacred Archaeology,” Luc said to the monsignor after the exchange of pleasantries. “What interest, may I ask, does the Vatican have in my excavation, Monsignor?” Silvio privately noted Luc’s choice of pronoun, as well as the magnate’s proprietary tone of voice.
“It is what you might call a routine procedure, Mr. Renard,” Notombo replied suavely. “The Vatican is always represented when the excavation of any catacomb commences. Or the excavation of any site that might be a catacomb,” he added.
“But you are a day early,” Luc politely pointed out. “The site is closed until tomorrow. There are no excavations in progress today. It’s Sunday, as you gentlemen are well aware.”
Cardinal Ravatti intervened in a gravelly tone. “Well, Mr. Renard, you may become the owner of the land tomorrow, but you seem to be overlooking a more pressing matter—the safety of Dr. Amanda James.”
Although he maintained a poker mask, Luc Renard was disconcerted. By somehow involving the Vatican, Silvio seemed to have outmaneuvered him, at least for the moment. He would have to proceed carefully.
“Ah, yes, Dr. James,” Rudolph Schmidt hastily interjected. “We are effecting a rescue as we speak. But when she is safely out of the chamber, the entrance will be closed. There is certainly a difference, gentlemen, between a rescue and an excavation,” he reminded the clerics.
Cardinal Ravatti was not accustomed to being trumped, and certainly not by an American attorney. Here on the doorstep of the Incogniti, he made his intentions clear.
“We agree that Dr. James’s safety should be the top priority,” Ravatti said. “But if she reports a catacomb or the presence of Christian remains, the Vatican will immediately assume oversight of this excavation in keeping with long-standing Italian and international laws. And regardless of the particulars of her initial report, we already have probable cause to conduct our own inspection.” He glanced meaningfully at Renard and Schmidt. “If we find nothing of interest to the Vatican, gentlemen, the site is yours. But until then…”
“It is truly a pity that you are unaware of all the forces in play here,” Renard interrupted. He moved fractionally closer toward Ravatti, seeming to ignore the presence of Notombo and Schmidt. “Your claims to legality notwithstanding, you will not be the one who dictates the fate of this excavation.”
Cardinal Ravatti’s eyes widened slightly in surprise as the brash billionaire dug the verbal knife in deeper. “The property will be donated to the Getty, so that whatever I find within will benefit the public. I did not acquire this land so that the Vatican could hijack it and sit on the discovery for fifty years.”
Luc Renard spun on his heels and stalked toward the excavation, with Schmidt trailing after him like a puppy. After several paces, Renard called out to Ravatti over his shoulder. “When we meet again, Cardinal, it will be in a court of law.”
CHAPTER 61
Rome and Judaea, AD 29–33
“ALL PAID UP?” CAIN asked Felix after the captain had returned from the port administration office. He was eager to see his son, so from Caesarea they had made directly for Ostia, without bothering to break the journey in Naples in order to unload the items purchased for his villa in Herculaneum.
Felix reached into the leather bag he carried and handed Cain the receipt for payment of the port fees. He also withdrew a small leather pouch and gave it to his master.
“Everything is in order, sir. But while I was verifying the accounts and the funds in the treasury, I discovered something curious.”
Cain opened the pouch with the silver coins that had been forfeited by his opponent at the tile game. Among the coins was the ceramic tile with the green snake, still stained with the blood from Jesus’s finger.
“Very strange,” thought Cain, as he closed the pouch and attached it to his belt. How could the tile have gotten in there? He was sure he had last seen it on Abaddon’s game board.
“No matter, Felix. Have all the merchandise delivered to the estate. We’ll decide there which goods we want to ship to Herculaneum.”
The captain saluted, and Cain disembarked to board his smaller launch for the brief journey up the Tiber to central Rome.
Because word of his safe arrival had been dispatched from the ship, he had expected that Quintus would meet him at some distance from the estate on the Palatine. He longed to scoop the boy up in his arms as his son greeted him joyfully.
But there was no sign of Quintus near the entrance to the estate. It was only as he strode into the atrium that Cain glimpsed the boy, now confined to a wooden wheelchair. The disease that had weakened his legs, though, had not dulled the child’s eyes. As a house servant guided the chair across the terrazzo floor, Cain reached out and took Quintus in his arms, hugging him fiercely.
“Father! It is really you!” Quintus cried. “I’ve dreamed about this day for so long!”
Suppressing a twinge of guilt for his extended absence, Cain kissed his son on the forehead.
“I, too, have dreamed of you, my son. I can’t wait to cheer for the Greens together!”
The boy clapped his hands in anticipation. “There are races at the Circus tomorrow, Father! Can we go?”
“Why not? Of course we can go! We will leave for the Circus early and stay as long as you want.”
“The new horse Fulgur will be running his first race. He’s as good as his name, fast as lightning. I helped train him!” said the boy proudly.
“You’re a trainer now, little man?” Cain smiled.
“Well, Scorpus allows me to help him sometimes. But he does most of the training, I have to admit.”
“I see,” Cain said. “He is our best charioteer. You can learn much from him.” The proud father was pleased that Scorpus had, perhaps unwittingly, served as a big brother to his son.
“Let us have our meal now,” he said, turning to the house servant. “The sea air has given me quite an appetite. What’s on the menu?”
“Today we are preparing Corsican mullet with asparagus sauce, quail’s eggs, and celery, sir,” the man replied. “And for wine?”
“The Falernian, by all means.” He then dismissed the servant with instructions to send for the local barber. Handing him the leather pouch that contained the silver pieces and the mysterious senet tile, he told him to secure it in the estate’s strongbox. He then placed Quintus in the wheelchair and took hold of the seat back. “Let’s go into the garden, son, and I’ll show you what I brought you for your birthday,” he said as he wheeled him forward. Quintus, who had turned eight while Cain was away in Judaea, clapped his hands again in pleasure.
They sat near the tall cypress trees flanking the western end of the peristyle. The sun was high now, but the trees provided ample shade, and the gently splashing fountains helped relieve the heavy, humid air of Rome in late summer. Cain reached into one of the bags that the launch’s crew had delivered to the estate and withdrew a large package.
“There you are, son. Happy belated birthday!”
Unwrapping the package hastily, Quintus ran his hand smoothly over its contents: four highly polished agate horses pulling a quadriga, or racing chariot, made of the purest silver. All the figures had been fashioned meticulously to scale.
“Oh, Father, how beautiful they are!” he exclaimed.
“I should have gotten you two of these sculptures. Then you’d have one horse for each of your eight years.”
“I’ll put this one right next to my bed.” The boy declared firmly. “That way it will be the last thing I se
e at night and the first when I wake up in the morning.”
“I’m glad you like it. They are made in Sicily, but I came upon it in Judaea at a place called Caesarea.”
“That’s the provincial capital isn’t it?”
“Why, yes, but how did you know?”
“I love geography! And Tisias is a good tutor, although he is strict.” Tisias was one of the Greek freedmen whom Cain had hired as tutors for his son during his absence.
When the barber arrived, Cain drew his chair closer to a nearby fountain. During his haircut and shave, he plied Quintus with questions about his studies. Clearly, the boy was highly motivated. He had mastered Euclidean geometry theorems that would have challenged students twice his age, and he had memorized several entire orations of Cicero. The father beamed with pride as Quintus gave a rousing performance worthy of the renowned Roman orator, complete with dramatic arm gestures from the wheelchair.
“At this rate, you will be Rome’s leading advocate when you grow up!” he complimented his son.
They ate in the garden. After lunch, Cain wheeled Quintus from the peristyle indoors to the child’s bedroom. When his son had chosen a suitable spot for the agate sculpture, Cain was about to leave him for his afternoon nap when Quintus said, “I’m awfully worried, Father.”
Cain’s stomach tightened. He thought of the cypress trees in the garden, trees that were often linked with death and planted in cemeteries.
“What troubles you?”
“I worry about you after I am gone. I don’t want you to be so lonely.”
Tears came to the father’s eyes. “He knows he may die soon,” Cain thought, “but he’s worried about me.” With his back still to the boy, he attempted to redirect the pathway of their conversation.
“You are not going anywhere, son, except to the Circus Maximus tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, I know. But tell me, Father. What actually happens when someone dies?”
Cain recalled one of their conversations after Julia passed away. He turned and faced his son. “You remember what we said about your mother?” he asked Quintus. “Death is a part of life. It’s hard to understand, but death is a happy state, where a person is free of troubles. And many people think that, after we die, we are reunited with all those whom we have loved and who have gone before us.”