‘Well, I guess that’s kinda appropriate because if it wasn’t for a researcher they probably wouldn’t even have known anything was missing.’
‘What happened?’
‘A German doctoral student at Göttingen was researching one of the early church fathers – guy called Origen: I take it you’ve heard of him?’ Flora nodded and Hayek continued. ‘The Städtisches Museum had a collection of writings attributed to Origen – scrolls, pages, fragments and so on – from a nineteenth century dig in Turkey and although it was listed in the archives as probably being late fifth century, the individual elements of the collection had never been properly catalogued.’
‘That’s absolutely standard,’ said Flora. ‘Typically only about five percent of any document collection is catalogued.’
‘Anyway, the museum assumed the collection had been mislaid and started looking for it. In the process, they found that a bunch of other stuff was missing too and reported it to the police. Then, by a stroke of luck the German report found its way to the ACT and they put it in the hopper with the others.’
‘I think I can see where this is going,’ said Flora.
‘Exactly. It was good, honest-but-dull police work that did it. Then when they looked at the report on the finds from the Royal Ontario Museum that our buddy Luzzo claims he found, it turns out that the museum did an audit of its archives as a precaution and realised that several collections of early writings had gone. That one was in the hopper too but they’d missed it. Same deal in Copenhagen earlier this year, the British Museum, then Berlin, Cairo, Milan – the list just goes on: the more they looked through the data, the more they found and the more it looked consistent. No sign of a break-in in any of the cases and the thieves only seem to have taken uncatalogued collections of ancient writings: every one has to be an inside job and the ACT guys are sure they’re linked – question is how?’
Flora put her glasses on and thumbed through the report. ‘Can I ask a silly question?’
Hayek nodded. ‘Sure,’ he said.
‘If all these robberies were done by museum staff without anybody noticing, what’s that got to do with what happened at Pompeii? Using a mechanical digger and smashing up a conservation lab doesn’t seem to fit the pattern of stealing things on the quiet.’
‘Normally, I’d agree, but it’s the very specific nature of what’s been stolen that suggests a link. Trouble is though, proving it’s going to take time. We’re dealing with different jurisdictions, and in a lot of cases we don’t even know when the finds went missing or exactly what was in the collections.’
‘And you still don’t know why.’
Hayek stood up and moved to the window, looking out across the embassy grounds. ‘Money. It’s always money,’ he said. ‘Follow the money and you’ll find out who and why.’
Flora looked puzzled. ‘But if there’s little or no commercial value, what’s the point?’ she asked.
‘The market value may not be much, but that doesn’t stop money being involved somewhere. That’s where Mr Grossman and Miss Crump come in. As soon as you start offering big bucks for anything you’ll start seeing people coming out of the woodwork. Our media release about the copper sheets hasn’t produced anything yet so maybe good old fashioned cash will help.’
Flora tapped at the report with her finger. ‘Well, I can see one place where you could try.’
‘Really?’ asked Hayek, coming to look over her shoulder. ‘Where?’
‘William Sunday University. It says here they had a work stolen – a well-known one too. The Dean of the college is also head of the faculty of ancient history and biblical studies: a character by the name of Donald Sumter. He and I can’t stand one another but I think we’re professional enough to put our differences aside over something like this…well, I am anyway.’
‘Wasn’t he the guy who was on-site with you at Pompeii?’ asked Hayek.
‘Yes, that’s him. Once there was nothing more for him to do there, he did what he always does – was rude to everyone and cleared off home.’
‘Sounds a charmer,’ Hayek said.
Flora pulled a face. ‘Don’t get me started.’ She read on for a minute or so and then sat up with a jolt. ‘This is really interesting, Mike. I never even knew it had gone missing. Donald Sumter never mentioned it.’
‘What’s gone missing?’ he asked.
‘The work stolen from William Sunday University: a book from the Apocryphon of John. It’s one of a number of works mentioned by Eusebius, but which didn’t make the cut when they were picking the team for the New Testament – anything Eusebius or his predecessors like Irenaeus considered heretical or unfitting, like the Gnostic texts for example, didn’t get in. Copies of some of these documents still exist, others were thought to have been lost but turned up at places like Nag Hammadi – the Gospel of Thomas is a case in point – and others are just plain old missing.’
‘Like the Apocryphon of John?’
‘Yes and no. Three slightly different versions of the Apocryphon were found at Nag Hammadi. The entire work is mentioned by Irenaeus and in later copies of Eusebius and although Irenaeus describes the whole thing as “secret and illegitimate” and really goes to town on the evils of the last book, he gives no details about its content. That’s what’s so fascinating.’
‘It is?’ asked Hayek.
‘Yes. It’s reputed to be an early version of the Book of Revelation, so as you can imagine, there was a big hoo-hah during the 1950s when what looked like a third-century copy turned up in Greece. It was eventually written off as a fifteenth-century fake and interest in it waned.’
‘Then presumably someone got interested again?’
‘Exactly. New technology to the rescue. A team at the University of Athens managed to read more of it and it turned out to be second-century, so it’s really early, which was fantastic. Unfortunately, the research team ran out of funding and so Sumter stepped in with an offer to carry on where they’d left off.’
‘Do you think he’d be willing to help us?’ asked Hayek.
Flora nodded. ‘I think he might. Whatever you say about him, he’s passionate about ancient writings, languages and the history of the early Church – not for the best of reasons if you ask me – but passionate none the less.’
‘So what’s wrong with his motives?’
Flora sighed. ‘Where do I start?’ she said, pausing for a moment. ‘OK, and bear with me because this is the cut-down version. As I’m sure you know, William Sunday is a Bible college and gets a lot of its funding from the wackier fringes of the Evangelical Movement – TV preachers, that kind of thing. A good chunk of that cash goes to Sumter and his team to pay for their efforts to find historical evidence supporting the idea of the Bible as literal truth. That’s why he was so keen to dash to Pompeii when he heard that works attributed to Josephus had been found.’
‘Because Josephus backs up what it says in the Gospels?’
‘Well yes and no,’ said Flora. ‘He doesn’t mention Jesus, the disciples, virgin births, miracles, resurrections, none of it; which when you think about the detail he goes into on other fairly minor subjects is pretty telling if you ask me.’
‘So why’s Sumter so keen on him?’
‘Because in one of Josephus works, the Antiquities of the Jews, there’s a paragraph that appears out of the blue saying what a fantastic miracle-worker Jesus was, how everyone followed him and how he rose from the dead after three days.’
‘And that’s it?’
‘That’s it, no other mention. A bit like someone writing a detailed history of the twentieth century and devoting one paragraph to the Second World War – you just wouldn’t write it like that. And nor did Josephus in my opinion.’
‘So you think the Jesus paragraph was grafted on later?’
‘Most certainly. As do most serious historians without a selective blind spot; but not Donald Sumter. He’d been in Pompeii for three weeks before I arrived and I think he was already looking
for an excuse to leave when the break-in happened. He hadn’t found what he was looking for and was therefore happy to ignore what Moretti’s people had dug up: he could either dismiss the texts as fakes or as precursor works, possibly not written by Josephus.’
‘We’ll bear him in mind,’ said Hayek. ‘If our agents strike out trying to find Raymond and Luzzo then it might be worth a trip to William Sunday.’
‘Donald would have a fit if you turned up with me in tow.’
‘We can leave you out of it. The fewer people who know you’re helping us the better, even if they are on the side of the angels.’
Flora laughed. ‘Donald? On the side of the crackpots more like. By the way, any chance I could take the report back to read at the hotel?’
Hayek looked serious once more. ‘There’s been a change of plan. Just in case anyone’s looking for you in Rome, we thought it safer if you stayed at the British Embassy; Giles Smith’s sending a car for you and tomorrow morning you’re leaving for London under your own name – he’ll give you your own passport back and you’ll get Lavinia’s again before you leave for the US. And in case you were wondering, while you’re air side and on the flight, Giles tells me you’ll be watched by The Friends as he calls them, so you’ve no worries on that score.’
‘But what about my things? I’ve got clothes at the hotel at Pompeii and the one here.’
‘Already taken care of: they’ll be waiting at the embassy for you.’ Hayek looked at his watch. ‘I’ll take you downstairs to wait for the car, but before I do I just wanted to thank you for agreeing to help and to wish you luck. You’re good, better than a lot of our people, but for Pete’s sake, don’t let it go to your head. Remember that and you’ll be fine.’
The subtle rebuke was not lost on Flora. ‘I will, don’t worry, Mike,’ she replied. ‘I wasn’t really trying to be difficult.’
He cracked a smile. ‘I never doubted it for a moment. Now, just a bit of housekeeping. Phone Moretti this evening and tell him you’re still at the same hotel but the whole business in Pompeii has upset you so much that you’ve decided you want to go back to England. Don’t tell him you’ve spoken to anyone other than the TPC and only if he pushes you, tell him they’ve been asking you a bunch of questions and getting you to look at mugshots. Got all that?’
‘Every last word, Mike.’
‘Good, now, let’s get you downstairs. And don’t think you’ve seen the last of me,’ he added, shaking her warmly by the hand. ‘I’m sure our paths will cross again. And as for Agent Cohen, he’s got work to do in Israel and Switzerland but we’ll arrange things so you’ll meet up with him for your flight to the States. Good luck, Flora, and this time, please keep things to yourself.’
‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I won’t let you down.’
Chapter Twenty-one
Colchis, Pontus Cappadocius, AD 63
Josephus looked at Giora aghast. ‘But you said you put them in these stalls last night.’
‘I did,’ he replied. A movement by the door caught his eye. It was the stable lad. ‘Hey, you, stop skulking around and come here.’ With a look of sulky indifference the youth wandered over. ‘Well?’ asked Giora. ‘Where are they?’
‘Where are what?’
‘Our horses, idiot. We left three ponies in your charge and now they’ve gone.’
The stable lad blinked several times and looked around as though searching for inspiration or in case the animals had somehow hidden themselves behind a pile of hay. ‘Someone must’ve taken them by mistake.’
‘What?’ roared Giora, picking up the lad by the throat and pinning him against the wall. ‘You little shit, if you don’t tell me who took them I’ll break your –’
‘You just leave him be.’ The sound of a weapon being unsheathed brought Giora up short and they turned to see the innkeeper framed in the doorway, a sword in his hand. ‘I brought him into the warm after I’d settled everyone down. If he’d spent the night out here, he could’ve died of cold, you know that as well as I do. If someone stole your horses, well, I’m sorry it happened but it’s nothing to do with him, or with me come to that.’ Giora let the boy go and he scuttled away into an empty stall.
‘So what are we supposed to do?’ said Josephus. ‘We’ve got twenty miles to cover today and we can’t do it on foot.’
The innkeeper shrugged his indifference. ‘You could stay till it thaws I suppose but that could be months and I’ll need paying in advance – give you a nice discount of course.’
I’ll bet you bloody will, thought Josephus. ‘Do you have any animals we could borrow, just to get us to the next caupona?’ he said.
‘Borrow?’ said the innkeeper, incredulous. ‘If it’s charity you’re after you’ve come to the wrong place. As a sacrifice, I can sell you my three best horses –tack will be extra of course – but they won’t come cheap.’
Giora and Josephus exchanged glances and at a nod from the latter, the innkeeper kicked open a half rotten door that led to where three elderly mounts were chewing listlessly at a ration of hay. ‘There we go,’ he said, wandering over to pat the bony rump of the nearest animal, causing a cloud of dust and horsehair to rise into the frosty air. ‘Mercury, Pegasus and Rapidus. You won’t find three finer mounts this side of Trapezus: four aureii each, but seeing as how you’re such good customers, I’ll call it ten for cash. Two more for the saddles and they’re a steal at twelve, what do you say?’
Josephus who was no judge of horseflesh looked first at the hollow ribs and the knock knees of the wretched animals and then turned to Giora. ‘What do you think?’
‘What do I think?’ asked Giora. ‘I’ll tell you what I think. This crook probably sold our horses to the highest bidder and now he wants to rob us again. Now you listen,’ he said, taking a step towards the innkeeper. ‘You’ve seen the letters and now you’re going to give us these broken-down heaps of dog-meat and be grateful we don’t take you with us under arrest.’
Instead of reacting angrily the innkeeper began to rock with laughter, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘You forget where you are, boy. Carry on like that and I’ll leave your bones in the valley bottom for the crows to pick over come the thaw.’ He turned a scornful gaze on Josephus. ‘And if you mention your precious bloody letters again, I’ll take them off you and burn them. Now, twelve aureii: take it or leave it.’
Half an hour down the pass it was clear that the horses were in worse condition than they had feared. Mercury, a sorely misnamed animal, was struggling under Giora’s weight and each time they waited for him to catch up it proved almost impossible to persuade the other two nags to move on again. The snow had stopped and now they trudged on in thick cloud, cocooned in an unreal world where white merged with white in a disorientating dreamscape with no clear indication of up and down.
Alityros, in the lead for once, would have collided with the other horse in the mist had it not been for Pegasus coming to a sudden halt. Giora reined in Mercury and jumped down from the saddle.
The riderless animal was several hands smaller than their rangy nags but was in far better condition and lifted its head at his approach. He patted the horse’s shoulder and took hold of its bridle. ‘That’s not possible,’ he said.
‘What isn’t?’ asked Josephus, who dismounted and led Rapidus over to join him.
‘This is one of ours, it’s even got the same Parthian saddle, look.’
Josephus examined the animal closely. ‘You’re right. But why abandon it here?’ he asked.
‘I think I know why,’ said Alityros, pointing ahead.
From the snow by the roadside protruded a human arm. Josephus brushed the snow away to reveal the body of a man lying face upwards, his clothes black with frozen blood from multiple sword cuts and puncture wounds. The bone of the right shoulder joint gleamed white against the now solidified tissue of the livid gash that had laid it bare.
‘I think we should go back,’ said Alityros. ‘I don’t like this.’
‘N
o,’ said Giora. ‘We have to go on. And anyway, the body’s been here several hours, whoever did this is long-gone.’
‘Giora’s right,’ said Josephus. ‘We have to go on. For all we know, the bastards who stole the horses may’ve had a falling out.’
Alityros looked down at his companion with disbelief. Long months of being jollied along, prodded, cajoled and gently deceived by the others had left him wary of shows of optimism like this. ‘And leave a valuable horse and its tack standing in the middle of the snow? Come off it, Josephus, he was ambushed, probably robbed if you ask me. There was obviously a fight and whoever did this will be back for the horse, you mark my words.’
Faced with the option of returning to the caupona on his own, Alityros grudgingly agreed to continue, trailing in the wake of Giora who now rode the Parthian pony, with Mercury’s reins tied to its saddle. They had barely gone twenty paces when Giora held up his hand for them to stop. From out of the mist loomed two dark shapes: the other ponies, standing miserably shoulder-to-shoulder for warmth. A trail of reddish-black bloodstains in the snow led them to two corpses, their limbs frozen into bizarre contortions.
The travellers stared at one another in horror. Josephus broke the silence. ‘Listen, you two, if either of you wants to go back I’ll understand. You won’t get a ship till Spring and you won’t have the protection of the imperial seal, but don’t feel you have to come with me.’
‘I think we should go back,’ said Alityros, turning his gaze away from the gory spectacle at the roadside.
‘Up to you,’ replied Giora. ‘But if you do, you’re on your own, I’m going on with Josephus.
‘Anyway,’ said Josephus, jumping down into the snow and wading over to examine the nearest corpse, sinking almost up to his knees at every step, ‘we’re well over half-way to the next caupona and from there it’s only a day at the most to Phasis.’ He turned the body onto its side and started to examine it.
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