“How many are intact?”
With great pride Lochum answered. “Thirteen.”
“Thirteen?” She swung around. “That must be some kind of record.”
“And another dozen partial skeletons. Carbon-dated to the early Christian period.”
That information might have been more impressive if she weren’t familiar with ancient remains. Even the most advanced dating techniques had a seventy-five-year margin of error. So no matter how much Lochum wished these bodies were Christ’s contemporaries, these bones could have been from early in Julius Caesar’s reign, well before the prophet’s birth, all the way past the Judean Uprising, long after Jesus’ demise.
Still, the find was incredible for the sheer number of remains and their relative degree of preservation. Rebecca leaned over the closest set of bones. They truly were remarkable specimens. Someone had cared greatly for these people before interring them. The bones were pristine, except for a slight amount of ante-mortem damage. The ulna and radius were marred at the wrist, along with damage to the tarsal joint.
“Have you confirmed the presence of iron?”
Lochum nodded vigorously. Clearly he wished to amaze her with his insights, but was too consummate an educator to taint her findings.
“Crucifixion then.” Rebecca replied as she picked up a small brush and carefully dusted the bones around the area of damage. To think, an iron spike had been driven between the wrist bones, then nailed to a cross. This man had suffered for hours, even days, before dying of exposure, blood loss, or scavenger attacks.
Lochum turned to the sergeant, excitement flavoring his words. “Any discovery of remains this old is always stimulating, but the fact they had been crucified makes them exceptional.”
“Eight minutes.” Brandt tapped his watch.
The professor’s hackles went up. Rebecca knew from personal experience that Lochum didn’t cotton to being ignored. “Perhaps you are unaware, my dear soldier, that although the Romans crucified several thousand men, sometimes hundreds in a single day, over a brief two-year period, there has only been a single set of skeletal remains ever found. Does that not rouse your brutish brain to wonder what happened to all those bodies? Only one out of thousands found?”
“You mean the body discovered at Giv’at with the iron nails still impaled in the ankles?” Brandt responded with an almost bored tone.
Rebecca swung around to stare at the sergeant. How the hell did Brandt know about a completely obscure Israeli archaeological find from the sixties? Was this the same soldier who dropped wreckage onto two gunmen? Guys who did such things seldom tossed out rare academic facts.
Brandt must have seen the disbelief on her face, because he winked at her like “and you thought you had me pegged,” before he continued, “I believe the current theory is that the Jewish families stole the bodies during the night, then buried them in well-hidden tombs or ossuaries.”
* * *
The only sound in the room was the redhead’s annoying whine emanating from the other room. Poor Davidson. The kid had his work cut out for him helping the grad student pack.
Brandt glanced at Monroe and Lochum. Both doctors were still at a loss for words. They just stared at him. Ivy Leaguers. They thought they had the corner on knowledge. You did not need seven initials after your name to educate yourself.
“And it’s seven minutes now,” Brandt reminded them.
That snapped Rebecca out of her shock. “I didn’t realize you were versed in Christian antiquity.”
He shrugged. “You never asked.”
Rebecca wanted to ask another question, but Lochum cut in. “Then you must understand how important my work here is.”
Brandt was glad that he turned their attention back to the skeletons. He felt uncomfortable elaborating on his own studies, since he had no scholarly interest in crucifixions. Instead, his curiosity was born of faith, and he doubted either of these scientists would understand.
When he didn’t answer, the professor’s tone rose from its usual baritone. “Can you not see that this may be the first real, tangible proof of that theory? That we can prove once and for all that it was not scavengers who scattered the remains, but instead an organized and concerted effort by the Jewish community to honor and protect their dead.”
Brandt glanced into the other room. Svengurd viewed the hallway through the cracked open door as Davidson packed a case of vials into a crate. Bunny hovered over him, henpecking the whole time but not lifting a finger otherwise to help.
Obviously infuriated that Brandt was not rising to his bait, Lochum pressed on. “Do you know how many scholars have contemplated this question? Why move the remains from the area? Why not document where they took them? Why not document anything about this exodus?” The older man seemed out of breath, but wheezed on anyway. “For three centuries after the en masse crucifixions the early Christians wrote such detailed histories of this period. Why would they overlook such a massive effort by their people?” The professor ended red-faced as the veins on his forehead bulged.
“Archibald! Have you taken your blood pressure medication today?” Rebecca demanded. The two descended into a fight more reminiscent of a married couple than a student and teacher.
They also stood closer than most. Casually she checked his pocket to find the drug vial. Lochum wasn’t shy about grabbing her wrist and jerking the medication from her grip. They had done this all before.
“You two were—” Brandt stopped before he stated the obvious. Lochum and Monroe had been lovers. Rebecca had been Bunny.
The two women’s hackles weren’t raised as professional adversaries.They were romantic rivals.
Rebecca’s stock just plummeted. Granted, the professor must have once been fiercely handsome, but now? Even ten years ago the guy must’ve been sixty-five. The professor probably had age spots in places that Brandt didn’t even want to think about. Hell, Lochum was old enough to have been Rebecca’s father. No, grandfather.
But what did he care? After a quick flight to London and a rendezvous with MI-6, then hop on a red-eye to the States. By tomorrow morning, they would part company and never see one another again.
“Enough!” Lochum yelled at Monroe, then turned to Brandt. The professor looked ready to blow a capillary. “Did you even notice this?”
The professor pointed to a small silver coin next to the skeleton’s skull. Glancing to the other tables, Brandt realized that each body had one.
Monroe looked skeptical. “There could be a thousand reasons why there might be currency left with—”
Lochum pulled a small coin from his pocket and laid it side by side. “Damn you, woman! This is from the same minting as our coin!”
Brandt was more intrigued by Monroe’s reaction than Lochum’s outburst. Rather than move forward to inspect the silver, she took a halting step back. Much as she had done on the Tarmac.
“Look at the stamping, ‘Becca. They all have Herod’s insignia.”
Interest piqued, Brandt studied the coins under the glow of the funky lights. They generated an intense illumination, yet were cool to the touch. The coins sparkled as if they had been made just this day. “Even if they are all from the same batch, what’s the big deal?”
The professor’s passion clogged his throat, so Monroe fielded the question. “Lochum believes that the coins were buried with people significant to the story of the crucifixion.”
Brandt couldn’t argue with that. Judas’ thirty pieces of silver were not only a symbol of the betrayal, but also the suffering and ultimate loving sacrifice of Christ. Without Judas’ treacherous kiss, the crucifixion could not have occurred, and then how would God have proved his love and benevolence? It would make sense that the coins would have carried great significance for the early Christians.
Lochum finally found his tongue. “These bones hold the answers to all those questions and more!” He turned to Brandt. “Just another half hour.”
“I’m sure it’ll make a fascinatin
g article, professor, but I’ve got a timetable to keep,” the sergeant stated without any of the disdain he felt.
Lochum inhaled sharply. “Publication is the last thing on my mind. For you to understand the complexity… The meaning of what… You must see to comprehend. Come. Come.”
The professor strode through an adjacent door. Brandt was definitely not used to taking orders from civilians, especially haughty, intellectual snobs like Lochum. Clutching his M-16, he began to explain in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t the prick’s puppy dog when Monroe stepped in front of him.
“He can’t help it,” Rebecca said sadly. “His passion overrules all else. Unfortunately, it tends to be infectious. At least until you wake up one morning and realize you’ll never see what he does. His vision is unto himself.”
Clearly Rebecca had stopped talking about the research project three sentences ago. Brandt’s eyes searched her features but found only her soot-laden braids with strands of perfectly blonde hair peeking out.
She waited for a response, but for the life of him, the sergeant couldn’t think of one. Hiding his discomfort, he looked down at his watch, but Rebecca’s hand covered the timepiece.
“Six minutes. I know,” she said as her touch lingered. Fingers warm against his skin. The woman wasn’t restraining him, but she captured his attention nonetheless. “He’s got nothing left except this quest. Let’s just hear him out.”
As her hand fell away, the sergeant felt disappointed. For reasons other than the fact he was tasked to protect her, Brandt followed Rebecca.
CHAPTER 7
Panthéon-Sorbonne, Paris
Rebecca felt the sergeant behind her as they followed Lochum into the much smaller room. Brandt’s disapproval of the relationship with her old professor had been palpable, even though he hadn’t voiced a single word. Until now, she had never been ashamed of their affair. The professor had been renowned enough to bed his grad students and have them thank him for it.
Lochum cleared his throat. “Do you not find this one of interest?”
Rebecca realized the room only had one table with a single set of remains. A single silver coin rested near the head. Dutifully, she walked around the skeleton, but her mind was elsewhere. This was neither the time nor the place to come to terms with decades-old feelings, but she couldn’t shake her unease. Had it been Bunny with her eyes glazed over with unquestioning adoration or Brandt’s quiet disappointment that dredged up memories of the long-dead affair?
Before she could answer the quandary, Rebecca had completed her circuit around the bones, yet still had no idea why Lochum was worked up about this particular skeleton. “What’s special about this one?”
Rebecca didn’t realize that she had stopped so close to Brandt until his words were right in her ear. “This one didn’t die by crucifixion.”
She had been so distracted by her stray thoughts that she had missed the obvious. The wrists and ankles were intact. There were no metal grooves in the bone. Putting a few feet between her and the sergeant, Rebecca replied, “But we’ve got a lot of non-crucified bodies from that era.”
Lochum shook his head. “Have I taught you so poorly, ‘Becca? Would they really have buried this man with the rest of the crucified and laid a silver coin upon his lips if he was not an enemy of Rome?”
Rebecca hated how easily Lochum could belittle her, like a schoolgirl who hadn’t read her homework assignment. She couldn’t keep the defensiveness out of her voice. “No, he must have held some importance to them to travel so far with his remains.”
Brandt lifted his watch, but Lochum cut him off. “I will hurry our tardy student along.” He turned to Rebecca. “Inspect the atlas-axis junction.”
Rebecca blushed that Brandt was there, seeing her need Lochum’s help. She leaned over the base of the skull, looking in particular to the first cervical vertebra. As was typical, the atlas had a small bony protuberance that jutted into the skull cavity. The axis lay just beneath it, a more flattened bone for pivoting the head. Not so typical was a huge gouge in the bone.
“He was decapitated,” she surmised.
“Finally! Yes.”
Lochum had never been a gracious winner, and Rebecca tired of his antics. “The Romans decapitated a lot of people, Lochum. I don’t see why—”
“Have you lost all passion, girl! Think! How did these bones find themselves under the Eiffel Tower? Who brought them to France?”
There it was. The world-famous Lochum fervor. Even though she fought against it, his zeal was a tornado that tossed you around until you finally succumbed. Rebecca’s mind spun with the history of the region.
Paris had been sacked at least three times by foreign interests. A little fuzzy on the dates, Rebecca knew the ancient Parisii had destroyed their own city rather than allow it to fall into Caesar’s hands, then Clovis the Frank blew through town, destroying nearly everything in his wake, until finally the Vikings sacked the city multiple times, and she said so.
Her old professor sighed as he had ten years ago when she had miscut an Incan ice princess’s bone sample. “You are rusty, my dear.” Lochum turned to Brandt. “I would wager he is familiar with the link.”
Rebecca shook her head, until she saw the sergeant squirm. Not the kind of squirm when you were embarrassed for being an idiot, but the kind of squirm where you knew the answer but really didn’t want to speak up.
“Brandt?”
The sergeant blushed slightly. “St. Denis.”
“Excellent!” Lochum clapped. “See, he is not such a brute after all!”
Rebecca felt her cheeks redden. She didn’t think herself someone to stereotype people, but come on. If Brandt wasn’t the archetypical beefcake, then who was? And who pulls St. Denis out of their ass? And then is right?
But the professor was nothing but delighted. “Please, dear man, explain to my floundering student the connection.”
“His feast day is held October 9th,” Rebecca cut Brandt off. With Lochum, knowing the early saints was like memorizing the periodic table for chemists. Reciting the feast days was foreplay to the professor. “We know little of his early years. He arrived in France about AD 250 and—”
“236, but glad to see you contributing.”
Rebecca ignored Lochum’s correction. “He settled near Paris, rallying the Christians until he was arrested by the Romans and martyred.”
The professor walked over to study the skull. “But how?”
Then she got it. “He was beheaded.”
“Not only did Denis have his head cleaved from his body, but he was reported to have carried it around for several days, my dear. Do not forget the colorful flourishes.”
“But these bones are too old to be St. Denis.”
“Damn it, woman, what would I care for an obscure saint’s bones? Can you not see what is staring you in the face?”
Her cheeks burned. Burned like they had not since she had young, perky breasts. She had tried to go along with his “I am the holder of all knowledge” game, but all the anger from a decade ago came to a flashpoint.
“Lochum! Enough! This isn’t Ontario. I’m not your student, and this isn’t a fucking thesis.”
As the professor’s face fell, Rebecca regretted her outburst. Suddenly she could see the toll these ten years had taken. He was no longer the cutting-edge überprofessor. He was just an old man at the end of his life’s quest.
“Lochum, I’m so—”
But he brusquely waved her apology away. “Sergeant, could you enlighten my ex-student on who I believe is lying before us?”
When Brandt didn’t speak, the professor continued, his tone filled with disapproval. “St. Denis was quite fond of one of Jesus’ contemporaries and used his sacrifice as a lesson for all. In the end, his fascination was reflected in his manner of death.” Lochum looked down at the bones. “It is that man, after whom St. Denis fashioned himself, who lies here today.”
The sergeant finished Lochum’s thought. “It is John the Bapti
st.”
Rebecca’s head spun. Lochum couldn’t be serious. To find the Baptist’s bones would not be a find. It would be the find of the century. Hell, it would be the find of the millennium or two.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Rebecca said more to herself than to Lochum. She had been on one of these “Mr. Toad’s Wild Rides” before and had found nothing but disappointment at the end of the spin. With a much more measured tone, Rebecca continued, “We both know you look at these finds with your imaginoscope, Lochum.”
“How dare you impugn my reputation in such a—”
Rebecca’s lips set into a firm line. “You see what you want to see. Make the conclusions you want to make.”
“I am a consummate scientist!”
“The Damascus Papyrus?” she asked. Lochum’s cheeks puffed in and out. He was so angered that he could not even spit out a venomous retort.
Brandt asked from behind her, “Damascus Papyrus? I’m not familiar with any biblical record by that name.”
The professor recovered enough to turn to the sergeant. “I found it in of all places, Ethiopia. It detailed Flavian’s final days.”
“Flavian? The Roman historian who documented Jerusalem’s fall to the centurions? The sacking of the Holy City’s temple?”
Rebecca again was surprised at Brandt’s detailed knowledge of early Christian history. Who outside academia knew the ancient historian’s name and could cite his work?
Lochum nodded. “One and the same. In his final days, the historian dictated his greatest secret. He had been invited to one of these hidden ossuaries. Flavian even detailed the silver coin buried with the Virgin Mary’s body!”
The sergeant’s eyes narrowed. “I think something that sacrilegious I would have heard of.”
Brandt was right. The world’s Catholics believe in the Assumption of Mary—that her physical body was brought up to heaven. Lochum, however, cared nothing for belief.He cared for fact.
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