by Steve Berry
“Jesus’s birth is likewise told from differing perspectives. Luke says shepherds visited. Matthew called them wise men. Luke said the holy family lived in Nazareth and journeyed to Bethlehem for a birth in a manger. Matthew says the family was well off and lived in Bethlehem, where Jesus was born—not in a manger, but in a house.
“But the crucifixion is where the greatest inconsistencies exist. The Gospels don’t even agree on the date. John says the day before Passover, the other three say the day after. Luke described Jesus as meek. A lamb. Matthew goes the other way—for him Jesus brings not peace, but the sword. Even the Savior’s final words varied. Matthew and Mark say it was, My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Luke says, Father, into your hands I commit my spirit. John is even simpler. It is finished.”
Thorvaldsen paused and sipped his wine.
“And the tale of the resurrection itself is completely riddled with contradictions. Each Gospel has a different version of who went to the tomb, what was found there—even the days of the week are unclear. And as to Jesus’s appearances after the resurrection—none of the accounts agree on any point. Would you not think that God would have at least been reasonably consistent with His Word?”
“Gospel variations have been the subject of thousands of books,” Malone made clear.
“True,” Thorvaldsen said. “And the inconsistencies have been there from the beginning—largely ignored in ancient times, since rarely did the four Gospels appear together. Instead, they were disseminated individually throughout Christendom—one tale working better in some places than in others. Which, in and of itself, goes a long way toward explaining the differences. Remember, the idea behind the Gospels was to demonstrate that Jesus was the Messiah predicted in the Old Testament—not to be an irrefutable biography.”
“Weren’t the Gospels just a recording of what had been passed down orally?” Stephanie asked. “Wouldn’t errors be expected?”
“No question,” Cassiopeia said. “The early Christians believed Jesus would return soon and the world would end, so they saw no need to write anything down. But after fifty years, with the Savior still not having returned, it became important to memorialize Jesus’s life. That’s when the earliest Gospel, Mark’s, was written. Matthew and Luke came next, around 80 C.E. John came much later, near the end of the first century, which is why his is so different from the other three.”
“If the Gospels were entirely consistent, wouldn’t they be even more suspect?” Malone asked.
“These books are more than simply inconsistent,” Thorvaldsen said. “They are, quite literally, four different versions of the Word.”
“It’s a matter of faith,” Stephanie repeated.
“There’s that word again,” Cassiopeia said. “Whenever a problem exists with biblical texts, the solution is easy. It’s faith. Mr. Malone, you’re a lawyer. If the testimony of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John were offered in a court as proof Jesus existed, would any jury so find?”
“Sure, all of them mention Jesus.”
“Now, if that same court was required to state which one of the four books is correct, how would it rule?”
He knew the right answer. “They’re all correct.”
“So how would you resolve the differences among the testimonies?”
He didn’t answer, because he didn’t know what to say.
“Ernst Scoville did a study once,” Thorvaldsen said. “Lars told me about it. He determined that there was a ten to forty percent variation among the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke on any passage you cared to compare. Any passage. And with John, which is not one of the synoptics, the percentage was much higher. So Cassiopeia’s question is fair, Cotton. Would these four testimonies have any probative value, beyond establishing that a man named Jesus may have lived?”
He felt compelled to say, “Could all of the inconsistencies be explained by the writers simply taking liberties with an oral tradition?”
Thorvaldsen nodded. “That explanation makes sense. But what compounds its acceptance is that nasty word faith. You see, to millions, the Gospels are not the oral traditions of radical Jews establishing a new religion, trying to secure converts, recounting their tale with additions and subtractions necessary for their particular time. No. The Gospels are the Word of God, and the resurrection is its keystone. For their Lord to have sent His son to die for them, and for Him to be physically resurrected and ascend into heaven—that set them far apart from all other emerging religions.”
Malone faced Mark. “Did the Templars believe this?”
“There’s an element of Gnosticism to the Templar creed. Knowledge is passed to the brothers in stages, and only the highest in the Order know all. But no one has known that knowledge since the loss of the Great Devise during the 1307 Purge. All of the masters who came after that time were denied the Order’s archive.”
He wanted to know, “What do they think of Jesus Christ today?”
“The Templars look equally to both the Old and New Testaments. In their eyes, the Jewish prophets in the Old Testament predicted the Messiah, and the writers of the New Testament fulfilled those predictions.”
“It is like the Jews,” Thorvaldsen said, “of whom I may speak since I am one. Christians for centuries have said that Jews failed to recognize the Messiah when He came, which was why God created a new Israel in the form of the Christian Church—to take the place of the Jewish Israel.”
“His blood be upon us and upon our children,” Malone muttered, quoting what Matthew had said about the Jews’ willingness to accept that blame.
Thorvaldsen nodded. “That phrase has been used for two millennia as a reason for killing Jews. What could a people expect from God when they’d rejected His own son as their Messiah? Words that some unknown Gospel writer penned, for whatever reason, became the rally cry of murderers.”
“So what Christians finally did,” Cassiopeia said, “was separate themselves from that past. They named half the Bible the Old Testament, the other the New. One was for Jews, the other for Christians. The twelve tribes of Israel in the Old were replaced by the twelve apostles in the New. Pagan and Jewish beliefs were assimilated and modified. Jesus, through the writings of the New Testament, fulfilled the prophecies of the Old Testament, thereby proving His messianic claim. A perfectly assembled package—the right message, tailored to the right audience—all of which allowed Christianity to utterly dominate the Western world.”
Attendants appeared, and Cassiopeia signaled for them to clear away the lunch dishes. Wineglasses were refilled and coffee was passed around. As the last attendant withdrew, Malone asked Mark, “Do the Templars believe in the actual resurrection of Christ?”
“Which ones?”
A strange question. Malone shrugged.
“Those today—of course. With few exceptions, the Order follows traditional Catholic doctrine. Some adjustments are made to conform to Rule, as all monastic societies must. But in 1307? I have no idea what they believed. The Chronicles from that time are cryptic. Like I said, only the highest officers within the Order could have spoken on that subject. Most Templars were illiterate. Even Jacques de Molay could not read or write. So only a few within the Order controlled what the many thought. Of course, the Great Devise existed then, so I assume seeing was believing.”
“What is this Great Devise?”
“I wish I knew. That information has been lost. The Chronicles speak little of it. I assume it’s evidence of what the Order believed.”
“Is that why they search for it?” Stephanie asked.
“Until recently, they haven’t really searched. There’s been little information relating to its whereabouts. But the master told Geoffrey that he believed Dad was on the right track.”
“Why does de Roquefort want it so bad?” Malone asked Mark.
“Finding the Great Devise, depending on what’s there, could well fuel the reemergence of the Order onto the world scene. That knowledge could also fundamentally change Christendom.
De Roquefort wants retribution for what happened to the Order. He wants the Catholic Church exposed as hypocritical, the Order’s name cleared.”
Malone was puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“One of the charges leveled against the Templars in 1307 was idol worshiping. Some sort of bearded head the Order supposedly venerated, none of which was ever proven. Yet even now Catholics pray to images routinely, the Shroud of Turin being one of those.”
Malone recalled what one of the Gospels said about Christ’s death—after they had taken him down they wrapped him in a sheet—symbolism so sacred that a later pope decreed that mass should always be said upon a linen tablecloth. The Shroud of Turin, which Mark mentioned, was a cloth of herringbone weave on which was displayed a man—six feet tall, sharp nose, shoulder-length hair parted down the center, full beard, with crucifixion wounds to his hands, feet, and scalp, and scourge marks ravaging his back.
“The image on the shroud,” Mark said, “is not of Christ. It’s Jacques de Molay. He was arrested in October 1307 and in January 1308 he was nailed to a door in the Paris Temple in a manner similar to that of Christ. They were mocking him for his lack of belief in Jesus as Savior. France’s grand inquisitor, Guíllaume Imbert, orchestrated that torture. Afterward, de Molay was wrapped in a linen shroud the Order kept in the Paris Temple for use during induction ceremonies. We now know lactic acid and blood from de Molay’s traumatized body mixed with the frankincense in the cloth and etched the image. There’s even a modern equivalent. In 1981 a cancer patient in England left a similar trace of his limbs on bedsheets.”
Malone recalled the late 1980s when the Church finally broke with tradition and allowed microscopic examination and carbon dating on the Shroud of Turin. The results indicated that there were no outlines or brushstrokes. The coloration lay upon the linen. Dating showed that the cloth came not from the first century, but from the late thirteenth to the mid-fourteenth century. But many contested those findings, saying the sample had been tainted, or was from a later repair to the original cloth.
“The image on the shroud fits de Molay physically,” Mark said. “There are descriptions of him in the Chronicles. By the time he was tortured his hair had grown long, his beard was unkempt. The cloth that wrapped de Molay’s body was removed from the Paris Temple by one of Geoffrey de Charney’s relatives. De Charney burned at the stake in 1314 with de Molay. The family kept the cloth as a relic and later noticed that an image had settled upon it. The shroud initially appeared on a religious medallion that dated to 1338 and was first displayed in 1357. When it was shown, people immediately associated the image with Christ, and the de Charney family did nothing to dissuade that belief. That went on until the late sixteenth century when the Church took possession of the shroud, declaring it acheropita—not made by human hand—deeming it a holy relic. De Roquefort wants to take the shroud back. It’s the Order’s, not the Church’s.”
Thorvaldsen shook his head. “That’s foolishness.”
“It’s how he thinks.”
Malone noticed the annoyed look on Stephanie’s face. “The Bible lesson was fascinating, Henrik. But I’m still waiting for the truth about what’s happening here.”
The Dane smiled. “You’re such a joy.”
“Chalk it up to my bubbly personality.” She displayed her phone. “Let me make myself real clear. If I don’t get some answers in the next few minutes, I’m calling Atlanta. I’ve had my fill of Raymond de Roquefort, so we’re going public with this little treasure hunt and ending this nonsense.”
FORTY-SEVEN
Malone winced at Stephanie’s declaration. He’d been wondering when her patience would run out.
“You can’t do that,” Mark said to his mother. “The last thing we need is for the government to be involved.”
“Why not?” Stephanie asked. “That abbey should be raided. Whatever they’re doing is certainly not religious.”
“On the contrary,” Geoffrey said in a tremulous voice. “Great piety exists there. The brothers are devoted to the Lord. Their lives are consumed with His worship.”
“And in between you learn about explosives, hand-to-hand combat, and how to shoot a weapon like a marksman. A bit of a contradiction, wouldn’t you say?”
“Not at all,” Thorvaldsen declared. “The original Templars were devoted to God and were a formidable fighting force.”
Stephanie was clearly not impressed. “This is not the thirteenth century. De Roquefort has both an agenda and the might to press that agenda onto others. Today we call him a terrorist.”
“You haven’t changed a bit,” Mark spat out.
“No, I haven’t. I still believe that covert organizations with money, weapons, and chips on their shoulders are problems. My job is to deal with them.”
“This doesn’t concern you.”
“Then why did your master involve me?”
Good question, Malone thought.
“You didn’t understand when Dad was alive, and you don’t now.”
“Then why don’t you clear up my confusion?”
“Mr. Malone,” Cassiopeia said in pleasant tone. “How would you like to see the castle restoration project?”
Apparently their hostess wanted to speak with him alone. Which was fine—he had some questions for her, too. “I’d love that.”
Cassiopeia pushed back her chair and stood from the table. “Then let me show you. That’ll give everyone else here time to talk—which, clearly, needs to happen. Please, make yourselves at home. Mr. Malone and I will return in a short while.”
He followed Cassiopeia outside into the bright afternoon. They strolled back down the shaded lane, toward the car park and the construction site.
“When finished,” Cassiopeia told him, “a thirteenth-century castle will stand exactly as it did seven hundred years ago.”
“Quite an endeavor.”
“I thrive on grand endeavors.”
They entered the construction site through a broad wooden gate and strolled into what appeared to be a barn with sandstone walls that housed a modern reception center. Beyond loomed the smell of dust, horses, and debris, where a hundred or so people milled about.
“The entire foundation for the perimeter has been laid and the west curtain wall is coming along,” Cassiopeia said, pointing. “We’re about to start the corner towers and central buildings. But it takes time. We have to fashion the bricks, stone, wood, and mortar precisely as was done seven hundred years ago, using the same methods and tools, even wearing the same clothes.”
“Do they eat the same food?”
She smiled. “We do make some modern accommodation.”
She led him through the construction area and up the slope of a steep hill to a modest promontory, where everything could be clearly seen.
“I come here often. One hundred and twenty men and women are employed down there full time.”
“Quite a payroll.”
“A small price to pay for history to be seen.”
“Your nickname, Ingénieur. Is that what they call you? Engineer?”
“The staff gave me that name. I’m trained in medieval building techniques. I’ve designed this entire project.”
“You know, on the one hand, you’re an arrogant bitch. On the other, you can be rather interesting.”
“I realize my comment at lunch, about what happened with Henrik’s son, was inappropriate. Why didn’t you strike back?”
“For what? You didn’t know what the hell you were talking about.”
“I’ll try not to make any more judgments.”
He chuckled. “I doubt that, and I’m not that sensitive. I long ago developed a lizard skin. You have to in order to survive in this business.”
“But you’re retired.”
“You never really quit. You just stay out of the line of fire more often than not.”
“So you’re helping Stephanie Nelle simply as a friend?”
“Shocking, isn’t it?”
�
��Not at all. In fact, it’s entirely consistent with your personality.”
Now he was curious. “How do you know about my personality?”
“Once Henrik asked me to be involved, I learned a great deal about you. I have friends in your former profession. They all spoke highly of you.”
“Glad to know folks remember.”
“Do you know much about me?” she asked.
“Just a thumbnail sketch.”
“I have many peculiarities.”
“Then you and Henrik should get along well.”
She smiled. “I see you know him well.”
“How long have you known him?”
“Since childhood. He knew my parents. Many years ago, he told me of Lars Nelle. What Lars was working on fascinated me. So I became Lars’s guardian angel, though he thought of me as the devil. Unfortunately, I couldn’t help him on the last day of his life.”
“Were you there?”
She shook her head. “He’d traveled south to the mountains. I was here when Henrik called and told me the body had been found.”
“Did he kill himself?”
“Lars was a sad man, that was plain. He was also frustrated. All those amateurs who’d seized on his work and twisted it beyond recognition. The puzzle he tried to solve has remained a mystery a long time. So, yes, it’s possible.”
“What were you protecting him from?”
“Many tried to encroach on his research. Most of them were ambitious treasure hunters, some opportunists, but eventually Raymond de Roquefort’s men appeared. Luckily, I was always able to conceal my presence from them.”
“De Roquefort is now master.”
She crinkled her brow. “Which explains his renewed search efforts. He now commands all the Templar resources.”
She apparently knew nothing about Mark Nelle and where he’d been living the past five years, so he told her, then said, “Mark lost to de Roquefort in the selection of a new master.”
“So this is personal between them?”
“That’s certainly part of it.” But not all, he thought, as he stared down and watched a horse-drawn cart work its way across the dry earth toward one of the partial walls.