The Heretic Scroll

by Will Adams

  Alberts looked up in annoyance. ‘Get out,’ he said.

  ‘Does Lucia know you’re here?’

  He rose to his feet and took a pace towards her, hoping to cow her into retreating. But she knew that if she left him here alone, he’d lock the door from the inside and complete his task unimpeded. And now that she suspected what that task was, she couldn’t let him do it. So she stepped sideways instead, circling around the table to keep it between them. He scowled and closed the door anyway, locking it with the mortice key that he then returned to his pocket. ‘Don’t get in my way,’ he warned, returning to the server, laying it on its side. ‘Not unless you want what Conte and Santoro got.’

  She looked at him in horror. ‘That was you?’

  ‘I didn’t want to hurt them,’ he said. ‘But Taddeo wouldn’t listen.’ He unstrapped his haversack, took out a metal mallet. It was hardly the kind of implement one had lying around, making it obvious that he’d thought this mission through. The mallet had such a heavy head that he had to hold it in both hands to wield it properly. He smashed the server with it, stinging his hands so badly that he let it go briefly to give them a shake. Another two blows and the hard black plastic shell cracked apart, exposing its soft innards, which he pounded until his face was shining with sweat.

  A knock at the door. ‘What’s going on?’ demanded Victor.

  ‘Destroying the scroll won’t do you any good,’ said Carmen, loudly enough for him to overhear. ‘There are copies everywhere.’

  He looked up, wiped his forehead. ‘Not true. Lucia gave us her word.’

  ‘You idiot,’ mocked Carmen. ‘You think she’d risk something this precious? She has a full set on her laptop. She showed them to me yesterday evening.’

  He smiled at that. ‘Liar,’ he said.

  ‘Then how would I know it’s St Paul, not Philodemus?’

  ‘You saw that when you broke in. From our annotations.’

  ‘And Thomas?’ she asked. ‘Not a brother of Christ. A brother in Christ.’

  ‘You heard us arguing.’

  ‘No. I saw it on Lucia’s laptop. The earliest and truest version of the letters of St Paul, set to upend everything you and your Church believe in. All your centuries of misogyny and hate. People will see you and your precious Bible for the frauds you are. That’s why you want to destroy it.’

  ‘The Bible is the word of God,’ he said, mopping his brow a second time as he went over to the safe. ‘If he’d wanted us to have a different text, he’d have arranged for that instead.’

  Crunching on the terrace gravel. The thin white cotton curtains covering the oak doors went a little darker as faces pressed against the panes of security glass. ‘And what if us finding this scroll is his way of doing just that?’ she asked.

  He blinked at that, as though the point hadn’t occurred to him before. But then he waved a hand in front of his face, as though her objections were a cloud of gnats. ‘Then he’ll find a way to stop me, won’t he?’ He took the stack of CDs on top of the safe out of their cases, snapped them into halves, quarters and even smaller fragments with his hands. Then he opened each of the four volumes of Novum Testamentum Graece to St Paul, ripping out and crumpling their annotated pages, heaping them in a stack that he then squirted with lighter fluid. He took a book of matches from his pocket and struck one to set the bonfire blazing. He stood there watching it burn for half a minute or so, kicking back fugitive leaves as they tried to escape. Satisfied, he crouched to unlock the safe. He smashed the hard drives with his mallet, then pulled out the scroll-holder, saving the best till last.

  ‘It won’t do you any good,’ Carmen told him. ‘Lucia and the professor will tell the world.’

  He wiped his face again, smearing it with sweat and soot. ‘They can speak of what they’ve seen. Not of what they haven’t.’

  ‘You mean about Tertullian?’

  His head snapped round. Finally she had his attention. ‘What do you know about…’ Then he worked that out too. ‘You’ve been gossiping with Victor.’ He considered this for several seconds, then shook his head. He set the mallet down, undid the scroll-holder’s catches, lifted its lid to reveal the scroll in all its charred and vital beauty. His hands trembled as he lifted it from its nest. A threat to his faith, yes; but sacred history too.

  ‘But I know more,’ she said. ‘I know why Tertullian spooks you.’

  ‘He doesn’t.’

  ‘Forgive me,’ she said. ‘I mean Marcion, of course.’

  He looked round, irritated by her persistence, almost certain that she was bluffing. But almost wasn’t quite good enough. ‘Go on, then.’

  The assault on the terrace doors grew more violent. From pulling and pushing to kicking and shoulder-barging, though all fruitless against the bolts and locking bar. If she could somehow get to them… But for that she needed time. Time and distraction. The letters of St Paul didn’t seem to worry him. That left her with only one option. ‘It’s his gospel, isn’t it?’ she said, watching closely for anxiety or relief. ‘The Gospel of Marcion.’

  ‘His gospel was a fraud. He stole it from St Luke.’ But there was a slight catch in his voice.

  ‘No,’ she said, suddenly seeing it. ‘It was the other way round, wasn’t it? Everyone agrees that Mark wrote his gospel before Matthew, because it’s simpler and more coherent. No nativity, no resurrection, no strained references to Jewish scripture. Marcion and Luke are exactly the same. Yet no one ever argues Marcion was first.’ She finished on an almost triumphant note, only for him to look quizzically at her, as if what she was saying wasn’t wrong so much as mere prelude. But to what? She had no idea. Alberts realised it too. He dropped the scroll to the floor, then stamped on it again and again, breaking it into small carbonised clumps and shreds of papyrus that he squirted with lighter fluid. Then he fished his matches out from his pocket once more before pausing for a deep breath, aware of the enormity of the—

  She darted for the doors, catching Alberts by surprise. She threw up the locking bar and pulled up a floor bolt before he could get to her. He grabbed her by her hair. She pulled down the top bolt even as he dragged her away across the floor. She twisted round to snatch the book of matches from his other hand. He cried out in frustration and clawed at her hand to grab the matches back. She rolled into a defensive ball, struck a match against the strip and held it as it flared alight against the others until all of them burst into a violent flame that she instantly crushed out. Then the lock gave and the terrace doors burst open, allowing those outside to rush on in.

  ‘Stay back!’ yelled Alberts. He yanked Carmen to her feet by her hair, dragged her over to his haversack. He took out a kitchen knife out from it, pressed it against her throat. There were dark stains on its blade, she couldn’t help but notice. Stains that looked just like dried blood. Despite his earlier confession, it was the first time she’d truly believed him capable of murder. And the prospect of what he’d do to her in revenge or to save himself turned her legs to water.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I

  The National Library was barely a five-minute stroll from Lucia’s apartment. In the Fiat, with Izzo yelling and tooting the other traffic aside, they were there in less than two. The palazzo that housed it was a likely enough target to have a squad of anti-terrorist police on permanent duty. Izzo flashed his badge as he sped by and yelled at them to follow. He screeched to a halt by the library doors. They ran on in, then up the grand main staircase and through the maze of rooms to Rare Books & Manuscripts, arriving to find a small throng of librarians and researchers gathered by the Colonna room door, rattling futilely at its handle.

  The French windows were open too, their white curtains billowing on the breeze. The three of them ran down the aisle and out onto the terrace even as the oak doors were thrown open and everyone rushed in. Alberts was backing away from them, holding Carmen hostage with a knife to her throat. And the room stank so pungently of burning that, for a terrible moment, Lucia thought her
scroll destroyed; but then she saw it closer by, broken into clumps and shreds on the tiled floor, yes, but not yet beyond hope of rescue, especially as – thanks largely to the opportunity to work with the Herculaneum papyri – this very library was blessed with one of Italy’s finest teams of papyrologists and conservationists.

  Izzo drew his handgun and pointed it at the ceiling, the threat clear but not immediate. ‘Drop the knife,’ he told Alberts calmly. ‘Let Carmen go.’

  Alberts looked around, pupils flickering in calculation. His knife made such a dimple in Carmen’s throat that it began to trickle blood. The anti-terrorist police now arrived, emboldened by their body armour and heavy weapons to push through to the front. Alberts’ shoulders slumped for a moment as he realised the hopelessness of his position. But then something odd happened. Lucia began to feel light-headed. The others clearly felt it too. They splayed their feet and spread their arms for balance. The building began to rattle. A car alarm went off outside. Vesuvius reminding them all yet again of its presence. It was over in ten or fifteen seconds, but that was enough. Alberts looked revitalised, as though he’d taken it for a sign. To Lucia’s surprise, he turned to stare straight at her. ‘I’m so sorry about your brother,’ he told her. ‘Truly I am. And Taddeo too. I wouldn’t have killed them if I’d had any choice. But I didn’t. Because you have to remember what it says in the good book. An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. A life for a life. That too is the sacred word of God.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ demanded Izzo. ‘Who the hell did either of them kill?’

  Alberts turned to him. ‘The Church had nothing to do with any of this,’ he said. ‘My Cardinal sent me down here in perfect good faith. All this has been me and me alone. You’ll find the materials for the death threat letter in a lockbox in my apartment. Its key is around my neck. All I wanted was to delay the excavation until we knew more. But Taddeo wouldn’t listen.’

  ‘So you killed Conte? And Santoro too? You admit it?’

  ‘I wish I hadn’t had to. But there wasn’t another way.’

  ‘But… why?’

  Alberts closed his eyes. His lips moved as if in prayer. Then he looked around again, studying faces. ‘They were in my way,’ he said flatly. ‘Just as you all are now.’ Without further warning, he threw Carmen violently aside, then strode towards the nearest officer, snarling and raising his knife. Gunfire ripped into him. His legs buckled. He dropped to the ground, keening and wheezing, his arms twitching vainly as he tried to reach his wounds. Lucia pushed through to kneel beside him. She took his hand in her own to offer such forgiveness and comfort as she could in these his last moments. His face grimaced and then relaxed, grimaced and then relaxed, a high jumper building himself up for a new personal best.

  Then he made his final leap and fell still.

  II

  Carmen watched in confusion and dismay as Alberts bled out on the floor a few feet away from where he’d thrown her down. Because one thing was clear to her: he’d thrown her down before charging the police not out of spite or disdain, but rather to push her out of the firing line. Yet she had no time to brood on this, for Cesco hurried forward to kneel beside her. He helped her to her feet, then hugged her against him with such eloquent force that she felt compelled to tap him on the shoulder to get him to relax a little and let her breathe.

  Izzo holstered his gun and came to join them. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Carmen.

  ‘So Alberts, then,’ he said, with a slight inflection to turn the statement into a question. ‘The death threat letter. Conte and Santoro. All of it.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did he say why?’

  ‘He wanted the excavation stopped.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Izzo. ‘But why?’

  It wasn’t Carmen’s place to say. She looked around for Lucia. But Lucia was on her mobile, urgently summoning the conservation team from downstairs. ‘The scroll he just destroyed,’ she said carefully. ‘It had… implications.’

  ‘Implications?’

  ‘For his faith,’ said Carmen. ‘For the Church. For Christianity.’

  ‘But how could Philodemus…’ began Izzo. Then he realised. ‘So who is it by really?’

  ‘I’m sorry. You’ll have to ask Lucia.’

  ‘Must be quite something, to be worth all this. And you’re saying you have no idea?’

  ‘He killed two people to keep it secret. What makes you think he’d confide in me?’

  A squad of four carabinieri now arrived, their leader loudly asserting jurisdiction and demanding explanations. Izzo excused himself and went across. Carmen turned back to Cesco. She hugged him for a few moments, resting her head upon his shoulder. ‘Want to get out of here?’ she murmured. ‘Because frankly I can’t face giving another bloody statement right now.’

  ‘I can’t, I’m afraid. I’ve got to go to Herculaneum with Izzo.’

  ‘I thought they’d let you go?’

  ‘They have. But he’s still got my wallet, phone and keys. I need to get them back while I can.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said, keeping half an eye on Lucia as she briefed the now-arrived conservation team on what she wanted done with the shredded scroll, waiting for an opportune moment to thank her for being so willing to help earlier that morning, when Cesco had been under arrest. But then, to her surprise, Lucia slipped almost furtively from the room. ‘Excuse me,’ Carmen said. ‘There’s something I have to do.’

  ‘Later, then?’

  ‘Of course.’ She kissed him warmly on his cheek. ‘We have a lot to discuss. You being under arrest… it made me see things differently.’

  ‘Good,’ he said.

  She squeezed his hand, then went after Lucia, who was already vanishing through the swing doors at the far end. She hurried to catch up, only to see the door to the staff quarters closing behind her. She followed her down the back stairs and out into the staff car park, in which Lucia kept her Ka, only a short walk from her home as it was, and infinitely easier to park. She unlocked it with her fob, only to hear Carmen hurrying up behind. She turned in alarm. ‘Oh,’ she said, giving her heart a pat. ‘It’s only you.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Carmen. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you. You slipped away before I could thank you.’

  ‘Thank me? For what?’

  ‘For this morning. With Cesco.’

  ‘Oh, that.’ She waved a hand. ‘I did nothing. It was all over too quickly.’

  ‘Yes, but you believed in him.’

  ‘Of course. Why wouldn’t I?’ Lucia looked around. ‘Where is he? Shouldn’t you be with him?’

  Carmen shook her head. ‘He’s off to Herculaneum in a minute, would you believe? To collect his things. How about you? Where are you going?’

  A flicker in Lucia’s eyes, gone so quickly it might have been her imagination. ‘I’m off that way myself, as it happens,’ she admitted. ‘The Villa, to be precise.’

  ‘The Villa? But…’ Carmen looked around. ‘What about the evacuation?’

  ‘The evacuation is the whole point,’ said Lucia, evidently deciding it was better to confide. ‘At eight tonight, the whole town is going to be sealed off. The Villa too. Who knows for how long? And what if the volcano really does blow? What if it dumps another thirty metres of lava on the town? I can’t take the risk.’

  ‘What risk?’ frowned Carmen. ‘Are you saying there are other scrolls?’

  ‘It has to be possible, doesn’t it?’

  Carmen gazed curiously at her. ‘No,’ she said. ‘You think there’s a real prospect, don’t you? Just as Alberts did. He risked everything this morning, precisely because the evacuation had been called. He thought that if he could destroy your scroll, Vesuvius would take care of the rest.’

  ‘Alberts was insane. Don’t try to make sense of insanity.’

  ‘No. He knew something. And who else could he have learned it from but you?’

  ‘I’m not discussing this.’

  ‘
It’s true though, isn’t it?’ said Carmen, circling round to stand between Lucia and her Ka. ‘Did you see another scroll? Did Raff catch it in a photograph?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then what?’

  Another long hesitation. ‘There wasn’t just one earthquake,’ said Lucia with a sigh. ‘There were two. The first was milder, but it still brought down a few sections of wall and ceiling inside the Villa. Mostly, we left the debris where it was, because it needs to be properly sieved and processed. But the lower levels were different. It was raining hard, our pumps had failed, and the groundwater kept rising.’

  ‘I know all this.’

  ‘The scroll was already broken in two when we first saw it. We managed to get the smaller fragment out reasonably quickly. But the larger part was trapped beneath fallen rock. We were trying to crowbar this away when the second quake struck. It was terrifying. You could actually hear the walls and ceiling cracking. I mean, we all knew it was about to come crashing down. And because there was no time, I simply reached in and grabbed the scroll and tugged it free. I got lucky, because the wall and ceiling didn’t come straight down, or it would have caught me. It kind of tipped forward instead. Like a drawbridge being lowered, if you can imagine, to create a kind of pipe or tunnel beneath. But with the lower part of the wall bursting too, so that splinters sprayed everywhere. Anyway, I was lying in bed that night, far too jangled to sleep, replaying it in my mind. And I had one of those weird memories that may not have been a memory at all, but rather imagination or wishful thinking.’

  ‘Of?’

  ‘A hole low down in the wall as it burst open. I mean of course there was a hole. That’s what burst. What I mean is there was open space behind.’

  ‘Open space? You mean like a room?’

  ‘If I wasn’t imagining it, which I probably was. But what if I wasn’t? The reason we found so many Philodemus scrolls is because they’d been put away in a small storeroom. Maybe that was because they were especially valued; more likely, because they weren’t. But what if this was the same kind of thing? And what if that’s why we found the scroll there? Because they were in the middle of transferring the scrolls of St Paul down to the boats for evacuation when the eruption hit.’