by Albert Noyer
“Judea was part of the province back then?” Getorius asked.
Theokritos gave a feeble nod. “This Lucius Secundus may have been…in the legion…before being assigned to the pretorium at Jerusalem. A Tribune, perhaps.”
Getorius realized, as the librarian already had, that the error actually made sense. “So, roused out of bed, translating and writing in a hurry, with Christ speaking Aramaic, Secundus may have inadvertently copied in the name of his old unit. ‘Legion Twelve,’ instead of ‘twelve legions.’”
Everyone fell silent, stunned at the logic of the error’s explanation. Theokritos lay back and closed his eyes, then rasped, “The other contradiction, Teacher?”
“All four Evangelists agree,” Zadok replied, “that when Simeon was questioned around the fire, he was in the courtyard of our High Priest, Yoseph Kaiaphas, not that of the pretorium, as the letter says.”
“And your conclusion, Teacher?”
“Perhaps a simple one.” Zadok held up the board with Peter’s letter. “Simeon is writing twenty-three years after the event. If my own failing memory is any indication, his confusion is to be expected.”
“Then the errors actually give the documents a measure of believability!” Getorius blurted.
“I stated that our forger was clever,” Zadok remarked in a grim tone.
“But how could Peter have sailed the distance to Ibernia?” Arcadia objected. “Some say the Apostle never even reached Rome.”
“The man was a fisherman,” Getorius countered. “He had to be familiar with boats.”
“Fishing on the Gennesaret Lake isn’t quite like navigating the Pillars of Hercules,” she persisted. “Theokritos, would Peter even have known of the Pillars?” Arcadia noticed that the librarian was in a half-doze and glanced at Placidia. “Librarian,” she called out to him, her voice raised. “Would Peter have known of the western ocean?”
“Ocean?” Theokritos stirred and asked to drink again. Arcadia helped him sip his wine, but he pushed her hand away when she tried to feel the swelling in his throat. “Peter? The western sea?” he repeated in a whisper. “On that we must speculate. The Acts record that he met a centurion at Caesarea, on the Mediterranean coast. Joppa is also mentioned. Traders in those ports would have known of the Pillars, even boasted of having sailed past them as far as Britannia. A common trade route to obtain tin.”
“Empress,” Zadok said, “again my explanation is simple. If this is the work of the Almighty, as Simeon claims, then the voyage could not fail. He wrote that the boat directed itself, as it were—”
“Nonsense!” Placidia exclaimed in anger and stood up. “The whole document is a stew cooked up from the writings of the Evangelists. Anyone could have concocted it. The letter of Peter, that rambling speech of Christ’s—”
“He would have been close to delirium from thirst and loss of blood…” Getorius stopped, regretting the remark. Placidia was upset because the contradictions went against the possibility of the papyri having been forged, and he had added another reason.
Theokritos suddenly leaned over and vomited bile onto the tile floor. Arcadia went to wipe his mouth.
“I’ll have him taken to his room.” Placidia rang a golden handbell to summon a servant.
“I could help, Regina,” Getorius offered, “then examine him there.”
“I think not, Surgeon. Theokritos and Antioches are Greeks…and proud men.”
After Theokritos was taken out, Getorius turned to Placidia again. “Regina, there are poisons that create the same symptoms as those the librarian is exhibiting.”
“Nonsense.”
“The unexplained deaths have been in the palace.”
Placidia glared at Getorius, then walked around the room, touching her mementos with agitated slaps. “Continue, Surgeon. I did say I mistrusted Aetius.”
“Even though I suspect poisoning in Sigisvult’s death, allow a doubt that he died of guilt…or shame…or some unknown cause. Archdeacon Renatus certainly did not choose to drown in that leech tub. Someone in the palace has to be involved in his death.”
“This archdeacon, what do you know of him?” Zadok asked. “Or the dead Hibernian monk? Begin with him.”
“Practically nothing of Behan,” Getorius admitted. “I found some writing I thought was a prophecy, but Theokritos dismissed it as a word game.”
“Prophets do not have the luxury of playing games,” Zadok chided. “These Hibernians are proselytizing on the Continent, bringing some good things from their island. Better agricultural methods…a love of learning. But these ‘word games.’ Are they connected with the discovery of the Galilean’s will?”
“I believe so,” Getorius replied. “Behan may not have forged the document himself, but it’s clear that he died before he could announce the prophecy about its revelation.”
“His drowning prevented that,” Arcadia added. “A fortunate accident, if I can characterize the monk’s death that way.”
“An accident, or the work of the Lord?”
Getorius shrugged—the rabbi saw the hand of God in everything—yet he might have provided a clue to the release of the papyrus. “Sir, you suggested that it might have been intended that the will somehow be revealed at the Nativity.”
“It’s certain the monk would need accomplices to do so, or was the tool of others.”
“Others? Then this may mean something,” Arcadia said. “Behan’s manuscript had the drawing of a red cockerel on the bottom. We also found the symbol in two other places.”
“A cryptic emblem?” Zadok’s white eyebrows rose at the information. “We have such symbols in our Kabbalistic literature to identify followers. Where else has this appeared, young woman?”
“Possibly on the Eucharist wine cup from which Sigisvult drank,” she told him. “And on a tile from your mausoleum, Regina.”
“Then I’m a suspect, too?” Placidia pointed to the wall. “Over there you see a painted rooster.”
“No. Of…of course not.”
Zadok eased the awkward moment by asking, “Empress, what do you know of this archdeacon who was killed?”
“Renatus arrived here from Gaul. The bishop thought very highly of him. Nothing more, really.”
“He came to see us the day before your dinner,” Getorius recalled. “Arcadia and I both felt he was overly curious about Behan’s manuscripts. And a ring he might have worn.”
“As if he knew part of this mystery?” Zadok turned to Placidia. “This churchman was in charge of money that is collected for the poor. A considerable sum, no?”
“I suppose so.” She jabbed a finger toward the door. “But Aetius is behind this, just as Stilicho tried to usurp my nephew’s throne and make his own son Augustus.”
Getorius knew that Stilicho’s enemies had leveled the same charge at him. Aetius also had ambitious detractors who would conspire to depose him as army commander. “What then, Rabbi,” he asked to distract Placidia, “is your estimate of the will’s impact on your people if it were released? Or on Christians, for that matter.”
Zadok slumped back on the couch. “First,” he replied in a low voice, “your spiritual leader, Sixtus, would be informed. He would call a council to debate the document’s authenticity. Yet do you think the citizenry would wait for their decision? Many Christians…too many, I fear…would see to it that no Judean lived long enough to inherit even a single bronze follis.”
“But this would be a decision of Christ’s,” Arcadia contended. “Christians are obliged to carry it out peacefully.”
“Young woman, who are Christians?” Zadok asked curtly. “You Nicenes here? Followers of Arius in the port quarter? Manicheans? Nestorians? There are many divisions in your sect…” He paused, half-smiling at an ironic thought. “This affair might at least unite all of you.”
“You’re saying the release of the will would result in the destruction of your people?” Placidia asked. “Horrible. Christ would not have wanted that, or Peter. Nor do I.”
>
“Once, when a Christian mob torched a synagogue at Antioch, the bones of our dead were destroyed,” Zadok commented wryly. “A magistrate asked why the living Hebrews had not also been burned. It was a jest to him.”
“Sir, whoever forged the will must realize that chaos would result,” Getorius said. “It would somehow serve their purpose.”
“Those of the red cockerel.”
“I’ve said all along that it was a conspiracy,” Placidia reminded the rabbi.
“But one that goes far beyond usurping the western throne. The destruction of an entire people.”
“Then destroy this cursed papyrus!” Placidia cried. “Burn it to ashes!”
Zadok stood up. “Empress, that would not quiet the crow of the cock. Another bird would soon take its place. No, we must expose the authors of this abomination, and quickly.”
“Behan was only one man. To root out his accomplices—” Getorius was interrupted by a heavy rapping on the door.
Placidia went to open it. Bleda, the chief of Aetius’ Hunnic guard, stood outside with two of his men. The Asiatic looked past her as he held up a parchment sheet.
“Order from Bishop Chrys’lo’gos,” Bleda said in heavily accented Latin. “Arrest sur-geon for il-legal di-ssection of a body.”
Getorius heard him and felt a spasm wrack his stomach. Marios had been buried for a month now. How could the bishop have found out?
“Ridiculous,” Placidia scoffed, pushing aside the indictment. “I’m to appoint him palace physician in January.”
“I have bish-op’s order,” Bleda insisted.
“Whom is Getorius supposed to have cut open?” she demanded.
The Hun held up the parchment sheet he could not read. Placidia squinted at the name. “Behan? Behan from the Abbey of Culdees? Surgeon, that’s the dead monk you examined in his forest hut.”
“Yes, but I—”
“You dissected his body?”
“No, he didn’t!” Arcadia cried, flushing. “We left and told Optila to have a wicker cage made in which to preserve Behan’s body until we heard from his abbot about burial.”
“And you’ve not gone back there?”
“No!”
“Optila is my son’s Hunnic bodyguard. I tell you, Aetius will use his band of barbarians to…” Placidia looked back at Bleda. “Very well. But I’ll speak to the bishop about clearing this up, Surgeon.”
Getorius nodded, grateful for her offer, yet thinking that, meanwhile, he would be confined inside the palace, just as Sigisvult had been—before he was murdered there.
Chapter fifteen
While the bishop’s canon law advisers drew up charges and prepared for a trial, Galla Placidia ordered that Getorius be confined in the room of a tribune who had gone to Rome for the winter. His detention was to be as non-restrictive as possible: no guard was to be stationed inside the room, and the surgeon could be escorted to the library to read there whenever he wished.
After Arcadia’s initial shock at the charge, she remembered what had happened to Sigisvult and told Brisios to bring her husband meals that had been prepared in her kitchen, until such time as she could visit him herself.
Two evenings after the arrest, Arcadia was surprised when Childibert announced that Publius Maximin had arrived to see her. Her first thought was that the senator’s mother, Agatha, had gotten worse, and that he wanted Getorius to accompany him back to his villa to treat the old woman.
Maximin brought in the damp smell of the outdoors as he entered Getorius’ study, where Arcadia met him. The senator wore a dalmatic of fine wool, visible under a stylish cloak cut elliptically at the hem. Red calfskin boots showed water stains. His oiled hair, flecked with gray, was combed forward in traditional Roman style, and she thought a faint odor of bay-scented perfume actually enhanced his masculinity. He obviously relished playing the part of an immensely rich and important man.
“Senator.” Arcadia held out a hand, hoping her slight frown relayed her disapproval at Maximin’s presumption in calling Getorius away to Agatha’s whenever he wished.
“Forgive me, Domina,” he apologized, gently squeezing her hand. “I fear I may have inconvenienced your husband at times. Only a son’s concern for his mother would explain such poor manners.”
“He was glad to be of service to her.” She was surprised at his admission, but not quite sure of its sincerity. “Senator, my husband isn’t here just now.”
Maximin released his hold. “Yes, I was appalled to hear of his arrest on such a ridiculous charge. May I offer the services of my personal lawyer for his defense?”
“Th…thank you.” Arcadia wondered how he knew of the detention, since Placidia had supposedly told Chrysologos that she wanted to keep the arrest an internal palace matter. “Just how did you find out, Senator?”
Maximin gave a patronizing chortle as he sat down in a wicker chair, and rattled coins in his belt purse. “Ah, Domina, a silver piece to the proper official, even a slave. No, especially a slave. Cheaper, and they’re hardly noticed, skulking around as they do.”
“Who at the palace told you about my husband?”
“A ridiculous charge,” Maximin repeated, hedging a direct answer. “I was consul twice, you know. In fact I’ve been petitioning Valentinian to confer the rank of Patrician on me. Perhaps, my dear, in exchange for the expertise of my lawyer your husband could put in a good word for me?”
“Getorius has no influence with the Augustus.”
“With his mother then? I understand Galla Placidia is about to appoint him palace physician.”
“It’s not been confirmed, Senator.” The man knows everything, Arcadia thought, as she sat down opposite him.
“The day of your husband’s arrest,” Maximin digressed, “the Empress Mother talked to a leader of the Judeans?”
The question was another surprise. “Y…yes, Rabbi David ben Zadok.”
“There was a document of some nature discussed?”
My God, does he suspect, or perhaps even know that the papyri exist? It’s certainly possible with all the palace contacts he’s boasting about. “Your…informants didn’t tell you what this document was, Senator? You seem to know everything.”
“Informants?” Maximin gave an easy laugh and pressed a finger hard against his palm. “Domina, even gold cannot pierce steel. But I’ll ask no more. The matter is undoubtedly confidential.”
Oh, fine! Now I’ve told him that a document does exist—
Maximin frowned and reached forward to touch Arcadia’s forehead. “That is a nasty bruise, my dear.”
“Archdeacon Renatus…” Arcadia stopped. What am I thinking? “An…an accident in the clinic, Senator.”
He sat back, nodding. “The archdeacon? A pity he died so suddenly in his sleep.”
“The bishop reported that?”
“The palace announced his death—”
Arcadia was relieved when Silvia entered the room with a pitcher and poured out two cups of hot mulled wine, ending the conversation about Renatus. When Maximin reached for his, she saw a ring on his finger with the image of a rooster cut into its carnelian stone. She was so shaken at the sight that she knocked over her cup.
“Clumsy,” she muttered, standing quickly to brush at the stain on her tunic.
Maximin pulled a linen square from his sleeve and dabbed at the reddish drops. “Did something upset you, my dear?”
“Y…your ring.”
“The red cockerel?” Maximin chuckled and reached for Arcadia’s hand. He pressed the signet into the underside of her wrist, then held her fingers as the faint impression of a rooster appeared. “It’s the emblem of my country place outside Ravenna, Villa Galli Rubris, ‘The Villa of the Red Rooster.’ Fighting cocks are one of my passions, but mainly I raise poultry for the city markets.”
Arcadia eased her hand away from his and rubbed at the impression. The Villa of the Red Rooster was a smooth explanation, but could the man be believed? “Did…did you come about your
mother?” she asked, still flustered.
“Yes, in part. May I call you Arcadia?” At her nod, Maximin lightly touched her cheek. “Forgive my saying it, but you look tired, understandably so of course, from the strain of seeing patients alone, the unfortunate deaths of your friend and the archdeacon, your husband’s detention. Horrible business.” He pulled his hand away and twisted the ring a moment before asking, “Arcadia, will you look in on Agatha? Her bedsores are improved, but she needs more of that pain medication.”
“Senator, I’m still training with my husband. Wouldn’t it be better to call Antioches?”
“The man’s old, forgetful.” Maximin leaned back and swirled the wine in his cup.
“Actually, Arcadia, I also wanted to invite you to spend a few days at my villa. It’s not far, about a mile outside the Theodosius Gate. I think you’d quite like relaxing in the baths…getting away from this abominable sewer smell for a few days. I couldn’t be there with you all the time—business concerns—but you would be mistress of the place.”
“I’m flattered, Senator, but…what about your wife?” Arcadia recalled the rumors about Valentinian having more than a platonic interest in her.
“Prisca?” He hesitated, then said, “She…she might join you. Yes, by Zeus! I’ll tell her to be there.”
Arcadia was still wary. Despite his ready explanation, the man was wearing the signet of what Zadok thought might be a far-reaching and deadly conspiracy. “Why invite me like this, Senator?”
“The deed comes back to the doer.” Maximin chuckled after paraphrasing the proverb. “Pure selfishness. As I said, I’ve heard that your husband will replace Antioches at the New Year. Another friend in the palace….” He winked to let her draw the conclusion.
“And Prisca will be at the villa?”
“Of course. And I believe my wife is…ah…of an age when having a woman physician would please her.”