[Getorius and Arcadia 01] - The Secundus Papyrus

by Albert Noyer

  “If this abbot is up to something, we should get over to the Ursiana well before the service,” he told her, pushing aside his plate.

  “In case he has a duplicate will?”

  “Right. But how he intends to make it public is—”

  “Master,” Childibert interrupted as he pushed aside the curtain and looked into the dining room. “Master, the young Judean has come to see you.”

  “Nathaniel? Bring him in.”

  “That’s strange,” Arcadia commented, “I thought Nathaniel told us he would be celebrating a week-long Hebrew festival.”

  “Welcome,” Getorius said after Nathaniel came through the curtain. “Take off your wet cape. Have you eaten supper?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then join me in drinking a cup of wine. I’m celebrating my freedom.”

  “That is not why I came…” Nathanial hesitated, then said, “My thanks, but I…I cannot accept the wine.”

  “Your dietary laws,” Arcadia recalled.

  “Yes. Although it is still our Festival of Lights, not all of us are celebrating, but I congratulate you on your freedom, Surgeon.”

  “What does your festival celebrate?”

  “Hanukkah recalls one of our more successful attempts to shake off an oppressor at the time of Antiochus Epiphanes.”

  Getorius held up his cup. “Then, Nathaniel, I’ll drink for you to a quick end of this forged papyrus business. We’re going to confront that Hibernian abbot tonight at the cathedral. Ask him what he knows about the papyri.”

  “That is why I came.” Nathaniel sat at the table and asked, “Have you heard more about the false will? We are only hours from its possible release.”

  “I can assure you, Nathaniel, that the matter is at rest,” Arcadia told him.

  “How is that? Do you have it here?”

  “No. Not…not exactly,” she said.

  Nathaniel shifted uneasily in his chair. “I must warn you. In the weeks since you showed us the documents we have sent word for Judeans in city garrisons to be alert tonight, also to those in army units along the Padus River. If this abomination comes to pass, no Judean soldier will be caught with his sword sheathed, or his shield down.”

  “Your people have nothing to fear,” Arcadia assured him, “but, in any case, they would be protected by the law.”

  Nathaniel shook his head. “Rabbi Zadok doubts that. Last year the new Code of Theodosius at Constantinople—which was ratified here by Valentinian—has statutes that prohibit Hebrews from holding public office, or building new synagogues. You can see that the release of this will, genuine or not, would ultimately result in what even the two emperors dared not include in the law.”

  “Genocide?” Arcadia exclaimed. “But that’s terrible. We…we never heard.”

  “You Christians weren’t affected. The new statutes simplify additions to the laws since Constantine compiled the original codes a century ago. Good overall, I suppose, if you’re not Judean.”

  “I would think…what is it this time?” Getorius asked, seeing Childibert by the curtain again.

  “Master, the Senator is here to see you.”

  “Publius Maximin?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Why would he come at such a late hour?” Arcadia wondered aloud. She went with Childibert through the adjacent reception room and peered around a corner of the curtain, into the atrium. Maximin seemed upset, pacing the floor and slapping a mud-stained leather tube against his thigh. “Thank you, Childibert. I’ll bring the senator in.”

  When Arcadia escorted Maximin into the dining room, Getorius extended a hand. “Senator, we’re honored. This is Nathaniel, a pupil of Rabbi ben Zadok in Classis.”

  Maximin nodded to the man, but turned to Getorius. “The reason I am here is not a pleasant one. May we go into your study? I have an urgent matter to discuss.”

  “Of course…but…Nathaniel?”

  “The Judean may come. This also concerns his people.”

  Puzzled, Getorius led the way around to the room. Maximin refused the wine Arcadia offered him, but dropped heavily into a chair, cradling the leather tube close to his body as if he expected someone to snatch it away.

  “This is not a social call,” Maximin began. “I…I went from the port to my country villa a short while ago. Prisca was with me. We planned on going to the vigil service from there, but my steward, Andros, told me guards had found that abbot who came from Autessiodurum dead in my rooster yard.”

  “Brenos at your villa? Dead?” Getorius repeated, shaken at the news. “How…how can that be, Senator?”

  “I was not there, Surgeon,” Maximin responded curtly. “I have no idea how he got into my house.”

  “Did Andros say what happened?” Arcadia asked.

  “An accident, evidently. The man fell out of my study window and broke his neck.”

  “How did he get in past your guards?” she persisted. “Why was he there in the first place?”

  The wicker chair creaked as Maximin leaned back and fondled the case. “One of my rooster figurines—you saw them, Arcadia—one of the golden ones was found clutched in his hand.”

  “You’re saying the abbot is a thief?”

  “My dear, there is undoubtedly some evil in all of us,” Maximin hedged, “yet what he was doing in that room is beyond my comprehension. I’ve never even met the man.”

  Arcadia felt that was probably untrue. She had seen him look out of the vesting room during the abbot’s erratic eulogy at Behan’s funeral, so he may have met with Brenos afterward. She recalled the many guards she had seen at the farm. Ulysses himself, much less the abbot, could not have entered unobserved. “Senator, did you question Jason and Phoebe?”

  “That’s another strange thing. Their quarters are next to my main reception room. Everything of value has been moved out.”

  “You’re saying Jason and Phoebe are gone?”

  “So it would seem, Arcadia. And after all I’ve done for those two—”

  “Senator,” Nathaniel broke in, “what is it you have that involves Judeans?”

  “This.” Maximin held up the mud-encrusted tube. “I found the case strapped to the abbot’s body. There was a horrible wound on his side where the leather had chafed his skin raw.”

  “Yes, he came to me about it,” Getorius recalled, “but…what’s inside the case?”

  “In light of the events that have happened since that monk was found dead, in November, I thought you should see it.” Maximin glanced at Nathaniel. “Whether you tell the Judean community is your affair. I would not.” He pulled white vellum sheets from the cylinder, unrolled the first and held it up to show the title and a red cockerel drawn above it in red ink.

  “The Gallican League,” Arcadia read aloud. “That’s the name the abbot mentioned at Behan’s funeral. What is it, Senator?”

  Maximin cleared his throat. “The document seems to be some kind of declaration by the organization.”

  Getorius joined his wife in reading. “They call themselves ‘The Vigilant Ones.’ That helps explain the cockerel drawings we found. I said they were symbols of vigilance.”

  “Cockerels?” Maximian repeated as a question. “You have seen this charter before?”

  “No, just images of the bird.”

  “The symbol is not important now,” Nathaniel said, “but you may have found the key to this mystery. Quick, continue reading. This abbot undoubtedly has accomplices who are not dead.”

  The others listened in silence as Getorius repeated aloud the rationalization of the Gallicans for unleashing their apocalyptic plan.

  Arcadia was the first to comment. “War, famine, murders…unimaginable horrors. Nathaniel, Rabbi Zadok predicted that these would result if the papyrus was released.”

  “And I see now that they would not only affect my people, but also any Christians who opposed these fanatics in their attempt to impose a theocracy.”

  “Fanatics?” Maximin scoffed. “These are traitor
s to Rome, with that Hibernian abbot as their leader.”

  “This may not be over yet,” Getorius warned. “That charter lists accomplices in the empire’s major cities. Let me…yes…the code name of the League’s contact here in Ravenna is Smyrna.”

  “So when Brenos contacted this Smyrna,” Arcadia reasoned, “he found out that the man didn’t have the papyrus, that it had accidentally been discovered.” She pointed to a section of the text. “This Clause Four shows Zadok was correct. The Nativity Vigil Mass tonight was the occasion set to make the will public and fulfill the prophecy.”

  “You keep talking about a papyrus, and now a will,” Maximin said. “The charter only speaks of a scroll, and you’ve mentioned a papyrus twice now. Was it some kind of testament?”

  Arcadia glanced at her husband.

  “Theokritos called it the Secundus Papyrus, Senator,” Getorius told him.

  “Ah. There was palace gossip about the librarian finding an ancient document. He believed it to be authentic.”

  “Authentic? That’s impossible,” Getorius told him, “yet if Theokritos reported that it was to Galla Placidia, she may have thought it true. We must get this Gallican charter to her immediately. It confirms the conspiracy she suspected, if not all of the actual persons involved.”

  “It is still of concern,” Nathaniel said. “The librarian was mistaken in his conclusion—or chose not to tell the truth. Even though the abbot is dead, this Smyrna could yet reveal the false will.”

  “Nathaniel”—Arcadia touched his sleeve and looked into his eyes—“I think not. Remember when Rabbi Zadok predicted that if this were not of God it would fail? It’s too evil to be His work.”

  Nathaniel shook his head, unconvinced. “I need proof that the document will not be revealed.”

  Getorius recalled his wife’s cryptic assurances of the night before. She still hadn’t explained how, just by looking at winter stars, her boots had become soaked and her fingers bruised. What had she done to help God?

  “Arcadia, if Placidia thinks the will is authentic,” Getorius said, “she’ll be frantic to find it. If she even suspects we’re involved in disposing of the papyrus, there’ll be more than house arrest in both our futures. Can we afford to wait and find out if this is from God or not?”

  “Until the General Resurrection, husband.”

  “Resurrection?” My God! After Arcadia went out, did she somehow slip the golden case into Behan’s coffin? Hid it under his robe? Getorius blanched at a third possibility. “Y…you didn’t—”

  “Senator,” she interrupted quickly, looking past her husband, “will you see to it that Placidia gets this Gallican charter?”

  “Of course.” Maximin snickered softly. “Those other cities. When the prophecy about the discovery of Christ’s will is found to be baseless, those who announced it will be seen as fools.”

  Christ’s will? Arcadia glanced back at Getorius. Maximin said he was unaware of the nature of the papyrus, and Nathaniel only mentioned a will in a general way. Since its details are not specifically mentioned in the charter, how could the senator know what was to be revealed?

  “Over-ambitiousness,” Maximin continued, sneering. “That was the flaw in this abbot’s plan. I doubt he could have gotten accomplices to act in all the cities he named. Hibernian monasticism is in its infancy on the Continent.”

  “Looking back, Senator, what do you think were the roles of Sigisvult and Renatus in all this?” Arcadia probed, to ascertain how much Maximin knew. “Was Theokritos one of the Gallicans?”

  “It…it’s possible, I suppose.”

  Getorius picked up his wife’s speculation. “Theokritos could have been going through the motions of testing the papyri, even though he planned to declare them both authentic all along.”

  “His tests were pretty convincing to me,” Arcadia said, “but I can’t believe Sigisvult was involved. It was his workmaster who was found dead in the harbor.”

  “It’s clear now that was no accident,” Getorius added. “After the chance discovery of the papyri, it was necessary for this Smyrna to eliminate the witnesses.”

  “Yet the impact of this false will would be so great,” Nathaniel added, “that Behan needed to recruit only a few accomplices.”

  “But how, in such a short time?” Arcadia asked.

  “There are those who would gladly join him, to use the false will for their own purposes.”

  “The monk was in the library many times,” Getorius recalled. “That also gave him access to palace staff.”

  “Then Theokritos was obviously involved,” Maximin said. “He and the monk conspired together in the library.”

  “Senator, would the librarian sacrifice Feletheus?” When Maximin shrugged without answering, Getorius went on, “If Theokritos knew where the papyri were hidden he would have had to do so, or give himself away. That bow trap was meant to be triggered by a lone intruder. Miniscius—the workmaster—would be the first person on the site in the morning. He would have found the body and disposed of it. Remember, it was only on a whim of Placidia’s that we were in the mausoleum that night and made the discovery. Now I’m concerned about whom else Behan might have recruited in the palace.”

  “Heraclius?” Arcadia suggested. “I told you I saw him with Brenos in the garden last night.”

  “Last night?” Maximin raised an eyebrow. “What were they doing?”

  “Just walking.”

  “Walking to where?”

  Getorius rescued his wife with a question, “Why would Renatus have been killed if he was part of the conspiracy?”

  “I’ve been puzzled by that, too,” Nathaniel admitted, “yet, as archdeacon he controlled a substantial amount of money. The Gallicans needed funds. He might not have known the exact details of the plan, so when he unexpectedly became one of the witnesses, this Smyrna may have been afraid the man would change his mind, or worse, expose the conspiracy.”

  “Then he didn’t intentionally poison Sigisvult,” Getorius realized. “Someone must have been able to put the atropa in the wine. That rooster you found on the broken glass, Arcadia, was just a coincidence…a Christian symbol.”

  “Renatus was also deceived.”

  “Right. And it’s obvious now that the abbot was supposed to arrive much earlier. The report of Behan’s death must have been the signal for Brenos to come to Ravenna.”

  “Then Behan was murdered, like I thought!”

  “Except, Arcadia, that wouldn’t have served the abbot very well. He needed Behan here to introduce his contacts.”

  “But the courier who went to Autessiodurum must have brought Brenos a message from Smyrna that everything was ready,” Arcadia speculated. “He made Behan’s death the excuse for going to Gaul in the winter.”

  “Your murder theory does begin to make sense,” Getorius admitted. “The abbot may have been the only one to know the will was a forgery, yet even if he didn’t know who Smyrna was, he had to have been in touch with him, probably through Behan. Smyrna wanted the most important witness to the conspiracy eliminated.”

  “Brenos arrived late,” Arcadia continued, “then found—to his horror—that Behan had drowned before he could announce the prophecy. Even worse, that the two papyri had been discovered.”

  “The abbot came to Ravenna a sick man, then had, what, three days to contact Smyrna and locate the will before the Nativity vigil? That accounts for the irrational sermon you heard at the funeral, Arcadia. The man was frantic to find the papyrus.”

  “Oh Lord, you have destroyed the wicked,” Nathaniel murmured, paraphrasing a psalm.

  “I hesitate to say this,” Maximin ventured, “but Aetius could be involved. He might even be Smyrna, the abbot’s accomplice.”

  “The last thing the commander needs, Senator, is civil unrest.”

  “Surgeon, Aetius could use the riots as an excuse for demanding the powers of a dictator. Later on, like Sulla, or Julius Caesar—more recently Constantine—he might find it diffi
cult to give up supreme command.”

  “With respect, Senator,” Getorius went on, “what is frightening is that these Gallicans were willing to destroy communities to institute a rule where people would be forced to believe as they did. Admittedly, Rome hasn’t been much of a republic for centuries, but we’re talking about a group willing to sacrifice our laws—a civilization built up over a thousand years—to their own warped religious ends.”

  Maximin tapped the charter against his knee, but did not comment.

  “We discovered a rule book in Behan’s hut that suggested these Hibernians are disciples of a leader named Ciallanus,” Arcadia recalled. “Is he part of this?”

  “I doubt it, or he would have come here himself,” Getorius replied. “Brenos must have led a few like-minded monks within his order, who then found laymen to recruit. It was risky, yet even Ciallanus would have had to accept the will’s provisions.”

  “When religious fanaticism is considered a virtue, it becomes a dangerous one,” Nathaniel observed.

  Maximin abruptly stood up and slid the Gallican charter sheets back into their case. “We may never know all those involved. I’ll take this to the Empress Mother. It should convince her that Theokritos was mistaken.”

  “She’ll want a magistrate to look into Brenos’ death,” Getorius said.

  Maximin looked at him, startled. “Why would she? My guards, who found the abbot’s body, will swear he suffered an unfortunate accident in the commission of a crime.” The senator paused when he reached the door and stabbed at the air with the muddy case. “Brenos was not authorized to be there and laws on trespass and theft are quite clear. You needn’t show me out, Surgeon. I wish you a joyous celebration of the Savior’s birth, my dear. And of the end of your festival, Judean.”

  After Maximin was gone, Arcadia commented, “As I’ve said, he’s smooth as that marble table top. I don’t want to believe the senator is involved, but he walked out of here wanting us to think that a visiting abbot from Gaul—a complete stranger to him—somehow sneaked into his well-guarded villa just to steal a statue of a chicken! Of his two missing actors, Jason, at least, had to have a part in this.”