The Testimonium (8 page)
Josh loved historical novels, and thought often about how Tiberius had been portrayed in popular works—a giggling, cruel, and paranoid old fool in the nearly pornographic movie
Caligula
(Josh had never admitted to his father that he had watched that film in college), a rather sweet and harmless old recluse in Lloyd C. Douglas’
The Robe
, and as a vindictive and calculating monster in Robert Graves’
I, Claudius
. He wondered which of the fictitious portrayals came closest to the real character of actual Tiberius, and found himself hoping the new discoveries on Capri would shed some light on them. There was one passage he had always found curious: according to Tertullian, a Christian apologist who wrote around the end of the second century AD, Tiberius had apparently heard of and been impressed with the teachings of Jesus, and had supposedly suggested to the Roman Senate that Christianity be recognized as a legitimate religion throughout the Empire, even suggesting that a statue of Jesus be erected in the Roman pantheon. Josh thought that last bit was probably wishful thinking on Tertullian’s part, but he still found it fascinating to think that the Emperor of Rome might have actually heard about Jesus’ ministry only a few years after the Resurrection.
Josh had finally gotten a few hours of light sleep before landing in London, and the flight from London to Naples had gone smoothly. He was tired and a bit jet-lagged, but eager to see what the fuss was about. At the airport he was met by a young Italian army lieutenant, who steered him toward a waiting helicopter. The sun had not yet set when Josh saw the ruins of the Villa Jovis coming into view. As the chopper closed in, he could make out the trailer housing the mobile lab, and in one of the stone walls near it, a tiny black dot that marked the entrance to the hidden chamber.
Isabella waited on the ancient marble flooring that had come to double as a helo deck for the Villa Jovis. Dr. Guioccini stood next to her, his travel bag in hand. “I am leaving you and Rossini in charge,” he said. “If there are any problems with any of the team members, just let me know. Keep me updated on any finds you make, or any developments of importance. We hope to begin releasing this story to the press as soon as possible, but we want the information we release to be carefully controlled and double checked for accuracy. Let me know if the team has any further needs.”
Sforza smiled back at him. “I will do so, sir,” she said. “Thank you for expediting everything so quickly. This has been a very exciting twenty-four hours!”
Guioccini smiled back. “You have made a great discovery, Dr. Sforza. Moments like this are what every archeologist lives for. But as exciting as it is, remember procedure. The whole world will be reading your findings—and, more than likely, looking for an excuse to question them. We are in a cutthroat profession, so don’t give your critics any ammunition if you can help it!”
He had to shout by the end of his declaration, for the helicopter was touching down in front of them. The cargo door slid back, and a tall, lanky, deeply tanned young man stepped out, carrying a heavy duffel bag. Shielding his head from the prop wash with one hand, he stepped forward, set down his duffel, and held out the other. “Dr. Guioccini, I presume?” he said.
“You are correct, Dr. Parker. Welcome to the isle of Capri, and the Villa Jovis! This is Dr. Isabella Sforza, who will be supervising your work here.”
Josh was taken aback by the vision in khakis that stood before him. Dr. Sforza was, without exaggeration, the most beautiful woman he had ever met. Josh was a bit awkward around girls, even though most women found him attractive, a fact he was largely unaware of. In high school he had been obsessed with preserving his virginity until he found the wife that God intended for him, and then during his college years, he had been so turned off by the casual promiscuity of many of his classmates—many of them professing Christians—that he had never gotten around to looking for that special person. Instead, he had let his career dominate his passions, and tried to look the other way when he found himself staring at a woman and thinking inappropriate thoughts. But how could he ignore this vision of feminine beauty when he was going to be working with her for the next few weeks?
Suddenly he realized that Dr. Sforza was standing there with her hand out while he was staring at her. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said, holding out his hand. “Dr. Josh Parker, at your service.”
Isabella looked at the handsome young American and realized he was blushing deeply beneath his tan. Under other circumstances, she might have been somewhat offended, but there was something so sincere about his awkwardness that she found herself somewhat charmed by it. “Just call me Isabella,” she said. “I understand that you have a strong background in first-century Latin and
koine
Greek?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Josh replied. “I love reading history in its original language when I can. What have we found so far?”
We? Isabella wondered if he was trying to take credit for the work already done, or simply trying to think of himself as a member of the team. His manner seemed earnest and sincere enough, but she decided to keep an eye on him nonetheless. “So far we have one papyrus document,” she said. “It is written on a single sheet and was left lying flat on the tabletop. The weight of the dust and sediment that built on top of it over the years has fused it to the lacquered finish that was on the table, so I don’t know that we will be able to separate it. But, at the same time, the lacquer has also preserved it so that the writing is still quite legible. Dr. MacDonald is working to stabilize it as we speak. You and he should get along quite well—your specialties overlap.”
Guioccini interrupted. “Isabella, I am heading back to the mainland. Keep me informed and good luck!” he shouted as he climbed into the chopper. Parker grabbed his bag and followed Sforza down the steps of the Villa Jovis to the mobile lab.
By the time of the most recent Passover, this Jesus of Nazareth had acquired a huge following, and the stories about him were becoming fanciful to the extreme. They said, just before Passover, that he had actually brought a man back to life who had been dead for FOUR days! It was after this story began circulating in the city that the Jewish leadership decided that Jesus must die. His followers now numbered in the thousands, and they feared an armed revolution. When he came to the city for the Passover feast, their plans for his demise were already cemented into place—even though he refused the offering of a crown that the enthusiastic mob made when he entered the city.
You may be wondering why I did not step in at this point. While I do have several informants who are seated on the Jewish Sanhedrin, during this time, the high priest and his cronies only met with a select few that did not include my agents. This small group bought off one of Jesus’ disciples (that man has subsequently disappeared; rumors abound that he hung himself after the events that followed) and sent a large mob, accompanied by the Temple guard (and a single cohort of Legionaries whose centurion wisely saw the commotion and followed along to see what was going on and keep the peace if necessary). They proceeded to a quiet garden outside the city walls where the Nazarene was known to meet with his disciples. Jesus was arrested without any major incident—apparently he was with only a small group of followers, and only one of them even tried to defend him. Jesus was then interrogated before both the former High Priest, that evil old serpent named Annas, and the current holder of that office, Caiaphas. Finally, in the third hour past midnight, the enormous mob showed up, with a bloodied and battered Jesus, at the Praetorium, angrily demanding that I sentence him to death.
Dr. MacDonald studied the ancient tabletop and the papyrus document that was fused to it carefully. Stabilizing and preserving ancient manuscripts was tricky work, but the unique circumstances of this find had made the work a good bit easier. Normally, ancient, desiccated papyrus had to be carefully rehydrated and unrolled before it could be read, but this piece had been left flat, and the weight of the stone dust over the centuries had pressed it deep into the waxy, lacquered surface of the table, which had impregnated the porous sheet with its waterproof coating—most likely a combination of beeswax and paraffin. His task was a matter of removing the most stubbornly clinging dust and grime from the surface of the paper, then coating it with a sealant to keep contaminants out and preserve the ancient writing permanently.
He took a sterilized cotton pad, moistened it slightly, and began gently blotting the ancient papyrus surface. It was a slow process, but he was surprised at how readily the accumulated stone dust adhered to the cotton. The spiky scribbles on the document became clearer and darker as he slowly worked over it.
“Whatever happens, we will have to read it where it lies,” a calm voice interjected, interrupting his concentration. He had been so absorbed in the work that he had not heard the lab door open and close, but there stood Isabella and a tall young man in khakis. The American accent—somewhere in the South, by the sound of it—made him pretty sure who was speaking.
“Ah, you must be Dr. Parker,” the priest said, turning and placing the cotton on the table before holding out his hand. “I am Duncan MacDonald, humble priest and renowned historian!”
Josh laughed. “Are you sure it’s not the other way around?” he replied. “It is an honor to meet you. Your field manual on document preservation has a permanent place in my travel kit.” The priest nodded at this acknowledgment of his work, and Josh went on. “Looks like this papyrus has solidly adhered to the tabletop,” he commented. “Certainly makes the preservation easier, but I doubt we will ever be able to remove it—the thing would wind up like poor old King Tut!”
MacDonald nodded in agreement. It was not generally known outside the archeological community, but when Howard Carter opened the sarcophagus of Tutankhamen in 1924, he had found the mummy of the boy king completely fused to the bottom of the coffin. Apparently the burial had been somewhat rushed and the fluids used in the mummification process had not completely dried by the time the young Pharaoh was placed in his sarcophagus. Unwilling to try to dissolve the ancient unguents that had glued the boy king to his wooden coffin, the archeologists had simply torn the mummy apart, removing it in several pieces. MacDonald shuddered as he envisioned the precious manuscript crumbling to pieces as they tried to remove it from the tabletop where it had rested for twenty centuries.
“Have you thought about how to do carbon dating?” asked Josh.
“Yes, I have considered it,” said MacDonald. “I tested one corner of the manuscript to see if it would move at all, and saw that it did nothing but start crumbling. Since that tiny corner is already loosened, it can be easily removed and sent to the main lab in Rome for testing. But the first priority is to finish cleaning and then read and photograph the manuscript. I am about two-thirds done.”
“Very good,” said Josh. “I will get my things settled, and then come back in a bit and see if I can be of any help.”
Dr. Sforza led him outside. “Your tent will be over there by Dr. Rossini’s,” she said. “Once things are more settled up here, we will probably rent rooms at the small hotel in Capri village, but for now I want us all to stay on-site. Speaking of Giuseppe, I need to introduce you to him and to the other members of the team. Follow me!”
Over the next hour, Josh got to meet and visit with the other two archeologists. He found that he warmed to Dr. Apriceno immediately; she reminded him of many of the Southern matrons that had attended his dad’s churches over the years—stout, strong, smart, and with a low tolerance for nonsense. Rossini, on the other hand, seemed a bit wary of the young American at first. It took a moment for Josh to see why—but then he noticed that the old man seemed jealous whenever Sforza got close to Josh or spoke to him. After the conversation continued for a few moments, Rossini seemed to lighten up a bit. Later on, as he got to know them both better, Josh realized that Rossini was very protective of the younger archeologist—in a fatherly way. Apparently he wasn’t too sure of the young American’s intentions!
After the round of introductions, Josh and Isabella headed back into the tent. MacDonald was carefully spraying the manuscript with a pungent aerosol. “This is a clear polymer that binds and seals papyrus, parchment, leather, or any other ancient, organic surface,” he says. “It keeps out moisture, repels dust, and prevents the surface from crumbling. As soon as it sets we can study this document at our leisure.”
Josh recognized the polymer as one he had read about but not tried yet in the field. “It’s supposed to soak up and set in very quickly—does it?” he asked.
“In less than five minutes,” said MacDonald. “In fact, I am about to move the viewer over the document so we can begin to decipher the writing. Why don’t you grab pen and paper and parallel with me?” Parallel inscribing was a common way to double check the exact wording of ancient handwritten manuscripts. Two archeologists or historians would sit side by side, without exchanging a word, to copy and translate what they thought was the exact wording of the manuscript they were studying. Then they would compare notes and see what, if any, words or phrases they did not agree on. Josh took the proffered notebook and sat on a stool beside MacDonald, looking through the illuminated magnifying glass. The handwriting was small and a bit shaky, but not nearly as indecipherable now that the dust of the ages had been removed. After about ten minutes, MacDonald set his pen down. Joshua was done a moment later. “Read yours first,” said MacDonald, so Josh complied, reading his rendition of the note from Tiberius Caesar:
Tiberius Caesar ad Mencius Marcellus, senescallus Villa Jovis
Ego sum
Romam—aliquid iuravi numquam, sed politica relinquere me paulo electio. Occasio est nolle redire mihi—septuaginta octo sum tamen, et insolentia itineris. In procinctu reditus villam custodiendam et dimittere extra culinam virgam redde choros mittere domo mea ob parentum. Tu suscipe verba non revertar—videlicet quod mortuus fuit itineris mei—conscripsi cubiculum velit signa sua. Non opus puer serpens Gaius ad pawing per privatas litteras! Ut scilicet ponat in cubiculo Capsula—Proin transtulit ad annos funere imaginum, sed etiam usu congregem correspondentia nolo aliis legi. Illud in latere et caemento, ut omne tempus quieta foret! Tibi serviet mihi etiam amicum. Hoc mihi operae pretium et loculos a mensa. Deos ora pro nobis—redeo ad nidum serpentium!