Skeleton 03 - The Constantine Codex (29 page)

On arrival at the patriarchate the next morning, Jon assured Brother Gregorios that this would be the last time he would have to descend to the
geniza
on their behalf since they were nearly finished. The archivist actually seemed disappointed. Perhaps, like colleagues in his profession, he cherished every part of his collection—even cast-off manuscripts—and he had enjoyed a fresh bond with two people strangely interested in the same.

Jon and Shannon settled in for their usual routine, opening the codex to where they had placed a simple bookmark. And sure enough, the pastoral epistles followed as part of the Pauline collection:
Pros Timotheon A
and
B
—1 and 2 Timothy—after which they photographed
Pros Titon
—Titus.

Jon smiled as he found this to be fresh ammunition against critics who claimed that Paul didn’t write the pastorals.

Then came the shortest book in the Bible,
Pros Philamona
—Philemon—and the anonymous
Pros Ebraious
—Hebrews. They even managed
Iakobou Epistolay
—Epistle of James—before lunch.

In the refectory, they were in an expansive mood with the end in sight for their epic project. While they dared not discuss it with the other churchmen and monks with whom they had become increasingly conversant, there was much else by way of luncheon topics—primarily, Jon modestly trying to deflect the praise heaped on him by black-robed fellow diners, all of whom had been present at Hagia Sophia. Before they finished their lunch, the secretary to the Ecumenical Patriarch assured them that His All Holiness would indeed welcome a parting visit from them at 10 a.m. the next day.

Returning to the
geniza
, they could now coast.
Petrou A
and
B
—1 and 2 Peter—quickly succumbed to their photo scrutiny, as did
Ioanou A, B,
and
G
—1, 2, and 3 John. The pages of
Iouda
—Jude—and
Apokalypsis Ioanou
—Revelation of John—presented some problems, since they were becoming detached from the end of the codex. But with the tenderest care they could offer, Jon and Shannon managed to secure perfect images of these also. Their photography of the codex was finally complete.

A quick look at the rushes that night confirmed successful photography of every page, as did a final scan of the entire codex. The film would have to await development in the States.

Jon now inserted CD-ROMs into his laptop to make three copies of the Constantine Codex: one for Shannon, another for Ferris, the third for himself—in case anything went wrong with his hard drive. He would leave nothing to chance—absolutely nothing.

And yet, a final, nagging problem remained. Simply put, it was how to handle their discovery and, indeed, the codex itself. Eventually, of course, there would be a public announcement, but who should know about it before that announcement? Calling a press conference to break the news was totally out of the question, they knew, and ridiculously premature. Jon had not even translated Second Acts, as yet.

“You know what I’d love to do, Shannon?” he asked.

“Keep the lid on all this as tightly as possible.”

“Just that.”

“And not tell the patriarch?”

Jon thought for some moments, then replied, “We have a moral obligation to tell him, of course. But what if he tells any of his staff? The news would soon be out.”

“Probably so. By the way, what about the codex?”

“Well, we could just put it back where it was and let it sleep until the public announcement, couldn’t we?”

“Not a good plan, Jon. What if they finally do a housecleaning of the
geniza
? They could easily throw it out. Or how about a fire at the patriarchate burning it to ash? Or a terrorist bomb lobbed in through a basement window?”

“I know; I know.” Then he sighed and said, “How I’d love to just smuggle the codex out of Turkey and bring it safely to the U.S. . . .”

“But—”

“We could put it in your tote bag, cover it with leather goods from the Grand Bazaar, and—”

“But that would be—”

“Just kidding, dear. I could also be caught and imprisoned for trying to steal a priceless antiquity, and wouldn’t that do wonders for our reputation in the scholarly world? Frankly, I don’t look good with numbers under my head.” Then he grew serious and added, “We now have the complete text and can take
that
home, in any case. But somehow, the codex has to be given VIP treatment at the patriarchate from now on—but in total secrecy, obviously.”

Shannon pondered the problem. “Well, Jon, our one and only option is this: Bartholomew and Gregorios have to be sworn to secrecy, and I’m sure they’ll know how to keep the codex in fine condition in a better environment.”

Jon mulled it over, drumming his fingers. “It’s really the only way, isn’t it?” He returned to his laptop and inserted a fourth disk to make another copy of the Constantine Codex—this one for the patriarch.

Shannon preceded him to bed. After finishing replies to several urgent e-mails, he crawled in as well. Sleep did not come. Too many thoughts were whirling in his brain to allow him to fall asleep easily. He had a strange feeling—hoping against hope that it was not a premonition. Things had developed so very well, no, so
magnificently
well that they just could not continue. He and Shannon could not be
that
fortunate, could they?

In any case, their conversation with the Ecumenical Patriarch on the morrow could easily become one of the most intriguing of their lives, he reflected, before dozing off.

“Ah, my good friends,” Bartholomew II said as he extended an openhanded welcome to Jon and Shannon inside his office. “Brother Gregorios tells me you’ve been spending many hours in research here at the patriarchate over the past week. That is good! We are pleased!”

“Thank you for your kindness in permitting it, Your All Holiness,” Jon replied.

“And did you find anything worthwhile? Any lost or previously unknown manuscripts?”

Jon smiled broadly. “Yes, we certainly did.”

“Well, no matter if—
what
did you say?”

“Yes, Holiness—a
very extraordinary
manuscript came to light. Are we in private? Can we be overheard?”

Bartholomew quickly moved to close the door and offer seats to his guests. His velvet brown eyes, now arched over with Gothic eyebrows, peered at them with blazing interest. “Now you may speak freely. What is it that you have found?”

“When I tell you, you will understand at once that this information is
for yourself only
—at least for now—and must
not
be shared with anyone. I . . . very respectfully ask your agreement on that.”

“
Nai, nai
—yes, yes, of course!”

Only Shannon smiled again at the Greek-English oxymoron.

Jon now unloaded the full account of their week of research. During the telling, Bartholomew’s eyes constricted with intensity as his head began a very slow oscillation from side to side. Scholar that he was, the patriarch instantly caught the significance of the ancient codex and interjected, “One of Constantine’s fifty, you say? Well, then . . . then it’s greater than the
Sinaiticus
! Or the
Vaticanu
s
!”

Jon could only agree, but when he went on to report that they had found the lost ending of Mark in the codex, Bartholomew’s jaw simply sagged open while he stared at Jon.

“Perhaps a little slower, dear,” Shannon cautioned. “You and I had a week to digest all this, so you really shouldn’t burden the patriarch with so much all at once.”

“Do you mean . . . do you mean that there may be
more
?” Bartholomew asked.

Jon nodded. “There is, but I think my wife is right in suggesting that we take a little breather—a break, an interim.”
Thank you, Shannon,
Jon thought.
It wouldn’t be kind to inflict a heart attack on the aging Ecumenical Patriarch.

Bartholomew seemed to descend back to reality. “Some tea? Yes?” he offered, then picked up his cell phone to order it.

Before the second cup of tea, the patriarch had to know more, so Jon resumed his narrative. But when he came to the discovery of Second Acts, Bartholomew’s cup went flying as both his hands seemed to attack his forehead while he bent over his desk in a prayerful posture. Jon was amazed that great news could have the same shock value as very bad news.

When Jon had finished, Bartholomew crossed himself and finally looked up. “Please forgive my bad manners, dear friends, but I am . . . I am quite overcome with what you report. This is of . . . staggering importance to the whole Christian church on earth. How . . . how do you plan to let the world know? And when?”

“Any premature announcement could be disastrous to the cause of serious scholarship, Your Holiness. I think the announcement should come only after we’ve concluded the authenticity tests and are ready with a prepared edition of the codex, an official translation, and a commentary—at least on the new material. The rest can come later.”

He nodded. “Yes, that should come first. And where should the announcement be made when all is ready?”

“Why not from your own patriarchate, here in Istanbul?”

“That is very kind of you, although there may be other options. And what about the codex itself?”

Jon handed Bartholomew a CD copy of the photographs they had taken. “Again, for now, this copy is for your eyes only. Please guard it carefully. The codex itself, of course, is your property, but I would urge that you retrieve it immediately from the ‘manuscript cemetery’ in the basement of the patriarchate and keep it under extreme security in a humidity-controlled vault of some kind. Before any public announcement, we
may
need the codex in America for a time for evaluation and authenticity tests—not that there is the least chance of forgery, but the world will demand it.”

Bartholomew nodded readily, to Jon’s relief. But then his face darkened as he pursued a different line of thought. “And so this . . . this incredibly important manuscript has been in our possession—who knows how many centuries?—and we
didn’t even know it
? This is terrible! This uncovers a great failure in how we manage our archives! Brother Gregorios must answer for this! There is absolutely no excuse for such utter—”

“With all due respect, Your Holiness, this sort of thing happens again and again in many libraries across the world that have manuscript collections. With many thousands of documents and books, things
do
get misplaced, so please do not let our good fortune become Brother Gregorios’s misfortune!”

Shannon joined the dialogue with an important suggestion. “We would, however, recommend that a
very complete
inventory be taken of
every
document and manuscript inside your basement ‘cemetery,’ Your All Holiness. Who knows what additional treasures might be found there! Our Institute of Christian Origins in Cambridge will be glad to assist you in this respect.”

“
Nai, nai, nai!
A very good suggestion, Madame Weber. I thank you for it. We certainly
will
do that very thing. But now we must all go and see the codex, yes?”

The three descended the ornate staircases of the patriarchate and walked to the archives, where Gregorios, without even being asked, hastened over with his keys, knowing full well that their target had to be the basement document charnel house. Without a word, he admitted them. Jon pointed out the various sectors to the patriarch, and presently they stood before the ancient bookcase in the southwest corner. There rested the codex on the bottom shelf, where it had lain for countless, unknown centuries, looking the same as when Shannon first spotted it, except that the gnarled old leather-clad board cover was no longer gray with dust. Very gently, Jon again lifted it off its shelf and carried it to the table where they had photographed it.