“So if you haven’t got the scroll, what have you got?” Puente asked.
“We’re not quite there yet,” Bronson said. He told Puente how Angela had examined the
skyphos
and realized it was a reproduction, and guessed that the pattern on the side of the vessel was more than just an abstract decoration. Then he described their discovery of the ancient tomb up in the hills near Piglio, and what was inside it.
“Two bodies?” Puente interrupted.
“Yes,” Bronson replied. “We have the photographs that I took inside the tomb, which I can show you. I believe that one of the bodies was beheaded and the other crucified. Above the entrance to the cave the letters ‘HVL’ had been carved, which we assume meant
‘Hic Vanidici Latitant.’
”
Puente was lost in thought. “Why are you so sure that’s how they died?” he asked, finally.
“On the larger of the two skeletons, one of the neck vertebrae was cut in half. As a police officer, I know that the vertebrae are very strong, and I can’t think of any circumstances in which one of these bones could split like that after death. Beheading is the only scenario that makes sense.”
“And the second body?”
“That was easy. The two heel bones were still pinned together by the remains of a thick nail, and there were traces of rusted metal in both wrists.”
Puente looked shocked. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve got the pictures to prove it,” Bronson reminded him, “and we could certainly find the tomb again—assuming that the Italians haven’t blown it up.”
“And you’ve still got the items that you retrieved from the cave?” Puente asked, a distinct tremor in his voice.
“There are two diptychs and a scroll,” Angela said, as Bronson opened the leather case and began to unwrap the bundle that held the relics. “The diptychs are sealed, but I’ve looked at the scroll. That’s the reason we brought them to you. I can’t quite believe what I read.”
Bronson placed the final part of the bundle on the desk and carefully unrolled it while Puente pulled on a pair of thin white cotton gloves. The moment the relics were revealed, he drew in his breath sharply.
“Dear God,” he muttered, “these are in excellent condition, the best I’ve ever seen.”
He placed a large sheet of cartridge paper on the table and arranged a couple of desk lights on either side of it. He picked up one of the diptychs and placed it reverently in the middle of the paper, then bent over it with an illuminated magnifier.
“I thought that might be Nero’s imperial seal,” Angela suggested, and Puente nodded.
“You’re absolutely right,” he said. “It is. And that makes this very rare and extremely valuable.” He looked up at Angela. “You’ve no idea of the contents?”
“No. I only looked at the scroll.”
“Very well. Some of the
linum
has disintegrated, so I can remove the sections of thread without damaging the seal.”
“This
is
quite urgent, Professor,” Bronson interjected.
“You must appreciate that proper examination of relics like these will take months or even years,” Puente said, “but I can certainly run some very quick visual checks.”
He unlocked a climate-controlled safe behind the table and took out three boxes containing scrolls and diptychs, and another two holding just fragments of papyrus. Then he placed the scroll and the second diptych on the cartridge paper, selected four diptychs and a couple of scrolls from the boxes and placed those on the paper as well.
“Comparative paleography is a very complex and meticulous science,” he said, “but a quick comparison with these extant and dated relics might help indicate a likely period.”
Five minutes later he looked up. “This scroll is very early, probably first century A.D., and the diptychs look as if they’re from about the same period. I’ll know better when I’ve opened them, and I’ll also be able to tell you what the contents are.”
He walked over to a cupboard and returned to the table carrying a camera. He took several photographs of the first diptych, then carefully removed the securing thread, placing the lengths beside the object. Then slowly, and with meticulous care, he opened the diptych. Before doing anything else, he photographed it.
Bronson leaned forward to stare at the relic but the result was disappointing. The two wax-covered surfaces looked like muddy-brown layers of paint, covered in faint scribbling.
But Puente’s face lit up as he eagerly scanned the object.
“What is it?” Angela asked.
The Spaniard glanced up at her, then resumed his scrutiny of the diptych. “As I said, it may be years before we’re certain of their age and authenticity, but to me this appears to be a genuine first-century relic. It looks like a
codex accepti et expensi.
That,” he went on, glancing at Bronson, “was what the Romans called their records of payments and expenses. A kind of receipt book,” he added.
“Is that all?” Bronson asked, feeling a stab of disappointment.
Puente shook his head, his eyes bright with excitement. “A receipt book makes for pretty dull reading, usually,” he said, “but this one’s rather different. It appears to be a list of payments—quite substantial payments, in fact—made by the Emperor Nero himself to two men over a period of several years. The recipients aren’t named, but they have signed their initials against each amount. The initials they’ve used are ‘SBJ’ and ‘SQVET.’ Do they mean anything to you?”
Bronson shook his head, but Angela nodded, her face pale. “That’s what I wanted to ask you about. I think ‘SBJ’ was ‘Simon ben Jonah’ and ‘SQVET’ was
‘Saul quisnam venit ex Tarsus,’
or ‘Saul who came from Tarsus.’ ”
“Who’s rather better known to us today,” Puente remarked, “as St. Paul.”
“Hang on,” Bronson interrupted. “That Italian told us the scroll we found in the
skyphos
was written by someone who signed himself ‘SQVET.’ Are you saying that was
St. Paul
?”
“I . . . I think so,” Angela replied, her face pale.
“So who’s ‘Simon ben Jonah’?”
“Well,” she said, almost reluctantly, “it could be St. Peter.” She turned to Puente. “Is it genuine?”
“It’s difficult to say for certain,” Puente replied. Bronson noticed his hands were shaking. “All three of these relics could be fakes. Very early, and very good, first-century fakes, but fakes nevertheless. But if they
are
genuine, they could relate directly to the bodies in the tomb.”
“How?” Bronson asked.
“You found two bodies,” Puente stated, “one beheaded, and the other crucified. The very early history of Christianity is incomplete and often contradictory, and little is known about the fate of some of the early saints. However, St. Peter is believed to have been martyred in Rome by Nero in about A.D. sixty-three. The date’s uncertain, but the manner of his death is believed to have been by crucifixion—upside-down, apparently—as he didn’t feel worthy enough to occupy the same position on the cross as Jesus.”
“But even I know that the bones of St. Peter have been found in Rome,” Bronson interrupted.
Puente smiled briefly. “What people
know
is often very different from the truth. But you’re quite right. The remains of St. Peter
have
been found in Rome—at least twice, in fact.
“In 1950 the Vatican announced that bones had been found in a crypt underneath the high altar of the Basilica of St. Peter, and conclusively identified them as those of the saint. But pathologists later identified the remains as parts of the skeletons of two different men, one much younger than the other, the bones of a woman plus bones belonging to a pig, a chicken and a horse.
“You might think, after such an embarrassing fiasco, that the Vatican would be more cautious about making such claims, but a few years later yet another group of bones was found in more or less the same area. These, too, were confidently proclaimed by the Vatican to be the mortal remains of this apostle. Another one of his tombs has been found in Jerusalem.
“The point is that
nobody
knows much about St. Peter, mainly because he only appears within the pages of the New Testament, and no contemporary writings mention him at all. Despite that, he’s generally regarded by the Roman Catholic Church as the first pope. He was the son of a man named John or Jonah, hence his biblical name of Simon ben Jonah or Simon bar Jonah, but he was also known as Peter, Simon, Simon Peter, Simeon, Cephas, Kepha and, sometimes, as ‘the fisherman’ or the ‘fisher of men.’ ”
Puente looked at Angela and Chris steadily. “No one actually knows if St. Peter ever lived. And if he did, nobody knows where his body was buried, or whether his remains have survived.”
He spread his hands. “Until today, that is.”
27
I
In the café down the street, Verrochio nudged his companion and pointed as Gregori Mandino and Rogan got out of a car on the north side of the Carrer de Valencia.
“And about time, too,” Perini said. He stood up, tossed a ten-euro note onto the table to cover the cost of their last few drinks, and walked away from the café.
“Well?” Mandino demanded, as Perini stopped beside him.
“They’re both inside the museum,” Perini replied. “They arrived about three-quarters of an hour ago. Bronson was carrying a black leather case.”
The four men crossed the road and entered the museum together.
“So what you and Angela are saying is that we found the last resting place of St. Peter, and that one of the skeletons—the one that had been crucified—was his. Is that correct?”
Puente shook his head helplessly at Bronson’s question. “I’m a Catholic,” he said, “and I’ve always accepted the teachings of the Church. I know there’s been confusion about the bones they found in Rome, but I’ve always assumed that the apostle’s remains—if they still exist—would be found
somewhere
in the city.” He looked down at the diptych, then up again at Bronson. “Now, I’m not so sure.”
“So is that the secret—the lie?” Bronson asked. “Is that what the Italian meant? That St. Peter’s bones were
not
buried somewhere in Rome?”
“No,” Puente said decisively. “Neither the existence nor the location of the bones would make any real difference to the Church. He must have been talking about something else.”
“What about the second body?” Bronson demanded. “You’re not going to tell me that was St. Paul?”
“It’s at least possible. Again, it’s not known exactly when he died, but it’s almost certain he was executed on Nero’s orders in A.D. sixty-four or sixty-seven.”
“Paul was a Roman citizen,” Angela added, “and so he couldn’t have been crucified. Beheading would be the obvious method of choice, and that does seem to fit with the bodies we found.”
“But why would Nero have been paying these two men money? And why would he then have had them both killed?”
“That,” Puente said, “is the nub of the matter. Perhaps the second diptych or the scroll will provide some answers.”
Tenderly, he closed the first diptych and placed it, together with the fragments of
linum,
in a cardboard box on the table. He reached for the second tablet and repeated the process of opening it, again taking photographs at every step.
“Now this,” he said, when the relic was open on the table in front of him, “is different. This appears to be a confidential order, issued by Nero himself, giving specific instructions to Saul of Tarsus—he was also sometimes known as ‘the Jew from Cilicia.’ It’s signed ‘SQVET,’ so presumably Paul accepted the assignment.”
Puente sat back in his chair and rubbed his face with his hands. “This is unbelievable,” he muttered.
“Take a look at the scroll, Josep,” Angela suggested quietly. “That’s what frightened me.”
Puente moved the diptych to one side, picked up the small scroll and carefully unraveled it. He moved the magnifier over the text to begin translating the characters.
When he finished, he looked up at Angela, his face as pale as hers. “What do you think this means?” he asked.
“I only read the first few lines, but it referred to the ‘Tomb of Christianity,’ which held the bones of ‘the convert’ and ‘the fisherman.’ ”
Puente nodded. “This scroll,” he said, “was apparently written by a Roman named Marcus Asinius Marcellus.”
“We worked out that he was acting as Nero’s agent in some secret operation,” Bronson said.
“Exactly,” Puente replied. “From what I’ve read here, it looks to me as if he was pressured into acting by the Emperor—”
“That makes sense,” Bronson interrupted. “We think Nero saved him from execution when he was involved in a plot to forge a will.”
“Well, according to the scroll,” Puente said, in a voice that was far from steady, “the author states explicitly that Christianity was a sham, nothing more than a cult started by Nero to serve his own purposes, and based on a handful of lies, and that these two men—the men we now know as St. Peter and St. Paul—were in the pay of the Romans.”
II
“Check the whole building,” Mandino instructed Rogan. “Start with the roof terrace and work your way down. I’ll stay on the ground floor in case they’re somewhere here. When you see Bronson and Lewis, leave Perini and Verrochio to cover them, and come and fetch me.”
“Understood.”
Rogan led the way up to the deserted roof terrace and worked his way back down, checking each level carefully.
“No sign of them,
capo,
” he reported, when he returned to the ground floor. “Could they have slipped away somehow?”
“Not through the front entrance,” Perini answered. “We were both watching it carefully. They definitely didn’t come out again.”
“There’s a basement with a private library,” Mandino told them, checking a museum information leaflet. “They must be down there. Let’s go.”
It was almost closing time as Mandino led the way toward the basement entrance. As they approached, a guard came over to them, raising his hand to stop them.