“In the beginning the Logos, the Word, was, and the Word was with God…”
The text was familiar; both Getorius and his wife had read and heard it many times. Now both could anticipate the point at which Brenos would have suddenly held up the Secundus Papyrus and announced that the prophecy of Christ’s immeasurable love had been fulfilled: “So the Word became flesh and resided among us, and we had a view of his glory, a glory such as belongs to an only-begotten son from a Father; and he was full of undeserved kindness and love.”
The abbot would then have read the terms of the Nazarene’s will as ‘proof’ of the love John mentioned. In the pandemonium that would have followed the first stunned silence, it was conceivable that Ravenna’s Judean quarter would have been attacked that same night by angry protesters.
The service ended with Bishop Chrysologos escorting the imperial family out through a side entrance. Maximin was lost in the crowd of officials. When Getorius and Arcadia came out the front entrance with the other people, the senator’s carriage was gone.
The couple walked in silence to the corner of the Via Basilicae and the Honorius, and Arcadia took her husband’s arm. “Is the nightmare over, Getorius?”
He shrugged. “You were probably right in thinking that Galla Placidia has burned the Gallican charter, and Theokritos’ test results.”
“That still bothers me.”
“What?”
“Theokritos. Do you think he truly believed the will was genuine? I…I’d come to like him.”
“I didn’t read his conclusions, but for the tests he used papyrus scraps that were the same age. A monastic forger would have access to similar manuscript pages. While I was detained, I did some research on that Gnostic amulet Theokritos wore. Abraxas was the name of an armed rooster figure, with serpents for legs…some kind of protective pagan daemon. The cock was sacred to the sun god because he greeted dawn and banished the evil forces of the night.”
“Theokritos was too intelligent to believe all that,” Arcadia retorted. “I think the amulet was just a pagan curiosity for him.”
“I guess I’d like to believe that he was impartial in judging the authenticity of what he called his Secundus Papyrus.”
“A church council would have eventually ruled against it, wouldn’t it?”
“Probably, but these Gallicans might have consolidated their power by then…even convinced enough believers on the council to overrule the truth.”
Arcadia shuddered at the possibility, and drew her cape closer around her body. “I’m frightened that there might have been so many involved. Will they—or someone—try something like this again?”
“You might as well ask if there’ll be sick people at the clinic tomorrow. Some people’s need for power is as unexplainable as…as why some wounds heal and other don’t.”
After walking along the Honorius toward their villa for a time, Arcadia asked, “Will we see Rabbi Zadok again?”
“I’m not sure. He’ll have to deal with the anti-Judean laws Nathaniel mentioned. I just wish he had told me more about the murders he and my father solved.”
“His mind was on dealing with the effects the forged will would have on his people if it were released.”
“I suppose.”
When Getorius guided Arcadia around street puddles across from the old forum, she looked over at the temple of Fortuna. The pagan building was dark in contrast to the Ursiana, which had been brightly lit with lamps and candles, but nearby bonfires brought a golden glint to the bronze letters of the inscription.
“Divine Fortune, you—and Saint Cosmas—did smile on me,” Arcadia murmured.
“What did you say, cara?”
She squeezed her husband’s arm more tightly. “Nothing, really.”
At the corner of the Via Theodosius, Getorius had paused to watch children playing around fires in the marketplace, when he heard a distant but familiar sound.
“Did you hear that?” he asked Arcadia.
“What, Getorius?”
“I’d swear on Aesculapius that I just heard a rooster announcing the dawn. It must be the reflection from all the fires on the low clouds making it mistake the time of day.”
“The false dawn of another deceiver.” Arcadia laughed and pulled Getorius across the street, toward their villa. “It may be late, but I’m going to get that copy of Ovid out again so we can read parts of it together.”
“In the bathhouse pool?”
“Maybe not there, at least not tonight. But I do feel safe inside that warm little octagonal universe,” Arcadia admitted. “That day we examined Behan—after we came home and made love in the pool—I had this uneasy feeling, a kind of premonition that Ravenna was not as secure as it seemed behind its walls and swamps. They might keep barbarians out, but that night I imagined enemies inside the city who could destroy our world.”
“You were right, cara. Those Gallicans weren’t imaginary foes.”
“That’s what’s so frightening.”
Getorius guided his wife around the corner of their street. “Senator Maximin’s mother admitted to me that she worried because he had become too ambitious. If the senator was part of the Gallican League, he was clever enough not to go down with them. Yet he may try something else.”
“Getorius, there’s our house. Let’s forget all this and give foes.” Childibert, Silvia and Brisios the Nativity gifts I have ready for them and their families. We—and Ravenna—actually have much to be thankful for on this festival night.”
THE END
About the Author
Albert Noyer
With degrees in art, art education and the humanities, Albert Noyer’s career includes working in commercial and fine art, teaching in the Detroit Public Schools and at private colleges. He lives in New Mexico, and has previously published another historical mystery, The Saint’s Day Deaths.
* Real people recorded in history
* Real people recorded in history
* Real people recorded in history
† The character Publius Maximin was based on the real person Petronius Maximus but as his role in the novel was largely fictionalized, his name was changed.
