“A new commandment I give ye: love one another even as I have loved ye. Love those who hate ye. Do good to those who would do ye harm.
“If ye love me ye will keep my commandments. He who keepeth my commandments, he it is who loveth me, and he who loveth me shall be loved of my Father, and I will love him and manifest myself to him. He who loveth me not keepeth not my word, and the word which ye hear is not mine, but the Father’s who sent me. That the world may know that I love the Father, and as the Father gave me commandments, even so do I give them to you.”
Getorius paused. The text was rambling, made up of well-known sayings of Jesus.
Yet if he actually had dictated the words to Pilate’s secretary—presumably while the procurator was outside trying to convince the crowd that the accused was innocent—Getorius knew Christ would be delirious from his night’s ordeal. Cold, and the thirst induced by loss of blood from whipping and thorn punctures, would be enough to send him into the kind of shock he had seen before in patients.
Getorius continued, his hands trembling and his throat too dry to read the words loudly:
“I give thee a prophecy. Many will come from the east and west in my name. They will be gathered together in a great Assembly under Simeon-Petros bar Jonah.
“And I give to Petros and his successors the keys of the kingdom of heaven, to bind or loose on earth, that it may be also bound or loosed in heaven. For I am a king and for this have I come into the world. Even now I could call down the Twelfth Legion of Angels to avenge me, but Father, thy will be done.”
“This is tedious,” Placidia broke in. “Archdeacon, is this another forgery like that letter of Pilate?”
“What…what is the bequest, Surgeon?” Renatus asked nervously. “Read on.”
“Last night I washed the feet of my disciples and commanded them to love one another. Yet how can I command them to love and do good to their enemies if I do not likewise love my enemies and do good to them?
“My heart is sad that the Children of Abraham have not listened to my words. Even now they are outside crying for my blood and have not listened to my Father. Yet I will remember their sins no more, and what I bind in heaven will be bound on earth.
“I will fulfill the promise made to Abraham and his off spring.
“THEREFORE: I bequeath to the descendants of the Children of Abraham, the sons of Isaac and Jacob, the Hebrews who were brought out of captivity by Moses and given the first Covenant, to them I give all the seas, ports, lands, cities, and estates of the world, to be theirs until I come in Glory to sit at the right hand of the Father.
“this testament and legacy shall be known only to Simeon-Petros and concealed by him until it be revealed in the fullness of my Father’s time.
“My time is short, deliver this to him by Salutus. Petros has just entered the courtyard.”
When Getorius looked up, his face was as white from shock as Lawrence’s supernatural garment. “Th…this papyrus gives the Western and Eastern Empires t…to the people who live in our Judean quarter,” he stammered. “Sixtus, the Bishop of Rome, Christ’s successor, will have to honor it.”
After an interval of silence, Placidia snarled, “No! This could be a forgery. I am binding you all by your oath to the Augustus, my son, not to reveal what you have just seen and heard. Theokritos. You will test the papyrus to determine its authenticity, and report only to me.”
“That Hun guard saw the body,” Arcadia pointed out.
“I doubt that he could identify Feletheus,” Getorius said, “but he will report to Aetius that someone was killed here.”
“I’ll deal with Flavius Aetius,” Placidia retorted. “Meanwhile, I remind you all of your oath. Librarian, you will begin your work tonight!”
Chapter nine
That night Getorius found sleep impossible. The image of Feletheus’ shattered skull and his limp body toppling off the scaffold would have been enough to disturb his rest, but the improbable discovery of the two papyri was a major cause of anxiety. The implications of finding a last will of Jesus Christ, with a bequest that would totally upset the social order, kept him and Arcadia awake.
Getorius’ first sense of relief came from the fact that Placidia’s oath of secrecy seemed to be holding. Two mornings later, at the Lord’s Day service, Bishop Chrysologos did not mention Feletheus, nor was he included in the prayers for the deceased. And none of the catechumens, who had been dismissed before the Profession of Faith, were heard gossiping about the library assistant as they waited for the deacons to distribute shares of the altar offerings.
On leaving the Basilica Ursiana with Arcadia, Getorius was surprised when Publius Maximin stopped him.
“Surgeon,” the senator said affably, with a glance at Arcadia, “I apologize for not being there when you looked in on my mother.”
“Sir, it was a privilege to be asked.”
Maximin smiled at Arcadia. “This beautiful lady is your wife?”
“Yes. Arcadia trains with me in medicine.”
She extended a hand. “How are you, Senator?” Arcadia had always thought him almost painfully handsome, his gray-flecked hair too well groomed, and his clothes always the latest fashion. Today, he wore a tunic of soft wool decorated with the twin purple stripes of his senatorial rank, under an elliptically cut cloak. Calfskin boots dyed red, the prerogative of a senator, protected his feet.
“Medicine. I admire your courage, my dear,” Maximin said,
