“A kind of miniature catapult…the army’s Scorpion is a larger version. Greeks invented the weapon, called it a gastrophetes.”
“That would mean…‘stomach-shooter?’”
“Right, Arcadia. The bow is a composite of ash, horn and sinew glued together. A large one is so hard to draw that the person cocks the device by centering it on his abdomen and pushing against the ground or a wall.”
“How do you know all this, Husband?”
“I don’t always read about medicine in the library. Heron of Alexandria describes the bow. A wound is devastating—witness poor Feletheus.”
Arcadia glanced at a dark area on the floor. Sand had been sprinkled over the blood-stain, but it was still evident. She bent to rummage on the floor among the broken tile fragments that had made up the book design, then picked up one of the larger pieces and brought it to her husband.
“Getorius, look on the back. There’s another rooster symbol.”
He studied the design a moment. “This one could be an artisan’s mark. The kind they press into bricks to identify the kiln.”
“But it’s drawn in red ink, not impressed.”
“It does seem to match the one on the prophecy manuscript.” He tossed the fragment on the worktable in frustration. “I just wish I knew what was going on here. Why would Behan, or the conspirators, choose this place to hide the documents?”
“You said the monk’s hut was too risky, and an unfinished mausoleum wouldn’t get any visitors. Perhaps if that workmaster Sigisvult mentioned is found…” Arcadia slipped the tile fragment into her purse. “Would Theokritos be in the library today?”
“Probably, it’s almost his home. Why?”
“I’d like to show him the tile, but how can we see him when we’ve been barred from the palace?”
“There is a stairway outside, at the back,” Getorius recalled. “Theokritos had it built in case of a fire, but I’ve never used it.”
“How would we get inside the palace grounds? The laurel grove?”
“Let me think. Wait, there’s a gap in the wall where the Padenna River runs out from the garden. Are you willing to get your feet wet?”
“Let’s go, husband. We don’t know what the forgers will do once they realize the will has been discovered.”
The couple slipped under the iron grill at the stream opening, then threaded their way through the laurel trees to the rear of the palace. The wooden stairway was unguarded. At the top, the door into the library was slightly open. As soon as Arcadia entered she smelled smoke that had an herbal odor, like field grass burning.
“Something’s on fire!” she cried.
Getorius had also noticed the smell. Running ahead of her, past storage bins and into Theokritos’s office, he saw the librarian intent on watching two scraps of papyrus burn in a clay dish.
“Theokritos!” he shouted. “What are you doing? That document is priceless!”
Getorius beat the flames out with a bare hand, shattering one of the dishes and scattering ashes on the table.
“Surgeon, tend to your patients,” Theokritos snapped, pushing him back. “That was part of a blank papyrus sheet from a manuscript by Lucius Annaeus Seneca. He wrote in Egypt around the time of the Galilean. I wanted to compare the nature of the ashes with those of a section I had cut from the Secundus Papyrus.”
“The what?” Getorius asked, cradling his reddened palm in the other hand.
“I’ve named our mystery document after Pilate’s secretary, Lucius Flavius Secundus…”
Arcadia came into the room. She saw the smoking papyrus scrap and scattered ashes around the broken dish and her husband holding his hand, and guessed what had happened. “Let me see, Getorius. Are you badly burned?”
“It’s nothing. Theokritos was testing papyrus similar to the one we found.”
“Go find a water pitcher and soak your hand in cold water.”
After Getorius left, Theokritos muttered, “Impetuous fool. What did he think I was doing? Look over here, young woman.” The librarian indicated a row of small dishes that held ashes or scraps of papyrus immersed in various liquids. “These are soaking in vinegar. Those two are in a solution of vitriol.” He held up a vellum sheet on which he had recorded the contents of each plate. “This will detail my conclusions.”
“You’re comparing the composition of the manuscript fibers we found and those of a similar age.”
“Greek manuscripts from the Palestina area, to be exact. You have more sense than that husband of yours. I’m also comparing the weave of the plant in manufacture…its color, texture, brittleness, and so on. The two papyri are comparable, finely made. Alexandria had the best quality papyrus back then.”
“Clever—”
“Of course the Seneca manuscript has been here in Ravenna for some time, while…I’m calling what was found the ‘Secundus Papyrus,’ as I told the Surgeon…while that papyrus was presumably in the Hyperborean damp for over four centuries. Fortunately, the case was well sealed. There are stains on some of the fibers, from when the leather case was new, but someone put that gold foil lining in at a later time to protect the contents.”
“So the case had been opened?”
“At some point.”
Getorius returned with a wet cloth around his hand and mumbled an apology.
“I realize what you must have thought, Surgeon,” Theokritos said in a kinder tone, “but I’m trying to establish the age of the papyri. If they’re recent, there’s no need to go on.”
“What about the writing?” Arcadia asked.
“Its style is from the time of the Galilean. I’ve compared it with the Seneca.”
Still on the defensive, Getorius countered, “Any skilled scribe could copy the hand.”
Arcadia gritted her teeth, but Theokritos seemed to feel no offense. “True, Surgeon. That’s why the material itself is of more importance.”
“The ink is brownish,” she noted.
“It is its nature to change, young woman. Look at the Seneca, the color is quite similar.”
“Did you discover anything else about the papyri?” Getorius asked.
“A few signs of mold, as might be expected. But all in all it has been mirac…it has been remarkably well preserved.”
Getorius noted that the librarian fell just short of saying, “miraculously well preserved.”
“Theokritos,” he apologized, “I’m
