Getorius was beginning to become impatient when the Greek youth entered and motioned him and Arcadia to an office down the hallway.
David ben Zadok stood when the couple entered, but said nothing. Getorius saw a white-bearded, ruddy face that was etched with furrows, like the eroded slopes near Caesena. Watching the rabbi as he studied him for a few moments, Getorius was sure he saw tears glistening in the old man’s brown eyes.
“Yes, you…you are his son,” Zadok finally said, in a gentle voice that trembled with emotion. “Barukh k’vod Adonai mi-m’komo.”
“Sir?”
“‘Praised is the Lord’s glory throughout the universe.’ Zadok smiled. “Young man, you have taken me back thirty years. Please, both of you. Sit down.”
“You knew my father, then?”
Zadok nodded. “After the Vandal raid on Mogontiacum, I took Treverius into business with me. You see, there was no longer a need for the maps he made.”
“My…mother?”
“Blandina? Beautiful. Intelligent. It was unusual to find a woman in a profession.” He smiled at Arcadia. “Am I to understand you are a medica?”
“Sir, I’m only training with my husband.”
“Then, young woman, you have some of Blandina’s spirit.”
She laughed. “So Nicias used to say. I don’t know if he always meant it as a compliment.”
Zadok nodded in remembrance, then turned to Getorius. “You’ve come to talk about your parents? Gladly. How did you find out I knew them?”
“From Galla Placidia. But, no, that’s not why I came. I do want to know more about them, but I’m here on a…a more important matter.”
“Ah. Then perhaps we can talk about your parents afterward,” the rabbi replied.
“I would like that, sir. I…I’m here for Placidia.”
“The headstrong mother of the Augustus. What is the nature of your mission for her?”
“Rabbi,” Getorius warned, “I must swear you to secrecy.”
“May he who has not taken an oath deceitfully ascend to the mountain of the Lord,” Zadok quoted from a psalm. “If the matter is of such importance, you have my word.”
Arcadia noticed her husband hesitate and interposed, “Sir, an important document has been discovered. We’re sure it’s forged, but there are witnesses. We can’t simply destroy it.”
“And if there were no witnesses except the Lord?”
Zadok’s gentle rebuke flustered her. “Y…you’re correct, sir. It still should not be destroyed.”
“This…document concerns religion?” Zadok asked, stroking his beard in a nervous gesture. “Ours, perhaps?”
“Very deeply,” Getorius said.
“You are Christian,” Zadok continued softly. “It relates in your holy book that when your cult was new, Rabban Gamliel cautioned our zealots, who opposed you as apostate Hebrews. He told them that if your cause were not of the Lord it would fail. But if it were a work of His, they would never be able to overthrow it and would, in effect, be fighting against Him. Let us use Gamliel’s wisdom in dealing with this document. What, then, is it?”
“Supposedly,” Getorius began tactfully, “supposedly a last will of Jesus Christ has been discovered.”
Zadok folded his hands, leaned back, and closed his eyes. “Continue, please.”
“According to a letter purportedly written by the Apostle Peter, this will was dictated to Pontius Pilate’s secretary while the procurator was outside speaking to the crowd.”
“Trying to convince them of the condemned man’s innocence,” the rabbi said.
“Y…yes.” Getorius was surprised, expecting the rabbi to be ignorant of the story.
Zadok opened his eyes and sat up, his white brows knitted into an angry frown. “We had no power to put a seditionist to death…is this another attempt to exonerate the Roman authorities? Letters still circulate that accuse our leaders of forcing Pilate…against his wishes…to execute the Galilean.”
“It’s not that.” Getorius hesitated again. Once he told Zadok the terms of the will how would the old man react? He needed to explain further. “The Galilean…Christ…taught that we should love our enemies. Forgive them.”
“A compassionate precept, yet difficult to observe.”
“Yes, and the ultimate expression of such a love would be to not only forgive your enemies, but to make them your…your inheritors.”
“And the greatest enemy of the Galilean?” Zadok asked.
“The Judeans who…who wanted him crucified.” Getorius let the rabbi absorb the implications a moment, then continued, “It’s a forgery, of course, but suppose Christ did will the world to your people? It would have no meaning at the time, so that’s why this letter of Peter states that the document is to be released at a later date.”
“There are those,” Arcadia added, “who teach that the world will end in sixty years. People who think the final days are almost here will believe any nonsense.”
“Your forger has excellent timing,” Zadok commented wryly. “Today, you Christians own the world, as it were.”
“Exactly the point,” Getorius emphasized. “Under the will, all of it reverts to you Judeans. Sixtus, the Bishop of Rome, who speaks for Christ, is legally bound to enforce the terms.”
Zadok fell silent, toying with an oil lamp whose handle was in the shape of a small menorah, before asking, “You, of course, could not bring this document with you?”
“No, it’s at the palace in Ravenna. The librarian is trying to establish its authenticity before it’s released.”
“Who else knows of this false will’s existence?”
“Seven of us were there when it was accidentally discovered.”
“Where?”
“Concealed inside a niche in Galla Placidia’s new mausoleum. When Theokritos’ assistant removed its tile cover, the bolt from a hidden crossbow struck him. And three other witnesses have already been killed.”
“Time is short then.” Zadok fixed Getorius with brown eyes that expressed both strong resolve and an interior sadness. “You came here to have me predict this document’s impact after it is brought to light.”
“If you would, sir. Especially on your people.”
“For the Hebrews living in the two Roman empires,
