Sign of the Cross

made of bone or metal barbells, some had tiny claws like barbed fishing hooks. That way when soldiers withdrew their weapons they would rip out chunks of flesh.’

‘Pretty barbaric.’

‘Yet common. Ultimately, it was done to weaken the criminal so he’d die quicker on the cross. In a twisted way, they did it out of mercy.’

Dial shook his head at the logic. There was nothing merciful about these wounds. He could see Narayan’s rib cage through the slashes in his flesh. ‘How long would the scourging last?’

‘Roman law limited it to forty lashes. Most soldiers stopped at thirty-nine, one below the maximum.’

‘Another way to show their mercy?’

‘Exactly. After that the patibulum — the horizontal beam of the cross — was tied to the victim across both shoulders, right behind his neck.’

‘Like a squat bar?’

‘Yes, just like you use in the gym, only much heavier. Probably fifty-five kilos.’

Dial wrote approximately 125 pounds in his notebook. ‘Then what?’

‘He was forced to carry it to the stipes crucis, which was already planted in the ground.’

‘And what would that weigh?’

‘Twice as much as the patibulum.’

Dial noted the entire cross would’ve been too heavy for one man to carry. ‘Out of curiosity, why do artists show Christ carrying the whole cross instead of just a beam?’

‘Because it’s more dramatic that way. Even Mel Gibson used a whole cross for his film, though it would’ve been physically impossible for Christ to carry after his scourging. As it was, he fell three times on his way to Golgotha.’

‘That’s right! I forgot about that. And his hands were tied, right? So he wouldn’t have been able to break his fall. He would’ve gone face-first.’

‘Undoubtedly. In fact, many people use that fact to explain the facial disfigurement that appears on the Shroud of Turin. The image shows a clean break in the nose.’

Dial shook his head at the direction that his case was headed. Here he was in Libya, working on a twenty- first-century case, yet he was talking about the crucifixion, the Shroud of Turin, and Christ’s facial scars like they were relevant to his investigation. And the most amazing thing was that they were. Not only relevant but crucial. He’d finally found significance in Jansen’s broken nose. Maybe that wasn’t an accident. Maybe that was done to make him more like Christ.

‘Was there anything else, Nick? I’m in serious need of some nicotine.’

‘Just one last thing. What do you know about the history of crucifixions?’

Toulon licked the cigarette, trying to savor the taste. ‘Supposedly they were invented by the Persians, who passed them on to the Carthaginians, who passed them on to the Romans. Most people think they were invented by the Romans, but they’re simply the group who perfected it. They got so proficient at it that they used to bet on the exact time that someone would die, based on the weather, the victim’s age, and how much food he’d had. “Hang ’em high and stretch ’em wide,” they used to say. Then they’d put money on it.’

‘That seems so wrong.’

‘Maybe to you. But to them it was a necessary evil in an unfair world. The quickest and most effective way to solve their problems.’

Dial thought about Toulon’s comment, wondering if that’s what he was dealing with in his current case. And if so, what problems did these murders actually solve?

Later, Omar Tamher knocked on the door and peeked into the tiny room. He was expecting to see Nick Dial working at the desk, not pacing back and forth like a caged puma.

‘May I?’ Tamher asked, not wanting to interrupt. ‘I don’t mean to — ’

‘No problem. I think better when I’m moving. Something about blood flow to my head.’

He nodded in understanding. ‘I think better with no shoes… Airflow between my toes.’

Dial glanced downward and noticed Tamher’s bare feet. ‘Interesting.’

Tamher laughed as he walked over to Dial’s bulletin board. ‘Whatever works, you know? Take your vertical scrapbook, for example. I could never use that here. Too many prying eyes.’

‘Coworkers?’

He shook his head. ‘Military.’

Dial didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.

‘Will you be staying another day, Nick? If so, you’d be wise to take your materials to your hotel. There’s no telling what will be missing if you leave them overnight.’

Dial nodded, reading between the lines. His access was guaranteed by Interpol’s agreement with Libya, but that didn’t mean that he was welcome. ‘I appreciate the advice.’

This time it was Tamher who was silent.

‘Out of curiosity, if I were to leave tonight, would you be willing to keep me in the loop?’

He nodded. ‘As long as you’re willing to return the favor.’

‘You got it.’

Tamher wanted to tell him it wasn’t personal, that this was simply his way of protecting his new friend from the Libyan government. But Dial nodded his head in understanding. No explanation was needed. He was an American, and that made him the most loved/hated mammal in the world, depending on where he went and what day of the week it was.

That was one of the reasons that he kept his work on a portable bulletin board. It gave him flexibility and allowed him to leave on a moment’s notice. Just like he would later that night.

30

Dr Boyd knew Maria would eventually come back to the library. The thing that worried him, though, was her mental status when she arrived. He remembered how he felt when he initially translated the scroll — being the murderer of one’s own religion was not good for the soul — and he knew Maria had to be dealing with worse feelings since she was far more religious than he.

Yet he realized he didn’t have time to help her through her spiritual crisis, not with the fate of Christianity in his hands. That meant he needed to block Maria out of his mind and focus on the only problem in the world that mattered: What should he do with the scroll?

Before he had a chance to answer that question, Maria burst into the conference room.

‘Professore,’ she blurted, ‘you’ll never believe what I just saw!’

Confused by her enthusiasm, Boyd motioned for her to take a seat. This wasn’t the Maria he was expecting. He assumed she’d return to the library guilt-ridden, not giddy as a cheerleader. ‘Are you all right? Have you had some sort of breakdown?’

‘What? No, I haven’t had a breakdown. Why would you ask me that?’

‘It’s just, you’re extremely upbeat, and…’ His voice trailed off.

‘And what? That’s not allowed?’

‘Of course it’s allowed. But when you left here, you were anything but ecstatic.’

‘And for good reason. I left here without hope but came back with my faith restored. I found new evidence that might contradict what we know.’

‘New evidence?’ His tone was full of doubt. ‘And where did you get this new evidence?’

‘At Il Duomo,’ she answered. ‘I went to the cathedral to do some soul-searching. I figured, if I was going to ponder God, that was probably the best place in Milan to go. Anyway, I was up on the roof, battling the ungodly heat, when I saw him.’

‘You saw Him? Just how hot was it up there?’

‘Not God! I didn’t see God. I saw the laughing man.’

‘Once again, let me ask you how hot was it up there?’

‘Not in the flesh. I saw a statue of the laughing man at Il Duomo!’

‘Wait a moment. You’re serious?’

‘Yes, I’m serious. Our friend from the Catacombs is on the roof of the cathedral.’