bones that had fallen to the bottom of the box came out in fistfuls. All accounted for and all normal. Aiming the flashlight into the empty ossuary, he carefully examined each surface for engravings, making sure that nothing on the bottom evaded him.
Reverently returning Sarah’s bones to her ossuary and replacing the lid, Barton squatted in front of the ninth ossuary with little enthusiasm. “Come on Yosef, talk to me.” Reaching out, he rubbed his fingertips together for good luck and gripped the lid. This time, he was surprised when the top didn’t budge. He tried again. Nothing.
“Hmm. That’s odd.”
“What is it?” Razak called out.
“This last ossuary’s been sealed with something.” Barton ran the flashlight over its seam. There was definitely something there and it looked like gray caulk.
“Then perhaps you should let it be.”
Is this fellow mad? He hadn’t come this far to stop now. Ignoring him, Barton removed a Swiss Army knife from his pocket, flipped out a mediumsized blade and scraped some of the gooey stuff away onto his gloved palm. Looking at the shavings under the light, he determined it to be some kind of fatty wax. It took him under five minutes to loosen the seal enough to free the lid. He folded the blade and slipped it back into his pocket.
“Right then,” he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. Clasping the lid lengthwise, he coaxed it away, flipped it, and set it on the floor. An unpleasant odor rose up from the box’s exposed cavity, making him gasp.
Grabbing the flashlight, he shone it downward. The longest bones were up top and he began unpacking them.
When he came to the skull, he flipped it around and lit it up. Judging from the advanced fusion on the skull’s sutures and the substantial wear on the remaining teeth along the jaw line, Yosef had been in his late sixties or early seventies at the time of death. When the last of the bones were taken out from the ossuary, Barton drew breath and poked his head into the box, shining the flashlight inside. On the bottom, he was surprised to see a small rectangular metal plate. Retrieving the Swiss Army blade again, he worked it under the plate, prying it away, uncovering a small niche that had been carved into the ossuary’s base. And in it was a metal cylinder no longer than fifteen centimeters. Barton smiled. “That’s my boy.” He grabbed it with his fingers and held it up.
“Did you find something?” Razak’s voice echoed across the crypt. “Oh yes. Take a look.”
Without thinking, Razak turned and barely glimpsed the cylinder when his eyes wandered down to the pile of bones. He snapped his head back toward the wall. “Unfortunate soul. May peace be upon him,” Razak responded.
“Sorry. Should’ve warned you about that,” Barton said.
Throwing up a hand and shaking his head, Razak said, “It’s all right. What is that you have in your hand?”
“A clue.” Barton bounced to his feet and walked over to the pole light. “Come and have a look.”
Springing to his feet, Razak went and stood beside Barton.
Eyeing it closely, Razak noticed that the cylinder—most likely bronze—had small caps on both ends. “Are you going to open it?”
“Of course.” Without hesitation, he pulled one cap free and tipped the open end to the light, looking inside. He spotted something rolled up. “Aha. I think we have a scroll.”
Razak was nervously stroking his chin, wondering whether there was a better way to go about all this, but resigned himself to the fact that Barton was the expert.
Tipping it over his palm, Barton tapped the cylinder a few times until the scroll fell out. Verifying that there was nothing else inside the metal tube, he placed it in his shirt pocket. “Vellum. And excellently preserved.” Very gingerly, he unfurled it. It was filled with ancient text, Greek if he wasn’t mistaken. The archaeologist glanced up at Razak.
“Bingo.”
18
******
Vatican City
Having spent the past two hours completing a comprehensive journal chronicling the forensic examination— digital photos, written descriptions, case notes—the two scientists sipped their espressos by the coffee machine in the lab’s cramped, white-walled break room. Both were steeped in thought.
Bersei scrunched up his face. “I’ve seen human remains of every shape and kind, some mummified, others just bones. Some even melted.” He paused. “But that was an absolute first. Although it’s not surprising.”
“Why’s that?”
“While it’s believed that crucifixion was introduced by the Greeks, in fact it was predominantly practiced by the Romans—their typical method of criminal execution until the emperor Constantine banned it in the fourth century.”
“You’re certain that what we’re seeing here is the result of crucifixion, not some other form of torture?”
“Certain. And I’ll tell you why.” Bersei drained his coffee. “Let’s start with the basics. First off, you have to understand why the Romans crucified criminals. Obviously it was an extreme method of punishment, but it was also intended to send a message to all citizens that Rome was in control. It was a very public death where victims would be stripped naked and hung along major roadways and prime locations. It was considered a dishonorable way to die...utterly humiliating. As such, it was typically reserved for criminals of low social status and enemies of the state. It was the Romans’ key method of ruling by fear.”
Charlotte’s green eyes flashed. “So we could be dealing with a criminal here?”
“Perhaps.” He shrugged.
She looked at him curiously. “How do you know all this?”
“I realize it seems odd, but a few years ago I actually published a formal study on crucifixion, funded by the
