Blending dark and light, the assigned skin pigmentation added an eerily lifelike quality, defining muscles and highlighting features.
Giovanni zoomed in on the face.
Though unmistakably masculine, the image exuded a subtle androgyny. With their hypnotic aquamarine irises, the eyes were wide, tapering slightly upwards in the corners beneath slender eyebrows. The long nose broadened slightly above full, mocha-colored lips. Blackish-brown wisps formed a thick hairline that pinched in hard corners at the temples. The facial hair was similarly colored and thick, mostly evident along the angular jaw line.
“Quite a handsome specimen,” Bersei said in a very clinical tone.
“I’d say he’s perfect,” Charlotte replied. “I don’t mean in a male model or movie star sort of way...but he’s unlike anyone I’ve ever seen.” Looking for anything anomalous, nothing about the image suggested a genetic defect, unless perfection was considered a flaw. Now she wondered what Aldrich’s analysis had actually detected. Could the prototype scanner have malfunctioned? Had the imaging software misinterpreted the data?
Tilting his head sideways, Bersei said, “If you took all the typical ethnic characteristics of humanity and put them in a blender, this would probably be the end result.” Face tight, he held his hand out at the computer, still overwhelmed by what he was seeing. “It’s absolutely fascinating that any one human being could display such complexity.”
“Now what?”
Bersei looked haunted, as if the image was almost torturing him. “I’m really not sure.” Tearing his eyes from the monitor, he glanced up at her with tired eyes. “We’ve performed a full forensic examination”—he began counting off with his fingers—“carbon dating, a complete genetic profile. The only major item left is the symbol on the ossuary.”
“Well, if you want to look into that,” Charlotte suggested, “I can begin preparing our preliminary presentation for Father Donovan. I’ll compile all the data, the photos, and start writing a report. Then maybe tomorrow we can tell him what we’ve found so far. See what he recommends.”
“That sounds like a plan. Who knows, maybe that symbol has something to tell us about this guy.”
Bersei returned to his workstation and turned on the digital camera. Humming softly to himself, he proceeded to snap several close-ups of the ossuary’s single relief, uploading the images onto the computer terminal.
Marveling at the quality of the engraver’s work, he ran his finger over the raised symbol carved onto the ossuary’s side:
From the onset, this image had perplexed him. The ossuary was clearly used almost exclusively by Jews in ancient Judea. Yet he remembered both the dolphin and the trident as being primarily pagan symbols, adopted by many early Roman cults. It was clearly in contradiction to the relic’s supposed origin.
Back at the computer, he brought up the web browser. He began with simple search criteria: trident. Almost instantly, a flood of hits came back at him. He began clicking through the most relevant ones.
The trident itself had many meanings. Hindus called it the trishul, or “the sacred three,” symbolizing creation, preservation, and destruction. In the Middle East, it was associated with lightning. Its alter ego, the pitchfork, later found its way into Christian art to symbolize the devil—an early attempt at discrediting pagan imagery.
Singularly, the dolphin was equally mysterious. In ancient times, the intelligent mammals were revered for their devotion to saving the lives of shipwrecked sailors. Romans also used dolphins to signify the journey souls would take far to the ends of the sea to their final resting place on the Blessed Isles. The dolphin was also strongly associated with the gods Eros, Aphrodite, and Apollo.
But certainly, the symbol engraved into the ossuary fused the two for a more purposeful meaning. But what could it be?
Bersei tried to find more references that could explain the dolphin twined around the trident.
The dolphin and trident seemed to first appear together in Greek mythology, both symbolizing the power of Neptune, the sea god. His trident was a gift from the one-eyed titans, the Cyclops. When the god was angered, he’d pound the ocean floor with it to stir the oceans, causing storms. Able to morph into other creatures, Neptune frequently chose to appear to humans in the form of a dolphin. The Romans later renamed the Greek sea god Poseidon.
Bersei was certain there had to be more that he was missing.
Another hit came back, linking to ancient coins minted by Pompey, a Roman general in the mid-first century BC. On the front of the silver coin was an effigy of the general’s laurelled head flanked on both sides by a dolphin and a trident—not blended together, but certainly depicted side by side. And Bersei recalled that early in Pompey’s career, he had invaded Jerusalem.
He leaned forward.
Following his siege of Jerusalem in 64 BC, he had ordered the crucifixion of thousands of Jewish zealots—all in a single day. It was said that so many crucifixes were needed, that the general had stripped away every tree from the city’s surrounding mountains.
Crucifixion. Jerusalem.
Could this be the connection? Could the ossuary be linked to the notorious Roman general?
Considering this for a long moment, Bersei still wasn’t satisfied. He still vaguely recalled seeing this exact depiction somewhere else. And somehow, he strongly believed it was linked to Rome.
The hunt continued.
Using various search phrases, like “dolphin around trident,” he finally found a clear hit. Clicking the link, he was astounded when the exact image on the ossuary filled the screen.
A smile broke across the anthropologist’s face. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” he muttered.
Scrolling down, he read the text that accompanied the image.
The words hit him like a stone. He read it again, dumbfounded, his entire world caught in the screen’s contours. “Charlotte,” he called out. “You have to see this.” He slumped back into his chair, covering his mouth with his hand in disbelief.
Two seconds later, she was at his side. His face drained, the Italian pointed at the computer screen.
