

The Priceless Linen

A fictional history of Christ's burial cloth

By

J. Dee German

Published by J. D. German at Smashwords

Copyright 2019 by J. D. German

E-Books by J. D. German

Fiction

The Hermetrius Conspiracy – Lynn and Jack Preston Series #1

The Forsetti Solution – Lynn and Jack Preston Series #2

Revenge, Inc. – Lynn and Jack Preston Series #3

The Malthus Strategy

Hostile Takeover

Peacekeeper

The Priceless Linen: A Fictional History of Christ's Burial Cloth

Non-Fiction

Christian Principles – Food for Thought

Random Thoughts of an A.D.D. Mind

The above books can be downloaded free from smashwords . com / profile / view / jdeegerman (no spaces). They are available in formats that can be read on a PC, tablet computers, and E-readers.

Contents and Characters

First Epoch – In The Beginning (33 A.D. – 57 A.D.) Chapters 1 – 18

Joanna (Prologue) – Jewish girl who left her home in Galilee to follow Jesus during his ministry, then recovers burial cloth after the resurrection.

Lukas (Chap 1) – A close follower of Jesus. Marries Joanna and starts Christian church in Tiberius. Sends the Shroud to King Abgar in Edessa by Thaddeus.

King Abgar V (Chap 8) – Ruler of northeastern Syria living in Edessa who suffers from painful condition. He was healed by the Shroud and converted to Christianity by Thaddeus.

Thaddeus (Chap 9) – Disciple sent by Paul to heal King Abgar V. He takes the Shroud from Lukas and Joanna to Edessa to perform the healing.

Marika (Chap 11) – Shepherd girl who finds the beaten Thaddeus and takes him to her home. They later marry.

Tobias (Chap 14) – A rich Jew in Edessa who welcomes Thaddeus into his home, gets him in to see the king, and has him appointed bishop of the Edessan church.

Thadson (Chap 18) – Thad & Marika's son who hides the Shroud above a city gate to save it from Abgar's successor.

Second Epoch – The Middle Ages (525 A.D. – 1204 A.D.) Chapters 19 – 32

Elias Ben-Thadson (Chap 19) – Father of Eshu, professor at the Theological Academy of Edessa, researcher into the legend of the Image of Edessa.

Eshu (Chap 20) – Son of Elias who finds the Shroud hidden above the city gate in Edessa.

Elisha (Chap 20) – A young woman flood victim with a broken arm that Eshu sets. She is raped and Eshu later marries her.

Adeen (Chap 22) – Elisha's daughter sired by the rapist. Falls in love with her younger half-brother, Thaddeus. Later becomes an artist who creates pictures of the Shroud.

Thaddeus (Chap 22) – Elisha & Eshu's son, two years younger than Adeen. Serves in the military then settles in Venice.

General Galenius (Chap 26) – Head of Constantine's army that attacked Edessa in 944 to take the Shroud.

Jason of Ravenna (Chap 28) – Sculptor from Ravenna who created the 'Altar of the Angels' in the cathedral for Constantine VII.

Peter, Count of Normandy (Chap 30) – Lead player of the third crusade, who is told about the Shroud hidden in the Altar of the Angels by Kadeem.

Kadeem of Sumya (Chap 30) – Arab soldier who comes back to Constantinople with Peter and helps him steal the Shroud from the altar.

Phillipe de Charney (Chap 32) – Crusader & Knight Templar who steals the cloth from the Constantinople and takes it back to Lirey, France.

Third Epoch – The Church Age (1353 – 1898 A.D.) Chapters 33 – 40

Geoffrey de Charney (Chap 33) – Descendant of Phillipe who brings out the cloth in 1353 and donates it as a relic to the church at Lirey.

Charles de Savoy (Chap 34) – Head of Savoy family in Chambrey, France. Brought the Shroud from Lirey Chambery.

Jacque Foucet (Chap 34) – Silversmith who makes a silver reliquary to house Shroud in Chambery church. Abuses his daughter Claire.

Claire Foucet – Abused daughter of Jacques who completes the reliquary. Marries Charles de Savoy.

Joshua de Savoy (Chap 38) – Son of Charles and Claire who moves the Shroud to Turin.

Leandra (Chap39) - Contessa of Florence who marries Joshua.

Fourth Epoch – The Age of Science (1898 – 1980) Chapters 41 - 47

Secondo Pia (Chap 41) – Amateur photographer who take first photograph of Shroud.

Dr. Helen Spencer (Chap 42) – Expert in ancient textiles who examines the Shroud in 1969.

Cardinal Michelle Delfino (Chap 42) – Archbishop of Turin from 1968 to 1982.

Dr. Jack Wright (Chap 44) – Scientist who organizes a team for 1978 tests on the Shroud.

Dr. Donald Carter (Chap 45) – Scientist who develops a method to extract 3-D image from the Shroud and is involved in 1978 Turing testing.

Peter Straub (Epilogue) – Journalist who interviews Dr. Carter 40 years after the 1978 tests.

Forward

Although this book is about an existing historical artifact known as the Shroud of Turin, which some believe is the burial cloth that wrapped Christ's body in the tomb and is mentioned in the gospel accounts of Christ's resurrection, it is nonetheless a work of fiction. It is, however, loosely based on the work of Shroud historian Ian Wilson in his book The Turin Shroud: The Burial Cloth of Jesus Christ? This book lays out a reasonably credible history of an object that has disappeared for hundreds of years at a time. The history of the cloth from the time when it was first exhibited publicly at a church in Chambery, France is well documented. The history prior to that is what's in question.

I have chosen to use Wilson's chronology as the framework for this novel simply because I am very familiar with it. As a member of the U. S. team of scientists who traveled to Turin, Italy in 1978 to conduct a scientific examination of the Shroud and its incredible image, I have first-hand knowledge of its characteristics, many of which are supported by Wilson's postulated history. Wilson admits that it is difficult to separate legend from historical fact during the early years of the Shroud's history regarding what happened, when it happened, and who was involved,.

But these details are irrelevant to the story I tell. I present a fictional account of the way things might have happened, of the relationships among key figures in the story, and of how their lives were affected by the Shroud. The only certain facts in what I offer are the origin of the burial cloth, from the Gospel account in Matthew 27:59-60 and Mark 15:46, and the contiguous history from the public displays of the cloth by the widow of Phillipe de Charney in 1353.

Finally, I don't try to make the spoken dialogs fit the language of the periods I write about. They are, for the most part, written in everyday modern English to help the reader be drawn into the story.

The important thing to remember is that this story is fiction, so don't get upset if parts of it disagree with what you know, or think you know, about the Bible, history, or the Shroud of Turin.

If the Shroud of Turin interests you go to the website Shroud. com for a wealth of information and a large library of photographs.

Prologue

April, 30 A.D. – Jerusalem

After the unbelievable events of the past few days everyone was exhausted as they huddled together in the upper room, fearful that the soldiers would come to take them to prison or worse. Most had dozed only an hour or two at a time. But after today, after they had actually seen and touched Him when He appeared to them in a resurrected body, they could at last rest in peace. Everyone except Joanna. She was one of the few in the room who had actually seen Him die on the cross; who heard those last words "It is finished."

Now she lay awake wondering what He meant by those words. Her thoughts kept going over and over them, searching for all the meanings such a phrase could include. Since He died right after He said them the most likely meaning is that his life was finished. He was saying He would become a lifeless body to be buried in a pit with all the other corpses the Romans executed. But if that's what He meant, how could He appear to us today? Not a spirit, but a real body with substance? He must have meant something different . . . but what!

Joanna thought back to when she first encountered Him. I was a servant to Simon, the Pharisee, when this man was invited to dine at his house. I was living a terrible life back then, disobeying the commandments and the law God gave us through Moses. I didn't care about God. But when I heard that this man, who claimed to be the Son of God, something happened inside me. It was like my heart broke open and all the bad things I had ever done came flooding out. I had to see this man. I thought if I brought him a gift, maybe He would tell me how to be a different person, one who could follow God. I didn't think I had anything He would want as a gift. But then I remembered something my mother gave me when I left home. I took the alabaster bottle of perfumed oil out of my trunk and hurried to the dining room.

That's when I first saw Him. I started crying and couldn't stop. I fell to my knees and the tears dripped on his feet. Oh how awful I felt. I pulled my hair free and quickly dried them off with it , hoping He hadn't noticed. Then I took the flask of oil and massaged his feet with it, hoping to undo the rude act I had just done. Afterwards I backed away as quickly as I could. But the man criticized Simon for his lack of hospitality, while I had shown more hospitality and love than was expected when a guest entered another's home. And then the man said the words to me I'll never forget. "Your sins are forgiven. Your faith has saved you. Go in peace." [Luke 7:36-50]

Joanna wanted to go with this man, to follow him and learn all He had to say, but she was indentured to the Pharisee for another half year. When that time was up and she finally could leave she immediately searched for those who followed the man – the Master they called him. She traveled non-stop, always seeming to be one town behind Him. But when she finally caught up with them in Bethsaida on the Sea of Galilee she was so worn out from her quest that she collapsed from exhaustion. She took herself back there in her mind. I was really sick, had been for days. Some said I was going to die, others were sure I was possessed by evil spirits. But Mary Magdalene brought Him to me; to heal me just like He did for her. I still remember the feeling when He touched my forehead. My whole body felt strange, like the worst fever I ever had. But when He lifted his hand the heat disappeared and I felt an incredible peace in my heart. From that moment I was healed – the sickness or evil spirits, whichever it was, fled at His command. From then on I followed Mary Magdalene and the other women wherever He went. [Luke 8:1-3] And then I watched Him die in pain and suffering.

That thought brought her back to her original train of thought – What did He mean by "It is finished?" And how did He escape from Joseph of Arimathea's burial cave. He somehow disappeared from the tomb and left the linen sheet we covered Him with behind – along with the kerchief we tied under his chin to keep his mouth closed. Peter and John saw them lying on the on the stone bed. . . . I wonder if the they're still there? I have to see them for myself. I'm going to the tomb. It's the middle of the night, so no one will see me.

Joanna got up and quietly left. The light of the half moon was enough to find her way but not bright enough to make her stand out in her dark cloak. The tomb was a few blocks away but with trying to stay in the shadows it took her almost half an hour. She was worried that there might still be guards, but when she arrived the place was deserted. Like most people she was fearful of things having to do with death, but tonight she overcame it with her resolve.

After a last look left and right she stepped into the tomb – and realized her mistake. She didn't think to bring a candle. The opening was so small – barely large enough to stoop down and enter – to let much moonlight through. She thought about returning to the upper room to get a candle but she might get caught. Instead she got on her knees and began feeling her way around the cave.

A few minutes later she bumped into a stone bed and struggled to keep from uttering some words that would anger God. When she felt around on top of the table she found what she was looking for – the priceless linen that had covered Jesus' body. As she gathered it up under her cloak she thought about trying to find the chin kerchief also, but decided those in the upper room might wake up and find her gone. If they came out searching for her they would be putting themselves in danger for her sake. She couldn't have that happen so she retraced her steps back to where the others were.

As she opened the door it creaked, causing her to freeze for a minute or two. When she heard nothing she continued in and went to lay down on her bed mat. She was elated and felt a rush of adrenalin at her success. It didn't last long because she realized she hadn't thought ahead about what to do with it. She wanted desperately to open it in the light of day and examine it closely, looking for clues about how He had escaped, but dawn was still a few hours away. And she couldn't open it in front of the others. They would be horrified that she had handled the burial cloth. According to Mosaic Law that made her unclean – she would have to cleanse herself and remain alone for a week. Realizing what she had done she quickly folded it up and slipped it under her sleeping mat.
FIRST EPOCH – IN THE BEGINNING (33 A.D. – 57 A.D.)
Chapter 1 – Good Friends

November, 29 A.D. - The Province of Galilee, six months before the crucifixion

The sun was going down and the crowd was finally dispersing. Estimates were that as many as five thousand men, some with their families, had come to hear him teach on the shore of Lake Tiberius. That was more people than Joanna had ever seen gathered together. Most came from the cities along the western shore of the lake – Tiberius, Magdala, Bethsaida, and Capernaum – but there were families from as far away north as Hazor. Joanna wondered what brought them, how they had heard about the Man and the ideas He spoke of so plainly. Nothing like some of the Greek orators who occasionally came through the area.

By this time she was a regular in the group of men and women who followed Him. The disciples, twelve in all by this time, were his closest companions, but another dozen or so men and women followed closely behind, looking for an opportunity to be of service to him. She still couldn't believe what she had seen. A young boy brought a few barley cakes and a couple of fish for his own lunch, but no one else had any food. They didn't expect to be there that long but nobody wanted to leave before the Master was finished speaking. When the Man realized He had talked right through lunch He asked his disciples to see what they food could round up from the crowd.

When they returned with only the boy's meager offering He commanded everyone to sit down on the grass while He held the loves and fish up toward heaven and prayed. When He finished He told the disciples to pass out food to everyone – over five thousand of them – and somehow there was plenty for everyone!

In the cool of the evening Joanna had left the others and climbed to the top of a small hill where she could watch the fishing boat lantern on the lake and think about the events of the day. How did the Man do that? I don't believe in magic. He must have hidden the food before He arrived. That's the only way it could have happened. . . . But what about his power to heal? That can't be magic because I've seen the crippled leap up and walk. . . . But maybe they were accomplices who were healthy all along. – that's the answer. . . . But what about the wedding in Cana where He supposedly turned a large jug of water into wine. Now that would be a lot tougher to fake.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sound from behind. She jumped to her feet and whirled to face whatever the threat was. "Oh, it's you Lukas."

"I'm sorry if I scared you, but I saw you leave and knew this was your favorite spot."

"Yeah, my favorite spot for being left alone."

"Oh . . . I . . . I'm sorry to disturb you. I'll leave now."

As he turned to leave she said "No, stay. That's alright. You're pleasant to be with. Have a seat," as she patted the ground beside her.

He was glad for the darkness so she couldn't see him blush. He sat, leaving enough space between them so she wouldn't feel uncomfortable.

He was trying to come up with something clever to say, to break the awkward silence, but when he looked over at her he could tell her mind was off somewhere else. It had returned to the puzzle of how this man, Jesus of Nazareth, did the miraculous things that He appeared to do. After awhile she gave it up and turned to talk to Lukas, but he was gone.

Chapter 2 – Matchmaker

July, 33 A.D. -Bethsaida, 3 months after the crucifixion

After the death of their leader the apostles and most of the other followers returned to their homes in Galilee. Joanna was worried that her parents would turn her away because she left home without their permission to follow the Teacher. But they welcomed her, realizing that 17-year old girls could be impulsive. They had discussed the issue when Joanna was away and decided that she needed a husband to control her. So as soon as Joanna returned her father, Elias, asked the temple priest to help select a suitable young man. Two weeks later the priest called him to the temple.

"I have made a list of all the men between 25 and 35 years of age in the area; there were sixteen of them. Then I crossed out those who did not come from good families or haven't yet achieved financial independence. That left five, which I have sorted in order of their suitability to manage an impetuous woman like your daughter. If you would like, I will talk to these men and their families and suggest that they consider Joanna eligible for courting."

"Thank you Jacob, and I will definitely take you up on that offer to be a matchmaker. Let me talk with Joanna and prepare her to meet these men."

That evening Elias recounted the meeting with the priest to his wife, Bernice. After looking over the list of candidates she shook her head.

"None of these men will be able to handle Joanna. With her fiery temper and willfulness to have her own way I don't know if any man would have her. She won't like any of them."

"Whether she likes a man or not doesn't matter. It's up to us to choose for her. She will learn to serve her husband or suffer the consequences. We will choose the man. And it won't be one of her Christian friends!"

His wife replied, "Yes dear," knowing the task he laid out was all but impossible.

After her work helping her mother was finished for the day, Joanna liked to go to the bluff overlooking Capernaum. The town wasn't much to look at, but she could see all the way to the city of Tiberius on a clear day. She would watch the sea birds floating on the wind and imagine that she could fly – fly away from here to . . . to where? She had gone to Jerusalem with Jesus and his followers and didn't like the city at all. Too many people, too much noise, and the sickening smell of the butchered sacrificial animals filling the air.

Jesus visited several of the villages and towns in Israel and I was right there with him. But none of them was better than Capernaum. . . . So what is this longing I have within my heart? It wasn't there until I listened to Jesus. All that He taught seemed to settle in my heart, and I can feel that it's still there. I can't recall all the words He spoke, but the meaning of everything is there. It's part of me now. Is that what's pulling at me? . . . Not the urge to fly away, but maybe a need to accept all that He said as truth, and quit looking for ways to prove He was fooling everybody. . . . I wish Lukas were here to talk with. He was with Jesus longer than me and often can straighten out my confused thinking. . . . It's time to go back to the house. Mama will have dinner ready and Papa doesn't like it if I'm late.

After they all finished their supper of rabbit stew and bread Joanna cleared the table and reached for the pot so she could fetch water for washing them, but Elias shook his head. "No, not now. Your mother and I need to talk to you."

Uh oh. What did I do now. She sat back down at the table with her hands folded in front of her and looked at her father expectantly. He was the one who always disciplined her – as it should be. But this time her mother spoke first.

"Joanna dear, it's time for you to marry. All the girls your age have husbands already and some have even provided grandchildren for their parents."

"But I'm not ready to settle down yet. There's so much I want to do first. And I'm definitely not ready to make a baby. And besides, who would want to marry me? No man wants a headstrong wife. . . . No, I refuse to get married yet."

She realized she had stepped over the line when she saw a flash of anger in her father's eyes. "Don't you dare talk to your mother that way! You show disrespect for her. Now apologize!"

Joanna looked down at her hands and said in a barely audible voice, "I'm sorry mother."

Her father said "What was that? Speak up, girl!"

She replied, perhaps a little louder than necessary, "I said I am sorry! But I meant what I said."

"That is irrelevant. I spoke to the priest and he made a list of several young men who are ready to marry – men who will not tolerate backtalk or disrespect. I will speak to the first one in the morning."

"But father,"

"This conversation is over! Now go clean the dishes."

Joanna waited until she could hear her father snoring. I wonder if the husband he picks for me will snore? I hope not, it's gross. She slid from under her covers and tiptoed to the front door, where her father hung his cloak. With a nervous look behind her she reached into his pocket and pulled out a small curled up piece of papyrus. She didn't dare light a lamp to read by so she slipped out the door into the full moonlight. When she saw the five names she gasped.

I wouldn't marry any of these men! They are all Pharisees or scribes, all puffed up with their own importance. And I know what Jesus thought of them – he would never approve of such a husband for me. . . . Why do I care what he thinks, he's dead. . . . And if I can believe him he's in heaven with His Father now. But somehow I sense that he's here with me.

Joanna put the paper back in the cloak pocket and crept back to bed. But she couldn't sleep. Trying to think of a way out of this terrible predicament. When Jesus was troubled He spoke to His Father in prayer. And He encouraged us to pray. Maybe if I do that God will help me out. She held her hands together and whispered a prayer.

"Our Father who is in heaven, how Holy is your name . . . Isn't that how Jesus said to start out? I forget what's next. I'll just speak to him and tell him I can't possibly marry one of these men. God, please don't make me marry one of these men. I don't want any of them for a husband. . . . That's when she remembered something Jesus said often 'Father, not my will but your will be done.' She wondered what to do with that so she rephrased it. "God please let it be YOUR will that I don't have to marry any of these men." Then she added an Amen.

When she resumed her thinking she was surprised. She felt at peace. Putting it in God's hands meant she could give up worrying about it. . . . But it wasn't that easy. She continued to worry about it until sleep finally overtook her.

Sometime in the night she was awakened by a voice. She looked around in fear but saw no one. As she laid her head back down and was about to fall back asleep her eyes popped open. What did the voice say? Was it God talking to me like He did with Jesus? I which I could remember the words . . . or word. It was only one word! But what was it?

It seemed like the harder she tried to remember it, the further it got from her. She finally gave up and relaxed so she could get back to sleep. As she drifted off the word came into her mind. A name. 'Lukas.' But then she fell back asleep.

Chapter 3 – The Pompous Rabbi

Later in the week Elias returned from his job as a brick maker with good news – at least that was what he and her mother thought it was. The leading husband candidate had accepted an invitation to join them for the Sabbath meal on Saturday. He told Elias that he had always thought Joanna was very pretty, but he would need to know more about her before he would commit to asking Elias for her hand.

Friday afternoon became very busy as they prepared for the suitor. Elias brought home the rear leg of a lamb for the meal while Bernice was making bread and the other dishes. Joanna was sent to the women's bath house down at the lake shore to get cleaned up. When she got back she laid out a clean dress and tunic for the next day and curled her hair. She knew that meant she would spend the night sleeping upright in a chair so it wouldn't get messed up, but there wouldn't be enough time to curl it and wait for it to dry the next day.

As she sat on a cushion in the leather and wood chair that night she explored her feelings about the upcoming meeting. First she was excited that this man thought she was attractive enough to consider for a wife. But she definitely didn't want him to like her enough to propose marriage. Maybe I should tangle my hair up and not put on any makeup. That might scare him off. . . . But what if it didn't? No, I need something more . . . repulsive, like sneezing all over the food on his plate. But can I make myself sneeze? I've never tried it. She willed herself to sneeze for a few minutes but nothing happened, I could pretend to sneeze, but he and my parents would know it was fake. What I want is a good, snot-filled sneeze onto his plate. But it doesn't look like I can make that happen. I'm stuck. I guess there's nothing I can do.

Her first impression of the visitor when he showed up was good. He wasn't bad looking, he dressed well, and he treated her with respect. But when he opened his mouth he ruined it all. He had a high, squeaky voice that grated on one's ears like a squawking bird. Joanna could even see her mother cringe a bit when he spoke. And that was the other problem. He spoke, and spoke, and spoke, dominating the conversation. Bernice and Elias just smiled and nodded their heads but eventually if was just too much for Joanna. She waited until he paused for a breath and immediately broke in.

"What are your thoughts about Jesus, the one they call the Messiah, Rabbi?"

She didn't wait for him to respond before she continued. "He said he was the Son of God, and no one could deny it after seeing the amazing things he did. Did you know that he changed water into wine, and brought Lazarus back to life after he died?" She tried to continue talking but he interrupted.

"Preposterous! No one could do the things he claimed to do. He was a charlatan who deserved to die for claiming he was God."

Joanna retook the battle field. "But He didn't just claim to do miracles, hundreds witnessed them. If the San Hedrin had called some of those witnesses at his trial He wouldn't have been sentenced to death. . . . But I guess the council had their minds made up and didn't want to let facts get in the way."

"How dare you, young woman! I am a member of the San Hedrin and what we declare to be true is fact."

"There's something wrong with your logic there, Rabbi. A fact is a fact. A lie can't become a fact simply because a bunch of pompous holy men declare it to be."

The man abruptly stood up from the table, threw his napkin down, and turned to Elias. "You, sir, are a liar! You misrepresented your daughter as one who would make a good wife, but she is a trouble maker that no man would think about marrying. I will make certain to spread the word among the other men to reject any invitation you offer them."

Elias stood up to his full height, towering over the rabbi. "Get out of my house you arrogant snob. . . . Now!"

Joanna's mother was shocked by her daughter's behavior, and even more so by Elias' response. She was proud of them both.

Joanna was still seated at the table, trying unsuccessfully trying to stifle a smile. When her father sat back down and glared at her, the smile disappeared.

Chapter 4 – Lukas

It was dusk two days later. She was back up on the bluff overlooking the lake, thinking about where things would go from here. Her father told her the next day that her scheme wasn't going to work. He would go to the nearby town, Magdala, where the Rabbi hadn't warned the men about Joanna and find a husband for her. There were a few rich families down there with sons ready to take a wife.

As she sat there she thought about her prayer the other day, asking God to protect her from marriage to these men, she wondered why he hadn't answered it. Surely He could have made all the men refuse to meet me. That would solve the problem. But noooo, God didn't intervene – I had to take care of it myself. Why didn't he answer my prayer? Maybe I didn't use the right words? Or maybe he only hears Jesus? But Jesus told us that if we asked God for something in His name, Jesus, our prayers would be granted. . . . I'm missing something here. I wish Lukas was here. He could help me understand. I wish I hadn't been so rude to him that time in Capernaum. He hasn't spoken to me since. She let her mind process things some more, and then it hit her. Lukas! That was the name in my dream! Was that God talking to me or just a random thought? How can I know?

"Joanna?" Her first instinct was to look up, to see if it was God speaking to her from above. But when she looked around she saw Lukas, standing thirty feet away, and making no effort to move toward her. Her heart leapt in her chest. Surely this was God answering her prayers. . . . Or was it just a coincidence?

"Lukas! I was just thinking about you." Why do I feel this urge to run up and hug him? That's against all the Jewish rules about unmarried men and women. Since she couldn't hug him she gave him a huge, mouth-full-of-teeth smile.

He smiled back, uncertainly. "I . . . I didn't know if you would want to talk to me after our last meeting."

"Oh, Lukas. Please forgive me for how I treated you. My mind was wrestling with some important issues, and when I'm like that I don't notice much around me. Will you?"

"Will I what?"

"Forgive me, of course."

"Yes, I can do that." But Joanna could see that he still felt uncomfortable, like a deer ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.

"Come on over and sit."

As he complied hesitantly she said, "No not beside me – face to face. I want us to talk."

When they were both seated with their legs crossed, looking into each other's faces, she reached out and took his hand. "Tell me what's on your mind."

"The same thing that's on everyone's mind in town. How you put Rabbi Eliezer to shame when he visited last Sabbath."

"Oh no! You heard about that?"

"Of course. Everyone has. Most think what you did was terrible. That you haven't been taught correct social etiquette."

"But what do you think, Lukas?"

He smiled, "I think it was an unbelievably brave thing to do. You didn't hesitate to tell him what you – and Christ – thought of men like him. I . . . I, uh, . . . really admire you for doing it."

"Really? You thought it was brave?"

"Yes. But then you always were one to speak the truth."

Now she really wanted to hug him. "I'm so glad that you that you view my outspokenness as a positive thing."

After a silence that started to be uncomfortable, Lukas asked, "So what did you want to talk about, Joanna?"

"Sort of the same thing I suppose. You know that father brought Eliezer over to see if he would consider marrying me.'

"Yes, I gathered that from the tales I heard."

"Well, now he's threatening to go to nearby towns to find a husband who hasn't heard about my behavior. I'm afraid I won't be able to discourage the next man so easily."

"I wish I could help, but there's nothing I can do. . . . Is there?"

"Yes . . . you could ask father for my hand in marriage."

Lukas' mouth fell open, and stayed that way for several seconds before he spoke. "You would consider marrying me?"

"I should be the one asking that question. You know that I am sure to be an unruly wife, one who won't give up until she gets her way."

Lukas took a deep breath. "Others may see your personality as unbecoming a young woman. . . . I see it as delightful, refreshing, full of life." He took another breath before he continued. "Joanna, I'm in love with you. And the way you are growing as a Christian is amazing. You're just what I want in a wife."

"Whoopie!" Joanna exclaimed. "That's fantastic! I know you're the one."

"How do you know?"

"God told me"

The next morning, as Joanna was doing her morning chores, her apprehension grew. She planned to talk to her mother about Lukas but as the time for that drew near her resolve faltered. How will she react? Will she talk to father about it – soften him up? Or will she give me a lecture about how it is not a girl's place to seek a husband and that I shouldn't be talking to Lukas about it because 'what would our neighbors think if they found out.' . . . There's no use talking to her, much less to father, because I know what they will say. And they will probably forbid me to speak to Lukas ever again. . . . But I told him I would speak with father about it and tell him their answer this afternoon when we meet on the bluff. If I don't, there's no hope of marrying him. It will be one of those old men that father brings home. . . . No, I have to go ahead with it.

She finished her chores and went to help her mother hang the laundry out to dry.

"Mother, I need to talk to you about something."

"What is it dear?"

"It's about a husband."

"It's too early for this talk. Wait until the week of the wedding then ask me again."

Joanna didn't know what Bernice was talking about so she continued. She was about to say that she would refuse to marry any man that father picked out, but realized that would anger her mother so she took the direct approach.

"I have found the man I want to marry. It's Lukas, son of Jacob the tanner."

Her mother was silent for a minute or two, leading Joanna to believe she was refusing to discuss the subject.

"Does Lukas work at his father's trade?"

"No, his older brother is doing that."

"Good, because those men carry the odor of the tannery and it is not pleasant."

Another silence.

"What is his trade then?"

"He hasn't chosen one yet. He's only nineteen?"

"Well how does he expect to support you? And the grandchildren when they come?"

"He will find a job."

"Well, there is no point in bringing it up with your father until he has proven himself in a profession."

"But mother . . ."

"No, our conversation is over. Your father will find a husband, and you will learn to love him."

"Is that how it happened with you and father?"

"No, we followed a different path. He asked my father if he could have me as his wife and we learned to love each other during the two-year betrothal."

"So you married someone you already loved. . . . That's the way it would be if I marry Lukas."

Her mother thought for a minute, then concluded the conversation with, "When he finds a job I will discuss it with your father."

Later that afternoon Joanna told Lukas about their conversation and her mother's final edict.

"Find a job? That will take too long. There aren't any jobs in town. I have asked everywhere."

Joanna's looked at him as her eyes welled up with tears. "But you have to find work. It's the only way we can be together. . . . What about something in another town? We don't have to stay here in Bethsaida."

"That could be the answer. Tomorrow I will go south, first to Gennesaret, then to Magdala, and, even to Tiberias if I have to. I'll ask God about it."

This time Joanna couldn't help herself. She stepped forward and hugged him.

Chapter 5 – Simon Peter

Lukas got up early to go job hunting, He started his day that way he always did, with prayers glorifying God and Christ, then lifting his needs to them, and finally putting it all in their hands. This morning his most important need was to find a job.

It took him all morning to get as far as Magdala and check with the businesses about job openings. He got the same answer he got in Gennesaret earlier in the morning – no one was hiring. He bought some bread and ate it while he traveled farther south to Tiberias. That was his last hope for anything close to home.

He started up on the hill, the high portion of the city, then followed the slope down toward the docks stopping at shops and businesses to ask for a job. By the time he got to the waterfront he was thoroughly discouraged. Why won't God help me out here and find a job for me, he wondered. Maybe He doesn't want me to marry Joanna, at least not right now. I trust that He will answer my prayers, but in his own way and in his own time. But if this isn't the right time, her father will marry her off to some older man who could never love her like I do. She will be miserable. Please God, I ask You one more time to work this out for us.

He was about to start home when he heard his name called. "Lukas!" He looked around but saw no one waving to him. He finally looked toward a nearby fishing boat tied up at the dock and saw Simon Peter hanging up the nets for the night. He beckoned him over.

"Lukas, it's so good to see you again! You were a loyal follower of our Master even though you weren't part of the inner circle. While most others came and went, you hung in there, even when the soldiers came to the garden to arrest him. When you protested and they tried to grab you, you left them holding your tunic while you escaped without a stitch on. Now that was courageous!"

"I'm afraid I will never live that down. My children's children will hear the tale."

"Have you eaten? I have some fish cooking on the coals. You're welcome to join me. I can catch you up on what's happening with the believers since we saw Christ ascend into heaven."

"Thank you. I would like that."

While they ate Peter told him about how there was a secret church being formed in Jerusalem so they could meet and worship together. Lukas asked when they would meet next and Peter told him that they were organizing a Jerusalem rally in two weeks for all the believers who could come.

"Am I invited? I would really like to come."

"Of course. And bring any others from Galilee that you can."

"I . . . I might be able to bring Joanna, one of the women at the tomb."

"Oh, that would be great. I would like to see her again. . . . I believe I saw some attraction between the two of you. . . . Are you two planning to marry?"

"Yes . . . No. Well, we have no plans. Her father wants her to marry one of the successful temple officers, but she loves me. I would ask her father for her hand but since I have no job he would laugh at me."

"No job? Certainly a strong young man like you could find something."

"I have been to all the businesses from Bethsaida to Tiberius and found nothing. I dread having to go back and tell Joanna I failed."

"You won't have to do that, Lukas. One of my deck hands quit last week and I need someone to replace him. The jobs yours if you want it."

Lukas felt a rush of joy pass through him as he looked up to God and said "Thank you, Lord. Thank you." Then he looked at Simon Peter. "Thank you too, my brother. Now if you don't mind I would like to rush back to Bethsaida and tell Joanna the good news."

"I would like for you to start tomorrow, but I'll give you a day to get there and back."

The work on Peter's fishing boat was hard with long hours. They set sail before dawn and got back to port after dark. Sometimes, if the wind changed, they would be blown to the eastern shore of the lake and spend the night anchored in the shallow water. If the wind was persistent it might be three or four days before they could get back to Tiberias. Since they had no way of preserving the fish they would have to dump the spoiling fish back into the lake. It seemed wasteful to Lukas until he learned that the spoiled fish fed the living fish in the lake.

But today was a good day. They had fished a few hundred yards to the northeast of Tiberias and filled the boat's hold by early afternoon. What came next was the most tiring part of the day for Lukas. He was responsible for unloading the fish onto a hand cart. then pulling the cart half a mile along the beach to the smoke house. Then, after hanging each fish on a pole suspended above the smoking coals, he pulled the cart back to the boat and filled it up with the next load.

On most days he was so tired that he fell asleep on a pile of canvas sails on the deck after a quick supper of fish and bread. But today he would have time to write a letter to Joanna before it was time to sleep. He still had a hard time believing that her father had agreed to their marriage. He was pretty sure her mother had a lot to do with convincing him. But the six-month betrothal period he had insisted on was hard for Lukas to bear.

He longed to be with her and could hardly wait to bring her to Tiberius to live with him. Simon Peter's sister had agreed to let them stay with her until he could save up enough to move into a house of their own. With only two months to go before the wedding Lukas was getting more nervous about it. What if she changes her mind because it's been too long since I've seen her. . . . What if her father finds a rich husband for her and changes his mind. . . . And there's always the job to worry about – a week or two of bad weather would mean little or no pay to buy his wedding garments.

But, as always, he fought the worries with prayer. He knew everything was in Yahweh's hands, and if he wanted them to be married, Lukas was confident it would happen. But his impatience made the waiting difficult.

Chapter 6 – Joanna

Joanna grew more and more excited as her wedding to Lukas approached – it was only a week away. Lukas was seldom able to get a day off from his work to come to see her and she missed him terribly. She longed to be with him full time, every day and night. In the meantime she busied herself with helping her mother with the wedding preparations and making her bridal garments with her mother's help.

The first layer, next to the skin, was a simple tunic made of softened, finely woven linen that reached to just below the knees. Covering that was a floor-length robe, trimmed with colorful, decorative stitching. The final item as a large veil that covered the head and could be drawn across the face. For a bride this was made of silk – if the father could afford it. It was Joanna's good fortune that her sister Lydia was a seller of cloth and could provide all the material they needed, including the silk.

He father had just finished building a leather-covered wooden trunk for his daughter to put her clothes and belongings in when she left home. Her mother and sister had sewed a new wardrobe for her because they knew it would be awhile before she and Lukas could afford new clothes. Today she started packing her things, putting the cold weather clothing on the bottom since winter wouldn't start for another six months. On top of these she put the tunics and robes she would use for everyday wear. Finally she put in a small wooden box containing her personal items – simple jewelry, mementoes, cosmetics, and a few coins. When she was finished she went through a mental checklist and concluded it was all there; everything she needed to start a new life with Lukas in Tiberius.

In the afternoon she returned to her chores, helping her mother with the work of running the household. She was down at the lake washing a basket of clothes but her mind was troubled. There was something she had forgotten to pack but she couldn't think of it. She ran through her mental list one more time but that didn't help so she pushed it out of her mind for now. It would come to her eventually.

Two nights later she dreamed about the tomb where Jesus body was laid. She saw Him laying on a long linen sheet that was pulled over his head and spread over the front of his body. As she watched He sat up, pushed the sheet aside, and left the tomb. In her dream she walked over to the stone bed he had been laying on and spread out the linen sheet so she could look at it's full length. What she saw startled her awake! "It's The Priceless Linen! That's what I forgot to pack." She lay awake for the rest of the night, waiting for daylight when she could take the cloth from its hiding place and look at its full length for the first time.

As soon as there was enough light coming in the window she moved her bed aside and removed four clay tiles. There it was, wrapped in a soft leather pouch, exactly as it was when she put it there a few months ago. She removed it from the hiding place, then replaced the tiles and moved her bed back over them. She quickly got dressed and, with the pouch hidden under her cloak, tip-toed out the front door without waking her parents.

She climbed the hill to the bluff where she and Lukas often visited and stopped at a large flat rock. After brushing off the sand and twigs she took The Priceless Linen from the pouch, unfolded it, and spread it out to its full length of fourteen feet. When she stood up and looked it took her breath away. It looked just like it did in her dream last night, with a faint image of the Master, both front and back, and head to head with the front image going one way and back image the other. And the blood stains! In the wrists, side, and feet just as she had seen him on the cross. "It's a miracle!" she exclaimed to herself. "It is truly priceless. An image of himself and his suffering left behind as a silent witness to his sacrifice."

She spent the next several minutes taking it all in, every detail. From the small blood stains on his head from the crown of thorns, to the bloody marks on his back from the flogging – it was all there. This must be preserved, protected from those who persecute the followers of Christ," she thought. I have heard about one of the worst of them, Saul of Tarsus, who goes throughout Israel dragging followers of The Way from their homes and putting them in jail. If he finds out about The Priceless Linen he will come here to destroy it. I can't tell anyone about this . . . not even Lukas. He will want to show it to the apostles, and if he does, it will no longer be secret. Joanna looked around to be sure no one was watching, then folded the cloth back up by doubling it four times. As she put it back into the pouch she noticed her folding pattern left the face of Jesus showing on top.

When she got back home Joanna put the cloth back in its hiding place while she thought of a way to keep it close by but safe from prying eyes. She was worried that if she found a place to bury it in their new home it might be found, or worse yet, get damaged by seeping water. Again she got her inspiration from a dream – this time it was about a magic cushion that could float in the air, all the way to heaven if it wanted to.

When she awoke the next morning she went to Lydia's fabric shop to find a heavy fabric that would stand up to constant use. She settled on some sail cloth that had been dyed blue and took two yards if it home with her. Before the week was out she had fashioned a beautiful seating cushion with embroidery around the edge and a needlework lamb in the center. When she was finished she waited until nightfall to retrieve The Priceless Linen from its hiding place. She slipped the leather pouch with the cloth inside into the open end of the cushion and stitched it shut. No one would know that her favorite seat cushion contained a magnificent secret.

The day before the wedding ceremony Lukas arrived in Bethsaida pulling the cart he used to haul fish with. He had scrubbed it thoroughly before he left to get rid of the fishy smell but could only reduce it to a tolerable level. He hoped the smell wouldn't get into Joanna's trunk on the trip back. He had added a flat board across the side rails for her to sit on. He knew it would be a rough ride and wished he had thought to bring something soft for her to sit on. He longed to see Joanna that night but he knew it was forbidden by custom so he stayed with his parents. Before he fell asleep he prayed that his future with Joanna would be a long and rewarding one.

Joanna wasn't able to sleep at all that night. She was filled with doubts about her ability to be a good wife to Lukas – a caring, loving helpmate who could let her husband be head of the household. And what if she couldn't provide him with sons to carry on the family name? All she could see right now, on the night before her wedding, were all the difficulties she might encounter as a wife and mother. Then she remembered that she had God and Christ to lean on, to ask them for the strength to get through the problems ahead.

Chapter 7 – Paul

36 A.D. - Tiberius

Lukas woke up before dawn and slipped quietly out of bed so he wouldn't wake his wife. Joanna was six months pregnant with their second child and needed her rest. After he dressed he tore off a piece of bread from the round loaf and cut a slice of goat cheese to eat on his way down to the harbor. As he walked he thought about how God had blessed them over the past three years.

Lukas learned the fishing trade quickly, becoming first mate of Peter's fishing boat in less than a year. Then, when Peter moved to Jerusalem to join the other apostles in founding the Christian church there, he was left in charge of the entire business, which by that time included two boats, the smoking house, and sale of their products to local markets. Since then he had added two more boats and was producing more fish than they could sell locally. He was about to form a partnership with a trade caravan that would take wooden cases of smoked fish south to Jerusalem and north to Damascus. He was also developing a new product line of salted fish which would be preserved even longer than smoked fish.

God had also blessed him spiritually. Several local Christian men had approached him about forming a church in Tiberius but they needed a leader; one who had heard Christ's teaching and could explain it to them. Lukas was reluctant at first because he didn't believe he had the gift of teaching. He discussed it with Joanna to get her thoughts on the matter.

"The men have asked me to lead the new Christian church they are starting. I think the church is a good thing, pleasing to God, because there is no church nearby. But I don't feel qualified to lead it. Even though I remember most of the important things Christ said, I don't know how to teach others about it."

Joanna smiled at him. "I think you are the only one here that is qualified to lead the church. You spent nearly two years with Jesus – almost as long as the twelve were with him. And you have a very good memory. I've seen the way you remember all the accounts and the number of fish caught and sold. So you won't have much trouble remembering things Jesus talked about. Besides, I spent time with him too, so I can help you put together teaching notes."

"But I have never spoken in front of a group before. I probably would stutter and stammer, and have them all laughing at me."

"Well, then pretend you're talking to your boat crews before they set out for the morning. You even pray for them, so it won't be difficult for you to pray in front of a group of Christians."

"I'm just not sure I have the time to do it along with my other work and my time with you and little Mary. And when the new baby comes I will have even less time."

"Now you're just making excuses. You are afraid you will fail at it, so you don't want to commit to leading the church. I'll be at your side, and so will God. Don't forget that Jesus left the Holy Spirit behind, inside our hearts, to help us serve God in every way."

"You almost have me convinced, dear. Let me pray about it and I'll have an answer in the morning."

Six months after Lukas accepted the responsibility of organizing and leading the Christian Church of Tiberius it had grown to over eighty members with services twice each week. Joanna was organizing a Bible study for the women covering the heroines of the Old Testament. Some of the Apostles from the Jerusalem church had visited recently to encourage Lukas and the others and to pass along the latest news from other churches in the area. From them he heard about Paul, a new apostle whom the resurrected Jesus enlisted on the road to Damascus. Paul – he used to be called Saul – was one of the leading Jewish persecutors of the of those who declared allegiance to Jesus Christ. But Jesus straightened out Paul's thinking and sent him to share the new faith with gentiles. Like other Christian Jews, Lukas didn't trust Paul's sudden conversion. So when he got word that Paul would like to visit the church in Tiberius he didn't know what to do. That night, as he a Joanna lay side-by-side in bed, he brought up his concern.

"Joanna, I don't know what to do about this Paul fellow. He tells people that he is a legitimate apostle just like the twelve because he was chosen by Jesus on the road to Damascus. But there is no proof of that. The others with him on the Damascus road were terrified by a bright light but saw no one speaking to Paul. So all we have is Paul's word that he was talking to Jesus."

"I think you should invite him to come here, but hear his story first hand before you decide to let him speak to the congregation."

"That might work. . . . But where will he stay? We have no room here and he will probably have others traveling with him."

"I wonder if Cornelius has room for them? They could sleep in the courtyard of his home He has enough servants and cooks to serve them."

Cornelius was a Roman Centurion who was a Godly man, always praying, and doing good things for people. When Simon Peter visited his home and told him about Jesus – his teaching, his crucifixion, and his resurrection – the Holy Spirit came upon everyone who was there. Peter baptized the Roman officer who, since that time, had done all he could to serve God and Christ, including providing his spacious house as a meeting place for the Tiberian church.

"I'll check with him Sunday. But I still want to meet with Paul before he comes into the city."

As Joanna entered her ninth month Lukas got word that Paul was on his way to Tiberius after a meeting with the Jerusalem council. Some of the council insisted that before gentiles could become followers of Christ they must adhere to Jewish law concerning circumcision. But Paul and Barnabas convinced them that Jewish laws could not be applied to gentiles and were returning to Antioch with letters from the Jerusalem church informing the gentiles of their decision.

Lukas made arrangements with Cornelius to house them, but wanted to keep them there until he could question Paul. When the day came he and Joanna prayed for guidance in this matter and he went to meet Paul.

When he got there Cornelius introduced him to Paul and his companion, Barnabas, and they all sat down to talk. Paul was nothing like Lukas had pictured him in his mind. He expected a large, imposing man; one who could drag Christians from their homes and put them in jail. But instead he was looking at a short but stocky man with a gentle disposition and a soft-spoken manner. Lukas was hesitant to bring up his concerns about Paul's authenticity as an apostle, so there was an awkward silence for a few minutes. Then Paul spoke up.

"I think I know what is on your mind, Lukas. It is usually the first thing people want to know about me. How could I have changed from persecutor to a teacher of Christ's message. As others can attest, when God fills you with the Holy Spirit – the counselor Jesus promised he would send after He was gone – you become a new person. Your heart is filled with joy and a desire to tell as many as you can about your transformation. Barnabas here has heard me speak to large crowds throughout Syria, Asia, Macedonia, Galatia, and Cilicia telling them what God has to offer through his Son Jesus Christ. The message is that in spite of their sins, God will save them from the penalty they deserve because Jesus died in their place. And He has given me even more to tell the gentiles – that his forgiveness comes through his grace alone and there is nothing anyone can do to earn that forgiveness."

Lukas and Cornelius both broke in with questions, and the discussion went on for more than an hour. The were both amazed at the Godly wisdom Paul had to share.

Lukas reached out to take Paul's hand. "You must come to our church and teach these things to the others. My head is spinning so fast that I could never remember all you spoke about. I hope you can stay at least through Sunday to address our next meeting."

Paul smiled at him. "God sent me to you and I will stay until God tells me it's time to move on."

Chapter 8 – Abgar

32 A.D. – Edessa in Northeastern Syria, shortly before Jesus is crucified

The king got up after another restless night and ordered his servant to bring a copper pot filled with hot water and place it on the floor beside his bed. The pain in his feet and ankles was agonizing, but immersing them in hot water made it bearable – for awhile. His court physician, Gamil the Egyptian who knew the healing arts well, had tried dozens of potions and medicines in his attempts to cure Abgar of the condition but none of them worked. Some, like the elixir made from the bark of a willow tree, eased the pain for a few hours, but it always returned. Gamil even suggested that if the king would lose some weight the pain might leave him, but Abgar wasn't about to change his eating habits. He's just grasping at straws, trying everything he can think of to keep me from sending him back to Egypt. I would do just that if I had another healer to replace him. . . . Maybe I should try a holy man; someone in touch with the gods. . . . But who? There are so many charlatans claiming they can call on their own specials god to do miracles how can I find a true holy man.

He clapped his hands twice and his servant appeared. "Inform my advisors I wish to meet with them this afternoon."

"Yes my king."

After a large lunch of fish from the Black Sea fried in beef fat Abgar drained the last of his wine and called for his advisory council to be brought in. The seven men were chosen from the leading families in the territory of Osroene based on their wisdom, influence, and contacts. Today the king needed that last qualification more than the others. If anyone knew of a powerful holy man it would be one of them. They spent time with the many trading caravans that passed through the city to gather any information that might be useful to the king and to their businesses.

Abgar looked around the table before he began, fixing his eyes on each to make sure they were paying attention. "As you know I have suffered from this painful condition for the past few years. Gamil the Egyptian has been unable to find a cure. Therefore I will turn to the gods for help. I need a true holy man, one who has performed miracles, one who has healed many others. Find me that man!"

Batul hesitantly raised his hand, knowing that if the man he suggested failed to heal the king he would lose all he had, maybe even his life. "My king, I think I have heard of such a man; a Jew from Jerusalem. If half of what I have heard is true, He is truly a man of God. He claims to be the Son of the one true God, the God that has protected Israel for centuries. This man, Jesus of Nazareth, has healed dozens of sick and dying men, women, and children. There is a story that he even brought a friend of his, Lazarus, back to life after he died."

"He sounds like just the healer I need. Call for my scribe. I want to write this Jesus asking him to come and heal me."

Three months later a caravan from the south brought Abgar an answer. Abgar opened it with shaking hands:

Blessed are you who have believed in me without having seen me. For it is written concerning me that they who have seen me will not believe in me, and that they who have not seen me will believe and be saved. But in regard to what you have written me, that I should come to you, it is necessary for me to fulfill all things here for which I have been sent, and after I have fulfilled them thus to be taken up again to Him that sent me. But after I have been taken up I will send to you one of my disciples, that he may heal your disease and give life to you and yours. [1]

Abgar read it again, then called for Batul.

"You know about Jesus. What do you think he means when he says 'after I have been taken up'?"

"I have unfortunate news for you, my king. Three weeks ago Jesus, who they called the Christ, was killed by the Romans. He was crucified and buried in the tomb of a wealthy follower, Joseph of Arimathea. . . . He will not be able to heal you. . . . Although there are reports that he was seen alive three days after he was buried, and then ascended to heaven."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Now I'll never be cured of this infernal pain!"

"Perhaps there is still hope. In his letter he says he will send you a disciple after he has been taken up. If he was taken up to heaven after he reappeared, maybe he has the power to send a disciple to heal you."

"Now you're grasping at straws, just like Gamil. That cannot be what Jesus meant. Who can predict their own death?"

"If he could rise from the dead he could do anything, sire."

Abgar sent him away, but lay awake all night considering what he had heard.

[1] A letter written by Christ to the king of Edessa, recorded in "The History of the Church"by Eusebius, Bishop of Caesarea, 340 A.D.

Chapter 9 – Thaddeus

36 A.D. – Tiberius

Lukas and Joanna were having breakfast in the dining room of their two-story home in the heights overlooking Tiberius and the Sea of Galilee, which was now called the Lake of Tiberius. The Romans were making their presence known throughout Judea, and renaming the sea after their emperor was just another way of showing Israel who was in charge. But as Rome tightened her grip on the small Jewish nation, rebellions became more frequent.

The fishing business, which Lukas purchased from Peter not long ago, was booming. He now had six boats with full crews, which meant he didn't have to go out fishing unless one of his men didn't show up. They were providing smoked and salted fish to all the major cities in the area, as well as freshly caught fish to homes and eating establishments in Tiberius. While Lukas oversaw the fishing vessels and equipment, keeping them in good repair and replacing worn out parts, Joanna kept the accounts and managed the church's charity kitchen, which kept most of the city's poor from hunger.

Lukas also oversaw the construction of a the new church building – the congregation had grown too large to meet in Cornelius' home. He had used the profits from the fishing business to buy a plot of land on top of the hill overlooking the city. It was a glorious spot with a beautiful view of the sun rising over the lake. Once a month they all rose early on Sunday morning to sing and pray as the sun came up, reminding them of the risen Son of God. That's where Lukas was working on the afternoon when the stranger approached him.

"Hello there. Are you Lukas, the disciple of Christ and pastor of this church?"

Lukas walked over and held out his hand. "That I am. What can I do for you?"

"I'm Thaddeus, a follower of Jesus Christ. I was with him at Calvary. I'm on a mission with orders from the Jerusalem council."

Lukas looked at him carefully. He had aged some, and grown a thick beard, but Lukas recognized him as one of those who followed Jesus through most of his ministry. He opened his arms in an embrace. Thaddeus said, "I remember you. You were a bit younger then. And there was a young woman follower who had a crush on you. What was her name? . . . Joanna, yes that's it."

"Joanna and I are now married with a family of three boys and a girl. The Lord brought us together – and to Tiberius. And provided us with a fishing business to support the family and the church. Come, you'll stay with us tonight – as long as you like actually. I'm eager for news from Jerusalem."

As they finished their meal Joanna put the children to bed and returned to join them. "Thank you, Thaddeus, for giving us the encouraging news about the Jerusalem church. It seems to be growing even faster than the church here."

"Yes, it is. But the churches Paul started in northern Syria are expanding too. He has met opposition from those who don't want to believe, but the Master predicted that would happen to all of us."

Lukas interrupted. "More of that later. Right now I want to know why you stopped in Tiberius and sought me out."

"I'm sorry, I should have gotten to that earlier. . . . Shortly before Jesus was killed He received a message from a king in the city of Edessa asking to be healed from a painful disease. Jesus responded that He would send one of His disciples but that was forgotten after His resurrection. Recently Peter found King Abgar's request and instructed me to go to Edessa to carry out Jesus' wishes."

"But why stop here,?" Joanna asked.

"I was getting to that. Before I left Paul came to me and insisted I visit you and Joanna on the way. He couldn't say why, but he felt that you had something I should take with me on my visit to Abgar."

Lukas thought for a minute. "I can't think of anything we have here that would do the king any good. I suppose the congregation could take up a collection to pay for your travel if that would help."

"No, it can't be that. The Jerusalem church gave me money for the trip."

"Then all I can offer is prayer. I'll have the church put it on the prayer list."

Joanna had a troubled look on her face. Could it be? Is this why I have kept it secret all this time? I have never told anyone, not even Lukas. So how could Paul know about it. And how would it help heal the king? If he's not a believer how can it have any miraculous powers over him. . . . But maybe that doesn't matter. Jesus healed people who weren't followers. Most of them became followers after they were cured. . . . Maybe that's the point. It might heal Abgar so he will become a believer. I need to tell them about it.

She cleared her throat to get their attention. "I think I know what it is – what Paul was talking about. The night after Jesus reappeared as the risen Christ I went to the tomb to recover the linen sheet his body was wrapped in. I brought it back to the upper room where we were staying and hid it under my sleeping mat. Later I took it home with me and buried it beneath the clay floor tiles under my bed. Just before our wedding, I retrieved it and sewed it into a cushion, which I keep in the bottom of my trunk."

Lukas looked at her somewhat crossly. "I can't believe you didn't tell me about it. We could have draped it over the altar at the church."

"Wait, I'm not finished. . . . Once I took it up to the rock on the bluff and spread it out to look at it. It . . . it has a full-length image of our Lord on it; front and back. And there are dried blood stains where his body was pierced."

The two men stared at her with skeptical looks on their faces. "You're making this up, Joanna. If such a thing existed you would have shown it to me by now. . . . Go get it. I want to see it with my own eyes."

A few minutes later Joanna returned with a large leather pouch and withdrew the folded cloth. She placed it on the table with the face image showing and said "Now do you believe me?"

Thaddeus and Lukas stared at it for several seconds, their mouths hanging open in awe. "That's definitely him. See where they beat him in the face . . . and the blood from the thorny crown. . . . Unfold it so we can see the rest."

The table wasn't long enough for the full length of the linen so Joanna unfolded it enough to show the frontal image, then stood by quietly while the men excitedly pointed out the features – the spear wound in his side, the wrist wound with blood trickles going down the arms, the long fingers of both hands, and the bloody imprint of the hole through his feet made by the hammered spike.

"What about the back; is that image just as clear?" Thaddeus asked.

Joanna carefully turned the cloth around. Again they stared in amazement. There were marks on the back from the dumbbell-shaped ends of the flagrum, the Roman whip used to torture him, more blood from abrasions caused by the heavy wood crosspiece he carried up the hill, and a clear foot-shaped imprint showing the spike hole more clearly.

When they had studied it fully Lukas asked her to refold it with the face showing as before. She doubled over four times, smoothed it out and replaced it in the protective pouch. Lukas turned to her, took both hands, and said, "Joanna dear, I'm sorry I didn't believe you. It just seemed too miraculous to be true. . . . But then He was always a man of miracles, wasn't He."

"I had trouble believing it myself when I first saw it on the bluff. It's even more amazing in the sunlight. At first I thought it was made by an artist's brush using very faint powder of some kind, but as I studied it more closely I could see no hint of powder anywhere. I even rubbed it with a cloth to see if the color would come off but it came away clean."

"I don't know if we can part with something as holy as this, Joanna. God must have had some higher purpose in mind when He led you to it."

"I don't believe that. I think it was His purpose all along was to have me protect The Priceless Linen until He revealed what I should do with it. And if it's not God's will that we should send it to Edessa, why would Paul know we had something to give Thaddeus."

Lukas reached out and they all joined hands. "Let's pray about it to be sure." Lukas spoke a prayer praising God for allowing Joanna to be the caretaker of the holy shroud and asking God for guidance in this matter. Then they sat silently, still holding hands, listening for the Lord to put an answer in their head. After several minutes had passed Lukas let go of their hands.

"I believe the Lord has plans for it in Edessa." The other two nodded their agreement.

"Let us get some sleep and you can set out in the morning, Thaddeus. I wish I could go with you to see what those plans are but we need to finish building the church before winter. Please write and tell us what happens."

"I will, Lukas, I will."

Chapter 10 – Aleppo

It had been eleven days since Thaddeus had left Joanna and Lukas in Tiberius, which meant he was halfway to his destination. He had hoped to make it to the small town of Halab before nightfall, but he had to take shelter under a rock ledge because of the heavy rain. Traveling at night on this stretch of camel trail was not easy at night because it was over rocky ground. He saw a good spot to spend the night up ahead – a crumbling mud brick house with half the roof fallen in. But the other half would give him some shelter in case the rain returned.

He laid out his sleeping roll, ate some bread and goat jerky that Joanna and Lukas had insisted he take, then lay down with his head on the pouch carrying the precious linen. As he looked at the stars he once again felt the presence and power of God in his life. He said his evening prayer and closed his eyes.

Aleppo woke his two accomplices and told them it was time. The lone traveler had walked past their cave hideout just before sunset, so he would stop for the night not too far up ahead – probably at the old sheepherder's place. The three of them frequently waylaid sojourners at that spot because it was far enough from the trail that no one would hear the cries of their victims. They usually tried to rob them of their belongings with threats alone, but if they tried to defend themselves, the beatings could get a bit noisy. Tonight's target looked strong but he had a passive demeanor that Aleppo thought would make him an easy mark. If not . . . well that's what the swords were for.

Until three years ago Aleppo had been a Roman foot soldier on the frontier of expanding Roman power in eastern Cappadocia. It wasn't a great way to live – the food was good, the pay was adequate, and the fringe benefits superb, especially when the towns they plundered had enough young women to go around. Within his regiment he was the pack leader – not an official rank, but the man most feared by the others. That meant he got first pick of the young maidens and the largest share of the looted valuables.

But all that ended when an enemy spear was plunged into his left thigh. He killed the attacker but almost died of the infection the excrement-covered spear head caused. When he recovered from the sickness he had a permanent limp, which meant he couldn't keep up with the legion's marching pace. He collected a small pension and entered civilian life with no skill other than his proficiency with weapons. He quickly realized the only way to use that skill to produce income was to become a thief, so he brought in two other ex-soldiers and began robbing small groups traveling without protection. They moved around between northern Syria, southern Armenia, and Cappadocia to avoid the Roman patrols that were searching for them. The Roman governor of the region offered a reward for their capture but so far no one had been clever enough to catch them. Just to be safe, after tonight's job they would move up north for awhile until things quieted down.

Aleppo led the way out of the cave and set out after their quarry. They were familiar with the rocky trail and moved quickly to the old house. They could see the embers of a fire inside the ruins so they had guessed right about where the traveler would stop.

Thaddeus awoke with a start and felt something cold against his throat. He looked up and saw a man standing over him with the tail of his black turban covering the lower half of his face. With the sword against his throat he told Thaddeus to stand up slowly. After a short pause to offer a silent prayer for protection Thaddeus obeyed.

"If you are thieves I have nothing of value but a few denarii, which you are welcome to take. I have a few pieces of bread left if you are hungry."

"Give me the money."

Thaddeus reached into the small money pouch tied around his waist and emptied the coins into the man's palm.

"Four denarii! That won't feed me and my men for more than a few days." He turned to the other two. "Search him! Strip him down to his loincloth to see if he is hiding anything."

A few minutes later Thaddeus was standing all but naked in front of them. "What you are doing here. Thievery is not only against the law but it is a sin against God."

"Which god? One of the Roman gods? Or perhaps a Greek idol? What do they have to do with me?"

"It's none of them. It is Jehovah, the living God of Israel, the one and only true God. All men have to answer to him in the end. But if you admit your sins to him, repent, and accept Jesus Christ as your savior you will be forgiven."

"Who did you hear that nonsense from?"

"Jesus Christ, the Son of God, who now lives with His father in heaven."

"Isn't he the one the Romans crucified three years ago? They say he did many miracles, but he couldn't even save himself. It was all a hoax."

"No, it's true. I was there."

"You're just making this up to save your skin, to make us believe you are favored by God." He turned to the other two and said, "Beat him. Leave him alive but just barely. Maybe His God will save him."

One got behind Thaddeus and held him arms while the other held his staff ready to swing.

"Wait!" Aleppo ordered. "Did you search the leather pouch he was sleeping on? Maybe he has something hidden in it."

Thaddeus looked him in the eye. "What is inside it is of no value to you. But it is a holy object of priceless value to God. If you take it you are risking your eternal soul."

Aleppo grabbed the pouch and nodded at the other two to begin the beating. "Finish up quickly, I want to get on the road to Halab."

Chapter 11 – Marika

The young shepherd girl led her few goats along the hilltop, allowing them to stop now and then to eat the occasional weed that grew up between the rocks. If she was fortunate one of the grazing spots she often took them to would have some grass sprouting in response to the recent rain. If she couldn't keep them fed and watered they couldn't produce the milk needed to make cheese – the main source of nourishment for her family. With no work available in their small village the only source of income was her mother's work as a seamstress. During the summer months her father would journey to the sea coast in Cilicia to work as a fisherman, but the money he brought home in the fall never lasted through winter. With Marika and three older brothers living at home it was difficult to keep them all fed and clothed.

At thirteen Marika was almost old enough to marry and leave home, but that was never going to happen. She unconsciously reached up under her scarf and felt the disfiguration. When she was three she fell into the cooking fire and badly burned one side of her face. Her mother covered the burned area with goat fat and wrapped her face with bandages, hoping that would help the skin heal smoothly, but when they were taken off a month later the ugly welts were revealed. The worst thing was the damage to her left eye. It was covered with a milky film that never went away. She could still see but it was like looking through thick smoke.

Marika sat down on a rock and thought back to her childhood – the teasing and cruel jokes from the other children, their refusal to let her play with them. Even the grownups would shun her. No man would ever look at me twice, she thought. I'm too ugly. Even with my scarf draped to cover that half of my face, people still remember what I look like. I see them staring at me, trying to look under the scarf and get a glimpse of the burn scars. . . . That's why I like to be with the goats – they don't care what I look like.

As she sat there she tried to imagine what it would be like to have a husband and some children. How she would cook and care for them. How she would welcome him home at the end of the day with a warm hug, like her mother did with her father.

The distant bleating of a goat brought her back to reality. She quickly counted the goats and saw that one was missing. She stood and surveyed the surrounding area but didn't see it. Stupid girl! Stupid, stupid, stupid. If I lose one of our goats father will very angry. Where is that nanny goat?

When the goat bleated again she gave away her location – on the top of the next hill near the ruins of the old shepherd's place – grazing on some grass in the shadow of the remaining wall. She picked up her staff and hurried the other goats in that direction, hoping there was enough grass for all of them to have their fill. She was in luck. There was a large patch of grass as high as her knees. She could rest in the shelter while the goats munched on the fodder. She watched them eat for a few minutes, then went inside to get in the shade of the roof.

Marika's mind was elsewhere so she didn't see the man until she almost stumbled over him. She jumped back and turned, ready to run if necessary. She looked over her shoulder to see if he was coming after her, but he hadn't moved, so she turned toward him. "Sir? . . . Sir? . . . Are you awake?" No answer. He laying on his side with his back turned to her, so she tiptoed in for a closer look. When she reached out to poke him on the shoulder a bloody hand shot out and grabbed her by the wrist! She shrieked in fear and tried to pull away but his grip was too strong. Screaming she lashed out with her foot but her sandals didn't hurt him much. She braced both feet and leaned backward while she rotated her wrist in the bloody hand, but she was trapped. She saw his mouth moving but couldn't hear him above her screams, but when she stopped for a breath she heard him say in a raspy voice "Help me."

For the first time she looked into his face and was shocked. It was beaten and bloody. His lip was split, and one eye swollen shut. As her eyes traveled down his body she realized he was wearing only underwear and instinctively averted her eyes. The gravely voice repeated "Help me. . . . Please!" She overcame her embarrassment and moved in closer. His chest was covered with welts and she thought she saw the end of a rib poking through his skin. At that point her fear was replaced by sympathy and she jumped into action. Untying the water skin from her belt she knelt down and cradled his head as she gave him small sips of water. When he was finished she tore off a corner of her tunic, soaked it with water, and began to gently clean the dried blood from his face. In spite of his pain she saw him smile at her and returned the gesture.

" Sir, it looks like you have been beaten badly. I need to get you to our home where my mother can care for you."

"Thaddeus," he said softly.

"Thaddeus? Is that where you are from?"

He smiled again. "No, that's my name. . . . Thaddeus."

"Oh . . . I misunderstood. I'm Marika. Now let me get to work making a litter to move you."

She looked around at the materials available in the ruins. She found two long roof poles that had survived the collapse, and some leather strips used to bind the roof wood together. It took her awhile to untangle the leather but she finally had enough for weaving a crude hammock to stretch between the poles. When that was finished she started to work at the other end of the poles, using leather scraps to create a harness for a pair of goats. Then she laid the hammock on the floor beside the man and helped him roll over onto it. When she had hooked up her two strongest goats she gathered up the rest of the herd and set out for the village.

When Marika's mother saw what she brought home she immediately took over and assigned tasks to everyone – "Sharo, Belo make a bed for the man in the barn and carry him to it. Marika, go to the well and bring back lots of water. Isho, you gather wood for the fire. I'll tear up some cloth for bandages" Thirty minutes later they were all gathered around Thaddeus in the barn. He had been unconscious when Marika dragged him into the courtyard behind the two goats and had stayed that way as they moved him to his bed. With their tasks finished they waited for him to wake up and tell them what happened. Marika dipped a cloth in cool water and laid it across his fevered forehead. A moment later his eyes fluttered and started to open, but when he saw five people standing around him he was instantly fully awake.

"Where am I? . . . Who are you people? A gang of thieves? Well, your friends took everything I had, so there's nothing left for you."

Marika asked, "Do you remember me? I found you at the old house and brought you here to our family's home."

"You're the goat girl! I thought it might have been a dream, but here you are. Your name was . . . was . . ."

"Marika. And this is my family. My mother Esmar, and my three brothers Belo, Sharo, and Isho. My father, Beniel, will be home from his work soon. . . . Family, this is Thaddeus."

"Pleased to meet you. And thank you for taking me in. I would be dead if Marika hadn't come to my rescue."

Marika blushed. "It was nothing special. I would do the same for anyone in your situation."

Thaddeus lay back on the bed. "I'm really tired. I need to get some rest."

Everyone except Marika left the barn, but she stayed behind to sit beside him and hold his hand. He squeezed her hand as his eyes slowly closed. When his hand went slack she placed it on his chest and left him alone.

The next time Thaddeus awoke he was looking into the bearded face of Marika's father. Beniel looked concerned as he probed the injured ribs. When Thaddeus winced in pain he said "I'm sorry if I hurt you, but I need to see how bad the damage is. If the broken end of this rib moves it could rip a hole in your lung, or maybe even your heart. If you can sit up I will wrap a band of wet leather around it. When the leather dries it will shrink and bind your chest up tight so the bones can't move. Is that alright with you?"

"Yes. Anything that will get me back on the road so I can chase down those that did this to me."

"Son, revenge is for the Lord God to take care of. Your attackers will get the reward their sin requires."

Thaddeus looked at Beniel for a moment. "Are you speaking of the Jewish God?"

"No, we are not Jews, we are gentiles – descendents of the Assyrians who conquered this country hundreds of years ago. But the Lord we pray to is indeed the one and only true God of Israel."

Thaddeus thought he knew where this was going, but he wanted to make sure. "Why do you believe that Israel's God cares about you?"

"Because of Jesus Christ. He was the Son of God sent to the earth to show us the way to a close relationship with God."

"How do you know about Jesus?"

"I work in Cappadocia during the fishing season. Last summer the apostle Paul came there to preach about how Jesus suffered the punishment for all sinners, both Jew and gentile, so we can have everlasting life with him in heaven. When I heard that message I felt the Holy Spirit enter my heart and change my view of everything. I and my family are now believers; followers of Christ's teaching – what the church in Antioch calls Christians."

Beniel was surprised when Thaddeus reached out to hug him, in spite of the pain in his chest. With tears in his eyes he said "God has truly brought us together. He used Marika and your family to save my life. He must have plans for me."

Beniel returned his hug. "Where were you headed when the thieves attacked you?"

"I was on a mission from the church in Jerusalem. They sent me to King Abgar in Edessa to heal him of his sickness. Paul instructed me to travel through Tiberius and visit Lukas and Joanna, two of Jesus' followers who started a church there. I didn't know why he wanted me to visit them, but when I got there I found that Joanna had hidden away a holy cloth she took from Christ's tomb after the resurrection. She told me that the Holy Spirit moved her to give it to me to use in the king's healing. I took it with me when I departed for Edessa, but the thieves took it. It's wrapped up securely in a leather pouch, so they may not have opened it yet. This was the burial cloth that was draped over our Lord's body. I must get it back."

"You are in no condition to travel, Thaddeus. I will send my sons to catch the thieves and bring back the pouch with its precious contents."

"The three thieves that attacked me were armed with swords. Will your sons be able to fight them if necessary?"

"I trained my sons with both sword and spear. They will have no problem with the thieves. And they will have God on their side. Do you know which way they are headed?"

"The leader mentioned Halab."

Beniel called his three sons together and told them what to do.

"Thank you, Beniel. May the Lord bless you and your sons and protect them on their journey. Let's pray together before they leave."

Chapter 12 – The Lion of Judah

Aleppo and his two cohorts walked several miles the day after their attack on Thaddeus before they stopped for the night. They followed the trail north through Halab into a hilly area with rock outcroppings where they could find shelter for the night. If they got an early start the next morning they would make it to Damascus before sunset where they could sell the traveler's belongings and buy some food and wine. But for tonight they would share the stolen bread.

Once they found a suitable place to sleep Aleppo sent one of his men out to find some firewood, but he came back empty handed. "This place is bare. I couldn't anything larger than a cactus and you can't make a fire with them. We'll have to sleep close together to keep warm."

Aleppo looked at him sharply. "I didn't want the fire to keep warm, it was to keep the predators away. Someone will have to stand watch. Hand me your staff, I'll take the first watch. . . . Ugh. This thing is covered with blood from the guy you beat up."

The 450-pound beast had been following the spoor most of the day. The wind out of the south carried the faint odor of blood and human body smells that lured him in that direction. As the light dimmed the scent grew stronger so the creature knew his prey wasn't far away. By instinct he understood that this type of prey would stop soon for sleep, and that's when it would be the most vulnerable and defenseless. The lion shook its shaggy mane and flattened itself to the ground to wait.

Aleppo was having trouble staying awake. He shook his head looked at the stars to see what time it was. My turn to stand watch is almost over. I can't wait to lay my head down and get some sleep. . . . His mind drifted to the meal he intended to have in Damascus tomorrow. A nice lamb and lentil stew would be good, with some freshly baked bread . . . and wine, lot's of wine. My mouth is watering already.

The lion had his prey in sight, the man standing alone in front of the other two who were sleeping. He crept closer, ready to spring at the first sign of movement. But the prey wasn't paying attention. The first he knew of the lion's attack was the roar just before he was slammed to the ground and the jaws closed around his neck. His death wasn't painful because the broken neck paralyzed his body. But it wasn't instantaneous either. His mind was conscious long enough to realize that he was about to die. His last thought was I wonder if this is because I sinned against the Jewish God.

The attack woke the other two thieves. As they jumped to their feet the Lion saw the motion and moved toward them, trapping them under the overhanging rock. One of the men held a sword in his hand but the attack of the big cat was so quick he didn't have time to raise it in defense. It took the beast only a few seconds to crush the man's skull. The remaining thief tried to run past the animal but a single swipe of a paw laid open the man's back with deep slashes.

The entire attack, which took only a few minutes, left the three men dead and bleeding on the ground. But the lion didn't begin feasting on them. Instead he sniffed around where the men were sleeping until he found a leather pouch. With one paw he pushed it out in the open and sat on his haunches to guard it until the blessed ones came to retrieve it.

The three sons of Beniel set out immediately after the prayer with Thaddeus to find the thieves and get the leather pouch back. Belo, the oldest at age 20, took command of the other two and set a fast pace toward Halab, the place Thaddeus heard them talk about. When they got to the small village they spread out, asking if anyone had seen three men pass through recently, but the only answer they got was "No." When they got back together by the city gate they saw a blind man begging for coins. Isho, with the boldness that comes from being a 16-year-old, asked the man if he had seen the three. Belo looked at him sharply and whispered "Can't you see the man is blind. How could he have seen the thieves?"

The blind man, with the sharp hearing that often accompanies blindness said "I clearly could not have seen them. But I heard them talking as they walked past me, something about a traveler they beat and robbed. One of them wanted to stop here in Halab for the night, but the man in charge told him they would camp north of town so they could make it to Damascus the next day. That's all I heard. . . . Can you spare some coins sir . . . for what I told you?'

Belo reached into a small leather bag hanging from his belt and pulled out a two denarii for the beggar. When he put them into the beggar's hand he rubbed his fingers over them to feel the denomination, then broke into a smile. "Thank you, Sir. Your are a very generous man.."

The brothers set out immediately to catch up with the thieves. It would be dark soon but they were familiar with the trail so they could keep up their fast pace. As the night closed in Belo started to worry that they might pass right by the place where the thieves were camped. He strained his eyes looking for a fire but saw nothing. Then he heard a sound in the distance – a lion roaring. He turned his head in the direction of the sound pointed his sword toward it. "This way boys!"

Sharo protested. "Why are we going lion hunting when we're supposed to be chasing the robbers?"

"Because that is the way I'm being led."

A few minutes later they were looking at a rock outcropping with the lion in front of it. As they moved closer they saw the mangled bodies of three men lying on the ground.

Isho whispered ""Are those the men we are after? It looks like the lion has done our job for us. But we can't go there to look for the pouch as long as he is standing guard." As if he heard and understood Isho's words the lion looked right at the three men, then turned and walked away.

Once the lion was out of sight the three ran up to the thieves' encampment. At the sight of the bloody corpses Isho turned pale as he tried to choke back the vomit rising in his throat, but it was a losing battle. When he finished retching he looked at his brothers to see if they were laughing at him, but they had turned away so as not to embarrass him. "Okay, I'm done. Now let's find the holy pouch and head home."

"What if it's under one of the bodies? I'm not going to roll them over to see."

"No need, Sharo. It's there where the lion was sitting." Belo replied.

He pulled it out into the open to inspect it for damage, but he couldn't tell much in the dark. They all stared at it with reverence until Belo picked it up and put the strap over his shoulder. "Let's get this back to Thaddeus."

Isho looked disappointed. "Aren't you going to open it first so we can see the cloth Jesus' body was wrapped in?"

"Not without Thaddeus' permission. He was chosen by God to be the caretaker, and unless the Holy Spirit moves me to take it out and look at it, it will stay in the pouch. . . . It will be daylight soon so we can make good time and be home before dark."

Chapter 13 – Inner Beauty

Thaddeus was overjoyed when the pouch was once again in his possession. He was finally able to get out of bed and move around without too much pain, so he gathered Marika and her family together in the small courtyard their house surrounded. He asked Esmar to provide some sheets, which he spread out on the tile floor before he removed The Priceless Linen from it's protective pouch. As he slowly unfolded it their amazement grew until the entire length could be seen. The details of Jesus' crucifixion were clearly visible to all. They stood transfixed for several minutes until Beniel asked them to raise their hands to the Lord while he said a prayer.

"We thank you Lord for protecting this holy treasure and allowing our family to serve you in preserving it. We ask that you heal Thaddeus so he can continue his journey and deliver the cloth to where you want it to be. Protect him along the way from mishaps and danger. We ask this in the name of Jesus Christ our savior. Amen."

As the others left Marika stayed behind to help Thaddeus fold the cloth and put it back in the pouch. When they both reached to close the flap their hands touched and Marika felt something shoot through her, something she had never felt before and couldn't describe. She blushed and pulled her hand back quickly, glancing at Thaddeus to see if he noticed it.

He had a strange look on his face as he said "You felt that too, didn't you. Whatever it was."

She nodded at him, then quickly left the room.

Two weeks after the beating Beniel removed the leather chest bandage and felt Thaddeus' ribs to see how the healing was progressing. "It seems to be mending nicely so I think we can leave the leather corset off – if you promise not to do anything strenuous. But you need some exercise to build up your strength. I think you and Marika should take daily walks. Start out on level ground then try climbing some low hills. That should improve your breathing. . . . I think in a couple more weeks you'll be ready to leave for Edessa."

"That's good news. I'm eager to finish my mission and get back to Jerusalem."

"If you have the time please plan to stop by and see us on the way back."

"Definitely, Beniel. I have really enjoyed my time with your family. There aren't many Christians this far north but the time we have spent discussing what Jesus and Paul taught has been wonderful."

"I agree. Let's find Marika so you can begin your exercise."

After giving his daughter instructions about starting out slow and easy he saw the two of them on their way. Esmar came up beside him and said "He would make a wonderful husband for her."

"That he would. At some point, though, she will have to uncover her face so he can see her scars. How he reacts will show us if he is truly a follower of Christ's teaching."

Marika led Thaddeus on a trail along the creek that flowed past their house. After several minutes he was breathing heavily but his male ego wouldn't let him admit he needed a rest. Marika apparently sensed this because she led him to flat rock to sit down. There was an uncomfortable silence while Thaddeus caught his breath, so Marika filled it in with chatter about her goats, telling him their names and what amazing tricks they could do like climbing low -hanging trees to east the leaves. He watched her while she talked with a smile on his face. She's charming! I love to hear her pleasing voice – soft and smooth. I wonder if she sings? It would be a beautiful and melodic voice. And the way her hands flow through the air when she talks. I think she would be a good dancer also. When he realized she had asked him a question he was caught off guard.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention. My mind was on something else. What were you saying?"

She answered with a smile, "What could be more interesting than listening to me talk about goats?"

He paused for a moment, then spoke out boldly, "Admiring your beauty."

She immediately blushed and turned her head away. If he knew what my face looked like he wouldn't say that.

Her response embarrassed him. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have blurted that out. I was being disrespectful . . . will you forgive me?"

"It wasn't disrespectful. You were just being kind."

"It was disrespectful, but it was the truth. . . . Oh my, now I have made you blush again."

"If you have regained your breath let's continue our walk." She didn't want him to say any more and knew he couldn't talk while he was out of breath.

They walked a little farther this time, both lost in their thoughts. They didn't notice the approaching rain storm until the wind hit them. He turned to her and said "We need to hurry home." That's when he noticed the wind had blown the scarf from her face. She had a look of horror on her face as she reached behind her to put it back in place.

After only a moment of hesitation he said "Don't," as he reached up and lay his hand on the scars. He ran his fingers over them, as if trying to memorize the contours. He looked closely at the milky covering on her eye. "Can you see out of it?"

She pulled away. "Now you know what I really look like. I'm ugly" and turned to run from him.

"Wait, Marika. I can't keep up with you and I need to tell you something."

She ran a few more steps then stopped and let him catch up. After a couple of deep breaths he said, "You are beautiful to me. Outward looks mean nothing. It's the beauty of your Christian heart that attracts me to you."

"You're just saying that. Everyone finds my face detestable."

"Then they aren't looking for the beauty from within. That's what matters."

He put his hand under her chin and lifted it up so he could look her in the eyes. "Never doubt your beauty, Marika. People who matter will see that and not be concerned about your scars." He smiled at her and after a few seconds she returned it. What an amazing man! I trust what he said. It's like a burden was lifted from her heart. I can feel the beauty within me. . . . Thank you Lord.

She took his hands in hers, gave them a soft squeeze, and said, "Thank you for that, Thaddeus. Now let's get home before the rain hits." She reached up to put her scarf back over her face, then shook her head and draped it around her neck.

The two weeks it took Thaddeus to heal went by quickly. He and Marika spent the time on walks, taking the goats out to graze, laughing, and getting to know each other better. Unconsciously they found themselves touching each other more – a hand held longer, a bump of their shoulders, whispering with their lips close to the other's ear, and holding hands while they talked. They didn't really notice the progression, but her parents did. They were so happy that she decided to stop hiding her face, walking proudly with her head held high. The two of them prayed daily that God would lead Thaddeus to take her as his wife.

The evening before he left they walked down to the creek and sat together, hips touching. He could see the sadness creeping into her heart and wished he didn't have to leave. He turned to her and took her hands.

"Marika, I have come to like you very much . . . No, that's the wrong word . . . I have grown to love you. And not just in a Christian love sort of way, but in an 'I would like to marry you someday' kind of love." Marika tried to break in but he continued in a rush, trying to get it all out before she could say 'No'. "I don't know what God has planned for my life except that I'm to take Precious Linen to Edessa to heal Abgar in some way. After that . . . I just don't know how long God will want to keep me there. But as soon as I am free I will come back here and ask your father for your hand in marriage. . . . That is, if you wish to be my wife."

With a huge smile and tears running down her cheeks she wrapped her arms around his neck and said, "Oh, yes . . . yes . . . yes, Thaddeus. I want to be your wife, to live in a house with you, to bear our children."

Thaddeus smiled, stood and pulled her up by her hands, and wrapped his arms around her waist in their first hug. He knew it was improper at this stage in their relationship but he thought God would approve. After all, it was Him who brought them together. But after a few moments she pulled away from him.

"I can't wait to tell my mother and father the good news. Let's hurry home."

"I don't think you should do that yet since I haven't asked your father's permission, and I don't want to do that until I see what plans God has for me. If God wants us married, and I believe He does, He will make it happen in His own time."

"Can I at least tell my mother?"

"I think she will be able to tell by your beaming face, but go ahead and tell her. She can present it to your father softly so when I come to talk to him she will have prepared him."

Marika grabbed his hand and they ran to the house.

The next morning when he had the pouch over his shoulder and the coins the brothers had recovered from the thieves in his purse he faced the entire family in front of the house. He had shaken hands all around and was ready to set out, but he wanted to hug Marika one more time and knew he shouldn't in front of her parents. At that point Esmar jabbed an elbow into Beniel's side, prompting him to say, "Come on boys, we all have work to do." When they were gone Esmar smiled at the two of them and went back into the house.

Marika immediately stepped into Thaddeus' arms for a goodbye hug. She really wanted to kiss him but knew that was crossing the line. With tears in her eyes she pushed him away.

"Go on, leave before I start wailing."

Thaddeus raised her hand and gently kissed the back of it, then dropped it and walked away without looking back.

Marika's mother tried to ease the sadness she felt by putting her to work but it didn't help. Esmar remembered the sorrow she felt when she and Beniel were first separated and understood what her daughter was going through, so she excused her from her chores. Marika thanked her and went down to the spot by the creek where Thaddeus proposed. As she sat there she took her mind through all they had done together, from when she rescued him until he left this morning, savoring every memory. But another thought entered her mind. If he has the power to heal, why didn't he heal me – make my face beautiful and my eye clear? If he really loved me that's what he should have done. So everything he said about wanting to marry me was a lie. . . . He's not coming back. He just told me that's because he felt sorry for me.

Chapter 14 – Tobias

The six-week journey to Edessa was uneventful; good weather, no thieves, and an occasional caravan to provide safety and company. Thaddeus shared the gospel with anyone who cared to listen. Not many responded to his message at first, but the more he shared it the better he got at teaching it. By the time he neared his destination several in the latest caravan had become believers. Thaddeus thanked God for his growth and looked forward to telling the king and others in Edessa about Jesus.

When the Jerusalem church sent him on his mission they told him to seek out a Jew in Edessa named Tobias, who might be able to get him an audience with King Abgar. So when he reached the gate of the walled city he asked the way to the man's house and was directed to the Jewish quarter of the city. As Thaddeus approached the house he was impressed with its size and design; clearly Tobias was well off. Thaddeus was uncertain of the welcome he would get since the rich Jews in Jerusalem were generally hostile to Christians. But when the door opened a servant said "Come in sir, the master has been anxiously awaiting your arrival" and led him to a large room with comfortable chairs arranged around a fireplace.

A few minutes later a short, plump man in flowing robes entered the room. When Thaddeus stood the man hurried over and gave him hug; a greeting usually reserved for close friends.

"Thaddeus, you have finally come! The council in Jerusalem sent word several weeks ago that you were on your way but I expected you much sooner. . . . Oh, I'm Tobias by the way."

"Pleased to meet you sir."

"Forget the 'sir', we are equals. So what delayed you?"

"I was robbed and beaten near Halab. A local family took me in until I could travel again."

"Thanks be to God. Now tell me the news from Jerusalem."

Thaddeus told him about how the church was growing stronger every day under the leadership of Peter and about the new apostle, Paul, who was teaching about God's grace for believers who accepted that Jesus had died to make them righteous in God's eyes. He also reported about the new church Lukas had started in Tiberius.

"I see God's hand at work in spreading the Christian faith throughout the middle east."

"If I may ask, as a Jew where do you stand with regard to Christ."

"Like the Jerusalem Jews who have become Christians I believe that He was indeed our Messiah. Many gentile followers have come to hate the Jews for killing Jesus, but I see it as part of God's plan of salvation – for everyone. If Jesus hadn't died we would still be sinners in the Lord's eyes."

"That's it exactly, Tobias! You would make a good preacher."

"Preacher? No, not me. That's why you have been sent to us."

"I'm not any good at preaching. I have been teaching those I traveled with the gospel truth, but I can't preach."

"What do you think preaching is, Thaddeus? It's what you have been doing already but to a larger group. That's what Jesus did. First he taught His twelve disciples then began preaching to much larger crowds. You will do just fine."

"But I don't know where to start."

"Let's start with healing the king. That should get the attention of the crowds."

Thaddeus was debating whether to tell him about The Priceless Linen. If others hear about it before I show it to the king, it could make him angry. And I don't know what to do with it once I see him. Should I spread it out for him to see, or show him just the face image. . . . I'll let God guide me in that decision. In the meantime, I trust Tobias enough to show him the folded cloth with the face image on top.

"I . . . I have something with me that should help getting everyone's attention. When I stayed with Lukas and his wife – they both followed Jesus as he traveled and taught – an amazing thing happened. Joanna brought out the linen sheet that covered Jesus when He was placed in the tomb. After the resurrection she recovered it from the tomb and has hidden it away since then. When I told her about my mission to heal Abgar she gave it to me to me to take to the king."

"What! I heard Peter and John saw the covering, but everyone thought it had been discarded. Do you have it with you now? Can I see it?"

Thaddeus opened the leather pouch and slowly removed the linen. When Tobias saw the image of Christ's face he gasped! "It's my Lord! How can this be? . . . And his blood is on it! This is truly a miracle – something He left behind so that more would believe."

Tobias ran his chubby fingers over the cloth, being careful not to touch the image itself. "How do you intend to use it to cure the king?"

"I don't know. I trust God will reveal that when it's time."

Tobias thought for several minutes. "We have to be careful here. Since this cloth touched a corpse, Jewish law, as well as local customs, require that it be burned. If the king realizes what it is, he could order that it be destroyed."

"Perhaps we could disguise it somehow. We don't have to tell him where it came from, only that it is a holy image of Christ."

Tobias thought some more. . . . "I think I have something that will help." He clapped for a servant and instructed him to fetch something. The servant returned with a painting in a gold frame with trelliswork surrounding an open oval in the center. Tobias removed the backing, discarded the painting, and laid the frame on top of the cloth image.

"Perfect! The face can be seen through the center opening while the rest of the cloth is covered by the decorative trellis. I will have one of my workman deepen the frame so the entire thickness of the cloth will fit. . . . What is on the rest of the cloth?"

Thaddeus hesitated, then told him about the front and back images. "Shall I unfold it for you to see?"

"No, it should remain just as it is. No one must know that it's a burial cloth." Tobias summoned his servant once more and issued instructions for the woodworker. Then he called his wife to join them. He explained about the cloth and told her to apply some light stitching that would prevent it from being unfolded accidentally.

"Forgive me, I have not been a good host. I should have offered you food and drink already. I'll have a meal prepared within the hour."

After breakfast with Thaddeus the next morning Tobias said "I have something to show you." He clapped his hands and the servant appeared carrying Thaddeus' leather pouch and laid it at his feet. "Open it."

Thaddeus lifted the flap and withdrew the contents – a shallow wooden box with a golden frame and trellis for a top and the image of Christ's face in the center. He could only stare at first because he was choked up with emotion. When he recovered his voice he exclaimed "This is magnificent. Your craftsman has done a wonderful job." He held it up and inspected it.

"Is there any way to open it, Tobias?"

"Not without destroying the box. I made sure it was put together with the strongest glue because I don't want the king or one of his advisors getting curious about what else might be inside. The glue is made from pine pitch, which is waterproof and will last for many, many years."

"You have thought of everything, Tobias. How can I ever repay you?"

"Repay me? Like God's grace it is a gift and cannot be paid for. . . . However, if you really wish to reward me, you can agree to be my house guest for as long as you are here in Edessa."

"You're very gracious. But there must be more I can do?"

"Maybe some of that teaching we were talking about, but first I must get you in to see Abgar. I'll send a messenger this morning."

The ruler of the kingdom of Osroene was trying to get through another morning of public audiences in spite of the never-ending pain, which made it hard to focus on the requests of his subjects. He wasn't sure which kind of pain was worse – the physical pain, or the pain of listening to a parade of self-righteous petitioners seeking justice against their friends and neighbors. But the tradition was begun back when his ancestor, Abgar II, ruled, and it was popular with the people. It gave them the illusion that he cared about their problems.

So it was with relief that he handed down his last decision for this morning, ruling that compensation a father was seeking from a son-in-law who returned his new wife because she was 'unsuitable' would be limited to the return of the dowry paid for her. He was about to rise from the gold-trimmed throne that was the symbol of his authority when Batul, his chancellor, entered. Abgar groaned inwardly but invited him to speak.

"Begging your highness' pardon, my Lord, but I have a message from your friend and benefactor Tobias that he wishes you to consider."

Abgar motioned for him to read it.

My dearest friend, ruler of Edessa and all the surrounding lands. A visitor has come to me from the Christian church in Jerusalem. They discovered the letter you sent three years ago to Jesus of Galilee requesting healing from your illness, to which He responded that He would send one of his disciples. That disciple, Thaddeus, is now here in Edessa and wishes to see you..

Tobias

"Wasn't this miraculous healer, Jesus, crucified by the Romans? How can He heal me if He is dead? Why should I waste time with this so-called disciple when the source of his power to heal is gone?"

"I have heard that several of his disciples have been healing people, even after His death. Perhaps He passed his power on to them."

"Again I say, how can that be? Dead men are lifeless and have no power."

"The followers say that He has risen from the dead and his spirit lives within every true believer."

"That sounds preposterous. . . . But I'm willing to give Tobias' friend a chance to heal me. Have him brought to my chambers at sunset."

"Yes, sire."

Chapter 15 – The Gospel

When Thaddeus heard of the commanded audience he rushed to get ready. Tobias ordered his servants to fill the bathing tub and lay out clean clothes. He had offered to provide beautifully colored robes like the ones he himself wore but Thaddeus declined. He said he wanted to appear in a simple white robe like those Jesus wore so the king would focus on his message and not on his status. When he was ready to leave Tobias offered a prayer that the king would listen and be healed.

As Thaddeus waited in the anteroom to be ushered into the king's presence he thought about how he would use the cloth to heal him. Should I hold it up in front of Abgar and, with a hand on the king's forehead, call on Christ's healing power? But am I permitted to touch the king? Maybe I should kneel on the floor and lay the gilded box before him. And what will I say? Will I have a chance to tell him how to become a follower of Christ? . . . Lord, I trust that you will provide the answers as the meeting unfolds.

Just as he finished that thought he was summoned by the king's steward. As he was being led in Thaddeus whispered "What is the correct greeting?"

"You stop ten paces in front of him, bow at the waist, and say your name – just your name. He will let you know when to speak."

As he bowed before King Abgar Thaddeus announced, "I am Thaddeus of Judea, a servant and disciple of Jesus Christ." The steward gasped in surprise.

Abgar looked Thaddeus in the eye and studied his face. "We will talk more about this Jesus later. For now I want to know if you can heal me from this terrible pain I have suffered with all these years."

"No sire, I cannot heal you. Only the power of Jesus Christ can do that. . . ."

"Then why are you wasting my time!"

"Because I bring you a gift that is infused with that power." Thaddeus started to reach into the pouch but the steward grabbed his wrist.

"I must inspect it first, to make certain it is nothing that can harm his majesty."

Thaddeus removed the strap from his shoulder and handed the pouch over. As the steward slowly withdrew the contents his mouth fell open. The king beckoned him over and he withdrew it the rest of the way on the kings lap. Now the king's mouth was hanging open. He studied it briefly then looked up at Thaddeus. "What is this!"

"This is the image of our Lord's face."

"But how was it made? It clearly does not consist of earthly colors. This wasn't made with human hands!"

"That is because it was created by contact between the cloth and the Lord's face. It is made of sweat and blood, not paint pigments."

"But the fine detail – surely that cannot be transferred through sweat."

"Then the only explanation, your highness, is that it is a miracle, created by Christ to preserve his likeness, created by the same power He used to perform miraculous healings."

"Tell me what to do so I can also be healed?"

The words came to Thaddeus just then. "Lift it and press it to your face."

With shaking hands Abgar raised it to his face. As soon as it touched his skin a strange sensation came over him – like power flowing into his body. After a few seconds he lowered the holy object to his lap . . . and realized that his pain was gone! He raised the hem of his robe and saw that the swelling in his feet and ankles had disappeared. Instinctually he looked toward heaven. "Thank you Lord Jesus! Thank you. I will forever remember this wonderful thing you have done for me. How can I repay you?"

A thought came into his head. You cannot repay me. My healing is a gift. Now listen to Thaddeus as he tells you of an even greater gift I offer you.

He lowered his head to look at the disciple. "The Lord said that you can tell me about a great gift he has for me."

"Not just you, Abgar, but all who accept Him as their savior; who through his death removed all sin and made them righteous before God the Father."

"What is this sin you speak of?"

"To the Jews sin is anything that breaks Gods laws – the original ten commandments and other laws He gave Moses to govern the Hebrews. But it is much more than that. Sin is anything that is contrary to the law or the will of God. God's will for us is to do what is right, what is good. But when we give in to our own immoral desires, commit violence, fail to love others, we are rebelling against God's will. All of us have a corrupt heart that is inclined to do evil.

"A good explanation comes from the meaning of the Greek word for sin. It means to miss the mark, to fall short of a goal – like an archer missing the bulls eye. When we disobey God's will for us, when we do or say things that displease Him, we become unrighteous in His eyes."

Abgar thought this over and realized that he had been sinning his entire life. "But how did Christ's death on the cross take away our sin?"

"As God conveyed to Moses, the Jewish prophets, and others who compiled the scriptures they follow, the only way they can be forgiven for their sin is by the shedding of blood, an animal sacrifice. But when God allowed Jesus to die, He was the ultimate blood sacrifice for all mankind, for all time. Through his crucifixion, death, and resurrection we are all forgiven, and therefore saved from the death penalty for our sin. That's why we call Him our Savior."

"But everyone dies, including the followers of Christ."

"Ah, now you can understand the gift God has for believers. Our bodies die, but we live on in spirit. And that spirit has eternal life with God in heaven."

"So how do I become a believer?"

"I think that you already have – that is if you believe everything I just told you."

"How can I not believe? If Jesus can heal me after He is dead, He must still live, at least in spirit. And if He can live in spirit after his body was killed, then so can I."

Thaddeus smiled at the king. "You are definitely a believer now, a follower of Christ and his teaching, a Christian!"

"But I want to know more about this! Will you teach me, Thaddeus?"

"Of course I will. That is what Christians do. Jesus last words to his apostles were to 'Go out and make believers of all nations.' That is how we are to serve God."

Abgar thought some more. "That means I must introduce all the people in the kingdom to what you have told me. I will make this a Christian land. . . . What do you call this truth you teach?"

"The apostle Paul called it the Gospel – the truth."

"Then I want you to teach the Gospel to my people."

Abgar held up the golden frame. "I will build a large church here in Edessa, and people will journey many miles to see this . . . this . . . What do you call it, Thaddeus?"

"We call it The Priceless Linen."

Chapter 16 – The Edessan Church

King Abgar immediately set stone masons to work building the great structure that would be the first church in his country. While it was under construction Thaddeus taught the Gospel twice a week – once in Tobias' home to the Christian Jews and again in the great hall of the palace to the king and his household. Both groups grew quickly as more and more converts were made. Thaddeus chose the best candidates in each group and began training them to go out to the countryside, preaching the Gospel to the people.

The king had given Tobias the job of overseeing the construction, a job that he tackled with great zeal. When he saw sluggish workers he would roll up his sleeves and show them how to work more efficiently. When the stone suppliers fell behind in their deliveries he would give the work to another quarry that could keep up. Thaddeus was right there beside Tobias, offering suggestions that would speed up the work and make the finished building more magnificent. By the end of the day they were both tired to the bone, but satisfied with their accomplishments. King Abgar stopped by often to watch the progress and compliment them on their work.

With about two months left until completion Thaddeus took Tobias and Abgar aside on one of the king's visits.

"With your permission I would like to take some time for a trip I must make. As I've told you, on the way here I was attacked by thieves and nursed back to health by a Christian family in Halab. Their daughter and I became very close during that time agreed that we would marry someday. I would like to travel to her and bring her back to be my wife."

Abgar seemed upset that he would think this woman more important that finishing the church, but then remembered how he was as a young man in love. "How long will it take you?"

"It is a long way, about forty days each way on foot. Traveling with a camel caravan would shorten it to two months for the round trip."

"How long if you travel by horseback?"

"They are twice as fast as camels, so I could be back in a month. . . . But I have no horses."

Abgar smiled. "I have a stable full of strong, fast horses. I will have two of them ready for you in the morning. You can make better time if you switch between them on the trip out, then your bride can ride the second horse on the way back."

Thaddeus jumped for joy inside but tried not to let it show too much. "You are very generous, my king. You have made me very happy."

"Good. Then it's settled. We will see you in a few weeks."

Marika was watching her goats as they sought out anything green to eat. There was a good rain a couple of days ago but apparently it ran off before it could spur new growth. Thinking about that reminded her that after a rain the shady ground behind the old shepherd's hut sometimes provided new grass shoots, so she led the herd in that direction. When she got there the grass wasn't as plentiful as she expected, but there was enough to graze them for awhile.

Being at the hut brought back thoughts of when she found Thaddeus there, and the closeness of the weeks following. She was angry for weeks after he left for not healing her disfiguration. But then, after praying to the Lord to lift her anger from her, she had a moment of insight: Thaddeus had indeed healed her – he healed her heart, took away the shame and insecurity that her appearance had created in her mind. She now went about with her face uncovered for all to see. And they responded by smiling and including her in their conversations.

As she was watching the goats to make sure none of them wandered off she saw a figure in the distance, coming down the road from Halab. She continued to watch until she could make out some details. It was a man on a horse leading a second horse! Only Roman soldiers rode horses, and she knew they were to be feared. She had to hide. She rounded up the goats and moved them into the ruins of the hut where they wouldn't be seen, then drew them around her as she sat in the dark corner under the roof – the same spot where she had stumbled upon Thaddeus.

In a few minutes she heard the sound of hooves approaching and held her breath as the rider passed by and continued along the road. She felt her fear subside – until one of the goats bleated. She wrapped her fingers around its mouth to silence it, but it was too late. The hoof beats were returning.

As Thaddeus passed the old shepherd's hut he knew he was getting close to Marika's house and was feeling anxious. What if she refuses to speak with me . . . and sends me away. Or maybe she met another man and married him? . . . What should I say to her when we meet? His mind was filled with 'what ifs' to the point that he was almost afraid to see her. His thoughts were interrupted by a sound from the hut. That was a goat! Maybe one of Marika's herd that wandered off. I should check. He turned his horse and approached the ruins. He stopped behind the hut, dismounted, and dropped the reins so the two animals could graze. I don't see the goat here, it must be inside.

He walked around to the front and was surprised to see half a dozen goats huddled in the corner. He slowly approached and was startled when a figure leaped up from the floor and attached itself to him. He pulled back but it wouldn't let go. . . . Then he saw it was a girl, and she was crying – sobbing actually. It was too dark to get a good look so turned toward the light. "Marika?? . . . Marika!! It's you." She managed to control her sobs long enough to answer. "I couldn't believe it was you when you entered. . . . Oh, Thaddeus. . . . I didn't think you would come back, but I am so happy that you're here."

Thaddeus wrapped his arms around her in a proper hug. After a moment he pulled back and studied his loved one's face. Silently he drew her face to his and kissed her. Without hesitation she returned it . . . and held it. They would remember that first serious kiss for the rest of their lives.

Thaddeus led the horses as they walked hand-in-hand back to her house while the goats trailed along behind them. Her parents and brothers were elated to see him, attacking him with energetic handshakes and hugs. When the excitement died down, Thaddeus turn to Beniel. "Sir I wish to marry your daughter . . . with your blessing, of course." Beniel laughed and grabbed him in a bear hug. "You don't know how long I have been waiting to hear that question. And the answer is yes!" After another round of hugs and handshakes Esmar and Marika went to prepare some bread and cheese for the midday meal while Thaddeus told them about the miraculous work God had used him for in Edessa. He explained that he and Marika would have to hurry back so he could get there in time for the dedication of the new church and asked how quickly they could arrange for their wedding.

Esmar stopped what she was doing and beckoned to Beniel. "Come in here, husband, we need to talk." They gathered in the kitchen with their daughter for a short discussion. When they were finished Beniel came back to Thaddeus. "We are all agreed that the wedding should take place in the new Edessan church. You two can leave first thing in the morning."

The ride back to Edessa was slower than Thaddeus expected, mainly because Marika had never ridden a horse before. It didn't take her long to get used to sitting in the saddle while her horse followed Thaddeus, but trotting or galloping was out of the question. He had done quite a bit of that in his hurry to get to Marika but the return ride required a more leisurely pace, with frequent stops to rest her tender backside. On the plus side it allowed them to ride side-by-side and discuss important newlywed things, like where will they live, how many children they hope to have, what her duties as a pastor's wife would be, and how much they loved each other.

When they were still a half day's ride from Edessa they came upon a horseman camping beside the trail. As he saw them coming he stood and raised his hand for them to halt. "Are you Thaddeus and Marika?"

Thaddeus, somewhat wary because of his experience with the thieves, answered, "Who wants to know?"

"I am one of King Abgar's soldiers posted to watch for your coming."

"Then we are indeed who you are looking for."

The soldier saluted smartly. "Then I must mount up and ride to the city to inform them of your approach. The king wants to have a royal welcome in place when you arrive."

"Tell him thank you, but we need no such ceremony. We are just commoners."

"Then you haven't heard, honorable sir. While you were away the church was completed and the king appointed you Bishop of the Church of Jesus Christ in Edessa."

"Praise God that the church is finished, but I am just a teacher of God's word. I have no wish to be in charge."

"Then you will have to tell that to the king yourself. I will not risk his anger by telling him of your wishes. I must leave now and hurry to the palace."

By the time they arrived in Edessa a large cheering crowd had turned out and white flags with a golden cross in the center lined the avenue to the royal palace. Thaddeus reached over and took Marika's hand as she rode beside him. As they entered the gate seven trumpets sounded the fanfare reserved for the highest visiting officials. Thaddeus had to fight back prideful thoughts and remind himself that he was a humble servant of God. Marika looked at him in adoration – she had no idea her husband-to-be was so revered by the people of Edessa.

As Thaddeus dismounted then turned to help her down, the king himself, with Tobias close behind, rushed out to greet them.

"My dear friend, welcome back."

Thaddeus bowed his head and turned to present Marika to them. "This is my future wife, Marika." She curtsied and started to speak, then realized she didn't know what she was expected to say to the king. She finally settled on "Your highness."

The king lifted her hand and kissed it. "Welcome to Edessa, Marika."

"It's nice to finally see the beautiful city Thaddeus has told me so much about."

The king turned back to Thaddeus. "You were sorely missed while you were away, especially as the teacher of Christ we have come to lean heavily on. Aggai, the student you trained to teach in your absence, is a good preacher. But you are the only one we have who has actually spent time with the living Jesus and can provide us with a deeper understanding of His lessons and parables. Because of that I have made you Bishop of our new Christian church.

"Thank you your highness, but I don't feel worthy of the honor. I know nothing about managing a church."

"Nonsense! You will lead the flock and Tobias will administer the day-to-day affairs. Both of you will be compensated handsomely."

"I cannot accept payment for my services other than that needed for me and my wife – and our eventual children – to live on." Tobias did not echo those sentiments.

"Well then, let me have a house built on the church grounds for you."

"That I can accept so long as it is not extravagant."

"Good. I'll have a team of workmen start right away. Until then you and your bride-to-be will live in the palace."

"If I may, your highness, I would prefer to continue living with Tobias and his wife until the new house is ready. I would feel uncomfortable in the splendor of your palace. Tobias, is that acceptable?"

"I would be honored, Bishop Thaddeus."

Thaddeus gave his friend a look that said 'Forget the title – I'm just Thaddeus to you.'

He nodded his head, signifying 'Message received.'

After the king took his leave Tobias was going to take the couple to his house to meet his wife, Zenia, but Thaddeus insisted on seeing the completed church first. Tobias complained, "My wife will be upset if we're late for the evening meal, but you need to see your creation. Let's hurry."

As they entered the arched gate to the courtyard and saw the church Marika stopped to take it in. "It is so large! I had no idea the building would be this grand. The huge stone cross above the door draws the mind to Christ and His sacrifice for us. . . . And the massive doors are beautiful."

"The doors are made from cedars of Lebanon. There's more of it on the walls inside. Come, let me show you the sanctuary."

Both Marika and Thaddeus were awe-struck this time. The large room and high arched ceiling made one feel insignificant. The many rows of benches could seat a few hundred people, and the raised pulpit in front made sure they all could hear. As they approached the altar they saw The Priceless Linen. It was set into a recess in the top of the stone altar with a heavy square of glass protecting it,. Two oil lamps with reflectors directed the light downward to illuminate the image of the Lord.

"Oh, this is wonderful, Tobias. Is this the work of the craftsman who made the box?" Marika asked.

"Yes. Patros is the most gifted wood and stone worker in all of Edessa. Now come, we must get home to my wife. Zenia can't wait to meet your bride-to-be and plan the wedding."

Chapter 17 – The Wedding

After visiting the church Tobias led them to his home. Marika was amazed by it just as Thaddeus was the first time he saw it. As they approached the front door a servant opened it so Zenia could come out to greet them. Marika bowed as her mother had instructed but Zenia said, "Stop that nonsense, dear. We don't do that anymore except for the king, and I think he might be a bit embarrassed by it. Since he became a Christian he has turned into a humble man who sees himself as a servant of God like the rest of us, not as the exalted ruler of a kingdom." Having set things straight Zenia opened her arms and beckoned Marika forward for a hug.

As they stepped back Zenia studied the young woman in front of her. She's a little on the thin side, but I see some wiry muscles in her arms and legs. Not much of a bosom . . . she might have a hard time nursing babies. Except for that scar her face has a childlike beauty to it, but her hair needs a little work. She must work outside a lot with that tan . . . I wonder what work she did in her home village? And how did she get that scar?

While Zenia was surveying her, Marika was doing the same to Zenia. She's a little on the heavy side . . . plump like her husband, but almost a foot taller. Wearing a house dress rather than the fine robes I expected – I like that. In spite of her chubby face, the rosy cheeks, captivating smile, and laughing eyes create an uncommon beauty. I'm going to get along fine with her.

Tobias interrupted their thoughts. "Let's not just stand here – these two have been riding for days. They will want to bathe to get the road dust and horse smell off, then we will have a big dinner with lots of conversation. We would like to get to know you better, Marika. Thaddeus hasn't been very forthcoming with facts about you and your life."

"Probably because there's not much to tell. I'm just an ordinary country girl who spends the day watching over some goats and helping mother with the chores."

"Nonsense, girl. I see something much deeper in you. God has plans for you."

"Then I wish He would tell me what they are. Facing an unknown future in a foreign land is a bit scary."

After Zenia showed them to their rooms and explained how the shower bath at the end of the hall worked she left them standing in the hall and went to prepare supper. As soon as she was out of sight Thaddeus put his arms around Marika and held her for a few minutes. "I hadn't realized how strange and frightening this new situation would be for you my dearest."

"I'll get through it. How can I fear anything with you by my side. When your arms closed around me I felt all the bad feelings melt away."

They agreed that Marika would bathe first since it would take her longer to get ready afterwards. Zenia had seen to it that soft wool robes were available for each of them, and had laid out a dress from one of the servant girls for Marika to wear. As she walked down the hall to the shower room she felt a little self conscious since she had nothing on under the robe, and even more so when she slipped out of it and entered the bathing stall. At home she would go down to the creek at night to bathe, or sometimes stand outside in the heavy rain. But she had never seen a shower bath before. As Zenia had explained it there was a large wooden cistern on the roof and the servants carried buckets of water to keep it filled. In the summer months the sun would warm the water for an evening shower or two. In colder weather everyone took a tub bath once a week.

There was a smaller cistern alongside the large one with a hollow wood pipe leading down to the shower room. During the shower a servant stood beside the cisterns and waited for the bather to yell 'water.' Then servant would begin pouring buckets of warm water from the large cistern into the smaller one, where it would flow down the pipe to emerge from an overhead spout to fall on the bather. When the bather was finished they would yell 'stop' and the servant would stop transferring the water.

Marika wasn't sure how much water to expect so right after she shouted 'water' she held her breath. It took the water several seconds to appear. She was about to let her breath out and grab another one when a gentle stream of warm water began cascading over her body. It felt so wonderful that she stood there transfixed for a few minutes before she reached for the washing sponge – something else she had never seen. After she toweled off she put the robe back on and returned to her room, letting Thaddeus know it was his turn as she passed his room.

She sat on the bed an tried her best to dry her hair so she could comb it out to a smooth, shiny texture, but it was hopeless. The natural curl kept it tangled and knotted. I'll have to ask Zenia what she does to keep her hair smooth. She did the best she could with it, then turned her attention to putting the dress on. It was a simple design with an embroidered bodice that was pulled tight with laces up the back and a full skirt that fell to just above the ankle. She wrestled with the laces but realized it would take another person to do them right. How do I call one of the woman servants? she thought.

She stood in the doorway and tried clapping her hands twice like Tobias did, but no one responded. After trying it a second time with the same result she gave up and turned to go back into her room when a voice said "Can I be of help?" she turned back and saw Thaddeus standing in his doorway across the hall from hers. He was already dressed in a white, knee-length tunic with a short cape across his shoulders. He's so handsome, she thought. How could a man like that want to marry a peasant girl like me? She stood frozen, not knowing what to say, or if it was proper to ask a man to lace up the back of her dress. In indecision, she turned and fled back into her room. Before she could close the door he stepped in after her.

"It seems that your dress needs to be fastened. Do you mind if I do it for you?"

"N . . . No, please do."

Thaddeus stepped up behind her and began to unlace the back of the dress. She pulled away. "What are you doing that for? It needs to be tightened, not loosened."

"To lace it properly one must start at the bottom and pull it tight through one set of eyelets at a time."

She felt embarrassed for what she thought he was doing – taking her clothes off – and blushed. He pretended not to notice as he started his task. As Thaddeus pulled the last pair of eyelets together and tied the loose ends in a bow he put his arms around her waist and pulled her to him in a tender hug. He felt her shudder as she leaned back into him. He looked down at her neck and wished he could kiss the tender skin, but he knew it would not be right – not yet anyway. He reluctantly released her and drew in a breath. "I smell something delicious. Let's go down to the dining room.

As Thaddeus and Marika came down the stairs one of the servants, a young girl, took them into the dining room and seated them. A few minutes later Tobias and Zenia joined them. There was a slightly awkward silence as the two men waited for the other to say the blessing. Normally it was the host who led the prayer but Tobias had never dined with a bishop before and thought Thaddeus might do it. He finally broke the silence. "Bishop Thaddeus, would you thank the Lord for this food?"

Thaddeus complied, then said "Tobias, I asked you not to call me bishop. It seems to distance our friendship."

"I disagree. Soon everyone will call you Bishop Thaddeus to honor you as the head of the church. If I didn't use your title others would think I was dishonoring you. Get used to it . . . friend."

The discussion ended when servants set a large pot of lamb stew with lentils and barley in the middle of the table. Zenia ladled it into wooden bowls and passed them to everyone. A platter with a large round loaf of freshly baked bread was passed around so each of them could pull off a piece to dip in the stew. Finally the servant brought out a basket with grapes, figs, and dates for them, then left them alone.

Thaddeus tried to continue the previous discussion about his title but Zenia interrupted him. "It's time to talk about the wedding. Tobias tell them what you have done so far."

"Yes dear. The wedding will, of course, be held in the church. The timing has to be coordinated with the kings schedule. The first date he has available is three and a half months from now."

Thaddeus and Marika both spoke up at once, protesting the long wait. "We are eager to be wed. A wait that long is unacceptable. We will go ahead without the king." Thaddeus declared.

Tobias and his wife looked at each other, trying to suppress their laughter. "I was only jesting. . . . How does two weeks from tomorrow work for you?"

The engaged couple let out a joint sigh of relief. Marika answered with her own witticism. "How about tomorrow?"

Tobias didn't realize she was just turning the tables on him and became flustered. "No, no, no. We couldn't begin to complete all the arrangement by then. And the guests need to be notified. King Abgar is inviting the governors from the surrounding territories. And we don't even know if he could be here tomorrow."

Zenia put a hand on his arm to stop him. "She's only joking, dear. Continue with the wedding information."

"Oh . . . I thought. . . . Let's see where was I? . . . Oh yes, the wedding date. It will be on Sunday after church services are over. Aggai will lead the service and perform the wedding ceremony, subject to your approval Bishop."

Thaddeus nodded and Tobias continued. "The wedding feast will be held at King Abgar's palace – out in the rose garden if the weather cooperates. We wanted to have it here at our house but the king overruled us. However he did say we could have the nightly feasts and celebrations on the five nights following the wedding here. . . . And that's what I have arranged so far, but I must be leaving something out."

Zenia spoke up. "There are many more things to get settled, like the wedding dress, flowers, who will sit where in the church, and what to serve at the feasts. But those are things Marika and I can handle. Come dear, let's start making some lists."

On the morning of the wedding Marika was befuddled. There were so many customs and rituals she knew nothing about and she was certain she wouldn't do everything correctly. If she committed a social blunder in front of the king and queen they would laugh at her – maybe not to her face but surely behind her back. I'm just not a lady. I don't fit in anywhere except among my goats. Back there I wasn't troubled about saying the correct thing, curtsying, or proper table manners. I'm certain I can learn to be a lady with time and practice, but why does this wedding have to be so complicated. What I really want right now is to have Thaddeus' arms wrapped around me, calming my fears. But Zenia said that the bride and groom must not see each other before the wedding. She didn't know why, it was just some silly superstition. And because of that I can't even go to the church service this morning. . . . I just want this to be over so I can be at my husband's side.

Zenia broke into to her thought as she entered the room. "It's time for you to start getting ready, dear. The water for your shower is warm and fresh towels have been laid out. When you have finished bathing come back to your room. We have one more thing to talk about."

"Not some more rules for me to follow I hope."

"No, this is woman talk."

Three hours later Marika and Zenia were in the royal carriage on their way to the church. The embroidered wedding dress that Zenia had sewn for the bride was lovely, but for now it was hidden by a large cape. They were let out at the back of the church and went into an antechamber where they would wait for the ceremony to begin. After few minutes they heard shouts of "Long live the king" coming from in front of the church and knew the king and queen had arrived. It wouldn't be long now. Soon a young girl came in and announced it was time for the bride to appear.

Like the medieval churches to follow, the floor plan of the building formed a cross, with the long end, or nave, filled with benches for the congregation. At the opposite end was the altar with The Priceless Linen embedded under glass and the raised pulpit. The two side arms of the cross, called the transepts, are where bride and groom would enter and meet under a white canopy in front of the altar. The church official conducting the ceremony – Aggai in this case – rose from his chair in front of the altar and approached the bride and groom.

When he was in place he raised his hands to the ceiling and began a long prayer for their health, happiness, and lots of children. When he finished praying he reached out and joined their hands together as the said their vows, then he announced that the two had now become one. Then, in a custom as old as marriage itself, Thaddeus raised the veil to uncover his bride's face and they shared their first 'official' kiss. The wedding ended with the two of them walking up the center aisle and out the front door to the waiting carriage.

On the short trip to Tobias' place Thaddeus put his arm around Marika's shoulders and pulled her to him. She snuggled her head into his neck with a smile and whispered "This feels so good, my darling. I'm looking forward to the rest of the afternoon."

"Me too, my beautiful bride. . . . Me too."

Many of the early Christian church customs and practices were based on the Jewish traditions. For a newly wedded couple this meant consummating the marriage in a specially prepared room before showing up for the evening feast. Zenia had decorated a spare bedroom just for this purpose, with flowers, her finest embroidered sheets on the bed, and a bottle of wine. When they arrived at the house a servant ushered them up to the special room and closed the door as he left.

Marika woke up the next morning and stretched. This is the first time I have felt true joy, she thought. She pulled a sheet around her and sat cross-legged at the end of the bed, looking at Thaddeus as her love for him poured from her heart. Thank you Lord for bring us together in marriage. If I asked you for nothing else for the rest of my life, this would be sufficient.

She reached under the covers and tickled Thaddeus' foot, trying to wake him up. He wiggled his toes, but didn't seem to wake up. She tried it again on the other foot, again with no results. She reached her other hand under the covers and tickled both at the same time. Thaddeus didn't open is eyes, but declared "There must be a mouse under the covers nibbling at my feet."

Marika laughed and pounced on top of him. "I want my morning kiss." Thaddeus complied and reached out from under the covers to take her in his arms. They lay there quietly, simple enjoying the closeness. Finally Marika spoke up. "Oh Thaddeus, what a wonderful night. I feel like I am part of you now. . . . But I have a question."

"Okay, what is it?"

"Now that we're married can I call you Thad?"

"Okay, Thad it is."

Chapter 18 – The Secret

Not quite a year later Marika was in bed smiling again. She was sitting up, with Thaddeus in a chair beside her . . . and their first son nursing at her breast. He wasn't yet an hour old but he took her milk hungrily. Thaddeus looked on with admiration at the miracle that he and his wife had created. . . . No, the miracle that God had created. He took Marika's free hand and kissed it, then said "Let's thank God for His gift.

"Dear Lord God in heaven, we thank you for this child you have given us. We ask that you keep him healthy so he can grow up to be a child of God and a disciple of Christ. Please send your Holy Spirit to hover over him and protect him until he is old enough to accept Christ as his savior and put his future in Jesus' hands. We pray that you will use him to carry your plan of redemption and salvation to many others throughout the country, saving them from a fate of eternal suffering. We rejoice and exalt you for Your great plan to rescue all who will believe from payment for their sin.. Amen."

Marika squeezed his hand and said "Thank you, Thad for that wonderful prayer. I'm confident that God will do what you have asked. . . . Now, what shall we name this child of God?"

"I thought we might name him after Paul the apostle. . . . Although he would have very large shoes to fill with a name like that."

"Among my people, if the father is a great man, it is customary to name the firstborn son after his father – with the father's name followed by 'son.' . . . So with your permission I would like to name him Thadson."

Thaddeus laughed. "Thadson sounds like a name with a great future serving God."

Fourteen years later Bishop Thaddeus had establish Christianity throughout Abgar V's kingdom of Osroene. Towns and villages with populations of a thousand or more had a Christian church in their communities, with congregations exceeding 50% of the residents. They not only had regular church services, but men's and women's Bible study groups as well. Marika created the women's Bible study ministry shortly after Thadson was born. She showed them where the ancient writers of Jewish religious history foretold the coming, teaching, and crucifixion of the Son of God. She often thanked God for giving her a way to serve him and for blessing her family, which now consisted of two boys and a girl, all who had accepted Christ's salvation in their early teens. She spent time teaching them the Gospel and training them to lead classes of their own someday.

Bishop Aggai was not only Thad's second in command but he was also the Royal Priest to King Abgar. This made him one of the king's closest advisors with access to the latest court intrigues and power struggles. Tonight he had come to Thaddeus and Marika's home to tell them about the latest issue – which of Abgar's two sons, Ukhama or Mannos, would succeed the ailing king when he died.

Ukhama was the eldest so normally the crown would be passed to him, but the general opinion at the palace was that he didn't have the qualities required of a king. But as long as he lived Mannos could not ascend to the throne.

"I fear for the country if Ukhama tries to rule, Thad. He is slow-witted and indecisive. If the Syrians should attack our country he is not the leader we want. Mannos, on the other hand, could easily turn them back."

"Do you think Ukhama would defer to Mannos when the time comes?"

"Never. He may be slow-witted but his jealousy toward his more capable brother would not permit that."

Thad thought this over for several minutes. "We must not allow Mannos to become king. He has openly stated that he wants to ban Christianity and bring back the pagan gods, Nebo and Bel."

"But with Ukhama ruling our fate could be even worse. If the Syrians take over they will bring their own pagan gods."

"I think we have to trust God on this, Aggai. He will show Ukhama how to protect our borders."

A few months after his conversation with Aggai Thad developed a persistent cough. He ignored it and continued to work long hours in service to the church. But eventually his strength left him and he reluctantly handed over his leadership position to Aggai, reminding him that his allegiance was to God and not the king.

Within weeks Thad was on his death bed with Marika at his side. He beckoned her close and spoke in his feeble voice "I must speak with Thadson before the Lord takes me. Go to the church and bring him here . . . quickly."

When she and Thadson returned thirty minutes later Thad's breaths were coming in spasmodic gasps. His son rushed to his side. "I'm here, father." Thad motioned for him to lean close so he could hear the last words he would speak.

"No matter what happens . . . when Abgar dies . . . you must protect The Priceless Linen. . . . Do not let it fall into pagan hands. . . . Swear to me you will do this . . . even if it costs you your life."

"I swear, father. I know that this is an assignment from Christ himself, spoken to me through your lips. I will not let my savior down."

Thad reached out for Marika's hand. "Take care of your mother, my son." With that the Bishop of Edessa let out his last breath and died – with a smile on his lips.

Two years later, in 50 A.D., King Abgar V passed away. Despite maneuvering by Mannos the council crowned his older brother king and Aggai's prediction came true – the country descended into chaos. By 57 A.D. the king of Syria gathered his forces at the border, demanding that King Ukhama surrender the country or he would take it by force.

Aggai watched as the king paced back and forth in his chamber wringing his hands in despair. "All is hopeless." he declared. "I must surrender. . . . But their king is sure to have me killed if I give up. . . . I don't want to die."

Aggai clapped his hands and a servant appeared with a golden goblet on a silver tray. Aggai took it from him and turned to the king. "Your highness, I have prepared a drink to help you sleep; to soothe your fears. Here drink it and go to bed. I'll post a guard at the door to keep you from being disturbed until morning. Things will look brighter then, and you can make a wise decision on this matter."

The king did as Aggai asked and was soon asleep. Aggai went to inform Mannos that the deed had been done. When a servant entered the room the next morning to waken Ukhama he found him dead and ran to report it to the council. Within hours the younger brother had become Mannos VI, King of Osroene. His first act was to send a message to the Syrian king offering him a portion of land in the western part of the country that was rich with gold and copper deposits. Ten days later the two kings met at the border and concluded the agreement.

Within six months of gaining control Mannos issued a decree forbidding Christian worship. He sent a team of his best soldiers to plunder the churches and destroy all Christian symbols within. He ordered Aggai to restore worship of the old gods and convert the churches into pagan temples. He set craftsman to work erecting monuments to Nebo, Bel, and a dozen other pagan gods all across the land. His most magnificent work was a new monument over the city's main gate – a huge arched entryway covered with carvings of the false gods he demanded his people worship.

One day he took Aggai out to the construction site to show it off.

"Look at that, Aggai! Isn't it a splendid tribute to the gods our people have worshipped for thousands of years. The gods who have protected us and made us rich."

"It is truly a master work that also proclaims your own greatness. Our descendents for hundreds of years to come will see it and honor you. Is it nearly complete?"

"The foreman says that the last stones at the top of the arch will be put in place within the week."

The original church that Thaddeus built in Edessa had not yet been desolated by the kings men. Mannos wanted to save that for last. Thadson had placed a spy within the demolition team to keep him informed of where they would strike next so the most precious artifacts could be removed and hidden. Yesterday he got word that the Edessa cathedral would be attacked by the end of the week. He sent for two trusted Christian men and explained his plan for saving The Precious Linen.

"We will sneak into the church tonight, after Aggai and his pagan priests had gone to sleep. Patrus, bring whatever stone-working tools you will need to chisel around the glass cover and remove the wooden box that Holy Cloth is kept in."

"But I might damage it if the chisel slips, My hands are weakened by age."

"You're a skilled stone mason. I have confidence in you. The Holy Spirit within you will steady your hands."

Thadson turned to the other man he had enlisted to help him. "Hano, I will need for you to stay by the front door to warn us if you see someone coming. The kings men could be here at any moment."

Thadson held up a weathered leather pouch. "This is the leather bag that has carried the linen from the beginning. I will put the linen in its frame into the pouch, then we will part ways."

"Where will you hide it, Thadson?"

"It's best if only I know that, Hano. The more people who know the greater the chance that Aggai will find out. He will stop at nothing to destroy the last great symbol of Christianity."

"But what if they catch you? He will have you tortured until you tell where it is."

"I made a pledge to my father before he died that I would give my life to protect The Priceless Linen and I'll do just that."

Shortly after midnight they had executed the plan successfully and Thadson was making his way through the shadows to the hiding place. When he got there he was relieved to see that the workmen had left a ladder leaning against the huge structure. He climbed the ladder and crawled into a chamber above the center of the kings new gate. In the next couple of days the alcove would be sealed for good. He laid the leather pouch on the floor and covered it with some loose rubble. Then he crept back down the ladder and went back to his wife and family in their home near the church.

He was awakened the next morning by the sound of men shouting and things breaking. It must be the destruction team, he thought. I have to get my family to safety. When they see that the linen is missing they will come after me. He quickly woke them all and led them out the back entrance into the surrounding forest. He had anticipated this situation and arranged with a Christian in a nearby village to take his family in. After he sent them on their way he returned to their house to retrieve some personal items – clothes, his fathers ecclesiastical ring, some gold coins, and a knife in case he needed it to defend himself. He would trust the Lord to let him know when to use it.

As he left the house he was spotted by one of Aggai's priests, who shouted to some nearby kings men, "There's Thadson! He's getting away!" He knew he would not be able to get to the woods before they cut him off so he stood with his back to a wall and drew his knife. When the soldiers reached him he expected to be killed but the leader said "The king wants him alive. Grab him. When the first soldier stepped forward Thadson asked in his mind now Lord?

The Lord answered when the leader knock it from his hand with a sword. Thad put his hands up and offered no resistance to being captured. Two of them pulled his arms behind him and bound them with rope. "Where should we take him?" one of them asked. "To Aggai," the leader answered.

Thadson regained consciousness for the fourth time. He welcomed the blackouts because it gave him relief from the pain of the torture. While he was unconscious he thought he heard God's voice saying "It will be over soon, my son, and you will here in heaven with Christ." When he regained conscious he felt comforted by those words. He steeled himself for another round vicious attacks but none came. Instead, Aggai was standing in front of him.

"I will ask you one more time, son of Thaddeus. What have you done with the image of Jesus?"

He answered, "No one will ever know where I have hidden it."

Aggai nodded to the executioner, and as he raised his sword, Thadson realized his mistake. No one will ever know where it is hidden. The secret will die with me. . . . The future of The Priceless Linen is in God's hands now.

SECOND EPOCH – THE MIDDLE AGES (525 A.D. – 1204 A.D.)
Chapter 19 – The Search

525 A.D. - Edessa, Syria

The two boys were out of breath, having just climbed up Daisan Canyon to the top of North Peak, one of two mountains just west of Edessa. The canyon that cut between the two 3,000-foot volcanic mountains and was the source of the Daisan River that ran through the center of the city and on south to the Euphrates River. Variations in the rain and melted snow from the peaks changed the river from a trickle to a turbulent torrent that sometimes overflowed the banks and flooded the city.

The teenagers had come to the mountain to hunt for wild goats. The larger ones had enough meat to feed a family for a week, but it was hard to get close enough to them to hit them with rocks from their slings, and they were too heavy for the boys to carry back down the mountain. The plan for this hunting trip was to kill two medium-sized animals so each could carry one back home.

Ramon, the older of the two, turned to the other. "How many goats have you killed, Eshu?"

Eshu didn't answer at first, then said something in a very soft voice as he looked down at the ground.

"What was that? I didn't hear you."

"I said none. I have never been hunting before."

"You mean that your father has never taken you hunting?"

"No, he is too busy with his research."

"Research about what?"

Eshu's father, Elias Ben-Thadson, was a professor at the prestigious Theological Academy of Edessa. After years of reign by anti-Christian kings Edessa had finally emerged as one of the leading centers of Christianity in the middle east. The Academy drew scholars from Europe, Syria, Arabia, and Egypt to study Christian doctrine and history.

"He's chasing some old legend about a cloth with the image of Jesus on it. He believes it is real and may still exist somewhere, but none of the other professors believe that. They think he is a fool for wasting his time . . . but he won't give up. Mother says as long as he is obsessed with that line of research he will never get a promotion. That doesn't bother him, but mother has a hard time keeping the family fed and clothed on what he makes now. That's why I wanted to go hunting with you – so I can put some food on the table."

"Well, in that case I'd better teach you how to use that sling before we find some goats. Let's go over to that clearing and practice."

Thirty minutes later Eshu was able to hit a tree trunk at fifty paces. "You're a natural at this, Eshu. I've never seen anyone learn so fast or be as accurate. Now let's go find some goats to kill."

Elias was pouring over another set of ancient papers, looking for clues. Yesterday he found a reference to something called a priceless linen, but that could mean anything. The basement library at the academy held thousands of documents regarding the Christian history of the country, but none go as far back as when the missionary Thaddeus first appeared. When the pagan son of King Abgar V came to power he had all the Christian documents destroyed. There were plenty of records dating from the beginning of the second century and later, but he needed something older.

As he sat there reflecting on what he had learned that day, a new thought occurred to him. There were still Christians around after the purge by Mannos VI – they just started worshipping in secret. Maybe they hid some papers. . . . Wouldn't it be marvelous if I could find something like that! . . . But where to look? I don't even know where to start.

He went back to his reading but kept going back to his earlier thought. He closed the book, folded his hands together, and said a prayer of supplication, asking God for some guidance on the issue. As he always did, he sat there silently afterward, giving the Lord a chance to speak by creating new thoughts. Ten minutes later one word came to mind – catacombs. That's it! They met in the catacombs, so that's the most logical place to look. I'll go to the old part of the city and go down to the underground burial caves. I'll take Eshu with me so we can search twice as fast. Thank you Holy Spirit for leading me to the answer.

When Elias got home that evening his wife, Noura, could tell he was excited about something. She made him a cup of tea and set it on the low table in front of his chair. She waited for him to open the conversation but he was lost in thought. She cleared her throat to get his attention. He looked up and said, "I apologize my dear for not speaking to you. It's just that I am so wrapped up in this new idea I can't think of anything else. Sit down and I'll explain what God told me this afternoon."

She picked up her own cup of tea as she sat. "Alright, I'm listening."

He took her through the chain of reasoning he followed earlier, then told her about the catacomb idea that God gave him. "Tomorrow morning I will take Eshu with me, take some oil lamps, and go down into the tombs. There is no map to follow. I will sketch one as we go so we can search methodically. It may take us weeks, but I'm convinced the Lord will point the way."

"I don't want you going down there. What if you get lost and I never see you again? . . . I forbid it!"

"Nonsense. I have a great sense of direction so I can't get lost. I have decided. End of discussion!"

After a pause she looked up and said, "Yes dear. I will have some bread, cheese, and water ready for you to take."

"Now where is Eshu? I was to tell him my plans."

"He and Ramon went up in the mountains this morning. They haven't returned yet."

"It's getting dark. If he's not home soon I'll have to go looking for him."

As if on cue Eshu came in the back door. "Mom, dad! I killed a goat! We'll have some meat to eat." With that he shrugged the carcass off his shoulder onto the table.

"Oh no, Eshu! Not on the dinner table! Go get a bucket of water so I can clean this up. . . . And clean your self up while you are at the well. You smell like a goat."

He put the animal back on his shoulder. "I have to go over to Ramon's first. He's going to show me how to butcher it."

The next morning Elias was up early, rousing Eshu to action– no easy task with a teenager. "Come on son. I want to get into those caves as soon as possible."

"But dad, I don't want to go down there with all those dead bodies. . . . I'm afraid."

"They can't hurt you. They're just a bunch of bones."

"What about their evil spirits?"

"They were Christians, Eshu. There are only good spirits down there. Now get dressed."

As they stood at the entrance to the catacombs Elias took Eshu's hands, looked up, and asked for God's protection. Eshu had rounded up two oil lamps from his friends so he took the flint and steel from his belt pouch and lit them before they descended into the darkness. The light, initially at least, didn't seem adequate, but as their eyes adapted to the darkness the glow seemed to fill the tunnel. The floor sloped downward for the first couple hundred feet, then leveled out. That's when Eshu saw his first skeleton. He would have turned and run back out except his father was holding his wrist – tightly. Sensing his son's unease he stopped. "These bones are dead, just like the people they came from. Their spirits have all gone to be with God in heaven. There is nothing to fear."

Eshu relaxed a little and his father continued on. The catacombs, carved out of the soft rock, went on for thousands of feet, with frequent turns and side passages along the way. Elias was drawing a map with charcoal on a piece of dried out goat skin, but everything was much more complicated than he expected. After passing hundreds of recesses cut into the walls, each containing an individual's or a family's remains, the passage opened up into a large room. The walls were lined with more carved alcoves, while the floor held cobweb-covered benches lined up facing a raised dais in front.

"This is where the Christians met for their secret worship services during the time when their religion was outlawed."

Eshu looked around. "The group must have been pretty big based on the number of benches. There's room for at least 100 here."

"The number of Edessan Christians who remained true to their faith back then was much larger than that. There must have been several services a week to accommodate them all. But enough history. I want to see what is in those niches behind the podium."

They held their lamps up high as they ascended the seven steps and approached the back wall. Eshu pulled a green glass bottle from a shelf. He studied it and realized it held some thick liquid. "What is this?"

"It's olive oil used for anointing. It hasn't dried out so the cork stopper must have sealed it well."

Elias set his lamp in the podium and reached into the first opening. He pulled out several scrolls and took them over to the podium to see what they contained. As he unrolled the first one he saw that it was a copy of one of Peter's letters to the believers living in foreign lands. Back then there was no New Testament so when one of the Apostles wrote a letter to a specific church it was copied and passed it on to another.

"What is it father?"

"It's a letter the Apostle Peter wrote that is now part of our New Testament scriptures."

As they went through other cubbyholes they found four more letters from apostles. These were from the time period Elias was interested in but they weren't the documents he was looking for. Finally, after hours of searching he found a letter written by the first bishop in the Edessan church, Thaddeus. He was excited as he began reading it. It appeared to be a biography, perhaps written by Thaddeus or a scribe, relating the story of how Thaddeus came to Edessa from Jerusalem. When he got to the part where he cured King Abgar Thaddeus said it was The Priceless Linen that healed him. . . . "The Priceless Linen! This is the second time I have seen those words. Could it be the Image of Edessa? The cloth bearing a likeness of our Lord? "

"What did you say father?"

"I think I found what I've been looking for, Eshu. A mention of the holy image of Christ written a few years after he was crucified. An image 'not made with human hands.' It was embedded in the altar of the first church in the city. . . . But where did it go from there? It might have been destroyed by Abgar's anti-Christian successor, in which case I have been wasting my time. But I feel I'm being led by God to uncover it. We must keep going through these papers."

An hour later he rolled the last scroll back up and replaced it in its hiding place. It was well after sunset but Elias didn't know that. He lost track of time as they searched. What he did know was that one of the oil lamps had just flickered out and the other would soon follow. "Hurry. We must get out of here while there is still oil left in your lamp."

As they hurried along with the lamp held high Eshu saw some glowing red beads at the edge of the light pool. He pointed. "What are those, father?"

"Those are the eyes of rats reflecting the light. They won't come closer as long as the light is shining."

A couple hundred steps later the second lamp went out, leaving them in pitch darkness. Elias moved to one side until he felt a wall. "Over here. Come grab my hand, Eshu." When he had a grip on Eshu he pulled him to the wall and they slid down until they were sitting on the floor.

"W . . . What are we going to do, Father?"

"I don't know. We're stuck down here and no one will know how to reach us through the maze of catacombs. God is the only one who can help us now."

They both thought for a few minutes before Elias felt something bite his ankle. "The rats! Stand up. We have to keep moving. They will smell the blood from my ankle and attack."

"Which way?"

"Any way. Just keep ahead of the rats." Elias felt another bite near where the first wound was.

An idea flashed through Eshu's head. "What about the anointing oil? Will that work in our lamps?"

"Of course. You are brilliant, my son."

Elias grabbed Eshu's wrist and felt his way along the wall back towards the meeting room. He knew he had reached it when their footsteps produced echoes. He moved toward what he thought was the front of the room, until he banged his shin on some benches and straightened out his course.

When they reached the stage, Eshu groped his way to the oil bottle by memory. "Where are the lamps?"

Elias felt around the podium for the lamp they left behind, but his heart sunk when he heard the clay oil pot fall and break on the floor..

"What was that?"

"I think I just ruined our only chance to escape. I broke the oil lamp."

With his quick thinking Eshu immediately came up with a solution. "Grab one of the scrolls."

Elias reached into a lower alcove, one that had nothing of historical importance in it, pulled out a scroll, and handed it to Eshu, who broke the knob off one end and poured the oil over the parchment. After a few strikes of the flint and steel they had a blazing torch. Elias raised his hands toward heaven and said "Thank you for answering our prayer, Lord God." Eshu grabbed the bottle of oil and they headed back the way they had come.

It was almost morning by the time Eshu and his father, exhausted by the ordeal, returned to their home. Eshu went straight to bed, but Elias was too excited to sleep. After explaining their adventure to his wife, Elias went to his desk to compose a list of things he needed to do to follow up on what he had found. Now they will stop making fun of me at the Academy, he thought. I have proof that the Image of Edessa existed in the first century. All I have to do is find it, and I will reach my lifelong dream. He spent the next few hours planning his research. Now that he knew that it was also called The Priceless Linen he would revisit his past work looking for clues.

As he continued making his list of future activities he absent-mindedly reached down to scratch an itch on his ankle. It continued to itch and, after a few more scratches, he gave up trying to relieve the annoyance. His sleepless night finally caught up with him by late-afternoon so he laid aside his pen and went to bed.

He was awakened at sunrise by a throbbing pain in his lower leg. It was still too dark to see it clearly. He tried to go back to sleep but he couldn't find a comfortable position that would ease the pain. It seemed to be growing worse quickly. Finally, when there was enough sunlight coming in the window, he pushed back the covers and looked at it.

"Sweet Mother of Jesus!" he exclaimed. "It's swollen up bigger than my thigh!"

The noise woke up his wife sleeping beside him and she turned over to see what had upset him so. "Elias, that looks awful!" she said as she moved to the foot of the bed to inspect it more closely. "What's are these bloody spots on your ankle?"

"I don't know. I must have scraped it on something in the catacombs. . . . No, wait. I remember. Our lamps burned out and the rats started coming after us. Two of them bit me before we could get away."

Her head snapped up to look at him, wide eyed. "A rat bite! This is really serious, Elias. You should have cleaned it as soon as you got home. Now the pestilence from the rat's mouth has entered your leg. We have to get some hot water and bandages on it. . . .Eshu, get in here! Hurry up."

As Eshu came around the corner to his parent's bedroom he saw the swollen, red-streaked leg. "It was the evil spirits from the tombs that did this. I told you something bad would happen if we went down there. The dead don't like to be disturbed."

His mother said "That's nonsense Eshu. It's the rat bites that are filling his leg with poison. Now go build a fire and heat a pot of water . . . and bring me some clean cloths."

Eshu paused to raise his tunic and check his own legs for signs of evil spirits, then scrambled out of the room.

By evening the swelling and the pain had engulfed his entire leg, in spite of his wife's ministrations. His forehead was hot with fever and he no longer was speaking coherently. His wife and son were on their knees beside the bed praying continuously for God to heal Elias, but in the middle of the night they heard the death rattle from his lungs.

Chapter 20 – The Discovery

544 A.D. – Edessa

Eshu and Ramon were once again up in the mountains hunting, but this time they were tracking something much larger than the goats they went after in their youth – an anatolian red stag. It was much larger than the local wild goats and ibex, weighing up to six hundred pounds, standing six feet at the shoulder, with an antler spread of over five feet. The two men, now in their mid-thirties, owned a meat shop in the city that provided wild game to the wealthier Edessians. The tasty meat from the stag would bring in at least 300 denarii; about 300 days wages for a workman.

The two men both rode horses and brought a pair of pack mules to carry back their kill. Both had become skilled butchers, and they had developed a method of smoking meats that didn't affect the flavor much. They had both become respected businessmen in the city, not quite in the upper crust, but close. Ramon had married young and produced five healthy children. Because Eshu's mother had died of a broken heart not long after Elias passed away, he had chosen not to marry. The sadness of losing both parents so close together made him realize that he must do all he could to avoid such pain.

As they crested a ridge Ramon spotted two stags in the valley below, fighting over a female deer. He kicked the sides of his horse. "Come on Eshu. They will be distracted by their battle and won't see us coming." They both rode down the slope at full gallop, notching arrows in their bows as they went. The female fled when she saw them approach but the males continued to clash antlers until one of them staggered sideways with an arrow in it's side. As it turned to run Ramon put another arrow through the second stag's heart. That one jumped and followed the first into the woods but fell after a few steps. They could hear the first deer crashing through the underbrush, which meant they would have to track it down.

Eshu led his horse along the blood trail left by the fleeing animal until he found it collapsed on the ground. After cutting its throat he tied a rope loop around the antlers and dragged it back to where Ramon was already stringing up his kill on a tree branch. After cutting off large chunks of meat they loaded the choicest cuts, the backstrap and the ribs, on one mule and the tougher, dryer meat on the second pack animal. Ramon would take lead the first load back to town at a gallop so it would be as fresh as possible when customers heard of their success and flocked to their shop to get some before it was all gone. Eshu would lead the other mule, more heavily laden than the first, back to town at a slower pace. These parts would be smoked so freshness wasn't much of an issue.

On the ride down the mountain Eshu's thoughts turned, as they often did, to the tragic death of his father. Immediately after Elias' death Eshu had disconnected himself from God because he was angry at Him. Now, almost twenty years later, he was still angry. He thought through his position again. How could a God that loves us, and His Son in heaven with Him, allow such a man as my father to die? He was pursuing what he thought was his mission from God – to find the holy image of Christ for all to see. . . . I suppose it wasn't entirely his Godly mission, he was also seeking fame, and respect from his fellow professors. Maybe that's why God let him die.

But I think God would want to reveal the Image of Edessa, The Priceless Linen, to lead more people to belief. Why wouldn't He? . . . Just then a passage from Isaiah flashed into his mind:

" _For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,"_ **  
declares the Lord."**

Maybe that's it. Maybe God has other plans for revealing the relic. . . . Knowing that doesn't soften my anger though.

He rode on, still thinking about why he had so much trouble believing in God and Christ just because his father died. Why should I be mad? God didn't send the rats. And if Elias had cleaned the wound immediately it probably wouldn't have infected his body. How can that be God's fault. . . . but why pray if God won't answer it? Mother and I prayed half the night for father's healing, but God ignored us. How can I believe in a God like that?

Then another scripture verse came to him, this one from Mark:

Jesus said to him, "If you can believe, all things are possible to him who believes." Immediately the father of the child cried out and said with tears, "Lord, I believe; help my unbelief!"

Maybe I need to think like that. . . . Lord, help me in my unbelief.

Eshu continued on down the mountain and into Daisan canyon. He was so deep in thought he didn't notice when the light rain started to fall. But shortly after that he was startled by a blinding flash of lighting, followed immediately by ear-splitting thunder. He looked up the canyon and saw roiling black clouds sliding off the mountain and into the upper canyon. He kicked his horse into a gallop, hoping to clear the end of the canyon before the flash flood reached him. But he didn't quite make it. He heard the roar of the wall of water just before it hit and knocked him off his horse. He tried to hold onto the rope from the pack mule but it was ripped from his hand as the current pulled him under.

Eshu regained consciousness slowly. At first he thought he was having a nightmare about being dragged underwater by a flood but as his rational thinking returned he realized it was true. He sat up and looked around, wondering where he was and what the time of day was. The rain was just a drizzle now, but the memory of being chased by a wall of water came back. He wondered if the horse and mule made it out. He stood to get his bearings but the rain obscured everything beyond a stone's throw. He knew he was on a hillside so he turned and walked up the slope. What emerged out of the rain curtain was the cathedral, the Christian Church of Edessa. It had been reconstructed twice since Thaddeus first built it, and each time it was grander than before. Now it resembled a smaller version of the great cathedrals of France and Italy.

Although he was dripping wet Eshu opened the door and entered. The first thing he saw was the life-sized figure of Jesus on the cross hanging on the wall behind the altar. He walked to the front and dropped on his knees before it.

"Oh Lord, forgive my unbelief. Forgive me for rejecting you and your love for me. Now you have opened my eyes and filled me with your light. I am yours now and forever. . . . And I praise you for bringing me through the flood, alive and reborn. Show me how I can serve you today and every day, my king and creator.

Eshu knelt in silence for several minutes, then rose and walked back out the door, and was shocked by what he saw. Dozens of people were trudging up the hill to the church. Some were limping, others who were too injured to walk were carried by friends and loved ones. Eshu ran down to meet them. "What happened? How did these people get hurt?"

"We are from the lower part of the city. When the flood came it destroyed our homes, our businesses, everything. As we fled up the hill we saw that the buildings up here were still standing, so we continued to the highest point, the church."

"Then you must come inside and get out of the rain. Hurry. Lay the injured on the benches and bandage their wounds." He chose a few young men and instructed them "Go to the nearby houses and ask for blankets, coats; anything that will keep them warm."

Just then the chief bishop, Andrew, came in through a side door and strode up to Eshu, the one who clearly had assumed command. "What do you think you are doing! Get these wet, muddy wretches out of my church!" Eshu gave him a hard look. "This isn't your church, it's a house of God – God and Christ – who are always compassionate to those in need. Show some compassion yourself and tend to these people."

"I'm sorry. You are right. Forgive me. We must do what Jesus would do."

"Don't apologize to me, apologize to God . . . and ask for His forgiveness."

Eshu's mind went to the next important thing on the list he was composing in his head – food. They have no home to return to so they will be here a few days at least. Where can we get food? Someone laid a hand on his shoulder. "Eshu? I thought you surely would be lost, my friend."

"Ramon! So you made it back safely."

"What are you doing here?"

"Helping these people."

"No, I mean here in the church. I thought God was the last one you would turn to."

"He saved me and removed my anger toward him. I am now His . . . and He has given me work to do here."

"What can I do?"

"We need food. Find as many large pots as you can and bring them up to the church kitchen. Then return to our store and bring all the meat that's there."

"Even the choice cuts from the two deer we shot today?"

"Yes, all of it. And on the way talk to vegetable sellers and have them bring whatever they have. We're going to make a huge batch of stew. When you get back take charge of preparing it."

"I'm on my way."

Eshu then joined the bishop in going from person to person with prayers and encouraging words. When he had spoken to everyone he walked around to see if he had missed anyone. That's when he saw a young woman huddled in the corner, crying softly. He went to her and touched her shoulder. As she looked up her shawl slid off her head to reveal beautiful blonde hair. That stunned him for a moment because very few women around Edessa were crowned with such beauty. Then he looked into her eyes – her deep blue eyes, the color of the lapis lazuli stones from eastern Syria – and was transfixed. They were astonishing, even filled with tears as they were now.

"It's my arm. . . . It hurts terribly." She held up a badly misshapen arm that had already started to swell. Eshu had learned a lot about anatomy from butchering animals, so he reached out to hold it gently. After a brief examination he looked up to her face and said, "I'm afraid it is broken miss . . . miss?"

She answered through clenched teeth, "Elisha, I'm Elisha. Can't you do something for the pain?"

"Yes, I can. I can also set it straight for you. But the pain will be unbearable. . . . I'll be right back."

Eshu went into the sacristy and returned with two bottles of sacramental wine, a gold cup, four long thick candles, and several large napkins. "You will have to drink both of these bottles of wine, as quickly as you can. You must pass out from intoxication so you won't feel the pain." He poured the first cupful and handed it to her. She reluctantly held it to her lips and drank.

Several minutes later, after mumbling something Eshu couldn't make out, her head slumped to her chest. He called a young man over to hold her arm as he felt for the location of the fracture. Good, there's no splintering – a clean break. Lord, be with me on this. Give me the skill to restore Elisha's arm. He motioned for his helper to pull on the wrist while he held the elbow and repositioned the broken bones. When it was realigned he slowly released his hold and felt the bone settle in to position. He placed the candle sticks around the bone and the young man wrapped and tied the napkins around it tightly to make a splint. The last napkin was fashioned into a sling to support her. Eshu shifted her position so she was propped up in the corner.

The young man looked at him with a grin. "She's going to curse you for the hangover when she wakes up."

"No, she is going to beg you for more wine for the pain. Look after her, will you? I'll ask the Bishop Andrew to keep you supplied with wine. The pain should be tolerable in a day or so."

Two months later, when the renovation of the waterfront structures was well under way, Eshu took Ramon with him to inspect the damage to the huge arched gate into the city. Some of the foundation had been washed away making the arch lean heavily to one side. That in turn broke up mortar joints, causing many of the ancient bricks to fall.

"Should we save these bricks for rebuilding, Eshu?"

"No, I think the entire structure should be redesigned using large blocks of limestone. That will take longer but the archway will be much stronger. I pray another flood like this never will happen again, but if it does at least the gate will stand. We need to find a way to stop the flooding altogether."

Ramon thought for several minutes. "I have a way. What if we build an earthen dam at the mouth of the canyon, just before the Daisan river comes into town?"

"That is truly brilliant, my friend. If we make it large enough a lake will form to provide water during the droughts. That will be our next project once the flood repair is finished."

Eshu went back to surveying the damage, looking up at the loosened bricks over the arch. "I want to climb up there and a have a look, Ramon. Do you think it will support me?"

"There's one way to find out; give it a try."

It took him several minutes to get to the top because the bricks he chose for hand and foot holds kept giving way. Finally he stood on a ledge looked into the hole left by the crumbling bricks. Eshu reached up and pulled a few more bricks out, enlarging the hole. He looked in and saw that the bricks covered a hidden alcove, but it was too dark to see anything.

"Look out below, Ramon. I'm about to pull out some more bricks." With that warning he gripped some bricks and pulled. . . . Nothing happened. "These are mortared in place really well. They won't give." He gave one more heave on the brick wall, but this time it crumbled, leaving Eshu off balance and falling backward. His body joined the loose bricks in a thirty-foot fall to the surface below. As he landed in the wet mud his breath was knocked out of him and he felt a sharp pain as his shoulder hit some bricks. He lay there, trying to fight the pain and recover his breath at the same time.

Ramon ran over to him and got there just in time to see Eshu's eyes roll back up into his head as he blacked out. Ramon slapped his face, trying to rouse him but it had no effect. Is he dead? He felt his neck for a pulse and couldn't find one. His mind grasped for something that might bring him back but he could think of nothing – except for prayer.

"Dear Lord, Eshu has been a faithful servant since you brought him through the flood. I pray that you bring him back to us. He has so much to give. Please. My Lord and Savior, heal him."

In his unconscious state Eshu had no thoughts but one. He saw Jesus walk toward him and speak. "Eshu, you did well with the people at the church. I need a leader like you for the task I have at hand. I have left a treasure of value beyond belief in the space above the arch. Retrieve it and spread the truth it demonstrates throughout the land. What you will see is truly miraculous and will bring many to belief in me throughout the ages."

Ramon watched Eshu's eyes open as God answered his prayer. From the water skin at his belt, he sprinkled some over his face, and held it to his lips. As soon as he was fully conscious Eshu struggled to his feet. "I must go back up there. Jesus has left something for me there."

"No Eshu. Don't go. You must still be dizzy from your fall. You will just fall again."

Eshu pushed his friend aside and, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, climbed back to the large opening he had created in the top of the arch. He pushed his way through and moved aside to let the sunlight enter. What he saw strewn on the floor was rubble from the original construction. As he scraped it aside a leather pouch was revealed. When Eshu picked it up he felt a surge of energy flow into him from the artifact. He took it over near the opening where he could see better and removed some kind of wooden frame. When he tilted it so the sun fell on it he gasped. "This is it" he screamed. "This is what my father was searching for. An image on a linen cloth of our Lord, Jesus Christ, preserved for all time. . . . This is The Priceless Linen." And with that Eshu fell to his knees and praised the Lord God for appointing him to be the one who found it. He felt honored beyond words.

Eshu tucked the image back into its pouch, slung it over his shoulder, and carefully climbed down from the arch.

"What did you find up there?" Ramon asked. "Show me."

"Not here. We have to get this back to my house where we can study it in private. . . . But I think it is what my father spent his life searching for."

Eshu opened the front door, let Ramon in, then closed and locked it so no one could would interrupt them. He laid the pouch on the dining table and slowly pulled it out. Now, in the daylight shining through the window, he could see it clearly . . . and it shook him to his core. It was a piece of linen cloth with a faint but distinct image of Jesus on it – The Priceless Linen Elias spoke of. Ramon was seeing it upside down from the other side of the table, so he couldn't figure out what he was looking at. He moved around to stand next to Eshu and gasped. "Is that the . . . the face of Jesus?"

"Yes! According to my father's research it was brought to Edessa by Thaddeus, a disciple who knew Christ personally. It was used to heal King Abgar V and make him a believer. Thaddeus built the first church, on the same spot where today's cathedral stands."

They studied it closely for the next several minutes. Ramon brought up the topic that was on both of their minds.

"What made the image? There is no sign of paint or dye, so how could Jesus have made this likeness of himself? Did he press the cloth against his face? Maybe is was sweat or dust from his skin that darkened the linen."

"That seems to be the most logical explanation. But Jesus performed many miracles, so maybe the image appeared miraculously. However it happened the real miracle is how it was preserved through five hundred years of Godless rulers, and how God led us to it when He was ready."

"Now that we have it, what should we do with it, Eshu?"

"I don't know. Certainly it needs to be protected, maybe even hidden again. It would be highly prized by others who would want to take it from us – like the church in Constantinople, or even the emperor Justinian himself. We can't let it leave Edessa."

"We should show it to the Bishop Andrew. He would know how such a thing should be honored."

"No, I don't want to reveal it to anyone just yet. We need to pray for God's guidance. He led us to it for a reason, and we need to trust that He will let us know what to do with it. For now I'll put it back in the pouch and hide it under my bed."

That night Eshu dreamed of a new addition to the cathedral, a small sanctuary where the relic could be locked up. All the parts showed up; a stone reliquary and a cross on the wall behind it, the construction using large marble blocks, and the door of vertical iron bars so parishioners could offer prayers at the shrine. When he woke up at daybreak he sat at the table and sketched what he had seen so he could propose it to the bishop.

When Bishop Andrew first saw the image and listened to Eshu's plan for the new church wing dedicated to preserving and protecting the miraculous icon he was ecstatic.

"We will be the most famous church in Christendom! Kings and queens will come to see it – and maybe even the Pope from Rome. They will offer large donations for the privilege of kneeling before it. . . . We could even have a feast day – no, a feast week – when nobility from all of Europe and the Middle East will flock to our city and cathedral."

"That is a great idea, Bishop, but we must be careful. Some rulers might want it for themselves and try to steal it. We should post guards around the clock."

"Yes, yes. You're right. I need to appoint someone to be in charge of security . . . and day-to-day management."

"It must be someone trustworthy."

Eshu watched the Bishop run through an invisible list in his head then bow to pray. Finally he looked up and said, "I know the perfect man for the job. You, Eshu!"

"No, no. I couldn't do it. I don't have time. I have my responsibilities at the butcher shop."

"What is more important, God's work or your work?"

Eshu thought for a minute. "You're right. I will sell my part of the business to Ramon so I can concentrate on serving God. One final question Andrew. Where can we store the image until the new addition is completed?"

"I have just the place. When this new cathedral was built it included an underground vault to store the gold and silver implements we use for worship. It has a massive oak door backed up by heavy iron bars. The Priceless Linen will surely be safe down there."

Four months later, with Eshu supervising the work, the construction was completed. When The Priceless Linen was finally placed inside the protective sanctuary Eshu became the official custodian. He would oversee security, manage the twice a year public showings and the annual feasts, and escort high-ranking visitors for private viewings. Initially the job wasn't time consuming, but once the word spread about the miraculous image of Jesus, pilgrims came from everywhere to see it and, as some claimed, be healed by it. They closed the doors at sunset each day, leaving dozens waiting to see it the next day. As the Bishop predicted, the economy of Edessa was growing rapidly.

Chapter 21 – Forgiveness

Eshu returned home – the home he and his parents had lived in together until their deaths –and sat down at the table in the kitchen. He opened a chunk of goat cheese wrapped in wax-coated paper and the round of freshly baked bread he bought on the way home, poured a goblet of the mild wine he got from the jug he kept submerged in the well, and ate his supper. He let his mind wander over the amazing events that had led him to discover the image of Christ, and the responsibility of creating a place for it that would be impossible for anyone to break into to steal the holy relic. He had considered all the possible ways that the golden-framed image might be stolen and designed the structure to be impenetrable to thieves or those who would betray their responsibility for protecting it. The heavy door and bars could only be opened by two keys turned simultaneously, one on each side of the wide door. This made it impossible for a person to open the door without another church official present to turn the other key.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. He wasn't expecting anyone but Ramon had a habit of dropping by with a choice cut of meat, so he opened the door. The visitor, a large heavyset woman in her forties, was not someone he recognized.

"May I help you, madam?"

She pulled a young woman from behind her to push in front of Eshu. Eshu had to think for a moment before he recognized her. "Oh, Elisha! How are you doing?"

The mother took over the conversation. "Are you the one who repaired my daughter's broken arm after the flood?"

"Yes, I am." He looked at Elisha and asked, " How has it healed, dear? Is there a problem with it."

She proudly held it up, flexed her elbow and wrist, and answered, "Oh no, sir. It's working perfectly"

Thinking her mother wanted to thank him he turned back to face her and waited for the compliment, but instead she demanded, "Who was the young man you left to care for her after you set her arm?"

Eshu was taken aback by her tone. "I . . . I don't know his name. He was just one of the flood victims who was close by and responded to my request."

"So you left my daughter, my virgin daughter, alone with a total stranger?"

"Well, things were moving pretty fast with all the injuries and people seeking shelter. I didn't have time to ask if he was from a reputable family."

"Oh, he definitely wasn't. He violated my daughter in the darkness, after he got her too drunk to resist."

He looked at Elisha, who was stricken that her mother had revealed the debauchery. "Oh, I'm so very sorry, Elisha. I assumed he was one of the Christian church members and would look after you. . . . It's all my fault."

Her mother's voice got even louder. "I hope you are damned to hell, Mr. . . . Whatever your name is. Not only has my daughter been defiled, but the devil who did it has made her pregnant! Now no respectable gentlemen will ever want her as a wife. . . . She will have to spend the rest of her life in a convent."

"No, your daughter is lovely and gracious. Some compassionate young man will take her in."

"What world do you live in! No man will even look at her twice now that the baby is showing, let alone take her as a wife."

Eshu's thoughts were rushing through his head, seeking a solution. When the obvious answer came to him he thought I hope I don't regret this.

He looked at the mother and said, "I will."

"You will what?"

"I will take her as my wife. I will marry her."

Now the mother was taken aback. "You would do that?"

"Yes, I would be honored to take Elisha as my wife . . . and I will adopt the child as my own."

"You . . . you are truly a gentleman, sir. I apologize for my harsh words."

"No apology needed, madam. Your anger was righteous."

Just then Eshu was knocked backward. He tried to regain his balance but the force was too great. He ended up on the floor . . . with Elisha's arms wrapped around his neck and her on top of him. "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you kind sir."

"I am called Eshu. And welcome to my home, Elisha."

The next morning Eshu went to see Bishop Andrew to arrange a quiet wedding. He explained that his bride was carrying the child of a rapist but left out the part that the attack had happened in this very church. They arranged for the wedding to take place in the Archbishop's chambers with only the mother and her daughter, Eshu, Ramon, and his wife Imelda present. Eshu and the Bishop set the date for Tuesday of the following week and Eshu agreed to bring the bride-to-be to visit the Bishop before then.

Eshu had invited Elisha and her mother, Agnes, to stay in the guest wing of his home until the wedding. Agnes protested that she and Elisha had to return to their home to chose suitable clothing for the marriage, but Eshu didn't want them to go back down to the waterfront sector of the city – it was inhabited by the worst sinners in the city. Instead, he arranged for a team of seamstresses to come in and create beautiful dresses for both the bride and her mother. Agnes took it upon herself to stitch together the wedding night attire for her daughter. She knew from personal experience that, if a bride could capture her husband's lust on that special night and never let it die, she would have his undying love for many years to come. To this end she purchased some sheer cream-colored silk from a passing merchant that one could see through – but not quite. She used it to create a simple, floor-length shift with a loosely tied belt of the same material. The belt would gather the gown just below the breasts, and allow her pregnancy to show a bit. For some reason men found that attractive.

Eshu, on the other hand, had given little thought to what he would wear on his wedding night. His main concern was the emotional problems the rape may have created in Elisha's mind if she wasn't totally unconscious. If she saw the act of . . . intimacy with her husband as a repetition of what happened to her at the church that night, she would be reliving the rape every time he made love to her. He didn't want her to fear him when he approached her in bed. He thought about this several times in the week leading up to the marriage ceremony and vowed that, if he sensed any fear or reticence on their wedding night, he would postpone the consummation until she had dealt with her demons.

Two days before the wedding he and Elisha went to visit Bishop Andrew. "Welcome to my private study. Come, sit across from my desk."

"This is Elisha, my wife to be, Bishop Andrew."

Elisha curtsied before she sat and said "I'm pleased to meet you, Bishop," then looked around at the ornate decorations and paintings. "I have never seen such beauty, your highness."

Andrew reached out both hands and took her hands in his. "I am not royalty, my dear. Just a simple servant of the Lord Jesus Christ. . . . Are you a believer in Christ and his sacrificial death to erase our sins in God's eyes?"

"I don't understand many of the Christian beliefs, m'lord, but two years ago my parents and I accepted Christ as our Lord and Savior and were baptized into the faith."

"Splendid my dear, splendid. And if you call me anything other than Andrew from now on I will be gravely offended. The only m'lord around here is God the Father."

Bishop Andrew pronounced them man and wife and spoke the magic words to Eshu: "You may now kiss the bride." It caught him by surprise because he had never been to a wedding before and, because he hadn't kissed her yet, this would be their first. Elisha was also frozen in time because, although she knew this was how the ceremony would end, she didn't know if she could do it. She was feeling nauseated at the thought of a man's lips on hers, even though it was her new husband and she adored Eshu. The memory of that night after Eshu set her arm filled her with revulsion.

The Bishop cleared his throat, bringing her back to the present. Eshu's face was near hers, with his lips pursed expectantly. She closed her eyes and leaned forward until their lips met. Eshu, sensing something was bothering her, ended the kiss after a second or two. Then Agnes, Andrew, Ramon, and Imelda surrounded them for congratulatory hugs, handshakes, and well-wishing.

Ramon got their attention. "Alright, everyone out the door and on to Ramon's Refectory where food and wine awaits us. My cooks have prepared a feast of roast pheasant with mushroom sauce, hummus, saffron rice, and fresh vegetables, with date and raisin pie for dessert. Come, before it gets cold."

When they got to the place Ramon ushered them through the door and to their seats at a large round table. Immediately two waiters, Ramon's sons, appeared with wine jugs and filled everyone's goblet to the brim. Elisha almost retched when they poured her wine – the smell and the memory of what happened the last time she had wine were almost too much for her. She wanted to flee the room but knew it would ruin the joy everyone else was feeling, so she remained in her chair, as rigid as a statue. Eshu, sensing her discomfort, laid his hand gently over hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze. She looked at him and mouthed 'Thank you, I needed that.' When he smiled back at her heart melted. He is such a wonderful man. Friendly, good-looking, and aware of my feelings. How can I be so lucky? . . . But he deserves a wife much better than I can be. I don't deserve someone so special. . . . He should be sharing this wedding feast with a woman who is still pure. But instead he's spending it with a defiled woman carrying a bastard child.

Her negative thinking was interrupted by the Bishop who stood and lifted his goblet. "A toast to Mr. and Mrs. Eshu Ben-Thadson."

Everyone stood and raised their cups. Elisha, unfamiliar with what was expected of her started to stand with them but Eshu put a hand on her arm and nodded for her to sit. After a few more rounds of toasting everyone sat down and began chattering as the wine loosened their tongues. Elisha, still blushing over her social blunder, returned to her negative thoughts.

I made such a fool of myself! I'm just a poor girl from the waterfront. I'll never learn all the social customs of these people from up here in the heights. I want to be a good wife to Eshu, someone that his friends will envy him for, but that's impossible. . . . Maybe I should run away tonight, before he takes me to bed, before I do something else foolish. But I have nowhere to go. If I go back to mother she will just bring me back up the hill. I wish I would die.

Her depressive thoughts were once again interrupted, this time by the arrival of the food. After Bishop Andrew said the blessing everyone attacked the delicious looking dinner on their plates. Although she was hungry Elisha's mental state – the negative thoughts and some new ones about what she was expected to do in bed later on – left her throat too constricted to swallow all but the smallest bite. A drink of her wine would probably help but she knew she would throw up if she had even a sip. Eshu noticed her apparent lack of appetite and assumed that she was self-conscious among the unfamiliar group. I'll have the waiters pack some food in a basket for later, when we're alone, he thought. If I had known how the evening would progress I wouldn't have agreed to it..

When the table was cleared Ramon stood up and offered a final toast to long life, happiness, and a large family for the newlyweds. This time when everyone stood up Elisha stayed in her chair, until she noticed that Eshu was standing and urging her to do the same with a hand under her arm. Again her face turned red as she committed yet another social error. Then, when everyone drank from their cups, she knew she was about to commit another: if she even brought the wine cup close to her nose and lips she knew she would spew up her meal onto the dinner table. With her hand over her mouth she turned and ran from the room. Eshu started to go after her but Imelda shook her head and followed instead.

She found the young woman on the back steps, crying into her hands. Imelda sat beside her, put a hand on her shoulder, and just sat in silence. After a few minutes the sobbing turned into a whimper, then sniffling, and finally Elisha raised her head and turned toward Imelda, who reached out her arms to hug the distraught woman.

"I just can't do anything right, I don't know the rules, how I'm supposed to act."

"Those are things I can teach you, dear. In a month no one will remember your embarrassment today."

"But I almost threw up on the table! The smell of the wine reminded me of that awful night and my stomach heaved in revulsion. It will always be that way."

"Maybe not. Have you considered another reason for your nausea?"

"Like what?"

"Like your pregnancy. Most women have that problem while they are carrying a child."

"Really? I didn't know that. How do they deal with it?"

"Any way they can, honey. That's why you need me and other women around you, so you will know how to handle these things. You have no idea what the birth will be like or how to care for the baby. That is something you learn from women who have been through it."

"Oh, will you do that for me? Stay by my side through it all?"

"Of course I will. Our husbands are best friends and now we will be too. Now let's go back and join the others. It's about time for you two to leave."

When she returned everyone clapped for her. Ramon said, "It's about time. Your coach awaits outside." This confused Elisha. Coach? What kind of coach is he talking about?

As she stepped through the door arm-in-arm with Eshu she laughed. It was a small donkey cart decorated with colored ribbons. Apparently this was part of their wedding customs too. Eshu put his hands on her waist and lifted her up to the seat. Then he walked around to the other side and climbed up beside her. They waved to the others as Eshu shook the reigns to get the animal moving

When they reached Eshu's parent's house, which was now their home, he lifted her down from the cart and carried her across the threshold. She laughed, "Now that's a custom I do know about, my husband. . . . I like the sound of that – husband. . . . MY husband."

"So that's how you will address me? Husband?"

"For now. But I'm sure I'll come up with other terms of endearment soon."

Eshu put her down on the couch and plunged forward with thing he had rehearsed to say to her. He wanted to avoid uncomfortable silences. "I hired a maid to come in this morning to clean the place, put fresh linens on the bed, and have a hot bath waiting for you when we arrived. Your mother brought over your clothes earlier, which are laid out on the bed for you to choose from." Eshu blushed here, remembering the sheer night gown he had seen, but continued. "Ramon has prepared some baskets of fruits and cheeses for after . . . after . . . later on." Now he was really blushing.

Elisha also blushed because she realized what he was about to say. Her mother had explained what to expect in bed after the wedding, but the thought terrified her. Agnes said that it wouldn't hurt because of what had happened to her before, but it wasn't the pain she was afraid of. What if she was so repulsed by her memory that she couldn't let him touch her, or even get close to her. The more she dwelt on this, the more frightened she became.

". . . and then, after I bathe, I will come in and join you in bed."

She had missed much of what he just said, but it was that last sentence that brought her fear to another level. I need to get out of this room. I need time to build up my courage. . . . The bath!

"If you will show me where the bath is I'll begin there."

He smiled. "Of course. He took her hand and led her to the room with the bath. It was a hammered copper container large enough for one to sit in, if the knees were drawn up to the chin. She could see the steam rising from the water surface, and a bar of soap, a sponge, a ladle, and a large body towel on the small table beside the tub. She had never seen such a handsome bathing tub. The waterfront residents all used a public bath house with separate pools for men and women. She had never had a solitary bath before.

She turned to thank him but realized he had already stepped out and closed the door. She undressed and put one foot in the tub. It was hot, but not too hot, so she brought the other foot in and sat down. As the hot water encased her body she felt the tension melt out of her. She leaned her head against the raised back of the tub and let her mind drift away. She must have dozed because the next thing she knew the water had turned cool. She reached for the sponge and soap, stood up, and washed herself thoroughly. Then she picked up the large ladle and poured the water over her to rinse the soap off. As she stepped out onto the floor she saw that Eshu had arranged for slippers to be waiting. He's such a considerate man, she thought. I can't believe we are husband and wife . . . forever. She slid into the slippers, wrapped the towel around her body, peaked out the bathroom door, and hurried to the bedroom.

Eshu was in the guest room across the hall bathing in a simple pottery bathtub. He heard the bedroom door close and realized she had returned from her bath. I'll give her a few minutes to get dressed and settled. The I'll put on my short tunic and go to her.

Elisha was getting stressed again. She wanted to put on the nightgown her mother made, but was embarrassed for Eshu to see her almost naked. Will he think I'm attractive? How could he? I'm so ugly with my pregnant belly sticking out.. I'll put on a robe instead, wrapped around me to cover up my fat stomach. . . . But I could tell from his discomfort earlier that he's seen the silk gown already, so if I don't wear it he will be disappointed. Quickly, before she changed her mind, she slipped her arms into silk sleeves and tied the front closed.

Okay, what do I do now? Just sit here on the bed until he comes in? If I lean forward a little I won't look as fat. Or maybe I could stand in the dark corner over there so he can't really see much. She got up and paced the floor, thinking of how she wanted him to see her unclothed for the first time. She was in mid-stride when there was a light knock at the door. She stopped where she was, facing the door, and answered faintly "come in."

Eshu came through the door and froze at the sight of her. He looked her up and down, and then locked his eyes on hers. They stood there speechless while she wondered if he was repulsed by what he saw. She said weakly, "Well, say something."

All he could say was, "My God you're beautiful!" He ran his eyes over her body once more and stepped forward to embrace her, but she couldn't return it. Her muscles had turned to stone; her fear was screaming out inside her, run, run, before he hurts you.

It took him a few moments to realize she was standing there stiffly, unresponsive to his hug. He stepped back, looked in her eyes, and saw the fright in them – like a trapped animal looking left and right, desperate for a way to escape. It was just as he feared. The memories of that awful night had come back to haunt her.

But because he had been concerned about this outcome he had already thought through how he would respond. He let his arms fall to his sides and stepped back to put some distance between them. Remove the immediate danger, he thought, eliminate the threat. His next step was to let her know there were no longer any expectations for tonight. He went over to the bed, picked up the long, heavy robe, and held it for her to put on. She was wary of him but finally put her arms in the sleeves and shrugged it over her shoulders. Eshu stepped around to the front, pulled the robe shut, and tied the belt. Without speaking a word he told Elisha that he would wait until she was ready to come to him.

Then he left and returned wearing a longer tunic with a cape thrown over his shoulder. Then he reached for her hand, lifted it to his lips and kissed it softly. He sealed the deal.

"I think I will go downstairs for some of those waiting snacks. Would you care to join me?" She nodded, and stepped out the door before him.

They both enjoyed the rest of the evening together, talking about nothing in particular, getting comfortable being together. As it got late and the fire died down Eshu said, "I think it's time for me to go to bed. How about you?"

Once again her fear flared up. Was this just a postponement until later in the night? I can't go through it again. Not tonight. Maybe sometime, but not tonight.

Once again he soothed her fears when he said as they were walking up the stairs, "I think I will sleep in the guest room for the time being, if that's alright with you."

She answered almost too quickly, "Yes-yes. . . . I think that would be good."

When they got to the hallway between the bedrooms they turned to face each other. Eshu leaned forward and kissed her gently on the forehead. She looked up at him with tears in her eyes and said softly, "Thank you."

Eshu crossed the hall to the guest room and closed the door. He went down on his knees beside the bed and clasped his hands together.

"My Lord in heaven thank you for bringing this lovely woman to be my wife, but she needs your help in overcoming the fears and negative view of herself that the attack on her caused. I trust that you will rid her mind of that horrible night and allow her love for me to overpower the anguish that controls her. Let me know what I can do in this process, Lord. I ask this in Jesus name. Amen."

Then, as he always did, Eshu remained on his knees and cleared his mind to allow God to speak to him through his thoughts. Shortly he got an answer and knew what he had to do. He must explain to her that the pain won't leave her until she can forgive the attacker. He made one more request to the Lord – that He let him know when the time was right and what words to use.

Over the next several days Eshu noticed that she was more comfortable being next to him, laying her hand on his, rubbing shoulders, and standing closer when they talked. Once, when they were out for an evening walk, she even held his hand. When they got back home Eshu felt it was time for the talk. Eshu sat on the couch and motioned for Elisha to join him.

"Elisha my dearest I have been praying about how you could let go of your terrible memories, and I believe God has given me the answer."

"I don't want to talk about it, husband. Let's talk about something else."

"No, you must face these crippling emotions, purge them from your mind."

"Easy for you to say, you aren't plagued by terrible memories. For me the pain is too great."

"You have to trust God to help you deal with them."

"What was God's answer to your prayer?"

"Forgiveness. You must forgive the man who attacked you. When we hold on to hurt, pain, resentment, and anger it holds us prisoner to our past. Forgiveness frees us to leave that behind and live in the present; it allows us to move on without anger or thoughts of revenge.

"Paul in his letter to the Ephesians told them to let all bitterness, wrath, anger, turmoil, and evil thoughts be put away. Instead, be kind to each other, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, just as God through Christ has forgiven you. And then there is the greatest act of forgiveness of all time – when Jesus on the cross asked his Father to forgive those who were killing him. If Christ can forgive those who were about to take His life, shouldn't you be able to forgive your attacker?"

"But how do I do that? I will probably never see the guy again so how can I tell him I forgive him?"

"You don't need to tell the attacker. Your forgiveness benefits you, not him. It's for your good that you forgive. You don't do that – you and God do it together. Spend time in prayer and let God will show you how to forgive."

"I'll do that, Eshu. Thank you for your wisdom. . . . And your patience.

Two weeks later, as the two of them climbed the stairs to the bedrooms, Elisha stopped him as he turned toward the guest room. Without a word she took his hand and led him to her bed.

Chapter 22 – Homecoming

547 A.D. – Edessa

Agnes was in a tizzy, running back and forth between her daughter's bed and the things she had to do before the midwife showed up. She put the water pot over the fire to boil, put a stack of clean towels on the table beside the bed, brought in a stool for the midwife to sit in during the delivery, and gathered some blankets to wrap the newborn in. She paused to wipe the sweat from Elisha's brow and reassure her that everything was going according to plan.

Elisha was trying to fill her mind with happy thoughts to lessen the pain. She thought back to when her first child, Adeen, was born two years ago. I remember her first cry, letting the world know she had arrived. The love that poured out from my heart for her, the beginning of the mother-daughter bond. And the warm feeling when I first nursed her. And the love and admiration in Eshu's eyes when came in the room and looked at us. When I offered the baby to him to hold he handled her like a fine china vase, afraid she would break. That it was another man's child didn't reduce his love for her. Thank you again, Lord, for the wonderful husband and father you brought to me. . . . Oh, oh, oh, ouch . . . another contraction. If the midwife doesn't get here soon I'm going to have my baby without her. . . . I wish I knew if it was a boy or a girl. I want it to be a boy, to give Eshu a son. I've been praying about it, asking God to make it be a boy, but that won't help of course. The baby is what it is and God can't change it in my womb. . . . Actually I believe He could if He wanted to, but He would need a more important reason than the whim of a mother.

Several of the women in the church assured her it was going to be a boy because of what foods she craved, or the size of her belly, or the way the bones thrown by the soothsayer fell on the table, or the order in which the Tarot cards were dealt. But just as many women were certain she would have a sister for Adeen because of a dozen other signs.

Just as the next contraction hit, her mother led the midwife into the room. She checked Agnes' preparations and nodded her head in satisfaction, then went into the kitchen to wash her hands. The contraction was over by the time she was back at Elisha's side.

"I delivered another child for you a couple of years ago, didn't I? A girl I believe."

"Yes, you did. We named her Adeen. Now she is toddling around getting into everything. Curiosity I suppose."

"I'm glad to see she is just like other two-year-olds. That shows she's normal. Now when the next contraction comes, I want you to bear down, push, hard . . . you know the drill."

"Okay, here it comes . . ."

An hour later Elisha was sitting up in bed, holding the child to her breast. Eshu was in a chair beside her, looking every bit the proud papa while her mother was nearby waiting for her turn to hold her new grandchild.

"Have you two decided on a name yet?" she asked.

"I want to name him after his ancestral namesake, the disciple Thaddeus, but Eshu hasn't made up his mind yet."

"It's not that I don't like the idea, Elisha, it's just that the full name Thaddeus Ben-Thadson is a little . . . I don't know, repetitive."

"That will make it unusual so people will remember it. But the decision is yours, my husband."

He looked down at her and smiled. "Of course it is. . . . Thaddeus it will be."

Elisha pulled the baby from her breast and handed him to Eshu. "Thaddeus, meet your father, Eshu."

Thaddeus and his half-sister, Adeen, bonded immediately. As soon as Thad began to crawl Adeen was right there beside him, encouraging him on. With her help he learned to walk, talk, and read earlier than most children. When he started to do boy things, like climb trees, she showed him how, and with his influence became a tomboy herself. She could do anything Thad could do, and do it better. When Eshu started teaching him manly things, like hunting with a bow and skinning the game he killed, she learned the skills herself, and helped Thad perfect his technique.

When he was twelve and Adeen fourteen Eshu began their military training – fighting with sword and shield, use of the spear, and how to swing a battle axe effectively. Edessa was in the center of the Eastern Roman Empire, now ruled by Justinian the First. Under his reign the Eastern Empire regained provinces lost in earlier centuries and flourished as the new center of power, trade, and learning. To defend this kingdom Justinian ordered all young men to be trained as soldiers and to serve a two-year term in his military forces. Eshu wanted Thad to be a great fighter so he could rise through the ranks and become an officer. Although Adeen would never be in the military, she was every bit as good as Thad in the military arts.

556 A.D. – Six years later

Thaddeus returned home from his two-year enlistment in the army just before his 19th birthday. As he rode up the path to the house Adeen burst out the front door and rushed to greet him, pulling him from the saddle so she could embrace him in a hug. He returned it, then pushed her back so he could look at her.

He exclaimed, "You have grown so beautiful, sister," after taking in her Madonna-like face, golden hair, shapely torso, and long slim legs. "And you're almost as tall as I am . . . what, about six feet?"

"Almost."

"There aren't many men around that tall. You'll have to search the entire province if you don't want your husband to look like a dwarf beside you."

She answered, "I've been keeping my eyes open but so far the only tall people I've seen are farm boys who bring their crops to the city on Saturdays. I want a husband who is educated, handsome, strong, and respected by everyone," as she thought and I already have him picked out. But he doesn't know it . . . yet.

"You may have to settle for three out of four using those standards."

She hugged him again and replied "Maybe not."

She didn't want to let go but her mother arrived and elbowed her out of the way to get her own hug.

"Thaddeus my son. I hardly recognized you when you rode up. I send you away a skinny 16-year-old boy and you came back a man." She stood back and inspected him carefully. "You haven't been wounded or anything, have you?"

"Nothing serious; a cut here and there from fighting the Armenians. They want to push Constantine's forces out of this territory and reclaim it for themselves, but we stopped them – this time. But I don't think the fighting is over yet."

"Your father is up at the cathedral. Go up ant greet him. He will be happy to see you."

Happy wasn't quite the right word. His father was ecstatic. When Thaddeus knocked on the frame of the open door to Eshu's office Eshu looked up, somewhat cross at being interrupted. He looked quizzically at the tall, muscular man in the doorway, trying to recall where he had seen him before. . . . "Thaddeus? Is that you?"

"Yes father."

Eshu jumped up from his chair, dropping his quill and knocking over the ink flask in the process; ruining the document he had so carefully been composing. "Praise the Lord! You have returned to us." He looked at the insignia on his son's cloak. "And a centurion no less! I knew you would be an officer someday." He started to wrap his arms around Thaddeus but caught himself, and instead reached out his hand. He's a man now so I'll have to settle for a handshake.

As if reading his father's mind Thaddeus smiled and engulfed Eshu in a bear hug. "We hug each other in this family, father. That's what mother taught us and that's the way it will be – always."

Eshu smiled as a tear formed in his eye as he pulled a chair over for Thaddeus to sit on. "Tell me all about your service – where you went, who you fought, what battles you won."

"There will be plenty of time for that later. Right now mother wants you to come home with me. She and Adeen are preparing a great feast to celebrate my homecoming."

Eshu looked back at the ruined document on his desk, torn between going with his son and trying to recapture the words he had written before they escaped his mind. Family won out.

The meal the women prepared – lamb, rice, olives, and bread with goat cheese spread – was enjoyed by everyone, as was the conversation. Adeen had claimed the chair next to Thaddeus and was listening raptly to his tales of adventure as a soldier. After several minutes of talking Thaddeus said, "I've been doing all the talking. But I want to know about you, Adeen. What have you been up to while I was gone?"

"I'm studying art at the Academy. I'm in my third year and hope to graduate this spring."

Her mother cut in at that point and added proudly, "She's really very good at painting, especially portraits. She has painted several of the women in town and her portrait of Bishop Andrew is hanging in the narthex of the church."

Adeen looked down at her lap, embarrassed by her mother's praises, but glad that Thaddeus heard them. When she looked back up at Thaddeus he smiled. "I would like to see some of your work. Do you have any here at home?"

"No, I do all my work at the school."

"Then you will have to take me there."

Adeen paused. "Actually, I'd like to take you there for another reason. . . . To paint a portrait of you."

"No, no, no. I don't want to see what you think I look like. And I have trouble sitting still for very long. I need to be moving; doing things. It's just my nature."

"You always were an overactive child, my son. It was all I could do to keep up with you."

"And I remember what happened when you caught me, mother. Usually a switch across the back of my legs."

"I was just being a Godly parent. Proverbs 22:14 tells us that foolishness is bound up in the heart of a child, but the rod of discipline will remove it from him."

"And I certainly needed more discipline. But I finally learned that as a soldier."

When everyone finished the plum pudding dessert the women started clearing the table. Eshu took Thaddeus by the arm. "Let's go for a walk, son. I have some things to discuss."

Eshu led his son along a walk downhill toward the waterfront. He brought up the huge flood from twenty years ago and how it had devastated the homes and businesses in the low-lying parts of the city.

"I've told you the story before - how I barely survived that flood. It was a tragedy, except it brought your mother and me together. But I made a vow then to someday build a dam across Daisan canyon to prevent future floods."

"Are you ready to start that project now?"

"I already have, twice, but both attempts failed. First I hired the stone mason who oversaw the building of the cathedral. He had stones cut for the foundation and had the dam half finished when the spring floods came and destroyed it. Then I hired another who had previously built an earthen dam across a small river in Albania. I traveled there to see the structure and it appeared well built. It has withstood their spring runoff for seven years now without any signs of weakening. He started the new project in Daisan canyon last summer, but delays and problems finding workers left it less than half finished when the flooding from the snowmelt hit it and washed it out in a few hours. I'm at a loss about what to do next. I was hoping you would have some ideas."

Thaddeus smiled and answered, "Indeed I do, father. On my travels with Justinian's army I had the chance to see several dams. In fact, I was assigned to oversee the building of a dam across the Aras River in Armenia. That's where I learned the secret to dam building – you have to dig a bypass channel around the dam that is large enough to carry the full flow of the river. Then there is no time constraint and the dam can be built high and strong."

Eshu stopped and turned to him. "That's brilliant, Thaddeus! We have plenty of Albanian prisoners of war who can provide the labor. And the surrounding mountains will provide all the building materials we'll need. When can you start?"

"Me? You want me to build the dam? I have other plans. Things I have been looking forward to for the past couple of years. No, I'm not your guy."

"Who else is better qualified? And you will be well paid. You can earn enough to follow your dreams after the dam is finished."

"Where will the funds come from? If I decide to do this I don't want to get partway through it and run out of money."

"Justinian has granted us the right to keep all the gold and silver your troops looted from the Armenians. Our coffers are filled to overflowing."

"I'll need some time to think about this, father. Give me a couple of days."

"O.K. But I'll keep after you until you give in."

The next day Thaddeus was in the stable caring for his horse, Pegasus, when Adeen came to join him. She fetched a bucket of water from the well and held it up for the horse to drink. When he was finished she put the bucket in the stall in case he wanted some later, then came over and stood next to Thaddeus who was brushing down his mount.

"So, what will you do now, Thaddeus? Settle down and raise a family?"

"Oh no . . . not yet anyway. Father wants me to oversee the building of a dam up in the canyon."

She looked at him with excitement in her eyes. "Oh good. You will be staying at home for awhile then. We can do things together."

"Not so fast. I haven't agreed to take the job yet. There are places I want to visit, like Constantinople, Rome, and Jerusalem. It would take me at least a year to see everything I want to. Maybe then I can come back and build the dam."

"But what if we have another big flood this spring? Maybe it will kill some of the poor people living along the river bank. If you don't start on the dam now you would be responsible for their deaths."

"That's stretching it bit far, don't you think?" Why is she trying to make me feel guilty about leaving? It's like she wants me to stay here. Why does she care whether I stay or go?

Adeen was silent for a moment, then asked hesitantly, "What if I asked you to stay? Would that make a difference?'

"Why would you want me to stay?"

I can't tell him it's because I love him . . . not yet anyway. What answer can I give him?

"Well?"

"Because I haven't seen you in two years and we have a lot to catch up on."

"Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know. Doing things together, like hunting and hiking?"

"That's no reason for me to stay. I'll be back in a year or so. We can do those things then."

But what if he comes home with a wife. I will have lost him forever. I can't let that happen.

"What about the portrait I'm going to paint of you?"

"I haven't agreed to let you do that yet. Why is it so important for you to make a painting of me?"

"Because . . . If you don't come back, or worse, if you got killed, I would forget what you looked like. So would mother and father. If you won't do it for me do it for them."

"How long would it take?"

"If we worked three or four hours a day I could do it in a month."

"Well, if I'm going to stay I may as well design the dam for father, so I'll be working all day. Can you paint me at night?"

"It will be hard to get enough light, but I think I could figure something out."

"O.K. I'll do it. When do you want to start?"

"I will need a few days to get my materials together. How about next Monday?"

"That will work. Where do you want to do it?"

"Someplace where we won't be disturbed. . . . How about in the cabin out behind the house? I'll turn it into a studio."

"Sure. I'll be there about sunset on Monday."

Adeen smiled and ran up to hug him. "Oh thank you, Thaddeus. I can't wait to get you alone . . . and start on the portrait." Why did I say that? He might think I have other plans for us. Which of course I do. But I don't want him to know my feelings for him . . . yet.

Later that week Thaddeus rode out to the dam construction site with Eshu. After looking down into the narrow valley at the destroyed ruins of the two previous dams Thaddeus shook his head.

This isn't a good place for the dam father. The way the valley narrows down upstream just causes the water to run faster, which puts more force on the dam. We need to build it in a wider valley – one with a large low area behind it to collect the backed up water. Let's ride upstream a bit to see what we can find.

After searching for half a day they found the perfect spot. A half mile wide with high hills on either side and a path to dig the bypass canal during construction. As they headed home Thaddeus spoke his thoughts out loud.

"I'll come back tomorrow with some measuring equipment and stakes to lay out the foundation. I'll need an assistant to help me with that. Are you up to it father?"

"You're a man now Thaddeus. You may call me Eshu."

"Thank you father."

"But you will need someone younger than me to climb up and down these hills. How about Adeen? You two used to climb all over these mountains when you were younger."

Thaddeus felt uncomfortable about having her out here, but he wasn't sure why. So he didn't answer.

After a pause Eshu said, "O.K., it's settled then. I'll talk to her tonight about postponing her studies at the Academy to work with you on the dam."

On the rest of the ride home Thaddeus tried to figure out why he was reluctant to work with his sister but the answer was elusive.
Chapter 23 – Attraction

Adeen was overjoyed when she heard about her new position as an assistant to Thaddeus. She went to her room and got the things she wanted to take on their visit to the dam site. She added a tablet of bound sheets of vellum and charcoal sticks as an afterthought, in case she would find the time to do some preliminary sketches of Thaddeus while they were up in the mountains.

As the two of them rode to the top of the hill overlooking the valley where they would build the dam she gasped. "This place is beautiful, Thaddeus! The river valley, the hillsides covered with wildflowers, the snow on the distant peaks. I have to find time to draw pictures of this."

"It will take me an hour or so to get the pack mules unloaded and the materials laid out where I want them. You can stay here and do your sketching until I'm done."

As he rode down into the valley Adeen dismounted and took out her drawing tablet and charcoal sticks. She sat on a flat rock and in a short time had several sketches of the valley. She put the materials away and rode down to join her brother.

When she showed her work to him he was surprised at how accurate and detailed the pictures were. "These are amazing, Adeen. They will help me plan the construction process. Do you think you could fill in some detail about how the dam will look when it stretches across the valley?"

"Certainly, but we would have to work side-by-side to get it right."

"Great! Come, walk with me while I show you what I have in mind."

As he explained the structure, with estimates of dimensions Adeen interrupted him.

"How will you remember all these numbers?"

"I can remember most of them, but once we start measuring you will need to write them down for me."

"What if I write the measurements right on the sketch. Would that be helpful?"

"That's an excellent idea! You have a remarkable mind, Adeen. You're going to be a great help on this project."

The following Monday afternoon Adeen started putting on makeup to look as attractive as she could for Thaddeus when he came to the first portrait session. As she looked in the polished silver mirror it suddenly hit her that she was going about this all wrong. If I show up like this he will know that I'm trying to get his attention – to get him to look at me as a woman rather than his sister. I can't be that obvious or he might be repulsed. I'd better get this stuff off my face before I go out to the studio.

Just before sunset Adeen was waiting nervously in the cabin, her easel set up in front of her, a stool for the subject to sit on, and a dozen oil lamps with rear reflectors to focus the light on the subject.

She jumped when he knocked on the door, then composed herself and said "Come in."

As he stepped through the door he looked around the one room wooden cottage. "Quite a cozy setup you have here. I've never seen lamps with polished brass disks behind them before. Where did you get those?"

"I made them. I needed some way to get more light shining on your handsome face so I could capture all the details and came up with that idea." Damn. Did I just call him handsome? Why did I say that.

Did she just call me handsome? Why did she say that?

Adeen ducked her head to conceal the flush on her face and pointed to the stool. "You sit there," she said abruptly.

Not sure what was going on with her, Thaddeus sat facing her squarely with a rigid look on his face. "Is this where you want me?"

Adeen looked up. "No, no. I don't want to paint a military commander; I want to paint my brother – the friend I grew up with. . . . That's better. Now turn sideways a little. Perfect."

She moved around to the lamps, adjusting them to create some faint shadows where she wanted them, them picked up the charcoal, and started drawing. After a short time he got fidgety and looked around the room.

"No, keep looking right at me. That's right."

This is going to get boring pretty quick. I need to find something to think about. I can't turn my head, so I guess I'll have to think about Adeen . . . Her hair is different today, framing her face perfectly. I never noticed how good her complexion is. And she is really attractive. . . . Why haven't I seen that before. As his eyes drifted down they stopped at the snug bodice of her dress. Have those always been that shapely? He shook his head and tore his eyes away. I shouldn't be thinking thoughts like that. She's my sister for God's sake.

When he shook his head a lock of hair fell across his forehead. Adeen stopped what she was doing and walked up to him. She reached out and gently lifted the curly lock of black hair back where it belonged, trailing her fingers across his scalp in the process.

Whoa! What was that? That feeling in my chest. I've never had that before . . . why would her touch do that to me?

Adeen continued to draw until almost midnight before she stepped back and studied her work. "That's a good start. I think we're done for the night."

Thaddeus got up from the stool and stretched. "Good. I was really getting stiff sitting for that long. I hope we get this over with quickly. Can I see it?"

She nodded and he went over and stood next to her. "It's just a bunch of lines. I don't see much of me in it."

Adeen moved closer until their shoulders were touching as she pointed out the outlines of his features. He wasn't paying much attention. He was enjoying the pleasant feeling in his chest that her touch produced. He started to move away and break the contact but changed his mind. He wanted to prolong the warm feeling.

As they rode out to the dam site the next day Thaddeus was wrestling with what was happening between them. I'm having feelings in places I shouldn't. And thoughts I shouldn't be thinking . . . especially about my sister. But I'm attracted to everything about her – her appearance, her quick mind, her smile, her laugh, her voice – just thinking about her gives me a warm feeling. It isn't right.

"You're deep in thought this morning. Thinking about the dam design?"

"Uh . . . yes, that's it. I'm deciding what measurements we need to make today."

Adeen was thinking about other things. Standing shoulder-to-shoulder last night seemed to have an effect on him. I thought he would move away, but he didn't. Even when I moved closer. I love the way I feel when we're touching. My heart feels like it's fluttering. I know it's love. And not a sisterly kind of love. I want to tell him about it, but I don't know how he will react. . . . What if he rejects me? That would be awful. I couldn't stand to be in the house with him. I would be so embarrassed. And he would probably refuse to let me continue the portrait. No, I can't take the chance of talking to him about my feelings. Not yet.

They spent the next several days laying out the foundation for the dam, putting wooden stakes at key locations. Adeen had already added the dam to her sketch of the valley, but made changes as they continued the measurements. At night Thaddeus would sit dutifully on the stool for an hour or two while Adeen started adding paint to the charcoal sketch. Although she focused on his face, her eyes occasionally slid down as she wondered what he would look like without a shirt. On most nights she would find an excuse to touch him – moving his face a little, smoothing his hair, pinching his cheeks to add color to them – and each time she would let the touch linger longer than necessary. At first he seemed uncomfortable when she touched him, but he eventually seemed to welcome it.

Thaddeus was starting to look forward to the modeling sessions as the good feelings he had become accustomed to made the discomfort of sitting motionless more tolerable, but it still bothered him at some level. The situation got worse as Adeen expanded her efforts to their work together at the dam, finding ways to brush against his body, put her hand over his, or wipe the sweat from his forehead. He wanted to keep his distance from her but his feelings for her kept drawing him close. When they were apart his craving for those feelings wouldn't leave his mind. He started imagining what it would be like to take her as his wife.

He knew that marrying a sister was prohibited in the Bible, at least after Moses imposed God's laws on the Hebrews. But Abraham himself married his half-sister, Sarah, and no mention is made of that being a sin. But Roman and Byzantine laws strictly forbid it. And there were stories about how such a union would produce deformed children. As he prayed about ways out of his dilemma he realized what he had to do.

Over the next few days he had Adeen complete drawings of the dam from every angle. Under his direction she sketched in where the cedar posts would be sunk in the ground, cross sections showing levels of rock fill – larger at the bottom and getting smaller toward the top – and deeply rooted shrubs and plants on the surface to hold the soil in place. When they were finished he showed them to his father. "Adeen has drawn up plans for completing the dam. They include all the details she will need to finish the job."

"What! Why won't you be able to do it? She doesn't know how to build a dam, and supervising the workmen will be a real problem. They won't listen to a woman."

"I have found a foreman to manage the men. He will receive instructions from her and pass them on the workers. They won't realize they're working for a woman."

"But why are you leaving?"

"I have personal reasons."

Eshu, having watched what was going on between Adeen and Thaddeus, understood what he meant. His wife warned him this would happen.

"When will you leave?"

"In two days. She will be finished with the portrait by then."

"Are you just going to disappear, or will you talk to her about why you have to leave."

"I don't look forward to it but yes, I'll have to tell her."

As Thaddeus sat on the stool for the last time he saw that her shirt was unbuttoned at the top, revealing the creamy white skin above her breasts. His lust once again fired up and he had to fight it with silent prayer until she put the final touches on her painting. When she turned it around for him to see he was amazed.

"That's magnificent! It looks alive. I don't know how you do it."

She blushed and uttered a soft "Thank you."

"What are you going to paint next? This is your calling, Adeen. You must continue painting."

"I . . . I have an idea of what I would like to paint next. The image on The Priceless Linen. The face of Jesus."

Thaddeus was astounded by her idea. "But it's so faint, and there's not much detail."

"I want to paint what I think the man who made the image looked like. I'll fill in the details and colors from what the Bible tells us about Jesus. The finished portrait will have the same facial dimensions as the image and whatever details I can see. I plan to use my reflector lamps to light it from behind. I hope that will bring out more details."

"What a tremendous idea! You will become famous. It will being even more visitors to Edessa. And it will give you something to get your mind off of . . ."

She looked him square in the face. She was afraid of what he was about to say. "To get my mind off of what?"

"Sit down, Adeen, we need to talk. I have to leave here."

"Why?"

"Because . . . because I have been having impure thoughts about you. Whenever I'm near you, and especially when we touch, my mind and body react in sinful ways. If I don't leave I'm afraid of where it will lead."

"Noooooo! You can't leave. I love you. I want to marry you. I want to have your babies. We're made to be together."

"You know that can't happen. You're my sister. It's against God's and Justinian's laws. We would be put in prison."

"I'm only your half-sister, but no one has to know. We can run away to another place, somewhere where no one know us."

"No matter where we go God will know. We can't escape His eyes."

Adeen threw herself at him and wrapped her arms around his neck, sobbing. Thaddeus wanted so badly to pull her into his arms and comfort her, but he knew his resolve would weaken so he gently pushed her away. "It wasn't meant to be. I should have left shortly after I got here. Then this wouldn't have happened. It's my fault."

Adeen paused, then answered. "No it's not. I was purposely trying to make you fall in love with me. The touches, the words, the closeness were intentional, designed to entice you." She reached up and pulled her shirt together. "Even this open blouse was planned. I'm so sorry. But when I saw how you were responding I kept believing it could happen."

She turned and buttoned up. As he sat there, waiting for her to say something else, they both were feeling uncomfortable and a little bit ashamed. Thaddeus got up and moved toward the door.

"When are you leaving?"

"In the morning."

"Who will finish the dam?"

"You will. I have already spoken to father about it."

He turned and left, closing the door behind him. He could hear her sobbing response and walked quickly away to keep from turning around.

Thaddeus had trouble falling asleep that night as he thought about his sister. If I could keep away from her - move out of the house, get a new assistant for the dam project, never allow myself to be alone with her – I could stay and finish the dam. . . . I wish I hadn't hurt her so tonight when I told her. When she cried it almost broke my heart. Seeing her like that, with tears running down her cheeks, I just wanted to wrap my arms around her and hold her. But if I did that I wouldn't have been able to stop myself from kissing her. The feel of her warm body against mine would certainly have led me to do sinful things with her. I have to force my mind to think of other things, like work at the dam.

But when he thought about his work the image of her working close beside him appeared and captured his mind with more sinful ideas. It was after midnight when he finally was able to get to sleep.

Adeen knew it was wrong, but she couldn't let him leave. She slowly pushed his bedroom door open and peeked into the dark room. He was sleeping on his side with his back turned toward her. Good! If I can slip under the covers very quietly he won't wake up right away. I'll have time to wake him slowly as I wrap my arm over him. When he finally awakens I want him to feel me against him, feel my hands on his body. . . . Here goes.

Because he was a soldier, his survival instincts were attuned to any slight change in sound around him. He could even feel the body heat emitted by the intruder as he approached his bare back. His hand slid under the pillow and closed around the knife he always slept with. He waited until the intruder was close enough to be stabbed when he rolled over and attacked. Almost. One more step and he's a dead man. . . . What's that smell? Perfume? The intruder is a woman! Who would sneak into my bedroom at night . . . Oh. Oh no. It's Adeen. She wants to talk some more. I'll just lay here and pretend I'm asleep, pretend I don't hear her when she says something to me.

But she didn't speak. She slipped under the covers and lay against his back. Thaddeus was so shocked that didn't react immediately. He was just about to call her name when he felt her press her body against his. He couldn't think of what to do. His body was about to yield and take her in his arms, but his conscience screamed 'Sinner!' . . . Finally his conscience won. He slid out of his side of the bed and turned to face her. "Stop this, Adeen! You will send us both to hell."

Her shock at his action showed on her face. Her eyes were wide open and her lips formed an 'O' shape. Then it changed to a pleading look.

"Please take me Thaddeus. I want to be yours forever. We were made to be together like this."

"No we weren't, Adeen. It's wrong. It's against nature and against God's law. Get up and go back to your room."

As she got out of bed and walked to the door Thaddeus could see that she didn't have much on – just a thin silk gown. The allure was so great that he almost called to her to come back, but her held his tongue. For the first time in his life he realized how easily his desires could overcome his willpower.

Chapter 24 – Venice

Around 400 A.D., when the Huns and the Visigoths descended on the last of the Roman Empire in Italy, people living in small villages and the countryside in northeastern Italy began to flee to safer places. A collection of closely spaced islands on the shores of the Adriatic sea provided just what they needed. Surrounded by inlets and channels the marshy islands of the Laguna Venezia could only be reached by boat and so were immune to the barbarians' attacks.

Buildings were constructed on pilings made from closely spaced tree trunks set into the layers of sand and clay that made up the islands. Bridges were built to cross the channels between the islands, first of wood and later with stone. As the city developed, the natural channels had to be deepened, widened, and lined with stone to keep them open for fishing boats and the flat bottomed boats that carried produce from the mainland.

By the middle of the sixth century the city of Venice was growing rapidly, with stores, shops, and small factories lining the canals. The limited number of canals were insufficient to keep up with the growing commerce, so the ruling council levied a new tax on the businesses to pay for expanding the canal system, stretching it out to the edges of the city where land developers were eagerly waiting to establish new communities.

This was the situation when Thaddeus Ben-Thadson stepped off a ferry boat onto a landing in the central business district. He was immediately accosted by several street vendors selling their wares. Across the street two women eyed him, waiting for their turn to tempt him with their own type of wares. Thaddeus only had a small amount of money from selling his horse before he got on the boat, so he wasn't interested in buying something right now. What he was interested in was finding a job.

In a tavern in Padua he had heard of the plan to build more canals so he came here to see if he might work on them. He asked one of the vendors where the government offices were and set out on foot. He was lost for a short time, confused by bridges and canals that all looked the same, but eventually found the place. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

A kindly clerk asked, "May I help you sir?"

"Yes. I'm looking for work in the construction of the new canals."

"I'm sorry sir, but all the laborer openings have been filled. But if you will leave your name and qualifications there might be an opening in the future. Maybe someone will get injured or killed. We have had quite a few drownings lately. Tell me, can you swim?"

"Yes, I can."

"Be sure to put that on your application."

Thaddeus took the application from the clerk and sat down at a desk. I don't really want to be a laborer, but I have to eat and rent a room somewhere. I'm not afraid of hard work though. I did plenty of that in the army. What else can I do? . . . I don't know how to build stone walls under water. But I have built bridges! I was in charge of several bridge projects in the army. I'll put that down. After adding a few details about his past he turned in the application.

The clerk barely looked up. "Thank you sir. Check back in a week or two."

Thaddeus walked out the door wondering how he was going survive until a job opened up. He was half a block down the walkway when the clerk burst from the office door, waving his application and shouting "Sir. Sir. Come back. We need to talk."

It turned out they had no one to design and build the bridges over the new canals, and several of the older bridges were badly in need of repair. As the clerk was explaining this to Thaddeus the mayor of the city came through the door, out of breath.

"I came as fast as I could. The boy you sent told me you found someone who builds bridges. He hasn't left yet has he?"

"No Mayor Murano. Meet Thaddeus Ben-Thadson, formerly a bridge builder in Justinian's army."

The mayor gave a half bow as he shook Thaddeus' hand. "You are truly sent from God, sir. We have no one who can build bridges. It's a lost art around here."

The clerk cut in. "He also designs them, Mayor. Each one custom designed for the structure of the surrounding soil."

"Can you build bridges with some artistry in them? Features that match the architecture of the surrounding neighborhood?"

"I think I can do that, yes."

"Then you're hired. You will be the director of bridge construction for the entire city, Mr. Ben Thadson."

Thaddeus had been thinking about his name while wondering around this part of Europe and decided he needed a shorter version of his name. "Call me Ted your honor. Now what did you have in mind for my compensation?"

"How about one solidus per week?"

Ted almost choked. "That's what I earned in six months as a soldier."

"Is it not enough? I might be able to get the council to authorize more."

"No, no. The amount is fine. I was just surprised it was so much."

"Apparently you don't understand the importance of bridges here in Venice. I have several businessmen threatening to fire me if I don't get this done."

"Then I won't disappoint you, Mayor Murano."

"Please call me by my first name, Antonio. Now, where do you plan to live?"

"I haven't thought about it. I don't know the city at all."

"Then you will stay with my family. I live in the San Marco section of Venice. Some of the most beautiful architecture in the city."

"I don't want to inconvenience your family Antonio. I'll find lodging somewhere."

"Nonsense. We have plenty of room for guests, and a cook who makes the best seafood dishes in the city."

"Will it be crowded in your home if I stay there?

"My home is the top floor of a four story apartment building. I own the building. In fact I own several buildings in Venice."

"So is that your business, real estate?"

"One of them. I started with nothing but a small glass blowing shop outside of town, but as the glassware became famous and the business expanded I invested the profits wisely and now I'm quite wealthy."

"I can see that, Antonio."

"Well, let's go see it up close. Grab your traveling bag and follow me."

They walked along the Grand Canal for a time then turned into a courtyard decorated with assorted flowers and statuary. Antonio stopped to let Thaddeus, now Ted, take in the view. The stone façade of the building was impressive with a covered entryway, carvings, and hanging flower pots. There were windows on all four floors leading Ted to hope the guest room might have one. As his eyes moved to the top floor he briefly saw someone looking down at them – a young woman with raven hair. It was a very brief look because she immediately closed the curtain when she saw him looking.

Later Antonio, his wife Marie, and Ted were standing by the dinner table waiting for their daughter to join them.

"I don't know what that girl is doing in there," Marie complained. "I called to her several minutes ago. When girls reach 18 they don't listen any more. She thinks she is a queen who can do as she pleases. Antonio you call her this time."

"Francesca, get in here immediately. You're keeping our guest waiting!" he bellowed.

She didn't answer, but a few minutes later she entered with her head hung low. She may be a queen, but she knew her father was the king. When they all were standing around the table Antonio introduced Ted to his daughter, then thanked God for the food, their health, and for answering his prayers for someone to build bridges. Then he motioned to the women to sit first, then to his guest, and finally he took his seat at the head of the table.

Francesca sat across from Ted and he wanted to get a better look at her, but he had to limit his glances to the few fleeting seconds when she wasn't looking at him. I love that long black hair. Straight and freshly brushed it has a glimmering shine. I can't see her entire body but the part above the table is delightful to look at. And the dress is lovely – well fitted to her shape with a modest amount of skin showing. To get a better look at her face he knew he would have to start a conversation with her.

After the maidservant brought the food Antonio started a discussion by asking about Ted's past.

"First, where are you from. Your command of the Latin language is good but I detect a slight foreign accent."

"I was raised in the eastern part of the Empire, beyond Constantinople. The common language was Armenian, but because of all the trade that passed through our city going between the far east and Italy, most businessmen speak several languages. As a young boy my father insisted that my sister and I speak and write only in Greek, 'The language of the educated' he called it. Later, while I was in Justinian's army, I learned to speak a few other languages, including Latin."

"But what city did you live in? . . . No, wait, let me guess. . . . It's on the east-west trade route, the so-called silk road . . . the local language is Armenian, which means it must be on the far eastern end of Justinian's territory . . . and your last name is Thadson. . . . I have it! It must be Edessa. Am I right?"

"You are indeed sir."

Antonio looked at him with a new respect. "I visited Edessa last year on business. The Thadson name is very important in that area. They had something to do with building a magnificent dam across Daisan Canyon to stop the annual flooding. Were you . . .

Ted interrupted, not wanting his ties to the family and his sudden departure from Edessa to come up. "Yes, I've seen that dam. But I think the cathedral is even grander. Did you visit it?"

"I wasn't there long enough, but I bought a small painting of it in the marketplace. The picture is breathtaking. Marie hung it above our bed."

"Who was the artist?"

"A delightful woman named Adeen Marcellius. She is the proprietor of the shop, and by the looks of it, most of the paintings she has for sale are her work."

"Marcellius? Did you meet her husband by any chance."

"Yes. He works with her. A warm, friendly gentleman who adores his wife."

Marie didn't miss the chance to get a word in. "We could use a little more of that around here, dear."

After scowling at his wife, Antonio continued. "This artist has one painting that takes your breath away. It's the face of our Lord Jesus Christ. People say that she painted it from a cloth that has his image on it."

Ted smiled inside. Yes! She did it! She painted the Image of Edessa . . . and found a good husband. "I would like to see that someday."

Antonio started to open his mouth again but caught the barely perceptible shake of his wife's head. He didn't know why until she looked back and forth between Ted and Francesca. He nodded his head and closed his mouth, leaving silence that Marie hoped would get their daughter and their guest talk to each other.

Ted saw the interchange and understood that it was his time to start a conversation with Francesca. "Francesca, what occupies your days?"

"Not much."

He paused, then tried again. "Are you attending a university?"

"No"

This is getting frustrating. I'll try once more then I'm done being friendly to her. "Do you have any hobbies? Painting, knitting, horseback riding?

"No, no, and no"

Ted smiled and turned to Marie for conversation, but she was giving her daughter a stern look. "It seems a bit chilly in here don't you think, Francesca?"

"Yes Ma'am."

"Would you please explain why"

She paused for several seconds, getting up the courage to tell her parents off. Finally she said, "Because you two keep bringing young men here hoping they will want to marry me. I'm sick and tired of it! When I decide I'm ready to get married, then I will choose my own husband, not some son of a wealthy family you try to force on me. Ted here is just another one of your scheming attempts to use me to get you connected with other rich families in Venice. I won't be your pawn!"

A long, uncomfortable silence followed, with Antonio and Marie trying their best not to look shocked. Finally Ted spoke up.

"You are wrong about that, Francesca. I have no interest in marrying you or anyone. Your father and I concluded a business agreement this afternoon and his invitation to dinner was the accepted protocol for this situation."

Antonio glared at his daughter. "You may be excused, Francesca. I'll deal with you later."

She answered petulantly, "But I haven't eaten yet."

Her father thundered, "I said you were excused!"

Francesca lifted her head up, gracefully pushed her chair back, and answered "Very well, father," and left the room with a dignified walk.

Marie looked at Ted. "I apologize for my daughter's behavior, Mr. Ben-Thadson. I don't know what got into her."

"No apology necessary, Marie. Actually I found her independence refreshing. I like a woman who will stand up for her convictions."

Francesca, standing just inside her almost closed door was listening. Now that's the kind of man I want to marry, she thought.

The next morning Ted was awakened by a light knock on his door. "Yes?"

"Mama asked me to inform you that breakfast will be ready shortly, Mr. Ben-Thadson."

It's Francesca. And she isn't speaking rudely this morning. Her father must have straightened her out last night.

"Thank you, Miss Murano. Give me a few minutes to wash up, then I'll be there."

When Ted walked into the dining room the other three were sitting at a table already laid out with food. Bowls of fruit, bread rolls with butter and honey, goat cheese, boiled eggs, and light red wine. "This looks delicious, Marie. I don't believe I have ever had such a breakfast."

"Thank you, Ted. Please have a seat."

As he sat he glanced over at Francesca briefly, expecting to see her looking down at her plate, but was surprised to see her looking up at him. They locked eyes for a moment as a connection flowed between them that was felt by both.

Ted was the first to pull his eyes away, but the feeling in the pit of his stomach stayed for a few seconds. He finally shook himself loose from its grip and greeted her.

"Good morning Miss Murano. I trust you slept well?"

"I did indeed Mr. Ben-Thadson. Did you sleep well yourself?"

"Yes I did. The bed was softer than anything I have slept on for several years."

At that point Marie intervened. "I think we can dispense with the formal names here in the house. Call each other Ted and Francesca."

The looked at each other and at almost the same time spoke the names, which brought laughter from everyone.

Antonio invited everyone to fill their plates and start eating. After enjoying a few bites Ted asked "What are our plans today, Antonio?"

"I would like to take you to a few of the bridges that are under construction to see what you think of them. Maybe you will have ideas for improving them. We'll leave as soon as we're finished eating."

"That's a good plan. I can't wait to see more of your lovely city."

"It's not all lovely, Ted. We have old sections where the people live in shacks – fishermen who barely earn enough to feed their families. I've been trying to convince the council to tear down the shacks and replace them with decent homes but they say it would cost too much. I suggested they raise the money by increasing taxes, but they fear the uprising it may bring."

"I might have some ideas, but let me think about it."

Francesca was waiting for an opening, and this looked like the time.

"Tell us more about Edessa, Ted. Do you have family there?"

"I have my parents and an older sister, actually a half sister, named . . uh . . Deena."

"How about friends. Any lady friends?"

Marie frowned at her for being too nosey, but Ted didn't seem to mind.

"There was a woman before I left there, but it didn't work out." He didn't want them to know that he almost married his half-sister.

Francesca smiled, a little too broadly. "Good. I'm glad to hear that."

She's not big on subtlety, but I like her directness. Being bound up by social niceties shows a lack of confidence.

"What was her name?"

Now that's going a little too far. "It's not relevant now. I've almost forgotten her," he lied.

To stop this line of questioning he turned to Antonio. "Now that we're finished with breakfast isn't it about time to go look at some bridges?"

"Yes. We're just wasting time sitting here talking."

Ted looked at Francesca. "No we're not."

The two men walked down the back stairs of the building and came out on stone walk that ran along a canal. Antonio pointed to the left. "There's a boat dock at the end of the walk. Young boys hang out there with their boats to ferry passengers wherever they want to go – for a price of course. During the Christmas holiday when we get lots of visitors from the mainland they triple their prices.

As they approached the dock Ted saw several unusual boats. "I've never seen boats like this. Why are they so narrow?"

"Most of the canals are very narrow. Only small boats like these can travel freely."

Antonio pointed to one of the boys he knew. The lad pushed his boat up to the landing and the two men stepped in.

Chapter 25 – The Icon

560 A.D. – Edessa

Adeen was getting well-known for her paintings, especially the one of Christ she made from the Holy Cloth of Edessa, as it was now known. Over the past couple of years she had tried several variations of it, but none of them fully met her standards of artistic perfection. The colors weren't bright enough and the tempura medium she used was hard to keep at the ideal consistency. They were either too watery, in which case she had to add more egg yolk, or they dried out and became too thick, requiring more water. The paint was acceptable for most of her art, but not for her masterpiece.

She was thinking about it one afternoon in her shop as she painted a landscape sketch of the dam. He thoughts were interrupted when some visitors entered. She got up and introduced herself to the two gentlemen.

"We are clergymen from Constantinople here for a visit. Edessa has become the second largest city in the Eastern Empire and we want to see how it compares to our city. . . . You have some beautiful paintings here."

"Thank you. Everything here is for sale so please look around for something you like."

The eyes of the taller of the two were immediately drawn to the large painting of Christ. "You painted this, Madame? It's beautiful!"

"Yes. It's was painted from the Holy Cloth that is believed to be the faceprint of our Lord himself."

"Where is this cloth?"

"It's kept in the annex to the Cathedral of St. Thaddeus, sealed behind bars and oaken doors."

"Can we see it. We must see it!"

"Only the Archbishop can authorize that and he hasn't let anyone near it in years."

"But how then did you see it to paint the picture?"

"My father is the caretaker of the relic. He got special permission for me to spend time with it."

"The Archbishop of the Sancta Sophia Cathedral in Constantinople must see this Holy Cloth. We have heard rumors of it but did not know where to find it. I need to speak with your Archbishop to arrange a visit."

"I'll close the shop for the afternoon and take you to him."

Three weeks later the entire city was buzzing with activity, preparing for the visit of Archbishop Augustus. A feast was planned followed by a procession of important people who wanted to be blessed by the Archbishop. Workers were hanging colored banners from buildings while the poor of the city were being paid to sweep the roads and scrub the sidewalks. Preparations were made to bring the Holy Image from its stone reliquary out to the sanctuary to be displayed for the Archbishop and his entourage.

None of this affected Adeen much, except that she was creating as many small painted copies of the Holy Cloth as she could before the Archbishop and the expected hoard of visitors showed up. She planned to set up a sidewalk display in front of her shop and sell them to the tourists. She could use the money to make some improvements to her shop and buy new painting materials.

Three days later Archbishop Augustus arrived in a gilded carriage surrounded by a dozen mounted guards. Several other carriages followed with advisors and others who tended to his needs. After a night of rest in the finest hotel in Edessa the Archbishop and his group were paraded through town in their carriages where thousands of townspeople were gathered to watch him pass. The procession ended at the Cathedral for a viewing of the Holy Cloth.

After hearing a brief history – legend by this time – of how the image of Christ came to Edessa, the likeness of Jesus was uncovered for inspection by the Archbishop and his staff. After studying it for several minutes Augustus called one of his advisors – the curator of religious art – to join him.

"Tell me Basil, could this faint image have been made by human hands?"

The scholar examined it closely, using an ivory stick to probe the texture. "No your excelency, I see no sign of any kind of coloring on it. It is just a faint darkening of the surface in the shape of our savior's face. See, here is the nose, the eyes, the beard. And the blood stains on the forehead must certainly be from the crown of thorns. Yes, I believe this definitely is a genuine imprint of our Lord's face."

Augustus turned to Archbishop of Edessa with a question. "Have artists tried to capture this image in a painted portrait?"

"Yes your excelency. A local artist has painted a magnificent depiction of the Holy Image, but painted it in color to look like the living Christ. It hangs in her shop in town."

"I must see it! Take me there now."

Adeen was sitting on a stool beside her sidewalk display. Already half of the miniature portraits had been sold and she was thinking how many more she could create overnight. She didn't want to rush them – they had to meet her standards. If I can get Marcellus to come down and run the shop I could get started right away. I might produce as many as ten, but the paint would need to dry for a couple of days before they were ready to sell. I guess it's a bad idea.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the Archbishop's carriage stopped in front of the shop. She gasped and fell to one knee as he exited the coach. Augustus held out the ring on his hand for her to kiss, then bid her to rise.

"I understand you have created a painting of the Holy Cloth. May I see it?"

"Yes my lord. Come into the shop. . . . There, hanging on the back wall."

When Augustus look up it took his breath away. "Such beauty, Madame. You are truly a gifted artist." Basil asked "May I approach it. I want to see how you captured such detail."

"Yes. Let me get it down for you." Adeen took it down and laid it on a table near the window.

"It was brilliant of you to bring out the details in more contrast by adding lifelike colors."

"I have never been truly satisfied with these colors. The pigments and media available can't quite capture what I believe our Savior looked like."

"Have you tried the encaustic technique?"

"I'm not familiar with it."

"The pigments are dissolved in bees wax and applied as a hot liquid. When it cools it gives a translucent depth of color that brings the image out at you. It is what the artists in Constantinople have been using with beautiful results."

"I would love to travel there to learn this technique, but I don't have money to live while I'm there."

Archbishop Augustus spoke up. "The church will pay your expenses, Madame, on one condition . . . that you paint a copy of your masterpiece using the new technique to hang in the sanctuary of the great cathedral."

"I don't know what to say, your excelency."

"So will you come?"

"Of course. I'll make the arrangements as soon as possible."

It took Adeen six months to complete an encaustic version of her masterpiece, but at last she was fully satisfied with the result. Archbishop Augustus was so taken with it that he declared it the official orthodox icon of the Eastern Christian Church. Copies were painted by other artists for hundreds of years, but none of them had the beauty of the painting hanging in the Sancta Sophia Cathedral in Constantinople.

Chapter 26 – Change of Venue

944 A.D. – Constantinople

In 944 A.D. the ruler of the Eastern Roman Empire was Constantine VII, who was renowned as a writer, scholar, and collector of historical books, manuscripts, and works of art. In the four centuries since Archbishop Augustus hung Adeen's painting in the cathedral in Constantinople little had been heard of the actual Holy Image kept in the House of the Icon of the Lord in Edessa. In fact it's existence, once a great tourist draw, had all but been forgotten.

But the emperor saw the painting of it weekly during church services at the Cathedral and, being the curios scholar that he was, decided to search for the original, the cloth itself. It took his team of historians several months to locate it and report back to their ruler.

"Your highness we are certain the cloth is now in Edessa, in a secure vault at the Cathedral there. It is only taken out once a year, at Easter, for viewing by a selected group of noblemen and church officials. The criteria for belonging to that group is apparently large donations to the church – and to the Archbishop himself."

"I must see it!" Constantine exclaimed. "Immediately. I won't wait for Easter. And I don't intend to pay for the privilege. Send an emissary there next week to arrange a viewing for me."

The chief historian cleared his throat, not wanting to bring up the emperor's physical condition that prevented him from traveling long distances. "Are you able to make the trip, your highness?"

"Of course I'm not able. I don't intend to go the Image, I want the Image brought to me. Make it so!"

"Yes your majesty."

During the 8th and 9th centuries the Eastern Orthodox church went through two periods when the church authorities declared that paintings and statues of Christ and the Virgin Mary were a violation of the third commandment, which forbids idols and graven images. Consequently King Leo III sent his men throughout the Byzantine empire destroying all the banned images they could find.

The Holy Image of Edessa survived this period only through the efforts of the Brotherhood of the Image. The Brotherhood was founded by Eshu after the Holy Cloth, The Priceless Linen, was placed in a secure vault built to protect it from thieves. The male descendants of Eshu who made up the secret Brotherhood were perpetually charged with guarding the repository and were sworn to protect it with their lives if necessary. Over the three centuries since it was founded the successive 'brothers' had steadily increased the security as armies from surrounding countries came and went.

By the beginning of the tenth century the rules for gaining access to the Holy cloth were rigorously enforced. Only royalty and top officials of the Eastern Orthodox Church were permitted a private audience with the relic, and then only with two members of the Brotherhood flanking the framed image. So when General Galenius, the emissary from Emperor Constantine, met with the Archbishop Stephanos of Edessa, his request was met with indignation.

"You must be mad! The sacred image has never left this city since the disciple Thaddeus brought it to King Abgar in the thirty-sixth year of our Lord."

"But your grace, this request comes directly from the emperor. You must obey."

"I will not! God sent the miraculous image to Edessa and that is where it will stay. Now get out of my church."

"You do realize that if you don't comply his highness will send soldiers to take it, don't you?"

"Let him try. It is well-guarded. Many lives will be lost if he tries to take it by force."

The emissary stood up to leave. "So be it. But the blood will be on your hands."

As soon as Constantine's emissary left Edessa Archbishop Stephanos sent for the leaders of the Brotherhood that protected the sacred cloth. When they were all seated around the oak table in the Archbishop's quarters he got their attention by banging his fist on the wood surface.

"Quiet! We have important business to address."

He looked around the table to be sure he had their attention. The leader of the group, Damion Tadzon, stopped talking and gave the Archbishop his full attention. When his second in command, Alexios Marcellius, continued his murmuring conversation with another member of the group Damion kicked him in the shin under the table. It hurt his foot as much as it hurt Alexios, leading him to make a mental note to buy a pair of the new stiff leather boots that were becoming popular.

"As you know I met with Constantine's representative General Galenius this morning. We thought he was going to request that the emperor be permitted to come here to view the Holy Cloth. . . . But instead he requested – no demanded – that we hand over the image to him to take to the emperor in Constantinople."

Those around the table were shocked. No one spoke for several seconds. Damion's shock quickly turned to anger. "What did you tell him! You didn't agree did you?"

Stephanos paused for dramatic effect. "No, I threw him out and he hastily left town."

"What did he say to your response?"

The Archbishop cleared his throat. "That's why I called you together. . . . he threatened to send soldiers to take it by force. We cannot let that happen."

Alexios intervened with his thoughts. "I don't see how we can prevent it. The General will return with a large force, one we could never defeat. He not only will take the Holy Cloth but might even destroy the city in retribution for your impudence, Archbishop!"

"Watch your tongue or your own impudence will be your downfall."

Damion gave him another kick. "What Alexios meant, your eminence, is that we have quite a challenge ahead of us. But, like the Brotherhood has always done in the past, we will overcome it."

"What do you propose to do?"

"As I see it, we have three options available to us. The first is to smuggle it out of the city and hide it somewhere in the countryside, an old mine perhaps. The second is to hide it within the city where we can keep a close watch on it. We can claim it was stolen and let the General come to the cathedral see for himself that it is not in the vault. We could even break into the vault ourselves to leave evidence of the theft. A third choice is to leave it where it is and defend the Image and the city with all the men we can train before the General shows up."

The Archbishop sat thoughtfully for a few minutes. "All three of your suggestions have the same drawback. If General Galenius doesn't find the relic he could unleash a full-scale attack, perhaps even surround the city to cut off our food supply. In less than a month the citizens will be rioting, crying out for us to give up The Priceless Linen as our forefather Thaddeus called it. We will be at his mercy. We must find another solution."

Alexios injected his opinion. "You are failing to see the simplest solution of all. Give the emperor what he wants. Let the General take the cloth back to Constantinople for the king to see, then return it to Edessa afterward. Nobody gets hurt, and Constantine will be grateful and in our debt – something we might use to our benefit."

Damion's older brother, Calinius, spoke up at this point. "I'm older than all of you, which is supposed to make me the wisest. I have lived through two rulers of this kingdom and learned that one can never trust a king to keep his word. I believe Constantine will keep the cloth once he has it. We cannot let the Holy Image leave Edessa. We would be breaking the trust of God and Saint Thaddeus. God will punish us for that."

The Archbishop nodded his head in agreement as he looked at the eight men. "None of the solutions we have discussed are acceptable. Think about it overnight and meet here again in the morning with better ideas. We haven't much time.

There is a legend in Edessa about an artist who painted with the hand of God. Four hundred years before the Brotherhood met with Archbishop Stephanos, she painted several portraits of Christ in the style of the Holy Image. Her largest was still on display at the Cathedral in Constantinople.

After she created that masterpiece she, along with her husband Marcellius, returned to Edessa where she founded a school for artists, the Adeen School of Artistic Design. Not only was the legend of Adeen preserved for four centuries, but the school survived and grew throughout that time. Among the styles taught at the school was one the founder called 'Ethereal' in which the actual image being painted was depicted as wispy and ghostlike. Often one had to stare at the result for several minutes before the subject of the painting could be discerned.

Damion had visited the renowned academy several years before, and that was where his dream took him that night. There was one portrait, created by Adeen shortly before her death at the age of 92, that had captured his attention. It was a portrait of the face of Christ, done in reddish-brown charcoal, titled 'It is Finished.' It showed what His face might have looked like immediately after he uttered those final words. What captured Damion's attention when he saw it was the similarity to the Holy Image of Edessa. He was one of the few to have seen both so he knew how closely the artist had captured the characteristics of the Image. No paint, no brush strokes; just a light sketching on herringbone linen.

In his dream he thought the portrait was the actual Holy Image, somehow stolen from it's vault at the Cathedral, and that the one in the vault was a forgery. As his dream persona ran to check the vault he woke up with a start. Even though awake he still felt the urge to go inspect the Holy Cloth in the vault, so he dressed and hurried out the door. After opening the protective doors of the repository he sat and stared at the face of Christ – the same face that he had seen on previous viewings. He sat there until morning, then rose and went down the hill into town.

He was standing at the door to the Adeen Academy of Art when the doors were unlocked and opened to visitors. He hurried to the small room in back of the main gallery where the artist's iconography hung on the walls and found the one he had dreamed of. Having just spent hours studying the real thing he now compared the picture in his mind to the sketch before him. The likeness was uncanny. Adeen even had added small splotches of human blood in the exact locations where they appeared on the Holy Image. That's when the idea that was forming in his mind even before he woke up burst into reality. That's it! The perfect plan! I must go tell the others.

Several days later, when Damion's spies reported that General Galenius and his force of two thousand men were within a day's march of Edessa, he proceeded with his plan. Late at night, Damion, Alexios, and the Archbishop opened the vault and removed the Holy Image from its frame, the one made by Thaddeus and Tobias centuries ago, and locked it inside a small chest. Then the three of them moved quietly through the streets to an alley behind the art academy. As they approached the rear door Stephanos pulled a key from his robe and unlocked the door.

"Where did you get the key, Archbishop?"

"My brother is a locksmith."

The three of them entered the Academy and went straight to the room where Adeen's icon hung. They took it over to a table, opened the clasps on the back of the thick frame, and removed the likeness. Stephanos took out the true image and laid it beside the sketched image.

"This is amazing, Damion. They're almost identical."

"Almost?"

"Yes except for the eyes. Hold that lamp closer, Alexios. . . . See. The eyes on the true image seem to have a faint impression on them, like maybe a coin or something."

"Yes! I see it now. I never noticed it before. Fortunately it's something that only shows up in a side-by-side comparison so the emperor will never know he has been deceived."

They pressed the Holy Image into the picture frame tightly and re-attached the backing board. After hanging it in the exact spot the icon had been they took the Adeen forgery back to the vault and replaced the original with it. Afterward the Archbishop invited Damion and his brother to join him for a celebratory glass of apricot wine, but Alexios declined saying with a wink "My wife said she would wait up for me."

Alexios was in a hurry to leave, but it had nothing to do with his wife. He had arranged to borrow a horse and was now galloping along the road to General Galenius' camp. As he got near he slowed and looked for a sentry he could ask to take him to the General. He was watching so intently that he didn't see the soldier run at him from the side until he was knocked off the horse with the blunt end of a spear. He lay on the ground, dizzy and gasping for breath, with his eyes closed. When he opened them two guards were standing over him with their spears inches from his chest. He held up his hands in surrender but a third guard behind him clubbed him on the head with the handle of a sword. As he lost consciousness the word 'idiot' was passing through his mind.

By sunset the next evening the General was at the main gate to the city, demanding to speak to Archbishop Stephanos. When the gate didn't open he ordered some of his men to open it with a battering ram. Within minutes Galenius and fifty of his men stood in front of the cathedral, facing off against a couple dozen Brotherhood guards.

"Stand down or forfeit your lives. I intend to leave with the Holy Relic and will do whatever is necessary to make that happen."

The Brotherhood men held their swords and spears in front of them, ready to fend off an attack until the last of them was dead. One of them stepped forward.

"I am Damion, Captain of the Brotherhood of the Image guard force. We are all sworn to give up our lives to protect the Sacred Cloth. . . . Look up to the roof of the cathedral, General. . . . I have six archers up there with their bows drawn, all aimed at you. We may die but you will be the first."

"Do you think you can push me away so easily? I have enough men outside to destroy this city – with or without me."

The Archbishop waited just inside the front doors of the cathedral for the signal from Damion. The Brotherhood's bravado was all part of the plan Damion came up with. He reasoned that if they gave up the Holy Cloth – the fake one – too easily the General would be suspicious. When Damion raised his sword to signal the archers to fire, it was the cleric's cue. He burst out the door waving his arms.

"Stop this madness. No one will die here tonight. Damion, order your bowmen to stand down. General, put your sword back in its sheath. I will lead you to the relic. But first you must sign a document guaranteeing its safe return."

The General did as he was asked and followed the Archbishop into the church, along with several of his men and Damion. When the document was signed and witnessed Damion led them through a rear passageway from the church to the sanctuary where the relic was kept. Damion made a show of unlocking several padlocks as he opened the protective doors one by one. Finally the iron bars were drawn back and he stepped aside to let General Galenius see the prize. The General was astounded by the Holy Image . . . at least he appeared to be.

While the General was signing the document in the church three men were sneaking into the city through a storm runoff drain. Led by Alexios, he and two of the General's men approached the rear entrance to the Adeen Academy. He proudly held up a key to the door. "I picked this from the Archbishop's pocket. As the General will find out when I join him I am a man of many skills."

The three quickly went into the small room, removed the true Image from the wall, and put it in a leather satchel. Then they retraced their steps out the back door and back to camping army. When they got there a mounted rider was waiting to take it to Constantinople as fast as his horse would carry him.

As Alexios watched the rider disappear into the darkness he felt a hand on his shoulder. The legion commander said "You have done well my friend. Come, let us celebrate."

Alexios followed him, thinking of the riches the General had promised him when he showed up in the camp. The Commander's tent was set up on the bank of the river with a wonderful view of the night sky. The Commander pointed upward and asked, "Do you know the creatures formed by the stars?"

When Alexios shook his head the Commander pointed at one. "See that one right overhead. That's Ursa, the bear."

As he looked straight up a soldier who had sneaked up behind him slashed his sharp knife across the man's throat. As he fell to his knees he looked at the Commander, his eyes questioning "Why!"

"You didn't think we could let the only witness to our trickery live, did you."

Three weeks later General Galenius and his army returned to Constantinople with Adeen's copy of the Holy Image in the framed box. At this point only the General knew it wasn't the genuine article. The two men who had helped Alexios steal the real image from the art school had met the same fate that he had, floating down the Daisan River with their throats slit. A few weeks later the legion commander who oversaw the theft would be killed in battle by what would be called a thousand years later 'friendly fire.'

The night the General returned he went straight to the prison outside of town to visit the courier who had carried the real image to Constantinople, where he and his priceless package were locked away, awaiting the General's return.

When the guard opened the cell the General entered he looked around for the satchel but didn't see it anywhere. He went to the bed where the courier lay sleeping and shook him awake.

"Where is it? What have you done with it?"

The man sat up and pulled the package from under the mattress. "It is safe, sir. It has not left my sight."

Galenius took the satchel and checked to ensure that the wax seal with his personal signet stamp was still intact. The courier had no knowledge of what was in the pouch, but just to be certain the General spoke softly to the guard as he left. "Kill him. Immediately."

Chapter 27 – Constantinople

When General Galenius returned home from the prison he immediately went into his study and locked the door. Then he took Adeen's copy of the image out of the frame that came from the vault in Edessa and carefully replaced it with the true Holy Image stolen from the Adeen Academy of Art. To complete his deception he threw the copy into the fireplace and watched it burn. Now he was ready to present his prize to the emperor, whom he was certain would reward him well. He sent a messenger to request an audience with Constantine at his earliest convenience. Galenius didn't have to wait long. His messenger returned within the hour with Constantine's order to report to him immediately.

At the palace he was ushered into the emperor's private library and instructed to wait. Waiting wasn't something the General was good at. As his impatience grew he thought about what he would say as he presented the Holy Image to his majesty.

I need to show deference, but not too much. I am, after all, almost his equal. . . . I'll begin by recounting my role in wresting the relic from the Brotherhood soldiers at the Cathedral – I'll tell him we fought for it – beat them back with our swords - make myself the hero who broke into the secure vault and personally removed the Holy Treasure. . . . Or maybe I'll tell him that we had to lay siege to the city to get them to surrender it to me. . . . No, I like the hero version better. And he doesn't need to know about how it was hidden in an art gallery. There's no glory for me in the real story. His thoughts were interrupted when Constantine entered the room.

After bowing the General began his tale.

"Your Royal Highness, I have brought to you the Holy Image of Edessa, obtained through my heroic efforts . . ."

"I don't want to hear about it, I want to see it. Show it to me. Now!"

Chastened, the General removed the strap from over his shoulder and placed a leather satchel on the desk. As he reached to open it he was pushed aside as Constantine hurried to see what was inside. He slid the Holy Object out onto his desk and froze, transfixed by the realization that he was looking at the face of Jesus Christ himself. Finally he spoke.

"This is the most valuable object in the entire Christian world. If other rulers hear that we have it they will surely try to steal it from me. But it's mine. The Lord brought it to me to safeguard. No one must know about it!"

"But your highness, I thought we would display it to the public, hang it in the cathedral for all our citizens to see and worship."

The emperor looked at him sharply. "Worship? We don't worship likenesses, we worship Christ himself. No, we must keep it hidden away so that doesn't happen. No one must know!"

If the general hadn't been so disheartened by the dismissal of his attempt to make himself a hero he might have picked up on his impending fate. But all he could think of was the rapid fading of his hopes for riches and recognition. The king noticed his change in countenance.

"Cheer up, General. Even though we don't put it on display its holy power will be available to us. Clearly the Lord will find favor with me and my empire if I have his Holy Image in my possession. Come, let us celebrate. I have some aged wine from the north that I was keeping for a special occasion. This triumph is as special as it gets."

Constantine clapped his hands and an attractive female servant appeared. After receiving her instructions she went to the wine cellar and brought back a dusty bottle of wine and two golden goblets. The king told her to put it on the table by the door and leave. Then he went over and filled the two goblets himself. The general didn't notice the small vial of liquid he poured into one of the wine goblets.

As he gave one to the General he raised his in a toast. "Here's to your successful mission, Galenius. May you have many others." As royal protocol required he waited for his king to take the first drink. The king drained his cup, gulping the beverage down. Galenius preferred to take it in smaller sips so he could enjoy the flavor, but he was expected to follow Constantine's lead, so he swallowed it down.

"Come into the parlor with me. I want to hear the details of your adventure."

That brightened the General's mood. I will finally be able to tell him of my heroics. He will have to reward me when hears all I went through to get the Holy Image for him. Galenius was starting to believe his own exaggerated version of the events.

The general talked for several minutes, making up new parts as he went through the tale. Finally he seemed to run down. He was having trouble getting his breath.

"A fascinating story, General, but telling it is tiring you out. Let me talk for awhile. . . . Did you know I have my own garden? Actually it's bigger than just a garden. I have plants and trees brought back from the far reaches of my kingdom, some of them quite exotic. One of my favorites has leaves like a carrot and a single fat root that can grow to a foot or more deep. But it isn't a carrot and cannot be eaten. I have heard reports of people who pulled them up where they grow wild and ate them . . . only to die a short time later. You see, the root is highly poisonous. In fact, legend has it that a great philosopher and teacher from ancient Greece was sentenced to death. He was allowed to choose his method of death and, being one familiar with the sciences, chose to drink poison. . . . poison that was extracted from this root I grow in my very garden. Do you know what it is called?"

"Y – Y – Yes." Why is my tongue tied. It won't follow my brain's commands. That's insubordination.

"Its name in Latin is Conium Maculatum, but it's more commonly known as poison hemlock."

"P – P – P – Poison?"

"Yes. A highly toxic poison can be extracted from its root, and you just drank some mixed with your wine."

Galenius looked at the king in shock and tried to get up from his chair . . . but he couldn't. his leg and arm muscles were now disobeying his command. He tried to ask the king why, but he couldn't get a sound out – the paralysis had reached his vocal chords. But his mind still worked. That pompous jackal is killing me. After all I have done for him over my years of service. He wouldn't even let me die a soldier's death, die at the end of a sword. Why, why, why?

"You may be wondering why I would do this. As I said earlier, no one can know of this but me. My prized possession will be mine alone. My secret. . . . I suppose you are also wondering how you will die. Fortunately there will be no pain, which makes it a fitting poison for an old friend. The next thing that will succumb to its effects will be your breathing. As your diaphragm muscles quit working you won't be able to take in air. You will die shortly by suffocation. But the good news is that, from what I have been told, you mind will work normally right up to the end. You will have a front row seat for your own death."

As Galenius was taking his final breaths, his mind was indeed active. I will see you in hell, you evil sinner. And when I do, I will find a way to get even. . . . Maybe I can do something before then. Lord, let my spirit haunt him for the rest of his days.

Chapter 28 – The Sculptor

Constantine the Great conquered the city of Byzantium in 324 A.D., renamed it after himself, and declared it the new capitol of the Roman Empire as Rome fell to the barbarians. He began a program of turning it into a grand city like Rome had been, with the latest architecture, libraries, defensive walls, and a lavish palace where he and his family resided. It was built on the steeply sloping shoreline of the Bosporus, a narrow straight connecting the Mediterranean Sea with the Black Sea through the smaller Sea of Marmara. Among his many accomplishments was building the first Christian structure in the city, the Church of the Holy Apostles.

The city continued to grown through a succession of kings and emperors until, by the mid fifth century, it had become the largest and wealthiest city in Europe. Each emperor had improved upon and added to the work of the previous rulers, making it famous for it's architecture. One such ruler, Justinian I, outdid his predecessors building a great cathedral, the Sancta Sophia – the Church of Holy Wisdom – dedicated to the Wisdom of God, the Logos, the second person of the Holy Trinity. The magnificent structure was the center of the Eastern Orthodox church for twelve centuries following its original construction.

By the time Constantine VII started his rule in 913 A.D. the great cathedral had fallen into disrepair, so the new emperor made it his mission to restore it to its former splendor. He redesigned the interior and added new sculptures, gilded tapestries, ornate columns, and new stained glass windows. Most of this was finished by 944 A.D. – the time he came into possession of The Priceless Linen – except for a new stone altar beneath the huge crucifix hanging in the sanctuary. He wanted it to be the most beautiful altar in the Christian world, but none of the local sculptors could create a design he liked. That led him to spread the word throughout the empire that he was looking for a master sculptor to create the masterpiece.

In the city of Ravenna on the west coast of Italy an old man with gnarled knuckles was kneading a large lump of white clay into the shape he could see in his mind. It came to him in a dream shortly after he heard of Constantine's request. He believed the dream came from God. He muttered to himself as he worked, ignoring the pain in his hands.

"No, no. Not like that. Spread the wings out further . . . there, that's better. . . . Now the face. Eyes closed, a peaceful countenance, head bowed. . . ."

After another hour he had it finished – an angel kneeling in prayer with wings spread out horizontally. He had three more just like it to make, but when he looked out the window of his studio he realized the sun was setting.

"I'll have to do them tomorrow. With my eyesight failing I can't work with the light from candles and lamps like I used to. I just hope I can finish this before my entire body fails me. . . .

"Lord, I ask that you grant me another year of health. That should be enough to create a full-sized marble altar from this small clay model. Grant me that, Holy Father, and I will be ready to join you and Christ in heaven."

Two weeks later the clay model was finished. He packed the pieces in a wooden crate filled with straw and nailed it shut. He and the crate would set sail the next for Constantinople. Once he got there he would have to find a way to put it before the king, but he wasn't concerned about that. He knew the Lord would show him the way.

As the small ship sailed into Julian Harbor at Constantinople the sculptor marveled at the architecture. He could see the Great Palace off to his right and several other structures with the domed roofs characteristic of Byzantine construction. The largest dome was on the Sancta Sophia Cathedral. He couldn't wait to visit the magnificent basilica and see it close up. As an artist he had a special appreciation for masterpieces, and the cathedral was definitely one of the greatest.

After the ship tied up at the wharf the sculptor lifted the bulky crate and prepared to carry it down the gang plank. He was concerned about his balance on the narrow walkway and had an instant flashing image of him falling into the water with his own masterpiece, but a nearby sailor offered to carry it for him. He hesitated, knowing that if the man ran off with it he wouldn't be able to catch him. But when he saw two soldiers keeping watch on the crowds at the wharf he handed the box over and said "Careful with that. It's very valuable"

"Valuable you say?"

"Yes . . . no. It's only of value to me. It's worthless in terms of monetary value."

The man gave him a skeptical look and started to step on the gangway but the sculptor cut him off and took the lead. If he tries to run with it he will have to run over me. I'm not as strong as I used to be but I can delay him until help arrives, he thought.

As it turned out his worries were unfounded. The sailor carried the box over to a small wagon and put it the back, saying "This is my cousin. He will take you and your valuable box wherever you want to go. He doesn't charge much."

"Thank you kind sir. Here is a small payment for your services." The sculptor placed three copper folles in his hand. The sailor bowed and headed toward the nearest alehouse. The driver asked, "So where are you staying, sir?"

"I . . . I haven't thought about it. Can you suggest somewhere – a rooming house maybe?"

"Yes I can. My sister, Imelda, has extra rooms she rents out. And she provides breakfast and supper for a small additional cost. Shall I take you there?"

"Yes. That sounds like just what I am looking for."

Twenty minutes later the driver, named Petronis, pulled the little donkey cart up in front of an old but well- maintained stone house. As he stepped down from the driver's seat he yelled, "Imelda! I have a new boarder for you."

Assuming it was another one of Petronis' drunken buddies that he often dragged home she answered crossly,

"I have no rooms left. Take him out to the shed and let him sleep it off. No charge for that but if he wants breakfast in the morning he'll have to pay."

"No, this one is different. Come out and meet him."

She dried her hands on her apron and grumpily went out the door. When she looked up she saw a well-dressed gentlemen along in his years. She immediately regretted not taking time to straighten up her clothes and hair. I look like a scrub woman, she thought. Petronis should have sent a messenger ahead so I could make myself presentable. Pulling her apron off and patting her hair in place she addressed the gentleman.

"I an Imelda, the proprietress of this inn." The old sculptor stepped down from the wagon, did a half bow in front of her, and offered his hand.

"I am Jason of Ravenna, madame, widely known sculptor of fine art." She put her hand in his and he lifted it to his lips for a brief kiss. Imelda blushed at this upper-class greeting she had never experienced before and quickly withdrew her hand.

As the old gentleman straightened up she noticed a wince of pain in his eyes as his arthritic vertebra responded to the action. "I was hoping to stay here a few days while I arrange an audience with the emperor, but if you have no rooms available I will to search elsewhere."

"But I do have a room available for you, sir."

He looked at her with a twinkle in his eye. "Not out in the shed I hope."

"Oh no, no. I was only joking with my brother. I assumed he was bringing home another drunkard."

"But how do you know I am not a drunkard, madame?" again with the humorous twinkle in his eyes.

Imelda was disconcerted by this and fumbled for a reply. But then he burst out laughing. "Now I am the one who is joking, madame. Forgive me if I made you uncomfortable."

At this she herself began to laugh. "You are a wicked man, Jason. I'll have to be alert to your humorous side. . . . Come, I'll show you to your room. I'm making supper now. You have time for a brief rest before I call you to the dining room. . . . That is if you are not too sea sick to eat."

"I see you also have a humorous side, madame."

"Please, call me Imelda."

Petronis added, "I call her Imy, but it makes her angry."

"I'll have to keep that in mind," Jason added.

After a dinner of chicken stew and bread Jason leaned back in his chair. "I have a problem that I hope you two can help me with. I have created a model of an altar for the cathedral in response to a notice the emperor sent out to artists in Italy. I need to find out how to get an audience with him to show him my design. How does one get an audience with the king?"

Petronis laughed. "I don't believe you can. He only accepts visits from high government officials and those rich and powerful enough to help him get what he wants."

"What does he want?"

"To gain more riches and power. A commoner like yourself doesn't stand a chance of getting in to see him."

Imelda gave her brother a sharp look. "Don't be so negative. If the king is expecting responses to his notice surely he will want to speak with Jason. I think you should present yourself at the gate with a letter of introduction explaining why you must see him."

"This letter of introduction – where do I get that?"

Petronis laughed again. "From someone rich and powerful. I'm sure you have many friends like that."

This time Imelda kicked him under the table.

"I . . . I don't know anyone from the upper class."

"Then you are stuck. No letter, no audience."

Jason thought for a moment. . . . "Wait! I do know someone. Some years ago I created a statue for the Duchess Murano of Venice. She was delighted with my work. She would write me such a letter."

Imelda's face lit up. "That's the answer. Simply get her to write a letter recommending you and use it to get in to see Constantine. Is she attractive?"

"She is a beautiful woman. I made a statue of her unclothed out of gold-veined marble. It is the centerpiece of her courtyard."

"Good. The king has a thing for beautiful women. If you could get her to deliver the letter in person your future would be assured."

Disappointment showed on the sculptor's face. "She would never do that for me. A letter is one thing, but a long trip is a waste of her time. Especially to help out a plebeian like me."

"Maybe so, but it wouldn't hurt to ask. How could she pass up a chance to see the great Constantine."

Petronis tossed in another negative thought. "Is she of high enough nobility for the emperor to waste his time with."

"What she lacks in nobility she makes up for in beauty," Jason answered.

Imelda took his hand and pulled him up from the table. "Come, let me help you compose a letter to her."

The next morning Petronis took the letter down to the harbor and found a boat bound for Venice. He looked around and spotted the ship's captain supervising the loading of cargo.

"Excuse me, sir, but you appear to be the captain of this fine vessel."

"That I am. So why are you bothering me?"

"I have an urgent letter for Duchess Murano in Venice. I hoped to enlist your aid in delivering it to her."

The man's harsh expression softened. "I knew the Duchess. She was a fine woman. But unfortunately she died just before Christmas."

"I'm so sorry to hear that. What caused her death?"

"A return of the Justinian plague that killed so many back three hundred years ago. This epidemic wasn't nearly as widespread but many around Venice and Verona fell to it."

Petronis folded the letter and put it back in his pouch. "Thank you for the news, even though it was sad."

When Petronis arrived at home Jason and Imelda were sitting at the table with a lump of clay. "Look, brother, Jason is showing me how to shape things in clay. . . . Why the long face?"

"I spoke with a ship's captain who told me that the Duchess passed away a few months ago."

Jason's face showed his disappointment and despair once again. "Now I shall never get to show the king my work. Or get a commission to create it in marble. All is lost."

He slowly stood up and went to his room to lie down on the bed. "This was to be my last great work before I die. My design would glorify God with its beauty. But now there is no hope. . . . Go ahead and take my life now, Lord. I have no reason to continue."

He lay there expecting his heart to stop at any moment, or for a bolt of lightning to come through the window and strike him dead. But it didn't. He prayed for the next two hours for death, but it didn't come. Finally his mind was invaded by a sharp thought. I have plans for you, Jason. It is not yet your time. Don't give up your quest.

The thought shocked him. Was it God? He concluded that it was, rose from the bed, and went down to the dining room to await lunch.

During lunch he had an idea. Maybe if I prayed in the Cathedral God would show me how to get my work before the emperor.

"Imelda do you and Petronis attend Sunday mass at the great cathedral?"

"I do, but Petronis doesn't believe going to mass makes a difference so he sleeps in."

"I would like to go to mass with you tomorrow. Would that be alright?"

"As long as you are a Christian you can. You don't have to be a member of the Eastern Orthodox Church to go."

"Good. What time does it start?"

"There are three masses on Sunday morning. I usually go to the first, but if you want to get a glimpse of Constantine he shows up at the third mass, just before lunch. We could go to that one."

"Yes! I must go to that one. Maybe I can speak to him then."

Petronis added one of his sardonic comments. "Yeah, like that will ever happen. He is surrounded by a dozen guards. No one can get anywhere near him, much less speak to him. I have seen people try to approach him but the guards beat them and put them in prison."

"I would suffer a beating if I could get the king to look at my altar model."

"Be careful what you ask for, old man."

The next morning Imelda and Jason showed up outside the Cathedral early so they could be on the front row of onlookers. While they waited Jason looked around to see if there was some way he could get the king to see his masterpiece. There! That ledge beside the door. If I could display my clay replica there he might look see it. But the guards wouldn't let me do that. I have to think of a way before next Sunday.

A week later Jason went to the church before dawn. Petronis followed carrying the large wooden box, which he placed on the ledge. Jason got up on the ledge and removed the top and four sides one at a time. On the bottom of the box he arranged the pieces – four angels on the corners kneeling on the slab bottom, with a thicker top slab resting on their horizontal wings. The edges of the top were engraved all around with several angels flying among the clouds. The bottom slab was edged with demons dancing in the flames of hell. As Jason stepped back Petronis saw it for the first time and was awestruck.

"My God, Jason. You have created a sacred thing here. When I looked at it I felt the Holy Spirit move in my heart. I am filled with joy!"

"Me too – every time I look at it. Come, help me stand the crate sides back up to conceal it for now. Quickly, before anyone sees us."

As the time for the third mass approached people started to gather, including Imelda. She edged her way over next to Jason, who stood off to the side near the ledge.

"Will it work, Jason?"

"It will. I tested it several times at your house, then prayed for God to watch over it and make it work here. I'll have to wait until the emperor gets close before I act. He must see the detail."

They heard the clop of horses hooves and look to the street. Constantine's royal carriage approached, then stopped directly in front of the church. The twelve soldiers that followed stepped up to the door and formed two rows, flanking the walkway to the cathedral. The footman stepped off the back of the coach and opened the door. The emperor stepped down first, then turned and offered his hand to steady his empress consort, Helena, as she stepped down. Just as the two of them started up the cathedral steps Jason yanked on two heavy strings that led to the pins holding the sides of the crate up. As the sides fell they made a loud smack as they hit the ledge surface, causing the king, his queen, and all twelve guards look straight at the ledge, just as Jason had hoped.

The two closest guards saw Jason holding the strings in his hand and seized him. The captain of the guard shouted, "Take him to the prison. I'll question him later." As they led him away the king moved up to the ledge to see what had been hidden in the box. Constantine looked at it from several angles and cried, "That's it! A design for the new altar that surpasses all others. Who created this?"

The guard pointed towards the old white haired man the guards were dragging away. "I suppose it was him, your highness."

"I must speak with him. Bring him to the palace. I'll see him when I get back after mass. And bring this model of the altar. But be careful. I don't want it damaged."

As the king walked into the cathedral he looked up and whispered, "Thank you, Lord."

When Jason looked back two guards started to remove the altar model from the ledge. Assuming they planned to dispose of it he yelled out, "No, stop! That belongs to me. You cannot take it. Let me have it."

The crowd around the old sculptor looked at him in shock. No one spoke to the king's guards that way. As they expected two more guards stepped up, gripped Jason's arms, and carried him away. Jason's heart fell. My creation, my masterpiece, will never be finished. I'll be in prison until I die . . . and I hope that doesn't take long.

Chapter 29 – The Altar

As Jason rode in the wagon he looked out through the barred windows hoping to get a glimpse of the royal palace once again, but then remembered that they would reach the prison before they came to the palace. As he saw the prison coming up before them he said a prayer.

"Lord, you have blessed me with a wonderful life and an talent beyond what I deserve. I thank you and praise you for that. Please strengthen me against the torture that is to come and take my life before I suffer beyond what I can bear. . . . I ask this in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen."

He watched as the jail wagon drew even with the prison . . . and then kept going. What's going on? Are they going to take me straight to the gallows? Is that the quick death you will bless me with Lord? Hallelujah!

But then the wagon moved on past the Gallows yard beside the prison. Now Jason was totally confused. Maybe they would put him on a ship back to Ravenna. He didn't look forward to another sea voyage. He spent the last one leaning over the rail with sea sickness. He decided he would rather be hanged than go through that again.

As he watched, the palace came into view and, to his amazement, the wagon turned onto the entrance gate. When it stopped at the front stairs two livery men came out and opened the wagon door for him. They took each arm – gently this time – and led him through the palace doors.

"What am I doing here?"

"The king wishes to speak to you, but first we need to get you cleaned up and dressed appropriately."

An hour later he was ushered into a small dining room and was overjoyed to see his clay model set up in the center of the table. He rushed over to inspect it; to make sure the heavy handed guards hadn't damaged it, but it was unharmed. He adjusted the position of one of the supporting angels and stepped back to see if it was aligned perfectly. As he started forward to make one final adjustment he heard the door open and the herald declare "His highness Emperor Constantine, Ruler of the Eastern Roman Empire!"

Jason bowed from the waist as the valet had instructed and struggled with the pain in his back to get back to the upright position. Then he waited for the king to speak . . . one always waited for the king to speak first the valet had explained.

"Come sir, sit at the table. I will have some food brought shortly. But first some questions. Who are you?"

"I am Jason of Ravenna, a sculptor by trade."

"Did you create this beautiful altar design?"

"I did, your highness. In response to a request the artists of Ravenna received some months ago to create an altar like has never been seen before. The idea came to me quickly but it took me some time to turn it into this small clay model. I call it 'The Altar of the Angels.' The final piece will be sculpted from marble . . . perhaps white with gold-veins running through it. I have used similar stone before.

"What have you used it for? Some well-known works I hope."

"My best work was a statue of the Duchess Murano in Ravenna. It stands in her garden and has been admired by thousands."

"I know that work. I have been there to see it. It is truly magnificent! . . . And you created that?"

"Yes, sire. And these old crooked hands still have at least one masterwork left in them."

Constantine thought for a minute. "Yes. This is it. This is the work of art I want in the Sancta Sophia Cathedral. How long will it take you to finish it?"

"With the help of a knowledgeable assistant three to four months perhaps."

"That is too long – way too long. What can I do to reduce the time?"

"If there is a sculpturing studio available here in Constantinople that would save at least a month. But getting the marble here quickly will be a problem. It is only available from quarries in Calcutta."

"We have many sculptors here in the city. Maybe one of them has such a stone already." The emperor clapped his hands loudly. "Bring me a scribe. We need to make a list of everything that's needed."

Within two weeks Jason was standing before the marble he needed. Another sculptor in Constantinople, Abdulla, had a piece of the gold-laced Calcutta marble in his studio that he had begun shaping into a huge decorative bathtub for Madam du Chard, proprietress of the most exclusive bordello in the city. He was angry when the king ordered him to surrender it to the artist from Ravenna, and even angrier when he was told his studio would be taken over by Jason for the next few months. But when the king paid him well and told him he would assist Jason in creating the holy masterpiece he was mollified.

Abdulla lived in a middle-class residence next to his studio with a spare bedroom for Jason, for which he charged the emperor an exorbitant sum. With such proximity to their work he and Jason were able move quickly toward completion. The emperor came by two or three times a week to check on the progress. As the shape of the altar started to appear Constantine took Jason aside for a talk.

"I have in my possession a holy relic of incalculable value – something that actually touched our Lord Jesus. I wish to have a secret compartment added to the altar to conceal it in. It will give the Holy altar the power to grant prayers that hasn't been seen since Christ walked on earth. No one must ever know this secret, not even Abdulla. Give some thought to how you might do this and let me know."

"I will, your highness. Tell me what dimensions the hiding place must be."

Jason lay awake most of that night, envisioning different places on the sculpture where he might conceal such a treasure. He knew it must be invisible, with space to hold the artifact and , at some future time, not be too difficult to open. His mind kept coming back to the top and bottom slabs. Both were thick enough to carve out a compartment for the relic, so he weighed the pros and cons of each. As morning approached, he had decided on the best place to put the compartment. The one part of the problem that remained was how to carve out the cavity without Abdulla's knowledge.

The next morning he called Abdulla into the studio.

"Abdulla, you have been tremendous help in the sculpting the altar. We are almost finished with the work. But now we have another problem. How we will get these huge pieces of marble into place at the cathedral. Certainly you have faced similar problems with your earlier work here in the city. I want you to get started on that problem right after breakfast. Go up to the cathedral to select the best entryway and path through the hallways. Then seek out a moving team with the equipment needed to load, move, and unload it. Get a commitment from them to do the move next Monday. Can you do that?"

"Of course I can do that. I know all the right people. I'll have everything lined up before the day is over."

"There's no hurry. Take your time, Abdulla. I want it done right."

After giving Jason a quizzical look he answered. "Of course, Jason. I will take my time to ensure everything is done correctly." I wonder what's going on here. For some reason he wants to get rid of me for a couple of days. I'll have to sneak back into the studio and see what Jason is up to.

By the end of the day Jason had the compartment finished, so he sent the Emperor the message that he was ready to put the holy object into its secret niche. A short time later there was a knock at the door. Jason opened it, expecting one of the king's trusted couriers. But when the man pushed the hood back from his face, it was Constantine himself. Jason bowed.

"I didn't expect that you would come in person, your highness. I am honored."

"Forget the formalities. Show me where to put this." He pulled a suede leather pouch, stitched closed on all four sides, from under his flowing cloak.

"What is this holy object, your highness?"

The king said threateningly, "As I told you, no one can know what it is, or where it is hidden. Are you certain that no one knows about what you have done to hide it? Not even Abdulla?"

"No sir. I sent him off to arrange the move to the cathedral. He has no idea. By the time he gets back the slab will be lowered into place for transport. He will never see it up close again."

"Splendid!" Constantine exclaimed as he placed the pouch into the carved recess. Jason gently put the cover in place after adding a small amount of pine pitch glue around the edges.

The king inspected it closely. "You have done an outstanding job on this, Jason. I can barely see the hairline seam."

Unknown to Jason or the emperor, Abdulla was hiding behind a wooden crate listening to everything they said. After they were gone he came out and inspected the seam between the lid and the marble slab. He could see a tiny amount of the pine pitch so he picked up a handful of marble dust and rubbed it into the pitch until all traces of the seam were gone. As he left the studio he was thinking how to turn this priceless knowledge into riches.

During the 10th and 11th centuries Arab Muslim armies made several incursions into territory held by the Byzantine empire – Emperor Constantine's territory. At the time the Altar of the Angels made its debut, the Muslim invaders were pushing ever closer to Constantinople. As one would expect from his name, Abdulla was a native of the Arab countries that were trying to conquer Constantine's empire. He had no real loyalty to the Arabs, but he thought they would be very interested in obtaining and destroying such an important Christian relic. They would pay him well for his secret.

Chapter 30 – The Crusaders

The crusades were a series of religious wars organized by Christians leaders from France, Germany, and England to reclaim the Holy Land from the Muslims. There were four major crusades covering the period from 1095 to 1204. In the first crusade the European armies successfully pushed the Muslims out of the territory and in 1098 set up four states - the Kingdom of Jerusalem, the Kingdom of Edessa, the Kingdom of Antioch, and the Kingdom of Tripoli. Fifty years later a Muslim leader retook the city of Edessa, resulting in the second crusade, which was defeated.

In 1187 the Muslim leader Saladin led an army against Jerusalem and defeated the Christian forces there. Outraged, the European leaders organized the third crusade under the command of King Richard I of England, along with Barbarossa, king of Germany and Philip II of France. They marched on Jerusalem and fought for two years before Richard's army defeated Saladin. But instead of forcing all the Muslims out of the city Richard signed a treaty that granted Saladin control of Jerusalem with the provision that Christian pilgrims and merchants could visit as long as they were unarmed. Unhappy with a Muslim-held Jerusalem, Pope Innocent III called for a fourth crusade, but they never made it to Jerusalem.

The route the Crusaders took to Jerusalem for the crusades passed through the city of Constantinople, which at this time was ruled by the Byzantines. Even though the city was no longer ruled by a Christian king, the Crusaders were allowed to pass through in the hope that they would stay awhile and spend money.

1190 A.D. – The battle for Jerusalem during the third crusade

A small group of Crusaders moved among the boulders, using the darkness of a moonless night to hide from the enemy sentries who stood guard while their fellow soldiers slept. The Crusaders were after the horses, tied to a rope stretched between two trees on the far side of the small camp. The light breeze blowing toward the attackers would keep their scent away from the horses. If the horses got jittery the sentries would investigate and discover the Crusaders.

There were eight Crusaders in the group, one to ride each of eight of the horses while bringing the other eight behind them on rope leads. The Muslim Arab invaders, called Saracens, rode a magnificent breed of horse called Arabians. These proud, stately mounts were fast, even on the loose sand that made up much of the land in the middle east, and they had amazing stamina, even in the desert heat. In spite of being smaller than the war horses the Crusaders brought from Europe they were very good in battle because of their quickness and intelligence.

The French leader of the Crusader raiding group was a knight named Peter, a count of Normandy. He planned the raid well and expected to get away with all the horses, but he prepared his men with several contingency plans in case things went awry. From their rocky hiding place he signaled for everyone to touch their iron helmets together so they could hear his whispered prayer. When he was finished he signaled the men to split up in two teams, with one going to the left around the perimeter of the camp and the other going to the right. That way, if one team was discovered the shouted alarm from the sentry would bring the rest of the Saracens in that direction while the other team could attack them from behind. Peter led his team to the right as quietly as was possible with their armor and metal shields but one of them stumbled, banging his shield against a rock. The sentry on that side of the camp shouted for his soldiers to wake up and form an attack behind him.

Peter could have silenced him quickly with his sword but allowed him to keep shouting to make certain everyone in the camp came in their direction. In a minute or two Peter's team of four was facing a dozen or more armed Saracens. Their commander pushed to the front to size up his enemy.

"You have come against me with only four men? Do you want to surrender now or stay and suffer a very painful death."

Peter was surprised he spoke their own language. "Either way we end up dead. There are no prisoners in this war. . . . Why don't just you and me battle to the death and spare lives on both sides."

"An interesting proposal commander . . . what is your name?"

"I am Peter, a French count from Normandy. And what are you called?"

"A count no less. I could gain much honor by killing you."

"And I might be honored for severing your head if I knew your name. . . . But you are probably nobody important."

"I am called Kadeem of the village Sumya. You are right that I am nobody here on earth. But if I lose this fight I will be highly honored when I join Allah in heaven."

"Prepare to fight then." As Peter raised his sword he saw his other team coming up behind Kadeem's men. He shouted for the others to begin their attack from rear while he and the other three closed in from the front. Kadeem attacked Peter in a rage over being tricked, hacking at him with his curved scimitar. With his heavier straight sword Peter easily blocked the wild blows. A man should never fight in a rage. It locks up his mind so he can't think.

Within a few minutes Peter's group had finished off the entire lot of Saracens except for Kadeem. Peter let him slash away until he was too tired to continue, then pushed him down on his back. As he held the point of his sword at the man's throat he said, "Do you have anything to say before I send you to hell?"

Kadeem glared at him with no fear in his eyes. "Do it then!"

"I might spare you if you have riches to give me. Maybe some silver or gold?"

Kadeem thought for a minute, then smiled. "Perhaps I have something more valuable that coins. Some information that you could use to your advantage."

"And what might that be?"

"There is a legend that has been in our family for many generations. A legend about a cloth that has the image of the face of your Messiah on it."

"I have heard of it. It used to be in Edessa but disappeared over two centuries ago. The cathedral in Constantinople still displays a large painting of it. . . . So what does your family legend have to do with the Holy Cloth?"

"An ancestor of our family, Abdullah, knew where it was hidden. He watched while it was put into a secret place."

Peter could feel the excitement growing in him. If he could find it and offer it to the Pope he would indeed be famous. "So you know where this is?"

"I do indeed. It is in Constantinople."

"Where? Who has it? Tell me and I'll let you live."

"I'm no fool, Peter of Normandy. If I tell you where it is you will have no reason to let me live. . . . No, I won't tell you where it is. But I will take you there."

Three weeks later Peter and Kadeem stood on the deck of an Egyptian merchant ship sailing into the harbor at Constantinople. Peter had been here before so it was not new to him but Kadeem was enthralled by the magnificent city spread out before him.

"I had no idea it would be this large, Peter. And the beauty. . . The palace and the great cathedral are breathtaking."

The two had become friends during the journey, developing respect for each other and debating religious beliefs. Kadeem had gifted Peter with a fine Arabian stallion which was now in the hold of the ship, while Peter offered to introduce his new friend to the current king of Byzantium, Alexios III, whom peter had met on an earlier trip to the capitol.

After the ship docked the two waited for their horses and pack mule to be brought out, then led them up the hill into town. Peter knew of a hotel with stables that was frequented by passing Crusaders and secured a room for them. After seeing to the livestock they went to a Turkish bath where they washed away the weeks of grime their bodies had collected. They left clothed in white robes purchased from a shop next to the bathing facility and had several other clothing items sent to their hotel.

Kadeem turned to Peter and asked, "What now my friend?"

"Let us get a decent meal and a tankard or two of ale, then you can tell me where to find the Holy Image."

"I hoped to come with you. It is difficult to get to and will take both of us to break into the hiding place. We'll also have to do some planning and reconnaissance if we are to be successful."

"Very well then. Let's eat, then talk about it."

Chapter 31 – Corpus Christi Revealed

"Now let me get this straight. According to your family legend, which might not even be true, Emperor Constantine VII acquired the Holy Image in the year of Our Lord, 944. Then he hired a sculptor from Ravenna to create a beautiful altar for the cathedral, the Altar of the Angels, that is still in its place in the sanctuary. Just before it was put in place the emperor had the sculptor place the Holy Image in a secret compartment, which he then sealed closed. It sounds preposterous, but if it's true I could possess the most valuable Christian relic in the entire world. Do I have it correct?"

"Yes, this is the story my family has passed on from father to son, starting with an ancestor who claimed to have seen the hiding place sealed up by the sculptor."

"Then here is the most important question. Is it possible for us to sneak into the cathedral at night and remove the sacred cloth?"

"Sneaking around in the dark is something I do very well. Many of your fellow Crusaders died in their sleep as I cut their throats."

Peter gave him a hard look, then remembered he had killed many of the Saracens himself. Kadeem continued,

"But first we have to go into the church in daylight to look for entry points. Is that possible?"

"Yes. On Tuesdays and Thursdays the church is open to visitors. People come from all over Europe to see the Sancta Sophia. If we join them when the crowds are at their biggest, no one will notice our snooping."

Four nights later Peter and Kadeem were huddled against the ten-foot-high wall behind the cathedral. They had a plan for what they would do once they got inside the cathedral but hadn't given much thought about how to scale the wall. Kadeem had thought to bring a 20-foot rope but without a grappling hook it wouldn't be of much use to them. Peter motioned with his hands for the two of them to move along the wall looking for a way to get over it.

They were about to give up until they reached the corner where two walls met. Kadeem inspected the structure closely and saw the flaw that would allow them to climb over. Where the two walls intersected at a right angle the large stones overlapped alternately, leaving a small crevice at each joint. He threw the coiled rope over his shoulder and used the exposed joints as hand and foot holds to quickly climb to the crest of the wall. After ensuring that no one was in the garden below he looped the rope around one of the stones and dropped the other end down to Peter, who then climbed up to join Kadeem. Then they pulled the rope up and dropped it over the interior side of the wall so they could climb down into the garden.

Their scouting trip to the cathedral earlier had revealed a door leading from the garden to a hallway in the church. The big question was whether or not it was locked at night. They worked their way through the bushes, flowers, and shrubs to the door and tried the latch above the handle. It didn't move. It was either jammed or locked. If it was jammed they might be able to free it, but if it was locked this was a dead end. Peter used the heel of his hand to try to free the latch but it wouldn't budge. He took the iron hammer from his belt and held it up to strike the stubborn lever but Kadeem grabbed his wrist. He put his lips to Peter's ear and whispered "The noise might alert someone inside the building."

"That's a chance we'll have to take."

"Wait." Kadeem removed his leather glove and folded it over the metal latch to deaden the sound. "Now."

After an initial tentative strike Peter gave it a harder blow and felt it give way. He returned the glove and slowly opened the door, praying it wouldn't squeak. It didn't.

Once inside they quietly made their way into the into the nave and approached the Altar of the Angels. Even after seeing it on their earlier visit it still was breathtaking. They studied it for a few moments before Peter spoke quietly.

"Okay. Where is this secret compartment, Kadeem."

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"The family legend didn't include that information. All I know is that 'a secret compartment was chiseled into the marble.' No word on exactly where that is."

"Well, the angels at the corners aren't big enough to hide the any thing of much size, so it must be in the top or bottom slab. There's an oil lamp up on the pulpit. Bring that down here so we can look for the lid."

Kadeem brought the oil lamp to the altar and lit it with the flint and steel he carried in his pocket. After the flame grew bright he set it on top of the altar. The two of them inspected the upper surface carefully looking for some kind of seam that would show them where the lid was fit into the marble. They ran their fingers over the surface as they searched, hoping to detect a slight discontinuity in the surface. After several minutes Peter broke the silence.

"It's not on the top surface, so it must be in the bottom slab."

They moved the lantern underneath and repeated the searching process, examining the surface carefully, but they found nothing.

"I think this family legend is nothing but a fanciful myth. There is nothing hidden here."

Kadeem gave him a look that let his friend know that he was offended by the remark and reached for the knife in his belt. Peter reached for his own knife only to realize he had left it behind.

"I meant no insult, Saracen. You can put your knife away."

Instead Kadeem looked down at the marble slab and began tapping the stone with the steel butt of the knife, listening for a hollow sound that would reveal the hollowed out chamber. Finding nothing on the bottom he moved up to the top slab and repeated the process. Again he found nothing. He shook his head in defeat. "It's not here. Maybe it was just a tale."

Peter thought for a minute then reached for the knife. He slid under the top slab and laying on his back he tapped the bottom surface above him. He started in the center of the marble block since that would be the most logical place to find it and immediately was rewarded with the hollow clicking that identified where the lid was. He worked around the center with the tapping until he had located the edges. Using his fingernails he scraped around trying to catch an edge he could work on with the knife blade but found nothing but smoothness.

"Kadeem, hand me the hammer."

With a tight grip on the handle Peter struck the lid a sharp blow. It shattered, dropping pieces of the thin marble lid down on his face. Fortunately he instinctively closed his eyes before the hammer hit. Kadeem immediately lay down on the floor to see what was going on. He helped Peter remove the rock shards from his face then looked up at the square hole in the Marble.

"By Allah, you have found it Peter! The legend is true!"

Peter reached up and eased a stiff leather packet out of the hole. He resisted the urge to open it right there and asked Kadeem to help him remove all the rock fragments and hide them under the narrow space below the altar bottom. After returning the lamp to the pulpit they hurried out the garden door, climbed the rope over the wall, and slid down the other side.

"Let's get this back to the hotel and see what we have."

When they got back to the hotel they lit some candles and inspected the pouch, looking for a way to open it and see the relic inside. But all they could tell in the dim light was that it was stitched on all four sides with heavy animal sinew that had grown stiff with age. After picking at it for several minutes they concluded they would have to wait for daylight when they could see well enough to cut the threads with a knife. Neither was sleepy, nor did they trust each other enough not to steal it while one was asleep, so they sat at the small table playing nine-penny marle, a game that in future times became known as checkers. They had a pitcher of ale brought up so they could drink and move stones around on the patterned cloth until daylight. But eventually they both dozed off in their chairs.

Kadeem awoke first in his usual fashion, continuing to look like he was asleep as he surveyed his surroundings through slitted eyes. When he was convinced that Peter was still asleep he quietly got up and crept over to the bed. Now's my chance. I'll grab the pouch, sneak downstairs, and ride off on the Arabian stallion I 'gave' to Peter. But when he reached the bed the pouch wasn't there! That scoundrel has hidden it somewhere. If he took it out of the room I would have been awakened by the door, so it must be in here somewhere. . . . But where?

Kadeem looked around and concluded the only two places where it would be out of sight was in Peter's trunk or under the mattress. He went to the other side of the bed and lay down on the floor. He looked up through the rope net to the bottom of the mattress but the prize wasn't there. Then he stood up and went to the trunk. He slowly lifted the lid. Just as he saw the pouch he heard a sound behind him.

"Looking for something?" Peter growled. Kadeem froze for a second, then spun around to face him while drawing his knife. He didn't even get his dagger completely free of its sheath before Peter plunged his knife upward to strike underneath his chin and into his brain.

Instant death, no scream, and very little blood. The perfect kill, Peter thought. He let the body down to the floor quietly and searched Kadeem's pockets. In a pocket sewn into his undergarment he found several gold and silver coins, and a jewel. A deep red stone, as big as an eyeball, was cut and polished with several angular planes. He studied it in the light and realized that what he had was a ruby – a very valuable ruby. He went over to where his sword and scabbard hung from its wide leather belt. Sewn into the backside of the belt were several pockets for concealing money and valuables. He put the coins and ruby into one of them, then tucked in the flap that would hold them securely.

Peter looked down at the pouch in his trunk, then at the dead Saracen on the floor, and decided the opening of the pouch would have to wait until he disposed of Kadeem's body. He stood the body up, wrapped a black cape around his shoulders, then supported him with one arm as he dragged him out of the room, down the hall, and through the entrance hall. When the old woman at the valet desk looked up questioningly Peter said, "My friend is dead drunk and must get to his ship before it sails." She just nodded and went back to her stitching. Once on the street Peter hailed a carriage, put the body in the back seat, and crawled in beside it.

"Take me to the next ship to sail."

When he got there he pulled Kadeem out of the carriage and sought out the ship's first mate.

"I caught this man in bed with my wife and beat him unconscious. How much to throw him in the hold and take him away from here?"

The mate looked around to be certain no one was close enough to hear them, then replied "Two gold solidi to put the man on board . . . and another two to say I never saw you."

Peter reached into his purse and handed over the amount, grumbling as if the mate was robbing him. The mate pocketed the coins, threw Kadeem over his shoulder, and walked up the gangway to the ship.

Peter quickly walked away, wanting to distance himself from the exchange. He stopped at a tavern on the wharf for a mug of ale to calm his jittery nerves, then went back to the inn just as the sun was rising. Back in his room he put the latch on the door and set to work on the stiff stitching until he had an opening along one side. He took a breath and slowly extracted the Holy Cloth from its cocoon.

At first he saw nothing but linen cloth with discolorations on it. He studied it for a time then moved over to the window to let the sun illuminate it better. Still he saw nothing he could identify. He moved a chair into the direct sunlight, propped the folded cloth up against the back of the chair, and withdrew several steps. Almost immediately the image of a bearded man appeared, almost if by magic. It seemed like the image area appeared darker from a distance. I can see it clearly now. The eyes, the nose, the moustache and beard with lips peaking out and . . . what is that on the forehead, a faint reddish stain? Could it be? Could it be the blood of our crucified Lord?

Peter immediately fell to his knees, clasped his hands together, and looked toward heaven.

"My God, my God, you have truly honored your humble servant to let him reveal this hidden Holy Image. I praise you and glorify you for the unbelievable gift I have been blessed with. I will guard this with my life."

Peter was silent for a few minutes, reveling in this new intimate connection with God. He felt closer to the Supreme Being than ever before in his life. Then he resumed praying.

"But Lord, I need your guidance about what you would have me do with it? Give it to the Pope? Keep it safely hidden lest someone should try to steal it? Tell me Lord, what do I do?"

In the silence after his prayer he heard God's response in a thought that came to his mind like crashing thunder.

Unfold it. Now! Unfold the linen.

Peter stood up and with his knees shaking, put the cloth on the bed and began unfolding it. It was double folded four times, so each unfolding revealed more of the remaining image. As it was unfolded it grew longer and longer until he had to let it run over the end of the bed and continue along the floor. Peter estimated the dimensions to be at least twelve feet long by perhaps three and a half feet wide.

Again he had to stand back to see the image, and when he did he was overwhelmed. The top half of the cloth, the part laying on the bed, was a frontal image of a tall man with the arms at his sides. They extended from broad shoulders down to the hands, which were placed one over the other covering the lower abdomen. And on the top wrist there was a blood stain the size and shape of a square spike. That must be where the nails that held him on the cross were hammered through. Not through the palms as he had been taught, but above that where the hand meets the wrist.

He shifted his eyes to the right and saw another incredible feature. A blood stain clearly in the oval shape of a spear with more blood that had flowed out of the wound and run downward. But wait! Why is the spear wound on the right side of the chest image. To pierce the heart it would have to be the left side. He pondered this for a few moments before he realized it was located in the correct spot. The image was made where the cloth had touched the body, but when it was removed and laid face up, everything was flipped left to right. The wound is exactly where it should be.

The legs were held close together and ended with what could be a foot, but the image at that point was too faint to see clearly. The feet were at the upper end of the bed with the face at the lower end, where the cloth draped over the foot of the bed. The remaining half of the cloth, was difficult to comprehend, so Peter turned the cloth around so the lower half was now spread out on the bed.

Even from across the room it was difficult for his mind the piece together what he was seeing. He stared at it for a time, then suddenly he was able to comprehend it! It was the image of the savior's back, again with the feet at the top of the bed and the back of the head at the bottom. He saw a scattered pattern of discolorations that could be light bloodstains, with more blood smeared across the shoulders. Further down he could see the buttocks, muscular thighs and calves, and finally a much clearer image of a foot. And there was another bloody rectangular wound from the foot spike. The strangest part was that the rear and frontal head images touched in the center of the cloth at the top of the head. He reasoned aloud with himself to figure out how such an image could have been formed.

"Maybe they were two separate cloths that were sewn together after the resurrection."

He bent down and examined the cloth closely, looking for a seam. But it was very clearly a single very long piece of cloth.

After envisioning Christ's body being laid in on a stone pallet like those he had seen in Jerusalem the answer hit him.

"The cloth was laid on the pallet, then the body was placed on top of it. That formed the back image. Then the other half of the cloth was stretched over the head to cover the front of the body forming that image with the end of the cloth at the feet. That's the only way the two images could meet at the head with the feet at each end of the cloth. Amazing."

After examining it for another hour he went back to his original question. "Lord, what should I do with it?"

Chapter 32 – For All to See

Peter waited two days for an answer from God, but none came. Then he remembered something an old priest told him once. 'God answers prayer requests in three ways – yes, no, and wait.' He decided he had God's answer – he would wait until God chose to answer, maybe by showing him an 'open door' to the path he was to follow in this matter.

The following week he had a dream. He was standing in front of a huge crowd of people from all nationalities watching him expectantly. When he realized he had a rope in his hands he started pulling it down, hand over hand until it wouldn't move anymore. The crown began cheering, raising their hands to praise God, some falling to their knees. He wondered why they would be cheering for him until he looked behind him and saw the full-length Holy Image raised up on a tall pole. He turned to face it himself and once again his breath was taken away. Then he remembered Jesus words at the end of Matthew's Gospel:

Go ye therefore unto all the nations, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you.

He immediately awoke and started making plans to exhibit the holy cloth in the main square at the center of the city. With Easter only a month away he would have to move quickly to finish the preparations in time.

The two French knights rode their horses in front of a bedraggled column of foot soldiers, leading them back to their homeland as the third crusade wound down. They had won several battles, lost a few more, and were down to half the number they started with. And still the Saracens held Jerusalem. So it was a sense of futility that they limped into Constantinople for a couple of nights rest over the Easter weekend.

The two on horseback, Robert de Clari, and Phillipe de Charney, talked off and on as they rode. One of the subjects was money.

"When we left a year ago the king and the church provided all the funding we needed to get to the Holy Land, kill all the infidels in a couple of battles, then come back home victorious. But it didn't work out that way, did it Phillipe."

"No, it didn't. First it was dysentery, then the infernal heat. By the time we met the enemy we didn't have enough healthy men to overcome their well-trained fighters. We were able to drive them out of Jerusalem for a time and give our men time to recuperate, but that didn't keep the Saracens away for long. In the end they re-conquered the city and captured our entire regiment. I thought they would execute us all, but after months in prison they told us we could return to France if we took an oath to never return."

"So, do you intend to keep that oath Phillipe?"

"Never! I vowed to take back the Christian cities and destroy the godless heathens or give up my life trying. As long as I can breathe I will work to honor that vow. . . . And you? Will you cower at your family estate back in France or will you join us in another crusade?"

"I'm getting too old for this life. Besides, my brother has let the place fall into disrepair. I need to go back and straighten things out. Between his poor management and the family money I am spending to bring this sorry lot back to France, the coffers are almost drained."

"I have spent more than you have to support our return, Robert."

"Yes, but your family had a lot more money to start with. Speaking of which, can you pay for their lodging and food in Constantinople?"

"I could but I won't. There are several bivouac areas outside the city that can provide tents and meager rations. If any of them want more than that they will have to pay for it out of their own pockets."

"There is nothing in their pockets, Phillipe. We haven't been able to pay them for months. It's a wonder more of them haven't deserted."

"If you really feel that sorry for them you can live in the camp with them until we leave. But I'm going to stay in the nicest inn I can find. Or maybe I'll commandeer someone's house."

"You shouldn't abuse your privileged status like that. Someday it will destroy you."

"So, will you join me for a joyous couple of days enjoying the pleasures of this exotic city?"

"Certainly. Being humble has its limits . . . but you're paying, right?"

After two days and nights carousing the two were making their way back to the inn on Easter morning.

"What's that commotion ahead, Robert? That's quite a crowd."

"I don't know, but they're cheering for something up on that platform. Let's go over and have a look."

When they got close enough they could see a long cloth hanging vertically from a tall cross. Phillipe went over to one of the constables who were keeping an eye on the crowd.

"Pardon me, sir, but what is this we are looking at?"

"Have you not heard? It is the burial cloth of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ."

"It can't be. It's probably the work of some clever artist."

"No it is not. Look at the blood stains in his side and his wrists. Just as the Bible described them. I've seen them up close and that is definitely dried blood on those places – and in several other places. Let me explain the image to you." The constable went on to talk about the front and back images and why they were head to head on the linen.

Robert understood. "It is an image not made with human hands, not of earthly colors. It is truly a miracle."

Phillipe was thinking about how valuable it could be, even if it was a fake. I have to get my hands on that. I'll stay around to see where they keep it. But as the cloth was lowered the crowd left, moving past them quickly and sweeping the two knights along so that Robert lost sight of the treasure. But he never forgot about it, or how one day he would make it his own.

In less than a year Phillipe de Charney had the opportunity he had been waiting for. The Roman Pope Innocent III was organizing a fourth crusade, ostensibly to recapture Jerusalem, but in truth he had another goal in mind – to break the Byzantine hold on Constantinople and bring the Eastern Orthodox Church back under Roman control.

When Phillipe heard of this he petitioned the Pope to allow him to lead the crusade. He recounted how he was a veteran of earlier crusades and, as one of he founding members of the Knights Templar, he had powerful financial and political connections throughout Europe and the Mediterranean. After a substantial contribution to the pope's personal account his request was granted. He sent word to the several of his fellow Templars to join him and formed a tightly knit corps of trusted leaders to accompany him.

When they reached Constantinople they carried out the pope's orders and removed the Byzantine king, Alexius III, replacing him with their own emperor, whom they named Alexius IV. But before long those loyal to the previous king assassinated him. In response the Crusaders declared war on the Byzantines set about destroying their capital city.

It was in the middle of this bloody battle that Phillipe, along with his two most trusted knights, broke away from the battle and went to the Church of the Virgin of Pharos, a repository that held the most treasured Christian relics in the middle east, including The Priceless Linen. Since the church was on the palace grounds it normally would have been protected by soldiers of the royal guard, but they had all been drawn into battle elsewhere in the city.

Phillipe strode up to the heavy oak doors and banged on them with the pommel of his sword. Eventually an aged priest opened a small window in the door.

"Father, we would like to view some of the marvelous relics that are housed here. Please, let us in."

He looked at their bloody white tunics with the red Templar cross across the chest and told them he wouldn't permit them to enter. "I was ordered to bar the door and let no one pass. You must leave."

"We have no intention of leaving until we have seen the Holy Image of Jesus Christ. Now let us in or we will break the door down."

"This door is too sturdy to break. Now go away."

The four knights gathered together to talk, then told the priest, "We will be back shortly with some wood to build a fire that will burn the door down . . . and maybe even the rest of the church with all its treasures." Then they mounted their horses and started to ride off.

"No, wait," the priest yelled. "If you swear that you will not damage or steal any of the relics I will let you in."

"We so swear," Phillipe replied.

When the door was opened they dismounted. Phillipe ordered one of his men to guard the door and the other three followed the priest into the basement museum. When they approached the alcove that held the most sacred of relics the priest pointed to a heavy brass box box, where the relic was kept.

"It is in there, but I can only show you the face because it is folded up." The priest reached to lift the lid but Phillipe pushed him aside and opened it himself. He immediately recognized it as what he had seen on display a year earlier, but the other two knights gasped and fell to their knees.

"It is just as you said, Sir Phillipe. It is the face of our Lord."

The priest moved to reclaim the box but Phillipe barked an order. "Grab him! Take him up before the altar and cut his throat. No one must know who took this."

Reluctantly one of the knights pulled the priests arms behind his back and dragged him up the steps to the cathedral altar. The priest knew better than to struggle. Whatever happened he believed it would be the will of God which he should yield to willingly. He was only too happy to suffer the same fate as the apostles.

Phillipe closed the box and looked around for something to hide its splendor while they transported it back to his home in France. In the corner of the storeroom was a wooden crate, leftover from an incoming shipment of treasure no doubt. He put the reliquary into crate and nailed the lid down securely. Then gathered his companions together by the horses. One of them reached for the crate but Phillipe pulled it away possessively. "No, I'll carry it myself. Now let's get back to my headquarters so I can see how the battle is going."

After receiving reports from his field commanders Phillipe determined which area was still embroiled in fierce fighting. He pulled the commander aside. "Three of our fellow knights have betrayed me. Take them back to the battle and make certain they don't survive."

"Yes, sire. Consider it done." Unquestioned obedience was fundamental to the Order of the Knights Templar.

The next morning Phillipe set out for his home just outside of Paris, with the wooden crate tied securely to the back of his saddle. After that this great Christian relic disappeared from historical accounts for 150 years, but it was kept within succeeding generations of the de Charney family.

THIRD EPOCH – THE CHURCH AGE (1353 A.D. – 1898 A.D.)
Chapter 33 – The Church at Lirey

1353 – Lirey, France

Family histories in the medieval period were mostly kept by the spoken word since all but the scholarly couldn't read or write. Had photography been invented it would have been much easier to preserve the history accurately through a family album, but that would have to wait for a Frenchman named DaGuerre to invent a way to capture light images on metal plates. In the meantime families were stuck with passing down oral accounts of previous generations which, like gossip, have a way of deviating from the truth, with exaggerations here and lost information there.

The de Charney family was no exception. The traditional narrative was that the Holy Relic secreted by the family was in the possession of Phillipe de Charney when he was burned at the stake during a purge of the secret society of the Knights Templar, and that he passed it on to his son at that time. But of how the family acquired the object originally there was no mention. Regardless of how he came to own it the current patriarch, Geoffrey de Charney, decided it had been kept hidden for too long. It was time to expose Holy Shroud so that all could see it.

During this period in Europe a Christian church had no standing unless it possessed a revered relic of some sort, something that could be traced back to the earlier history of Christianity. Several churches exhibited what were claimed to be pieces of the cross on which Christ was crucified. Another had a vial of blood-covered dirt from the foot of the cross. One even claimed to have the foreskin of Saint Peter. So Geoffrey's motives weren't entirely altruistic. He wanted his church in Lirey to display the most magnificent Christian artifact in all of Europe – the actual burial shroud of Jesus left behind in the tomb at the Resurrection.

With this in mind he and his wife planned a grand exposition to take place in 1357. So in 1353 builders began to remodel the Church of Lirey so the Holy Cloth could be displayed during worship. An altar slightly larger than the shroud was build out of polished oak. Windows were installed in the roof above the Shroud so that daylight would fall on the altar throughout the day. A balcony was added above the ground floor pews so upper class worshippers could look down on the Holy Image during mass. Anticipating large crowds at the unveiling, several nearby inns expanded their capacity to handle more guests. Local artisans turned out paintings, medallions, statues, and other trinkets commemorating the upcoming event. But the exhibition was not without troubles.

The relics held by other churches in northern France would become inconsequential compared to an actual image of Jesus. Who would travel to see a finger bone of Saint Steven when the Shroud was nearby. The image of the Lord must hold much more healing power than a lock of the Virgin Mary's hair. So in their jealousy leaders of other churches plotted to discredit the Shroud.

One of the most powerful, Bishop Pierre d'Arcis of Troyes, was angry that de Charney had not offered to hold the exposition at his own church. He argued that the City of Troyes was much larger than Lirey and so could hold many times more people. Also, he argued, Troyes is on the main road from Paris so it would bring the rich and important people from the provincial capitol. With a population over 200,000 many of them would make the pilgrimage to Troyes.

De Charney refused to move the event, so d'Arcis arranged to have him called up for military service in French army. He thought that once Geoffrey was gone he would have no problem convincing his wife that Troyes was the right place to exhibit the Shroud.

Jeanne de Charney was moving ahead with plans for the exposition. Today she was meeting with the clergy of the Lirey church trying to work out some of the details of the coming event, but the bishop was doubtful of her ability to complete the preparations in her husband's absence.

"Wouldn't it be better if I took over for Geoffrey until he returns, madame? I believe this is more than you can handle . . . or any woman for that matter."

"No, I told my husband I would do it and he agreed. We exchange letters twice a week through his personal courier so I can keep him up to date on the progress. He provides the advice I need in his letters. Besides, he says the battle should be over in a few weeks and he can come home to take over again himself."

"Whatever you wish Madame de Charney. Your family owns the Holy Cloth so it's your decision."

"Yes it is, isn't it."

"But may I raise another point that some are asking about? When and where did your family purchase the Shroud?"

"The family ownership goes back hundreds of years. No one is exactly certain, but there are records somewhere I'm sure."

"Have you looked for them? Some written document attesting to your legal ownership?"

Jeanne snapped back at him crossly. "I told you they are around here somewhere. This is no longer a topic for discussion.

France's army was called up to fight against England as round two of the Hundred Years War began. In 1356 Edward, Prince of Wales brought his army across the English channel to invade northern France.

With his previous combat experience de Charney was given a regiment of 120 foot soldiers. His current orders were to hunt down a detachment of Englishmen that had gotten separated from the main force. When de Charney tracked them down he found what looked like a disorganized group of battle-weary soldiers. Since his regiment outnumbered the group Sir Geoffrey ordered his men to follow him as they charged into the valley. The English infantry ran from them, up the valley to where it narrowed into a rocky canyon. Just as de Charney's soldiers reached the fleeing enemy troops arrows began raining down on them from atop the steep sides of the canyon.

The first volley of arrows killed or injured almost a quarter of De Charney's men, but the well-trained fighters responded quickly by raising their shields above their heads in time to deflect the next flight of arrows. This was the signal for English soldiers who had been running away to turn about and charge. With their shields held up to protect them from the continuous arrow attack de Charney's men weren't able to defend themselves against the frontal assault of soldiers armed with swords and spears.

Geoffrey had no problem giving up his life for his country, but some of his men weren't so chivalrous. They turned and ran, dropping their swords and shields as they went. It was harder for the archers above to hit moving targets so most of the fleeing soldiers made it out of the canyon alive. One of them stopped and looked for their commander but de Charney was still up in the canyon defending himself with his sword as he retreated backwards. The man ran back into the canyon to help fight off the attackers, who soon stopped and let them flee. The man pulled Sir Geoffrey behind a rock and down to the ground, out of sight of the archers.

"Are you hurt m'lord?"

"Not enough to slow us down. The man stood above him and asked, "Are you sure you can make it back?"

"Yes, with your assistance. Help me up."

As Geoffrey reached for him the man raised his sword and ran it through his chest. De Charney looked up in bewilderment. "The Bishop of Troyes sends his regards . . . m'lord." The man bent in a mock bow, then followed the rest of de Charney's men back down the valley toward Poitiers. As fate would have it, the battle in the canyon was a portent of the larger battle of Poitiers.

King John II of France with a force of 20,000 men met the 6,000-man army led by Edward at Poitiers. As with all combat it was a battle of strategies, something Edward was a master at. He soundly defeated the French, killing over 2,500 men and capturing another 2,600. It became clear why Prince Edward had earned the title 'The Black Prince."

After a brief bereavement period Geoffrey's wife resumed preparations for the exposition. As the day of the exhibit arrived the altar with the Shroud of Christ, covered by a purple satin sheet, was moved outside and tilted at an angle so that it faced the spectators. Benches were set up on the hillside overlooking the altar with seating for over a thousand and standing room for many more. The crowd started gathering shortly after midnight, even though there was still a spring chill in the air. Most brought blankets and those who didn't found many Christians willing to share.

As dawn approached the anticipation grew. The sun rose above the distant hills at the crowd's back and when the first rays struck the altar the purple cover was pulled away. In the full sunlight the Holy Shroud with its image was clearly visible, but like first-time viewers before them it took the audience several seconds to figure out what they were seeing. Then, one-by-one, individual minds made sense of the scene and sounds of praise God, hallelujah, and sobbing sprung up. Many went down on their knees and held their hands in the air to honor God, while an occasional 'It cannot be real,' and 'It must be a fake' comments arose here and there among the group. But they were shouted down by the believers.

By the following Sunday the altar and Shroud had been moved to their permanent location inside the church. When the doors opened for Sunday Mass several thousand people had gathered outside, pushing each other to try to get inside. The bishop stepped outside and closed the doors behind him.

"Fellow Christians, our small church cannot possibly hold all of you so I will conduct mass outside today. After that only registered members of the congregation will be allowed inside for a second mass. Next week I will come to some kind of arrangement that can accommodate such a large crowd. Please be quiet now so we can start our worship service."

On Monday the bishop met with the other priests and deacons to discuss ways to handle the crowds. One suggestion was to carry the altar outside every Sunday and conduct a single service, but the issue of weather came up so the idea was dropped. Another was to conduct multiple masses inside each Sunday starting at 6 a.m. and continuing until 6 p.m., but a quick calculation showed such a plan couldn't accommodate even half of the crowd that showed up that first Sunday. Father du Bois came up with the best solution, at least for the near term.

"Most of the people aren't coming for the church services, they're coming to see the miraculous image of Christ. If we open the church during the week to visitors, they could file past the Holy Shroud and see it close up. Once most of those who live nearby have seen it they won't show up on Sundays anymore."

Bishop Bouchard considered this proposal and saw an added benefit to it. "We could require a small admission charge. Given the number of people expected that would resolve some of our financial issues. It wouldn't have to be much – two or three copper denier."

One of the deacons spoke up. "At that price all sorts of riff raff will be parading through the church. The price should be much higher, perhaps five Livres. That would limit the size of the crowds . . . and we could open a gift shop at the exit to increase our income even further. Some souvenir coins with the Holy Image on them would sell well I imagine."

Father DuBois intervened. "No! Jesus belonged to the common man, not the rich Pharisees. There should be no charge for praying before the Shroud – nothing should limit the number of pilgrims permitted to see this miracle."

An argument ensued in which the bishop and the deacon swayed the others on the council to their way of thinking. Five Livres it would be and construction of the gift shop would begin immediately.

The result of this decision was the reverse of what was expected. Instead of reducing the number who came to see the image, the number of visitors kept increasing. Apparently those from outside the immediate area, even as far away as Paris, thought that if it cost five Livres to see it must be genuine. Soon hundreds of sightseers were coming to the small town every day, bringing windfall profits to the church and the local businesses. But all this attention also had negative consequences.

It was several weeks before Bishop d'Arcis was able to verify Geoffrey de Charney's death. The soldier he hired for the deed had been captured and held as a prisoner of war by the English. When he was finally released he sent a message to the bishop telling him that he had good news. He could have just written 'I completed the assignment your eminence,' but he wanted a face-to-face meeting in the bishop's chambers so he could collect the promised payment. He intended to ask for triple the agreed upon sum as compensation for his time in the English prison.

In a return message d'Arcis instructed him to wait until that night then come to the back door of his house on the church grounds to talk. This made the man uncomfortable because he didn't trust the bishop to let him live. So when he left for the appointment he fastened a short sword to his belt beneath the tunic just in case.

As he approached the cleric's small cottage he kept his head and eyes moving to detect anyone lurking in the bushes. He approached the back door and paused, listening for any unusual sounds. Finally, when he felt safe, he knocked lightly on the door. He expected the bishop to answer the door but instead it was a young novitiate.

"The master told me to hear your report then send you on your way."

He paused for a few seconds, thinking of the best way to respond. He decided on the direct approach.

"No, I will not tell you what I have to say. I insist on speaking with the bishop directly."

"I am sorry sir, but I have my instructions. What is your report?"

The man thought again. "I will give you my report when I have payment for my services in my hand. And tell him the amount has tripled."

"Wait here," the young man said as he closed the door.

A few minutes later the man returned empty handed. "His excelency said that your information is no longer needed. He has received confirmation from other sources. Had you reported back promptly there would have been some value to what you knew.

The man lost his temper at that. "But I was in prison – a damned filthy English prison! It's a wonder I survived it. I demand to be paid for that hardship."

"That won't happen sir, so you might as well leave before I have to call the police."

"Then give the bishop this answer. De Charney might be dead, or he might not be dead. I wounded him severely but he could have survived. And as I stabbed him I told him that the Bishop of Troyes hired me to do it. That should keep him awake nights."

Chapter 34 – "It's a Forgery . . . isn't it?"

The adverse reaction to the successful exposition of the Shroud continued to grow. Led by Bishop d'Arcis, bishops from several churches in northern France conspired to discredit it by claiming it was a forgery. To verify their claim d'Arcis said he had personally spoken to the artist who created the forged likeness of Christ. His case was strengthened when, over the next decade, several painted burial shrouds of Christ appeared in Europe, all of which were claimed to be the original.

In 1389 another exposition was planned by the de Charney family. In an attempt to stop it d'Arcis wrote a letter to Pope Clement VII declaring it to be a painted forgery and insisting that he reverse his decision to declare the Shroud to be a venerated relic and cancel the public display. Among the evidence he presented was that no such image was mentioned in the scriptures and therefore it must be a fake. The pope refused to stop the exhibition, but told the de Charney's that whenever it was publicly displayed they must call it a 'likeness or representation' of Christ's burial cloth. Thus he avoided declaring it a fake but added some doubt to its credibility. But other members of the Catholic clergy accepted its full authenticity. One such priest, Father Francois de Provence, offered absolution to a professional thief in return for stealing the Shroud, but he was caught in the act and hanged.

All of this fueled the anger of the Bishop of Troyes. He would not give up until he found a way to discredit the de Charney relic. Then he had an idea. I will make another burial cloth myself – one that looks just like the Lirey shroud.. If I can do that, create an identical cloth using simple methods, it will prove that theirs was made by man, not Christ.

The problem is how to do it. Maybe I could have a statue made, dust it with brown ochre, and lay a linen cloth over it. Then when the cloth is lifted off it should have an image very similar to the de Charney burial cloth. The wounds and blood stains could be made with chicken blood applied with by an artist.

d'Arcis became completely absorbed by his new project, thinking each step through carefully before proceeding. He hired a sculptor to make the statue out of soft sandstone, and then went looking for a man who looked like the image on the Holy Shroud to serve as a model. This turned out to be more difficult than he had expected.

The first problem was the height. The image on the Shroud was of a man almost six feet tall and there were very few of them in medieval France. The second problem was the long hair and beard. These were was currently out of fashion among men, so his pool of candidates shrunk even further. And the third issue was the man's stature. The Shroud man appeared to be muscular and broad shouldered, as a laborer might be.

He thought about these criteria, trying to find the best place to search. Where would I find tall people? Maybe someone with Nordic heritage – but I can't travel there to find someone. But I recall seeing a few like that among the captured British soldiers held in the Bastille prison. I'll look there.

Three days later the bishop was examining six prisoners, all with the features of Viking raiders who attacked Britain a few hundred years earlier. He told the jailer to have them strip to their undergarments so he could compare their physique to what he was seeking.

He prodded one of them and asked in English, "What is your name?"

"I am Biorn of Saxony, your grace."

"How is the food in here?"

"It's like what I got in the army – tasteless and insufficient."

"If you aren't getting much to eat why are you not skinny like the others?"

"Because I steal food from the skinny ones."

The bishop smiled at this. "How would you like to get out of here and have three plentiful meals a day?"

"Do not play with me. It makes me mad."

"I'm telling you the truth. I have need of someone like you in the church at Troyes."

Biorn looked at the jailer questioningly, who nodded yes.

"Then I am your man. When do I get out of here?"

"Immediately. Gather up your things and come with me."

"What things. These rags I'm wearing are all that I have."

"I'll see about some new clothes for you as soon as we get to Troyes."

Biorn stood naked before the sculptor, who circled him appraisingly. "Yes, you will do nicely." Then he turned to the bishop. "The stone will be here tomorrow. Have him here after morning prayers. But clean him up first – he stinks."

While the sculptor was working the bishop searched for someone who could duplicate the fine herringbone weave of the de Charney cloth. He sent a messenger to weavers of cloth in Troyes and the surrounding towns to see if any of them had seen it up close, but most of them hadn't seen it al all.

When the messenger returned with the bad news the Bishop flew into a rage. "I'm so close to making the perfect forgery and then I run into this roadblock! . . . You're certain you spoke to every cloth maker around?

"Yes sir . . . all but one. One of the weavers talked about a blind woman in a nearby village who still works at her trade, but I didn't think that a blind person could make the cloth. After all, she hasn't even seen it, so how could she replicate it."

"Send a carriage. I want to speak with her."

"Yes, your eminence."

An assistant led the blind woman into the bishops office by the hand and seated her in a chair by his desk. The bishop said he would be with her in a minute, but he used the time to study the woman, whose head was bowed, closely.

She's old, at least in her seventies I think. The humpback is probably from bending over a loom for too many years. But her hands don't look bad – long supple fingers, trimmed nails, and her knuckles aren't swollen with arthritis. She probably made some beautiful fabric before she lost her sight.

He looked at her for another minute, imagining what she might have looked like as a young woman. Suddenly she raised her head and looked straight at the bishop. He quickly turned his head away, embarrassed at being caught staring at her. Then he remembered that she couldn't see him . . . but maybe she has some vision. He moved his hand back and forth in front of her eyes but they remained locked and staring.

"How long have you been blind, madame?"

"I was born blind."

"Then how can you weave?"

"By touch, your excelency. As long as I have someone to sort out the thread colors for me I can make any kind of cloth that you would like."

"Maybe not. Have you heard of the alleged burial cloth of Christ in Lirey?"

"Yes, I went to the last exposition. I couldn't see it of course but I was interested in the cloth, what weight of thread and what kind weave was used. The caretaker took pity on me and let me feel the textile. It was a magnificent fabric – heavy weight thread, closely woven in an amazing herring bone pattern. One of the finest pieces I have ever touched."

"Do you think you could recreate some of that cloth for me?"

"Oh, of course. My fingers are like eyes. I memorized all the characteristics, hoping that I might be able to make some like it myself one day."

"Well, your hope was not in vain. I want you to weave a large piece of the cloth – fourteen feet long by four feet wide. Can you do that?"

"Yes, my loom is wide enough. As for the length, I can make it as long as you would like."

"I will need the finished cloth in two weeks. Can you complete it in time?"

"Yes if I can get the flax thread right away."

"Let my assistant know what materials you need."

Because sandstone is easy to work with the statue of the stand-in for Jesus was completed in less than a month. It was brought to the courtyard of the rectory where the walls would prevent anyone from seeing what the bishop was up to. His assistants laid the new cloth on a large flat stone. Then statue was lightly brushed with powdered ochre and carefully lowered onto the cloth on its back. Next the remaining length was folded over the head to cover the front. After several minutes the procedure was reversed.

The cloth was spread out on a table. When they leaned over and looked at the result they were disappointed. The ochre had transferred to the cloth, but only from the high points of the statue – the nose, eyebrows, knuckles, and knees. The lower parts – the eye sockets, the chest, the arms at the side – didn't show up at all. On the other end of the cloth which contacted the backside of the statue smudges from the buttocks, the shoulders, and the back of the head were all that was visible.

d'Arcis was despondent. "This looks nothing like the de Charney shroud. We failed. We can never make something that looks like what the de Charney's have. This makes me wonder if it might actually be the real Shroud."

An old priest had been sitting in a dark corner, watching the others make fools of themselves. His cracked voice broke the silence. "There is only one way to make a shroud with the image of a crucified man."

"How is that, Father." Bishop d'Arcis asked.

"Crucify a man and wrap the body in the cloth. Of course you would have to torture him first in the manner described in the Gospels, then nail him to a cross and let him hang until he dies, not forgetting the coup de grace – the spear in the side. Then you can cover him the cloth, put the body in a cave for three days, and remove it and see what you have."

"Why that's preposterous! We couldn't get away with that. Why we don't even have someone to crucify."

"You have the prisoner from Britain. He was a perfect model for the statue. He will be even more perfect as a dead body."

The bishop seriously considered the idea, and in his covetousness almost succumbed to the temptation, but his better angels won the battle in his mind.

"Old priest you are a messenger of Satan! Get out of here! And if you know what's good for you will give up your priesthood voluntarily, before I have you excommunicated."

"If I belong to Satan then that ultimate disgrace for Catholics is meaningless to me." With a wicked grin the old priest stood up and left.

The true Shroud, The Priceless Linen, stayed in Lirey for the next hundred years. The years of confusion concerning it's authenticity had reduced stream of visitors to a trickle and took away the income. Although the church clergy were the designated caretakers of the Shroud, it was still owned by the descendents of the de Charney family, which had also fallen on hard times. So when the a member of the Savoy family from southern France offered to buy the Shroud for a tidy sum, his offer was accepted.

Chapter 35 – Chambery

1502 – Chambery, Southern France

During the middle ages most of the kingdoms of Europe were ruled by powerful families, whose territories often crossed international boundaries. In Italy it was the Medicis, the Lombards, and the Aragonese who dominated. In Germany family names like Hapsburg, Luxembourg, and Wittlesbach controlled much of the kingdom. In France one of the most powerful dynasties was the House of Savoy who, at various times, ruled much of southern France on the west side of the Alps and the Piedmont area of Italy on the eastern slopes of the mountain range.

In the early fifteen hundreds, when the middle ages were giving way to the renaissance, the center of Savoy family power was shifting across the Alps to the city of Turin, Italy. But the purchaser of the Holy Shroud, Charles de Savoy, resided in the town on Chambery on the French side of the great mountain range. So it was here in 1502 that he brought the Christian relic to transfuse the Sainte Chapelle Church with its spiritual power. Having heard of the difficulties that the public display caused in Lirey he resolved to keep the Shroud locked away except for two days each year – Easter and Christmas. On those days the cloth would be unfurled for all to see.

In the carriage ride from Lirey to Chambery Charles thought about how it could be stored safely, yet allow its power to emanate to the church worshipers. He decided that he would have built an ornate silver reliquary befitting such an honored object. But to further protect it against fire and theft he would have a larger iron box, too heavy for two men to carry away, built to keep the reliquary in. The iron box would be kept in a place where everyone could see it and know it was the source of God's power.

He was welcomed home, unenthusiastically, by his wife Marie, and more enthusiastically by his wolfhound, Bruno. The next day he sent for the family silversmith to describe what he had in mind.

Jacques Foucet was still sleeping off the drunken stupor from his night of drinking when someone knocked at the door of his small cottage. He barely heard it above the buzzing in his ears so he ignored it. But the knocking continued, launching a throbbing pain in his head, but he wasn't about to get out of bed this early. "Claire! Answer the damn door! . . . Claire? Do you hear me? If I have to get up I'll whip you until you can't sit down. . . ."

Claire, his daughter, was just finishing her morning toilette when he called for her. She quickly finished up and hurried to the door.

"I have it father, I have it."

The stranger was about to knock again when the door opened a crack. "Go away. You have awakened my father. Come back later."

"I'm sorry to bother you mademoiselle but I must speak to your father, the silversmith. I have been sent by Sir Charles to fetch him."

The young woman stuck her head through the opening and beckoned him to come closer so she could speak softly. "He has not recovered from last night's revelry, kind sir. If I bother him he will punish me for it. Please, for my sake, come back later in the day."

"But I have work for him. Sir Charles wishes to commission an unusual work of silver."

Claire, with a look of pleading, started to speak again when the door was yanked open from behind her. Her father roughly pushed her aside and spoke instead.

"You have work for me you say?"

"Yes, for the lord of the manner. He wishes to speak to you about it this morning."

"Alright, let me freshen up. . . . Claire gather up what you need to start a new job."

The messenger led them to the front door and handed them over to the majordome of the manor. As he led them through the halls toward Lord Savoy's study Claire gazed about at splendor and beauty the likes of which she had never seen before – paintings, statues, chandeliers, fine furniture, tall windows with decorative drapes, and some objects she could even name. She quickly committed it all to memory so she could wander about them in her daydreams time and again.

When they reached the study Sabastien, the majordome, rapped on the door with the ornate head of his staff.

"Come in."

The door was opened and they followed the domo into the room.

"Silversmith Jacques Foucet and his daughter Claire, my lord."

Charles finished reading the paragraph he was on before he looked up. When he did he saw a corpulent, unshaven man dressed in clothes he must have been wearing for a week or more. Beside him was a lovely girl with fair skin, green eyes, and recently brushed light brown hair tied at the back of her head. She was about five and a half feet tall and of a slim build, almost as if she were undernourished. When he looked into her eyes she immediately lowered her head and looked down to the floor. She must be bashful, he thought.

"Monsieur Foucet, a pleasure to meet you," he said as he extended his hand. The man looked shocked, like he never expected the nobleman to touch him. Reluctantly he took it, shook once, then quickly pulled his hand free.

Then Charles turned to Claire. "I see you have brought your lovely daughter with you. Her beauty fills the room like the morning sun."

Claire blushed as she lowered her head even further. Jacques, on the other hand, looked at Charles with renewed interest.

Charles asked, "How old are you my dear?"

Claire started to tell him her age, sixteen, but Jacques interrupted.

"She is eighteen, your grace. Ready for marriage if the right man should offer. I have kept her pure for whoever that might be."

Jacques intentions were clear – he wanted Charles to take her as his wife, so he nipped it in the bud. "I'm sure my wife, Isabella, might know some young men of interest. I'll talk to her about it."

Jacques answered, "Thank you my lord. Now what is it you wish for me to do?"

"I have a great Christian relic that needs a sliver reliquary to house it. It must be two feet four inches by two feet six inches with a height of ten inches. The top must be hinged and include a lock. I want the four sides to be embossed with holy figures – angels, saints, and figures from the Old Testament, like Eve eating the apple, Noah's ark, and Moses holding the tablets. On the top I want a bas relief of our Lord Jesus on the cross at Golgotha. Then I want . . . You should be writing this down. I want it exactly as I specify."

"There is no need, my lord. Claire has a perfect memory and will remember it all. She never forgets anything."

"That is an amazing talent, milady. One I wish I had."

Claire blushed furiously at the compliment, and at being called milady for the first time in her life. If I keep my head down he won't see my red face. It feels like it's burning with fever. I'm so embarrassed.

Charles noticed that her ears had turned bright red and surmised the reason, so he shifted the conversation back to the business at hand.

"Tell me Jacques, what do you think it will cost for such an item?"

"I will have to find out how much the silver will cost before I can give you an answer. Claire, what is the price of silver on the current market?"

She answered immediately. "98 livres per pound, sir."

"How many pounds of silver do you think it will take?"

"That depends on how thick the sheets of material are to be." Claire answered.

They turned to Charles for an answer. "I want it thick, not so thin it could be easily dented. Let's say about as thick as the tip of Claire's tiny index finger."

Without pausing Claire looked at her finger and answered. "That would be a little less than 110 pounds, your grace, which would cost a bit over 10,500 livres."

Charles couldn't keep the shocked look from his face. "That's preposterous. I don't intend to spend that much."

Jacques added, "And that doesn't include the cost of my excellent work, sir. That would be another two thousand."

When Charles didn't respond Jacques offered a suggestion. "We don't have to use pure silver. If other metals are melted together with the silver the cost would be significantly lower."

Charles thought for a moment. "No. This reliquary is meant to honor God and contain the holiest of holy relics. I must not provide anything but the best. I will pay for the pure silver and your best work."

"You are an honorable man, Sir Charles. I will begin immediately."

Jacques continued to stand silently in front of Charles' desk. "That's all Jacques. You and your daughter are dismissed."

"Ahem . . . there's the problem of payment for the sliver, my lord. I don't have nearly enough money to purchase the silver. I will need an advance of 11,000 livres before I can begin."

Charles realized the man's predicament but it annoyed him nonetheless. "I'll have the majordomo contact the bank. The money will be ready for you in the morning."

"Thank you, sire." Jacques grabbed Claire by the wrist and pulled her behind him. "Come Claire, it's time for you to prepare my supper."

When they got back at home Claire prepared a dinner of beans, which she had stolen from a nearby field, and stale bread, which she had pulled from the garbage bin behind the bakery. Like most evenings, after her father ate his fill very little would be left for her to eat. Most of her bones were visible beneath her skin as a result, but she hid it under dresses she made for herself with scraps from the seamstress shop.

As her father spooned beans from a wooden bowl he recounted their visit to the Savoy mansion. "As soon as the money is available tomorrow I want you to order the metal for the reliquary. Have you got the figures in your head?"

"Yes father. One hundred ten pounds of pure silver."

"No, that's not what I want. Order ninety pound of silver and twenty pounds of lead. I'll melt them together and he will never know the difference. That will give me an extra 2,000 livres in my pocket."

"But father, that's not what he asked for."

"It doesn't matter. He will never know what I have done."

Claire hesitated for a moment, then said under her breath "But God will know."

Jacques slapped her hard across the face. "I heard that! You need to shut your mouth, mongrel. And don't call me father. That whore of a mother of yours slept with so many men there's no telling who really sired you. As skinny as you are you are definitely not my offspring. . . . Now get these dishes cleaned up and come to bed."

The construction of the silver box progressed slowly. Jacques was spending the money he had diverted from the silver purchase at the tavern each night, drinking and buying wine for his friends so that on a good day he was only capable of working three to four hours. Charles sent a messenger around every week to see how he was progressing, but the news was disappointing.

Claire tried to keep Jacques moving forward with his work by getting him up before noon and prodding him to get to work, but all she got in return were slaps and punches. She preferred the punches because she could hide them beneath her clothes, but the pain often made it hard to do her chores and to perform as he expected in bed. Sometimes she thought about killing him, cutting his throat while he was asleep, but she knew God would never forgive her for that.

To help get the silver box finished on time Claire started getting up early and working on it herself. She had watched Jacques work on similar silver pieces and picked up the necessary skills quickly. She worked mostly on the details covering the four sides. When he finally came to work on it himself he didn't notice the work she had done. He just complimented himself on his own fine work.

But one morning he arose early and caught her at it. He grabbed her by the hair and threw her across the room. When she tried to get up he kicked her viciously in the ribs, arms and face. Again and again he attacked her. She finally curled up in a corner and let him pummel her until he got tired. "Don't you ever touch my work again, bitch! If I catch you I'll kill you!" With that he stomped out of the house and got an early start on his drinking.

Claire lay in bed for a time, waiting for the pain to subside to a bearable level. She drifted off to sleep but was awakened by a pounding at the door. Oh no! Did I bar the door when he left. God don't let him kill me. Take me away from him. Save me.

She got up and limped to the door. When she opened it she cowered back, expecting a fist or a boot. Instead she faced the Sir Charles himself. "I came down here to see for myself why the reliquary isn't finished yet. Where is that good-for-nothing father of yours."

Claire looked up. "He . . . He's . . . not here my lord."

For the first time Charles saw her face. "My God! What happened to you?"

"I . . . I fell sir. It was very clumsy of me. I was walking among the rocks along the river and tripped."

Charles reached out and turned her face one way then the other. "This didn't come from falling. Someone has beaten you." He took her arm to lead her out into the light so he could get a better look but she groaned from the pain of a broken arm. Charles immediately released her and got down on one knee in front of her.

"Did your father do this?"

"He . . . he is not my father. Not really."

Charles called to his footman. "Get her into the carriage. Take her to the manor and tell the majordome to see that her wounds are tended to. I will wait for her father to return."

As she was being helped into the carriage she managed to say through her pain. "He's at the tavern. He won't be home until late."

As the carriage drove away Charles turned on his heel and strode toward the tavern with rage in his eyes. He burst through the door and looked around at the dozen or so men in the room until he spotted Jacques Foucet. In three strides he had him pinned to the wall with a hand at his throat. "You miserable excuse for a human! You beat your daughter almost to death! Why? Who would do that to a child?"

"She had it coming. She never obeys me. Always cursing at me, refusing to do the woman's work, complaining about my drinking, refusing me . . . "

The fist landed squarely in his face at that point, making further speech unnecessary. Jacques was too drunk to put up much resistance but Charles kept up his attack using his fists, elbows, and feet until the silversmith was doubled up on the floor just like Claire had been two hours ago. Seeing the source of their free drinks disappearing the other men in the bar attacked Charles. With his rage abated by what he had done to Jacques he turned on them with a cool head and within minutes the ones who had not fled were also laying on the floor.

At that point the constable and a deputy showed up and tried to take Charles into custody until the barkeep shouted "Not him. Let him go. That's his lordship Sir Charles Savoy." The lawmen immediately released him and started apologizing profusely. Charles pointed toward Jacques. "Arrest that man. Put him in the filthiest prison cell you have until he can be sent before the judge. And send a runner up to the estate to call for my carriage."

When the carriage dropped Charles off at the front door the majordomo rushed to him. "My lord, you are hurt. Fortunately the doctor is already here with the young woman. I will have him sent to your room."

"Not until he is finished with the girl."

"Yes my lord."

Chapter 36 – House of Savoy

Claire woke up with a terrible headache. Her mind was a tangled ball of confusion. When she opened her eyes she saw a white cloth draped above her suspended from four posts. She struggled to make sense of it. Where am I? How did I get here? Why am I here? And the pain – what's wrong with my arm? Why is it tied to a board? I think I'm going to throw up.

She tried to get out of bed but a gentle hand restrained her. Her eyes followed the hand up the arm to the face of a kindly looking woman. "There there dear. No need to rush things. Your body needs to mend itself."

"Who are you?"

"I am Sir Charles' aunt. He asked me to sit with you until you get well."

At the mention of Lord Savoy the blocked memories came back to her in a flood. Her father beating and kicking her, Sir Charles showing up at her door, the carriage ride to the mansion, and a bearded man pouring a large glass of brandy down her throat. After that things became blurry.

"I have to get up! I think I'm going to be sick to my stomach . . . and I need to pee."

The woman reached over to the bedside table and grabbed a pan. "Here's a pan to vomit into. Let me help you sit up so you don't choke on it. And don't worry about peeing, you have a diaper on."

When the woman pulled the covers down so she could sit up Claire saw that she was wearing a pretty white nightgown with ruffles and buttons down the front. As she was admiring it the urge to vomit hit suddenly and before the woman could put the pan in place she disgorged what little was in her stomach over the front of the gown. "Oh no! I've ruined it. I'm so sorry. I couldn't hold it back."

"That's alright dear. I have more. They belonged to my daughter when she was your age. . . . I'm Madeleine by the way. I understand you are called Claire?"

"Yes milady."

"My name isn't milady, it's Madeleine. People call me Maddie. That's what you shall call me."

"Yes milady . . . uh, Maddie."

"We need to get something in your stomach to calm it. I'll have some chicken broth brought up. You lie back down and rest until it's ready. But mind that broken arm. The doctor had a devil of a time setting it straight. If you move it he'll have to do it all over again."

A short time later Maddie returned with a cup of soup and some crackers. She helped Claire get back into a sitting position with some pillows behind her back and put the tray on her lap. Claire picked up the soup and took a first tentative sip, then paused to be sure it wouldn't come right back up. She continued, taking longer and longer sips until it was all gone. "Could I have some more, ma'am? I'm very hungry."

"By the looks of your body you have been hungry for a long time. Didn't that monster of a man feed you?"

"We didn't have enough money to feed us both, so I got the leftovers."

"Well things are going to be different from now on, sweetie. You will be well fed."

"What about when I go back home to live with Jacques?"

"That will never happen. Charles had the judge sentence him to ten years of hard labor. He won't bother you any more."

"But where will I live? I have no money to pay the landlord for our home."

"You will live here, my dear. The legal papers are being drawn up to make Charles your guardian. I will be your governess."

Tears formed in Claire's eyes. "Oh Maddie, that would be wonderful. How can I thank you and Sir Charles enough?"

"You can do well in school, dear."

"School?"

"Yes, dear. A tutor will come here twice a week to help you learn how to read, write, and do numbers."

"But I can already do those things. I taught myself."

"Well then you will learn how to do them better. Let me get you another cup of soup."

The soup was brought to her a few minutes later, but not by Madeleine. Sir Charles himself delivered it. "Here is your soup, child," he said as he placed the cup on her tray.

Claire hurriedly pulled the bed covers from her waist up to her chin, embarrassed that a man had seen her in her nightgown. Charles saw her bright red ears again and realized his faux pas. She's not a child, she is a young woman. It was wrong of me to invade her privacy.

"Mademoiselle, I apologize for barging into your room like an oaf. I should have requested permission to enter and given you time to cover up. Please forgive me."

He's the lord of the manor and he's asking my forgiveness? I'm the one who should be forgiven for not being presentable. If I am going to live in his house I must learn the social rules of the upper class. Maddie can help me with that.

"No forgiveness is needed, Sir Charles."

"Thank you. It won't happen again. . . . Now, how are you doing with the pain? I can have the doctor provide some willow bark extract to ease it."

"It only hurts when I move. But if I am to heal I need to get up and around, so please ask him for the remedy."

"He will be here after lunch to examine you. I'll instruct him then."

After his examination the doctor met with Charles.

"I think she will heal quickly now that she is eating well. Her body was so malnourished it's a wonder the beating didn't kill her. You say her father did this to her?"

"Yes, but he will pay for it in prison."

"From other marks and scars on her I can see that he has been abusing her for a long time."

"That brute! I will speak to the prison warden and have him arrange for his 'accidental' death as soon as possible."

"Is that the Christian thing to do, Sir Charles?"

"That 'forgive your enemies' attitude can only go so far. I prefer the 'eye for an eye' approach in this case."

"Perhaps it's warranted here. . . . There was one other issue we must discuss."

"Yes, I know – payment for your services. Submit a bill to my accountant and he will see to it."

"No, it's not that. It concerns Claire. During the examination I discovered that she is with child. Apparently her father was abusing her in despicable ways."

"Oh No! That's terrible. Have you told her?"

"Not yet, but she will figure it out herself before long. I, uh, know a midwife who can cause her to abort the child."

"Is that the Christian thing to do?"

"No, but in cases like this I'm sure God will make an exception."

"If it is God's will that she lose the baby then let Him take care of it. I'll not have an evil midwife do it."

"Very well, Charles. I'll stop by tomorrow to check on her." He reached into his bag and took out a small stoppered bottle. "Here is the willow extract you asked for. She should take it as needed, but no more than a teaspoon at a time."

"Thank you, doctor."

After he was gone Charles took Maddie aside and told her about the pregnancy. She was saddened, but knew how to handle breaking the news to Claire.

The following week Charles remembered the silver chest Jacques had been working on and sent one of his men to fetch it. When he set it on the desk in his study he was disappointed that it wasn't closer to being complete. The sides and bottom were assembled but very little of the decorative engraving was finished. The top was a separate sheet of blank silver – the crucifix hadn't even been started. I'll have to send for another silver worker to complete it. Maybe my uncle in Turin knows one there. But the man would have to cross the Alps to get here and the snow is still too deep. It will be at least two months before he can make the journey, and another month or so to finish the piece. That's too long. . . . Maybe Claire knows another silversmith.

Sir Charles stopped at her door and knocked.

"Yes, who is it?"

"It's Charles, mademoiselle. May I enter?"

"Yes, please come in."

Claire was sitting up in a rocking chair wearing a housecoat and slippers. He hair was tied back out of her face and she was reading a book from Charles' library. She quickly closed it and put it face down on the end table beside the chair.

"What are you reading, my dear," Charles asked as he walked over and picked up the book.

She reached up and grabbed it from his hand, but not before he saw the title – Pregnancy and Childbirth. "Oh, it's nothing important. Just something the doctor lent me."

"Claire, the doctor told me what happened to you – the baby I mean – so there's no reason to hide it from me."

At that point tears burst from her eyes as she began sobbing. "Oh, Lord Charles. What must you think of me. I'm no better than a street whore, letting Jacques do this to me. I don't deserve to be here. Send me to a convent before others see my sin."

Charles wanted to wrap his arms around her in a hug to comfort her, but he knew it wouldn't be right. "Never, Claire! What happened to you wasn't your fault. He was an evil man with lust in his heart. You will stay in this house and have the child. I shall adopt it as my own. My wife isn't able to bear children." What he didn't tell Claire was that his wife refused to welcome him to her bed, even on their honeymoon and now spent most of her time in Paris cavorting with the royal court of King Louis XII.

"But sir . . ."

"No, I'll hear nothing further on this matter. Now let me address the reason I came to see you. I have the silver reliquary on my desk and I'm terribly disappointed that it is so far from complete. I need to find someone to finish it, some as gifted in silver work as your father. Do you perchance know of someone?"

"Yes, sire."

"When can I find him?"

"It is me. I can finish the chest. I have already done much of the engraving work myself because my father – no, he isn't my father – my tormentor was drunk much of the time. "

"That's amazing, Claire! I thought I noticed two different styles of engraving artwork on it. One more graceful and flowing than the other. Those were yours, weren't they."

"Yes, but he caught me doing it. That's why he beat me so badly this time."

Again he wanted to take he in his arms and comfort her, but continued the conversation instead.

"If I provide a well-lighted studio and all the tools you need, how long do you think it will take you to finish?"

"If I start tomorrow I think I can complete it in three weeks time."

"No, you need to complete your healing first. Let me know when you're ready then you can start."

"I'm ready. I'll start tomorrow."

Charles purposely didn't disturb Claire at her work. He trusted that whatever she was doing it would be beautiful. When her work was finished each day she would clean up and join him in the sitting room for a glass of sherry. At first she was hesitant about drinking wine, fearful that she might end up a drunkard like Jacques. But she did enjoy the sweet taste and the way its warmth spread through her belly after the first drink. But she strictly limited herself to a single small glass, as did Charles.

"How is your work progressing, Claire?"

"Very well. It is complete except for the Golgotha scene on the lid. Jacques had the silver for that set aside in his workspace so I will go there tomorrow to retrieve it."

"I'll tell Sabastien to arrange a carriage for you. But that's a rough neighborhood, so I'll have my man-at-arms accompany you."

"Thank you, sire. You are a kind man."

Charles said in mild anger, "Call me Charles. I've told you that many times but still you persist in using my titles."

Claire said with a slight smile, "Yes your grace."

"You are impossible – and impudent."

"That comes with being a woman, Charles."

As Claire was sculpting the crucifixion embossment Charles was working with the blacksmith to build an iron box to provide an impenetrable shell around the reliquary. Charles had devised a new locking mechanism in which a recessed disc was turned one way or the other to lock and unlock the box. The disc had an star-shaped opening in the center so that only a matching star-shaped key could turn it. To ensure the security of the lock only one key was made, which was risky if it was lost, but the blacksmith assured Charles that he could make a new one in less than a day because he had made a wax mold of the original key. That seemed like a workable arrangement until Charles realized that the blacksmith could make as many copies as he wanted and sell them to others.

"So you have made a wax impression of this one key?"

"Yes, sire."

"Let me see it." When the smith handed him the block of wax Charles threw it to the ground and crushed it with his heel. "Now there will be only one key."

A week later, over their evening sherry, Claire announced "It is finished, my lord."

Charles was so happy to hear the news that he didn't bother to chide her for how she addressed him. "When can I see it?"

"As soon as we finish our wine."

Charles set his glass down and reached over to take hers. "I'm an impatient man, Claire. We will see it now."

"Yes, your highness."

When they got to the studio Claire told Charles to close his eyes and not open them until she said so. Then she led him into the room and positioned him in front of the work table where she had placed the reliquary in a beam of sunlight coming through the floor-to-ceiling window.

"Now you may look."

Charles stared at the work of art for several seconds before he could speak.

"It is magnificent, my dear! Absolutely breathtaking. Clearly you were inspired by the Holy Spirit."

Claire reached over and closed the lid which she had left open for his initial viewing. Again Charles was breathless. She had captured the scene at Golgotha exactly as described in the Gospels. Christ nailed to the cross with two smaller crosses in the background. Roman soldiers casting lots for His clothes. John standing next to Mary, both with their heads bowed. And at the bottom of the sculpted image was a banner with the words 'It is finished.'

Charles looked at Claire with tears in his eyes, his love for Christ swelling in his heart. "Thank you Lord for sending this woman to create an enclosure suitable for the majesty of Christ's Holy Image."

Without thinking of the impropriety he turned to Claire and pulled her to him in a hug. After a moment she put her arms around his waist and returned the gesture. They remained that way for almost a minute before Charles regained his composure and released her.

"I apologize for that, Claire. I was so overtaken by the emotions of the moment that I wasn't thinking clearly. It will not happen again."

"I hope it does. It was a pleasant feeling being in your arms."

Chapter 37 – Moving On

The following Sunday the parishioners at the Chambery church were surprised to see a silver box on the altar as they filed in for mass. They had already seen the Holy Shroud when Charles displayed it at the church shortly after he returned from Lirey. Now they could see the cloth, folded once again so only the face image was visible, on the altar beside the reliquary. Charles, Maddie, and Claire sat self-consciously in the front pew, awaiting the dedication.

There was a lot of chatter about the items on the altar until the bishop took his place in the pulpit, then all were silent. After his opening prayer he motioned for Charles to come forward and speak.

"My dear friends, you know about the cloth, The Priceless Linen, upon which the image of Christ's entire body was imprinted when he was laid in the tomb that Friday afternoon almost fifteen hundred years ago. Our Father in heaven has chosen to put it in our keeping to bring the power God to our humble house of worship."

He turned and pointed to the box. "To contain this holy relic he sent to my house an angel who was gifted with unparalleled artistic abilities for working with silver. Most of you know Claire, but even I didn't know of her gift until I saw this incredible result of her work. This will be the permanent home of the Holy Image."

At this point Charles slid his hands under the folded linen, lifted it from the altar, placed it in the reliquary, and closed the lid. Then he turned back to the congregation.

"The bishop and I have agreed that the cloth will remain in this box. It will be kept in an iron vault under lock and key, to be brought to the altar only on special holy days. At the close of service on those days the parishioners may file past the altar and lay their hands on the silver cover to receive a special blessing. Today is one of those days, so when mass is over please come and feel the power of the Holy Spirit pass from Christ to you." With that he nodded at the bishop and returned to his seat.

After the service Charles, Claire, and Maddie laid their hands on the top and offered up special prayers – Charles with a prayer of thanksgiving for allowing him to become caretaker of the most holy of holy objects, Claire with a prayer for the health of her child, and Maddie with a prayer that the Lord might see fit to bring Claire and Charles together in marriage before the baby is born. She knew that Charles was still married to that shrew Isabella, but she also knew that God could make anything happen if it suits his purposes. As it turned out, God was already at work on that prayer.

Isabella of Brittany first met Charles de Savoy at the coronation of the new king. Charles was a 19 year old novice to the social scene and Isabella was a disagreeable 25 year old looking for a young man of wealth to marry. As soon as they were introduced she began her campaign to capture Charles and end her search. As much as she detested sex she used it as her main weapon against the testosterone loaded boy/man, and it worked.

Once she lured him into her bed she claimed he had despoiled her and must marry her – soon in case the event led to pregnancy. She had played him perfectly, using his gentleman's honor against him, and within two months they were married. The marriage was held in Paris with the king and queen in attendance – the Savoy family was one of the most powerful in the country and could help strengthen ties with Italy.

At her pleading they stayed in Paris for six more months after the wedding until Charles insisted they return to his estate in Chambery. She came with him but was soon bored with the rural life. So she wrote a letter to herself signed with the forged name Anne of Brittany, Queen of France. In it she wrote that Anne needed her to come to Paris to be one of her ladies-in-waiting. When she showed it to her husband he readily agreed because her association with the queen could help the family increase its fortune, and for the unspoken reason that he would be glad to get the complaining nag out of his presence. So, except for occasional visits to replenish her money supply, Isabella was in Paris, which turned out to be unfortunate.

Medieval Europe suffered three major pandemics of bubonic plague, starting with the Plague of Justinian in the 6th and 7th centuries that killed 40% of the population of Constantinople. After that it disappeared until the second pandemic, the Black Death, hit in the 14th century and returned every few years for three more centuries. In early 16th century Paris the disease returned in varying degrees of virility and mortality every three of four years. 1502 was one of those years.

With the limited knowledge and resources at their disposal the medical schools of the day concluded that the disease was being spread by rats, and there was little that could be done about that. Later generations of doctors would discover that it wasn't the rats, it was the fleas that they carried. But the rats got a bad rap on that. Humans also carried fleas – lots of them – which was not surprising since many slept with a dog to keep them warm. And the fleas were equal opportunity tenants – they lived on everyone, from royalty down to the destitute.

So it was no surprise when the members of King Louis' court began to succumb to the painful death. The king ordered his soldiers to go through the palace and kill every rat in the place. The problem was that new rats got in from the surrounding neighborhoods as fast as the old ones were dispatched. So the king offered a bounty – one franc for every dead rat they could kill and bring to the palace.

But that created an even worse problem – when a rat dies its fleas jump to a new host, typically the person who picked up the rat after killing it. Then, when they came to the palace gate to collect their reward, many of the fleas checked into a new hotel, the king's exchequer, who was managing the bounty program. When he joined to rest of the royal entourage for supper, those he sat next to provided yet another new home for wandering killer insects.

But it wasn't only fleas that spread the disease, it could also be spread in the saliva of an infected victim who hadn't yet shown the symptoms. So the riskiest behavior among the courtiers was kissing, and there was plenty of that going on.

Isabella was fastidious about her hair. She brushed it for 30 minutes every morning to get the fleas out. She washed it twice a week, then brushed in some palm oil to keep it full and shining. So the source of her infection was most likely her dalliance with the Duke of Provence. Her symptoms showed up the day after the Duke was buried and she died four days later.

After the 30-day mourning period prescribed by the Catholic Church, life at the de Savoy house returned to normal. Especially for Maddie, who thanked God three times a day for making Charles available for Claire. She did this with a twinge of guilt because she was afraid that it was her prayers that killed Madame Savoy, then countered it with the thought that God was in charge and would not kill Isabelle just because she asked Him to.

Maddie had used the mourning period to work out a plan to get Charles thinking about marriage to Claire. She decided on a not-so-subtle propaganda approach, which she initiated on day thirty two.

"You know it's such a shame that Claire's baby will be borne a bastard, with no family beyond its mother."

"Didn't Claire tell you? I explained that I would adopt the child. If it's a boy he will be my heir. If it's a girl she will have the benefit of a wealthy family to draw a suitable husband when the time comes."

"Yes, she told me, but now that Isabella is dead she thinks you will look for a wife to provide you an heir."

"Mmmm. I hadn't thought of that. I think marriage to Isabella has soured me on the idea. How will I know a new wife won't be worse than the old one?"

"It's pretty simple, nephew. Marry someone you already know, someone who has the characteristics of a good wife."

"How can I do that? I don't know any woman well enough to make that judgment."

"Don't you? . . . Certainly there must be some woman in your life that you hold in high esteem, someone you really care for."

"No, I can think of no one."

"You men are so thickheaded! I'm talking about somebody right here under your roof . . . Claire."

Charles broke out in a hearty laugh and said with a twinkle in his eye, "I know who you were talking about. I just wanted to have some fun with you, maybe learn something from your tactics. . . . I have already been considering that option, Maddie."

"And? . . ."

"And what?"

"Quit that! You know what I'm asking."

"I have decided to ask Claire to marry me."

Maddie jumped up and shrieked. "Yes, yes, yes. . . . Oh thank you Father in Heaven. I knew you would answer my prayer . . . I just didn't think you would make me work so hard at it."

After she calmed down she looked at Charles and asked "When?"

"When what?"
Chapter 38 – The Heir

It took Charles almost a week before he got up the courage to ask Claire to marry him. It shouldn't have required courage given how close they had grown, but the irrational fear of rejection haunts every man's mind before the proposal. Finally, during their evening sherry, he asked her – no preparation, no rehearsal – just boldness.

"Charles, since you intend on adopting my baby – you do still intend to, don't you?"

"Yes, yes, of course my dear. But I have something to ask . . ."

"Anyway, since he will be your son, I wondered if you had a name in mind for him?"

"Him?? A son you say?"

"Oh, I don't really know, but they say that a woman has a special connection with her unborn child, and I feel in my bones that it will be a boy. Besides, I have been praying heavily for that outcome and I believe God will answer accordingly. . . . Not that I'm trying to tell Him what to do. I know that He will do his will and not mine, but as hard as I have been praying I expect His will to agree with mine. . . . So, what were you going to say?"

"I . . . I . . . Will you be my wife, dearest Claire? I mean I would understand if you didn't want to marry someone eight years your senior, and you won't hurt my feeling if you . . ."

With tears in her eyes she said, "Shut up. You're babbling. Of course I will marry you my darling. Just say when."

"When what?"

"When? . . . When? . . . didn't you just ask me . . ."

"I'm sorry, Claire. It's just my wicked sense of humor."

Maddie, who was listening from the other room, burst out laughing and gave herself away.

Charles said, "Madeleine, get in here. Help Claire chose a wedding date."

They were married two weeks later with only immediate family members present. Claire was starting to show and would have been embarrassed in front of a large gathering. They spent their honeymoon at the Savoy house, still enjoying their evening sherry, being together every moment they could. Claire was prepared to meet all her husband's expectations and on the wedding night he pulled her close to him. Anticipating that her past abusive experiences in bed would make it difficult for her to give herself to him fully, he came up with a way to skirt the issue.

"I wish to postpone marriage bed activities until after you have the baby, darling. I fear that our coupling might harm the baby. We will wait until afterwards, after you have recovered from childbirth, to consummate our union."

Claire refused at first. "No, no, dear Charles. I want to give you all the joy you deserve for rescuing me. Please let me."

He pushed her hand aside. "My mind is made up. I have questioned the doctor about it and he agrees that abstaining would be best for both your health and the child's"

She suspected he was lying about speaking with the doctor, but in a way she was relieved. She wasn't sure herself of how she would handle revisiting such terrible memories. She started to get out of bed and go back to her own room but he pulled her back and wrapped his arms around her.

"I said we would abstain from intimacy, but we will still sleep together in the same bed, every night, with you in my arms."

Claire didn't understand men's needs enough to know how difficult this would be for him, so she kissed him on the cheek, put her arm around his neck, and threw one leg over his.

Claire was just into her ninth month when the pains began. She was in bed next to her husband so she lay still, gritting her teeth against the pain, waiting for it to subside. When she finally couldn't help but cry out Charles woke up instantly.

"Claire! Are you alright? What's happening?"

"I think my time has come early. It's time to send for the doctor."

He sprang from the bed and ran to Maddie's room, shouting all the way to wake her, and most of the staff, up. When she opened her door he exclaimed, "Go to Claire, quickly. Something is wrong. She is in a lot of pain . . . way too much pain."

When he turned to go to Sabastien the Majordome was standing there in front of him. "Quick. Send a rider to fetch the doctor. Claire is having the baby."

"Yes sir. I will do it myself on our fastest horse."

When he turned back Maddie was in her housecoat, already barking orders to the staff that had gathered. "Delores, go to the kitchen and get a large pot of water heating. Elaine bring clean linens and towels – lots of them. Claude, bring some wood to get this fire going, then leave the room. This is woman's work. Charles, the same for you. Leave the room. Go to the chapel and pray. I will let you know when you are needed."

The doctor and Maddie battled through the night to help Claire get through the breech birth, but it did no good. Shortly before sunrise Claire passed away. But the baby was still alive. The doctor knew it wouldn't be for long so he cut the mother's belly open and pulled out the child. They waited expectantly for a cry but non came. The doctor held him up by the ankles and smacked him hard on the bottom – once – twice. The third time they were rewarded with a hearty wail from the child. "Praise the Lord," Maddie offered.

Charles had left his post in front of the altar and at that point was just outside the bedroom door. One of the women in the room tried to stop him as he burst through the door but he was too strong. He pushed his way over to the bed and saw the baby in Maddie's arms, but then he looked down and saw a sight he would never be able to erase from his mind – Claire laying on the bed, her face white as the sheets, and her stomach cut open with blood pouring from it.

"Noooooo! Noooooooo! Not her, Lord, not her. Agggghhh. Why, Lord, why."

He fell to his knees in anguish, with no thoughts for the baby. Maddy stayed with him until he was exhausted, then handed the baby to the wet nurse. She put her hand under his arm and helped him stand.

"Come. Say hello to your new son." He turned away, refusing to look at the infant.

"Hold him, Charles. Let him feel your arms around him."

"That bastard? He killed my darling Claire. I want nothing to do with him! Take him away."

Madeleine didn't push the matter and nodded to the nurse to take the baby to the nursery Claire had painstakingly prepared. Charles stormed out of the room, looking for a place to process his anger, which had now spread from his newborn son to God.

Charles had a quiet place he had discovered in the woods behind the main house as a boy. Over the years it became his place of solitude, where he would go to struggle with heavy thoughts and feelings. He had the gardener take a stone bench from the grounds and put in the middle of the clearing where, surrounded by fragrant Mimosa trees, Charles could find peace. He also went there to have serious talks with God, which was what he was doing the day Claire died.

Lord I'm so angry at you I don't even want to speak with you. You gave me the one thing I valued above all else, and then yanked her away. I can't believe in a God that would do such a cruel thing. My faith is shattered. Just tell me why you did it.

As memories churned in his head of his time with Claire, thoughts of all the plans he had for them in the future flew away. He lay on the grass, looking at the small bits of blue sky through the heavy foliage. The same question – why? – ran around his mind in circles.

Then his mind went to the cloth with the Holy Image he had brought from up north, and his belief that it would provide special power to protect the Chambery parishioners from pain and suffering. Apparently that wasn't working, at least not in his case.

After awhile his peace was disturbed by a man who entered the clearing. Tall, wearing peasants clothing, his hair curt short – almost shaved. He spoke French, but with a foreign accent, as he hailed Charles.

"Greetings to you my friend. I was just passing through and heard you asking yourself a question over and over. I couldn't quite make out the words, but I perceive that you are perplexed. Would a kindly discussion with a stranger be helpful? If not, I'll move on."

"Yes, please move on. I'm struggling with some very painful emotions right now."

"Very well. I pray that you will be able find a way through your concerns. Good day."

As the man turned to leave Charles blurted out. "Wait. What's your name? Where are you from."

"I'm called Joshua and I come from the middle east."

"Then have a seat on this bench. I hear little news from that part of the world."

"I am afraid my news is not very up to date, but I'll tell you what little I know."

Joshua went on to talk about the uprisings in Jerusalem against its conquerors and the clash of two religions. "They all think they are favored by God, that the Lord will accept only their way of worship. And in His name they fight with and kill each other. By God's grace I myself barely escaped with my life. . . . But enough about my world. Tell me, what are you questioning God about. Maybe I can help you find the answers."

Charles broke down again and let a sob escape his mouth. "My wife . . . my wife died in childbirth last night. She was such a blessing to me. A true gift from God, or so I believed. But now that He has taken her away from me, I don't know what to believe. Does God really exist? The Book says that He is a loving God who protects us from pain and suffering, but if He exists He must have abandoned me."

"You called her your wife. What was her name?"

"Claire."

"Ah, a lovely name. But when you said that she was your wife, you misspoke. Like all of us she belongs to God. He just loaned her to you for a time – a time when she needed protection and healing from all that had happened to her. I think God used you to provide His protection for her."

"I haven't thought of it that way."

"And you. You were a passionless man, indifferent to the problems of others. But God used her to teach you compassion, to teach you to love and care about others. Is that not true?"

"Well yes. . . Definitely. But I never thought of it as coming from God."

"God often uses others in your life to teach you, to correct you when you sin, and to show you His amazing love, expressed through those you love."

"But why did he take her?"

"We are all on this earth for a short time, a time God uses to bring us to believe in His Son. Once we yield to that, we look forward to an eternal life with Him in heaven."

"I can see that now, Joshua. Thank you for straightening out my thinking. I see that I will be with her when I die."

As Joshua rose to leave he turned to Charles one more time. "God's work for you isn't finished yet. There's someone whom you need to teach how to love, how to live a Godly life, and how to serve God."

Charles looked perplexed. "Who is that?"

"Your new son."

"But he killed Claire, how can I love him?"

"Were my words here just wasted breath? We are put here to love, now go and love your child."

After the stranger left Charles lay back on the grass, reflecting on what the he had said, when a torrent of water hit his face and woke him up. It was pouring rain, but he didn't care. Rain comes from the Lord, just as the stranger he met in his dream did.

Eight days after the infant's birth Charles, Madeleine and other close family members stood at the altar of the Chambery Catholic Church, ready to Christen the boy. Charles had arranged for the silver reliquary to be placed on the altar in honor of the child's mother. Madeleine handed him over to the priest, who then looked at Charles.

"You have a name for the child?"

"Yes. Joshua."

"A good choice. One of the Old Testament Saints."

"Oh, it's more than that, Father. Much more."

The priest gave Charles a brief puzzled look before he began the ceremony.

Chapter 39 – The Two Fires

1526 – 1532 – Florence Italy

Charles kept Joshua very close to him as he grew up. Teaching him all he knew about God, the world, finances, knighthood, and of course, love. He brought in the best professors from Paris to extend the boy's abilities even further. By the time Joshua reached the age of 30 Charles deemed him ready to take over as the Duke of Chambery and handed the House of Savoy over to him. No longer needed to run the estate Charles set out for Jerusalem to learn more of its history first hand.

Joshua traveled across the Alps one summer to meet the Italian side of the family. At six feet two with jet black hair and blue eyes, he was admired by the ladies, especially the unmarried ones. He enjoyed their company but remembered his father's counseling many years ago to be very careful whom he went to bed with, and even more careful about whom he chose to be his wife.

A few years before he had made a list of the characteristics he wanted in a wife and had yet to find a woman who met them. That is until he met Leandra, Contessa of Florence. Her husband, the count, had choked to death on a chicken bone the year before and she had ascended to his position. It turned out that she was much better at it than he had been and quickly enhanced the already sizeable family fortune. But where the count had held onto every lira he acquired, the Contessa used it to help the needy throughout the area. She provided food for the churches to feed the poor, schools where both boys and girls could get a basic education, and medical care from doctors who traveled to the slums where their patients lived.

Joshua's first conversation with her at a dinner party in Turin revealed none of this. It was only after some discreet inquiries that he learned of her altruism and humility, both of which added to his rapidly rising admiration for her. He contrived to meet her several other times until she finally asked why he seemed to appear everywhere she went. He stammered out an answer – "It's just coincidence" – that didn't sound convincing.

"Well, if we are going to continue bumping into each other, let's make it an official relationship. Would you care to join me at the opera next Friday night?"

The invitation caught him by surprise, but he recovered quickly. "Contessa, I would be honored."

"That's a shame. I hate those things."

He was slightly taken aback but again recovered quickly. "Then tell me what activities you do enjoy that I might take you to."

"I enjoy playing cards – primero to be precise. I also play chess occasionally."

"I also like primero, but it involves too many people. I prefer a quiet one-on-one game of chess. It gives the two contestants a chance to get to learn about each other."

"And would you like to learn about me?"

"Yes, I would."

"What do you know about me so far?"

"Well, you are widely known for your generosity and reluctance to talk about it."

"But what do you perceive about me?"

"You are self-assured, confident, know what you want, and you speak directly without verbal game playing. I think it's that last part that I value the most. I hate idle chatter."

"You are good at assessing ones character. A most valuable talent."

"Turn about is fair play, Contessa. What is your opinion of me at this point in our . . . friendship?"

"That you are someone I would like to get to know better. Much better . . . but not too much better . . . not yet."

The relationship between Leandra and Joshua grew steadily over the next few months. Love, like a blossoming flower opening petal by petal, came slowly to them. They went through all the stages – attraction, familiarity, infatuation, admiration, the beginnings of passion – until they reached the edge of friendship and tumbled over the cliff into love. As they went they found more and more things they had in common; they both disliked social functions where the rich got together to brag about themselves, their children, their financial successes, their charitable contributions and, among the men, their affairs. They enjoyed rising early and going for walks, forthright conversations with no pretenses or hidden agendas, and sitting together on the settee after dinner, taking in the closeness, with no need to speak.

They avoided talking about the future of their relationship, taking each day as it comes with no expectations. But as the flame of passion began to burn between them, they both started thinking about marriage. It was Joshua who first brought it up.

"Leandra, I enjoy the closeness we have but with that comes the desire for something more, something even closer."

"If I understand you, and I think I do, you want us to become more . . . intimate. I feel the same way; my body craves closer physical contact. But you must know me well enough to realize I can't allow myself such pleasure outside of marriage."

"Of course, dear, and I wasn't implying otherwise. . . . What I'm trying to say is I would like for us to become man and wife."

She paused for only a second before she smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Oh yes, Joshua. I definitely want us to marry. I've been waiting for the opportunity to ask. If you didn't say something soon I was going to bring it up."

He wrapped his arms around her waist and hugged her close. "Can you allow yourself to be kissed?"

"Certainly, but I draw the line at that."

"I knew you would," Joshua replied as he lowered his lips to hers to enjoy that most magical moment in a relationship – the first kiss.

They both felt the passion rising within them and sensed when it was time to retreat, so they separated. Leandra, after she caught her breath, asked "So, Joshua, how soon can we have the wedding."

"As soon as possible would work for me. But I know there are social rules for this sort of thing, like a six-month betrothal, planning, guest lists, the wedding feast, and that will take some time."

"No, we can get it done more quickly than that. I know a small coastal village on the island of Corsica called La Vega where the priest will marry couples without all the Catholic requirements."

"Will the union be recognized by the church."

"Of course. He says those requirements were put in place by man, not by God. He submits the same documents as it were a full ceremony so the church is none the wiser."

"How long does it take to get to Corsica?"

"I'll have to arrange for a boat to take us there from Naples, but that shouldn't take more than a day or two."

"Where will we stay on the island?"

"I have a friend with a villa in Porto Vecchio, but she doesn't go there this time of the year. I'll check to make sure it's available. We can spend a week of two getting to know each other much better."

"Splendid, my darling."

The two were sitting as husband and wife on the porch of the villa enjoying the cool evening breeze and sampling one of the many fine wines vinted by Corsican wineries. Leandra sighed. "I suppose it's time to make some plans about our future, my dearest. Like where we will live – Florence or Chambery?"

"We could travel back and forth between them, as occasions require. But both of our estates can be managed without our presence, so we could find an entirely new place to live."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Turin. The Savoys have many interests there and I made some friends before I came to see you in Florence. I think the family would welcome us warmly."

"I like that idea. I too have friends there and I really like the city. I heard a rumor from my friend in Milan that the Savoys are planning to build a royal palace at the edge of town."

"I heard nothing of that when I was there, but it makes sense. The power of the French Savoys has been declining, but the House of Savoy in Turin has greatly increased its power. I think I could be of help in administering the family businesses there."

"Good. Then it's settled. We will move to Turin."

By the end of 1532 Joshua had been put in charge of all financial affairs of the Turin Savoy family. He was very close to the King of Savoy, who trusted him fully in all things. Leandra was also highly respected. As the Minister of Schools for the entire territory she had set standards for teachers and built three boarding schools where poor children could live and go to school at no cost. By this time the couple had two children of their own, a girl named Marie and a son named Paul. Love abounded and times were good.

Joshua seldom thought about what was going on back in Chambery until he received a letter from his aunt Madeleine about the fire. It seems that a careless altar boy at the Sainte Chapelle Church knocked a candle from its sconce and onto the carpeted floor. Before it could be extinguished it had spread to the draperies behind the altar, and from there throughout the front of the church. The Franciscans scrambled to rescue the important religious items but the box housing The Priceless Linen was forgotten. After the fire was reduced to a few small flames the iron box was discovered in a back room, but it was glowing red from the heat.

After it was cooled with buckets of water the priest realized that the star-shaped key was no longer in its place but had fallen somewhere into the ashes. He sent a boy to summon the town blacksmith who pried open the box but it was too late. The silver reliquary inside had started to melt. When he peeled back the softened top expecting to find the folded Holy Relic in ashes they were surprised to see that only one corner was affected. Some molten silver had fallen on it and that area of the cloth was smoldering. They quickly poured a small amount of water on the corner then lifted the relic from the mangled reliquary.

When it was unfolded and laid out flat another of God's blessings was revealed. The scorched and burned part of the cloth didn't include the Holy Image. It was untouched. Instead two rows of holes and blackened cloth ran the length of the Shroud on either side of the image. The priest knelt down and led the others in a prayer thanking God for sparing the image of Christ for future generations to see and perhaps believe.

There was considerable debate over what to do with the damaged Shroud. Should it be repaired or left as it came out of the fire? Part of the problem was what to do with the burned holes where the original cloth was missing. If patches were to be used they must match the original linen weave as closely as possible and the stitching must be almost invisible. It took two years to settle this question and in 1534 some nuns were brought in to do the repair work. They used a technique called french reweaving which required no stitches. The herring bone weave of the original cloth was difficult to match until they found a weaver who created some new cloth that was suitable.

Chapter 40 – The Bishop

1578 – Turin, Italy

In the 46 years since the fire in Chambery Joshua worried about the safety of the Holy Shroud and frequently spoke with Leandra about his concerns.

"If God the Father hadn't interceded there would be no image of our Lord Jesus Christ today. I fear that some other catastrophe might occur at a time when God isn't paying attention."

"Joshua dear, you know better than that. God sees and knows everything, and acts where and when He chooses."

"My heart knows that but my mind is plagued with doubt. If only I could bring it here to Turin I could protect it.

"How would you protect it, Joshua?"

"Keep it under guard at all times, in a fireproof stone structure. And it wouldn't be folded but rolled up somehow, like on a large wooden roller. . . . That's it! I would lay it out flat, cover it with a heavy silk cloth – maybe in red – then start at one end and roll the two onto the cylinder together. That would keep the image from touching the back side of the cloth and there would be no folds or wrinkles. That's what I'll do."

"You're forgetting something dear. First you have to have the Shroud. The Savoys in Chambrey aren't just going to hand it over to you."

"You're right about that. My cousin has become Duke of Chambery in my absence and is not too happy that I left him with the job. What can I do?"

"Let me think about it awhile. Maybe I can come up with something."

Later that day Leandra sought Joshua out. "I think I have a plan. My friends in Milan tell me that Cardinal Borromeo plans to journey on foot from Milan to Chambrey to give thanks to Christ for releasing Milan from the plague."

"That sounds like an admirable thing to do."

"Have you ever met the Cardinal? He's over eighty years old. He will never make it through the Alps on his pilgrimage."

"So how does that help us get the Shroud?"

"I will ask King Emmanuel to order that the relic be brought here to Turin so the old man won't have to make that journey. The distance from Milan is less than a five-day walk, and the road is level. An easy walk for the cardinal."

"Your brilliance never ceases to amaze me, darling. When can you talk to Emmanuel?"

"I'll request a meeting tomorrow morning. If he agrees we will go to Milan and tell the cardinal."

Turin Italy, Sunday Sept 14, 1578

Amid sounds of canons and cheering crowds the procession bearing the Shroud crossed the Po River and proceeded along the Corso de Filiberto to the Cathedral of Saint John the Baptist. At a ceremony in the Piazza Castello the bishop of the Chambery Franciscan monastery, Father Gabriel de Bernier, presented the venerated image to Sir Joshua de Savoy, now of Turin. He carried it solemnly into the cathedral and placed the metal box on a table beside the altar. Four nuns removed The Priceless Linen and unfolded it on the altar. When the entire image was exposed several in the room gasped, then began praying. Joshua gave them a few minutes to contemplate it, then shooed them out so preparations for the Cardinal Borromeo's visit could begin.

The following Sunday the cathedral was closed for a private showing to the cardinal and a few of his party. He too was overtaken with emotion when he saw it. He laid his hands on the image and began a long recitation of the appropriate Catholic prayers and praises. When he was finished he raised his hands toward heaven and shouted "Praise the Lord, hallelujah and amen."

After the cardinal led the procession from the church he sought out Joshua and his wife. He hugged them both and thanked them for arranging to have the Shroud brought to Italy.

"I hope to see it again next year, that is if I am able to travel to Chambery."

"Perhaps it will still be here in Turin, your grace."

Leandra gave him a sharp elbow in the side, which usually meant he had said something he shouldn't have. She gestured with her head and he looked in that direction. Father Gabriel was ten feet away, and from the look on his face he heard what Joshua just said. He whispered to Leandra, "I'd better go and try to minimize the damage." But as he walked toward the bishop the man turned on his heel and walked away.

Later that day the Archbishop of Turin came to see him and his wife.

"Come in Father. Have a seat."

"There is no reason to sit. What I have to say will only take a minute. . . . Father Gabriel came to me this morning with some story that you intend to keep the Shroud here in Turin. Is that true, Joshua?"

"Let me explain . . ."

"No, just answer the question. Yes or no."

". . . uh, yes your eminence. You see, my wife and I thought . . ."

The archbishop held his hand up, stopping the explanation. "I think it is a splendid idea, Sir Joshua. It will raise the stature of our cathedral and draw tourists from all over. God has surely blessed us with this opportunity."

"Oh . . . I thought you were . . ."

He was cut short with another elbow to the ribs. His looked at her and saw a slight shake of her head. She took over the conversation at that point.

"What my husband was trying to say was that if the Shroud stays here in Turin it can be better protected from fire, floods, and even theft. Joshua will pay to have a secure stone vault constructed that fire or water can't penetrate. As for the thieves, well, that will require an armed guard to be present at all times."

"And where will this vault be built, pray tell?"

Joshua began, "In the basement of the Savoy mansion, your grace."

Again the elbow. Leandra picked it up from there. "Of course, if you would prefer that the Holy Relic be kept at the church we have no objection. . . . But the church will have to pay for the guards. And then there's the expense of building the vault."

"Madame, we have no money for that. We operate with a very modest income, with barely enough to feed ourselves. There's no way that money could be paid from the patron's tithes."

"Well, if that's the case Joshua can have the stone masons come to the house tomorrow to start on the vault."

"No, no. I didn't mean we couldn't provide the money, I just meant it will be a hardship on us."

"Perhaps not. If the Shroud were to be exhibited one day a month people would pay to see it and pray before it. That income should easily offset the cost of building expenses and security guards."

The archbishop pretended to be thinking it over, but he had already made up his mind. "An excellent idea, my dear. . . . I could even declare an annual feast day – the Feast of the Holy Image of Christ – to bring more people into town."

Leandra answered, "I'm glad we could come to an understanding, your excelency. Now I have one more suggestion for you to consider. What if the name were changed to the Shroud of Turin. That should bring the city, and your cathedral, even more fame."

Joshua thought the archbishop was going to reach out and hug his wife, but he held back. "Thank you, Sir Joshua and madame Savoy for this great opportunity. I must get back and tell my staff."

As the couple stood arm in arm, watching the portly cleric trying to run without looking like a duck, Joshua turned and kissed her. "Well played, my dear, well played."

Leandra's predictions about the drawing power of the Shroud of Turin proved true. The number of visitors had gone from almost none to more than the city could handle. New rooming houses and restaurants were quickly built to handle the crowd. The other thing that increased were the sales taxes from the merchants collected by the Savoys. Their already substantial fortune tripled in less than a year, making Joshua and Leandra the most important people in the family. So when Duke Emmanuel Filiberto passed away in 1580 they became the Duke and Duchess of Savoy.

The Shroud of Turin brought in enough income that Joshua decided to build a palace, the Royal Palace of Turin, adjacent to the Cathedral of Saint John the Baptist. Then he designed a chapel to house the Shroud of Turin that connected the palace with the cathedral. It was made of black and gold marble and was called the Chapel of the Holy Shroud.

Over the next three hundred years there were dozens of public and private displays of the cloth. It also became the subject of scholarly studies, but most dealt either with clarifying understanding of exactly what the Bible said or trying to tie the relic to known historical findings. These were the Christian scholars, who tended to be more objective that the atheists and agnostics who used the exact same information to 'prove' that the cloth was a fake. It was an impasse that would apparently remain . . . at least until a man named Secondo Pia made a discovery that would shake the foundations of Biblical and historical knowledge.
FOURTH EPOCH – THE AGE OF SCIENCE (1898 – 1980 A.D.)
Chapter 41 – The Miraculous Image

1898 – Turin, Italy

Secondo Pia was a lawyer from Turin, Italy – a very successful lawyer. This meant that he could afford to hire young lawyers and law students to handle his cases which, in turn, meant that he had a lot of free time on his hands and plenty of money to engage in whatever pastime he chose.

The first pastime he tried was hot air ballooning, but he crashed on his first flight and barely escaped with his life. So he crossed that off his list and began to search for another hobby. That's when he heard about a new invention that was becoming popular – the camera – an instrument that could actually make a copy of whatever it was pointed at. It would be a hobby that made his name famous for generations to come.

The first photograph was taken in 1825 by a French inventor Joseph Niepce. It was the view from his window. No one knows what the scene was because the picture was terrible. Due to the technique he used the exposure had to last for eight hours, so the sun had time to move from east to west, changing where the shadows and sun lit areas were.

In 1839 John Herschel came up with a way of making the first glass negative. He coined the term photography, deriving it from the Greek "fos" meaning light and "grafo" – to write. Even though the process was easier and the results better, it was still a long time until photography was available to the public.

Finally, after decades of refinements and improvements, a camera for everyday use was developed by a new company named Eastman Kodak. It went on the market in 1888 with the slogan "You press the button, we do the rest". It was a cardboard box with one piece of film at the back. You lined up the photo, pressed a little button that made a clicking sound as it opened and closed the shutter, then you mailed the entire camera back to Kodak for developing. A week or two later you received the single photograph in the mail. To take another picture you had to buy another one-shot camera. People thought it was magic. It was rumored that the name Kodak came from the clicking sound the shutter made.

When these became available in Turin, Secondo was the first to buy one. His first photo was of his wife's flower garden. After he saw the photograph he immediately bought ten more cameras and experimented with different lighting and camera angles. He was hampered because the lens opening couldn't be adjusted and the exposure time imposed by the shutter was fixed. He knew from reading books on photography that it was important to have control over these elements, so he ordered a professional portrait camera from Rochester Optical Company in New York.

Soon Pia had become proficient at both taking photographs and developing the glass plates that captured a negative image of the scene. He learned how to increase the image contrast, which made faint things appear darker on the negative. When his friends and neighbors found out about his new hobby they begged him to take pictures of them, their families, their babies, their weddings, and even some photos of the deceased in their coffins. He wasn't the kind of person that could say no – to anyone. So before long his hobby was consuming most of his days and half of his nights. He would expose as many as fifty plates a day, then spend another four or five hours after dark developing them.

The upside of this was that he was doing something he loved. The downside was that his wife, Ivonne, thought of photography as another woman whom her husband was having an affair with. Something he loved more than her. Being the controlling wife she was she ordered him to give 'her' up. Being the meek pleaser he was he reluctantly agreed. He locked all of his equipment in the basement dark room and gave her the key.

But just as the lustful desire for a paramour grows during separation, his need to return to his photography grew stronger with time. He couldn't bear to be without it. Finally he couldn't take it any longer and did something totally out of character for him – he searched for the darkroom key. One morning during her weekly visit to the hair salon he went into her room to search for it. He knew that if she returned early and caught him there would be hell to pay, so he moved quickly. He first went through her jewelry box, being careful to return everything to its original position. Finding nothing he moved to her writing desk and rummaged through the drawers. Again nothing. He went over to her dresser next and, starting in the top drawer, moved her clothes around looking for the prize. In the second drawer, where she kept her underwear, that he found it under a silk chemise. He quickly left the room and hurried to the locksmith to have a duplicate made. It took the craftsman almost half an hour to make the extra key, so Secondo had to run back home to replace the original before Ivonne returned.

He crept back into her room, opened the lingerie drawer, and put the key just where he had found it. As he was moving her delicates back where they belonged Ivonne walked in.

"What are you doing? . . . You're going through my underthings! You degenerate pervert!"

She rushed over, pushed him aside, and reached into the drawer to rearrange things while secretly checking for the hidden key. When she felt the cold metal she slammed the drawer.

"Don't you ever come into my bedroom again you scoundrel! Now leave."

Trying to soften her anger he asked "Not even to make love to you?"

"Especially not to make love to me. It will be a long time before I grant you that privilege again."

As Secondo walked down the hallway he was dejected that Ivonne had caught him, and that she would deny him marital union, but beneath that he was exuberant – he could regain his first love, photography. And with Ivonne's upcoming trip to the seashore with her sister, he would have three weeks alone for taking pictures. . . . But of what?

He was thinking about suitable scenes to capture on glass when a friend told him that the city of Turin was planning a celebration of the 400th anniversary of the Turin Cathedral completion and would be exhibiting the famous Shroud inside the church. When he found that the exhibition dates matched up with his wife's absence he quickly petitioned the officials for permission to photograph image. But first he had to wait for the approval of King Umberto de Savoy, which came just as the eight-day exhibition was about to begin on May 25th 1898. The only time the image was available to him was during a one-hour lunchtime closures. He spent the first three lunch hours working out how to illuminate the Shroud with electric lights to get the best picture. On May 28th he ran out of time during lunch to take a photo with the settings he had calculated, so he came back at 9:30 that night to complete the series with several different lighting arrangements and exposure values.

Later that night, back in his studio, he put the plate through the chemical baths required to create a permanent negative image on the plate. It was close to morning when he turned the darkroom lights on and saw the second miracle of the Shroud. The first was when Christ's image was transferred so perfectly to the cloth, and the second was when the new science of photography produced a negative that captured the image detail in much greater contrast than the actual image possessed. As he held it up and stared at it he marveled that it was as if God had encoded this information on the Shroud in a way that would not be visible until 1800 years later.

He couldn't wait to show others what he had discovered. A newspaper writer from Genoa saw it and published a copy of the negative on June 13th. A day later it appeared in the National Courier paper. But it was so unbelievable that many experts declared it to be a fake, or claimed that Pia had 'doctored' it. In truth it was simply the expected outcome of a photographic process in which the image contrast was greatly enhanced. The details seen in the negative also show up in the positive image, but with much fainter contrast. It was that difference which the hoax mongers latched onto to discredit what may have been the greatest scientific discovery of the 19th century.

The worst of the detractors were scientists. Scientists tend to be skeptical about most things, especially those things they don't understand. People believed them to be brilliant, but if they admit they are unknowledgeable about something it diminishes their perceived intelligence, at least in their own eyes. So what they don't understand they must declare a fraud, especially if it conflicts with what they believe to be the unalterable laws of science.

One of the common approaches to dethroning a truth is to propose an alternative 'truth' of their own which, in addition to opposing the original idea, often increases his or her stature and income. Unfortunately such hypotheses themselves often violate the laws of science, as well as those of logic and reason. The known facts have to be stretched and distorted to fit each new theory, until it becomes more impossible to believe than the simple truth.

After a brief flash of fame, interest in Pia's photograph faded. It did little to affect those who believed it was real and nothing to change the thinking of those who disbelieved. In the end the predominant belief was that Pia must have used some kind of photographic trick to create the photo . . . which was indeed correct. He overexposed and overdeveloped the plate. Whether this was accidental, intentional, or divinely inspired no one knows.

The debate over the authenticity of Pia's negative raged on for years until 1931 when more photographs were taken by a professional photographer named Guiseppe Enrie. Advances in the field of photography provided much clearer images than those Pia had made. Enrie's photo's became the foundation of Shroud studies for the next fifty years.

The most important result of Enrie's work was that his negatives showed exactly what Secondo Pia's photos revealed, proving that no trick photography was involved. But still the impossibility of what the pictures demonstrated drove many to continue in their disbelief that the image could be Christ. In would take another technological leap to uncover the third mystery of the Shroud of Turin.

Chapter 42 – The Seeds of Science

1969 - 1973 – Turin, Italy

Except for a period during WW II when it was secretly hidden in an Abbey near Naples, the Shroud of Turin stayed in its steel-barred vault atop the high altar in the Chapel of the Holy Shroud. Although many historians, scientists, and photographers requested an opportunity to examine it, the caretaker appointed by the Savoy family, Cardinal Michelle Delfino, the Archbishop of Turin refused access to all. But both in Italy and in the U.S., several organizations arose that were dedicated to furthering knowledge and understanding of the Holy Cloth. One of these was the Priceless Linen Consortium, the PLC.

What made this organization different from the others was the tenaciousness of their leader, Dr. Helen Spencer. When she was eleven years old she saw a story in LIFE magazine about an unusual cloth that had the image of a crucified man imprinted on it. It was the week before Easter so the article focused on the possibility that it was made by the body of Jesus, but that part was of no interest to her. Her interest was in finding how the image got there; what caused it to transfer to the fabric. She already knew she wanted to be a scientist of some sort or another, but the photos of the linen cloth, even though they were taken in 1931, intrigued her. The herring bone weave in particular caught her eye. She had never seen a cloth like this and wanted to know how it was woven.

The sources of information about cloth making were very limited, especially in the local library. So she asked her father to take her to the university where was a professor of chemistry and help her search the library there. He saw this a great opportunity to teach Helen the basics of library research, so he walked her through the steps – look in the card catalog for the subject, sort through the cards for ones that looked promising and write down their call numbers, go to the section where the book was shelved, and look at the table of contents to see if it covers what you're looking for. The most important thing she learned was that once she found a good reference, the entire section of shelves often had many books on the same subject.

On her first day she handed her father a stack of several books she wanted to take home to study. He checked them out for her and thought that they would keep her busy for the next couple of weeks. Three days later she wanted more books, not only on weaving but on the fibers used for weaving – cotton, wool, flax, and the new synthetic threads. This was followed by an interest in how each of these fibers differed based on where they were grown, and how long ago they were first cultivated.

By the time she graduated high school, at the top of her class, she had been accepted at Yale University to study archaeology and anthropology. The reason she chose Yale was for their Peabody Museum, which had the largest collection of ancient fabrics in the world. Five years later she left with PhDs in both subjects and an appointment to the Archaeological Research Institute of Egypt as curator of their ancient textiles collection.

Helen didn't have much of a social life, even in college, because she buried herself in her work. She thought dating and men were a waste of time. Sometimes she wondered what her lack of interest in them meant, but then she was never attracted to women either. So it was a great surprise to her when she fell for Montu Salib, an anthropologist who led expeditions to newly discovered ruins.

She knew her attraction was purely physical, which answered her doubts about her sexuality and created feelings within her that she had never known before. They first met at a reception held for the Crown Prince of Arabia, whom the institute was courting to fund their involvement in the excavation of the Al Uqair Salt Mine ruins. With her red hair, tall stature, and good looks her job was to be friendly to the Prince, look interested in what he was saying, and eventually bring up the salt mine dig. She would then discuss what was going on there and in particular, what the current site manager was doing wrong – in a nice way of course. Then she would introduce him to Dr. Faez, the president of the institute, who would explain why his people were a better choice to manage the project.

As soon as she had handed him off to Faez she went to the bar to refill her wine glass. Just as the bartender handed her glass back someone beside her said "Now what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this." Recognizing that as a pick-up line from an old movie she assumed he was making a pass at her and turned to brush him off – until their eyes met. She immediately felt something strange inside, a sinking feeling that was headed south. When she realized her mouth was half open to begin her rebuff, she closed it quickly and tried to smile, but something was short-circuiting her thinking.

"Allow me to introduce myself, Helen. I am Montu, . . . Montu Salib."

He knows my name. "Have we met?"

"Not officially, but I have been admiring you from a distance for some time."

"You have?"

"Yes. You are quite pleasing to look at."

"I am?"

"But please don't get me wrong. I'm not a stalker. I am just drawn to your . . . your . . . well, everything about you."

Helen's brain finally engaged. He's good looking in a rugged sort of way. Short beard, I like that. And at about six two – just an inch or two taller than me. . . . What's that cologne, Sauvage? I don't pay attention to that kind of stuff, but whatever it is it smells delicious.

"Hello. Are you there?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. My mind was elsewhere. Pardon my rudeness."

"You are not rude at all, Helen. I have watched you interact with dozens of people and have seen nothing but graciousness."

Helen blushed, but retorted "You haven't seen me when I first get out of bed. I'm the picture of grumpiness." He hasn't seen me get out of bed, has he? Is there a way he could see in my window? When I get back to the apartment I'll have to check what's across the street.

"No, I haven't. But I hope to have that pleasure someday."

Now she really blushed as the unidentified feeling moved further south. She was a little put off by his boldness, but for some reason her mouth replied "One can always hope, Montu." Did I just say that? What's gotten into me?"

"I shall. Now, would you like to move out to the terrace? I want to hear all about you."

After the two chatted for almost an hour Dr. Faez opened the French doors and beckoned to Helen.

"Time to say goodbye to the prince and tell him what a lovely time you had talking with him."

She turned to Montu and said, "Goodbye, Montu. I've had a lovely time talking with you."

"Until next time," he answered.

After saying her goodbyes Helen left and asked the doorman to hail a cab for her.

"Your ride is already here, Madame" he said as he gestured toward a Jaguar XKE parked at the curb. As the doorman opened the passenger door she bent down and looked inside. "Montu?"

"Yes. I thought you might enjoy a ride home in luxury."

She was flattered and gracefully seated herself, forgetting about the seat belt. As Montu leaned across her to fasten it he lightly brushed her chest. Did he do that on purpose? I liked it.

She expected him to show off the acceleration of his expensive automobile. Instead he glided smoothly out into the traffic and continued at the speed of the flow. Score one for Montu, she thought. Most men let their testosterone do the driving.

"Let me tell you how to get to my place. Take a left at the second stop light and . . ."

"I know where you live, Helen."

How does he know that? Maybe he has been spying on me through the bedroom window. . . . There's that feeling from the south again. . . . I think the word 'tingle' describes it best.

"So do you have any friends or relatives here in Cairo, Helen?

"No, I'm on my own. My parents live in Dallas, Texas . . . that's in the U.S."

Montu laughed. "I know where Texas is, honey. I've been there."

He called me honey? Isn't it a little early for that? It felt good to be called that though.

He went on. "I'm not very close to my parents. I haven't talked with them since they threw me out. . . . How about you? Do you call your Parents much?"

"Only on Christmas and birthdays. I'm so busy I just forget. I don't miss them much."

He pulled the Jaguar to a stop in front of her apartment building and tossed the keys to the parking valet. Then he took Helen's arm and led her into the lobby. In front of the elevator he stopped. "Do you mind if I walk you up to your apartment door? I want to be sure you get there safely."

"How considerate, Montu. Of course you can."

They got off on the sixth floor and walked down the hallway to her apartment. At the door she took out her key and turned to him.

"I had a lovely evening, Montu. I hope we can do it again sometime."

He gently put his hands on either side of her face and leaned in to kiss her. She wasn't sure she was ready for that, but her body was screaming 'Yes, yes. Do it,' so she let him. It was a gentle kiss, one she could barely feel on her lips. But it sent a charge through her body all the way to the south pole. She pressed her lips more firmly against his, then put her arms around his neck and pulled him close. She wanted more than a light touch on her lips. He responded with more passion and pulled her body close to his.

He whispered in her ear, "Let's go inside and continue this, darling. We can't go very far with it out here in the hallway."

He pulled back and took the key from her hand. That's when the alarm bell went off in her head and made her push him away.

"No, No Montu. This is going too far. I'm not ready for this. . . . I . . . I have never been with a man."

That inflamed his passion even further as he opened the door and pulled her inside.

"I said no! Now get out of here."

Anger flared in his eyes. "You women are all alike. You tease your men then don't give it up." He stepped back and slapped her hard across the face. She tried to pull away from him but he wrapped one strong arm around her waist and dragged her toward the bedroom.

"No! Stop it! I'll scream."

"These old apartments have walls so thick that no one will hear you."

She opened her mouth to scream but he slapped her again . . . and again, and again . . . until her head was spinning and she thought she would pass out. Her arms were like rubber; she had no strength to defend herself.

Montu grabbed the bodice of her dress and ripped downward, tearing the fabric and her bra from her, leaving her standing in front of him with bare breasts. He froze for a moment, admiring her beauty, which gave her an opportunity to break free and grab the poker by the fireplace. When he came after her she swung the heavy brass shaft with all the strength she had left, knowing she only had one chance at this.

When it struck him on the side of the head, penetrating his skull, his eyes went wide, as if amazed that a woman would do that to him. Then he sunk to the floor with his eyes still wide open – this time in death. She took several steps back and sunk to the floor herself, emotionally and physically drained.

She wasn't sure how long she lay there, but when she felt her strength coming back she picked up the phone and called the front desk.

"How may I help you, madame?"

"I . . . I think I just killed someone."

The was no answer when the concierge knocked on the door, so he used his master key to let himself in. What he saw shocked him. There was a man on the floor with his head in a large pool of blood. And on the bed sat a woman in shock, bare to the waist. The first thing he did was get a robe from the bathroom to cover Miss Spencer, then he called the front desk. He spoke rapidly in Egyptian Arabic then hung up.

He knelt down in front of Helen to see if she had any wounds on her face and hands. She was staring off into space and humming to herself as she rocked back and forth.

"Madame Spencer, can you hear me. . . . Madame Spencer!" He held up his hands and clapped loudly in front of her face. Smack!

She flinched and put her hands up defensively, expecting to be slapped again by Montu. When it didn't happen she lowered her hands and looked at the concierge. "Can you talk now, Madame."

". . . Yes, I think so."

"Can you tell me what happened?"

She pointed to the body on the floor. "He attacked me – and tried to rape me. So I hit him with the poker."

"The police have been called, so you must stay here until they arrive."

"Am I in serious trouble?"

"Madame, you have killed an Arab prince."

Helen was held in the Cairo Prison for Woman for almost a month before her case was heard. Even with Dr. Faez's influence she wasn't allowed bond. The prison was filthy by American standards, but Helen didn't really notice. She spent most of her time sitting in a corner, rocking and humming. Then one day her state of indifference was interrupted by a jail matron. She brought in some clean clothes, allowed her to shower, and put her in a van that would take her to court.

Dr. Faez had hired a defense lawyer, the best in Cairo, to represent her. The prosecuting attorney read her testimony to the police the night of the murder, then read the charges against her: Enticing a rich Arab prince into her apartment with the purpose of robbing him. When he held up a poker to defend himself from her she somehow wrested it away from him and killed him. Then tore her clothes to make it look like rape.

Helen's heart sank when she heard this. It was only the two of them in the room and the prosecution's version sounded just as likely as what really happened. With no other witnesses she didn't have a chance.

When the prosecutor rested his case her defense lawyer got up and called his first witness – a young elementary school teacher. She described how Prince Montu Salib had followed her to her home one night, then broke in through a window and raped her. She offered plenty of tears and sobs to shore up her testimony. When it was time for the prosecutor to cross examine he declined.

Helen's attorney paused before calling his next witness. Turning to the judge he spoke out loudly, "Your honor, I have sixteen more women ready to testify about how Prince Salib raped them and left them emotionally broken and spoiled." He let this information sink in for a couple of minutes. Then looked directly at a well-dressed gentleman in the back of the courtroom and spoke. "I don't believe it would be in the Royal Family's best interests for these witnesses to expose the court and the press to these testimonies. . . . But if your honor wishes me to proceed, I will gladly do so."

The judge looked to the man at the back who shook his head ever so slightly. The judge asked the defendant to stand.

"I have reviewed the prosecution's case and see no real evidence that Miss Spencer did what they claim she did. I therefore pronounce her not guilty, but with one condition. That she leave this country within 48 hours, never to return. Do you agree to abide by these terms?'

Helen was too choked up to answer, so her lawyer assured the court that she would be gone the next day. Helen turned to her lawyer. She wanted to hug him but knew that wasn't the way things worked in this Muslim country. Even shaking hands with the opposite gender was frowned upon. So she bowed her head to him in thanks, and left the courtroom with Dr. Faez.

It had been five years since that episode of Helen's life and she hadn't told anyone about it, not even her parents. She had found a job in Austin, near her parents, as the director of the Texas Archaeological Research Laboratory at the University of Texas. Now, after four years she had become well known for her work in ancient textiles and had acquired a large collection of middle eastern fabric samples from the first century. She had some of the best examples of herringbone weave from that period to be found – anywhere in the world.

She enlisted a graduate student to build a loom in the exact style common in Israel during the first hundred years after the birth of Jesus. She often spent her weekends at the loom, weaving herringbone cloth from a wide variety of fibers, trying to recreate the pattern she had seen as a child on the Shroud of Turin photos. She thought she was pretty close but without seeing the relic herself she could never be sure.

She had become an expert on everything that was known about the Shroud of Turin, which wasn't very much. Most of it was speculation by clergymen, historians, and any number of self-created Shroud experts. She needed to find a way to examine the linen sheet up close. That's when she had an idea. She would create a group of Shroud scholars so large and powerful that the Archbishop of Turin wouldn't be able to turn them away. That was the beginning of the Priceless Linen Consortium.

She was very selective about who she invited to join her group. They had to be serious scholars, burning with a desire to understand the holy cloth, and with the time and motivation to work endlessly to further the consortium's goals. Family men and women need not apply. Helen was an ideal candidate because was unmarried and childless. After her experience in Cairo she saw all men as potential rapists and kept them at a distance. The experience also hardened her. She vowed never to let anyone have control over her again, about anything. That was the source of the tenacity with which she pressured the Archbishop of Turin to allow her access to the Shroud.

Chapter 43 – The Commission

Dr. Spencer was executing a well-planned campaign to sway the Archbishop – weekly phone calls to him, letters once a month denouncing his policy of refusing access as contrary to Jesus' directive to spread the word, and personal visits as often as he would agree to see her. She harassed him to the point where he refused to accept any more phone calls or visits and returned her letters unopened. She decided it was time to change strategies.

The Thomas Brinkley Law Firm in San Diego was the third largest practice in the state of California, with a staff of 32 attorneys who defended the Catholic Church of America against lawsuits involving alleged priestly sexual misconduct. When the first of these lawsuits appeared the priests involved admitted their guilt and the church paid off the plaintiffs handsomely. But once others realized it was a quick way to get rich – make a claim and take the payoff – the church knew it had to stop these spurious charges. So the President of the U.S. Council of Catholic Bishops approached Tom Brinkley about representing the church in legal matters. Tom, being a devout Catholic, jumped at the chance. He was certain God had chosen him for the job.

When he got to work one Monday morning he stopped at his receptionist's desk to check on the day's appointments.

"What have I got on the calendar today, Wendy?"

"I put some letters on your desk that need your review and signature, the Governor is coming at nine to discuss plans for a memorial cemetery, from ten until noon you are to meet with representatives of the National Right to Life Committee to review their new ad campaign, then you will have lunch in the conference room with Dr. Helen Spencer of the Priceless Linen Consortium."

"What's that about?"

She heads a group of American scientists, clergymen, historians, and medical doctors who study the Shroud of Turin. Are you familiar with the Shroud?"

"What Catholic schoolboy isn't. It's a shame the Holy Relic is held in such secrecy. It should be available for all to see and study."

"That's what she wants to talk to you about, sir. She wants to file a lawsuit to force the Archbishop of Turin, and the Duke of Savoy who actually owns, to released to it from its prison."

"Now that's something I could get behind. I'm looking forward to meeting her."

Tom was still in the meeting with the National Right to Life people when Wendy opened the conference room door. "Excuse me, Mr. Brinkley, but I have Miss Spencer waiting in the other conference room for your 12 o'clock meeting."

"Thank you Wendy." He turned to the president of the NRLC. "I'm sorry, Cora, but I'm going to have to cut this short. I have an important meeting to attend."

"More important than saving babies, Mr. Brinkley?"

"Of course not, Ms. Butler. But the abortion problem will always be there, while this meeting is urgent."

She gave him a hard look. "I don't like being dismissed before I have finished making my point."

The words Get over it, bitch flashed through his mind but fortunately he was able to stop it in time to answer her more civilly. Sometimes he wasn't so lucky.

When he entered the large conference room upstairs, the one with the wall of windows looking out over Mission Bay, Helen was standing at the window taking in the yachts, exclusive mansions, and surfers below her.

"Enjoying the view Miss Spencer?

"Yes, it's lovely.."

"I'm Tom Brinkley. . . . Have you ordered your lunch yet?"

"Yes, Wendy brought me a menu. It must be nice having your own corporate restaurant on site."

"It keeps the expensive lawyers in the firm from taking two-hour lunches . . . and dinners."

A waiter wheeled in a cart with their lunches and served them. Helen was just about to reach for her sandwich when she saw Brinkley bow his head in prayer. She quickly did the same and listened to him pray for the meal, several individuals, congress, his wife and children, and her. That was a surprise to Helen. No one had ever prayed for her before – at least not in her presence.

She started to open a conversation about the reason for her visit but he held up a hand. "Let's enjoy our lunch first, shall we?"

They ate in silence until they finished. After the waiter took the dishes away and left a pot of coffee Tom said, "Now, tell me what I can do for you Miss Spencer."

She opened up with her background as a foremost research scientist in the field of ancient cloths and artifacts, then deftly narrowed the discussion to the Shroud of Turin, and her belief that it was left by Jesus and protected by God for the last two centuries until the time when modern science would have the knowledge and technology to understand what it was and how it testified to Christ's resurrection. She added that last part after hearing him pray.

"Modern science, for the first time in history, can erase all doubts about the Shroud and prove that it is – or isn't – the burial cloth that was wrapped around Jesus in the tomb. But that won't be possible unless Cardinal Delfino allows scientists to examine it. I have been hounding him to do just that for three years now, but still he refuses. I see a lawsuit as my only recourse at this point."

"I agree that the piece needs to be brought out for study, but a full-blown lawsuit may not be necessary. Simply filing a notice that we intend to sue them will probably be enough. The Catholic church has had so much negative notoriety lately that I believe they will give in just to keep their uncooperative stance out of the papers. It may even take only a phone call or two to get this resolved. Let me look into it and I'll let you know what I find out."

Cardinal Delfino was irate as he addressed the people in the room.

"That Spencer woman has gone over my head. She contacted some big shot lawyer who knows the Pope himself." He held up a letter written on papal letterhead. "I have been ordered – ordered mind you – to allow scientists to examine the Holy Cloth. Who does he think he is!"

One of the younger priests who didn't know any better replied, "He's the Pope, sir."

Delfino scowled at him. "I know that, but he has no business interfering with how I manage church affairs."

The young priest wisely kept his mouth shut this time.

"I have no intention of letting every scientist who claims interest in the Shroud to examine it. I must find a way to meet the pope's command without letting that happen."

The young priest redeemed himself. "The pope didn't say which scientists you have to let in. What if you assembled a team of only Italian scholars and allowed only them to examine the Sindone [Italian for Shroud]."

"I like the idea, but as soon as we announce our intentions the Americans will file their lawsuit."

"That's why we will keep the group – let's call it a commission – secret until after the work is finished and the cloth is back in its place."

On the 16th of June 1969 at 8:30 in the morning the small group of people who made up the commission gathered in front of the altar in the Chapel of the Holy Shroud while the cardinal celebrated the Mass of the Holy Shroud. Afterward the young priest who had suggested the commission ascended to the rear grille, opened it, and removed the silver encased wooden casket. When it was laid on a long table the Shroud, rolled up on a wooden cylinder, was unfurled.

There were ten men and one woman present. The men included some 'scientists,' professors from two nearby universities, two priests knowledgeable in the history of the relic, a forensic pathologist, a radiologist from a local hospital there to determine if x-ray testing was feasible, a blood sample analyst from a hematology laboratory in Milan, and a photographer who was the son of one of the commission members. The woman was Helen Spencer.

Helen had heard about the secret commission's plans four days earlier when someone from the archbishop's staff called her. He was disturbed that the archbishop had 'reinterpreted' the meaning the pope's letter to keep the Americans away, so he took matters into his own hands. Helen showed up at Delfino's office the afternoon before the planned tests and demanded to be included in the examination or else she would immediately call her attorney and the Gazzettta del Popolo, the Turin daily newspaper, and report what was going on. Cardinal Delfino had no choice than to allow her in.

The parochial commission that Delfino had put together was in no way equipped to actually perform tests on the Sindone, but only to recommend what tests should be done in the future – the distant future as the Delfino put it.

Helen actually thought this was a good idea, except for the distant part. What mattered mostly to her was that she finally got to inspect the cloth up close. There was even a microscope available that she used to determine the twist of the fibers and other details that would indicate where the flax plant was grown.

At the close of the three day examination the Shroud was returned to its hiding place and the commission members set about writing a report of their findings. The final section of the report recommended several in-depth examinations and tests to be done sometime in the distant future. The only real scientific results in the report were in the section Helen wrote about the fabric.

She concluded that the cloth was entirely consistent with materials and weaving techniques from the first century. Even more important was what it looked like under ultraviolet black light. During the sixth century a new method of adding stiffness to fabric, called sizing, was invented. After 800 A.D. virtually all fabrics made in Europe and the middle east used this new procedure. What made it interesting to Helen Spencer was that the materials used left a fabric that would glow under black light, while textiles sized using the older method did not. The Shroud fabric did not fluoresce under UV light, which made a strong case that it couldn't be ninth century fabric with a forged image applied.

The commission report had one other favorable result. The distant future turned out to be only nine years later.

Chapter 44 – Technology to the Rescue

March 1977 – Albuquerque, N.M.

Scientists were as amazed as everyone else by the photographic images of Pia and Enrie, but by nature scientists are an inquisitive bunch. They want to know why things are like they are. It was this characteristic that led several scientists and clergymen to organize the 1977 Conference of Research on The Shroud of Turin in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Twenty-five investigators presented papers on their personal research into Shroud history, correlations with Biblical descriptions, image enhancement, forensic medicine, and a new line of study – the possibility that the image had three-dimensional information hidden within it.

At the end of the two-day conference several of the scientists met to address the question "If we could get access to the Shroud for scientific testing, what experiments and tests should we perform." No one believed that the they would be allowed to examine the cloth, but their ideas were collected in a proposal sent to the Archbishop of Turin. In it they described the tests and experiments they would like to carry out if he would grant them access to the Holy Relic. Their expectations were low, but they hoped – and prayed – that maybe the archbishop would allow them to do one or two of the tests.

As 1977 drew to a close and 1978 progressed, they waited for an answer, but none came. They were about to give up hope when Dr. Jack Wright, the group's informal leader, received a letter from Archbishop Delfino. He read it quickly then immediately set up a conference call with the others. When they had all checked into the call he told them the news.

"Gentlemen, this morning I received a letter from the Archbishop." He paused here for a suspenseful dramatic effect. "And he has given us permission to come to Turin to perform tests next October, when the church would celebrate the 400th anniversary of the Shroud's move from Chambery to Turin."

After a round of exclamations by the others one of them asked, "Okay. Give us the details. Which tests will he let us run. Is my experiment one of them?"

Another asked "How long will we have with the Shroud? At least two says I hope."

After these questions the line fell silent.

"I can't answer those questions."

Several of them talked over one another – "Come on, don't hold out on us Jack." – "Are you trying to keep it secret so you can control the project?" – "Quit teasing us. Get on with it."

Jack yelled "quiet!" to stop the uproar.

"I can't tell you because I don't know. The Archbishop said only that we could come. Nothing about which experiments he would allow, or how long we would have to do them, or what laboratory facilities would be available to us. All I know is that we'd better start saving our money for a trip to Italy. I'll write him to see if I can get some clarification but in the meantime we need to start gathering the equipment we'll need and putting together detailed plans for doing the tests without stepping all over each other.

"We need to schedule a meeting soon, maybe next week, to figure out how we're going to do this. We only have four months to go. Who can make it to Albuquerque next weekend?"

"Are you buying the plane tickets?"

"Get serious. I'm a captain in the Air Force with four kids. I can barely afford gas to get to work and back. This trip will have to be on your own dime. But one of the things we need to talk about is how to raise money for the Turin trip – plane fare, hotels, shipping the equipment. So who can I count on next Saturday?"

The three others who lived in near Albuquerque – two who worked at Sandia National Laboratory and one from Los Alamos Labs – immediately answered that they would be there. One of the two from NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory could make it, and a Professor of Physics from the U.S. Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs said he wouldn't be able to get to Albuquerque until noon, but the others should start without him. It was settled. The Shroud of Turin Research Project – STURP – was officially in business.

The meeting in Albuquerque was somewhat of a disappointment in that they left with more unanswered questions than they started with. But everyone agreed to take on a few of the issues and bring back answers when they met a month later.

The team moved into high gear, planning the details of every test, calling around the country to borrow high-tech equipment they couldn't afford to buy or rent, and assembling a team of qualified scientists, engineers, and photographers. The plan was to get all the equipment and personnel together a month before the trip to Turin in a 'dry run' to perform all the tests on a surrogate shroud to iron out the bugs and coordinate the experiments to find the most efficient way to fit all the tests into the time allotted.

Jack got everyone on a conference call a week before the next Albuquerque meeting to tell them good news and bad news.

"Archbishop Delfino answered my request for clarification and the good news is that all the tests we proposed are acceptable to him. He even complimented us on the extreme measures we will take to leave the Shroud exactly as we found it – nothing damaged and nothing left on the cloth – and he was especially pleased by the fact that we will all wear cotton gloves anytime we touch the cloth.

"Now the bad news. He wasn't able to give us a timeline yet. So we'll have to prioritize the tests so the most important ones are done first. . . ."

Immediately everyone started talking at once to convince Jack that their own tests were the most important and must be done first. Jack let them go on for a couple of minutes until the furor died down, then spoke again.

"I think we should develop plans for a two-day period, a three-day period, and, hoping above hope, a four-day period. We'll work around the clock, if they will let us, and run multiple tests at one time where possible. We can iron all this out at the practice run, tentatively scheduled for the first week in September. Once I find a location all the equipment will be shipped there and set up just like we expect it to be in Turin. Each experimenter will be given time to get set up in front of the mock shroud and try different approaches for getting their data as quickly as possible. After the dry run all the equipment will be boxed up and shipped to Turin. . . . Any questions?"

"Yeah. Who's going to pay for all this?"

Chapter 45 – The Third Miracle

The physics professor was walking back to his office after his last class of the day, deep in thought. If you stopped him and asked what he was thinking about he probably wouldn't remember. He had A.D.D. – attention deficit disorder – and his mind was always flitting this way or that with little common thread from one thought to the next. Until his mid-thirties he thought his unruly mind was a curse, but when a doctor told him what the problem was he realized it was really a gift. His mind could jump through a series of possibilities in very little time, weighing the pros and cons of each to come up with the best course of action.

He was almost to his office when a colleague grabbed him by the arm. "Don, come to my office, I want to show you something."

Once there the other professor, Jack, handed him a photograph of what was apparently a man's face – a hippie by the looks of his long hair and beard. He studied it a minute, then asked "Who is it? Some rock star?" David said this with distaste. His attitude about the flower children, and especially their acid rock music, was not charitable. He often asked himself Does God really want me to love these people? For him it was a rhetorical question since he didn't really believe in God. He didn't disbelieve in God, either. He just hadn't made up his mind yet.

"This is a picture of Jesus," Jack responded.

"What, a painting or something?"

"No. It's a photographic negative of the face on the Shroud of Turin."

"What's that?"

"Haven't you ever heard of it? . . . I guess it's mostly a Catholic thing."

"No, I don't know anything about it. Explain it to me."

Jack went through a brief description of how it is believed to be the burial cloth that covered Jesus when he was laid in the tomb after the crucifixion.

"So people really believe this is an image of Christ that was somehow imprinted a piece of linen?"

"Yes. When you look at all the evidence it's clear that it has to be Jesus."

"Very interesting," Don replied, thinking, This has to be fake. It looks just like all the paintings and movie characters of Jesus. No one knows what he looks like. He would learn later that it was the other way around. The medieval painters were influenced by the Shroud itself.

Don turned to leave but Jack pulled him back into the office. "The reason I showed this to you is that I need to ask you something. You're an optics and electronics guy, so I think you can help me with a project I'm working on.

"The reason the negative is so starkly black and white is that it was purposely overexposed and developed to enhance the contrast. I believe that there is some 3-D information about the face hidden in the image, but the exposure curve is non-linear. I can borrow some video equipment that will convert the image light and dark areas into vertical deflections of an electron beam scanning across the video screen. When it works right it should create an image that looks like a rubber sheet being pushed up by the face of Jesus. But the non-linear exposure curve screws this up. We need a way to preprocess the TV scans of the image to make them linear – to remove the starkness of the darks and lights. Would you be interested in building me something to do that?"

Jack knew Don was hooked when he paused for a couple of minutes, already thinking through options to achieve that goal. "Yes, I think I can do that. If I can get a graduate student to turn my design into hardware I think I can make it work."

Three weeks later the device was complete. The first time they used it to scan a negative of the Shroud face they were stunned.

Don spoke first. "It looks like a three dimensional statue of the man's face! Sort of like a bas relief on a roman wall. This is really amazing, Jack. What are you going to do with it?"

"The first thing I want is to use your device to make scans through the entire frontal image of the Shroud, from head to foot. Then we will cut each scan line out of cardboard starting at the feet and stack them against the wall. When we're done we should have a life-sized statue of the front side of the man on the Shroud – Jesus Christ."

"Well, I won't concede that it's really an image of Jesus on the linen, but the project sounds exciting. I'm in."

Jack invited a dozen or so of his physics students over to his house early one Saturday morning and had them cut out cardboard tracings of the lines produced by David's device. Just after 11 p.m. the last piece of cardboard was placed on top of the 572 other cardboard slices of the statue. Then they all stood back and looked at it. It was clearly a 3-D statue of a man, with a protruding nose, eyebrows, eye sockets, and with the individual fingers of the hand raised above the spaces between them. As their eyes continued downward they could see the thighs, the knee caps, and the shin bones raised up from the background level.

This was the third miracle of the Shroud image – that a 3-D human-like body could emerge from the faint flat image on an ancient piece of linen. Once again God had encoded information that couldn't be deciphered until imaging technology reached a certain level. And this was revealed almost a hundred years after the second miracle was uncovered by the science of photography.

Chapter 46– Preparing for Turin

Jack was getting very frustrated. With less than two months to go before the trip to Turin he still had several pieces of equipment to locate. The problem was compounded by the group's lack of funds. There wasn't enough to even ship the equipment to Turin, much less purchase any of it. And the team members were going to have to pay for their own travel and hotel. Jack was realizing he may have taken on more than he could handle. He needed a manager. Someone to make all the arrangements and maybe do some fundraising. That's when his office phone rang.

"Hello. Is this Professor Jack Wright?"

"Yes, this is Doctor Jack Wright. With whom am I speaking?"

"This is Sean Sullivan. I'm the CEO of a small company in McLean Virginia. I read about your project and I want to be part of it."

Jack had gotten several calls like this and was prepared to give Sean the standard brush-off, but something told him to continue the conversation.

"What can you bring to the group? Do you have some kind of scientific expertise we need?"

"No, I'm not a scientist like you, Dr. Wright. Surely there must be something else I can do?"

Jack thought for a minute. There's nothing he brings to the table. I guess it's time to shut him down . . . Wait! He's a CEO – a manager. That's just what I'm looking for.

"I think there's a spot you can fill, Sean. Let me explain."

Jack went on to tell him about his struggles to find certain equipment and the lack of cash.

"What kind of equipment?"

Jack read off a list to him. "Most of it is highly technical state-of-the-art stuff. I doubt if you can help with that."

"Give me a couple of hours and I'll call you back."

Jack didn't think there was much of a chance that Sean would come through so he went across the hall.

"Don, you work with a lot of high-tech electronics out at the test range in the canyon. I've got a list here of what I think we're going to need for the Shroud tests. Can you think of anything I've missed."

Don looked over the list, mumbling to himself as he went.

"Well, the first thing I don't see are some power stabilizers. European electricity runs on 220 volts rather than the U.S. standard of 110 volts. And from what I hear their power is notoriously dirty; the voltage jumps up and down with lots of electrical noise. I had the same problem out at the canyon site until I bought some power line conditioners. You're going to need a couple of those for sure."

"How much do those cost?"

"Six grand apiece."

"Way out of our price range."

"I've gotten to know the factory rep pretty well. Let me give him a call. Maybe they have some outdated stuff we could get cheap."

Jack heard his phone ring fro across the hall. "Let me get this call. Maybe you can call the rep while I'm in my office."

Ten minutes later Jack rushed into Don's office. "I just got some great news. A Connecticut businessman is going to manage the entire project. And he's going to work on raising funds for us."

"That's terrific. I've got good news too. The company can let us borrow two of their three- kilowatt conditioners. All we have to do is pay for shipping. . . . but I see one other area you don't have covered for the electronics. Repair. If something breaks down over there you need someone who can find out what's wrong and fix it."

"Is that something you can do?"

"I do a lot of that out at the range, but I'm not on your Shroud team."

"I can put you on the team. You can come to Italy and get the power conditioners up and running, then be available in case something quits working. Will you join us?"

"I would like that, but aren't all you guys Christians? I'm an atheist."

"First of all only about a quarter of the team are active believers. Second, you are not an atheist. From what you've told me you are an agnostic – someone who could believe if there was sufficient evidence. That's what our trip to Turin is about – adding to the evidence. We may find that the Shroud isn't related to Christ at all. Or our results might strengthen the case for it being the image of Christ. We're all scientists first, independent of our religious beliefs. We're not going over there to prove that it really is the imprint of Jesus on the cloth."

"In that case I'm in. Let me see if I can get my hands on the latest in test and measurement gear."

"One more thing, Don. You might have to pay your own way if Sean can't raise enough money."

"It will be tight but I think I can manage it."

Jack reached out his hand. "Great! Welcome to the team."

Over the next couple of weeks things started to fall into place. Sean made the trip arrangements and volunteered some floor space at his factory for the dry run. His funding efforts were off to a slow start until the people at his church got on board. Between personal donations and bake sales they raised enough to ship the apparatus to Italy but still didn't have enough for airfare and hotel rooms. As the time grew shorter the team members were examining their savings and credit card statements to see if they could swing it. In turned out that they needn't have worried.

Jack was busy with some analysis his employer wanted him to finish when the phone rang. "Hey Jack, this is George Thomson. We met at the Albuquerque conference last year."

"Yes, George. I remember you. You helped fund the conference as I recall."

George was rich. Very rich. He inherited the family liquor distillery but decided that as a Christian he couldn't be part of an industry that was so closely entangled with much of the sin in the world. So he sold it, for two hundred million dollars, and used the money to fund various Christian causes.

"Yes, I did and that's why I'm calling. I understand you're having trouble raising money for the upcoming Shroud examination in Turin."

"Yes, we're wrestling with that, but I trust that God will provide a way . . . if He wants us to go. But with the way things are falling into place I can't help but believe He's behind it. Just yesterday I got a call from head of a major photography college offering to provide photo coverage of everything, both scientific stuff and pictures documenting the work."

"What did you tell him?"

"Praise the Lord!"

"Let me get to why I called. Sean Sullivan told me that none of the travel expenses have been paid for."

"Yeah, that's just one of my headaches."

"Not any more. I will buy airline tickets and pay hotel bills for the entire team with funds from my foundation."

"Wow, that's fantastic! Thank you so much George. You're a good man."

The dry run in early September was a success. Except for a few minor glitches everything worked and the tests were ranked in order of importance. Starting the top-ranked tests on the first day they would continue down the list as time permitted. They still didn't know how long they would have to work so they didn't expect to get through the entire list on this trip, but maybe there would be another opportunity sometime in the future.

The last day of the practice run everyone took care of packing their own hardware for shipping to Turin. When they got there the crates would be waiting for them. At least that was the plan.

Chapter 47 – A Minor Miracle

The team arrived ten days before the tests were scheduled to begin. The first thing Jack did was pay a visit to the professor at the University of Turin who was coordinating the project. What he found out was not good. Italy, like many countries, requires the payment of an import tax on all electronics when it arrives in the country. When Jack heard the sum, the equivalent of sixteen thousand American dollars, he was flabbergasted.

"But the equipment will only be in Italy for a couple of weeks. We shouldn't have to pay the tax."

"I'm sorry, but it doesn't work that way. The Government had problems with companies avoiding the tax by bringing in stuff temporarily, then selling it once it was through customs. So they started requiring that the duty be paid even on temporary imports. When you leave with your equipment the money will be returned to you, minus a small administrative fee of course."

"But we don't have that kind if money available. Can't something be worked out?"

"I'm afraid not. The equipment will stay locked in customs until the tax is paid."

Jack left brokenhearted. It seemed like they were being stopped short of their goal by an insurmountable obstacle. But then he thought of the other apparent roadblocks that God had removed and realized he would just have to trust God on this one too. So he set out for his second appointment – with Archbishop Delfino.

As Jack passed the Cathedral on his way to the diocese offices he saw a long line of people waiting to file through the sanctuary to get a dimly lit look at the Shroud hanging above the altar. The crowd was lined up five or six abreast and went down the street for more than a mile. Jack had heard that 150,000 people a day were passing by the likeness of Christ.

After he was escorted into the Archbishop's office he sat in an antique chair waiting for the cleric. He wondered if the chair was as old as the church, almost 500 years. If it was it had been well cared for.

"Signore Wright. What a pleasure to meet you."

"For me also, your eminence. After our many conversations on the phone I feel like I have met you already."

The Archbishop pulled over a matching antique chair and sat facing Jack.

"So, how is everything going. No problems I hope."

"There is one issue – a big one. Our equipment is being held at the airport until we pay the $16,000 bond. We didn't expect this so we have no funds set aside for it. Without the equipment we might as well go home."

"Hmmm. That's over thirteen million lire. A lot of money for a few pieces of electronic equipment."

"To get the data we need we're using the latest technology, some of it isn't even on the commercial market yet. That kind of stuff is very expensive."

"I see your point. . . . But we can't have you leave without examining the cloth. With all the advance publicity we would look foolish if the tests were cancelled. There must be a way."

"I have talked to all of our donors. They might be able to come up with two or three thousand dollars, but that's not nearly enough."

Delfino thought for a couple of minutes. "Let me make a phone call to the cardinal. The church might be able to help with this."

The Archbishop called him the next day. "The cardinal has agreed to pledge assets of church to cover the bond."

"Hallelujah! Thank you so much for what you have done. I'll get the team ready to start setting it up this afternoon."

"It's not that simple, Dr. Wright."

"It never is."

"Paperwork is required, and that will take time – maybe as much as a week – before you can pick it up."

"But that's only three days before the tests begin. We need more time than that to get everything ready."

"I was concerned about that so I have extended the length of time available for your tests. You can begin on Monday and work through Friday afternoon. Then the Holy Relic must be returned to its vault."

Jack wanted to jump for joy. Five whole days. Wait until the others hear.

As it turned out their practice time in Virginia paid off. They started testing Monday morning and by noon Thursday they had completed all the planned tests and began repeating some of them to get better data. The scientific examination couldn't have gone better. Now came the hard part; analyzing the data and writing papers for half a dozen scientific journals.

The team had agreed when they signed on with the project to withhold publication of their own work for two years to allow comparison of the results from the separate fields of study. So in October of 1980 the group returned to the site of the dry run to present their results. Sean arranged for a large meeting room at an upscale hotel in Hartford and invited selected members of the press. At the end of the day everyone agreed that the conference had been a huge success.

But as with any project of this sort the counter-attacks by outside scientists wanting recognition for their own ideas on the subject began immediately. Even among the team members themselves acrimony erupted as they modified conclusions to fit their own personal theories. The phrase 'scientific objectivity' was apparently an oxymoron.

Over the next few decades younger scientists entered the fray with theories that diverged further and further from the 1980 results – results fully supported by the test data. There were some pretty wild theories; like the image was caused by laser light, or by a high-voltage corona discharge from the body. One web site even claimed the Martian surface feature known as the Face on Mars look was an exact replica of the 3-D face on the Shroud. With each new generation of Shroud scholars less and less attention was paid to the only true scientific data from the 1978 tests.

Epilogue – The Interview

2018 - Lake Seminole, Georgia, 40 years after the Shroud examination by STURP

Peter Straub, feature writer for the Science History Revealed television series was looking forward to interviewing the old scientist. He was putting together an episode to be run the week before Easter about the Shroud of Turin and found that Donald Carter was one of the few scientists from the 1978 trip still living. Peter had read a couple of Carter's technical papers about his work on the Shroud and concluded the man was a down-to-earth thinker, looking for simpler explanations than other Shroud researchers were fabricating. He had also watched an old TV interview from Turin where Dr. Carter claimed to be the group's resident agnostic, self-appointed to keep the Christian team members from letting their religion get in the way of their science.

Straub almost missed the turn onto the dirt road leading to Carter's house. As the road wound through a sparse forest of tall pines and spreading live oaks with spanish moss hanging from their branches he was struck by the rural beauty of this part of Georgia. Straub was looking through the trees ahead to get a glimpse of Carter's house. Since Carter was a successful scientist and engineer with several patented inventions Straub was prepared to see an expensive plantation-style home with tall columns and an upstairs balcony. As he reached the mailbox he thought he must have made a wrong turn somewhere. This was a simple double-wide mobile home overlooking a gentle grassy slope down to the lake shore. The dock that jutted out into the water had a small pontoon boat parked under the roof, and there were several fishing rods in a rack on the railing. After expecting a pompous, self-important professor he immediately improved his opinion of the man without even meeting him.

As he got out of the car Dr. Carter stepped out on the front porch. "Peter Straub I presume?"

"Yes, and you must be Dr. Donald Carter. You have aged since Turin but I can still recognize your face from those old photos." Straub looked him up and down – six feet three, not much fat, an easy casual look about him. The jeans and plaid flannel shirt helped with that.

"Would you like to come in or sit on the porch. This early October weather is comfortable and the summer gnats have disappeared."

Peter looked around. "I think out here would be great."

" Lynn just made a pitcher of southern sweet tea. Would you like some?"

"What flavor is it?"

"Just plain ole Lipton tea. We don't have any of that fancy tea you city people drink."

"I think plain ole Lipton's would be great, sir."

He called to Lynn to bring out some tea, then turned back to Peter.

"You've got to stop buttering me up there, Peter. I'm just plain Don – not doctor, not professor, and definitely not sir."

"I would have guessed that's what you'd say."

They sat quietly for a few minutes, sipping their tea. "Beautiful place you have here, Don. How long have you lived here?"

"Going on eight years now. It's about as pleasant of a place there is to retire to."

"I agree with you on that. Look, if you don't mind I would like to get on with the interview. I have to be back in Atlanta by six thirty to catch my plane back to New York."

"Let's do it then."

Peter pulled an expensive leather portfolio from his briefcase and uncapped a Mont Blanc fountain pen.

"Let me start by asking what was your very first impression of the Shroud – when they first brought it into the room?"

"Well I didn't get a good look at it right away. When the nuns unrolled it onto the special platform we brought with us we were kept back while several so-called Italian scientists gathered around it to mark their territory.

"Later there was a brief time when no one was in the room so I stepped in to have some time alone with it. I guess I was looking for – hoping for – a spiritual experience of some kind, but I didn't feel anything."

"Why would you expect one. I understand you're an agnostic."

"I was back then, but I was searching for a reason to believe. My scientist's mind was looking for something that would help me believe in God and Christ. But I'm no longer an agnostic. I know God exists, and that Jesus is His son sent to pay the penalty for mankind's sin through his crucifixion. God raised Him from the dead to prove to us that He was who He said He was and that we ourselves will rise to meet the Lord after we die."

"What changed your mind?"

"The missing ingredient. Faith – believing in something when there is no real evidence to prove it's true. My logical mind had no room for something as nebulous as faith. That comes from the feeling part of us – what they call the 'heart' – and I didn't have much of that back then."

"What changed your mind?"

"Like He often does with unbelievers God put me in a position where I had to believe to survive. During my forties I went through several years of suicidal depression. At first I didn't tell anyone. I was an alpha male. I thought I could lick it with mental toughness. I wouldn't even take medication for it – I saw that as a sign of weakness."

"What brought you through it?"

"God. I had nothing else left so I asked Him for help. At first I prayed tentatively, like 'Lord, I'm not sure you exist, but if you do please take this emotional pain away. It's unbearable.'"

"Did he answer your prayer?"

"Yes, but a little at a time. First he encouraged a Christian colleague to come to me. He sensed something was troubling me. I gave the standard male-to-male response – 'Oh, nothing really.' He didn't respond. He just sat there with a concerned look on his face. All at once I broke down crying, right there in the cafeteria. I hadn't cried since I was a boy and here I was, a 42-year-old man bawling like a baby . . . in public."

Tears formed in Don's eyes and he was silent for a few moments.

"Sorry, the memories of that day still choke me up sometimes."

"Don't be embarrassed. Many people react like that when the Holy Spirit finally breaks through. I know I did."

"So you're a believer too?"

"Yes, but I don't want to get into that. Let's get back to the interview," Peter said as he opened his notebook again. As he started to ask the next question Don held up his hand.

"I have a suggestion. I have trouble accessing some of those old memories. Why don't you set you smart phone to record while I let my A.D.D. mind wander through my memory banks and I'll talk about whatever pops up. Then, when I'm finished if I haven't answered all your questions you can finish up with them."

Peter turned on his phone and sat back, ready to take some supplementary notes if necessary. It wasn't.

"For years I have given talks about the science of the Shroud, and here's one of the first questions I get; Is the man on the Shroud really Jesus Christ?

"My answer is simple: Nobody knows. The preponderance of evidence, especially that from our 1978 work, comes down in favor of it being genuine. Questioners will often bring up the Carbon-14 dating work done in 1988 which apparently demonstrated that the cloth was only seven to eight hundred years old. That killed scientific interest in the relic until some archeologists did Carbon 14 testing on pottery they knew for certain dated back to the first or second century, and got a result of only a few hundred years. On further examination they found that the outside of the bowl had a layer of more modern material formed by bacteria feeding on the remnants of bodily oil from when the cup was handled over years of use. When they cleaned off the film and retested the piece they found that it was indeed from the first century A.D."

"How does this apply to the carbon dating of the Shroud?"

"For the Carbon 14 tests some very small samples were cut from the cloth in 1988 and sent to three independent laboratories for testing. Unfortunately, to avoid defacing the image, they took the samples from the very edge of the cloth, where it had been touched and handled by people throughout its history, leaving bodily oils behind. The Carbon 14 tests produced an age that was the average of everything on the cloth – the linen plus the accumulated detritus from centuries of human contact."

"Wow. This is great stuff. Why haven't I heard it before?"

"Because negative news has a much longer lifetime than positive news."

"Go on. Turn your mind out to pasture again."

"I get asked a lot about the 3-D character of the image, especially the face. I was part of the original work when I made a device to take out the exposure non-linearities. The 3-D effect results from the higher parts of the image – the nose, eyebrows, eyes, and further down the pectorals, fingers, and knees – being tinted darker than what's around them. The VP-8 image analyzer translates brightness and darkness as less or more deflection of each line scan. So the darker an area is on the cloth the higher it will look in the pseudo 3-D image produced by the VP-8."

"So it's not really 3-D, it's just variation in image brightness."

"Yep, you got it."

"But why did the raised parts of the body produce a darker discoloration?"

"Glad you asked. The first part of the answer is what caused the image. There are many theories but the one that seems to make the most sense to me is that it's like ring-around-the-collar on your white shirt. The fabric comes in contact with the oils and bio-chemicals on the skin. These in turn start to degrade the surface of the fibers. In the case of linen, which has very shiny fibers, they loose their sheen. The result is that those fibers don't reflect light the same way and look darker.

"The second part of the explanation is why the raised parts of the body produce darker areas on the linen. At the 1980 meeting of the Turin team I proposed a hypothesis that it was because those parts of the cloth were in contact with the body longer. You see, when the relatively stiff linen was first laid over the body it only touched the higher points. But as the body gave off water vapor the linen absorbed it, became more flexible, and sagged down into the lower recesses. After enough time the cloth touched all but the lowest parts. The higher parts, which were in contact with the skin the longest, had more time for the skin bio-chemicals to degrade the linen fibers. I did some experiments to demonstrate that the time-dependant sagging is just as I predicted."

"I haven't come across this conclusion in my research. Do others on the team accept it?"

"Some of them do, but it gets in the way of other hypotheses that are more complex. Most scientists like complex answers. I go for the simpler ones – Occam's razor."

"What else have you got?"

"Well, there's the coins on the eyes. Most of the team dismisses the idea that first-century Jewish leptons were placed on the eyes, but I have no trouble with it. I have seen image analyses, especially some 3-D screen shots from Duke University, that make it very clear in my mind that there were leptons on the eyes because they left a faint imprint of their lettering on the Shroud – enough to match up with some of the letters on an antique lepton. Others don't see it because they don't want to see it."

"Talk about the blood stains."

"Let me see, what do I know about them? . . . Some samples were brought back and tested in a forensic laboratory here in the U.S. The result was surprising. The blood type was AB, unusual for middle eastern Jews. Most of them, at least among the modern population, are predominantly type A or B. The incidence of type AB among them is only a few percent."

"What about DNA testing?"

Don laughed. "I usually get that question at this point of my presentation. To my knowledge DNA has never been successfully performed on a 2,000 year old blood sample. Now if you wanted to use DNA to prove that Jesus is who the Bible says he is you would have to find his mother Mary's grave and get some of her DNA to see if it matches. And, of course, we have no idea what the father's DNA looks like."

"What do the blood stains look like to the naked eye?"

"Now that's an interesting question. I spent quite a bit of time examining them closely and it's clear that the blood ran downward from the wounds in the chest and the wrists. The angle of the trickle on both forearms is consistent with the arm angles of someone hanging on a cross. But something bothered me a little. If you look at the oval-shaped wound in the side that was made by a spear head and the square wrist wounds made by the nails, they seem to me to be just a little bit too perfect, like maybe they were touched up using blood for paint. I don't know what that means. Maybe someone in the past decided they didn't look enough like the Bible's description so they improved on them. To me such a logical explanation cancels out any negative impact it has on the probability that it could be Christ."

Peter looked at his notes. "I have heard some reports that the Shroud is radioactive. Is that true?"

"It is true that our X-ray spectrometer recorded some radioactivity, but it wasn't from the Shroud, it was from the calcium in the mortar used in the stone walls of the building. When we took the instrument to another room we got the same reading. The rumor persists because some researchers want it to be radioactive; that's their specialty. . . . Anything else Peter?"

"I have read analyses about the marks on the back and how they could have been caused by the kind of whips they used back then, the Roman flagrum, with twin balls of lead at the ends of some leather thongs. Do you accept that explanation?"

"Yes I do. It's one of the clearest demonstrations that the man who made the image was indeed tortured as recounted in the New Testament."

Peter closed his notebook and rose to shake Don's hand. "This was great, Dr. Carter. Much more than I expected. The television program I can create from this will have original stuff the other Shroud specials have missed."

"Give me a call if you need more information, Peter."

As Peter drove off Lynn came out on the porch. They stood side by side, arms around each other, looking out over the lake.

"What did you think?"

"Nice man. I think he will do an honest job of producing the program."

The End

About the Author

J. Dee German is a physicist/engineer who retired after 43 years to a lake in southwestern Georgia. The first 20 years of his career he was an Air Force officer involved in research and development of high energy laser systems for the military. The next 23 years he did the same work for Air Force contractors for a much higher saslary. From 1973 through 1978 he was an Assistant Professor of Physics at the U.S. Air Force Academy, where a friend introduced him to the Shroud of Turin. In 1978 he joined a team of thirty scientists from major U.S. research laboratories that went to Turin, Italy to perform a scientific investigation on an ancient relic known as The Shroud of Turin.

He now works as a consultant in new product development, writes fiction and non-fiction books, and gives presentations about the Shroud and his journey from an agnostic to an evangelical Christian.

