The sergeant blushed slightly. "St. Denis."
"Excellent!" Lochum clapped. "See, he is not such a brute after all!"
Rebecca felt her cheeks redden. She didn't think herself someone to stereotype people, but come on. If Brandt wasn't the archetypical beefcake, then who was? And who pulls St. Denis out of their ass? And then is right?
But the professor was nothing but delighted. "Please, dear man, explain to my floundering student the connection."
"His feast day is held October 9th," Rebecca cut Brandt off. With Lochum, knowing the early saints was like memorizing the periodic table for chemists. Reciting the feast days was foreplay to the professor. "We know little of his early years. He arrived in France about AD 250 and-"
"236, but glad to see you contributing."
Rebecca ignored Lochum's correction. "He settled near Paris, rallying the Christians until he was arrested by the Romans and martyred."
The professor walked over to study the skull. "But how?"
Then she got it. "He was beheaded."
"Not only did Denis have his head cleaved from his body, but he was reported to have carried it around for several days, my dear. Do not forget the colorful flourishes."
"But these bones are too old to be St. Denis."
"Damn it, woman, what would I care for an obscure saint's bones? Can you not see what is staring you in the face?"
Her cheeks burned. Burned like they had not since she had young, perky breasts. She had tried to go along with his "I am the holder of all knowledge" game, but all the anger from a decade ago came to a flashpoint.
"Lochum! Enough! This isn't Ontario. I'm not your student, and this isn't a fucking thesis."
As the professor's face fell, Rebecca regretted her outburst. Suddenly she could see the toll these ten years had taken. He was no longer the cutting-edge uberprofessor. He was just an old man at the end of his life's quest.
"Lochum, I'm so-"
But he brusquely waved her apology away. "Sergeant, could you enlighten my ex-student on who I believe is lying before us?"
When Brandt didn't speak, the professor continued, his tone filled with disapproval. "St. Denis was quite fond of one of Jesus' contemporaries and used his sacrifice as a lesson for all. In the end, his fascination was reflected in his manner of death." Lochum looked down at the bones. "It is that man, after whom St. Denis fashioned himself, who lies here today."
The sergeant finished Lochum's thought. "It is John the Baptist."
Rebecca's head spun. Lochum couldn't be serious. To find the Baptist's bones would not be a find. It would be the find of the century. Hell, it would be the find of the millennium or two.
"Wait, wait, wait," Rebecca said more to herself than to Lochum. She had been on one of these "Mr. Toad's Wild Rides" before and had found nothing but disappoint at the end of the spin. With a much more measured tone, Rebecca continued, "We both know you look at these finds with your imaginoscope, Lochum."
"How dare you impugn my reputation in such a-"
Rebecca's lips set into a firm line. "You see what you want to see. Make the conclusions you want to make."
"I am a consummate scientist!"
"The Damascus Papyrus?" she asked. Lochum's cheeks puffed in and out. He was so angered that he could not even spit out a venomous retort.
Brandt asked from behind her, "Damascus Papyrus? I'm not familiar with any biblical record by that name."
The professor recovered enough to turn to the sergeant. "I found it in of all places, Ethiopia. It detailed Flavian's final days."
"Flavian? The Roman historian who documented Jerusalem's fall to the centurions? The sacking of the Holy City's temple?"
Rebecca again was surprised at Brandt's detailed knowledge of early Christian history. Who outside academia knew the ancient historian's name and could cite his work?
Lochum nodded. "One and the same. In his final days, the historian dictated his greatest secret. He had been invited to one of these hidden ossuaries. Flavian even detailed the silver coin buried with the Virgin Mary's body!"
The sergeant's eyes narrowed. "I think something that sacrilegious I would have heard of."
Brandt was right. The world's Catholics believe in the Assumption of Mary-that her physical body was brought up to heaven. Lochum, however, cared nothing for belief. He cared for fact.
Rebecca answered before Lochum could go into another tirade. "You haven't read about it, because the parchment was mysteriously 'burned' in an office fire before it could be authenticated."
"Clearly they destroyed it! Can't you see the pattern? Discrediting first the Papyrus, then our silver coin, and now trying to wipe any knowledge of this find from the earth."
Given the amount of firepower launched at her today, it was difficult to chalk Lochum up to a crazy conspiracy guy anymore. But to make this leap in logic that John the Baptist lay before them, she could not tolerate.
"Just because these bones date to the first century AD, and you found dirt consistent with the area embedded in his tendons, and he was decapitated, does not make him that John."
When Lochum finally met her gaze, his lips carried a genuine smile. Not a manipulative grin or a condescending smirk, but a true smile. She didn't think she had ever seen that expression on his face before.
The professor handed her a magnifying glass. "Just look."
Rebecca stepped back. This attitude she had seen before. Lochum had perfected domineering to an art form.
"And find what?" she asked. "Some wood slivers consistent with the stakes the Romans used to mount his head on the gate? Or maybe linen fibers deep in the joints to prove that his people stole the remains to give him a proper burial? That isn't going to prove what you need it to prove."
To her surprise, no anger rose in Lochum's eyes. Instead, the professor just smiled that completely agenda-free smile again. "For an old friend, 'Becca, please."
His kind tone took her by complete surprise. She didn't know what to do besides take the magnifying glass. Rebecca surveyed the ulna first. There were multiple superficial scratches. More than likely scavengers. Rats and the like. The radius had even more of the linear scorings. Hungry little bastards. But then she moved on to the pelvis, where there were hundreds of markings. Pulling back a few inches to take in more of the pattern, she realized that they were not random at all.
"That's ancient Greek!"
Lochum didn't sound condescending in any way. "Yes, and the lettering covers the entire surface of the skeleton."
Rebecca swung around to find Brandt as stunned as she was. Whatever the sergeant's skepticism a moment before, his face held only sheer wonder. Yep, that was Lochum at his best.
"Brandt, come look." But the sergeant frowned, looking torn between his duty and his curiosity. "Just a peek," she cajoled.
Who could turn down a direct view into ancient history? Especially someone who knew of Giv'at? Reluctantly at first, then with more intent, Brandt viewed the tiny scribbling.
Rebecca turned to Lochum. "Have you deciphered the text?"
"It is encoded as they would have done to ensure the Romans did not stumble upon their closely guarded secrets." Lochum indicated the skull. "This section relates to his childhood." He pointed to the femur. "But here is where we have made the most progress. Study these inscriptions."
Leaning over Brandt, Rebecca moved the glass to the femur. These writings were more organized, with an obvious sentence structure. However, her ancient Greek wasn't what it used to be. But the word "Christos," Christ, was unmistakable.
"Can't you see, 'Becca? We have a map. A map to Jesus."
Brandt stood up as Monroe and Lochum engaged in a heated debate that sailed over his head. He knew enough to know that they wanted to scientifically prove this theory, but once they started throwing around terms like messenger RNA and osteoid nuclei, they lost him. Watching the give and take between the two scientists, he could see how they might hook up. Rebecca had been right about the professor's charisma. Even he had gotten caught up in Lochum's enthusiasm.
The importance of this find was so clear that Brandt considered giving them an extra ninety seconds to pack up, but then three sharp clicks came over the radio. His hand flew to the device. He sent back a click. Three very urgent clicks returned.
"That's it, people. We're moving out," Brandt said, loud enough for Davidson and Svengurd to hear. Which he knew they had, because Bunny started squealing.
Rebecca was equally flustered, but articulated her concern without resorting to a five-year old's tactics. "We still have two minutes. Plus, this-"
"We've got company," he said flatly. The time for academic indulgence was over.
Monroe nodded, but Lochum became agitated. "You don't understand. We must carefully pack the bones within three separate layers of-"
"Monroe, could you explain to him what an order sounds like?"
She turned to the professor. "We have got to go, Archibald. Brandt's not jerking your chain. An attack is imminent."
"Now," Brandt growled.
"But... but..." With each "but," Lochum sounded more and more desperate. The stately, urbane gentleman dissolved into a confused old man.
Monroe untied the shirt at her waist. The sergeant had no idea where she was going with this, but he was willing to let it play out a few more seconds. Then she laid the garment over the skeleton.
"No! You'll damage them!" the professor snatched away the much-studied femur as Monroe scooped up the rest of the bones.
"It's the only way, Archibald." Within three seconds, the doctor had gathered the skeleton, tied the shirt off, and flipped the makeshift bag over her shoulder. "Ready when you are."
He normally didn't like chicks in the field, but this one...
This one might be a keeper.
Paths, Crossed *
Jordan River 40 Days Hence With the only light coming from the sparkle of scattered stars, Judas struggled to keep awake as Ameil snored on a blanket laid out on the sandy ground beside him. He had made a vow to Jesus, but he had family obligations as well. The boy's father had left with the other men to seek work to the south, Daniella was sucking a coughing babe, and Lila had chosen this day of all days to begin her labor. His mother had harangued him for leaving at such an auspicious moment, but Judas' word was his life.
With the commotion in their two-room house, someone needed to care for Ameil, so Judas had brought enough water and food for all three. They had spent the day reading Scripture, fashioning a game board out of a piece of driftwood, then playing Tau into the late evening.
To Ameil, this was nothing more than the best of holidays. Judas had even let the boy win a few rounds of the game of twenty squares. Perhaps a few of those he did not intentionally lose. The boy was bright and picked up the game with surprising ease.
One day perhaps Ameil might study under Jesus. That would please Judas greatly, but it would most likely upset the boy's father. He expected the child to work, as all his people did, but Judas had seen what toll this exertion had on their souls.
Ameil was still eager for the knowledge of the world and would best spend his days bent over a book rather than a sickle. Judas pulled the wool blanket over the boy's shoulder. Those worries were for another time. This day was reserved for greeting Jesus, but as the sun sank past the horizon worry had crept into his heart. What if God had another plan for Jesus and had taken him away from this land for good?
As the evening stretched into night, Judas' unease grew. What if God had not provided? What if his friend had succumbed in the wilderness? Judas would never say these concerns out loud for they were blasphemous, but his heart was disquieted. God had allowed the Romans to occupy their rightful land. He turned a blind eye to his Chosen People's suffering. Would God really care for a single man out in the desert?
A noise from behind startled Judas from his pondering.
"Jesus?" Judas asked, although the man who mounted the small crest could never be mistaken for his friend.
Tall, dark-haired, with no beard, broad of shoulder but narrow of hips, James seemed less a brother to Jesus than Judas. He knew of the rumors cast by those who did not know the men. Rumors that the Virgin had been no virgin were fueled by how little the two brothers looked alike, but Judas believed Mary fully. When she spoke with such rapture of the angels who told her of the holy child within her womb, who could doubt her?
"Judas," James said with no warmth. "I might well have presumed you would be here."
Judas reached his arm out in greeting, but James appeared to have missed the gesture for he strode past, searching the darkened desert that stretched out before him. "Before he left, Jesus made a vague reference to Noah's test of faith." James looked over his shoulder at Judas. "But I might suppose he spoke plainly of the night he was to return?"
Judas nodded, causing James to snort. They had never been familiar, but it was rare for the taller man to display such rudeness. Since childhood, it had always been a singular question to Judas why they did not quicken more to one another. They had far more in common with each other than either had with Jesus. Both knew the burden of supporting their families. They both knew how very small they felt before Jesus' towering faith.
"I do not know why I bothered," James said, as he headed back toward the river.
Judas took a step before him, not so much to block James as to delay him. "Jesus will be well pleased that you are here to welcome him home."
James caught his eye and without words expressed, they both knew Judas' words were a stretching of the truth.
"As always, he has his reasons, James."
Another snort. "Do not remind me."
He had to scramble to keep James from passing him. "When God asks you to walk the path of righteousness, you cannot hesitate. You may not even take the time to blink an eyelid. Look at Abraham and-"
"Do you not think I hear enough from his mouth that you must reiterate such platitudes?" James said quite loudly.
Ameil stirred under the blankets.
Judas put a tentative hand on the man's arm. "Please, the boy sleeps."
For the first time, James' face softened. "How old?"
"Just shy of seven years. I am sure he could tell you the exact number of days if he were awake."
James nodded with a slight smile. "Yours?"
"No. My nephew."
"You have not remarried?" James asked, with no hint of his earlier scorn.
Judas shook his head. After his wife, Deliah, had died from a fever long ago, he did not have the stomach to love another in such a way. "And you? Any boys of your own?"
"Miroma and I have not been blessed with any children as of yet," James said, the sadness creeping back in.
"James, I know..." Judas hesitated. Sharing a bond with Jesus was not like sharing one with each other, but he could not leave the other man to his pain. "No matter his actions, Jesus loves and depends on you."
The snort again. "And how would you know such a thing?"
"My father died young as well, and my mother... She took to her bed for weeks at a time. I was left to not only earn the coin, but I fed, bathed, and clothed the girls as well. I felt that she had surrendered her responsibilities, and they fell onto my already sore shoulders."
James words were abrupt, but his tone sounded confused. "My own mother did no such thing."