Julia Navarro - The Brotherhood Of The Holy Shroud

Yes, the best thing was for Pietro to go back to Rome; a few days would pass and everything would go back to normal. They'd kiss and make. up…

THE MAN RAISED THE TRAPDOOR AND turned the beam of his flashlight into the darkness of the subterranean chamber. Three haggard faces stared up at him. He clambered down the rough-hewn ladder, suppressing a slight shudder. He was eager for the un-speaking ones to be on their way, but he also knew that any rash move could land them all in prison and, worse, add to the shame of yet another failure, guaranteeing Addaio's eternal contempt-even, perhaps, his order for their excommunication.

"The investigators from Rome have left. Today they had their last meeting with the cardinal, and their chief, Valoni, has had a long meeting with Padre Yves. I am hearing that the carabinieri have concluded that our dead comrade was working alone and have pretty much wrapped up their efforts. So I think that it is safe for you to begin to make the journey home. As Addaio instructed, each of you will follow a different escape route."

The oldest of the unspeaking ones, a man in his mid-thirties who appeared to be their leader, nodded as he wrote a note on a piece of paper.

Are you sure there is no danger?

"As sure as I can be. Do you need anything?"

The man wrote again. We need baths, shaving equipment. We can't leave here like this. Bring us more water, a tub to wash ourselves in. And what about the trucks?

"You leave first. Between midnight and one tonight, I will come down to get you, and I will take you through the tunnel to the cemetery. From there, you will make your way to the Merci di Vanchiglia station, on the other side of the piazza. A truck will be waiting there, but it will wait no more than five minutes." He handed the man a piece of paper with a number written on it. "This is the license-plate number. It will take you to Genoa. There you will embark as a sailor on the Stella di Mare, and in a week you will be home."

The leader nodded again. Through all this, his two comrades had sat expectantly. They were younger, hardly into their twenties, one tall, broad-shouldered, muscular, with black hair cut in a short military style, the other shorter, lanker, and not as muscled, with brown hair and a face twisted with tension.

Their contact then turned to the black-haired young man.

"Your truck will come to pick you up tomorrow between one and two in the morning. You and I, again, will follow the tunnel to the cemetery. When you come out on the street, turn to the left, toward the river; the truck will be waiting for you. You will cross the border into Switzerland and from there make your way to Germany. Someone will be waiting for you in Berlin; you know the address of those who will see that you get home."

The last of the three was looking fixedly at their emissary, who suddenly was frightened by the rage he saw in the young man's eyes.

"You will be the last to leave. You must remain here for two more days. The truck will pick you up at one or two, as before, and you will be taken directly home. I will have more details when I come for you. Good luck to you all. I'll be back with the things you need."

The leader grabbed his arm and signed that he had another question, which he wrote out quickly on the piece of paper.

"Mendib?" the go-between responded. "He is in prison, as you know. He behaved like a madman; he would not wait for his brothers to arrive but went into the cathedral alone and reached the chapel. I do not know what he did there, but he must have tripped the alarm. He was caught as he was running from the cathedral. There is no more to tell. I have orders from Addaio not to take any risks, so I cannot help him. None of us can.

"Now, follow instructions and you'll all be fine- there should not be any problems. No one knows about this cellar or about this tunnel. Take care to keep it that way. There are dozens of these tunnels crisscrossing under the city, but not all are known. It would be a disaster if they ever find this one-the beginning of the end for all of us and our sacred mission."

When they were alone again, the leader of the three motioned his companions to him. In only a few hours the next stage of their long journey would begin. They would either reach their homes or be detained-or killed. Fortune had not totally frowned on them so far; they were alive, after all. And yet the way home was mined with peril. They prayed that God would hear their prayers and allow them to reach Addaio.

Their tears mixed as they embraced one another.

Josar! Josar!"

A young man ran into the chamber in which

Josar was sleeping. Light was just appearing on the horizon.

It was difficult for Josar to open his eyes, but when he did so they met the tall, thin figure of Izaz, his nephew, a bright and promising boy.

Izaz was learning to be a scribe. Josar was teaching him, and so they spent much time together. The boy was also taking lessons from the philosopher Marcius, from whom he was learning Greek, Latin, mathematics, rhetoric, and philosophy.

'A caravan is arriving, and a merchant has sent a message to the palace asking for you. He says that among the travelers is a man called Thaddeus, a friend of Jesus, and he is bringing you news of Thomas."

Josar smiled with happiness as he rose from the bed, and he questioned Izaz as he hurried to make his ablutions.

'Are you certain that Thaddeus has arrived in Edessa? You have not confused the message?"

"The queen has sent me to find you; it was she who told me what to say to you."

"Oh, Izaz! I cannot believe that such happiness is possible. Thaddeus was one of the followers of Jesus. And Thomas… Thomas was one of those the Savior trusted most, one of the closest disciples of the twelve. Thaddeus will bring news of Jerusalem, of Peter, of John…"

Josar dressed himself quickly, so that he might come soon to the place where the caravans rested after their long journeys. He would take Izaz with him so that his young nephew might meet the disciple.

They rushed out of the modest house in which Josar lived. Since his return from Jerusalem, Josar had sold his belongings, his comfortable house and all its furnishings, and given the money to the poor of the city. He had found shelter in this small and humble dwelling, which contained all that he owned and needed: a bed, a table, stools, and parchments-dozens of rolls of parchment that he was reading and others that he used for his own writings.

Josar and Izaz hurried through the streets of Edessa until they came to the outskirts of the city, where they found the place of the caravans. At that early hour of the morning, merchants were preparing their goods for their entry into the city, while a swarm of slaves rushed about, feeding and watering the animals, tightening the ropes on bales of merchandise, blowing on the cooking fires.

"Josar!"

The deep voice of the leader of the king's guard stopped Josar in his tracks. He turned to find Marvuz with a group of soldiers.

"The king has sent me to escort you to the palace with this Thaddeus who has come from Jerusalem."

"Thank you, Marvuz. Wait here while I find him, and we will go with you to the palace."

"I have asked, and the tent belonging to the merchant he accompanies is that large one there, the one as gray as a storm. I was on my way to it."

"Wait, Marvuz, wait, let me greet my friend alone."

The guard gestured to his men, and they stood back while Josar made his way to the merchant's tent. Izaz followed two steps behind him, knowing the emotion his uncle felt at once more meeting this disciple of the Savior. Josar had spoken to him of these men many times-John, the master's favorite; Peter, whom Jesus trusted though he had been denied by him; Mark and Luke; Matthew and Thomas; and so many others, whose names Izaz hardly remembered.