Julia Navarro - The Brotherhood Of The Holy Shroud

"I, Maanu, prince of Edessa, son of Abgar, implore thee, Syn, god of gods, to aid me in destroying the impious men who confound our people and incite them to abandon thee and betray the gods of our fathers."

On a rocky promontory a few leagues from Edessa, the altar to Syn was illuminated only by the flickering torches inserted into the walls of the cave that served as the god's temple. The relief portrait of Syn was carved into the stone wall with such art that it looked almost real, as though the gods were with them.

Maanu breathed deeply of the incense and aromatic herbs that intoxicated the senses and helped him communicate with the powerful moon god. At his side was his faithful Marvuz, the leader of the king's guard, who would become Maanu's principal counselor when Abgar died and who also worshipped Syn and the other ancient deities, as did other Edessians faithful to the traditions of the ages.

Syn seemed to hear Maanu's prayer, for he burst forth from the clouds of incense and illuminated the sanctuary.

Sultanept, the high priest of the cult, told Maanu that this was a sign, the manner by which the god showed men that he was among them.

Along with five other priests, Sultanept lived in hiding in Sumurtar, sheltered by the tunnels and subterranean chambers in which they served the gods-the sun, the moon, and the planets, alpha and omega of all things.

Maanu had promised Sultanept to restore him to the power and wealth that Abgar had taken from him when he set aside the religion of their fathers.

"My prince, we should go," Marvuz murmured. "The king may call for you, and we left the palace many hours ago."

"He will not call me, Marvuz; he will think I am drinking with my friends in some tavern or off fornicating with a dancing girl. My father hardly cares for me, so downcast is he that I will not accept the worship of his Jesus. The queen is to blame for it. She has convinced him to betray our gods and has made that Nazarene their only god.

"But I assure you, Marvuz, that the city shall turn its eyes once more to Syn and destroy the temples that the queen has built to honor the Nazarene. The moment Abgar goes to his eternal rest, we will kill the queen and put an end to the life of Josar and his friend Thaddeus."

Marvuz trembled. He bore no affection for the queen; he considered her a hard woman, the true ruler of Edessa since Abgar had first fallen ill, despite the king's recovery of his health. And the queen distrusted Marvuz. He could feel her icy gaze upon him, following his every move, for she knew that he was a friend of Maanu. But even so, could he kill her? For he was certain that Maanu would ask him to do it.

He would have no problem killing Josar and Thaddeus. He would run them through with his sword. He was weary of their sermons, their words filled with rebuke because he fornicated with any woman who would go with him and because, in honor of Syn, he drank without moderation on nights of the full moon until he lost his senses, for he, Marvuz, still worshipped the gods of his fathers, the gods of his city. He did not accept the imposition of this effeminate and virtuous god that Josar and Thaddeus never ceased speaking of.

THE SUN WAS RISING ON THE BOSPHORUS AS the Stella di Mare cut through the waves near Istanbul and her crew rushed about in preparation for docking. The captain watched the dark-skinned young man silently swabbing the deck. In Genoa, one of his men had gotten sick and could not make the voyage, and his executive officer had brought him this fellow. The XO had assured him that although the new man was mute, he was an experienced sailor recommended by one of the regulars at the Green Falcon, the tavern on the docks they all frequented when they were in port. At the time, given their imminent sailing, the captain hadn't noticed that the man's hands were soft, with not a single callus-the hands of a man who had never done a seaman's work. But the mute followed every order he was given during the crossing, and his eyes showed no emotion, no matter what job he was given.

The XO had said that the man would depart the ship in Istanbul, but all he'd done was shrug his shoulders when the captain asked him why.

The captain was Genovese. He'd been a sailor for forty years, and he'd docked in a thousand ports and known every kind of person. But this young man was a strange one, with failure etched on his face and resignation in his every gesture, as though he knew he'd come to the end. But the end of what?

Istanbul was more beautiful to him than ever. He breathed deep as his eyes scanned the port. He knew that someone would be coming for him, perhaps the same man who had hidden him when he arrived from Urfa. He yearned to return to his own town, embrace his father, feel the arms of his wife about him again, hear the happy laughter of his daughter.

He feared his meeting with Addaio, feared the pastor's disappointment. But at this moment failure, his own failure, meant very little to him, for he was alive and almost home. It was more than his brother had been able to do two years earlier. They had heard nothing, nothing from him since that black evening when he'd been arrested like a common thief. Their contact in Turin had told him that Mendib was still in prison but should be free in a year.

He got off the boat without saying good-bye to anyone. The night before, the captain had paid him the wages they'd agreed upon and asked him if he didn't want to stay on with the crew. With signs, he had refused.

He left the dock area and began to walk, not knowing exactly where to go. If the man from Istanbul didn't appear, he would find some way to get to Urfa on his own. He had the money he'd earned as a sailor.

He heard quick footsteps behind him, and when he turned he saw the man who'd given him shelter a few months earlier.

"I've been following you for a while, watching, to be sure no one else was on your tail. You'll be sleeping tonight at my house; they'll come for you early tomorrow morning. It's best you not leave the house until then."

The mute nodded. He'd have liked to walk around Istanbul, wander through the narrow streets of the bazaar, find perfume for his wife, a gift for his daughter, but he wouldn't do that. Any further complication would anger Addaio even more.

A soft rapping on the woven-rush door of the house woke Josar from a troubled sleep. Dawn had not yet broken over Edessa, but the soldier at the door brought him orders directly from the queen. At dusk, Josar and Thaddeus were to come to the palace. The guard was unable to mask his uneasiness, and, his message delivered, He was clearly glad to be away.

On his knees, his eyes closed, Josar prayed that God might give him balm for the disquiet that filled his soul.

Izaz arrived a few hours later, at almost the same time as Thaddeus. Josar's nephew had grown into a robust, intelligent young man. He brought news of the rumors that were circulating wildly in the palace. Abgar's strength was ebbing; he was failing almost before one's eyes. The physicians spoke in hushed voices, and rumor had it they had told the queen that there was little hope the king would emerge from what appeared to be death's last assault upon his life.

Knowing that he was dying, Abgar had asked the queen to call his closest friends and advisers to his bedside so he might impart the instructions to be followed after his death. That was why the queen had called Josar, then. To Izaz's surprise, he, too, had been called to the side of the king.

When they arrived at the palace they were escorted quickly into the presence of the king, who was lying on his couch, his pallor dramatically worse than in recent days. The queen, who was cooling Abgar's brow with a cloth moistened with rose water, sighed with relief when she saw them enter.