Unholy Sepulcher

  A Getorius and

  Arcadia Mystery

  UNHOLY SEPULCHER

  By Albert Noyer

  Copyright © 2014, Albert Noyer

  With sincere thanks to the writing group:

  Jennifer, Carolyn, Roy

  and

  Leslie S.B. MacCoull Ph.D.

  Society for Coptic Archaeology (North America)

  Obsecro autem vos, fratres, per nomen Domini nostri Iesu Christi, ut idipsum dicatis omnes, et non sint in vobis schismata, sitis autem perfecti in eodem sensu et in eadem sententia. Significatum est enim mihi de vobis, fratres mei, ab his, qui sunt Chloes, quia contentiones inter vos sunt. Hoc autem dico, quod unusquisque vestrum dicit: "Ego quidem sum Pauli", "Ego autem Apollo". "Ego vero Cephae," "Ego autem Christi". Divisus est Christus?

  * * *

  I appeal to you, my brothers, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ: agree among yourselves, and avoid divisions; be firmly joined in unity of mind and thought. I have been told, my brothers, by Chloe's people that there are quarrels among you. What I mean is this: each of you is saying "I am Paul's man", or "I am for Apollos", "I follow Cephas", or "I am Christ's". Surely, Christ has not been divided among you!

  First letter of Paul to the Corinthians I: 10-12

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE

  Getorius Asterius—Surgeon at Ravenna

  Arcadia Valeriana Asteria—Wife of Getorius, training with him as a medica

  Brisios—Recently freed slave of Getorius and Arcadia

  Saturnilos—Captain of the galley Theophilos

  Moshe ben Asher—Mishnah scholar, one of the Tannaim Sages

  Mordecai ben Zakkai—Student of ben Asher

  Aphrodisia—Actress-prostitute

  Abd al-Shir—Arab guide

  Deacon Delphinus—Custodian of the Basilica of the Holy Sepulcher

  Bardanes—Monk from Edessa

  Ruth Hyracanus—Judean companion of *Melania the Younger

  Nicomides—Porter at a Carpocratian cult house.

  Epiphanes—Master of a Carpocratian cult

  Gideon—Member of the Nekhomim - "Avengers of the Temple"

  *Juvenal—Bishop of Jerusalem

  Amir al-Shams—Bedouin warlord

  Apelles—Engineer/philosopher for al-Shams

  Ardashir IV—King of Greater Circesium

  * Historic person fictionalized

  GLOSSARY of PLACES MENTIONED

  ISLAND of CYPRUS

  Nea Paphos—Paphos

  Kourion—ruins near Episkopi

  Salamis—ruins near Agios Serios

  TURKEY

  Constantinopolis—Istanbul

  ITALY

  Ravenna—Ravenna

  ISRAEL

  Caesarea Palaestina—ruins near Hadera

  Ascalon—Ashkelon

  Yerushalayim—Jerusalem

  Tiberias—Tiberias

  Scythopolis—Bet Shean

  Eleutheropolis—Bet Guvrin

  JORDAN

  Gerasa—Jerash

  Saltus—As Salt

  IRAQ

  Circisium—Abu Serai

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER I

  CHAPTER II

  CHAPTER III

  CHAPTER IV

  CHAPTER V

  CHAPTER VI

  CHAPTER VII

  CHAPTER VIII

  CHAPTER IX

  CHAPTER X

  CHAPTER XI

  CHAPTER XII

  CHAPTER XIII

  CHAPTER XIV

  CHAPTER XV

  CHAPTER XVI

  CHAPTER XVII

  CHAPTER XVIII

  CHAPTER XIX

  CHAPTER XX

  CHAPTER XXI

  CHAPTER XXII

  CHAPTER XXIII

  CHAPTER XXIV

  CHAPTER I

  Surgeon Getorius Asterius and his wife, Arcadia, grasped a portside rail of the Roman galley, Theophilos, and watched an azure surf shatter into sun-flecked foam against jagged rocks lining the shore. The galley, flying a purple standard of Aelia Pulcheria Augusta, with a gilt XP monogram of Christ in a green wreath circled by her name, lurched on a bearing that paralleled the sea walls of the Cypriot port of Paphos

  "The sea is so beautiful!" Arcadia exclaimed. "I…I finally like sailing and felt like a true mariner on the run from Rhodes to here at Cyprus."

  Getorius squeezed her hand. "So you're getting used to the rocking motion?"

  "I believe so…" She pointed up beyond the port buildings on shore. "A temple on that acropolis looks to be in ruins."

  "And those sea walls are damaged. I'll ask that harbor pilot about stones filling up breached areas." Getorius called to a stocky, tousle-haired man standing nearby. "Eustilios, how were those walls destroyed?"

  The pilot slurred his words while shouting an answer into the wind, "Earthquake seventy-five years ago hit th' island, took out most o' Kourion down th' coast…Hard right rudder, y' fool!" he yelled to an apprentice at the steering oar. "Told y' underwater rocks come far out on this here bearing."

  Eustilios had been rowed out to meet Theophilos and guide the galley to a wharf. Fresh razor nicks on his face betrayed a hasty shave: Getorius surmised that a lookout had spotted the imperial insignia. He could not read a name, but reported the galley's arrival to the harbormaster. The pilot quickly cleaned up to meet an important official, perhaps a port customs inspector from Constantinopolis.

  Eustilios ambled closer to stare at Arcadia. He scratched a facial nick that bled, then daubed spit on the wound with a calloused finger. Ignoring Getorius, he asked his wife, "You're Latins, no?"

  "Yes, from Ravenna."

  "Ah, th' Western cap'tal."

  Arcadia detected a patronizing smirk in the man's remark. Bleary eyes and a definite odor of wine on his breath. Let's hope his trainee is more sober.

  Eustilios ogled Arcadia's woolen tunic that the wind pressed against her body. "What're y' doin' on a galley manned by imperial Marines?" He nodded toward the helmsman. The officer's dark blue, gold-trimmed tunic and leather cuirass indicated the Eastern Roman Empire's naval service.

  Arcadia tightened her cape and backed away against her husband . "We're on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land."

  "Terra Sancta?" The pilot licked wind-cracked lips and leaned forward to whisper, "Well, y' picked the best time t' come t' Kypros."

  "Best time?" Getorius asked. "What do you mean?"

  "October"—Eustilios steadied himself at a sudden lurch of the galley—"October eighteen is th' feast day o' Hagios Loukous. Saint Luke t' you Westerns."

  "But today is October twenty-first," Arcadia said.

  He winked at her. "An' it's still th' Dionysion wine harvest festival."

  That explains that smell on your breath. "What has that to do with our visit?"

  "Domina, we got a whole week of drinkin', music…dancin'." He chuckled. "Even theater plays an' that Bishop can't stop 'em! Did y' know that Hagios Paulos came t' Kypros a long time ago an' converted th' governor?"

  Arcadia nodded, "Saint Paul? Yes, I've read Luke's account in Acts."

  "Came right here t' Paphos an' bested that Hebrew magician," the pilot boasted. "Don't recall his name, but a street play will be goin' on about it—"

  "Pilot!" The naval officer's voice shouted from the helm deck. "We're approaching the harbor entrance. Come up to relieve your apprentice and signal your tow-boat to throw us a line."

  Eustilios chafed at the command. "What's his name again?"

  "Saturnilos," Getorius told him. "He's in charge of Augusta Pulcheria's personal galleys at Constantinopolis. She's the emperor's sister."

  Eustilios mumbled a profanity in Greek. His expression darkened like an offshore rain squall as he gave hand signals off the ste
er-side rail to crewmen in the towing craft. As the small vessel drew abreast of Theophilos's bow, to cast a line aboard, Saturnilos ordered the main and bow artemon sails shortened.

  After barking the orders, the galley-master, a man with shoulders as broad as Atlas's, a straight nose, and black curly hair and beard, came down a ladder from the helm-deck. Saturnilos walked with a limp that strangers only mocked once. Getorius had noted an ugly scar on the man's left cheek that seemed to reflect his moods: violet if frustrated; a livid red when angry. He shoved against Eustilios as he passed him in the narrow deck passageway. The pilot glowered, yet thought better than to challenge an imperial officer.

  His scar a light violet, Saturnilos asked, "Surgeon, why was the Kypriot questioning you?"

  "Curious about why we had a naval detachment as a crew."

  Arcadia said, "I wondered about that, too. Pulcheria pardoned the conspirators at Pergamum on condition that they take us to the Holy Land on their galley—"

  Saturnilos's mocking laugh interrupted her.

  She glared at him, demanding, "What did I say that is so amusing?"

  "Domina, the entire crew was strangled on Rhodes and their heads hung in the agora. A sign in Greek and Latin warned others against similar treason."

  Despite mid-morning sun, Arcadia felt a sudden chill. "But…but the Augusta promised them amnesty."

  Saturnilos shifted weight to his good leg. "When warmed, a deadly serpent dormant from cold may again strike once again."

  Getorius scoffed, "So the word of an Augusta is without value?"

  "Surgeon," he warned, "I would choose my words…and enemies…wisely. I must join my bow officer and guide our approach to the wharf."

  Arcadia watched the galley-master leave, then turned to her husband. "Did you hear what happened to those men? Horrible. Not even a trial."

  "I'm as shocked as you are, and yet should we be? Remember that at Pergamum Pulcheria ordered her bodyguards to hunt down and murder all the conspirators, except those galley crewmen."

  Arcadia frowned at the recollection. "Getorius, I'm more than a little concerned about agreeing to this voyage. The Augusta promised that Herakles would come with us as a guide, and then ordered him to remain in Pergamum. At least he was a person we knew. Now, we've pretty much been placed under the protection…the custody, really…of Pulcheria's laconic naval officer."

  When his wife shivered, Getorius enfolded her in his cloak, but held back from reminding her that this unscheduled trip to the Holy Land was her idea. "I've wondered about Saturnilos. The man's expression hardly changes. He stands like a…like a rigid statue alongside the helmsman. In five days at sea he's barely shared a word with us. At first I attributed it to his nature or perhaps a deficiency in Latin. He speaks Greek to the crew and yet the man knows our language as well as a rhetorician."

  "Before Pulcheria left, she must have given Saturnilos instructions."

  "One of them was to leave Herakles behind."

  "Another had to do with us contacting Empress Eudokia in Jerusalem and reporting on a monk who overly influences her.

  "If that was the true reason."

  "Husband, can we believe anything Pulcheria has told us?" Arcadia glanced around the deck. "Where is Brisios? He might want to watch us arrive in port."

  Getorius released her from his cloak. "Our former slave kept to his cabin all week. Perhaps it was a mistake to manumit Brisios at Pergamum, away from his Ravenna companions. And that failed romantic episode with Zoe didn't help his manly confidence."

  "The woman rejected his interest in her."

  "Brisios never said that, yet I warned him that freedom had its pitfalls." As shadows on the deck changed direction, Getorius pointed to his left. "We're turning toward Paphos."

  Theophilos had reached the far end of the harbor's western breakwater and was towed into the opening between that sea barrier and an opposite jetty that largely lay in ruins. Huge boulders had been rolled in to fill the gap where the earthquake Eustolios mentioned had ruptured the stone pier. A squat lighthouse at its sea end had tumbled down and not been rebuilt.

  Watching their slow approach toward the wharves, the couple was caught up in reliving the past several weeks. They had left Ravenna in early September and traveled to Constantinopolis, both excited about seeing the capital of the Eastern Empire, and hoping for an opportunity to study medical texts unavailable in the West. As a medica training with her husband, Arcadia was as eager to go as he had been.

  At Herakleia, a day west of Constantinople, they had met two widows who were traveling to Pergamum to endow a Christian church near the Asklepion, a pagan healing shrine. Helplessly trapped on their galley by a bread riot at the capital, the couple was forced to join the widows and a boatload of sick pilgrims sailing to the Asklepion in hopes of a cure.

  Arcadia roused herself. "Getorius, don't the terrible things that happened at Pergamum now seem like a dream? A nightmare, really?"

  He grunted agreement. "We've had five days at sea to 'wake up' as it were. When Saturnilos arrived at Pergamum, Pulcheria already had left for the capital. He took charge and we sailed on Theophilos the next day." Getorius leaned over to brush strands of hair away from his wife's face and kiss her forehead. "Cara, let's not dwell on it. We've had fine sailing, literally, since leaving Pergamum."

  Getorius was correct about the 230-mile voyage to Cyprus. Since the last of the Etesian summer winds held steady through the Sporades Islands channel, Rhodes had been reached the second day out. Saturnilos had put in at the island's port of Lindos, where a contingent of twenty Marini—Imperial Fleet Marines—had boarded and relieved the hapless crew. By rotating oarsmen at night and steering to the stars of Pegasus in the southeastern sky, the marine helmsman had brought Theophilos in sight of Paphos around mid-morning of the fifth day at sea.

  The couple watched their approach to the port wharves. Tan-colored limestone buildings were backed by low hills where autumn haze blurred the green hues and slashes of white limestone outcroppings. Over a range of inland mountains, a mass of dark-gray clouds threatened afternoon rain. High to the left, ruins of a white temple shone atop an acropolis in the northwest quadrant of the city. Near the ruptured sea wall, homes and shops were damaged in the earthquake. Most now had lain vacant for seventy-five years.

  A sulking Eustilios guided Theophilos toward a vacant berth along the wharf, near a line of arcaded warehouses. A white building to the left bore the double-headed eagle emblem of the Eastern Empire. Below the symbol the name PAPHOS, in fading Latin and Greek letters, identified the port city.

  Getorius noted, "That's probably the harbormaster or customs house. The pennant is giving us permission to dock."

  Arcadia cocked an ear toward land. "Do you hear music on shore? Flutes…cymbals?"

  Getorius listened a moment, then nodded agreement. "The sound seems to be coming from an area opposite that white building. It's crowded with people."

  She sniffed the air. "That's certainly an odor of fermenting wine and cooking food. It must be that harvest celebration Eustilios mentioned."

  "Or a welcome for us, do you think?"

  Arcadia smiled at her husband's jest. "Getorius, I'd like to see what's happening over there, but do you think we'll sleep on board tonight, like we did at Lindos?"

  "I hope not. A bed where I can curl around your soft body would be so much nicer than another night of romancing a narrow bilge bunk."

  "Satyr, go find Brisios!"she ordered in mock reproach. "He'll need to take our luggage ashore."

  "And now we're paying him to do that," her husband muttered as he left to find his former slave.

  Arcadia called after him, "Surgeon, don't be so miserly."

  As the sleek galley's port side approached the wharves, the bow officer barked docking orders. The helmsman relayed them to the rowing crew below deck, then went up to replace Eustilios. With deft strokes of the massive oars, Theophilos edged slowly alongside the landing. Dock slaves caught hawsers thrown fr
om its deck and secured them in the open loops of stone mooring dogs. With a gentle thump, the hull slid into cotton bales positioned to cushion impact against the wharf stones.

  Arcadia saw Saturnilos returning from the bow, minimizing his limp. "Sir, will we stay on board again tonight?"

  "No, at the Villa of Theseus, an imperial mansio," he told her. "You can remain here to watch the street drama while I go with your slave to arrange for rooms."

  "Servant, not slave," she corrected. "We freed Brisios at Pergamum."

  "Very commendable, Domina."

  Arcadia ignored his possible sarcasm. "Theseus? Is he manager of the villa?"

  "The inn is so named because it has a mosaic depicting a myth of that ancient Argive king battling the Minotaur."

  "Saturnilos, you're very knowledgeable." Arcadia thought this a good chance to ask him about another disfigurement, other than his facial scar. "I don't mean to pry open a locked door, but during the voyage my husband and I couldn't help noticing a…a brand on your right earlobe that resembles a K. Does it have some significance?"

  Saturnilos flushed beneath his tan, unconsciously reached for the ear, then lowered his hand. "I…I must supervise placing of the gangplank."

  "Of course."

  Getorius passed him while returning from finding Brisios. "What happened, Arcadia? Saturnilos's scar looks angry."

  "I asked him about that brand on his ear. He didn't respond, so perhaps it has something to do with once having been a house slave. That could explain his moods."

  "Brisios will be here in a few moments. I told him to get our luggage ready to go ashore."

  "Good. I'm eager to visit Cyprus."

  Brisios came out of a deck cabin. "Master"—he corrected the slip; he was a freedman now—"Surgeon, the travel cases are packed, ready to be taken onto the wharf."

  Arcadia noticed that his face was lined with fatigue, his eyes dark-circled and puffy. "Brisios, you look exhausted. Have you not been sleeping well?"

  He avoided looking at her. "Well enough, Domina. Where should I take the cases?"

  "You'll go to an inn with Saturnilos, but stay here with us until we're on the wharf."