Shrouded In Silence

Shrouded In Silence - By Robert L. Wise


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS



San Giovanni in Laterano Church does exit in Rome's Piazza de San Govanni in Laterano with a baptistery adjacent to the basilica. One can find the Scala Santa, the holy staircase, in the church. In addition, Santa Maria della Concezione sits sedately at Via Vittorio Veneto 27. However, liberties have been taken with the structure of both churches to facilitate the story. Special thanks to Stephano Pace, Rome's finest guide, for leading me through the backside of the amazing sights in Rome.

The theme of this story reflects months of work in deciphering the original Koine Greek collection of New Testament Gospels and Epistles in addressing the problem posed by the missing correct ending to Mark. Multitudes of books and articles were consulted in researching this project. However, the names, characters, and incidents are purely the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons—living or dead—businesses, or companies is entirely coincidental. Shrouded in Silence is a work of fiction composed for the reader's enjoyment.

Heartfelt thanks to Barbara Scott and Ramona Richards as well as the publishing team of Abingdon Press for their gracious help in editing the final manuscript. As always, my friend and agent, Greg Johnson, remains the essence of professionalism and the motivation to go the second mile. Thanks Greg.





Prologue

A.D. 68





Fog hung in the air, making the blackness of night difficult to penetrate. Still, the irregular outline of the Seven Hills of Rome stood silhouetted against the opaque sky and remained barely visible. The cold dampness made Plautius Laterani shiver, but he worried more about fulfilling his assignment. Plautius trotted briskly down the stone stairs from the legislative assembly and walked toward the soldiers standing at attention by their horses. It would not be a good night for any of them. His friend Scipio Livius's hand rested nervously on his sword as he swiftly walked beside Plautius.

"You've heard the bizarre accounts murmured among senators gathering on the Palatine and Esquiline hills?" Scipio Livius asked. "Along Via Sacra, soldiers tell stories, claiming that the Christianios have a remarkable ability to pray for the sick and break the spells demons cast on people. These strange stories of eating flesh and drinking blood circulate among the Praetorians. You know about these tales?"

Plautius nodded. "I don't spread rumors. The legislators handle that nonsense. I leave it to them."

But Plautius knew all about the Christianios who kept their meetings secret while openly sharing their conviction that the Christ had been resurrected from the dead. Plebs chattered that this strange sect believed there was only one god, but of course, such ideas were preposterous. The assembly had just told him the Christianios were compiling a scroll with the full story of this Christ and his teachings and had given Plautius the task of finding the document—not an easy job.

Scipio Livius gripped his sword. "Makes me nervous to hear a new cult has sprung up in Rome. We grow these fanatics like weeds."

Taking all the chitchat with a grain of salt, Plautius still listened with interest. The Laterani family had lost two sons during military incursions in Gaul, and Plautius's mother continued to grieve profoundly over the loss of her children. The reports that Christianios did not fear death and believed they would live beyond this world intrigued him.

"We must ride fast to capitalize on the element of surprise," Plautius told his friend. "No one must lag behind."

"I'll keep the men moving," Scipio said.

The two soldiers marched directly to their horses and mounted. Without uttering a word, Plautius kicked his horse and headed for the gate. The Praetorian guard followed.

"Hurry!" Plautius called to the soldiers riding behind him. "We must attack before anyone discovers we are coming."

The Praetorians raced beyond the Republican Forum, across the Lapis Niger—the black marble pavement—while the moonlight glistened on their metal breastplates and plume-spiked helmets. A surge of cold night air filled his nose with the scent of Rome, and he shivered again.

"Faster!" Plautius shouted. "Stay up with me!"

The twenty-five men riding behind him crowded together and maintained close formation. Their destination lay at the edge of the city where the Circus of Caligula and Nero, the latest national racetrack, stood on the Ager Vaticanus. Spies said the arena had become one of the places where believers hid. It was rumored that one of their leaders called Petros, the Rock, might be there. His assistant John Mark was reported to be in the area writing a mysterious book.

Two days earlier, the emperor had dispatched the army to halt the burning of Rome. Rumors raged that Nero had set the fires, but a few harsh reprisals should end the murmuring of the masses driven from their smoldering homes. To stop the accusations, Nero had dispatched a unit of executioners to catch the arsonists whom he claimed were Christianios.

Plautius knew the Christianios sounded strange even by Roman standards. The great city was already filled with members of every odd group, from bizarre cults to practitioners of the Terebullium, a rite where members walked under the slit throat of a bull to allow the animal's blood to flow over their naked bodies.

But the Christianios were different. These believers followed a crucified Jew whom the Roman army had killed in Jerusalem. Arising before the sun came up, they gathered in catacombs where no decent Roman dared go at night. The reports that they drank blood and ate flesh were answered with whispers that it was only wine and bread, but the stories persisted.

In the darkness before him, Plautius recognized the outline of the stone entrance to the Circus. Huge arches ran across the front of the racetrack joined with houses that stood along the far edge and to the rear. Holding his arm up to stop the soldiers, Plautius turned in the saddle.

"Scipio, a significant number of innocent Roman citizens lives over there. Remember, we only want the Christianios; don't let your troops get blade happy."

Scipio nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Charge onto the racetrack and go immediately to the far back side," Plautius shouted to the soldiers. "Grab everyone and haul them into the arena where we can interrogate them. No indiscriminate killing! Just gather the citizens together. "He pulled his sword from its sheath. "Attack!"

With a hard kick, Plautius sent his horse racing through the archway toward the farthest end of the track where the tall Egyptian obelisk towered over them. With a leap, he slid off the stallion and ran up the stone tier that lined the race course. His intent was to be the first into the stone-walled houses and to catch one of these so-called believers.

"Take the men to the left," he called to Scipio. "I'm going straight ahead."

Plautius hustled toward the two-story house just a few feet back from the top of the steps. Out of the corner of his eye, he recognized a small clay marker near the bottom of the door. Two linked half circles made a sign that looked like a fish. Maybe the sign indicated the mark of a fisherman. The house could be important.

Plautius flattened against the side of the front wall and listened. His men were making far too much noise securing the horses and climbing the bleachers. People would be awakened and investigate the racket. Pointing his sword straight ahead, Plautius rushed into a narrow entryway only to discover a short passageway led into an interior garden area with bedrooms situated around the open space. No one stirred in any of the rooms, suggesting it could be a trap. Gossips reported that the believers didn't kill—they were pacifists. Of course, rumors were rumors. Plautius exercised caution.

He bent near the ground to make himself a smaller target. As he drew closer to a doorway, he smelled olive oil. Peeking in, he saw an oil lamp still burning in one corner. The usual low, flat Roman bed with covers thrown back suggested someone had just leaped up and disappeared into the night.

Plautius carefully stepped into the room. A clay pitcher had been tipped over on the floor and cracked. A stylus and ink pot stood next to a wall. The terrazzo tiled floor with geometrical motifs looked normal enough. Then Plautius saw the fragment.

A piece of papyrus with a torn edge lay on the floor near the door. It appeared to be a section of a scroll or part of a writing that had been ripped off when someone dashed out. Moving closer to the flame of the small oil lamp, Plautius recognized the writing as Greek:



They went out and fled from the tomb; for trembling and astonishment had come upon them; and they said nothing to any one, for they were afraid. But behold Jesus of Nazareth returned on that very night and stood in their midst. The apostles were afraid and retreated from him, but Jesus raised his hand and showed them the wound on his wrist where the soldiers had driven the nail through. "Be not afraid. I bring you peace. Come and see for I have gained the victory over death and prepared for you the path that you might follow me—



Plautius jerked his head up, startled by a racket outside, then looked back down at the document in his hand. Instantly he thought of his two brothers and their mother's grief. This testimonial was not about death but life, and he wasn't about to destroy a writing with such promise. Turning it over to his centurion would be disastrous. There was much more to be read, but other soldiers would soon overtake him. Sweeping aside the sagum, his old military cape, he rolled the document and slipped it under his metal breastplate. Hurrying back to the interior patio, he turned and strode to the front of the house.

Although he had no idea what had happened, something had touched him in that bedroom. Maybe these Christianios were just another cult drifting through Rome. Maybe not. He would study this piece of papyrus carefully.

Walking out onto the street, Plautius watched the soldiers rush back and forth from house to house, carrying their torches high and herding citizens to the race track for examination. The locals would be irate at such rough treatment, and they might have a hard time proving they weren't believers. It wasn't fair, but there wasn't much in Rome that was.