The Boudicca Parchments

Chapter 42

“ ‘On the day Third of the week, the 28th day of the month Iyar in the year three thousand eight hundred and twenty one since the creation of the world according to the reckoning which we are accustomed to use here in the city of Verulamium in the land of Brittania…’ ”

Daniel was reading in his mind and translating slowly, as Sarit listened in amazement.

“And this is in Aramaic?” asked Sarit.

“This is in Aramaic. And the script is right for the time.”

“And what time is that?”

“By my reckoning some time in the first century of the Common Era?”

Daniel was an atheist rather than a practicing Jew. His insistence on “Common Era” and “Before the Common Era” — rather than AD and BC — was based on academic rigour, not theology.

“Can we work it out exactly?”

“Sure, but we’ll have to go online.”

Daniel minimized the image and did a search for an app or website that could convert from the Jewish calendar to the civil calendar. The first few that he came up with could only go back as far as the introduction of the Gregorian Calendar. Eventually he found one that worked and entered the information, while Sarit went into the kitchen to make coffee.

“Good God!”

“What?” Sarit called out.

“It’s from the year 61.”

Sarit had come rushing in, holding a mug that she had just rinsed out.”

“What date?”

“May… May the forth.”

“Anything particular about that day?”

“No, but the year’s particular enough. Wasn’t that the year that Boudicca fought with the Romans?”

“Wait a minute. Didn’t Professor Hynds say that the site had something to do with that?”

“Not exactly. All he said was that it was a Romano-British site. That covers a five hundred year period.”

Daniel minimized the calendar conversion app to get on with the translation. Sarit stood there, realizing that the coffee could wait.

“ ‘Simon son of Giora said to this maiden Lanevshiah daughter of Farashotagesh ‘Be thou my wife according to the law of Moses and Israel.’ ”

“Are those Jewish names?”

“Simon and Giora are. In fact there was a very famous Simon son of Giora at the time of the Judean uprising 66 CE.”

Daniel froze suddenly, as he realized how close that date was to the date of this document.

“What about the others?”

“They don’t sound Jewish. Heck they don’t sound anything in particular. Assuming I’m pronouncing them properly.”

“What because of the vowels you mean?”

Aramaic, like Hebrew and Arabic, was written in an Abjad — a consonant alphabet with no vowels.”

“No vowels?”

“I mean no written vowels. Obviously they sounded out the vowels when they spoke. But the vowels were never transcribed in the written form. That came with later developments in written language. In an Abjad, The vowels are implied by the context and the rules of grammar. To those familiar with the language, this is no problem.”

“Which you are.”

“Which I am. But when it comes to names, it can be problematical, especially if they’re old names or foreign names and uncommon ones at that.

“Maybe we can get some advice from Professor Hynds.”

Daniel looked pleased at this.

“But we’ll have to be careful,” she added.

“Okay let’s get on with this. ‘and I will work for thee, honour, provide for, and support thee, in accordance with the practice of Jewish husbands, who work for their wives, honour, provide for and support them in truth.’ He looked up at Sarit, who was still standing there expectantly.

“So what is it?”

“It’s a standard ketuba — a Jewish marriage agreement in which the groom asks the woman to become his wife and undertakes to support her and provide for her.”

“So it’s like a contract?”

“Sort of. It’s written in the third person from the point of view of the witnesses, whose names are… Barach and Aristobulos. They’re essentially attesting to the fact that this is what the man said to the woman. And after that, the document is given to the wife as her protection.”

“But why would there be a Jewish marriage certificate at a Romano-British site?”

“That’s just one of the big-mysteries, Sarit.”