The Brotherhood Of The Holy Shroud

23

A.D. 542-544

Eulalius, a young man is here asking to speak with you. He comes from Alexandria." The bishop finished his prayers and got to his feet with difficulty, assisted by the priest who had interrupted him.

"Tell me, Ephron, why is this visitor from Alexandria so important that you disturb my prayers?"

The priest was expecting the question, although Eulalius knew well that Ephron would summon him only on a matter of importance.

"He is a strange young man. My brother sent him."

'Abib? And what news does this strange young man bring?"

"I cannot-say. He says he will speak only to you. He is weary; for weeks he has been on the road, journeying here."

Eulalius and Ephron left the small church and made their way to a nearby house, where the bishop greeted the dark-skinned young man, whose exhaustion was evident in his eyes and parched lips.

"I come to speak to Eulalius, bishop of Edessa," the traveler said, as he drank the water Ephron offered him.

"I am Eulalius. Who are you?"

"Praise God! Eulalius, I am about to tell you an extraordinary thing, which will fill you with amazement. Can we not speak in private?"

Ephron looked at Eulalius, who nodded. The priest withdrew, leaving the two alone.

"You still have not told me your name," the bishop said, turning back to his visitor.

"John. I am called John."

"Be seated, then, John, and rest while you tell me this extraordinary thing."

"Extraordinary it is, sir. And it will be hard for you to believe me, but I trust in the help of God that I may convince you of what I have come to say."

"So-out with it."

"It is a long story. I have told you that I am called John, as was my father, and my father's father, and his grandfather and great-grandfather. I have traced my family to the fifty-seventh year of our era, when Timaeus, the leader of the first Christian community, lived in Sidon, now Alexandria. Timaeus was a friend of two disciples of our Lord Jesus Christ, Thaddeus and Josar, who lived here in Edessa. Timaeus's grandson was called John."

Eulalius listened intently, waiting for the young man to come to the heart of his tale.

"You must know that in this city there was a community of Christians under the protection of King Abgar. On Abgar's death, Maanu, the king's son, inherited the throne and persecuted the Christians of the city. He stripped them of their goods and possessions and subjected many of them to the pains of martyrdom for clinging to their faith in Jesus."

"I know the history of this city," Eulalius said impatiently.

"Then you know that Abgar, afflicted with leprosy, was cured by Jesus. Josar brought to Edessa the shroud in which the body of our Lord had been buried. When the shroud was placed upon the skin of the sick king, a miracle occurred. On the shroud there is something extraordinary: the image of our Lord and the signs of his martyrdom. As long as Abgar was alive, the shroud was an object of veneration in the city, for upon it was the face of the Christ."

"Tell me, young man, why has Abib sent you?"

"Forgive me, Eulalius, I know that I am trying your patience, but I beg you to hear me out. I myself chose to come to you and merely asked Abib to vouch for me. When Abgar sensed that he was dying, he charged his friends Thaddeus and Josar and the royal architect Marcius to protect the shroud above all else. Marcius was charged with hiding it, and not even Thaddeus and Josar, the two disciples of Jesus, ever learned where this hiding place was. Marcius cut out his tongue so that no matter what tortures Maanu inflicted upon him, he could never tell. And suffer tortures he did, Eulalius, as you must know, for they were the same tortures as the most prominent Christians of Edessa were made to suffer. But one man did know where Marcius had hidden the shroud with its image of Jesus."

Eulalius's eyes gleamed with surprise, and a shiver ran down his spine. He had heard tales of this wondrous shroud, which had vanished so long ago. The story John told was a fantastic one, yet he did not seem to be a madman.

"Marcius told Izaz, the nephew of Josar, where he had hidden the shroud. Izaz fled the city before Maanu could have him killed, and he reached Sidon, where Timaeus and his grandson, John, lived. Those were my forebears."

"He fled with the shroud?"

"No, he fled with the secret of its hiding place. Timaeus and Izaz swore that they would obey the last commands of Abgar and the disciples of Jesus: The shroud would never leave Edessa. It belonged to this city, but it was to remain hidden until they could be sure it was in no danger. They agreed that if before they died, the Christians of this city were still being persecuted, they would confide the secret to another man, and that man in turn was sworn not to reveal the secret unless he was sure that the shroud was in no danger, and so on until Christians were able to live in the city in peace. Before he died, Izaz told the secret to John, the grandson of Timaeus, and the secret passed from one John to another. Down through the generations, one man of my family has been the repository of the secret of the grave cloth in which the body of Jesus was buried."

"Great God! Are you sure of this? Is it not a fable? If it is, you deserve a severe chastisement, young man, for one does not take the name of God in vain. Tell me, where is it? Do you have it?"

John, weary, seemed not even to hear Eulalius, and he doggedly went on with his story.

'A few days ago, my father died. On his deathbed he told me the secret of the sacred shroud. It was he who told me the story of Thaddeus and Josar, and he told me also that Izaz, before he died, drew a map of Edessa so that the first John might know where to look. I have the map, and it shows the place where the royal architect, Marcius, hid the shroud of our Lord Jesus."

The young man fell silent. His feverish eyes showed the effort under which his body and spirit had labored since he had learned the secret.

"Tell me, why has your family not wished to reveal the secret of the hiding place until now?"

"My father told me that he had kept the secret so long in fear that the shroud might fall into the wrong hands and be destroyed. None of my forebears dared reveal what they knew; each left that responsibility to his successor."

John's eyes gleamed with tears. He was overcome by the rigors of his journey and the shattering events that had transformed his life in the preceding weeks. Grief at his father's death gnawed at his entrails, and he was in anguish over being the sole repository of a secret that would shake Christianity to its foundations.

"You have the map?" Eulalius asked.

"Yes," the young man answered.

"Give it to me," commanded the old bishop.

"No, I cannot. I must go with you to the place where the shroud is hidden, and we must tell no one the secret."

"But, my son, what is it you fear?"

"The shroud works miracles, sir, but many Christians died in the struggle over its possession. We must be certain that it is in no danger, and I fear I have arrived in Edessa at a bad time. My caravan met with travelers who told us that the city may soon again be under siege. For generations the men of my family have been the silent guardians of the shroud of the Christ; I must not be the one to make a grievous error and now put the shroud in danger."

The bishop nodded. The distraught young man clearly needed to rest and to pray. He would ask God to enlighten him as to what to do.

"My son, if what you say is true and the shroud of our Lord is somewhere in this city, I shall not be the man to put it in danger. You shall rest in my house, and when you have recovered from your journey we will talk, and between us we will decide what's best."

"You will tell no one what I have told you?"

"No one, my son, I promise you."

Eulalius's stern demeanor and the firmness of his response reassured John. He prayed to God that he had not made a mistake. When his dying father had told him the story, he warned him that the fate of the shroud that bore the image of Jesus lay in his hands, and he made him swear he would never reveal the secret unless he was certain the time had come for Christians to recover the shroud once more.

But he, John, had felt an overwhelming urgency to set out on his journey to Edessa. In Alexandria he had been told of the existence of Eulalius, and of his goodness, and he believed that the moment had come to give Christians back what his family, guardians of a wondrous secret, had protected for them.

But he may have acted too swiftly, he thought now, assailed by doubt. Recovering the shroud at a time when Edessa was about to face a new war would be a bold step. John feared he might have misjudged.

John was a physician, as his father had been. The older man had imparted all his own knowledge to his son, who had also studied with the finest teachers of the city. The most prominent men of Alexandria came to his house to seek out his knowledge and his skills. His life had been a happy one until the death of his father, whom he loved and respected above all men, even more than his lithe, sweet wife, Myriam, with her beautiful face and deep black eyes.

Eulalius accompanied John to a small room in which there was a bed and a rough wooden table.

"I will send something to eat and more water, so that you may refresh yourself after your journey. Rest as long as you wish."

Then the old bishop, deep in thought, made his way again to the church. There, kneeling before the cross, he hid his face between his hands and asked God to show him what to do, should the young traveler's story be true.

In one corner, mantled by shadow, Ephron watched his bishop with concern. He had never seen Eulalius troubled or overwhelmed by responsibility. He decided to seek out a caravan going to Alexandria so that he could send a letter to his brother Abib asking for information about the strange young man who seemed to have laid such a burden upon the bishop.

The moon's wan light was on the city by the time the bishop made his way home from the church. He was weary; he had hoped to hear the voice of God but had found only silence. Neither his reason nor his heart had given him the slightest enlightenment. He found Ephron waiting at the door, his noble features creased with worry.

"You must be tired. It is late," the bishop said quietly to the priest.

"I was waiting for you. Can I help you in any way?"

"I'd like you to send someone to Alexandria to ask Abib to tell us more about John."

"I have already written a letter to my brother, but it will be difficult for it to reach him. In the place of caravans they told me that the last caravan departed two days ago for Egypt and that another one will not be leaving for some time. The traders and merchants are worried. They think war with the Persians is inevitable, so a number of caravans left the city earlier than planned. Eulalius, let me ask you what this young man has told you to trouble you so."

"I cannot tell you yet. I pray God I may do so soon, for it will bring comfort to my heart. Shared burdens weigh less upon one, but I have given my word to John that I will keep his secret."

The priest lowered his eyes; he felt a twinge of pain. Eulalius had always confided in him; together they had shared the tribulations and dangers that had sometimes beset the community.

The bishop, conscious of Ephron's emotions, was tempted to reveal to him the secret brought by John, but in the end he remained silent.

The two men, each burdened in his own way, bade each other good night.

"Why are you enemies of the Persians?"

"We are not their enemies; it is they who, greedy for what is not theirs, wish to possess our city."

John was conversing with a young man of more or less his own age in the service of Eulalius.

Kalman was preparing to be a priest. He was the grandson of an old friend of Eulalius, and the bishop had taken him under his protection. He had become John's best source of information, explaining the details of the city's politics, the vicissitudes its people faced in these dark days, the palace intrigues.

Kalman's father was the king's overseer, and his grandfather had been the royal archivist; he himself had considered the idea of following in his grandfather's footsteps, but his sponsorship by Eulalius had marked him, and he dreamed now of being a priest, perhaps one day a bishop.

Ephron slipped quietly into the room where John and Kalman were talking, unnoticed by the two young men. For a few seconds he listened to their animated conversation, but then, coughing softly, he made them aware of his presence.

"Eulalius would like to speak with you," he said, addressing John. "He is in the room where he works, waiting for you."

John thanked Ephron and made his way to the bishop's chambers. Ephron was a good man, and a dedicated priest, but John felt his distrust and was not comfortable in his presence.

"I have bad news, my son," the bishop said when John had seated himself. Eulalius looked weary and his voice was filled with concern. "I fear that soon we may be besieged by the Persians. If that comes to pass, you will not be able to leave the city, and your life, like all our lives, will be in great danger. You have been in Edessa a month, and I know that you are still unsure whether to reveal to me the place where the shroud of our Lord is hidden. But I fear for your life, John, and I fear for the shroud that bears the visage of our Lord. If what you have told me is true, you must save the shroud and leave the city as soon as possible. We cannot run the risk of the city being destroyed and the true face of Jesus being lost forever."

Eulalius saw uncertainty flood John's face. He wished it were not necessary to command such a drastic step, but he saw no other choice, given the peril they faced. Since the day the young man arrived, the bishop had found no calm in sleep, fearing day and night for the fate of the grave cloth that John spoke of. Sometimes he doubted its very existence, but at other times, the limpid eyes of the young man led him to believe in it with his whole heart.

John rose to his feet. "No! I cannot leave here! I cannot take away the shroud in which the body of our Lord was buried! It must remain in Edessa!"

"Calm yourself, John; I have decided what is best. You have a wife in Alexandria; you must not remain here any longer. We know not what will become of the kingdom. You are the keeper of an important secret, and you must continue to be so. I will not ask you to tell me where the shroud is but only how I can help you recover it, so that you may save it."

"Eulalius, I must stay here, I know I must stay here. I cannot leave now, much less expose the shroud to the dangers of the journey. My father made me swear to obey the command of Abgar, Josar, and the apostle Thaddeus. I cannot take the shroud from Edessa, for I have sworn not to."

"John, you must obey me," the bishop corrected him.

"I cannot; I must not. I will stay and deliver myself over to the will of God."

"Tell me, what is the will of God?"

John felt the grave, weary voice of the bishop like a hammer beating at his heart. He stared at Eulalius and suddenly understood how troubled the old man had been made by his arrival and the fantastic story of the shroud.

Eulalius had been patient and generous with him, but now he was commanding him to leave Edessa. The bishop's decision forced John to face the truth. He knew that his father had not lied to him, but what if his father had been lied to? What if at sometime during the long centuries since the birth of our Lord, someone had seized the shroud for himself or destroyed it? What if the entire story was a fable?

The old bishop saw a storm of emotions cross John's face, and he felt deep compassion for the young man's anguish.

"Edessa has survived sieges, wars, starvations, fires, floods… It will survive the Persians, but you, my son, must act according to the dictates of reason, and for your good and for the good of the secret your family has kept for so many decades, you must save yourself. Make arrangements now for your departure, John, for in three days you will leave the city. A group of merchants has mounted a caravan; it is your last chance to save yourself."

"And if I tell you where the shroud is?"

"I will help you save it."

John's mind was in turmoil as he left the bishop's study, and his eyes were filled with tears. He went out into the street, where the coolness of morning had not yet been dispelled by the burning sun of June, and he wandered aimlessly. For the first time, he fully understood that the citizens of Edessa were preparing for the siege that they knew was upon their city.

Laborers were working tirelessly to reinforce the walls, and soldiers bustled throughout the city, their faces stern, their brows furrowed. In their stalls, merchants displayed few goods, and on the faces of all he met he saw fear.

John realized how self-centered he had been in not heeding what was happening all around him, and for the first time since he had arrived, he felt homesick for Myriam, his young wife. He had not even written to tell her he was well. Eulalius was right: Either he left Edessa immediately or he faced the same fate as its citizens. A shiver of fear and foreboding ran through him, for he felt that his fate might well be death.

He did not know how many hours he spent wandering through the city, but when he returned to the house of Eulalius, he suddenly became aware of the thirst that had been with him all day and the hunger that gnawed at him. He found Eulalius with Ephron and Kalman, speaking with two circumspect nobles sent from the palace.

"Come in, John. Hannan and Maruta bring us sad news," the bishop said. "The siege is upon us. Edessa will not surrender to the Persians. Today, two wagons have arrived at the city's gates. Inside were the heads of a group of soldiers who had gone out to gauge the strength of the forces under Khusro. We are at war."

The two nobles, Hannan and Maruta, looked at the young Alexandrian without much interest, and then they continued to report to the bishop on the situation.

Confounded and stunned, John listened to the men talk. He realized that even if he wished to, leaving the city would not be easy. The situation was worse than Eulalius had thought: There would be no more caravans. No one wished to run the certain risk of losing his life upon the road.

John lived through the next few days as though in the midst of a nightmare. From the walls of Edessa one could clearly see the Persian soldiers around their campfires. The attacks sometimes lasted the entire day.

Men kept their families inside the walls of their houses, while the soldiers met the constant attacks. There was still no shortage of foodstuffs or water because the king had stored up wheat and dried and salted meat, as well as brought many animals into the city, so that his soldiers might nourish themselves and remain strong.

'Are you asleep, John?"

"No, Kalman, I seem not to have slept in days. The whistling of the arrows and the thunder of the battering rams against the walls have invaded my head, and I cannot sleep."

"They say the city will soon fall. We cannot resist much longer." Months had passed, almost two years, as Edessa fought on.

"I know, Kalman, I know. I am weary with binding the wounds of the soldiers and attending women and children who die in my arms in convulsions or with the plague. My hands are callused from digging graves in the earth to bury their bodies. In the end, Khusro's soldiers will show no mercy to anyone. How is Eulalius? I have not been able to see him… I am sorry."

"No, he wishes you to help those who most need it. He is very frail from this prolonged fast and the pain that grips his bones. His belly is swollen, but he never complains."

John sighed. He seemed never to rest, running from one place to another on the wall, treating the mortal wounds of the soldiers to whom he could no longer give relief because he had no more plants with which to prepare his unguents and potions.

Day and night desperate women came to his door, pleading with him to save their children, and he would spill tears of impotence, for there was nothing he could do for them. They were starving and exhausted, and their lives simply slipped away.

How his life had changed since he left Alexandria. When he dozed off from exhaustion he dreamed of the clean smell of the ocean, the soft hands of Myriam, the hot food his old serving woman prepared for them, his house surrounded by orange trees. During the first months of the siege he had cursed his fate and reproached himself for having come to Edessa in search of a dream, but he no longer did that. He had no strength for that now, and the dream remained buried, perhaps out of reach forever.

John shook off his torpor and rose to his feet. "I will go to see Eulalius," he told the priest.

"It will do him good to see you."

Accompanied by Kalman, he made his way to the room where the bishop lay in bed praying.

"Eulalius…"

"Welcome, John. Sit here beside me."

The physician was pained by the changed aspect of the old bishop. He had shrunk, and the outline of his bones was visible through his almost transparent skin. His pallor presaged death.

The sight of the dying man moved John deeply. He, who had arrived almost arrogantly in Edessa, proud to show Christianity the visage of the Lord, had not had the courage to complete his undertaking. He had thought rarely of the shroud through the long months of the siege, and now, seeing the approach of death upon the face of Eulalius, he knew that death would not be long in coming for him as well.

"Kalman, leave me alone with Eulalius, please."

Weakly, the bishop made a sign to the priest to leave them. Kalman worried as he left the room, for he knew that neither of the men was well. In John, it was clear that grief had left its mark; in Eulalius, it was the flesh that was yielding.

John looked into the eyes of the bishop and, taking him by the hand, sat beside him.

"Forgive me, Eulalius, I have done nothing but ill since I came here, and the worst of my sins has been to not confide in you. I have sinned by pride in not sharing with you the secret of the place where the shroud is hidden. I will tell you now, and you shall decide what we must do. May God forgive me if what I am about to say betrays doubt, but if upon the shroud the visage of our Lord is truly impressed, then he will save us, as he saved Abgar from sure death."

Eulalius listened with amazement to John's revelation of the secret. For more than four hundred years the shroud of Jesus had lain behind the bricks of a niche cut out of the wall above the west gate of the city. It was the only place that had withstood the battering of the Persian army.

The old man struggled to sit up and, weeping, he embraced the Alexandrian.

"Praise God! I feel a great joy in my heart. You must go at once to the wall and rescue the shroud. Ephron and Kalman will help you, but you must go now. I feel that Jesus may still have mercy upon us and work a miracle."

"Eulalius, I cannot present myself before the soldiers who are risking their lives guarding the western gate and tell them that I am seeking a niche hidden in the wall. They will think I am mad, or that I am hiding a treasure… No, I cannot go there."

"You shall go, John."

Suddenly Eulalius's voice was firm and strong again.

So firm, indeed, that John lowered his head, knowing that this time he would obey.

"Let me, then, Eulalius, say that you have sent me."

"It 15 I who have sent you! Before you arrived, in my dream I heard the voice of Jesus' mother telling me that Edessa would be saved. And so it shall be, God willing."

Outside, they could hear the cries and shouts of the soldiers mixed with the crying of the few infants who were still alive. Eulalius sent for Kalman and Ephron.

"I have had a dream. You must go with John to the western gate and-"

"But, Eulalius," Ephron exclaimed, "the soldiers will not let us pass."

"You will go, and you will obey John's orders. Edessa can be saved."

The captain, enraged, ordered the two priests and their companion to leave the area.

"The gate is about to give way, and you want us to go and look for a hidden niche-you are mad! I don't care if the bishop sent you! Begone!"

John stepped forward and told the captain that with or without his help they would climb the wall above the western gate and dig.

Arrows fell all around them, but before the astonished eyes of the soldiers, they remained untouched. Calling upon their last reserves of strength, the soldiers redoubled their efforts to defend that part of the wall, as the three men dug frantically.

"There is something here!" Kalman cried.

Minutes later, John held in his hands a basket darkened by time. He opened it and gently touched the folded cloth.

Without waiting for Kalman or Ephron, he clambered down and began to run toward Eulalius's house.

His father had told him the truth: He and all his fathers before him had been the guardians of the secret of the shroud in which Joseph of Arimathea had laid the body of Jesus.

The bishop trembled with emotion when John entered his chamber. The young man took the shroud from under his tunic and held it out to the bishop, who rose from his bed and went down on his knees in wonder at the face of a man perfectly impressed upon the cloth.