Wayward Son (45 page)

After a weeklong stay, Cain spent his final afternoon in Caesarea walking alone through the city while his ship was being fully loaded. As he entered a public square close to the forum, an unusual sight greeted him. All around the square’s perimeter, tables and chairs had been set up for what seemed to be a board game tournament. Umbrellas and awnings shaded the players, all of them men, from the late afternoon sun. As a longtime devotee of senet, Cain couldn’t resist the temptation to linger, and perhaps pick up an attractive board as a gift for Quintus.

A sprinkling of spectators were following the progress of various matches, and Cain spent quite some time as an onlooker at a table where an especially animated game of senet was unfolding. Then, about an hour before sunset, he strolled over to the eastern wall on one side of the square. Just as he was passing a stall, he happened to notice a young man, perhaps eighteen or so, sitting in front of a board made of a beautiful mineral rock he had never seen before. The youth had evidently just arrived, and had yet to match himself up with another player. Cain was not surprised when the young man stood up, smiled at him, and beckoned him to enter the stall.

Cain inspected the beautiful gaming board closely. It was jet black with bright flecks of red and gold. The pieces were rectangular ceramic tiles with finger-size indentations in the center. Some of the tiles had intricate shapes of animals fired into them, and others simply had numbers.

“What stone is this board made of?” Cain asked the young man.

“I do not know, sir. It belongs to my father. My name is Abaddon. Will you sit down and have a game with me?”

Cain could see that the board was designed for senet, one of his favorites. Yet he hesitated. The sun was now dipping close to the horizon, and he needed to return to the port to ensure his ship was ready for departure early the following morning.

“I have a lot of money to wager,” the youth declared proudly as he drew several silver pieces from the leather pouch attached to his belt. “You see these, sir? There are
thirty pieces
in all. My father sent me here to buy tools for the farm, but I have decided to gamble instead. The farm equipment can wait.”

The youth’s odd mixture of inducement and insolence puzzled Cain for a moment. Then he made up his mind to teach this adolescent a few things about gambling and respecting one’s parents.

“I accept your invitation,” Cain said firmly.

As he was about to pull back a chair to seat himself, the young man spoke again.

“Before we start, sir, would you kindly draw the netting so that the insects won’t bother us?”

The boy glanced around as Cain pulled the netting closed. Like many of the stalls, this one was equipped with a semi-opaque screen used to shade the occupants and keep out bugs around sunset. The screen also enhanced merchants’ privacy during sensitive commercial transactions, since passersby could not identify the individuals inside at a glance.

“Let me explain the rules,” said Abaddon after Cain had drawn up his chair to the wooden table. Next to the board, Cain placed the beautiful bottle of mosaic blown glass he had brought along, full of drinking water for a hot day in early summer.

“But I know the rules of senet well,” he objected.

“This is a modified form of the game, sir. I just want to be certain that you understand the differences between my game and the more familiar version.”

Cain shrugged his shoulders. As his opponent laid out the tiles, forty for each player, the youth offered an overview of how each player could move his pieces and when a player was permitted to “take” one of the opponent’s tiles. These rules diverged, in fact, from any version of the game familiar to Cain. But he had accepted the challenge, and as a gamer he was a quick study.

“From where do you come?” asked the young man, as the two of them began play in earnest.

“I am from Rome. I am here on a trading mission.”

“Ah, Rome!” exclaimed Abaddon with a sigh. “I should love to travel there one day!”

“If you gamble your family’s money away, you will find travel difficult,” Cain dryly admonished with a meaningful gaze at his opponent.

“Money can always be had,” the youth parried. A brief silence ensued, as tiles were taken on both sides.

Furrowing his brow, Abaddon asked, “And where do you go to now? Will you stay some time in Judaea?”

“No, my business here is concluded. I sail for Rome tomorrow, assuming fair winds.”

“You have enjoyed your visit to Judaea? You will return one day?”

“Perhaps,” Cain answered vaguely.

“Do you believe that the emperor Tiberius should control this country? There is a lot of dissatisfaction among the Jews here.”

“I make it a point to steer clear of politics,” Cain replied. The young man was certainly plying him with questions. “Look, let us focus on our game,” he added.

During the ensuing silence, Cain took stock of the remaining tiles on the board. He was not doing nearly as well as he had expected. He had only seventeen tiles in play, to his opponent’s twenty-two. If the young man stalemated him and he lost every tile but one, the game would be over and Cain would have to pay up on the wager. Perhaps his opponent’s bravado that he could readily acquire money was justified, after all.

Cain lost a further three pieces on a single turn. Just as he was growing even more frustrated at the possibility of being defeated by a farm boy, the screen of netting was suddenly pulled back, and the last rays of the setting sun poured into the stall. With eyes glowing from the fiery sunset, Abaddon glared at an unannounced visitor who had dared to interrupt the game.

Cain, who had sat with his back to the stall’s opening on the square, turned around to face the newcomer. He looked to be about thirty or so. With longish hair and a short, dark beard, he carried himself with dignity and grace. Cain noticed he had the hands of a craftsman. He was dressed in a simple, russet-brown tunic.

Abruptly, the young gamer addressed Cain. “I shall be back. I must go urinate.” He quickly rose from his seat and then rushed by the visitor, disappearing out of the stall.

“Welcome to Judaea,” said the man hospitably in Aramaic. “I can see by your clothing that you are not a native here.”

“That is true,” Cain responded in fluent Aramaic as he stood to greet the man.

“You are from Rome, then? Few Romans speak our language so well,” the visitor replied.

“Thank you for your kind words, stranger. I have learned quite a few languages on my journeys.”

Cain could see that the man was uncomfortable in the late afternoon heat, with perspiration beading his forehead. “Please allow me to offer you some water,” he said, gesturing to the blown-glass bottle.

“I would be grateful for a drink,” replied the visitor. Lifting the bottle to his lips, he swallowed deeply. Then, pausing to admire its dazzling swirls of blue and white, he said, “What wonderful workmanship! Where did you get this fine bottle, my friend?”

“I made it. Or, rather, my factory made it.”

“And where is the factory that produces such beauty, if I may ask?”

“In Carthage. I established the facility some years ago,” Cain said proudly. “Its output can now be found all over the world.”

“How did you arrive at the notion of creating such a piece?”

“Well…it was a long time ago. While on a lengthy journey, I watched a bolt of lightning strike sand on a beach and turn it to glass,” Cain explained. “That’s when I conceived the idea of making glass one day. The designs have grown steadily more elaborate.”

The visitor nodded but said nothing. Cain broke the pause in their conversation by inviting him to sit down.

“Will you care to stay and chat until my opponent returns?”

“You are most courteous. May I ask your name?”

“I am called Marcus Flavius Pictor. I grew up in Alexandria but now live in Rome. Here, take this chair.” He drew up the seat his opponent had occupied from the opposite side of the table.

The visitor sat down but then raised his left hand in a quizzical gesture. Cain could see that a small black thorn was embedded in the man’s index finger. The thorn had apparently been on the arm of the chair, although how the youth had avoided impaling his own finger on it escaped Cain. The wound must have been painful, since the thorn was stuck deeply into the stranger’s fingertip, yet he gave only a brief wince. Then, he smiled and even chuckled softly as he removed the thorn and flicked it away.

Not wishing to embarrass his new acquaintance, Cain asked him about his business in Caesarea.

“What has brought you to Judaea’s capital?”

“My father has a carpenter’s shop two days journey to the northeast, in Galilee. He sent me here to deliver the chairs and tables for the game board gathering. I have been walking the square all day to make sure my customers are satisfied.”

“Well, the table in this stall is extremely sturdy, and the chairs are level and don’t squeak. If this furniture came from your workshop, you are to be congratulated.”

“You are very kind, Marcus. May I ask in turn why you have come to Caesarea, all the way from Rome?”

“I wanted to see the new harbor,” Cain replied. “I have been in the merchant shipping business for quite some time now, but never before in Caesarea. It looks like it could become a very prosperous market for me. Also, I am building a large house near Rome, on the Bay of Naples. It is almost complete, in fact, so I have been shopping for some house furnishings here.”

“That is a coincidence. I too shall be building a large house soon,” the visitor said.

“Well, on a carpenter’s wage you will have to control expenses carefully!” Cain joked.

The stranger laughed and nodded.

Changing the subject, Cain gestured to the board and inquired if the visitor was familiar with the game.

“Oh, yes, I know it very well,” he answered with a smile. “Let me see, now. Your opponent seems to be ahead.”

Cain resisted the temptation to request any advice. The carpenter pointed to a tile bearing the image of a green snake near the center of the board.

“The serpent has had you trapped far too long, my friend.” Placing his left index finger on the tile, he slid it toward Cain and added, “You must be set free.” The carpenter removed his finger from the game piece. A drop of blood had collected upon the snake image within the tile’s indentation.

Noticing the stranger was still bleeding, Cain reached in his tunic and offered him a piece of silk cloth.

“No thank you,” the man demurred. “I am sure it could be much worse. But look—I have marred this game piece. I hope its owner won’t be too upset.” Rising from his chair, he continued, “Thank you for the water. As for your opponent, he will not be returning to this table.” The stranger smiled warmly and turned toward the entrance of the tent.

“Are you leaving now?” Cain asked. “I have not even learned your name.”

The visitor turned to face Cain and smiled. “I am called Jesus of Nazareth,” came his reply, and then he strode out to the square and disappeared into the crowd.

Cain was perplexed. Why had this carpenter departed so abruptly? He stared vacantly at the town square, where board games continued even in the twilight. He glimpsed his young opponent, seated at a table about twenty-five feet away. Abaddon had apparently begun a new match with another gamer. He called to him several times but the young man ignored him completely.

Annoyed by the disrespect, Cain glanced back at the leather pouch on the table. Reasoning that the money should be considered forfeit, he attached the pouch to his belt, exited the stall, and strode purposefully toward the harbor. Upon reaching the port, he boarded his ship.

“No shopping today?” asked Felix upon greeting his empty-handed master.

“Actually, I passed the time in the square playing senet.” Cain tossed the leather pouch to Felix. “Here, put this in the ship’s treasury. Nothing too exciting. Only thirty pieces of silver.”

Felix smiled. “Just the same, I’m glad that you and I play the game for fun.” He turned and went below decks. Absently tossing the pouch from hand to hand, it struck him that the bag seemed a bit bulky for the sum Cain had mentioned. But with many more preparations to be made before tomorrow’s sailing for Rome, he simply deposited the pouch in the strongbox, intending to verify the contents later.

CHAPTER 60

Ercolano: Present Day

LUC RENARD’S HELICOPTER TOUCHED down in Ercolano on the stroke of noon. A black Mercedes stretch limo conveyed the travelers and their bodyguards from the helipad to the dig site, barely half a mile away. Alerted by one of his team, Silvio hastened up the makeshift staircase to street level, together with Juan Carlos.

“Benvenuti, Signori,”
Silvio welcomed the visitors courteously. Archibald Walker made the introductions.

“Silvio, this is Mr. Luc Renard, one of our most munificent benefactors at the Getty. Mr. Renard, let me present my colleague Dr. Silvio Sforza. Oh, and this is Mr. Rudolph Schmidt, one of California’s most eminent attorneys.”

After handshakes all around, the normally diplomatic Walker, who had fortified himself from a pocket flask in the airport terminal restroom at Naples, plunged onward. Turning to Silvio, he said, somewhat indelicately, “Now, my old friend, you really must explain to us why you permitted Amanda James to enter the chamber so prematurely.”

Silvio sidestepped the question. “We’ll cover all that in a few minutes. The main thing now is to get Amanda
out
of the chamber.” Gesturing to Juan Carlos, he explained, “We’ve been working on a digital recording to trace Amanda’s steps in solving the word puzzle for the combination lock. We’re almost there.”

Silvio paused and looked dramatically at Walker, making sure he had the man’s full attention. “But Juan Carlos needs your help. I believe you can likely fit through the crack and come to her aid. Please let him explain our progress to you. I’ll keep Mr. Renard and Mr. Schmidt company up here.”

Gratified at what he interpreted as Silvio’s invitation to play a key role, Walker nodded. Excusing himself, he accompanied Juan Carlos down the stairway to an area enclosed by a privacy tarp.