THIEVES IN THE VAULT OF HEAVEN
Toscado bowed his head in prayer, crossing himself as he begged forgiveness for his impetuous decision to open the Arca Santa. Roland, Nathan, and Amanda turned away, covering their eyes. The light now filled the upper chamber with incredible brilliance, driving the shadows before them from every corner of the room. They heard footfalls on the stair behind them, and the rattle of metal, as if from brandished weapons. The guards turned away and moved toward the commotion, shielding their eyes as they struggled to make their way to the top of the steps. Even covering eyes with hands or burying the face in the crook of an arm could no longer filter out the ethereal light. It was as if they now stood in the presence of a transfigured being, for which the radiance was as the crucible of heaven. It burned away all that was worldly and vain from their hearts and minds, filling them with a godly fear and sorrow.
“What have I done?” Toscado cried out, his mournful voice raised in anguish.
The report of semi-automatic gunfire resounded off the walls, to be followed by the sound of bullets piercing the walls of the chapel of San Miguel. Discarded shells rang sharply as they fell to the floor, or back down the steps behind the intruders. The ceremonial pikes fell with resounding crashes, moments before they heard the duller noise of bodies slumping to the marbled tile. The guards had been killed by as many as five men now in the upper chamber. They seemed unaffected by the preternatural light, which likely revealed itself in response to their untimely arrival, rather than any indiscretion on the part of the reverend dean.
None of the three could make them out clearly through loosely knitted fingers, except that they seemed to be wearing some fashion of filtered glasses, or highly polarized goggles. The men moved quickly, pushing Roland and Wilkes roughly to one wall, and manhandled Archer against the other. The dean remained steadfast from where he fell back to his knees in prayer, hands folded once again in an aspect of supplication. Regardless of who may have prompted the supernatural reaction to the unscheduled opening of the Arca Santa, Felipe Toscado took it upon himself, as the manifestation of heaven’s displeasure. He refused to shut his eyes, or be moved from his place before the reliquary, but stared into its brilliance as a madman might the sun at midday.
He refused to obey the commands of their attackers to rise and back away from the casket. In his adamant defiance, he was threatened with death, and dragged backwards through the gate from the entrance to the Cámara Santa. He kicked and screamed, struggling with his assailants, even as he ordered them to release him and leave that holy place. God would smite them, he swore, and rebuked them for their unholy presence in His sanctuary, until one of the men butted him in the head with the stock of his machine gun. The reverend dean of the Cathedral of San Salvador finally rolled back up off his knees, staggered backwards, and was rendered unconscious, before he hit the stonework of the chapel floor.
Written by
DALLAS TANNER
NOVELS
THE CRYPTIDS TRILOGY
Shadow of the Thunderbird
Track of the Bigfoot
Wake of the Lake Monster
NOVELLAS
The Chupacabra
(Published in Elementum Bestia)
T H E S H R O U D
Dallas Tanner
TRILOGUS BOOKS
The Shroud
Copyright © 2009 by Dallas Tanner
Published by Trilogus Media Group, LLC at Smashwords
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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DEDICATION
To Janie Hamby
As dear a friend and loved one
As any on this earth should ever hope to find
We miss you
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
In writing a novel of this complexity and magnitude, there was so much research and vital information associated with the timeline surrounding the Shroud of Turin, that there was literally no period or personage in Western European history that did not factor into the enigma it has become. I am indebted not only to those whose tireless contributions to what we now know about our universe and the artistic representation of it, but others who have made it their life’s work to increase our understanding of those times, places, and people.
I tried to go back and compile a bibliography of every organization and individual whose research and theories were incorporated in the novel you are about to read, and quickly realized it would be easier to unravel the mystery of the shroud itself. At least, in the novel, I attempt to do just that. The degree to which I succeeded, regardless of whether you agree with the conclusions I reach or not, is secondary as to whether I have accomplished my goal of educating and entertaining you.
Its nature and origin, as I present it within the covers of this novel, does not necessarily represent the conclusions their individual and collective studies reached. Still, I am indebted to any whose books, articles, research papers, blogs, forums, or web sites you go to prove the accuracy of my information, if not my own hypothesis on the nature and origin of the most mysterious and renowned religious artifact of all time.
“Many are those who trade in tricks & simulated miracles, duping the foolish multitude; and if nobody unmasked their subterfuges, they would impose them on everyone.”
Leonardo da Vinci
(Manuscript F, Institut de France, 5v)
MICROCOSM & MACROCOSM
“All things in this creation exist within you, and all things in you exist in creation; there is no border between you and the closest things, and there is no distance between you and the farthest things, and all things, from the lowest to the loftiest, from the smallest to the greatest, are within you as equal things. In one atom are found all the elements of the earth; in one motion of the mind are found the motions of all the laws of existence; in one drop of water are found the secrets of all the endless oceans; in one aspect of you are found all the aspects of existence.”
Kahlil Gibran (1883-1931)
O N E
A man of Middle Eastern descent exited a Yellow Cab in front of a branch of the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art, in upper Manhattan. He paid the driver in Euros, who groused about not knowing how to make change, let alone take a tip from the fare. The passenger proffered an additional €5 to the cabbie in the form of three coins, accepted widely in the twelve countries of the Euro zone. All three were rimmed in stars on the front, and bore the number of their denomination on the back. Beside each digit was a map of the member nations of the European Union, set against a backdrop of transverse lines spanning the stars of its flag.
Two of the Euro coins were gold on silver, with a front side profile of Dante Alighieri, from the portrait by Raphaël. But it was the one Euro piece which caught the eye of the driver, who had never before seen its like. Displayed on the head side of its minted surface was the iconic figure of a nude man, with outspread hands and feet. His limbs were overlaid upon themselves, in the aspect of stretching his arms and legs first straight out from his body. Then, they extended at upraised and acute angles, within an inscribed circle and square. The Vitruvian Man, the stranger explained. “As rendered freehand by Leonardo da Vinci; you know, the Renaissance master?” he ventured, receiving only a vague shrug, in response. He pointed to the topmost coin in the stack of three only reluctantly accepted by the taxi driver.
“It represents the idealized proportions of the human body, among other things.” He thought to continue, but realized his explanation was falling on deaf ears. Instead, he thanked the Pakistani for taking the foreign currency in payment. The cabbie simply bit the Vitruvian coin once, to ensure that it was not a leaded slug. For a moment, the driver seemed torn between handing them back, and simply tossing the additional remuneration out into the street. He then pocketed the difference, and drove off without a backwards glance.
The passenger he dropped off was in his mid-thirties, dark haired and dark eyed; youthful, but world weary in appearance, from what seemed to be a lifetime of servitude. Still, a fiery passion lit his countenance, which emanated from him as if the urgency of his visit underscored a far greater mission. He unruffled his expensive silk suit, adjusted his tie and buttoned down, heavily starched collar, before stepping away from the curb. Only his sandaled feet betrayed any regional preference in dress or mannerism. The fare now stood at the foot of the museum annex known as The Cloisters. Located in Fort Tryon Park on a hill overlooking the Hudson River, he gazed up at the fluttering banner hanging from the ceramic-tiled roof:
THE DA VINCI HOAX – THE UNRAVELING OF THE SHROUD OF TURIN
He found the choice of venue ironic, given that the branch was dedicated to the art and architecture of the European Middle Ages. Built on four acres near the northern tip of the island, it housed approximately five thousand medieval works of art, dating from the twelfth to the fifteenth centuries, A.D. The irony arose in that across town, along the Museum Mile lining Central Park’s eastern edge, a more conventional exhibition of the same controversial relic was already underway.
He had come neither as skeptic nor believer, as to its authenticity; but rather, one seeking an impartial observer whose views bordered on the heretical. There were now scientists who concluded, after secondary analysis of the burial cloth of Jesus Christ, that earlier efforts to debunk it were proved unsubstantiated. In juxtaposition were just as many without academic credentials who agreed that it was a fake; or, to be precise, a work of art. That is why he had come to the lesser museum sponsoring a counter exhibition. Here, the Shroud of Turin was declared to be forensically real, but only a few centuries old. They denied the divinity of any preternatural event endowing the linen with the image of deity.
Assembled over the space of four years beginning in 1934, the venue was a composite incorporating no less than elements of five medieval French cloisters. Traditionally consisting of four corridors with a courtyard at its center, they were literally shipped and reconstructed portions of cathedrals, monastic, and abbey structures. Specifically, they were those of Saint-Michel-de-Cuxa, Saint-Guilhem-le-Désert, Bonnefont-en-Comminges, Trie-en-Bigorre, and Froville. In his many long years of travel, he had seen both them and their like. Surrounded by gardens planted according to artifacts and documents of the Middle Ages, it was like stepping back in time to a simpler, more austere period in history.
He smiled wistfully, as he passed through the main entrance, down the arched halls, in search of the conference room off the main foyer. Lacking the amenities of the main building at the Met, lecturers impatiently awaited their turn to present unpopular theories on the nature, origin, and authenticity of the Shroud of Turin. Arguably the burial linen folded over and under Jesus of Nazareth at the time of his death and resurrection, the cloth was a continual source of controversy. While many contended that radiocarbon isotope testing proved it to have been created between 1260 and 1390 A.D., still others dated it back, by other means, to the time of Christ.
One of those who doubted its biblical roots was a forensic historian by the name of Nathan Edward Archer, Professor of Medieval Studies at the University of Chicago. An agnostic existentialist by his own admission, the noted scholar ascribed to a more mundane, but no less profound beginning to the mysterious relic. While its impact on the religious fervor surrounding it was undeniable, he cautioned that a distinction must be made between the search for truth, and the facts regarding its beginnings. He believed that modern science would soon reveal a method used in its creation, not as far ahead of its time as once believed. In his estimation, the Christian religion was being mocked in present day, just as it had been bilked during the Renaissance.
Skirting the library and its obligatory archives, the stranger made his way to the exhibition. From the sound of a distinctive male voice echoing throughout the narrow corridors, he knew that he had found his destination. Passing through a doorway into the relatively close quarters of a makeshift lecture hall adjacent to the central courtyard, he excused himself quietly and navigated the small gathering. Selecting a comfortable vantage point from which to view the presentation, he settled against the wall nearest the podium.
Behind it, gazing out at an expectant audience of skeptics and curious spectators anxious for yet another take on Leonardo da Vinci’s enigmatic influence on popular culture, Nathan Archer gripped the sides of the wooden stand with sweaty palms. He feared public speaking more than death, but struggled through his anxiety in order to defend his theories on a controversial subject. Only a few of his beleaguered colleagues shared his views, even if they did so only privately. He stood an even six feet in height; solidly built, but not powerfully so. His features were aristocratic, symmetrical with wide set, ice blue eyes. A shock of unruly black hair, graying slightly at the temples, swept back from his broad forehead and high cheekbones, fell to his overly tight collar. He hated suits, but ties even more so.
He tugged at it now as he scanned the slightly upturned faces in the crowd, and found a mixed reaction of incredulity and fascination. He supposed he had author Dan Brown and The Da Vinci Code to thank for many of those who even bothered to show up. The first announcement of his findings, six months earlier, created all the frenzy of a media circus; complete with paparazzi stalking the campus and harassing his friends and family. In the end, his wife said she disagreed with his radical theory and its adverse effect on their life together. Adrian had enough of all the publicity surrounding his conclusions, which she’d claimed interfered with their already dysfunctional relationship.
It was the closest his wife ever came to asking him for a divorce, until that morning outside The Cloisters. He was met by a paralegal from her lawyer’s office, who served him with papers filed by her attorney. Archer looked down at the blue envelope for the tenth time, trying to gather up any conviction about the subject matter that cost him his marriage. Adrian was an expert on medieval art, and a devout Catholic. Although somewhat adept at the works of the Renaissance masters, she doubted the technology existed during the Middle Ages to create the Shroud of Turin, in the medium he proposed.
Secretly, he felt she wanted to believe that it was endowed with a miraculous image, and held the face of deity. Archer was suddenly aware of the silence all around him, broken only by the shuffling of impatient feet, and phalanxes of papers by his restless colleagues. It was a forced cough from one of the guests, punctuated by the short squeal of an infant, which suddenly drew him out of his brief reverie. This was no time for meditation, let alone recriminations. There were members of the media in the audience, however few. He was no certifiable genius, no expert whose opinions were irrefutable. If he failed at this opportunity, he would face public humiliation that would add fuel to the growing fire of his own personal and professional troubles.
He gathered what little motivation he had to proceed, as he wiped his palms down the sides of his pleated trousers. Steeling himself to meet their expectant gazes, he took a drink of water, nearly spilling the glass, as his hands shook. It was not the strength of his conviction he questioned, but his resolve to follow through in spite of any misgivings about his theories. Even among those who shared his beliefs, there was competition for much needed recognition. After all, how could he prove his hypothesis, when the object of all their questions was presently beyond the reach of science, let alone currently unavailable for further empirical study?
He would have to manage, that’s all. Survive and go on, in spite of those around him. Nathan Archer took strength and hope from the partisan spectators who shared his beliefs, and there were decidedly more present than he at first expected. He could read in their expressions a distinct certainty and determination that he was speaking for them, as well. He was not alone, after all. He could do this, and he had to carry on, as the precious time allocated to his presentation ticked down to the next speaker. He was first with good reason, he told himself, and took another trembling sip of water. With a huge gulp that seemed to lodge in his throat momentarily, he swallowed as much of his pride, fear, and doubts as his anxiety would allow.
* * * * *
“Thank you for coming today, ladies and gentleman. Again, my name is Nathan Archer, and I am a professor of Medieval Studies, specializing in forensic history at the University of Chicago. Like you, I have been fascinated for some time as to the history of the Sindon, also known as the Shroud of Turin. I am here today to propose a possible explanation for both its nature and origin, given the facts and the timeline associated with events surrounding the most famous piece of linen known to man.”
“With your indulgence, I will begin this morning with a brief chronological depiction of the times and events of the religious and scientific characteristics associated with the shroud. In my profession, I am often called upon to help decipher the authenticity of relics, largely by determining, through modern technology, whether its rudimentary counterpart could have existed at the time of its creation. You might say that we solve cold cases, in which all perpetrators and victims have been dead for centuries.”
He looked for a chuckle, a smile at least among the crowd, but found none…
“To that end, let us continue today with an examination of the evidence, in an attempt to determine where this most enigmatic artifact came from, and what it means to our modern age. There is no doubt that even the scientific community has inconclusively split into factions over the findings, and it will take more than what I say here today to convince anyone, otherwise. All I ask, in deference to myself, and out of respect for my associates waiting to follow me, is that you keep an open mind.”
Archer reached for the handheld remote to his laptop, turned and clicked the first slide of his PowerPoint presentation. The screen behind him was not large, a portable like the projector on loan to him. He stepped to one side, just to be sure he did not impede the view of anyone gathered there to hear him. Their attentions were now all riveted to the image on the screen.
It was the horizontal profile of a weathered rectangle of aged cloth, roughly the width and more than twice the height of a man in repose. At the edges, it was worn, frayed and discolored. Four pairs of inverted triangles faced one another with rounded stains trailing back from each set. From left to right, they were joined by darkened folds running from top to bottom through each. The two on the right side were less noticeable than those on the left. Between them, facing forward on the latter, and backwards on the former, was the now famous image of a man arguably dead, or dying.
But what man? That was the answer to all their questions, and Archer’s burden of proof. In spite of the fact that the real article was safely housed in the Royal Chapel of St. John the Baptist in Turin, Italy, an involuntary gasp of reverence washed over the small gathering. He had to remind himself he was here to show how it was actually created, in spite of those who attended only to try and disprove his assertions. Either way, it was no less worthy of the attention and furor it spawned by its very existence, whether that life spanned centuries, or millennia.
“When Jesus of Nazareth was crucified and taken down from the cross after his death in 33 A.D., he was wrapped in a burial cloth, in accordance with Jewish tradition. He was laid in a borrowed tomb, and on the third day was supposedly resurrected. This is the scriptural account, as told in the four Gospels: Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. He reappeared to the Marys, as well as his disciples. As he did at the Last Supper, he broke bread with them again, remaining to give them further light and knowledge, for the space of forty days. After that time, he ascended into heaven, where the faithful believe he waits at the right hand of God, to come again in power and glory.”
“We are not here today to discuss the merits of Christianity, only the authenticity of the Shroud of Turin as having been used to cover the body of Christ. To that end, I have researched ancient records in connection with its presence in antiquity. Decades after the Day of Pentecost, in which the apostles traditionally received the Holy Ghost to comfort and guide them following the departure of Jesus, Christian texts make vague reference to an image in a cloth kept in Odessa, Eastern Turkey.”
“Thereafter, there is no mention of such a cloth for over a thousand years. Indeed, its whereabouts, if any, have become as much a source of speculation as that of the boy Jesus, rumored to have spent the ages from thirteen to his ministry at thirty as St. Essa, in the Indus Valley. Despite his purported link to the Essenes, who wrote, then buried the Dead Sea Scrolls rediscovered in 1947, there is no mention of the continued existence, let alone significance, of the burial shroud. There are some who would even argue that it was the practice of the day to emulate wrapping the body from head to toe, in similitude of the Egyptians. The scriptures even seem to indicate that it was actually strips of cloth used to wrap the body, as with Lazarus.”
“It seems logical to assume that His disciples, in spite of fear upon losing their Master, would position him in a shroud on which his body lay, and was then covered with the remaining fold. This was the assumption; the belief, if you will, of the people in medieval Western Europe. In 1355 A.D., the shroud is thought to have resurfaced as the purported burial sheet of Christ, in the French village of Lirey, 120 miles Southeast of Paris.”
“It was privately owned by the De Charney family, and supposedly brought out of the Holy Lands by none other than the military order of the Knights Templar. It was their sacred duty to protect pilgrims to Jerusalem, but they were also tasked with the collection and trading of relics, as well. It can arguably be stated that the dissemination of those religious artifacts contributed to their wealth and holdings. Royal jealousy, and concerns over their power and status, led to their demise and downfall, in 1312.”
“Two local bishops called the shroud a painting, and therefore a fraud. Pope Clement VI did not rule the shroud authentic, but declared it could remain on display. When the owners fell on hard financial times in 1453, they sold it to the House of Savoy, which used its influence to their political and pontifical advantage. Lasting from the early 11th to the mid-20th century, it grew from a regional duchy to become the oldest reigning dynasty in history. In 1494, the Shroud went on display in Verchelli, Italy. It is here that my theory begins, and I hope you will bear with me, as I relate it to you. Granted, the only definitive mention of the shroud, thereafter, is that it was nearly destroyed by fire, in 1532. That accounts for the singes, and general wear beyond that of the age of the cloth known as the Shroud of Turin.”
“During the Middle and even the Dark Ages, a veritable cottage industry arose in the creation, or ‘discovery’ of artifacts to be housed at various cathedrals, monasteries, and abbeys, throughout Europe and Asia. The bones of saints, even the nails, timber, and plait of thorns associated with the events of the crucifixion, were to be found in abundance. This added to their holiness in the eyes of the church, as well as drew the religious but uneducated poor to mass. They were thought to be endowed with divine powers; a few, such as the elusive Spear of Destiny, and the Ark of the Covenant, even more so. It was not uncommon to take ordinary objects and weather them, to give the aforementioned appearance of antiquity.”
“Powerful families would actually commission the production of counterfeit shrouds, creating a commercial enterprise for artists and craftsmen. Many were called the true burial cloth of Christ, though badly rendered as artwork, and therefore obvious forgeries. There would be religious and secular benefits afforded to anyone thought to be in possession of the actual relic. As a result, these objects were trafficked, as well as manufactured, between them.”
“As I mentioned, the Savoy family came into possession of the one recognized to be the most likely candidate for the true Sindon. In spite of this designation, the true disclosure of a clear image of the Christ did not reveal itself to the naked eye, after 1494. Prior to that time, we have accounts which state the face and the figure of the man upon the Sindon were plainly visible. When the Shroud of Turin was photographed for the first time in 1898, the figure appeared in stark relief, but only on the negative. It appeared as a positive on the film; quite literally, the negative of a negative.”
“I submit to you that the Shroud of Turin, as we know it today, is nothing more or less than a 500 year old photographic image. The alleged burial cloth of Christ has been dated back to the 14th century A.D. That estimate may predate when the face and figure upon it were produced by this means, but I believe that the cloth was already at that time of an indeterminate age. As you’ll agree, no threads have ever been taken for testing from the actual figure, itself. It only stands to reason that the image upon it was formed more recently than the Middle Ages; the Renaissance, perhaps. Consequently, to say that the shroud is merely a painting, a rubbing, the scorching of a hot statue, or even a block print, undermines the genius at work in its creation; or, if you will, its recreation.”
“And, lest we forget, the powerful De Medici family was related to the Savoys by marriage. Lorenzo was a member of the Brotherhood of Magicians in Florence, a position he inherited from his father, Piero; who, in turn, received it from his father, Cosimo de Medici. His brother Giuliano was a master of alchemy. Both Lorenzo and Giuliano each had a son that would later become pope. Who had more daring than the ruling family largely responsible for the occultist movement in Tuscany? Only they would have had the means, the motive, and the opportunity to seek out the leading artist and scientist of the day, in a diabolical plot to recreate the Shroud of Turin!”
Professor Archer looked around the room, and found that he had the rapt, undivided attention of everyone in the hall. He remained on the first slide, showing the very image to which he alluded in his presentation. This was where he would depart from what was previously known, widely understood, or generally accepted in academic and even scientific circles. Taking another trembling sip of water, he braced himself for the remainder of his talk, and proceeded to split his audience down a divisive middle.
T W O
“Now, when we consider the terms ‘genius’ and the ‘Renaissance’, we naturally think of one man who embodied both, in a resurgence of enlightenment and knowledge.” At this, Archer lowered his head and thrust out his hand toward the crowd. As if on cue, as one they intoned, “Leonardo da Vinci!” There was a mixed aftermath of stifled laughter and derisive snorts, but they all grew quickly silent by the displeasure of the interrupted majority, who wanted to know more.
“Whether it was created by Leonardo for the Savoy family in the 1490’s, as several popular theories including my own put forth, or another artisan before 1355, a technique was used unlike any other you will hear mentioned today. I intend to prove how it was accomplished. Not for the purposes of dismissing the Shroud of Turin outright, but rather to point out that the method I propose was available, and employed during the Middle Ages.”
There was a collective murmuring in the crowd, as they considered the faith or doubt which drew them to The Cloisters that morning. Some gestured toward areas of the slide before them; others motioned to portions of their own bodies. He gave them a moment or two in order to express their opinions, then continued with his own, unabated.
“Remember I said that many copies of the shroud were made, but only this one was recognized as a true religious artifact. It stands to reason then that this shroud became the de facto template used to create the others. Still, there is one aspect of the Shroud of Turin which sets it apart from the more blatant counterfeits.” Archer flipped through his slides of inset detail showing the parts of the afterimage body, until he reached the hands folded over the genitalia. The left hand loosely gripped the right wrist, exposing both, in stark contrast, to the forearm lost beneath the folds of the cloth.
“Note the ‘blood’ just above the left wrist. This would demonstrate what we have surmised only in the latter part of the twentieth century. The palms alone could not have supported the weight of the body, had the nails on the cross been driven through them. This aspect alone, though forgeries abound from this ‘original’, relied upon tradition that the wounds were not only to his hands. This understanding would require an extensive knowledge of anatomy, for which Da Vinci was perhaps the first true practitioner.”
“It was not simply the physiology of man in which Leonardo was interested, but in the physical makeup of all living things. Charles Darwin owes the Renaissance master a huge debt of gratitude. The author of the theory of evolution and natural selection stood on the shoulders of a literal and figurative giant, who considered it self-evident, that apes and man were closely related. Da Vinci did so 350 years before Darwin’s time, and 500 ahead of our own.”
“Now, Leonardo was noted as one who was unafraid of defying church doctrine, and was himself a master of parlor tricks and hoaxes. A humorous individual and consummate showman, he often used his art to create illusions for his patrons, so that they might impress visiting nobility and distinguished guests. In spite of his many inventions, which included the tank, flying machine, giant crossbow, and submarine, he feared their use by the military, and tried to downplay or underdeveloped them. I contend that he feared for his own life by revealing how he accomplished such a feat as the Shroud of Turin, in spite of being a student of anatomy. If he didn’t know the effect of crucifixion on the human body, he was imminently qualified and aptly capable of finding out.”
Archer approached his media presentation with an activated laser pointer.
“Returning to what we call the stigmata points, represented by blood stains here, here and here on the cloth, we see that they correspond to how Romans crucified those they believed to be criminals, or traitors. A nail may be pounded through the palm of the hand to further subdue the victim, but only after the wrist, in order to secure them to the crossbeam. This may be due to the size or girth of the person affixed to the cross, or to ensure that, even if they have the means, they would lack the strength or power to free themselves.”
“It would be natural to assume, in light of Jesus’ reputation and following, that the Sadducees and Pharisees would have taken such a precaution, just as they posted a watch of Roman guards before his tomb. They were admittedly more concerned for their own loss of authority, should his followers steal the body and claim he was resurrected, than fearful he might actually revive. Still, this extra measure was more than likely taken, in spite of any lack of evidence to the contrary, on the shroud.”
“Let’s assume for a moment that Da Vinci, as he did so often before, experimented to prove this point to himself. Creating a shroud, indeed any religious artifact passed off as genuine, was an offense punishable by death. Bear in mind that ruling families and the church still determined the fate and passed judgment on the lower classes of Leonardo’s day. For the sake of argument, let’s suppose that he was perhaps the only exception, and knew that his own variation would have to be a remarkable one.”
“So, if not a painting, rubbing, scorching, or work of art created in any other medium, how then was the shroud made? Studies conducted to this point have concluded that none of the residue passed to them for analysis have demonstrated the presence of materials associated with any identifiable means of artistic expression. Radiocarbon dating has placed the age of the cloth itself between the 13th and 14th centuries A.D. So, how is it that only a negative of the shroud, taken centuries later, revealed the true mystery of this enigma?”
Nate Archer gauged his audience, and found them deathly quiet with anticipation. He stepped back up to the podium, checked his watch, and took yet another drink of water. Half of his twenty-minute allotment of time was already gone. His detractors included some who attended for the question and answer period to follow, or waited with their own subsequent presentations, when he could offer no rebuttal to their comments.
“We are all familiar with the collection known today as the Da Vinci Notebooks. They contain the sum total of those scientific diagrams, illustrations, inventions, notes and equations on his studies in life and art. There was much he did not include, for fear of religious reprisal, or the previously mentioned military application. In all of his works, there are 270 separate diagrams of what he called oculus artificialis.”
Realization creased the faces of some in the crowd, either up or down.
“Meaning ‘artificial eye’, we refer to the technique he perfected during the Renaissance today as camera obscura, a Latin term meaning ‘veiled chamber’. In other words, I contend that the Shroud of Turin is nothing, more or less, than the photograph of a body positioned to emulate the dead Christ, in an elaborate hoax…”
“How does that explain the bodily fluids?” someone shouted from the back.
“Were there any political implications?” another voice sounded, elsewhere.
The gathering of scholars, scientists, and onlookers murmured, with a few other stifled outcries. Quickly, Professor Archer ignored the outburst and returned to his notes, sifting through them until he came to his citations on the subject. This was the point to which his soon-to-be ex-wife objected, often vehemently, and with sometimes inanimate objects lofted at his head. Why did he expect less of a reaction here, in spite of the perfect venue?
After all, these same people were more than welcome to attend the other exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where the topic of discussion limited itself to the more socially acceptable status quo or current findings. No one there would bring up Leonardo da Vinci, let alone claim it was a fabrication using a method rediscovered from the Dark Ages predating the shroud by two hundred years! If anything, an artist might show such a feat could not be accomplished in this manner, or at least that the results of an actual painting would be far less convincing.
“Please, ladies and gentlemen. If you will permit me to explain the technique, I believe you will find that it is not so far-fetched a theory as you might think.” Slowly, the onlookers quieted and returned to their seats. The man in the back with the olive complexion only smiled, folded his arms, and leaned back against the wall.
“It is a simple law of physics that light travels in a straight line. When light passes through a pinhole-sized opening in a thin, opaque material, the rays do not scatter or break into their spectrum, but rather form an upside-down image on a flat surface, placed parallel to the hole, on the far side of the object it faces. Perhaps Leonardo derived this understanding by studying the workings of the human eye. We do know that as early as 1276 A.D., English philosopher and Franciscan friar, Roger Bacon, reproduced such an effect, by using lenses. He is credited with being one of the earliest advocates of the modern scientific method, inspired by the empiricism in the works of early Muslim scientists.”
“Many artists and scientists have attempted to reproduce the Shroud of Turin in what they believe to be the manner of its creation, with varying success. As aesthetically accurate as the painters might be, none could come close to the reversed image seen on the negatives derived through photography. It must be remembered that the first mention of the camera obscura came in the 5th century, A.D. It was not a new concept, even for Leonardo da Vinci, or Roger Bacon. However, a modern photographer by the name of Stephen Berkman was able to recreate the shroud, using techniques and materials available to both of those early practitioners.”
“Mixing sodium chloride (NaCl), otherwise known as common table salt, and a compound of silver nitrate (AgNO3), he applied the light sensitive emulsion to the same type of cloth material that was used for the shroud. He waited for the light to reproduce an image on the 14 foot long, 3 ½ foot wide, 3:1 herringbone twill. He focused his pinhole camera on a manikin, and after 43 days showed it was possible to make a photographic image. In the weak light of an amber bulb, so as not to provide the unfair advantage of a strong continual light unavailable in the Middle Ages, the camera obscura rendered an image of the manikin in delicate tones.”
“Photography, as we know it today, was invented in 1826. It would be another 70 years before the negative would reveal a man we assume today to be Jesus Christ in the Shroud of Turin. Over three centuries separate that discovery from the man who perpetrated it, Leonard Da Vinci. It was not recognized, or appreciated, in its time, which accounts for its lack of notoriety. That is, until the technology was available to reveal the secret behind the ghostly image on the cloth.”
“Da Vinci received the commission from a member of the powerful House of Savoy in Sardinia, Italy. Giuliano de Medici was also a friend and patron of Leonardo’s. What they expected was no less than another of his masterpieces on a linen cloth, but the artist outdid himself in pushing the boundaries of creative expression, to the disappointment of the family. There is supposedly even a record of Leonardo being refused payment by the Savoys. This is all rumor and speculation, of course, fueled by the mystery surrounding the Shroud of Turin. But, there are a couple of considerations to which I have already alluded.”
“It was an offense punishable by death to knowingly manufacture a religious artifact, in the hopes of passing it off as the genuine article. Bear in mind, that power was granted to those who possessed them, supposedly as much by the church and society, as that which emanated hypothetically from true relics. Any record of Da Vinci attempting such a feat, let alone succeeding at an arcane task of this magnitude, would have meant death for Da Vinci. He would have been beheaded for the forgery of an artifact, at the very least; or burned at the stake as an alchemist, over his use of the chemicals involved.”
The room echoed with the varied comments of the assembled guests. Many remained unconvinced, while others adamantly saw this as proof for what they believed, prior to their attendance. It was the middle third, the undecided, or ambivalent, whose approval he sought. He could tell by their expressions that many sat in stunned silence, not knowing what to believe. It was for their sole benefit he decided to deliver his coup de gras.
He checked his watch, and realized he only had three minutes left to close his presentation. Excusing himself, he passed through many of the slides of his presentation, over several points of recent findings. He virtually eliminated any other media as responsible for what he considered the work of art known as The Shroud of Turin. Finally, a pair of busts appeared on the projector screen. One was that of the bearded, Christ-like figure of the face forever imprinted upon the shroud. The other was that of the master of the High Renaissance, which lasted from 1498 to 1527, A.D. It began with the completion of Da Vinci’s Last Supper in Milan, and ended with the sack of Rome, by mutinous soldiers of the Holy Roman Empire. The pillage paradoxically ended the rampant paganism of the Renaissance, and facilitated the Protestant Reformation of Martin Luther.
They sat side by side in four-foot relief, upon the backdrop of the large folding screen. Between them ran parallel lines at their foreheads, brows, eyes, the tip of their noses, and mouths. Archer clicked on the penlight laser pointer he withdrew from his shirt pocket for the second time, and showed the remarkable similarities between the two visages. As many in the crowd already knew, and even his estranged wife had to admit, it was not uncommon for the great artists of Da Vinci’s day to paint themselves into some of their greatest works. Leonardo was no exception, but what Professor Archer was about to conclude would be the fuel for any fire to come after. It ultimately led to his pending divorce, and he had no reason to doubt its provocative influence here.
“The Shroud of Turin, and the famous self portrait of Leonardo da Vinci, later both became the property of the House of Savoy, which at this time also included members of the Medici family. It came through Lorenzo the Magnificent’s marriage to Phillipina of Savoy, after the death of his first wife, Clarice. The ramifications of this union have yet to be revealed, but I daresay it had far reaching consequences to the Sindon, and visa versa.”
“Suffice it to say that I believe it is not the image of Jesus in death which permeates the cloth, emblazoned by some heavenly fire at the moment of his resurrection, but rather the features of a forty-year-old, very much alive, Leonardo da Vinci. Note the undeniable alignment of features, as indicated by parallel lines of equal length, running between the attributes and characteristics of the two countenances. I conclude that this final piece of evidence places the Renaissance master in proximity to the shroud hoax, the House of Savoy and the Medicis. For much of his early patronage, it was the latter on which he relied.”
Archer could now scarcely be heard over the sudden furor rising like a din in the crowd. They were not yet an angry mob, split in disagreement with one another. It would take more than a simple question and answer period to follow in order to quell and placate the stirring rabble. In deference to Leonardo da Vinci, and to bring the matter to a somewhat amicable close, he recited a final thought verbatim he had rehearsed and revised to perform the same in front of any partisan audience, whether for or against his theories.
“While it may lessen its impact on Christianity and religious fervor as a whole, it cannot be forgotten, or overlooked, that the Shroud of Turin is most likely a forgery, a fabrication, and ultimately a hoax. It is an invention and puzzle left by the grand master of the High Renaissance himself, Leonardo da Vinci. The personal writings in his notebooks were largely written in a mirror; from right to left, with reversed characters. Only when he intended the messages for others, did he vary from the Italian shorthand he created for himself.”
“Perhaps he intended the inverted image of the savior for himself, as well. The paradox is that he was asked to create a work of art for the appreciation of others, not an homage to himself that would not be understood or deciphered for centuries. Perhaps he already knew that its mystery would be hundreds of years in the unveiling, and that by then, the technology he perceived and utilized would be as advanced as he envisioned.”
“For a man of the wit, wisdom and foresight of Leonardo da Vinci, it would not be unlike telling a joke for which the punch line came hours, if not days later. In this case, we are only hearing the joke again, after centuries of self-absorbed rediscovery of forgotten innovations. Whatever Da Vinci truly intended with his most enigmatic conundrum, we can be sure that it will take more than a single guess to the riddle. None of us here today at The Cloisters, or the Metropolitan Museum of Art exhibit across town, will be able to solve the puzzle alone. Then again, who among us will know the answer, when it comes? After all, none of us lived in Da Vinci’s day; let alone, that of Jesus Christ.”
“Advances in science have repeatedly refuted the authenticity of the shroud, over the past three decades. Newer techniques are just as inconclusively negating that research, and those findings. Believers and skeptics alike are employing methods refined for just such an application. I leave it to you, as to which results confirm or deny the reality of The Shroud of Turin as a holy relic, or a trick of light by one who knew it best. In either event, I am not here to debate the merits of what I have presented, but rather to add my voice to those who will follow me to the podium. All I ask is that you keep an open mind, and accept that my perspective is just one of many, in trying to decode the meaning of Da Vinci’s most controversial work of art.”
Archer checked his watch again.
There was less than a minute to spare, with none left for questions and answer.
“Thank you for your time, ladies and gentleman. I am Nathan Archer, professor of Medieval Studies and a forensic historian at the University of Chicago. I appreciate your attendance, as do my esteemed colleagues, and I hope you enjoy your time with them, as well.” While terrified of public speaking, his only other idiosyncrasy was a slight OCD aversion to shaking hands. It was not the exchange of germs he feared, but the contact and potential exchange of any bodily fluids. It was this same fear which accounted for the lack of intimacy in his marriage to Adrian, as well as the childless state in which they now found themselves, in their early forties.
His wife suggested that ‘they’ get counseling, and even consider adoption as an alternative to reproduction, or even artificial insemination vicariously within their own gene pool. Archer found the idea abhorrent, and would have nothing to do with either. There was nothing wrong with him having a preference of no epidermal contact, and kids were a messy nuisance, in his opinion. He accepted the light, sporadic applause of his audience, who seemed to sense that he was a bit quirky in his reclusive genius. They made no effort to engage him in conversation as he sought an escape route, saw his chance to make a quick departure, and took it.
T H R E E
He gathered up his laptop, phalanx of notes, and the divorce papers in their official blue envelope, stamped with the seal of his wife’s law office. He started for the steps leading down from the left side of the low stage, but thought better as the next speaker approached the same set of stairs from below. It was a detractor; more like a professional nemesis, really. Her name was Amanda Wilkes, by profession the deputy medical examiner of Los Angeles County. What really struck him by her sudden appearance was that she was a true Sindonologist. The medical examiner was one of those dedicated to the more traditional scientific and scholarly research of the Shroud of Turin.
He would have thought her alliances and interests would be better served by the lecture series going on, at this very moment, along the Museum Mile. This venue was intended more for skeptics and naysayers. She was as much of a rarity in her field, as he was in his own. Whereas he believed the shroud to be a clever work of forgery, centuries ahead of its time, she advocated that not everything had been done to disprove its authenticity. Their theories met at a single point along vectors heading in opposite directions, and never the twain should meet; especially, not here and now.
The only thing they had in common was that his wife couldn’t stand either of them. She was an auburn haired, slightly plump woman with a light spray of freckles across her upper cheeks and nose. Her eyes were sea foam green beneath full lashes, which she hid behind fashionably stylish, frameless glasses. She tried hard to suppress a smile of recognition, if only to hide her intentions in following him up to the stand. He was suddenly self-conscious. At six feet tall, with a thick shock of jet-black hair only slightly graying at the temples, he felt suddenly shrunken; as if she would engage him in the merits of his talk, right then and there. He smiled nervously, as if in anxious self-defense. Common courtesy, in recognition of her status or standing, had little to do with the lopsided grin he gave her.
“Hello, Nathan. Nice presentation,” is all she said, in passing. He muttered a response, surprised by her presence as much as the apparent change in her demeanor toward him. She would never fully be his public ally, but he never took her as a personal enemy, either. In private correspondence, Amanda was marginally in his camp, among those whose opinions ran parallel to hers. Nearly all others were in complete opposition of his theories, with or without the Da Vinci angle. That aspect alone did not keep others from targeting him, in scathing dissension of his singular and often solitary views on the subject.
If anything, he could only count on her to keep her remarks professional, with good reason. To reveal herself as his digital pen pal, and colleague in the loneliness of the Sindonian quest, was to set herself up for the almost certain ridicule reserved for Archer himself. No, he decided, she would lend more credence to them both, by complementing the merits of the points he intentionally left out. He wasn’t remiss in knowing that she would come behind him to fill in the gaps, but it was taken that way by this remarkable woman.
“Good luck,” was all he could manage, as he found himself unconsciously watching her hips sway to and fro, as he slipped passed her and she climbed the last of the steps to the dais. He forced his mind out of the mesmerizing display immediately, chastising himself even as he rounded the stage and left through the single stage exit. He was not followed through the long hall, leading back to the gardens in the central courtyard. But, there was a man who met him there, nonetheless. All Archer wanted to do was to peruse the papers he’d been served, advising him of his rights in a contested divorce from Adrian. He sat down on a Mediterranean-style bench, resigning himself to not liking what he would find.
No sooner had he slid out the sheets bound to the heavier stock paper matching their concealing envelope, than a shadow fell across the upper half of the first page. With a heavy sigh, Nathan rolled the tri-fold document over itself, and slipped it back in its pouch. It was not sealed, but it might as well have been booby-trapped, as far as he was concerned. Either way, he really wasn’t looking forward to opening it up again. She’d been serious about the divorce, following nearly four months of separation and estrangement. He hadn’t been kicked out of the house, just asked to go on extended sabbatical from their personal life together, over the semester.
He thought she just needed time to come to her senses, and it seemed that now she felt she has done just that. Neither of their careers left much room for children, so they had that much to be thankful for, he supposed. Still, what originally brought them together as common interests now drove them apart, in the nebulous form of irreconcilable differences. He chuckled to himself mirthlessly, wondering how their ‘settlement’ could be anything but a rehash of the presentation he’d just made. It was at that moment his attention returned to the stranger standing before him, beneath the late spring sun.
Nate Archer squinted up into the eclipsed silhouette of the man patiently enduring the silence proffered him by the devastated college professor. Collecting himself and remembering his manners, the forensic historian stood and acknowledged his visitor. There were no others who trailed after him, once he left the podium. For that matter, he couldn’t recall any protest from the audience that he took no questions, or heard much if any applause at the abrupt end of his lecture.
He was too caught up in getting off the stage, for any number of reasons.
“Professor Archer? My name is Boanerges, John Boanerges.” He was a short, swarthy man, with a full, close-trimmed beard, and dark eyes that shone with a zealot’s intensity. In contrast, he smiled easily. His thin lips parted to the gums, revealing teeth almost bright against his deeply tanned skin. He looked Middle Eastern, but more Israeli than hailing from any of its larger neighbors. His dress and mannerisms betrayed no Islamic heritage. If anything, there was an eclectic influence about his demeanor. He appeared to have seen much of the world in his young life. Archer took the man to be about in his mid-thirties. Nathan himself would soon turn 43, a respectable age for a college professor. Until this controversial discovery literally dropped in his lap, his tenure and eventual department chair election were nearly assured.
Now his career, like his personal life, was likewise uncertain; even doubtful.
Nate introduced himself. “Yes. Of course, you are,” the smaller man replied. He made no effort to shake Archer’s hand, apparently out of deference to his idiosyncrasy. But, how could he have known of the personality trait in advance, when they had never met? Archer appreciated the gesture, or the lack thereof, and addressed his unsolicited company. “I believe I noticed you, a time or two, leaning there against the wall nearest the stage. I’m sure you are here because of some question or issue I raised in my discussion, back there. I’m afraid I’ve said about all I could in my behalf, during the presentation.”
Archer sighed in resignation, “I think I’ve made all the revelations I can, for one day. If you’re here to refute anything I said, then I’m afraid it will have to wait for another time. I have a lot going on in my life at the moment, and my attendance here today was to meet a previous obligation. Please don’t take any offense, but I really rather hoped to avoid anyone here regarding my theories on The Shroud of Turin. It’s just that I have nothing more to say on the matter, and I’d like to be left alone, if you don’t mind…”