"I'm a cop. I look like a cop and I act like a cop. You're a university girl, a woman with class, whether you're in jeans or Armani. I've been lucky to be with you, but I've always known that someday you'd be out the door, and that day has come. D'Alaqua?"
"Where did that come from? He couldn't have been less interested. No, Pietro, this isn't about someone else. It's just that we took what was between us as far as it could go. We've come to an end. You love your wife, and I understand that. She's a great person, and beautiful to boot. You'll never divorce her; you couldn't bear to live without your kids."
"Sofia, if you'd given me an ultimatum I would have left her."
They sat in silence. Sofia struggled to hold back tears. She'd made up her mind to break it off with him and not let herself be swayed by any emotion that put off the decision she should have made months ago. "I think it's best for us both," she finally said. "Can we be friends?"
"I don't know," he answered after a moment.
"Why not?"
"Because I don't know. I honestly don't know how I'll feel when I see you and can't be with you, or when you come in one day and announce there's another man in your life. It's easy to say we'll be friends, but I don't want to lie to you-I don't know if I'll be able to. And if I can't, I'll leave before I start hating you."
Sofia was moved by Pietro's candor. His eyes were filled with tears. She had never dreamed that he cared so much. Or maybe it was just injured pride. Marco was so right-it was deadly to mix work and private life. But what was done was done. Now they had to get past it.
'No, I'll go," she told him. "I just want to see our work on the shroud through to the end. Then I'll ask for a transfer, or a leave."
"No, that wouldn't be fair. I know that you'll be able to treat me as a friend, just one of the guys. I'm the problem, not you-I know myself. I'll ask for the transfer."
"No, Pietro. You like Art Crimes, it's been a move up for you, and you're not going to lose it because of me. Marco says I should be looking for something new, and the truth is, I feel like taking on other things-teaching at the university, doing archaeology, maybe even opening an art gallery. I feel like one phase of my life is ending and another one is beginning to open up. Marco has seen that, and he's been encouraging me to find something else-and deep down I know he's right. I just want to ask you one favor: Do everything you can to stick it out for a few more months, until we wrap up this investigation. Please, let's make these months as good as they can be."
19
Izaz and Obodas devoured the cheese and figs that Timaeus had set before them. They were weary from the long days of travel, which had been shadowed by the constant fear of capture by the soldiers of Maanu.
But now they were here, in Sidon, at the house of Timaeus. Harran, the leader of the caravan, had promised them he would send a messenger to Senin in Edessa, to report that their journey had ended safely.
Timaeus's gaze was penetrating, despite his advanced years. He had greeted them warmly and insisted that they rest before they recounted the incidents of their journey, knowing they were weary in body and soul. He had been expecting them for months, ever since he had received a letter from Thaddeus telling him of his concern over Abgar's health and explaining the difficult situation the Christians would face when the king died, despite the queen's support for them. The queen herself had sent messages as well.
He had arranged that Izaz and Obodas would stay with him in his home, sharing a small room, the only one he had besides his own. His was a modest residence, in keeping with a follower of the true teachings of the Christ.
As they ate, Timaeus told his guests about Sidon's small community of Christians. The group met every evening at dusk to pray and share the news; there was always some traveler who brought word of Jerusalem, or a family member who sent letters from Rome.
Izaz listened to the old fellow attentively, and when he and Obodas had finished their meal, he asked to speak with Timaeus alone.
Obodas frowned. Senin's instructions had been clear: He was not to let Josar's nephew out of his sight, and he was to defend him with his own life.
Old Timaeus, seeing the cloud of uncertainty in the giant's eyes, spoke to him soothingly. "Be not troubled, Obodas. We have spies always watching, and we will know if Maanu's men should reach Sidon. Rest while I speak with Izaz. We will be just outside, and you will be able to see us from the window of the room you are to sleep in."
Obodas dared not contradict the old man, but when he reached his chamber he sat beside the little window, where he could observe Izaz every moment. He watched as the young man spoke softly with Timaeus. His words were lost on the soft morning breeze, but Obodas could see a multitude of emotions cross the old man's face. Amazement, grief, concern-these and other emotions came as he listened to Izaz's story.
When Izaz finished speaking, Timaeus embraced him warmly and blessed him with the sign of the cross, in memory of Jesus. Then they came back into the house, where Izaz and Obodas would rest until that evening, when they would join the small community of Christians in Sidon, their new home. They knew that they would never be able to return to the land of their forebears.
When the two had drifted off to sleep, Timaeus entered the small temple next to the house. There, he knelt and prayed to Jesus, asking the Lord to help him know what to do with the secret that Izaz had confided to him and for which Josar, Thaddeus, Marcius, and other Christians had by now almost certainly been martyred.
Only he and Izaz now knew where the shroud of Jesus was hidden. Timaeus trembled to think that a secret of such magnitude lay with them alone. At some moment he in turn would confide the secret to another man, because he was old and would soon die. Izaz was young, but what would happen when he, too, became an old man? Maanu, of course, might well die before them, so that Christians could return to Edessa, but what if he did not? They must ensure that the secret of the place where Marcius had hidden the shroud was preserved until it could be reclaimed. Neither he nor Izaz could carry the secret to the tomb.
Hours passed without Timaeus's noticing. There, on his knees praying, Izaz and Obodas found him at sunset. By that point, the old man had made a decision.
Timaeus rose to his feet slowly. His knees were stiff and painful. He smiled at his guests and asked them to accompany him to the house of his grandson, which was just across a small garden from his own home.
"John! John!" the old man called outside a whitewashed house shaded from the sun by a grapevine. A young woman with a child in her arms emerged. "He has not yet returned, Grandfather. He will not be long; he always returns for the hour of prayer."
"This is Alaida, my grandson's wife. And this is her daughter, Myriam."
Alaida invited the strangers inside. "Come in. There is cool water with honey."
"No, my daughter, not now; our brothers and sisters will be arriving to pray to our Lord. I wanted only for you and John to meet these two young men, who will live with me now."