I felt no peace, Grandfather, until we discovered in a hollow well hidden from the groves the untouched bodies of Varus and his staff. The reports brought out of Germania by those few who escaped were true. In the end the sons of Rome came together as brothers, united by their determination to die as they had lived, with courage and honor. The bones of their hands still clasp the hilt of each sword; their bodies still cradle the blade upon which each ended his life. Glad I am that they did not fall to the Cherusci, but had the heart and spine to do what every man dreads.
In shame I wept as I sent my men to collect the bones of our valiant fellows. We give them a funeral pyre this night, and I have sworn to return after the campaign to recover and send all of our dead to their rest. For now my priests consecrate the ground and entreat the gods to richly reward our noble dead. It pains me that I cannot remain here long enough to attend properly to all of them.
My only other regret is that I have found no proof of Septus Janus Genarius’s claim that my friend and blade brother Tanicus accompanied Varus or died with him here. I know it possible that he was taken prisoner with the thousand sold into slavery, but my heart insists that, like Varus, he would have fallen on his blade before accepting the yoke. I never believed the tale that he remained in Germania in secret so that he might spy upon the barbarians, not for thirteen years with no word to us or his family. I will have council when I return from the frontier, and perhaps then the senator may be persuaded to speak more on the matter. He has always claimed that he himself escaped the barbarians when they killed Varus and his commanders. Now that we have proof that they took the only honorable course, the senator must explain why he did not do the same.
If we are to erase the memory of what was done here, we must push on beyond the boundaries of the great river. These rebels must be shown what Rome is. I implore you in the names of Mars and Varus to speak to the senate and make this clear to them, especially Genarius, who continues to press you to recall our legions marching north so that Rome might not anger the tribes.
We cannot allow this massacre to go unanswered, Grandfather. If we do, then Rome will fall.
(Seal of) Germanicus
Dr. Calabrese strongly believes that the scroll may never have been delivered to the emperor, as it was found with its original seals intact. The professor is currently attempting to locate the construction site on available maps of the ancient city in order to determine ownership and possibly identify who buried it.
For more on this two-thousand-year-old mystery, pick up the latest issue of Roman Relics magazine, available at fine bookstores and newsstands near you.
STORY UPDATE:
Controversial Imperial Scroll
Proven to Be Forgery
by Alphonso York
The so-called “Germanicus Scroll,” an intact first-century imperial scroll believed to be recovered from a parking lot construction site in Rome, has been proven to be a forgery by American experts who were given permission to examine it. After a second examination, a team of Italian experts has agreed.
“The forgery was very well-done, but upon closer inspection we found we were able to confirm the Americans’ findings,” Geno Zanella, the leader of the Italian team, told reporters. “This scroll was made in the last few weeks, not two thousand years ago.”
The American experts, whose trip to Rome was underwritten by a grant from biotech corporation GenHance, Inc., made no comment about their scandalous revelations, and released their findings and test results before they left Italy to return to the States.
RomanRelics.com attempted to reach Professor Angelo Calabrese at the University of Rome for his comments, only to be told by university officials that the professor has been missing since the forgery was exposed. The president of the university about Calabrese’s abrupt disappearance: “Angelo was the most honest of men. If he said the scroll was genuine, it was. You can be sure he will explain everything as soon as he returns.”
Another colleague, who wished to remain anonymous, had this to say about the scandal: “I think those Americans tampered with the find. They might even have switched the scroll with a counterfeit in order to steal it from us.” When asked why Professor Calabrese vanished on the day the forgery was made public, the anonymous colleague said, “He was the only one who had worked with the scroll. I think they had him killed to cover up the theft.”
At the time of this update, police in Rome were still investigating the matter.
Chapter 6
The violent storm confused Jessa as much as what had happened in the restaurant. There hadn’t been a cloud in the sky when she’d left the office—and not the slightest hint that Bradford Lawson had intended to drug her and abduct her. Now this strange man had come after her and uttered some nonsense about her dying.
“What?” Jessa stared into beautiful, angry eyes the color of old jade. “What did you say?”
“GenHance,” the man told her. Tall and powerfully built, he stood like a prizefighter ready to throw a punch, his chin down, his arms bent, his hands fists. “They brought you here to take you. To kill you.”
“You’re crazy.” Jessa backed away from him. “Get away from me.” She turned toward the valet. “Call the police—” The man bent over, shoving his shoulder into her belly almost as hard as she’d hit the waiter with her case. Before she could recover or fight him off he upended her over his shoulder and ran with her twisting, kicking body to the car. Screaming for help, she struggled frantically, but he simply pulled her off him as if she were no more than a rag doll and flung her inside.
She landed on her side in the passenger’s seat. Before she could push herself upright he clamped his right arm across her heaving form, slammed shut the driver’s door, and drove out into traffic.
“Let me out of here!” She tried to free herself, clawing and pushing at his arm before grabbing at the door handle, which wouldn’t move. “What are you doing?”
“I’m taking you to safety,” he said, weaving in and out of the traffic lanes with terrifying speed. “I’m saving your life.”
The back of the car skidded on the wet road, fishtailing for a second before the man quickly righted it.
“You can’t drive like this.” She pushed at his arm. “The rain is flooding the roads. We’ll crash.”
He checked the rearview mirror. “Better to crash, then.”
She forced herself to calm down, catching her breath as she looked at the interior of the car. The lock on the door had also been removed, and the windows of the car had been tinted almost black.
“You cannot get out,” he told her, shifting his arm and reaching for something on her other side. “There is nothing you can use as a weapon. I will not harm you.” As the traffic on the road ahead of them thinned, he leaned over her and pulled a funny-looking seat belt over her, clipping it into place.
She glanced down and saw the dark stains on his dripping sleeves. She almost asked him if he’d been shot before she recalled the flash of steel she’d seen in his hand. “Did you stab Lawson?”
He nodded. “Twice.”
The matter-of-fact tone he used made her stomach roll. “Why?”
“He pointed his weapon at my face.” He glanced at her. “He would have shot me. He would have done the same to anyone else who came between him and you. Then he would have shot you.”
“You’re wrong. Bradford Lawson is a businessman.” She pushed the wet tangle of her hair back from her eyes. “He works for one of the largest biotech firms in the country.”
“He does.”
He wasn’t asking her; he was agreeing. Maybe she could talk him out of whatever he had planned. “Then you must know he has no reason to shoot me.”
“I know he has many reasons. He was sent to take you,” he told her. “They need you, but not alive. The drugs were the usual measure, but shooting you would have stopped you and made you easier to transport.”
He sounded delusional, but she realized something else—he wasn’t American. She couldn’t place his accent, but his careful English and the words he used made it clear that he wasn’t speaking his native language. He might come from a country where violent confrontations were normal events.
“You’re mistaken.” she said, as gently as she could. “A lot of Americans carry guns for protection. He probably took it out as soon as he saw you with your knife.”
“Knives,” he corrected. “I had two.”
She swallowed. “Then you can understand how that might have frightened him.”
“He took out the gun after you put your food in his face.” He paused as he made a quick, tight right turn. “I drew my blades only when I saw the weapon in his hand.”
She was reasoning with a seriously disturbed man, and that required another deep breath. “With everything happening all at once, maybe it seemed that way to you, but I’m sure it was the other way around.”
“You know it was not,” he countered. “You knew he meant to take you before I came to you.”
“I don’t know—”
“When I first saw you, you were making a pretense of being drugged,” he reminded her. “You knew what he had planned before I reached you. You used my interruption as an opportunity to escape him.”
“I don’t know anything about his plans.” Her fingers hurt, and she looked down to see she had them laced so tightly together that all the joints had turned white. She forced herself to relax her hands. “I knew only that the waiter drugged the wine.”
His mouth hitched. “How did you know this? Did he whisper it to you? Did he pass you a note?”
He couldn’t know, but he sounded as if he did. “I tasted it when I took a sip,” she lied.
“That was a remarkable feat,” he said, “as the drugs Lawson uses have no taste.”
He was toying with her. “Look, mister—”
“My name is Gaven Matthias.”
Why was he telling her his name? “Gaven, I’m Jessa.” Maybe he was some sort of deranged Good Samaritan who would respond better to some assurances—not that she planned to keep them. “I appreciate what you did back there. It was very heroic of you to risk your life for me. But you have to pull over and let me out now. I won’t report you to the police, I promise.” At least that much was true.