The Fourth Bible Page 3

  If only I had a horse!

  Though a monk on a horse would attract attention.

  A donkey?

  Not so much.

  He chewed his cheek as he stared at the problem. He opened the Bible near the center, spreading it out into its true enormity, though halving the height.

  I wonder…

  He leaned over the Bible, examining the binding, something he hadn’t seen before, the pages delivered and replicated one at a time. He smiled as he realized how it had been done.

  Then his ears pounded at the very notion of what he was about to do.

  What choice do you have?

  He flipped to the front and began, all the while muttering for the Lord’s forgiveness at what he feared might be blasphemy.

  7 |

  Acton/Palmer Residence

  St. Paul, Maryland

  Present Day

  “I ’d give my left nut to see that thing.”

  Archaeology Professor James Acton’s wife, Laura Palmer, eyed him. “I’m not sure that’s a look you could pull off.”

  He laughed. “I think I could pull off any look, though passing out testicles for invitations to fancy galas might not be making the best use of my anatomy.”

  She grabbed a boob in each hand, lifting them up. “Maybe I could donate one of the girls?”

  He shook his head vehemently. “Never! I lay claim to those puppies!”

  She let go and he enjoyed the bounce. She wagged a finger. “Don’t you go getting all randy on me now. We have to be at Greg and Sandra’s in an hour.”

  “An hour, hell, I could get ’er done four times and still be able to shower.”

  “I’m not sure that’s something to brag about, nor do I think you are physically capable of that anymore, old man.”

  He threw a pillow at her and she caught it, whipping it back at him. “Who you callin’ old?”

  She pushed him back and straddled him, running her fingers through his hair then stopping. “There’s a gray, there’s a gray, there’s a—”

  He rolled her off him. “Hey, that’s not fair. You realize how stressful it is keeping all those young hunks from hitting on my gorgeous wife? It’s a full-time job.”

  “Oh, sure, I don’t know how I get anything done with all the men that are after me.” She climbed off the bed and continued dressing.

  “So, this isn’t happening?”

  “No.”

  “After we get home?”

  “Perhaps.”

  He jumped off the bed. “Good enough for me.” He stood in the mirror, staring at his junk. “You don’t think I could pull it off, huh?”

  She smacked his bare ass. “Get in the shower and make it cold. Somebody is at half-mast with a mind of his own.”

  He gave a toothy grin. “Umm, any body parts of yours that have minds of their own?”

  She put her bra on, killing half the show, then pointed to the bathroom. “Go. Now.”

  “You’re no fun. Even your fun parts.”

  He climbed in the shower and turned on the water, still hot from Laura’s turn minutes ago. He reduced the temperature a little too much and shivered. A few minutes later, he was done and toweling off, Laura now fully dressed, perched in a chair in the corner, tablet in hand.

  “It would be a treat for you to see it.”

  Hope returned, something twinged, and a smile spread. “It would be!”

  “Not that, you pervert. I mean the Bible.”

  Acton sighed, no nookie in his immediate future. He grabbed some underwear instead. “It would be.”

  “Then why not make it happen?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, didn’t you say you knew Professor Marchand? Why not call him?”

  Acton shook his head as he slipped his socks on. “He’s probably getting hundreds of calls. Besides, I haven’t seen him in years, and we only exchange maybe half a dozen emails a year.”

  She shrugged. “That’s probably more than most of those contacting him for free tickets.” She wagged her tablet at him. “Why don’t you send him an email congratulating him? Don’t ask to see it, just congratulate him. If he wants you there, he’ll suggest it. He knows we can afford the tickets, but he also knows they’re sold out.”

  Acton tugged his shirt down then ran his fingers through his hair as he stared in the mirror, not spotting any of the grays his wife had teased him about earlier. She was right. They could afford the tickets, and Marchand was aware of her—and now their—wealth, a wealth he wasn’t certain he’d ever get used to. If her suggestion worked, and they were invited, he would offer to pay for the tickets, or at least make a generous donation to a charity of the man’s choice.

  Though it still didn’t sit well with him.

  Yet he desperately wanted to see what was a most incredible find. A near-perfectly preserved Bible, a previously unknown copy made by the monks at Wearmouth-Jarrow Abbey over 1300 years ago, found under a blacksmith’s forge in France, marred only by the fact it was in two halves, the stitching separated for some unknown reason, a narrow hole through the center of one half, and what had been determined to be blood saturating several of the pages.

  It was a find that rivaled one of the original three created by those same monks, the Codex Amiatinus. One had been destroyed over the years, one was in tatters, and the third, the Codex Amiatinus, was mostly intact.

  He had to see this fourth Bible.

  “I suppose there’s no harm in congratulating him, even if he sees right through me.”

  Laura tossed the tablet onto the bed and he grabbed it, quickly firing off an email to a man he considered a casual friend at best.

  His stomach churned with guilt as he handed the tablet back.

  “Maybe I can call Mary and see if she can get some tickets for us. She’s not just a travel agent. She has incredible connections. It might be a nice getaway. We could invite Hugh to join us.” The tablet beeped and she looked at it. “Well, it seems like you’re better friends than you thought.”

  “Huh?” She handed him the tablet and he opened the email from Marchand. He grinned. “He thanks me for the email, and would love it if the two of us would be his personal guests for a private viewing at the gala!”

  Laura beamed. “That sounds fantastic!” She paused. “Oh, what about Hugh?”

  He tilted his head. “Do you really want me to push our luck?”

  “I supposed not. But he’ll be so disappointed.”

  He eyed her. “He doesn’t even know about it. Besides, you know how he feels about these types of things.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  He could hear the disappointment in her voice. “How about we drop by to visit him on the way back?”

  “Let’s! It’s been too long.”

  “You’re right. What has it been? Two weeks?”

  She wagged a finger at him. “Don’t get smart with me, mister. You know I love that man.”

  “If I didn’t know it was like a father, then I’d be jealous.” He fired back a reply to Marchand, accepting the invitation, then handed the tablet back to Laura.

  “When is it again?”

  “Next Saturday.” He hopped up and down on his toes, unable to contain his excitement. “I can’t wait!”

  She gave him a withering look. “Don’t let any of your friends see you doing that. Especially those Delta boys. They’ll insist you return your Man Card.”

  He stopped, suddenly self-conscious. “Can’t a guy just be excited about something without being judged? You do know what year it is, right?”

  She shrugged. “Yes, it’s the year when everybody gets judged for everything they do, even if they did it forty years ago.”

  8 |

  Animal Protection Brigade Headquarters

  Antwerp, Belgium

  “W e have to do something! It’s time to take action!” Hugo Peeters slammed his clenched fist on the arm of his threadbare chair. “We can no longer stand by while the rich slaughte
r the defenseless creatures of Mother Earth for their own entertainment. What is this? The Dark Ages? What I’ve been reading on the Internet has me so angry, I can taste the blood that must be spilled to quench it.”

  Heads bobbed as the others in the room, the six he trusted the most, listened to his proposal. Only one, the key to the plan, already knew what he had in mind, for he was the only one who could make it possible.

  He had the military experience necessary to pull it off.

  And the contacts.

  He drew a steadying breath, lowering his voice slightly as his father would no doubt start screaming for him to keep the noise down. “The only cause these people care about is climate change. Why? Because big business recognized they could make money off it. That’s the only reason these people care about it. But what about the animals? Nobody cares anymore unless they can link it to climate change. I don’t give a shit about climate change, and neither should you. Our goal isn’t to save the planet so humans can continue to rape it. Our goal is to save the animals so that when man is a distant memory, these innocent, noble creatures, from the whales and kelp in the oceans, to the elephants and ants on the land, to the eagles and mosquitos in the air, all will be able to live in harmony without worrying about being enslaved or slaughtered by some supposedly more evolved primate.”

  He rose to his feet, slowly circling the room as he spoke, staring each of his trusted Brigade members in the eyes. “We need to send a message, we need to let the world know that slaughtering five-hundred calves just to recreate a book that preaches animal sacrifice, shouldn’t be allowed, and won’t go unpunished. If we act now, we can stop this atrocity before it begins, and send a message to the world that no more will we sit idly by and allow the carnage to continue, no more will we let the rich indulge while the creatures who were here long before us suffer, no more will mankind be the only species that matters on this planet. Agreed?”

  Everyone leaped to their feet, cheering him, his father’s pounding upstairs going unheard through the ruckus. He held up his hands, calming everyone, then returned to his seat. “There’s only one way to send a message that can be heard by the rich and powerful of this world. Our protests to date have fallen on deaf ears. Yes, we have thousands of supporters on social media, but they are the poor, trodden souls we see every day on the streets we walk. They have no say, they have no power, they have no sway. Even we have no power. What has changed in all the years we’ve been together? Nothing! We’ve sworn off the flesh of animals, the products made through their suffering, and vowed to live a simple, thoughtful life, while trying to spread the word through social media and protest. And it’s gotten us nowhere. But now, thanks to Karl, we have a chance to change everything.”

  Smiles and fist bumps were exchanged with their newest member, a former German Army explosives specialist who had served in Afghanistan, and a recent convert to the cause after viewing one of their videos online about the inhumane conditions chickens were forced to exist in—for it wasn’t living—so humans could enjoy nuggets and buffalo wings. It had disgusted Karl as it had him when he first saw it.

  And he had joined the few determined to fight back.

  “Thanks to Karl, we’ve crafted a plan that will change everything, but we need every one of you for it to succeed. We need the people who truly love the animals, who truly love the natural world, who truly believe that man is no more important than any other animal on this planet. It’s up to us to take action.” He paused, his audience captive. “Who are the ones killing the animals? Who are the trophy hunters, the ones who go to Africa and slaughter innocent, endangered animals? Who are the ones who have heads stuffed and mounted on their walls, who have rare elephant tusks adorning their homes, who fly in helicopters and shoot defenseless animals with automatic weapons? The rich.

  “Only a rich person could afford to do anything like that. The rich go out and actively slaughter. They wear the furs and the leathers, they eat the foie gras. They’re the ones who are destroying our natural beauty, who think that they are above all other creatures on this planet, including the poor. They’re the ones who should be made to pay. We must teach them a lesson! And then, and only then, will there be change. Kill a few dozen of them, and every rich person on this planet will take notice, because a friend, or a friend of a friend, will have died.”

  He rose again. “It’s up to us to make a statement by punishing the rich for their decadence! Are you with me? Will you sacrifice your own lives to finally save the animals?”

  And his heart filled with joy as every single man and woman in the room leaped to their feet, their solidarity with the cause unwaveringly displayed.

  It’s time to change the world!

  9 |

  Wearmouth-Jarrow Abbey

  Kingdom of Northumbria

  716 AD

  “M y word, I thought you were dead!”

  Arledge paused, staring at his friend Olin, dumbfounded. “Why would you think such a thing? You’ve seen me at mealtime.”

  “Where you’ve said nothing for months, which means you might as well have been dead to us, your brothers.” Olin eyed him up and down. “Well, I see you’ve found your tongue again. Your vow of silence is over?”

  Arledge nodded. “It is.”

  “Difficult?”

  “As one would imagine.”

  “And why did you undertake such a thing?”

  Arledge’s stomach flipped as yet another lie was about to be uttered. “Penance.”

  Olin’s eyebrows shot up. “Penance? For what? It must have been something horrible for it to have lasted so long.”

  He searched for words, words that might save him from lying to his friend. He suppressed a smile. “I’m too ashamed to say.”

  Olin frowned. “Then it must have been something truly terrible.” He patted the donkey at Arledge’s side. “Where are you off to now?”

  “The abbey in Sunderland.” This, at least, wasn’t a lie. It was his first stop marked on the map.

  “What for?”

  He stared at the ground, more to hide his shame, though it did fit his act. “Additional penance.”

  “My word! Did you murder someone? What could you have possibly done to merit such punishment?”

  “I-I cannot say.” He led his donkey toward the gate. “I’m afraid I’ve already said too much. The abbot said I don’t deserve conversation with my brothers after what I’ve done.”

  Olin stared at him in horror, his eyes wide, his mouth agape. “I-I’m truly sorry, Arledge. I will pray for your soul and the Lord’s forgiveness for whatever it is you’ve done.”

  Arledge flashed him a weak smile, not feeling very worthy of any prayers after lying to so close a friend. He passed through the gates, following the very path the abbot and the others had passed a day ago, his heart heavy as he stared at the only home he had known for so long, leaving behind the only friends he had ever had.

  The only family he remembered.

  The story of his disgrace had been concocted by Abbot Ceolfrid before he left, and Arledge had been assured he would be forgiven for any sins he might commit in furthering the belief he had committed some atrocity worthy of banishment from the abbey for a period of time. The damage to his reputation was heartbreaking. Ceolfrid had also assured him that all would be set right when he returned successfully, and his brothers would rejoice in the truth of what he had done.

  Yet if Ceolfrid’s fears were correct, and the abbot didn’t return from his journey to Rome, then there would be no one to set the record straight, leaving his good name tarnished among his brothers forevermore.

  He stared at the lonely window as he turned the corner, his sole bit of freedom from his workplace prison, and closed his eyes, burning it into his mind, for he feared this would be the last time he would see his home, and his brothers, who now thought him a sinner beyond pale.

  Please, Lord, should I fail, at least clear my name of all the ills heaped upon it this day, so that my memory ne
ver bears this false shame that now burdens me.

  10 |

  Marchand Residence

  Paris, France

  Present Day

  “I can’t believe there might be protests at the gala. What is this world coming to when people protest such a stunning discovery?”

  Professor Yves Marchand shrugged at his wife, Sophie. “The world has gone mad. I can’t believe people give any credence to anything they read on social media. The fools are claiming that we’re going to announce a project to attempt to create another copy of the Bible we found, using the same materials and methods the monks did.”

  “What’s the big deal about that?”

  “It would require a thousand pages of vellum.”

  “Vellum?”

  “It’s made from the skin of young animals, in this case, calves.”

  “Baby cows! No!”

  He gave her a look. “Oh, don’t you start. It’s a nonsense story that doesn’t need any credence given to it by you getting upset over animals killed thirteen-hundred years ago.”

  She frowned. “You’re right, but you could see how people would get upset if they believed the story was true.”

  “Agreed, but they seem to be completely willing to believe the nonsense stories that are obviously fake news, but are also completely unwilling to believe our denials. It’s ridiculous. Nobody is going to slaughter five-hundred calves to recreate a Bible. It’s complete bullshit spread by that damned Internet. They should shut that thing down. The world would be a better place.”

  His wife gave him a look, a wry grin emerging. “Well, that might be a little extreme. The world does kind of rely on it.”

  “Then shut down social media.”

  She jabbed a finger at him. “Now that I could get behind, though I don’t know how you’d do it.”

  He sighed. “Neither do I, but there needs to be serious consequences for libel and slander, especially if committed on the Internet. This anonymity we have today is ridiculous. You used to have to say something to someone’s face, then get the knuckles taken to you if needed. And when we were young, nutbars didn’t have a platform to spread their vitriol or idiocy like these anti-vaxxers and their ilk.”