The Fourth Bible Read online

  A knock at the bedroom door ended their conversation. “Can I come in?”

  He rolled his eyes at his wife at the sound of their sixteen-year-old daughter. “Speaking of people obsessed with social media,” he muttered. “Come in!”

  Petra opened the door, staring at the messed bed. “Eww, were you two doing it?”

  “Like animals!”

  “Yves!” His wife admonished him with the stink-eye, then turned to their daughter. “Not that it’s any of your business, but your father took a nap after work. He had a busy day.”

  “And a long one, what with the gala next week.”

  Petra frowned. “About that, can I go to Zoe’s birthday party instead?”

  His wife saved him from being the bad guy as he bristled with anger and hurt. “You know very well that you can’t. The gala at the Guggenheim is important to your father.”

  “I don’t want to go. It’ll be boring.”

  “It’s only boring if you make it boring. There will be plenty of famous people there for you to post to your Facebook or whatever it is you’re using, and great food.”

  “But I don’t want to go! I’m sixteen! I don’t have to go! I have rights!” Her hands were on her hips now, her face red with wasted indignation.

  “As long as you live under this roof, you don’t. You’re going whether you want to or not.”

  Tears poured down Petra’s cheeks. “But I want to go to Zoe’s birthday party! Everyone is going to be there!”

  His wife shook her head. “You barely know her!”

  “I hate you!”

  He sensed his wife was about to lose it, and had been the bad cop long enough. He stepped in front of his daughter, putting his hands on her shoulders, keeping his voice calm, a gentle smile on his face. “Sweetheart, this is an important night for me, okay? I need my family with me to help me get through it.” Her expression softened slightly and her shoulders slumped in his hands. “Listen, do this for me, and I’ll pay for you and your friends to go to that restaurant you’re always talking about.”

  Her face brightened. “L’Espadon?”

  “If that’s the one you can’t stop talking about, then yes.”

  His wife cleared her throat. “Umm, dear, that’s awfully expensive.”

  He paused, glancing at her. “Is it?”

  She nodded. “It’s two Michelin stars.”

  His eyebrows popped. “What? I thought you kids went there all the time!”

  “We do, but Marie’s father pays. He’s rich.”

  He pursed his lips. “Umm, well, I’m not. How about McDonald’s?”

  “Dad!”

  He laughed. “Fine, fine. Burger King.”

  11 |

  Animal Protection Brigade Headquarters

  Antwerp, Belgium

  P eeters sucked in a slow breath, steeling for the conversation ahead. He hated rich people. Detested them. But sometimes they served their purpose.

  Like today.

  He had reached out to their benefactor in the hopes he might give them one last chance, and the man had agreed to talk.

  Talk.

  It would be the first time they had ever done so, all previous communications via the Internet, and it had him nervous.

  The phone rang and he answered it before his parents could. “Hello?”

  “You wanted to discuss Bilbao?”

  “Yes, sir. I believe a statement must be made.”

  “I agree, but are you the people to make it? You’re not very effective. You’re too small. After all this time, nobody has heard of you.”

  “But that’s what makes us perfect. The bigger organizations are too concerned about their reputations, and losing their funding. We don’t care. We’ll do whatever it takes, because our motivations are pure. We care about the animals, not the money.”

  “You have a point. What do you need from me? Money?”

  “No, money isn’t the key this time, though we’ll need some. I need something that only you can get because of who you are.”

  There was a pause. “You have no idea who I am.”

  “I know that. What I mean is that you’re one of them. The one-percenters. The ones with the real money and connections.”

  “Go on.”

  “I need an invitation.”

  “An invitation? What are you talking about?”

  “I need an invitation to the gala at the Guggenheim. It’s the only way we’ll be able to get in.”

  “You can have mine.”

  Peeters’ eyebrows rose. “You received one?”

  “Of course I did. They send invitations to the Forbes list for all these things.” There was a burst of static. “You’re not planning anything crazy, are you? I don’t want my name associated with anything violent.”

  “You don’t need to worry, and besides, perhaps you never received your invitation.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, who knows you received it?”

  “Only myself and my butler.”

  Butler! How ridiculous!

  “Good. Then just make sure he understands you never received it, then get it to me, and no one will be the wiser.”

  A heavy sigh caused another burst of static. “You realize that if I do this, it changes the dynamic of our relationship.”

  Peeters’ eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “My name is on that invitation. Once you have it, you’ll know who I am.”

  Peeters scratched his chin, tilting his head. “I hadn’t thought of that. Does it really matter? There’s no way to connect you and me, is there? I mean, the way you’ve sent us money, there’s never been any type of trail, paper or electronic. All the world would ever know is that I somehow stole your invitation. If it traced back to you, you can just deny ever receiving it. Who are they going to believe? Me, a so-called animal rights activist, or you, a mega-rich gazillionaire?”

  His benefactor said nothing for a few moments, then finally sighed. “Nothing too crazy?”

  “Just a publicity stunt. But I can guarantee you that after we pull this off, not a person on the planet won’t know the name Animal Protection Brigade.”

  12 |

  Frankish Burgundy

  716 AD

  A rledge’s body ached, though he was tolerating it better now that he was weeks into his long journey. Having spent months cramped up in the room, bent over a table while he worked, he had become weak. Walking to the coast, taking a boat to Calais, then the weeks on end of walking since had cured him of that affliction, and he was now as trim and fit as he had ever been.

  And as hungry.

  He devoured his meal provided by the brothers of the abbey in which he now found himself. He had forgotten the name, this place a mere X on the map left by Abbot Ceolfrid. Yet he had been welcomed with open arms by the abbot and the brothers that made this place their home.

  “I still say they’re fools.”

  “You mean the ones from last night?”

  “Of course, who else could I possibly mean?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve seen all manner of fool pass by here. You are aware that the average person is an idiot.”

  “Present company included.”

  “That’s not very nice.”

  The monk that had initiated this new line of conversation, Creatus, eyed his friend. “Let me get this straight. If I insult you, you take offense, yet you only moments ago insulted the entire Godfearing world.”

  His friend grinned. “That’s right.”

  Creatus rolled his eyes. “Let’s ask our guest.” He leaned forward to get a better look at Arledge. “What do you think?”

  Arledge swallowed. “About what?”

  “Yesterday, six monks arrived, one of whom was an abbot, no less, and showed off a fancy Bible they had made. They said they were taking it to Rome to give to the Pope.”

  He suppressed his relief at hearing that, yet again, his friends had survived another day of the journey. “That sound
s nice.”

  “Nice? Nice, he says!” cried Creatus, looking at the others. “It’s foolish! Do you have any idea how valuable a Bible like that is?”

  He shrugged. “I would think very. I imagine a lot of work went into it.”

  “Forget the months of work the poor fools put in to create it. He said it was a thousand pages of vellum, and that there were two others! A thousand pages! How many cattle had to die to make three thousand pages of vellum! I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  He shrugged again, his ire piqued slightly at the insulting words. “I’m sure the cattle didn’t go to waste. The skin was used for the Lord’s work, and the food, I have no doubt, went to feed the poor.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Arledge waved a hand at the tables filled with brothers. “If you had slaughtered hundreds or even thousands of cattle, what would you have done with the meat?”

  “Well, we would have given it to the poor, of course.”

  “Then why would you think they did anything different?”

  “Because they’re fools!”

  Arledge motioned toward the man’s friend. “Yet he just said we’re all fools, so if we’re to assume he’s right, then I think we can safely assume even those fools would not have let anything go to waste if you fools wouldn’t.”

  Creatus stared at him for a moment then roared with laughter, stabbing a finger at him. “I like you, brother!”

  The rest of the table joined in, several of the closest slapping him on the back and shaking him by the shoulder, some extra food pushed onto his plate, not a morsel of which he let go to waste. After the meal, prayers were said, chores were attended to, then it was to bed, a not-uncomfortable one provided him among the communal room in which the monks slept.

  Yet sleep eluded him.

  His mind was preoccupied with what had been said earlier by the brothers. And it wasn’t something new, though it was the first time he had heard it called foolish in such blunt terms.

  And it was foolish.

  Why was Abbot Ceolfrid showing everyone the Bible? At each abbey or church he had been to along the way, he had heard tell of the monks from Northumbria and their incredible Bible and their ultimate destination. Why was Ceolfrid telling every soul they encountered about their precious possession? Why wasn’t Ceolfrid, a man he had considered of extreme intelligence and prudence, not keeping it a secret? Wouldn’t there be far less risk?

  His stomach flipped with a horrifying thought.

  Did Ceolfrid want attention drawn to them so that they would become the targets of anyone who might desire the Bible, thereby leaving him free to safely reach Rome?

  The very thought was chilling. Inhumane. How could Ceolfrid be willing to sacrifice himself, and the innocent brothers that accompanied him, all who had served the Lord so faithfully, had served Ceolfrid so faithfully, for so many years? He had questioned the fanfare when they had left, yet Ceolfrid had explained it to him in terms that made perfect sense at the time.

  “Everyone already knows, my brother. One cannot raise and slaughter over fifteen-hundred cattle without the entire countryside knowing the purpose. We made no secret of our undertaking all those years ago. There would be no keeping this secret, no matter how hard we tried.”

  It had made sense.

  But this didn’t. Nobody in these parts knew what had happened.

  Though perhaps on the path behind them, word would have spread already, despite any secrecy that hadn’t been undertaken. And if the wrong person found out, the wrong people, anything was possible. Bibles were rare. Bibles such as the one he now had hidden under his robes were rarer still. The amount of work, the amount of resources expended, made them priceless.

  Yet that was just a word.

  Everything had a price.

  Someone, somewhere, would put a number on it, and gold or currency of some sort would be exchanged should it fall into the wrong hands.

  But these were his friends. These were his brothers, so foolishly putting their lives at risk so that his might not be.

  He couldn’t let this continue.

  Yet what could he do?

  He couldn’t warn them without revealing himself. Only Ceolfrid knew he was following them, and who was he to go against the desires of his abbot?

  Lord, please send me guidance so that I might help my friends.

  13 |

  Acton/Palmer Residence

  St. Paul, Maryland

  Present Day

  “I ’m excited to see it.”

  Archaeology Professor Laura Palmer gave her husband a look. “You think? You’ve been giddy for a week. Frankly, I’ll be happy when this trip is over and I can have my husband back.”

  James Acton stuck out his lower lip at her, feigning a pout. “You’re so mean.”

  She threw a pillow at her man-child. “Don’t make me spank you.”

  He grinned. “Ooh, kinky.”

  She laughed, wagging a finger at him. “Don’t you get randy on me. I don’t want to be late for our flight. Just because it’s a private jet doesn’t mean there aren’t consequences to being late.”

  James frowned at her. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

  They both resumed packing, and as she thought of what they would see tomorrow, she became more excited, though mostly for him. “If it’s anything like the Codex Amiatinus, you’re going to be gobsmacked. I saw it when it was in the UK a few years back. Thanks to my position at the British Museum, I was able to get a good look at it. It’s an incredible, awe-inspiring creation. When you think of what went into it, and the fact something from so long ago could be in such good condition thirteen-hundred years later…” She sighed. “You’re right to be excited.”

  He gave a schoolboy bounce then winked at her. “I just can’t believe there’s a fourth copy that no one knew about.”

  “I guess it explains that document they found referencing two-thousand cattle being raised. I had always dismissed it as the poor recollection of an aging man, or that the document was fake. Most thought it was a fake and unfortunately dismissed the entire set of documents as questionable in provenance.”

  “Well, I guess there’ll be a little egg on some faces. Hopefully, those documents will now be accorded the attention they deserve.”

  “I’m sure they will.”

  “Yves said it was in near perfect condition.”

  “That’s the beauty of vellum. It can last for millennia.” She zipped up her carry-on. “It was generous of your friend to give us a private viewing.”

  James nodded. “It was.” He frowned, sitting on the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumping. “I’m a little worried about leaving, though. Mom’s not feeling well. She’s in a lot of pain.”

  She rounded the bed, concern on her face as she knew how worried he was. “She’ll be fine. Didn’t your dad say they thought it was just side effects from her new medicine?”

  A tear rolled down his cheek as he gasped. “Yeah, but…it’s heartbreaking to hear it.” He squeezed his eyes shut as another tear escaped. “I just wish there was something I could do.”

  She sat beside him and wrapped an arm around him. “There’s nothing you can do. You just have to trust that the doctors will do the right thing.”

  He sniffed, drawing a deep breath. “I know, but…it’s my mother.”

  She checked her watch. “If we’re going to catch our flight, we have to leave now, but if you want to cancel this, I’ll understand.”

  He squared his shoulders, shaking his head. “No. She wouldn’t want me to put my life on hold because of her. You’re right. This is just side effects from the meds. Once she’s off them, she’ll be fine.” He stood. “Let’s go. It’ll help take my mind off things.”

  She smiled and hugged him, wiping the tears from his face with her thumbs.

  And prayed for her husband’s sake that the doctors were right.

  14 |

  Frankish Burgundy

  716 AD

  A r
ledge stared with envy at the saddlebags draped across the back of his donkey, each containing half of the precious cargo in his charge. He had carefully unstitched the binding back home, splitting it into two equal halves, thus spreading the load the poor beast would carry.

  He only wished it could carry him as well.

  It might, at least for short distances, yet he couldn’t risk the poor creature’s health. If it should falter, he would be forced to lug all the supplies it now carried, and his mission would be doomed.

  If only I didn’t have to keep pace.

  His instructions from Ceolfrid had been clear. He must keep up. Yet it was an impossible task. Surely Ceolfrid had been aware of this. Though despite his doubts, each day he arrived at his destination, exactly one day behind his friends, each day met with tales of the monks and their precious Bible destined for Rome.

  It had taken him quite a while to realize it was Ceolfrid spending time showing off the Bible that had allowed him to keep pace. Barely. Despite his abbot’s deliberate delays, at the end of each day, he would arrive aching from head to toe, his feet, toughened after weeks of travel, still taking a beating. His brothers along the way had been generous, providing him with fresh clothes and new footwear when needed, and he was tempted to ask if a sturdier beast might be possible at his next stop. Though the animal had served him well, and still did, he could tell the journey was taking its toll on her.

  She was slowing, albeit slightly, but every moment lost made his journey that much more difficult, especially considering his friends had horses and a cart.

  He would have to switch the ass out for another if possible.

  Too bad I can’t switch out my own.

  He chuckled, rubbing his sore buttocks, when the pounding of hooves behind him sent his heart racing. He turned to see six men on horseback galloping down the road toward him, their dress suggesting either men of means, or the servants of those with. They slowed and he stopped, guiding his donkey to the side of the narrow road to make way.

  “Is he whom we seek?” asked one of the men.