‘I gather, from what you write in your paper,’ said Henry, ‘that the Lithuanians are determined to secede.’
‘So are the other two Baltic republics, and possibly Armenia and Azerbaijan as well.’
‘Will Gorbachev let them?’
‘It’s difficult to see how he can stop them, except by using brute force, which would lose him the support of the West.’
‘Are they viable, these republics, as independent nations?’
Meredith shrugged. ‘With a little help from their friends. Particularly Lithuania.’
‘Why?’
‘Because its industries are advanced by Soviet standards, and its agriculture retains some of its efficiency from the time when the land was privately owned. But, above all, because of the Catholicism of the Lithuanians, which has kept them socially and culturally distinct.’
‘Is the Church still that strong?’
‘As in Poland, it is the principal ideological opposition, and until recently was ruthlessly persecuted.’
‘And now?’
‘Now there’s a thaw. The Archbishop has been released from house arrest and given back his Cathedral.’
‘A change of heart?’
He looked doubtful. ‘More a change of tactics.’
‘Could the Communists still see it as in their interest to discredit the Catholic Church?’
‘Yes, I should have thought so. Why do you ask?’
Henry hesitated, then said: ‘My brother …’
‘The monk?’
‘Yes. He’s stumbled on a story which might interest you.’
‘About Lithuania?’
‘Indirectly. But if I tell you, it would have to be off the record.’
‘Very well.’
Henry leaned forward, and in a quiet voice told Meredith the story of Dagan’s find.
‘And you really think that it could be the skeleton of Christ?’ Meredith asked him when he had finished.
Henry shrugged. ‘I don’t know. If he didn’t rise from the dead, he has to be buried somewhere.’
‘Of course. But this body would never have been identified if it was not for the Vilnius Codex.’
‘So, if the Codex is a fake, then the find must be a hoax.’
‘Even if the Codex is genuine,’ said Meredith, ‘the find could be a hoax because this man Dagan might have put a skeleton into the jar and the jar into the cistern.’
‘It would be difficult, wouldn’t it, to make it convincing?’
‘Not really. It certainly wouldn’t be difficult to find the skeleton of a crucified man, since thousands were executed at that time in that way, and then to add the marks of the thorns and spear. Nor would it be hard to fake the Codex … if, that is, the forgers had access to the laboratories of the KGB.’
‘Would it be possible for a private individual to fake the Codex?’
‘In Russia? Unlikely.’
‘Could the Israelis have smuggled it into the country?’
Meredith hesitated. He was said to have links with the intelligence services and now, certainly, seemed to be considering not just what he knew but how much he could say. ‘They might have smuggled it in,’ he said, ‘but there would have to be half-a-dozen people to connive at a fraud of that kind – people placed, moreover, in the right positions: the monks in the monastery, the officials in the library and, of course, the young woman who discovered it.’
‘Miss Vesoulis.’
‘Yes. She would have to be part of the conspiracy, and I should have thought it would be beyond the capacity of Mossad to position people in that way. In Israel, certainly. In the West, probably. But in the Soviet Union, no.’
‘But would it be possible for the KGB?’
‘Of course. You see, what Mossad and the KGB have in common is that they enrol almost every citizen as a potential auxiliary, so you can never say precisely that anyone either is or is not an agent. Through zeal in Israel, and through fear or opportunism in Russia, anyone can be a kind of stringer – asked to report on a colleague or perform a small part in a much larger intrigue.’
‘So it is not impossible that the Codex is forged?’
‘Not impossible, no.’
‘Improbable?’
Again Meredith hesitated. ‘One would have to come up with a motive, not just for forging the Codex but also for collaborating with the Israelis.’
‘Who are surely the Soviets’ enemies rather than their friends?’
‘In theory, certainly.’
‘What would be the motive?’ asked Henry.
‘Well, if one discounts the theory that it is an elaborate and expensive practical joke, then one must assume an intention to discredit the Christian religion.’
‘Yes,’ Henry agreed, ‘and one can concede that both the Soviets and the Israelis are to some extent antagonistic towards Christianity.’
‘They have that in common.’
‘But it would surely be inconsistent for Gorbachev on the one hand to stop persecuting the Christian churches, and to try to enlist their support for his policy of perestroika, and on the other to play a dirty trick of this kind to discredit them.’
‘I don’t think that necessarily follows. Gorbachev may well feel that while it is a mistake to make unnecessary enemies among believers, Christian beliefs are nonetheless absurd and reactionary superstitions.’
‘So he could be behind a fraud of this kind?’
‘I doubt that he would be behind it, but he might have allowed it to placate those opposed to his policy of religious toleration.’
‘Could it have been done without him knowing about it?’
‘Certainly, and here the fact that the Codex was discovered in Lithuania may be relevant.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Lithuania is the only one of the Soviet republics with a Catholic population. And there, as in Poland, the Church is the only institution which can effectively oppose the regime.’
‘But all that is in the past, surely? The persecution has stopped.’
‘Only direct persecution. Atheism is still the ideology of the state. Gorbachev, for quite practical reasons, may want to enlist the support of the Christian churches for his particular faction in the Party, but he must still counter a Church which implicitly denies his right to rule.’
‘I don’t follow,’ said Henry.
‘It is misleading,’ said Meredith, ‘to see the Communist Party simply as a political party. In the eyes of its members it is more than that – it is, in fact, more like a Church.’
‘In what way?’
‘In the West the legitimacy of a government depends upon democratic choice. In Russia it comes from its historical mission to lead mankind towards the socialist millennium.’
‘But they surely don’t believe that today?’
‘You would be astonished how many still do – not least because it justifies their right to rule.’
‘So your hypothesis would be that some Old Believer in the Lithuanian KGB dreamed up a scheme to discredit the Christian religion?’
‘Yes. Or, if not discredit it, remove its otherworldly expectations, so that Christians, like Communists, can set their sights on a paradise here and now.’
‘But how could they think that a hoax of such a kind could work?’
‘Why shouldn’t it work?’
‘Because in the end they would be shown up.’
‘Perhaps. Perhaps not. But by then the damage would be done. Remember the Zinoviev Letter, or the Protocols of the Elders of Zion.’
‘But doesn’t your hypothesis presuppose collusion with the Israelis?’
‘Yes.’
‘So some link would have to be established between the Soviets and Professor Dagan.’
‘Yes. And that, of course, makes it less plausible if, as you say, Dagan is a man unlikely to commit fraud.’
‘I don’t know him myself, but my brother is sure he would be incapable of it.’
‘And do you trust your brother’s
judgement?’
Henry frowned, then said: ‘Not really, no.’
‘The way to proceed,’ said Meredith, taking an address book from his pocket, ‘if you really want to get to the bottom of this, is to find out what you can about the people who were involved in the discovery of the Codex. Ask the Lithuanians here in London about this Miss Vesoulis. Ring this man.’ He wrote a name and a number on a piece of paper. ‘He may know of her. Or he can find out. Lithuania is a small country. Almost everyone knows everyone else.’
Seventeen
When Henry got back to his office, he returned to work on the question of barter but found that his mind was unable to concentrate on the papers spread out on his desk. Normally, he could interest himself in matters which others found intrinsically dull; now, some irritating inner voice kept whispering that matters like the convertibility of the rouble were trivial compared to the authenticity of Dagan’s find.
At four he gave up and sent for one of his researchers, a girl called Sandy Wells, who though plain and unimaginative, could speak German and Russian and unearth information in a short space of time. He told her to give up her enquiries into contracts within Comecon and go instead to the British Museum to find out what she could about the Vilnius Codex and the Slavonic additions to Josephus’ Jewish War.
She looked surprised but, since Henry paid her salary, she did what she was told. Henry then rang the number that Meredith had given him and asked to speak to Algirdas Sostakas. The voice which responded sounded cautious until Henry mentioned Meredith’s name.
They agreed to meet at six at a pub in Notting Hill. The bar, when Henry got there, was not crowded, and he recognized Sostakas because of his blonde moustache and Baltic physiognomy. He was forty to forty-five years old, perhaps the child of a refugee from the Second World War, but he nevertheless spoke English with the accent of someone who knew it only as a second language.
He ordered beer, Henry whisky, and once they had glasses in their hands they left the bar and went to sit at a small table.
‘It’s very good of you to see me,’ Henry began.
‘Mr Meredith tells me that you are a very old friend.’
‘You spoke to him?’
He shrugged his shoulders as if to say: ‘What did you expect? I had to make sure.’
‘Did he tell you what I wanted to know?’
‘He said you would explain.’
‘It concerns a Codex – a fragment of an ancient manuscript – in the State Library in Vilnius. It disappeared during the First World War, but was discovered four or five years ago in an Orthodox monastery.’
‘You want to know if it is a fake?’
‘Yes.’
‘You are buying it?’
‘No. But its authenticity has certain political implications.’
‘There are many fake icons, fake manuscripts, fake relics. They earn currency that way. Dollars. Deutschmarks.’
‘I realize that. But this Codex would have to be faked for a specific political purpose.’
‘By Chekists?’
‘Yes. If by that you mean the KGB.’
‘We know, more or less, who are Chekists.’
‘Here the conspiracy, if there is one, would implicate Orthodox monks as well.’
‘Many of them are Chekists, especially in Lithuania.’
‘And officials at the State Library, in particular a Miss Vesoulis.’
Sostakas took out a grubby scrap of paper and scribbled down the name with a ball-point pen.
‘We are also curious to know,’ said Henry, ‘if any of the people involved in the rediscovery of the Codex have any links with Israel.’
He nodded. ‘Many Chekists are Jews in Lithuania.’
‘Why?’
‘You know our history?’
‘Not well.’
‘In Lithuania there were always many Jews. In the cities, especially – in Vilnius and Kaunus. They were always on the side of the Russians. They didn’t want an independent Lithuania. For this reason, and because they were in the cities, many of the Bolsheviks were Jews. They helped the Soviets when they invaded our country, with arrests, deportations, torturing and liquidations. In some areas, most of the militia were Jews. They closed our churches and imprisoned our priests.’
‘And later,’ said Henry tartly, ‘they paid the price.’
‘Of course,’ said Sostakas. ‘When the Germans came, we killed them.’
‘All of them?’
‘Most of them.’ He did not seem displeased. ‘Some escaped to Russia and came back at the end of the war.’
‘As KGB?’
‘Of course.’
‘And today?’
‘Also today.’
‘Is it possible that any of these would have links with Israel?’
He frowned. ‘I don’t know, but I can enquire.’
‘How long will it take?’
‘A telephone call.’
‘Is that safe?’
‘We have ways of putting things. “How is my cousin Vesoulis? Is she still working at the State Library? We should like so much to know what she is up to these days.” If it sounds innocent, it does not trigger the tape-recorders of the Chekists.’
‘You must let me know if you incur any expenses.’
‘Please.’ He held up his hand as if Henry was pressing a banknote into his hand. ‘It is a pleasure to do a favour for a friend of my friend Meredith.’
From Notting Hill, Henry drove back to his flat in Eaton Square. There he played back the messages on his answering machine, poured himself a drink and lay back on the sofa.
He was expected to dinner by some friends, but he knew he could not face it and waited for the strength to telephone to say that he was ill. He told himself he was tired, and certainly his limbs felt weary; but the reason he balked at the thought of a social occasion was his consuming curiosity about Dagan’s find.
When Anna had first told him that her father had discovered the skeleton of Christ, he had been neither particularly surprised nor particularly interested. Now, he realized, the truth or falsity of her claim could not only affect the psychological state of those who had faith, like Andrew or Veronica Dunn; it could also have considerable political ramifications all over the world – in Eastern Europe, in Africa, in Latin America.
Isolated for so long among like-minded agnostics, whose values were all of a secular kind, it came as a shock to Henry to realize quite how many people throughout the world still believed in the Resurrection of Christ. Seldom since adolescence had he himself stopped to consider questions of this kind. There had been moments, mostly on holiday, when, staring at the stars, he had been awed by the mystery of infinity, and had wondered about the origin of the universe; but, almost at once, when he had returned to London, he had been distracted once again by the practical concerns of his daily life.
Now, however, he had the uneasy feeling that there might, after all, be more to life than he had supposed; that perhaps the imperatives of instinct did not lead to fulfilment; and that perhaps the faculty of reason, unique though it was to the human species, was insufficient to explain the mystery which lay in the kernel of the human condition.
He sat up, put down his glass, and made the telephone call to the friends who were expecting him to dinner. The wife answered. He lied about a sudden sickness. She spoke the appropriate words of sympathy, but he could tell that she did not believe him.
He went out onto the small balcony at the back of his flat – a space between the sloping roof and the parapet. He watered the plants he kept there – a camellia, some herbs, and a bay tree – and breathed in the scented air of the London summer. This taste of nature did nothing to calm his mind; and while he picked the chives and parsley for an omelette for supper, he continued to think about the skeleton, and grew increasingly agitated by the thought that, if reason could not explain the human condition, it was unreasonable to be sure that there was no God. Nor could it be impossible, if there was a God, that he shou
ld have been born a Jew, have died on a cross, and, after dying, have risen from the dead.
If such a story was not certainly false, then it must be possibly true. Thus, incontrovertible evidence – even evidence which pushed the balance of probability one way or the other – would be of critical importance, not merely to those political developments in different parts of the world which were influenced by people’s religious convictions, but also to the individual speculations of a man such as Henry about the value of his actions or the meaning of his life.
He cooked his omelette and ate it in the kitchen, his mood swinging between excitement and gloom. He still felt a repugnance for religion, and thought it absurd to suggest that a God powerful enough to bring the whole universe into existence should choose to become a sweating, defecating, human being. Yet he had to acknowledge that, if there was a God, then what appeared absurd to us might seem sensible to him. He would be privy to knowledge beyond the range of human understanding which made it necessary for God to become man to enable man to become a god.
Yet if he, Henry, were potentially a god – a creature whose existence would continue beyond death, but one whose condition in that dimension would be determined by his attitude to the crucified Jew, then, clearly, his life up to that point would have earned him not bliss but torment. So too would the lives of almost everyone he knew. It followed, if there was a God with power over the destiny of human beings, that the first prayer to be addressed to him should be a plea to be spared this awesome choice: to be reassured that Professor Dagan was right, that the skeleton was that of Jesus of Nazareth.
As if in answer to that prayer, the telephone rang and Henry heard, on the other end of the line, the flat, matter-of-fact voice of his researcher, Sandy Wells.
‘I thought you’d like to know what I’ve uncovered so far,’ she said.
‘You shouldn’t be working so late.’
‘It’s OK. In fact, it’s all quite interesting. You see, there’s really quite a lot of controversy about the Vilnius Codex and the additions found in the Slavonic version of Josephus. There are those English scholars who accept them, like Thackeray and Williamson; then there are those like Shurer, who think they are medieval forgeries; and then there’s this third guy, Eisler, who thinks that they’re basically genuine but have Christian interpolations.’