Introducing..."Nails"

Here's an exclusive sneak preview of my original novel about an up-and-coming, hot shot archaeologist named Solomon Estes who makes a captivating discovery in the Middle East that will change the course of history. It could either prove without a doubt the truth of the Christian faith...or shake its foundations to the core.

Included in this blog is the book's prologue in its entirety. Watch for the complete publication of the novel soon available online at Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble, Borders and other fine booksellers.

NAILS - A Novel by T.D. Wilcox

PROLOGUE
Jerusalem-33 A.D.
It’s rare for it to rain in Palestine in April, much less for it to storm as heavily as it had the past few days. Tensions in Jerusalem were extremely high in light of the most recent political events between the Jews and the Roman government and neither the political nor the natural storms looked as if they would subside any time soon.
Night falls and the man exited the gardens of the royal palace, trying to go unnoticed. His pace quickened as he made his way down the massive travertine steps in the flickering light of the evening torches. He pulled his now wet cloak over his head, quickening his pace, slumping forward as he crossed the courtyard, trying to shield himself from the driving rain as he approached the Royal guard’s quarters. He skipped and jumped several broadening puddles until he was stopped abruptly at the door of the guard’s quarters by two uniformed Roman officers. The larger of the two held out his massive hand and kept it there, inches from the man’s chest.
“I need to speak with Semius.”
The guard on the right glared at him and paused, sizing him up. “What business do you have with Semius?”
“Maybe it’s the emperor’s business!” the man snapped. “Must I get his majesty’s royal permission to speak with Semius?”
The guard was a bit taken aback by the man’s assertiveness. He looked him up and down and reluctantly gave in. “Hhmmmph. Wait here.” He motioned with his head to the other guard on post. “Get Semius. Tell him…tell him that the religiously confused Jewish nobleman is here for a visit.”
The other guard left his post while the man and the head guard waited in the rain, staring at each other without words. Violent cracks of thunder shook the ground and lightning lit up the courtyard as the earth was showered with God’s vengeful wrath.
The second guard returned quickly, and smirked as he gave a grunt of quiet amusement to his commander.
Semius followed behind him, dressed in uniform as well, minus the bronze helmet. He was tall, stocky with massive forearms. But his most imposing characteristic was the six-inch scar that ran down the left side of his face, just next to his eye and down past his lip. The grazing of a sword tip? A knife? It only made him look all the more intimidating.
“I’m Semius. What do you want?”
“I’d like a word with you in private.”
Semius knew who the man was and shot a look at the commanding officer as if to ask permission. The commander gave him the nod. The two men left the guard post and walked quickly towards the wall of the city and stood under the portico beneath the Hippicus tower to shield them from the rain.
Semius rubbed the water from his shortly cropped, chestnut colored hair. “Jewish noblemen don’t associate with the Praetorian unless there’s money or a scandal involved, so which is it?”
The nobleman ignored his sarcasm. “I understand you are in possession of certain items related to the city’s most recent execution.”
He smiled…slowly. “Yes.”
“I’d like to purchase them from you.”
His devilish smile broadened. “Don’t you think your associates might have a problem with your possession of such items? I understand they are very upset about those that had allegiance to…the deceased. And besides…they’re not for sale.”
“Your concern is noted, but you need not worry about the views of my associates.” The nobleman wiped the rain from his face. “You are a member of the Praetorian guard. Do you think that I don’t know what the emperor pays for your rank and experience? It’s hardly enough to support yourself, much less your family…except for the little extra you take on the side extorting from the tax collectors. Am I right?”
Semius shrugged. It was common practice for the Praetorian to extort money on the side from the tax collectors under their jurisdiction.
“I’m prepared to pay you what you earn in an entire year for these items.” The man glared intensely at the guard, wanting to emphasize the seriousness of his offer. “I have it here with me now.”
The guard’s eyes narrowed. “If you have it with you now, what’s to keep me from simply taking it from you!?” he shouted. “You know if I want to take it by force, it’s mine!”
“And you know my status and reputation in the community!” The Jew shouted back. He wasn’t about to be cornered by a pagan Roman guard. “I’ve just come from the royal palace speaking with the emperor himself! The last thing someone like you needs is another political scandal coming down on your head for abusing a Jewish nobleman, especially after what this city has just experienced!”
Semius considered the man’s point. He was right, but he did not want to admit it. His eyes narrowed as he stared intently at the man.
The man breathed in deeply. “Come now. One year’s wages. How can you afford not to?”
Semius pondered the offer as the rain continued to beat down outside the portico. He looked away and tried to feign disinterest. “There may be a better offer yet. I’ll wait and see,” Semius replied smugly and turned to head back to the guard’s chambers.
The nobleman reached out and grasped Semius’ bulging arm with his hand to stop him. He spun him around and pulled the huge guard close to him by his outer garment and shouted at him, “An offer from whom?!!” The rich man was losing his patience with this ignorant imbecile. “Once the political intrigue of this incident has subsided, these items may well be worthless! Do you want to risk a year’s wages on that?”
The soldier paused. He was right about that as well.
“Two year’s wages,” he replied sternly.
“Two years wages? Ha!!” The Jewish nobleman laughed out loud. “I saw you gamble for these things! It couldn’t have cost you more than two drachmas!”
The soldier smiled and shook his head. “Actually, it was only one drachma.”
“You’ve said it yourself then! One drachma for a year’s wages? Are you really that dense? How long must you ponder that?” This guard must have been hit in the head one too many times, the man thought to himself.
The soldier paused again, seemingly confused, as the rain beat down incessantly around them. “Two year’s wages!” Semius shouted.
The nobleman didn’t have to think twice, as he could have paid ANY price the thick headed guard could have conjured up if he wanted. “Very well. Bring the items,” he responded.
“Wait here.”
Semius left the old man under the portico, the rain still pouring hard and the wind driving it in swirls around the square. He walked back past the two guards at the entrance of the quarters and disappeared for a minute or two. He re-emerged holding a covered package, trying to conceal it the best he could with his strong, war-torn hands. They made the exchange under the portico.
The guard turned and walked back through the rain toward his quarters with two small bags of gold coins in his hand. He held them up and smiled at the commander as he strutted back into the guard’s quarters.
“Religiously confused…and very rich,” stated Semius as he passed. The guards chuckled and nodded in approval.
The old man stowed his purchase under his cloak and quickly left the yard with the thunder booming above his head, the un-seasonal rain pounded the city with a vengeance from above.

* * * * *

On his way out of town, the man stopped at a nearby villa and knocked forcefully on its large, wooden door. There was no answer as he expected the occupants to be deep asleep this time of night. He pounded again, even more forcefully. After a few moments, the view slot finally opened to tired eyes on the other side of the door.
“Joseph? What are you doing out in the rain? It’s late. Do you want to come in?” The man unbolted the door from the inside and cracked it to let his wet friend in.
“No brother. Listen,” he held out his hand and paused. “I’m leaving the city. The council is already angry at me and once they’ve found what I’ve done now, they’ll want my head.”
“Why? What have you done?”
“I don’t want to get you involved. I may be gone for a very long time…at least until things blow over here. I’m leaving the city and quite possibly the country. I’ve made the final preparations to the body as best I could, but I need to leave now. I just wanted you to know that I’ve left on my own accord.”
“Joseph, don’t! Stay here! Let’s appeal to the council. I’ll go with you. If you speak with them now and renounce your views I’m sure they’ll pardon you. You are well respected here, my brother. Your life is here. Don’t do this!”
“After seeing what my own eyes have seen, I am all the more certain of what I believe. I cannot renounce my views. I have no choice.”
“Are you committed enough to die also? Joseph, please! They’ll hang you just like they hung him.”
“I know. That’s why I must leave. Because I AM committed enough…even to die.”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t want you to know. I don’t want anyone to know. I’ll contact you soon.”
His friend’s eyes welled with tears. He reached out and touched Joseph’s shoulder, wondering if he would ever see him again “Shaloam, my brother. My prayers will be with you.”
“I covet your prayers, my friend! Mine will be with you as well. Shaloam.” Joseph turned and waved goodbye as he disappeared into the darkness.

* * * * *

Joseph guided the ass-driven wagon out of the city and across the countryside towards Beersheba, through Bethlehem. Normally, it would have been suicide to travel these paths alone, as robbers almost certainly would lie in wait for would-be travelers to murder and plunder along the roads leading out of Jerusalem. Tonight was different though. The storm was so heavy and had been pounding for so many days that even the robbers would not be out in it.
The trip was a difficult one and the two mules that pulled the cart struggled against the muddy road and the wind that drove the rain into their eyes like needles. Joseph was cold and wet and worse…alone. Not just in body, but in spirit. He had never felt so alone his whole, entire life. Deep sorrow welled up inside him as he guided the cart through the treacherous countryside, reviewing the events of the past few days in his mind. Heavy tears of sorrow fell from his eyes and mixed with the cold rain. It was a long, mournful trip and he wanted it to be over with.
He traveled fifteen miles or so along the muddy, rain-soaked road during the night until he reached his destination; a private hillside cottage just outside the village of Kiriath Arba, a few miles from the ancient city of Hebron. The cottage had belonged to his family for generations but he only came there once every year or so. Very few people knew where it was or that it was even his. It was one of several villas he owned in the regions surrounding Jerusalem and he felt relatively safe there. He planned to stay only a night or two and then to move on out of the country where he would be safer…where he would build a new life…perhaps.
After unloading his belongings and some supplies he had brought, he lit the candle by the door and started a fire in the cottage’s large, stone fireplace to warm the room. The crackling flames cast a warm, glow across the main room of the cottage as Joseph changed out of his soaking wet clothes.
Once he was dry and settled, he placed the package that he had carried from Jerusalem on the huge wooden table in the center of the room and lit the two large, partially melted candles that sat at the table’s center, further illuminating the room with a flickering light. He paused and stared at the table, considering the craftsmanship that went into its construction, how the wood was chosen, the beauty of the finished piece of furniture. He ran his hand slowly over the smooth, beautifully finished wood and a tear welled up in his eye. He looked away sharply and forced himself to move on to another task to keep the sorrow from consuming him. He had much to do before daybreak.
He removed a large iron pot from a rack beside the fireplace and hung it over the fire, pausing to warm his cold and numb hands in front of the flame. Fumbling through his bags on the floor, he removed a handful of black, shiny, objects, rock-like in shape and about the size of a loaf of bread each, several of which he dropped into the iron pot. He poured himself a cup of wine from a large clay jar and sat down at the table, staring blankly at the package. He sighed heavily as he unwrapped the outer material of the package, revealing a jumbled wad of bloody linen cloths which were wrapped around the heavy objects inside. He leaned back and surveyed the sight…the flickering candle, the cup of wine, the blood-soaked cloths, the beautiful wooden table-top…and then…he began to weep. He closed his eyes, covered his face in his hands and sobbed, deep and full of pain. “Dear God in heaven…”
Once the waves of emotion had subsided, he wiped his eyes and took out several fresh scrolls of parchment paper from a drawer in the cupboard and began writing at the candlelit table. He stayed up well into the night writing, thinking, crying, pouring out his thoughts, his story, onto the parchment, not knowing who would ever read his words…or when, if ever. He completed his text, in Hebrew, on the scroll early in the morning hours. He signed his signature, dated it at the bottom and rolled it into a cylindrical shape with two additional blank pieces of parchment on the outside for protection, then sealed the entire roll with his own personal signet ring pressed into the hot wax dripped from the candle that lit the room.
He had brought along with him his own ossuary, a box carved out of soft limestone, made to hold his own bones after he passed away. Most ossuaries were simple with very basic inscriptions carved into them denoting the name and heritage of the person whose bones it held. Joseph’s was much more detailed with ornate and beautiful carvings of flora and symbols related to his faith. He had commissioned its creation several years prior by a talented local craftsman in Jerusalem and had paid a handsome price for it.
He poured the remainder of the wine into his cup and placed the rolled wad of bloody linen and its heavy contents into the clay wine jug. Reaching into his purse, he removed one single, Roman coin…a denarius, and placed it also inside the wine jug, and then inserted the scroll as well. He sealed the top of the large-mouthed jug with another wad of clean linen cloths and then wrapped the entire jug, tying it off with some flaxen twine. He then placed it on the bed of clean linen strips inside the empty ossuary, closing it under its beautifully carved limestone lid. He was beginning to tire, exhausted from the long trip and becoming sleepy from the wine, but he was still not finished. After spreading rags across the entire table, he removed the smoldering, bubbling pot from the fire and placed it there next to the closed ossuary. The room smelled of the smoky fire and the acrid contents of the pot.
He removed the lid from the pot and dipped a large brush into the now thick, tar-like substance, stirring it to keep it from setting up too quickly. He wrapped the ossuary with more of the cloths he had laid out on the table and tied the entire package together with more of the flaxen twine. He then began covering the box with the black tar, brushing it over the entire exterior until it was completely covered. After the first completed coat, he wrapped another layer of cloth around the box and then brushed more of the black, tarry pitch over the object, more protection for his precious treasure. He then finished off the last sip of wine in his cup and retired for the night’s final few hours of darkness, exhausted.

When he awoke the next morning, the rain was still falling heavily outside and it was so dark that the day seemed as if it were still night. After stoking the fire, he placed the iron pot back into the fireplace to re-heat its sticky contents, which had now hardened. He then went to the corner of the room and picked up a large, wooden chest that he used to store linens in. He removed the linens and placed the chest on the table next to the coated ossuary, which was now dried, hard and heavy from the multiple layers of cloth and pitch. He carefully arranged a bed of cloth and rags inside the wooden chest and then paused, placing his hand on the ossuary…his own ossuary. He didn’t care now what happened to his own bones and saw no need to preserve them when he died. All seemed hopeless, lost. He closed his eyes, bowed his head and prayed. He prayed that someday, somehow, his story would be known. His heart burned with the desire to tell others what he had learned, but he feared for his life if he were to proclaim it. “Adonai, help me. Deliver me.” he prayed silently.
He lifted the heavy ossuary and placed it with its contents upon the bed of cloth inside the wooden chest, packing it away for a long storage. How long, he did not know. He closed the chest, locked it with an iron locking mechanism and then began painting its wooden surface with the same black, tarry substance from the now smoldering pot.
While the chest dried, Joseph went outside and found a small shovel near the cottage’s garden, which was now flooded from days of constant rain. In the wet, soft dirt, he began digging a very deep, dark hole. He struggled against the muddy water that continued to run into the hole, no matter how much he shoveled out. He worked feverishly in the pouring rain, his clothes soaked to his skin, digging deeper and deeper into the soft earth. He then gathered several buckets full of stones and rocks with which he used to line the bottom of the hole. The thunder continued to pound and echo off the adjacent hillsides like an earthquake as he worked on to create the place in which he would later bury the chest that held his treasured purchase, the items that had cost him the two-year’s wages of a Praetorian guard.
A few days later, as Joseph was attempting to leave the country to begin his new life, he was ambushed; brutally attacked and viciously beaten along the road that leads out of Kiriath Arba. The would-be robbers left his bloody, naked body in a roadside ditch and took all of his belongings. He died there alone, just as the rain began to subside and the sun was peeking through the retreating clouds. His body was found the next morning by some travelers on the way to Jerusalem.
The local townspeople attributed his death to the common thieves of the region. Common thieves who would quickly turn hired assassin for the right price…the price paid by the Jewish council to cleanse the land of yet another blasphemer.