For a moment no one spoke. The other men lowered their eyes, sorrow shadowing their faces. Finally, their master raised his eyes and sat up in his chair. 'All right, then-I'll tell you what I believe we must do, and then I'll hear your opinions."

Night had descended by the time the meeting ended. The rain was still falling all across the city.

A.D. 542-544

Eulalius, a young man is here asking to speak with you. He comes from Alexandria." The bishop finished his prayers and got to his feet with difficulty, assisted by the priest who had interrupted him.

"Tell me, Ephron, why is this visitor from Alexandria so important that you disturb my prayers?"

The priest was expecting the question, although Eulalius knew well that Ephron would summon him only on a matter of importance.

"He is a strange young man. My brother sent him."

'Abib? And what news does this strange young man bring?"

"I cannot-say. He says he will speak only to you. He is weary; for weeks he has been on the road, journeying here."

Eulalius and Ephron left the small church and made their way to a nearby house, where the bishop greeted the dark-skinned young man, whose exhaustion was evident in his eyes and parched lips.

"I come to speak to Eulalius, bishop of Edessa," the traveler said, as he drank the water Ephron offered him.

"I am Eulalius. Who are you?"

"Praise God! Eulalius, I am about to tell you an extraordinary thing, which will fill you with amazement. Can we not speak in private?"

Ephron looked at Eulalius, who nodded. The priest withdrew, leaving the two alone.

"You still have not told me your name," the bishop said, turning back to his visitor.

"John. I am called John."

"Be seated, then, John, and rest while you tell me this extraordinary thing."

"Extraordinary it is, sir. And it will be hard for you to believe me, but I trust in the help of God that I may convince you of what I have come to say."

"So-out with it."

"It is a long story. I have told you that I am called John, as was my father, and my father's father, and his grandfather and great-grandfather. I have traced my family to the fifty-seventh year of our era, when Timaeus, the leader of the first Christian community, lived in Sidon, now Alexandria. Timaeus was a friend of two disciples of our Lord Jesus Christ, Thaddeus and Josar, who lived here in Edessa. Timaeus's grandson was called John."

Eulalius listened intently, waiting for the young man to come to the heart of his tale.

"You must know that in this city there was a community of Christians under the protection of King Abgar. On Abgar's death, Maanu, the king's son, inherited the throne and persecuted the Christians of the city. He stripped them of their goods and possessions and subjected many of them to the pains of martyrdom for clinging to their faith in Jesus."

"I know the history of this city," Eulalius said impatiently.

"Then you know that Abgar, afflicted with leprosy, was cured by Jesus. Josar brought to Edessa the shroud in which the body of our Lord had been buried. When the shroud was placed upon the skin of the sick king, a miracle occurred. On the shroud there is something extraordinary: the image of our Lord and the signs of his martyrdom. As long as Abgar was alive, the shroud was an object of veneration in the city, for upon it was the face of the Christ."

"Tell me, young man, why has Abib sent you?"

"Forgive me, Eulalius, I know that I am trying your patience, but I beg you to hear me out. I myself chose to come to you and merely asked Abib to vouch for me. When Abgar sensed that he was dying, he charged his friends Thaddeus and Josar and the royal architect Marcius to protect the shroud above all else. Marcius was charged with hiding it, and not even Thaddeus and Josar, the two disciples of Jesus, ever learned where this hiding place was. Marcius cut out his tongue so that no matter what tortures Maanu inflicted upon him, he could never tell. And suffer tortures he did, Eulalius, as you must know, for they were the same tortures as the most prominent Christians of Edessa were made to suffer. But one man did know where Marcius had hidden the shroud with its image of Jesus."

Eulalius's eyes gleamed with surprise, and a shiver ran down his spine. He had heard tales of this wondrous shroud, which had vanished so long ago. The story John told was a fantastic one, yet he did not seem to be a madman.

"Marcius told Izaz, the nephew of Josar, where he had hidden the shroud. Izaz fled the city before Maanu could have him killed, and he reached Sidon, where Timaeus and his grandson, John, lived. Those were my forebears."

"He fled with the shroud?"

"No, he fled with the secret of its hiding place. Timaeus and Izaz swore that they would obey the last commands of Abgar and the disciples of Jesus: The shroud would never leave Edessa. It belonged to this city, but it was to remain hidden until they could be sure it was in no danger. They agreed that if before they died, the Christians of this city were still being persecuted, they would confide the secret to another man, and that man in turn was sworn not to reveal the secret unless he was sure that the shroud was in no danger, and so on until Christians were able to live in the city in peace. Before he died, Izaz told the secret to John, the grandson of Timaeus, and the secret passed from one John to another. Down through the generations, one man of my family has been the repository of the secret of the grave cloth in which the body of Jesus was buried."

"Great God! Are you sure of this? Is it not a fable? If it is, you deserve a severe chastisement, young man, for one does not take the name of God in vain. Tell me, where is it? Do you have it?"

John, weary, seemed not even to hear Eulalius, and he doggedly went on with his story.

'A few days ago, my father died. On his deathbed he told me the secret of the sacred shroud. It was he who told me the story of Thaddeus and Josar, and he told me also that Izaz, before he died, drew a map of Edessa so that the first John might know where to look. I have the map, and it shows the place where the royal architect, Marcius, hid the shroud of our Lord Jesus."

The young man fell silent. His feverish eyes showed the effort under which his body and spirit had labored since he had learned the secret.

"Tell me, why has your family not wished to reveal the secret of the hiding place until now?"

"My father told me that he had kept the secret so long in fear that the shroud might fall into the wrong hands and be destroyed. None of my forebears dared reveal what they knew; each left that responsibility to his successor."

John's eyes gleamed with tears. He was overcome by the rigors of his journey and the shattering events that had transformed his life in the preceding weeks. Grief at his father's death gnawed at his entrails, and he was in anguish over being the sole repository of a secret that would shake Christianity to its foundations.

"You have the map?" Eulalius asked.

"Yes," the young man answered.

"Give it to me," commanded the old bishop.

"No, I cannot. I must go with you to the place where the shroud is hidden, and we must tell no one the secret."

"But, my son, what is it you fear?"

"The shroud works miracles, sir, but many Christians died in the struggle over its possession. We must be certain that it is in no danger, and I fear I have arrived in Edessa at a bad time. My caravan met with travelers who told us that the city may soon again be under siege. For generations the men of my family have been the silent guardians of the shroud of the Christ; I must not be the one to make a grievous error and now put the shroud in danger."