Eulalius had been patient and generous with him, but now he was commanding him to leave Edessa. The bishop's decision forced John to face the truth. He knew that his father had not lied to him, but what if his father had been lied to? What if at sometime during the long centuries since the birth of our Lord, someone had seized the shroud for himself or destroyed it? What if the entire story was a fable?

The old bishop saw a storm of emotions cross John's face, and he felt deep compassion for the young man's anguish.

"Edessa has survived sieges, wars, starvations, fires, floods… It will survive the Persians, but you, my son, must act according to the dictates of reason, and for your good and for the good of the secret your family has kept for so many decades, you must save yourself. Make arrangements now for your departure, John, for in three days you will leave the city. A group of merchants has mounted a caravan; it is your last chance to save yourself."

"And if I tell you where the shroud is?"

"I will help you save it."

John's mind was in turmoil as he left the bishop's study, and his eyes were filled with tears. He went out into the street, where the coolness of morning had not yet been dispelled by the burning sun of June, and he wandered aimlessly. For the first time, he fully understood that the citizens of Edessa were preparing for the siege that they knew was upon their city.

Laborers were working tirelessly to reinforce the walls, and soldiers bustled throughout the city, their faces stern, their brows furrowed. In their stalls, merchants displayed few goods, and on the faces of all he met he saw fear.

John realized how self-centered he had been in not heeding what was happening all around him, and for the first time since he had arrived, he felt homesick for Myriam, his young wife. He had not even written to tell her he was well. Eulalius was right: Either he left Edessa immediately or he faced the same fate as its citizens. A shiver of fear and foreboding ran through him, for he felt that his fate might well be death.

He did not know how many hours he spent wandering through the city, but when he returned to the house of Eulalius, he suddenly became aware of the thirst that had been with him all day and the hunger that gnawed at him. He found Eulalius with Ephron and Kalman, speaking with two circumspect nobles sent from the palace.

"Come in, John. Hannan and Maruta bring us sad news," the bishop said. "The siege is upon us. Edessa will not surrender to the Persians. Today, two wagons have arrived at the city's gates. Inside were the heads of a group of soldiers who had gone out to gauge the strength of the forces under Khusro. We are at war."

The two nobles, Hannan and Maruta, looked at the young Alexandrian without much interest, and then they continued to report to the bishop on the situation.

Confounded and stunned, John listened to the men talk. He realized that even if he wished to, leaving the city would not be easy. The situation was worse than Eulalius had thought: There would be no more caravans. No one wished to run the certain risk of losing his life upon the road.

John lived through the next few days as though in the midst of a nightmare. From the walls of Edessa one could clearly see the Persian soldiers around their campfires. The attacks sometimes lasted the entire day.

Men kept their families inside the walls of their houses, while the soldiers met the constant attacks. There was still no shortage of foodstuffs or water because the king had stored up wheat and dried and salted meat, as well as brought many animals into the city, so that his soldiers might nourish themselves and remain strong.

'Are you asleep, John?"

"No, Kalman, I seem not to have slept in days. The whistling of the arrows and the thunder of the battering rams against the walls have invaded my head, and I cannot sleep."

"They say the city will soon fall. We cannot resist much longer." Months had passed, almost two years, as Edessa fought on.

"I know, Kalman, I know. I am weary with binding the wounds of the soldiers and attending women and children who die in my arms in convulsions or with the plague. My hands are callused from digging graves in the earth to bury their bodies. In the end, Khusro's soldiers will show no mercy to anyone. How is Eulalius? I have not been able to see him… I am sorry."

"No, he wishes you to help those who most need it. He is very frail from this prolonged fast and the pain that grips his bones. His belly is swollen, but he never complains."

John sighed. He seemed never to rest, running from one place to another on the wall, treating the mortal wounds of the soldiers to whom he could no longer give relief because he had no more plants with which to prepare his unguents and potions.

Day and night desperate women came to his door, pleading with him to save their children, and he would spill tears of impotence, for there was nothing he could do for them. They were starving and exhausted, and their lives simply slipped away.

How his life had changed since he left Alexandria. When he dozed off from exhaustion he dreamed of the clean smell of the ocean, the soft hands of Myriam, the hot food his old serving woman prepared for them, his house surrounded by orange trees. During the first months of the siege he had cursed his fate and reproached himself for having come to Edessa in search of a dream, but he no longer did that. He had no strength for that now, and the dream remained buried, perhaps out of reach forever.

John shook off his torpor and rose to his feet. "I will go to see Eulalius," he told the priest.

"It will do him good to see you."

Accompanied by Kalman, he made his way to the room where the bishop lay in bed praying.

"Eulalius…"

"Welcome, John. Sit here beside me."

The physician was pained by the changed aspect of the old bishop. He had shrunk, and the outline of his bones was visible through his almost transparent skin. His pallor presaged death.

The sight of the dying man moved John deeply. He, who had arrived almost arrogantly in Edessa, proud to show Christianity the visage of the Lord, had not had the courage to complete his undertaking. He had thought rarely of the shroud through the long months of the siege, and now, seeing the approach of death upon the face of Eulalius, he knew that death would not be long in coming for him as well.

"Kalman, leave me alone with Eulalius, please."

Weakly, the bishop made a sign to the priest to leave them. Kalman worried as he left the room, for he knew that neither of the men was well. In John, it was clear that grief had left its mark; in Eulalius, it was the flesh that was yielding.

John looked into the eyes of the bishop and, taking him by the hand, sat beside him.

"Forgive me, Eulalius, I have done nothing but ill since I came here, and the worst of my sins has been to not confide in you. I have sinned by pride in not sharing with you the secret of the place where the shroud is hidden. I will tell you now, and you shall decide what we must do. May God forgive me if what I am about to say betrays doubt, but if upon the shroud the visage of our Lord is truly impressed, then he will save us, as he saved Abgar from sure death."

Eulalius listened with amazement to John's revelation of the secret. For more than four hundred years the shroud of Jesus had lain behind the bricks of a niche cut out of the wall above the west gate of the city. It was the only place that had withstood the battering of the Persian army.

The old man struggled to sit up and, weeping, he embraced the Alexandrian.

"Praise God! I feel a great joy in my heart. You must go at once to the wall and rescue the shroud. Ephron and Kalman will help you, but you must go now. I feel that Jesus may still have mercy upon us and work a miracle."