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    The Cartaphilus Saga: Book #1 Amissio
    The Cartaphilus Saga: Book #1 Amissio
    The Cartaphilus Saga: Book #1 Amissio
    Ebook138 pages3 hours

    The Cartaphilus Saga: Book #1 Amissio

    By Joe C Combs 2nd

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    About this ebook

    David Gerrard is a reporter for the tabloids with principals. He will only publish the ones he truly believes. For 10 years, Mark Long has been giving David stories from history and adding unique and substantial variations to each one. For the first time, Mark has requested a face to face meeting between them.

    Together they visit Mark's old friend, Tony Vargas, an expert on the Roman Empire period. Mark presents Tony with an ancient sword asking Tony to tell him exactly what it is. Tony states that it is a first century Roman sword and that it once belonged to a soldier named Casius; the name is engraved on the handle.

    When he and David are alone, Mark tells him that Tony was right; the sword had belonged to a Roman soldier named Casius. A Jew named Peter took the sword from Casius, and a Roman centurion took it from Peter.

    Mark tells him the centurion's name was Marcus Cartaphilus Longus. He had been stationed in Caesarea when he'd discovered his daughter was close to death. After learning Yeshua had reportedly saved others from death, Cartaphilus went in search him. But, his daughter died before he could reach Yeshua. Desolate over the death of his daughter and the subsequent death of his wife, Cartaphilus vowed to destroy Yeshua.

    Pontius Pilate was the Prefect of Judea, ordered extra troops to Jerusalem for the Jewish Passover, led by Cartaphilus. Upon arrival, Cartaphilus was ordered to arrest Yeshua. Led to Yeshua and his followers by a man named Judas Iscariot, a man named Peter grabbed Casius' sword and cut the ear off one of the men while trying to protect Yeshua. Miraculously, Yeshua picked up the severed ear and reattach it to the man's head. Cartaphilus placed Yeshua under arrest and led him to Jerusalem and the house of the High Priest.

    Over the next few days, Mark's story continues, reliving the final hours of Jesus Christ's life, and the following years.

    David listens carefully and questions often, impressed by Mark's in-depth account of this 2000 year old story. David becomes determined to disprove his story. He compares Mark's details to the Bible, and contacts a professional researcher, a genealogist, and a professor friend, asking them all questions to help him refute this story, but despite their best efforts they cannot. Over a few exhausting days David cannot find any flaws. The problem is, the only way Mark could know any of these details was if he had been an actual eyewitness, which is obviously impossible.

    Caught up in the emotion of the story, Mark had accidentally messed up by using the pronoun “we” instead of “they”. David, always vigilant, caught his slip on tape.

    Cornered by the recorded remark, Mark admits that he is Cartaphilus. David is angry at the waste of his time and thinks about leaving. But Mark says he doesn't need David to necessarily believe him, he needs him to believe the story; if David believes it, so will his readers and he needs to tell the world what really happened.

    David questions him about other events from the past 2000—including his participation in WWII as a Nazi—but Mark stops him, saying the stories must be told as they happened, not by skipping through the centuries. Mark hands him a daguerreotype of two men from the American Civil War, and David has it checked by experts. They all agree that the daguerreotype is authentic. One of the men in the picture is one of General Robert Lee's sons, and David has a very hard time telling himself the other is not Mark.

    David and the researchers have failed to disprove Mark's story. David allows himself to believe in the possibility that Mark is actually Cartaphilus. And if that is possible, how many other famous lies or half-truths throughout history could Mark have to share with him?
    Mark is called away on urgent business. Two months later, David receives a short email from Mark, stating when and where they should meet to continue. This time David is prepared.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJoe C Combs 2nd
    Release dateMar 27, 2015
    ISBN9781310911064
    The Cartaphilus Saga: Book #1 Amissio
    Author

    Joe C Combs 2nd

    Each week on Sunday, I post a new article on my blog. As is smashwords, I am constantly trying to improve the site so it is easier for you to use. If you have a comment, please write me, and thank You!My first book "Titanic, A Search For Answers" was originally written as a fundraiser for a maritime museum where I was the advisory board president and a member of the board of trustees.Historical research is my hobby and influences much of my writing.So far for 2015, I have three new books scheduled for release, which will bring my total to fourteen. The first is "The Cartaphilus Saga: book #1 Amissio," scheduled for release on March 27, 2015.A submarine sailor for almost nine years, I am also an award winning artist. As a scuba diver I have dived sites from New England to the Caribbean. I am into music, art, wood carving, and pretty much anything that sounds like it could be fun or interesting.Once again, thank you very much.Take care and God bless you.Drop me a line ... I am glad to answer any questions you might have.

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      Book preview

      The Cartaphilus Saga - Joe C Combs 2nd

      The Cartaphilus Saga

      Book #1

      Amissio

      By

      Joe C Combs 2nd

      Published By

      www.joeccombs2nd.com

      Distributed by Smashwords

      Editing By

      Writing Wildly Editing Services

      At

      www.writingwildly.com

      Cover Art

      By

      A.J. Corza

      Copyright Joe C Combs 2nd 2014, 2015

      Smashwords Edition, License Note

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Note

      This is a work of historical fiction. As such, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of my over active imagination or are used in a fictitious way. Any resemblance to actual persons (living, dead or yet to be born) is entirely coincidental. Actual historical events and places are used in a fictitious way to advance the fictitious main character of the series. If you would like to know more about these events I recommend a good library.

      †

      Acknowledgements

      I always hate trying to list everyone I want to thank, because I always leave people out that I did not mean to leave out.

      First I want to thank my daughter Elizabeth, the most understanding 9 year old on the planet.

      Next I would like to thank: Janette & Greame Taylor, Katy, Kim, April, Jason, my editor of course, Dan & Laurie, Jodi Olson, Tim, Marina, Becky & Brandi. I also want to thank all those who I have accidentally left off.

      Last but certainly not least I want to thank Mon Cheri.

      THANK YOU.

      †

      Table of Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Forward

      Definition of Amissio

      About Joe C Combs 2nd

      Connect With Joe C Combs 2nd

      Other Books By Joe

      †

      CHAPTER ONE

      David Gerard pulled off a bridge, entering a small southern community. He'd never been to this town before, and he'd probably never visit it again. In fact, he wouldn't be here now if Mark hadn't requested a meeting. David made his living as a freelance reporter, selling oddball stories to the tabloids, and Mark had provided David with quite a few over the years. It didn't matter that David had never met the man in person, he was still one of David's best sources. The stories Mark gave him were good, backed by enough evidence that they could have gone mainstream—if they hadn't contradicted the mainstream so much.

      He turned left at the first red light, crossed Lemon Street, then continued on towards River Street. As he was about to turn onto River Street, David wondered if lemons actually grew there. His mind worked that way: abstract at a moment’s notice, taking in and cataloging everything from his senses. Unfortunately, all this input crossed his mind at odd times, sometimes weeks or months later. It could be inconvenient.

      The brick street led him past the public dock, around the boat marina, and onto a beautiful tree-lined street that looked like an image from a postcard. To his right, a line of white 1890s-era houses spoke of money, with their wide porches and widow’s walks above. To his left, on the river side of the street, was spread a row of manicured lawns. Nothing except ancient, sprawling oaks blocked the view of those grand old houses, their branches dangling veils of Spanish moss.

      On the river side of the street stood a lone figure. He was tall, mid thirties, with short-cropped hair. He wore chinos and a sports coat, and his left hand was stuck in his pocket. The man turned, watching David drive down the street. Since David could see no other people or cars nearby, he assumed the man must be Mark, so he made a U-turn and pulled up beside him. He checked the digital voice recorder in his shirt pocket, packed with fresh batteries, then climbed out of the car.

      You must be Mr. Long, David said, walking around the front of the car.

      The man smiled. Please, call me Mark. You must be David Gerard.

      The handshake was firm, businesslike. So, we finally meet. David folded his arms and gave him a crooked smile. What do you have for me today? A river monster? Or are we going to find a cache of gold from the Knights of the Golden Circle?

      In response, Mark bent down and picked up a plain wooden box that had been sitting by his feet. It measured about three feet long. Nothing like that, he said with a chuckle. Today we are going to see a man about a sword.

      Mark tucked the box under his left arm, and David followed him across the street towards one of the majestic homes. Low-lying shrubs surrounded an open porch with no railing, and together they climbed the well-tended front steps. David waited as Mark rang the doorbell, his gaze taking in the four cane rocking chairs flanking the wide entrance, a small wicker table between each pair.

      A small man, bald and most likely in his early seventies, answered the door. Mark, he said, swinging the door wide in welcome. I’ve been waiting for you. Good to see you again, my friend.

      Mr. Vargas. Always good to see you. You look well, Mark said, stepping to the side. He gestured toward David. I would like you to meet David Gerard, a freelance reporter and acquaintance of mine. David, this is Tony Vargas.

      Tony chuckled and held the door open, moving back into the house with a sweeping motion of his hand. Welcome, David. You may call me Tony. I keep telling Mark that, but he is always with this 'mister' thing.

      They stepped into a long, wide corridor. From the light shining through the other end, it appeared to open to a porch in the back. Tony led them through a door to the left, near the front door. Opposite the doorway, a set of stairs led to the second floor, and he saw two more open doorways, one on each side of the hall. The house was furnished and decorated in a Queen Anne style, and though it had a lived-in feel, it looked like a photo spread in Architectural Digest.

      The sitting room they'd entered was sparsely but elegantly furnished, and a modest fireplace took up some of the far wall. Once they were in the center of the room, Tony stopped and rested his hand on a small round table set under a simple chandelier. A crystal vase, centered on a crocheted doily on the marble top of the table, held spring flowers.

      Tony smiled warmly at his visitors. Would you like to sit? May I offer coffee or tea?

      Coffee, one cream, said Mark.

      The same for me, said David, looking around the room.

      Tony raised his voice slightly. Dorothy, three coffees, please. One black, and two with cream. Then he turned to David. You like my home?

      Quite beautiful. Yes. I like it very much.

      Tony's smile was sad. I say 'home', but I must admit it does not feel much like home since my wife died. If Mark did not come to visit me once in a while, I would have no visitors at all. Just me, my housekeeper, and the lawn man.

      A middle-aged woman entered the room carrying a tray of three coffees. A flowered apron partially covered her knee length, dark blue dress. She was attractive, wearing only a minimal amount of makeup. Only a touch of grey wove through her coal black hair. She held out the tray to David first, then Mark, and finally Tony.

      Thank you, Dorothy, Tony said.

      You are welcome, Dorothy said from the hall, leaving as quietly as she came.

      Tony smiled at the two men. So, Mark, what is it you have to show me?

      David slid his digital voice recorder out of his pocket and held it up for the others to see. Do you mind if I use a recorder?

      Their host shrugged. No. By all means, feel free. Tony looked questioningly at Mark, who nodded as well.

      David turned the recorder on and hung it from a lanyard around his neck, while Mark took the dark oak box from under his arm and opened the brass hasp and hinges. As he handed it to Tony, David could see the box was lined with green velvet and held what looked like a short sword in a scabbard. Both seemed to be in good condition.

      This is what I have come to find out about, my friend, Mark said. He turned to David. Mr. Vargas is an expert on the Roman Empire period and an avid collector.

      Tony waved an unpretentious hand. Oh, just a few things I've picked up over the years, when my wife and I used to go on summer vacations. Mark is the real expert on Rome. He always gives me too much credit, he said, carefully closing the oak case. Come on. Let’s go up to my office.

      With the oak case tucked under his arm, Tony led them back through the doorway, setting his coffee cup on the small, marble-topped table before he left the room. Mark and David did the same then followed Tony across the hall and up the stairs. As they ascended, David admired the beige carpeted steps, the hand-carved bannister. Though they were simple, David could see a craftsman of great skill had made them.

      You like my stairs, Mr. Gerard? Tony noted. "The wood is from a live oak tree my grandfather had cut down to build this house in 1886. The woodwork and carvings were all done by a local man known as Old Bez. His father, a former slave, had been a carver and woodworker as well. I knew Bezalel

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