The Swaddling

1

The student sitting in the front row wore a grey ill-fitting cardigan with leather patches on the elbows, he was waiting, poised, his notes neatly written in his Filofax notebook, waiting for the question-and-answer section to challenge the tutor’s interpretation.. He had written her full name rather than Dr Thornton and had underlined Melody. At the bottom of the page was a pencil sketch he had drawn of her.

‘Does anyone have a burning question?’ Melody asked.

He was the first to raise his arm. ‘Dr Thornton, you named this seminar “Has the supernatural got a place in archaeology and do myths have a place in science”, then used Catherine Emmerich as an example.’

‘She is one of several that I have used.’

‘Surely someone of your standing cannot seriously believe that a nun who lived her entire life in Germany had visions that led to the unearthing of a house belonging to the Virgin Mary in Ephesus?’ he asked, his face a picture of piety.

‘Yes, I am. That is the point of this lecture. To scoff at the supernatural and say it has no place in archaeology simply denies the evidence in this case. Read “Mary’s House”, by Donald Carroll and the extraordinary story behind the discovery. They found the house where, in her later years, the Virgin Mary lived and died. They found it using only her visions. Next question, please.’

‘How do you counter the fact that the Vatican has never officially recognised it as a miracle?’

She avoided looking directly at him. ‘Pope Pius XII initially declared the house a Holy Place. Pope John XXIII later made the declaration permanent and Pope Benedict XVI in 2006 visited the house and treated it as a shrine.’ she paused, desperately looking around for someone else to ask a question. She could feel it descending into an argument.

‘Look, I am not here to tell you what to think about this discovery. I am simply asking you to keep an open mind. Treat the supernatural as a tool, like you would Ground-Penetrating Radar. Open your minds to any and every avenue of revelation.’ she held up her arms. ‘Thank you all for attending. Further reading, I suggest “The Complete Visions of Anne Catherine Emmerich”. As recorded in the journals of Clemens Brentano and William Wesene. It’s in my notes.’

As the students were leaving, one man who had been watching at the back of the room approached her, older than the students, clean-shaven and smiling. ‘Hi Melody, well done today. They were a cynical bunch.’

‘Hi Farrokh, I can understand their scepticism. Anyway, I’m glad you could come. It’s nice to see you and also to have a friendly face in the lecture hall. How are you?’

‘I’m fine, but intrigued by why you wanted to see me. It sounded urgent.’

‘I heard you were going back home. I was hoping you would stay in the UK.’

‘It’s time I went back. All my family are there, and the Government has offered me a post.’

‘I wanted to ask a favour of you.’

‘Certainly, if I can.’

‘I need a sponsor from a national to visit Iran.’

‘Visit Iran. Are you mad?’

‘I know it’s a big ask-’

‘Mel, many Iranians live in fear of the Government there, even those working for them, no, especially those working in government departments.’ He looked bemused, as though she had asked him to visit a war zone. ‘Why on earth would you risk that?’ He paused, but his mind was racing. ‘Please tell me that this isn’t about the swaddling? You’re not planning something crazy like a dig, surely?’

‘I am determined to go Farrokh, and I’d rather enter through official channels.’

‘Melody, please promise me you would never attempt to enter Iran illegally.’

‘I have to go; I know it’s there. Please, will you sponsor me? You are the only Iranian I know.’

He sighed. ‘Mel, I can’t believe you’re asking me to do this.’ Another long pause. ‘I will, but reluctantly. And only because I’m concerned you may attempt to smuggle yourself in,’ he said. ‘I also think it is highly unlikely they will give you a visa. And of course, you will also need a letter of recommendation from someone important, like an MP.’

‘I’m going to ask Brodie.’ Melody said, as if it were a foregone conclusion.

‘Good luck with that.’ Farrokh said.

2

She was waiting in the anteroom outside the study of Associate Professor Broderick Kearney, Tutorial Fellow of the School of Archaeology, specialising in the Persian Empire, at Magdalen College, Oxford. The smell of wood polish reminded her that the college seemed to be made almost entirely of stone and polished wood.

The large oak-panelled door opened, and he stepped into the waiting room, his highly polished Church shoes clicking on the block parquet flooring. ‘Good morning, Dr Thornton,’ he said. Smiling and holding out his arms to greet her.

‘Good to see you again, Brodie,’ she said, standing. ‘And less of the doctor title.’ They kissed lightly on both cheeks.

‘Sorry Melody, I couldn’t help it, but the title suits you. Come on through, I’ve ordered coffee for us.’

She followed him into his imposing study, noting it had not changed since she was last here. High ornate ceiling, leaded windows, and oak-panelled library. He gestured for her to sit whilst he settled into his worn vintage chair. ‘You’re looking well Melody. how’s your search for the swaddling going?’

‘Straight to the point, as always, Brodie. It would be nice just to chat for once. I might be here just to renew acquaintances.’ she said, stroking her blonde ponytail.

There was a knock on the door. His secretary entered with a tray containing coffee and biscuits and left without speaking.

‘It would flatter me if that were true,’ he said, pouring coffee for them both. ‘However, you have recently written two articles on relics, intimating that accounts found in the book of Joseph or Caiaphas the High-Priest regarding the swaddling may have some validity.’

The Professor looked up from the cups and raised his eyebrows. ‘Really?’

She tilted her head and shrugged.

‘Milk and sugar?’

Melody relaxed, pleased that she would not have to give a long explanation. ‘Black, please,’ she said, whilst leaning forward to pick up the fine china cup with her immaculately manicured hand. ‘You’re quite the detective.’

He smoothed back his hair, flecks of grey now showing through. ‘Now, how can I help you?’

She fumbled in her briefcase. ‘I need a visa to visit Iran,’ she said. Matter-of-factly, as though she had asked to visit America. Eventually producing a map of Northern Iran and the Caspian Sea. She unfolded and smoothed it out on the table.

Brodie did not react. Instead, he leaned forward and picked up the map, noticing several small circles around the southern tip of the Caspian Sea. His face became serious as he spoke.

‘Melody, the Middle East is a very unstable region, particularly now. Iran is a dangerous country to be snooping around in. Heaven knows what they would make of a rich Oxford-educated daughter of a retired British Army Colonel. They could arrest you as a spy. We have so little influence there; we may never see you again.’ He paused. ‘Incidentally, does your father know of this?’

‘I don’t need my father’s permission, Brodie. I am nearly thirty. I’m not a child. Besides, the Caspian Sea is virtually a holiday destination for some.’ Her shoulders sank. ‘I need a letter of recommendation from a world-class college with a superb reputation in archaeology and a personage with high international esteem, preferably a professor.’

‘Melody,’ he began, ‘The only sign that the swaddling existed or indeed was ever presented to the Magi is in the discredited “First Gospel of the Infancy of Jesus”. I cannot think of one respected theologian that gives any credence to these gnostic writings.’

‘That doesn’t mean they are wholly without merit. Besides, it’s not just the writings.’

This time Brodie’s shoulders sank. ‘Look, all you have is a story, probably manufactured by a second-century Christian sect, supposedly written by the High Priest Caiaphas and purporting to be a Gospel. Which was rejected as heretical fiction.’ he raised both hands.

‘I see!’ she said. ‘Is this about the reputation of the college or is this about your reputation and only wanting to back a certainty an odds-on favourite? Worried about what people will say about your reputation, if I were to fail?’

‘That’s unfair, Melody, and you know it. I’ve stuck my neck out countless times. Who supported you when the college wanted to remove funding altogether for your research? Me.’

‘You’ve made your position clear, though I was hoping for a warmer response. Help me build a case-’

‘Admit it,’ he said, interrupting. ‘there isn’t a preponderance of evidence, and what you have is unclear and unconvincing. Look, from what I know, the Gnostics Gospels saw no connection between Jesus and the nation of Israel or the acts of God in the Old Testament. Why have you remained so obsessed about the existence of the swaddling?’

‘Obsessed! Listen to yourself. Even your language is negative. Think about it, every nativity story you’ve ever heard, read or been part of as a child, you would have heard these words, “wrapped him in swaddling cloths and laid him in a manger”. There is no relic greater than this one. My quest, no, more than a quest, my destiny is to discover it.’

‘Destiny?’

‘Higher than that, perhaps more than destiny. I believe I have been chosen.’ There was a pause as she collected her maps. ‘You wouldn’t understand if I told you.’

‘Try me. I want to help, I do, stay, please.’

Melody composed herself and stared hard at him. That look, which means you’d better mean it. She put her briefcase down.

‘I first read that story from the book of Joseph when I was fifteen, and at first, I thought it was mildly interesting that the Virgin Mary would give a piece of the swaddling cloth to the visiting Magi. But then, I imagined I was holding it, draped over my hands, still warm. Then I heard Mary speaking to me. I didn’t understand the language, but her words were soft and comforting. It’s the reason I learned Hebrew and Persian.’

‘Where were you at the time?’

‘Boarding school. On the day I first read that “lost gospel” story, I had a strange experience. Later that evening, a sense of utter despair gripped me. It was overwhelming. It seemed to claw at me, pulling me down. My eyes clouded over. I could barely breathe. Then a total loss of sight, leaving only darkness. I panicked. I thought I had gone blind. But then a peace overcame me, a serenity the like of which I had never experienced, and such joy welled up inside me.’

‘How long did it last?’

‘It felt like an age, and yet it was probably only a few minutes. Scenes began flashing in my mind. Most of the pictures made little sense, like clips from an old film, fuzzy and shaky, though the location was the Middle East and in ancient times. Eventually, one scene unfolded crystal clear. A woman nursing a child reached down and opened a wooden box. She removed a strip of cloth and gave it to a man kneeling opposite saying, “Bimcom bracha, ani magishah lecha et hamatanah hazo”.’

‘Instead of a blessing, I present you with this gift?’ Brodie queried, translating the Hebrew.

‘Yes. And it was the same voice — soft and comforting. Oh, how I wanted to stay in that moment.’

‘I see.’ he said, sitting forward in his chair. ‘Then what happened?’

‘Unfortunately, a House Mistress began shaking me and asking if I was alright. A classmate had found me and thought I was having a fit.’

‘And you believe Mary was the woman in your vision?’

‘Yes! I know it sounds crazy, but I believe it was Mary and the gift was the swaddling?’

‘Have you had any further experiences?’

‘Yes, I’ve lost count now, there have been so many and all of them concern the swaddling, Mary and the Magi. Over several years, the visions have become clearer, longer and episodic, like watching a box set, sequentially.’

‘Have you spoken to anyone about this?’

‘You’re the first person I’ve told, apart from the school doctor. Not even my father knows. I didn’t want people to think I was going mad.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Recently, though, there’s been a development. A transformation in the visions. It’s difficult to explain. I’m no longer watching a film. I’m well…’ Melody searched his face, looking for a flicker of empathy.

‘You’re what?’

‘I’m transported into it! Look, I know it’s hard to believe, but I am there with them.

Like, instead of watching a film, I am on the set. I’m an invisible onlooker,’ she said. Shaking her head. ‘they sometimes walk through me, as though I were a ghost.’

Brodie was now taking notes. ‘What period do they cover?’

Melody straightened her posture. He seems to have softened his position. I need to fire both barrels now. ‘Chronologically, the visions have been as far back as Mary’s betrothal to Joseph and as far forward as the Magi receiving the swaddling.’ she smiled, relieved that it was finally being shared.

‘What did your doctor say, if you don’t mind me asking?’

‘He wanted to refer me to a psychiatrist or at least a psychotherapist and gave me medication to “relax me”,’ she said, holding up both hands and wiggling two fingers. ‘but then I read about Catherine Emmerich and her visions. It was such a release to know a nun from the sixteenth century had similar experiences. That was the moment I knew I wasn’t mad.’

Brodie was nodding. ‘I know the story has its critics, but I researched her work many years ago. I believe her stigmata is the clearest sign of her existential union with Mary. Are you also making a journal of your experiences?’

‘Several so far.’ She paused. ‘I feel better for having told you. I can’t explain why I have the visions, and mostly I wish they would stop, but I don’t think they will until I discover the swaddling. It’s the reason I have to continue the search. I won’t give up Brodie, I’d rather die trying than live in regret for the rest of my life, even though sometimes I feel tormented by them. I have to go on.’ She paused again. ‘I don’t expect many will understand, but I have to find the swaddling somehow. If you feel you cannot help, I’ll ask my MP.’

‘I see.’ Brodie said as he stood and paced the room again. ‘A discovery of this magnitude would certainly be significant, not only in terms of your reputation but also for the college.’ He paused, deep in thought. ‘It’s not so much an evidential problem and now that I understand better what’s been driving you, I would say it’s more of a practical one.’ He took the map and smoothed it out.

Melody didn't speak.

‘The Caspian Sea has so many borders, Russia, Azerbaijan, and Turkmenistan, and to the south is Iran. I could regard none of these countries as stable or with high regard for women.’ By now, he was pointing at the circles on the map. ‘Why there Mel? What’s the connection with the swaddling or the Magi? What are you not telling me?’

She realised this could be her one chance to win over any lingering scepticism. She took a deep breath. ‘Do you remember Professor Augustus Patterson.?’

‘I met him twice when I attended some fundraising events they invited me to at Yale.’ he said, sitting down. ‘He seems a decent fellow.’

‘His specialism is in the connections between ancient translations and mythology.’ She paused, and he nodded his acquiescence. ‘Five years ago, Cardinal Poggi sought permission from the pope to grant him exceptional access to the secret Vatican archives.’

Melody sat upright in her chair. ‘Here’s the interesting bit - on one of those days, he came across some non-catalogued manuscripts. It was the title that took his attention: “The Treasures of the Magi.” He dated it between 20 BC and 20 AD. For the next two years, he worked tirelessly, translating all the documents and narrowing the timeline.’

She stopped to refill her coffee before continuing. ‘By the time the Vatican realised the impact, it was too late, and Patterson’s work was complete.’

‘Did it confirm the account in the Lost Gospel?’ he asked, nodding.

‘Crucially, a journal entry detailed the presentation of the swaddling to them by Mary. They discovered it had extraordinary powers to heal, possibly giving eternal life, and so, after considering the consequences if it got into the wrong hands, they decided “to lay it up among their treasures”.’

Brodie cut in, ‘I presume in an area South of the Caspian Sea?’

Melody ignored his obvious observation. ‘Previous searches have been around Bushehr.’ She moved back to the map. ‘This more accurate translation puts the Valley of Ascendency near Behshahr, on the South-Eastern coast of the Caspian Sea in Iran.’ she paused. ‘Brodie, we’ve been looking in the wrong place.’

Brodie digested this recent information. ‘Unfortunately, though, it’s only a hundred and fifty miles from Tehran, and to get a transit visa you would need a sponsor living in Iran, tickets, hotel reservations, and the production of a day-by-day itinerary.’

‘I think I can manage all of that. Farrokh Mokri has agreed to be my sponsor.’

Brodie stood up again, pacing the room again. ‘Can I speak frankly, Mel?’

Oh, dear, is he excited or about to pull the rug? ‘You know I still value your opinion,’ she said.

‘Muslims in Iran will cover a wide spectrum of views in terms of the depth of their faith. There is a universally held view by most of them that poking around looking for Judeo-Christian artefacts would be offensive and possibly interpreted by the State as blasphemy.’

He returned to his seat. ‘Surrounding Iran are hostile or volatile countries. There is no straightforward way in or out, and the UK has little or no diplomatic relations. If anything were to go wrong, I doubt we could get you out. On the flip side, should you be successful it would be an international game-changer?’ he said, rubbing his hands as he paused again.

Melody could hear birdsong in the quad outside.

‘If, after considering this, you still decide you want to go, then I will write in support, but I have a proviso, non-negotiable. I know someone in anti-surveillance who can equip you better for this task. You must sign up for a course.’

‘Agreed.’ Melody said, exhaling.