“In the gospels,” he went on, “we are told that soldiers diced for Christ’s clothing at the very foot of the Cross. May we not hope that when the earth shook and the heavens were darkened they might have dropped some of their winnings there?”
At that moment one of the women held up something small, and the Bishop limped over to see.
“This talk of relics is superstition, though his idea about dating the coins shows a sound grasp of history,” said Eusebius beside me. “It is the empty tomb, the Sign of the Resurrection, that should concern us here.”
Together we moved closer to the excavation. “In the time of the Incarnation,” he went on, “this spot was just outside the city walls. But the new wall that was built by Herod Agrippa included it, and when Hadrian refounded the city he placed the forum here, at the crossroads.”
One could count on Eusebius to stick to the facts, I thought as I gazed at the gnawed earth below. A knob of rock seemed to be emerging to one side. Still, there was something rather engaging about Macarius’s simple enthusiasm.
“I have heard it said that the Emperor placed the Temple of Aphrodite there on purpose, to scandalize the Christians.”
Eusebius shrugged. “Perhaps, though he was not one of the great persecutors. It is the Jews who earned his wrath. I suspect that Hadrian put the temple here simply because it was convenient, and the site was covered in an attempt to level it.”
I could see his point. The city was set on a plateau surrounded on three sides by canyons, and even the top had irregularities. The earlier wall had ended where a quarry had bitten deeply into the ground, but beyond it the ground rose in a hill. I could see what looked like the beginnings of a deeper ditch at the edge of the forum as well. I knew that the thought of the events that had taken place on this spot ought to move me, but I could find no meaning in the confused scene before me now.
Eusebius frowned. “Until the diggers have finished there will not be much to see here. Perhaps you should look at some of the other sites—the Galilee, or perhaps Bethlehem, which is only a half a day’s journey to the south.”
“To begin at the beginning?” I nodded. For some, like the Bishop, the proof of his religion was in the elegance of its theology. But I came from a place where power flowed through the earth and gathered in sacred pools. If God had become Man here in Palestine, surely the land itself would bear witness in some way to the miracle.
It was the season of the grape harvest, and in the villages, the people were picking the ripe fruit in the little vineyards that patched the hills. Patient donkeys made their way along the road before us, almost hidden by the great baskets of grapes they bore. On our journey to Aelia, I had been insulated from contact with the people, but even the commander forgot to be suspicious when confronted by laughing girls who offered him frothing cups of freshly-pressed juice along the way.
The village of Bethlehem had not changed much since the time of Jesus. A cluster of flat-roofed mud houses interspersed with stock-pens and clumps of greenery spread over the hilly ground.
“Do you see where some of the structures are built out from the slopes?” asked Eusebius. “There are caves behind them that the people use for stables and storage, because they are cool. They press out the oil of their olives there as well.”
“Do you mean that Jesus was born in a cave?”
“A cave that was being used as a stable. There it is, ahead of us. This site has been known for a long time. The clay manger is still there.”
He did not sound very excited, but by now I had realized that what mattered to Eusebius was not the place itself but its value as a historical proof of the Incarnation. Any lack of enthusiasm on his part was more than made up for by the villagers who swarmed around us, offering to show the sacred cave.