Authors: Kathleen O'Neal Gear

The Betrayal (26 page)

BOOK: The Betrayal

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“Libni, I've read the Gospel of Nikodemos. Papias reports this same story, with a few variations, in his
Logia.
What does it have to do with the papyrus?”

“Oh, Barnabas,” he said with true amusement and joy. “You're going to be so surprised when I tell youâ”

Voices rose in the next chamber, followed by footsteps in the tunnel. Kalay ducked into the chamber, then Zarathan and Cyrus followed.

The wind must have picked up, for Cyrus' black curly hair had been blown back from his bearded face, making his straight nose seem longer, his eyes more like hard, shimmering emeralds.

“Cyrus,” Barnabas introduced, “this is my friend Libni. He is a great scholar of the ancient texts.”

Cyrus came around the table and bowed to Libni. His once white robe, torn and streaked with dirt, old blood, and soot, clung to his tall body. “Brother, thank you for sheltering us tonight. I promise we will be gone before dawn.”

Libni placed a gentle hand on Cyrus' bowed head. “You must sit and eat to restore your strength for the long journey ahead. Please, let me pour you some wine.”

Cyrus cast a glance at Barnabas, as though he could shed light on the “long journey” comment.

Barnabas merely said, “Sit down, Cyrus. I'll explain soon. What did you find outside?”

Cyrus took a chair and reached for the loaf. As he tore off a chunk, he said, “I scouted the area. While I saw no one, there are tracks everywhere. I could make no sense of them, which means I have no idea if we are safe or not.”

Libni spilled some wine on the table beside Cyrus' cup and, as he wiped it up with his sleeve, said, “Of course there are tracks everywhere. The coastline is a major thoroughfare. Fishermen, traders, merchants, even whole caravans move up and down the length of it.”

Libni finished filling every cup on the table, including his own, and eased back down to his chair. When he looked again at Barnabas his gray eyes had a curious glitter.

Barnabas, exasperated, said, “Libni, just quickly give me a clue. Then we'll open the discussion to everyone else.”

Libni sat back in his chair. “Do you know what
mahanayim
means?”

Every gaze fixed on Libni.

Annoyed at the game, Barnabas said, “There are many possibilities. What do you think it means?”

Libni smiled his love at Barnabas, which defused some of his frustration. “I think it means âtwo camps.'”

“Two camps?”

“Yes. It's so simple, isn't it? It's hard to believe we missed it all these years.”

There were three or four heartbeats of incomprehension in the room,
before Kalay gasped, “Blessed Mother! And “Mehebel” means âfrom the coast'!”

A tingling rush of heat flushed Barnabas' veins. “âTwo camps from the coast.'” His hand shook as he reached out to touch Libni's wrist. “Dear God, then it
is
a map.”

TWENTY ~ NINE

Kalay sat in the high-backed chair with her knees drawn up, sipping wine while she watched the two old men who stood leaning over the ancient maps on the table. Brittle and yellowed, dotted here and there with drips of candle wax, Libni would allow no one but himself and Barnabas to touch the maps. The four other men had to stand back, watching from one or two paces away as their elders pondered the meaning of the faint, archaic symbols.

“That's the problem,” Libni murmured, frowning. “We don't know where to start. There were eight major cities on the coast at the time of our Lord. Which one is the papyrus referring to?”

Candlelight lay like a thick amber resin on the surface of the tabletop. It seemed to catch in glowing lines on the edges of the maps.

“If the beginning point is a city at all,” Cyrus countered as he paced behind Libni and Barnabas, his arms folded across his broad chest. “It could be a cove, a standing stone, a ruin, anything. There's no way to know.”

Barnabas placed a hand on one curled map corner, carefully flattening it out so that he could read it. “If we are correct that the man who wrote the papyrus was Ioses of Arimathaia, then perhaps we should look at sites closest to Jerusalem.”

“Why?” Cyrus asked skeptically.

“No reason really, except that's where he lived, and it gives us a starting place.”

Libni's finger was moving through the air above the parchment. “The choices, in that case, would be Apollonia, Ioppe, and Ashkelon. Pick one.”

Barnabas waved a hand uncertainly. “The one in the middle.”

“Ioppe, or do you say
Yapo
?”

“Ioppe.”

They both leaned over the table, staring at the map like scavenger birds waiting for their prey to die.

Kalay sighed. Though she had traveled much of Palestine and Egypt, she did not believe she had seen any place as desolate as the honeycomb of caves that Libni and his students called home. The chambers were virtually empty, except for a blanket folded in the corner where someone slept, or a prayer rug and a candle sitting in the middle of a swept dirt floor. Elsewhere in the region, people might live in caves, but the chambers had color. The walls were painted or contained colorful objects and bright fabrics, beads or polished stones. Except for the library where she sat, this place was barren, the walls hollowed and smoothed by eons of wind and water. There was little here to break the monotony. Fortunately, the wine was tasty. She took another drink.

The faint creak of Cyrus' sword belt broke the silence as he shifted to prop one hand on the hilt. “How many stadia is it from Ioppe to Jerusalem?”

Libni rubbed his bearded chin. “Perhaps three hundred fifty or a little more. Why?”

“Because that means Jerusalem is âtwo camps from the coast.'”

“Not if you're traveling on foot, it's at least three camps.”

Cyrus lifted his chin and Kalay could see the thoughts flashing behind his emerald eyes. “If Ioses of Arimathaia is the writer, he was a powerful and renowned leader of the Temple. He must have had friends all over Palestine, people who would have helped him. I suspect he was on horseback.”

Libni and Barnabas looked at each other, as though to see what the other thought. Finally Barnabas said, “Let's assume he's right.”

“I agree. Does that mean then that Jerusalem is the place that is âtwo camps from the coast'?”

“That's circular logic. That's where we started from.” Barnabas grimaced. “If we assume that Ioppe is the starting place, it is just as likely that Mount Gerizim is the place âtwo camps from the coast.'”

Kalay hugged her knees to her chest and said, “Well, if those are the choices, I'm of a mind to agree with Cyrus.”

Zarathan scowled at her as though upset she'd spoken. He looked from man to man, clearly waiting for someone to reprimand her.

“Go on,” Libni said. “Why?”

“Because the next word is
mahray
. David's champion was from the hill country of Judah, southwest of Bet Lehem, which is close to Jerusalem.”

Libni's bushy gray brows lifted in admiration. “And what of
manahat
?”

She sat up straight and lowered her bare feet to the cold floor. “Well, if I'm following you, and going for a literal translation, I'd say it means âresting place.'”

A warm, half-demented grin brightened Libni's face. “You are such a surprise. Where did you learn Hebrew?”

“My grandmother was Jewish. She read me the scriptures in Hebrew every night.”

Libni's smile widened. “Then you should know what
magdi
â”

Zarathan piped up, “Magdiel was an Edomite chief.” He was obviously pleased with himself for remembering. An arrogant smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

Libni said, “Yes, but not in this case.”

Zarathan's smile drooped. “What do you mean? We all agreed that it was an Edomite chief!”

Libni's fond gaze fixed on Kalay. “Do you know, my dear?”

“I know that the translation of the word is God's gift, or the gift of God.”

Cyrus' eyes widened. He propped his hand on the table and murmured, “Two camps from the coast â¦ David's champion â¦ lay to rest? â¦ God's gift?”

Barnabas' knees seemed to go weak. He gingerly lowered himself to a chair and said, “God's gift, God.”

“What does that mean?” Zarathan's mouth puckered into a pout. “It's gibberish.”

Wind whipped around the chamber, fluttering the maps on the table, and Libni carefully reached out to hold down the corners.

Ignoring Zarathan, Kalay said, “After that, we've a problem.”

“Because
selah
breaks the pattern,” Zarathan said a little too loudly and thrust out his blond-fuzzed chin.

It truly amazed Kalay that he
had
been listening. She'd thought his head filled with nothing but bawdy paintings.

“Yes, it does,” Libni agreed and the wrinkles in his forehead deepened. “You have all clearly been considering this. What conclusions did you come to regarding
selah
?”

Barnabas braced his elbows on the table and answered, “We thought it might refer to the Edomite rock city, or perhaps the place in Moab.”

“But,” Kalay pointed out, “it literally means ârock'.”

The men shifted, apparently waiting for someone to say something.

“God's gift, God, rock?” Zarathan asked, as though annoyed. “That's ridiculous.”

“Maybe not.” When Cyrus began pacing again, the flickering candlelight gilded his sword with a heartbeat of fire. “Is it possible that
Selah
could be a hidden reference to Saint Petros? His name also means ârock'.”

“Yes, and in Hebrew “rock” is
kepha,
” Kalay said.

Libni steepled his fingers and propped his chin upon the point. “I hadn't thought of that one,” he praised. “That's exactly the sort of twist Ioses of Arimathaia would throw in to confuse the idle reader. What do you think, Barnabas?”

Barnabas ran a hand through his gray hair. In the muted light his deeply sunken eyes turned glassy. “It is possible, but â¦ it doesn't feel right.”

“Well enough,” Libni said, picked up the jug, and poured himself another cup of wine. “Let's move on to
massa, massa
. Cyrus? Your thoughts?”

“I thought it might be a reference to the son of Ishmael mentioned in the Book of Genesis.”

Without being asked, Kalay offered, “I'm fairly sure it's from the
massa umeriba,
which literally means âproof and strife,' or maybe âtesting and contention.'”

Barnabas said, “It could just as easily refer to the âoracle' taught to
King Lemuel. The problem is the papyrus is not written in Hebrew, it's written in Latin, which was surely designed to lead the reader on a merry chase, for, without the Hebraic letters, we've no idea how each word might truly be translated.”

“Um, yes. Quite correct,” Libni said. “
Massa
as it appears in Latin may be an exact transliteration from the Hebrew, but in Hebrew the word may have been pronounced
massha,
or
massah,
each with a different meaning. Without seeing the context in which the words occur, we cannot pretend to know their exact meaning.”

Since Kalay had never learned to read, such distinctions had little impact on her, but Zarathan looked truly perplexed.

His blond brows pinched. “Two camps from the coast, David's champion lay to rest God's gift, God, rock, proof, proof? It's nonsense.”

“Perhaps if we could decipher
selah
it would all be perfectly clear.” Barnabas sighed.

The stone floor was cold. Kalay drew her feet into the chair again and propped her cup of wine on her knees, wondering about
selah.
It was an Edomite fortress city conquered by Amaziah, King of Judah. Could it refer to a fortress made of stone? If the papyrus was, truly, a clever map, finding the fortress would be essential.

She leaned her head against the chair's back and let her gaze drift over the rounded candlelit ceiling. The men had lowered their voices, and begun talking softly among themselves.

Maybe Zarathan was right. It was all nonsense. She picked up the jug and refilled her cup again. A pleasant warmth was filtering through her veins, making all of this seem somehow less deadly than it was. She liked the few moments of respite.

In a nasty voice, Zarathan commented, “Soon, you're going to be slurring your words, then what will we do with you?”

She deliberately slurred, “I don't shink I want to answer that quesh-tion. It might give you ideas, and you've already got plenty in that young head of yoursh.”

Red crept into his cheeks. He clamped his jaw, and glowered at her. As though it would upset her, he announced, “I'm leaving. Where am I supposed to sleep?”

Libni looked up. “Tiras and Uzziah placed blankets in the entry cave
for you, and they will be standing guard tonight so that you all can sleep without worry. Please try to rest.”

Cyrus replied, “That will be a welcome relief. Thank you, brother.”

Zarathan marched from the chamber, and Libni and Barnabas returned to the map. They whispered and pointed at different squiggly lines, lost in their own private conversation.

Cyrus gestured to Kalay to get her attention, then tilted his head toward the tunnel, silently asking her join him outside.

Kalay rose to her feet and followed him.

In the entry cave, they found Zarathan rolled up in a blanket. Three other blankets lay folded in the rear. As they passed, Zarathan flopped to his opposite side, showing them his back, before they ducked outside.

Fog spun out of the sea, ghost white in the moonlight. Cyrus walked a few paces down the cliff face, taking them out of earshot of anyone who might be listening.

She walked along behind him, pondering why he needed to leave the caves to talk to her.

Finally, he stopped in a pool of cold shadows and leaned back against the cliff. Shreds of mist blew about him.

“What is your opinion of Libni?”

Kalay shrugged. “He's a curious one. I was unsure at first, but I like him.”

“And his two assistants?”

“They're boys, Cyrus. They're no danger to us.”

The world shimmered in the mist. His black hair and beard had already picked up an opalescent sheen.

“Do you believe Libni?” Cyrus cocked his head.

“If you're asking if I think the papyrus should be translated literally, it makes more sense than anything else we've tried.”

BOOK: The Betrayal

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