Authors: Kathleen O'Neal Gear
The Betrayal (34 page)
Following behind Albion and Macarios, Meridias tramped by the beautiful rocked-in Pool of Siloam with its intricate mosaic floor, and out of the city through the Dung Gate.
Macarios extended his hand to the steep valley that dropped away in front of them. In the late afternoon light, the upthrust rocks and brush cast long, dark shadows over the limestone slopes now tawny with sparse grasses. What he could see of the far slope was dotted with small black holes, some in flats carved from the valley stone. Faint trails crisscrossed the slope as though woven between the features.
Macarios spoke reverently. “This is the Hinnom valley.”
Meridias studied the narrow gorge. The length of it curved along the west and south sides of Jerusalem like a V-shaped moat. “What is the name of the valley that the gorge intersects at the bottom?”
“The Kidron valley.”
Both the Hinnom and Kidron valleys were areas of exposed limestone ridges and wind-smoothed barren hillocks. If there ever had been any trees here, they'd all been cut down and used by the soldiers of the Tenth Legion to warm themselves, cook their food, and bake their bricks. Now only scrub brush and grass filled the spaces between the rocks.
“Here, Pappas, let me show you some of the most interesting tombs,” Albion said, and started off down the slope at a fast walk.
Meridias, careful of the footing, fell into line behind him. As they made their way along the precarious trail, he noted the numerous fragments of incised limestone slabs that had been scattered down the slope. Some of the stonework was extraordinary. “Macarios? What are these?”
Macarios strode up beside him and looked at where Meridias pointed. “I'm afraid those are pieces of broken ossuaries, bone boxes. Grave robbers always come out after dark to plunder the tombs.”
“Grave robbers?”
“Yes, we post guards, of course, but it does little good. We don't have enough people. They raid the tombs looking for precious jewels, gold, anything they can sell.”
“They break into the tombs and drag out the ossuaries?”
“Or crush them inside the tombs. But I suppose it's easier to see the contents if you drag the ossuaries outside into the light.”
The path down curved into a gorge where the walls of limestone rose three or four times their height. They passed several rock-hewn tombs with rectangular and T-shaped doorways blocked by stones.
“How old are these ossuaries?” Meridias asked.
“Ossuaries were used for burials for only a very short timeâwe suspect from about thirty years before the birth of our Lord, until the destruction of the Temple in the year seventy.”
“So they date to the time of our Lord?”
“Approximately, yes.”
Albion called, “Here! Pappas Meridias, come and look at this one!”
Meridias hurried to the place where the youth stood. The tomb facade was magnificent. The stoneworker had hacked a man-sized square at least three fathoms back into the face of the limestone wall, flattened it, and cut a T-shaped doorway, which had been sealed with a stone. Above the doorway three elaborate interconnected circles had been carved. Each circle had an incised border of triangles, and what appeared to be a large six-petaled flower in the middle.
Meridias said, “It's beautiful. I had no idea the Ioudaiosoi were such skilled stoneworkers.”
Albion smiled, pleased by his response. “This is my favorite, but there are thousands of tombs here. Would you like to see more of the special ones?”
“No. Not today. I'm tired. But perhaps tomorrow.”
Albion said, “Yes, Pappas.”
Macarios gave Albion a proud nod. “Thank you, brother, for your help today. Can you take Pappas Meridias back to the cell we prepared for him in the monastery?”
“Of course. Please follow me.”
Albion started back up the gorge trail and Meridias followed close behind Macarios. The sun had set, and dusk was descending over the city.
The climb was strenuous. They were both breathing hard when they climbed out of the gorge and started up the slope for the city.
Meridias stopped to catch his breath. While Albion continued up the hill, he turned to Macarios. “Tomorrow, first thing, I want to see the two tombs you found near Golgotha.”
Macarios used his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his jowls and nodded. “Of course. Our workers should have more cleared by then. Perhaps we will be ableâ”
“Pappas Macarios!” Albion cried.
Macarios jerked his head up, strode past Meridias, and climbed the rocky slope toward the young monk who was standing bent over with his hands propped on his knees.
As Meridias followed in Macarios' footsteps, he saw the soft dirt pile before the freshly opened tomb. Broken fragments of ossuaries littered the ground in front, and he could clearly see the doorway, measuring about one fathom square.
Macarios knelt and peered into the tomb, as though hoping to find one of the grave robbers still at work so he could arrest them.
Meridias stood a few paces back. “Do you see anyone?”
“No, but it's very dark in there ⦠and the tomb is larger than I would have thought given its unimpressive facade.”
Meridias went to kneel beside Macarios and look inside. A damp, musty scent breathed from the tomb, which sent a chill up Meridias' spine. “Let's see what's in there.”
“You're going in?” Macarios asked in surprise. “What if the thieves are hiding in one of the inner chambers?”
“Surely we scared them away,” he answered as he got on his hands and knees and crawled into the darkness.
Once through the opening, the tomb yawned around him, soaring twice his height and spreading ten fathoms across. Despite his brave words, Meridias reached for the long-bladed dagger he kept under his robes. Stairs led downward. He took them one at a time, dagger ready, fingertips tracing the close wall on his left. In ten heartbeats his eyes began to adjust and objects crystallized. There were at least twenty ossuaries resting on stone shelves. He called up, “It's safe. You can enter.”
Macarios and Albion crawled in, and climbed down the steps. As their eyes adjusted, Meridias walked to the stone shelf on the left where two ossuaries nestled side-by-side. There were words written on them. He could see them in the faint light that penetrated through the doorway.
“Macarios, when you can see, come over here. You read Hebrew, don't you?”
“Yes.” Macarios walked toward him, blinking his eyes.
Albion stood as though frozen to the floor, looking around wide-eyed.
Macarios bent to study the words scratched into the ossuaries. “Hmm. This one says
Salome
.”
Salome
.”
Meridias dusted off the word on the other ossuary. “And this one?”
Macarios squinted at it. “It's not very clear, but it may be
Mari,
or
Mariam
.”
Mari,
or
Mariam
.”
Albion sucked in a sudden breath. His eyes had adjusted, and he lifted a shaking arm to point at something in the rear of the tomb. “Itâit's a skeleton!”
“Where?” Meridias spun around to look.
“Back there, lying on that rock shelf.”
Meridias edged around the broken chunks of ossuaries that had been destroyed by the thieves in their haste, and made his way toward the rear. “Dear God, Albion's right.”
A skeleton lay on its back, a burial shroud covering the collapsed ribs, arms, and legs. The fabric had been drawn back to expose the skull. It gleamed as though sculpted of polished brown marble.
115
115
Macarios came up beside him. “I wonder why his bones were never collected and placed in an ossuary as was customary.”
“His family must have brought him here, sealed the tomb, and never returned to finish the work,” Meridias suggested. “Maybe he was one of the last ones, left behind when the Temple was destroyed?”
“That's possible. According to the ancient texts, a corpse was prepared with oil and spices, then wrapped in white linen and placed on a shelf in a tomb. After which, the tomb was closed up with a blocking stone. In a year or so, the stone was rolled aside and the bones of the dead were collected and placed in a box, usually made of limestoneâthough those in the Galilaian seem to have been made of clay.”
“Why didn't they just bury them and be done with it?” Meridias asked.
“Some people did, but the Pharisees believedâas we doâin the physical resurrection of the body. The decomposition of the flesh supposedly cleansed the body of sin and left the bones in a pure state, ready for the resurrection.”
“Then the tradition of ossuaries was strictly a Pharisaic one?”
“I believe it was primarily practiced by the Pharisees, but that's all I can say.”
Meridias cautiously walked toward the skeleton. As he neared the shelf, he noticed a darker patch to his left, and could make out at least two steps. “There's another chamber,” he said. “It looks like it goes down to a lower level.”
Albion's young voice had gone shrill with fear. “We n-need a torch, or a lamp. Perhaps we should return tomorrow with the proper equipment to search the rest of the tomb.”
“I agree. It's getting dark outside,” Macarios said. “When we return to the monastery, I'll dispatch monks to guard this tomb until we can reseal it.”
“Reseal it?” Meridias said.
“Well, yes. Out of respect for the dead, we shouldâ”
“We should probably reseat the blocking stone, and then bury it beneath as much earth as we can,” Meridias said, “or the thieves will certainly return.”
Macarios tilted his head in reluctant agreement. “That is a good suggestion, brother. I'll pull some workers off our excavation and send them over here in the morning.”
Macarios and Albion climbed up the stairs and when their bodies blocked the light, the tomb went utterly black. Meridias stood with his eyes focused on the place where he knew the shrouded skeleton rested. A
strange prickling crept up his spine. He sensed or heard something.
Probably the wind outside.
It grew louder, and sounded oddly like a soft, mournful voice. In mere moments it seemed to fill the chamber.
strange prickling crept up his spine. He sensed or heard something.
Probably the wind outside.
It grew louder, and sounded oddly like a soft, mournful voice. In mere moments it seemed to fill the chamber.
Meridias backed toward the steps. A fear like nothing he had ever known rose inside him. He was certain now that it was a man's voice.
Finally, both Albion and Macarios crawled out, and light once again streamed into the chamber.
The sound vanished.
Meridias forced a deep breath into his lungs. With the light restored, the tomb was, once again, utterly quiet.
“Are you coming, Pappas Meridias?” Macarios called.
“Yes.”
As he made his way out into the dusk, he silently cursed himself for being a fool and strode bravely for the city gate.
Loukas sat his horse atop a hill; his remaining men slouched on their mounts just behind him. On the road below, Atinius, the woman, and the other two monks made their way toward Jerusalem. His eyes focused on the woman.
I'm coming for you, beauty.
“Why are we waiting?” Elicius asked. “They're too far ahead. We should be going.”
“In a moment,” Loukas answered without looking at the old man.
The holy city draped like a cluttered blanket over a rounded mountaintop. In the distance the massive stone walls gleamed faintly blue with the falling of night. Broken in many places by former sieges, the wall was no longer a defensive structure. Rather, it had become an ancient artifact of toppled stones, interspersed with remnants of standing wallsâmore a monument to Roman superiority than to the engineering skills of the Ioudaiosoi.
Just outside the Damascus Gate, Loukas could see the massive, partially completed monastery. Meridias should be there. Was he watching, even as Atinius and his companions rode past?
“I thought they would have headed for Apollonia, or perhaps Caesarea. I'm stunned that they came here,” Elicius said with a shake of his gray head. “Pappas Meridias was right about spooking them.”
The old man had a doglike face with a long snout and fierce brown eyes. After a week on the trail his once-shaven face had again sprouted gray
hair. It covered his cheeks and chin, making him seem old beyond belief. Alexander, the second men, sat his horse a few paces away, silent.
hair. It covered his cheeks and chin, making him seem old beyond belief. Alexander, the second men, sat his horse a few paces away, silent.
Loukas kept his eyes on the prey. Atinius had almost reached the northern gate that led into the city, the Damascus Gate. As part of his training, the Militia Templi had required that he study the holy city. After the death of Iesous Christos, it had been transformed from an earthly city into a celestial one: the heavenly Jerusalem. His gaze took in the legendary Temple Mount and the ruins of what had once been the most extraordinary sacred space on earth, then drifted to the still standing towers of the Citadel to the west, which had served as the royal palace of King Herod. He could see the vast excavation ordered by Emperor Constantine, and the dust pall that trailed off to the east, carried by the breeze.
Jerusalem!
Reverence filled him. He was a soldier of the Faith, sworn to protect it, and this place, this broken city, was its heart. Whatever monstrous thing Atinius and his allies were after, he had to stop them from finding it. Or if they did, he was bound to destroy it before anyone knew it had existed.
Reverence filled him. He was a soldier of the Faith, sworn to protect it, and this place, this broken city, was its heart. Whatever monstrous thing Atinius and his allies were after, he had to stop them from finding it. Or if they did, he was bound to destroy it before anyone knew it had existed.
Loukas remained, squinting in the darkness as Atinius finally passed through the gate, followed by the other horse and riders.
“Are you sure we can find them in there?” Elicius asked.
“Quite sure.” Loukas kicked his horse into a trot, and continued his pursuit.
As night deepened, the scent of tilled soil wafted on the breeze, along with the musky odor of animal dung. Tawdry little huts dotted the hillsides leading to the holy city, and he could make out corrals filled with one or two cows, maybe a few sheep or goats. As they passed, hidden horses, lodged in barns, whinnied and their own horses pranced and answered.
Just before they began the final steep climb to the city, Elicius rode up beside him. “Should we find Pappas Meridias and report before we continue our pursuit?”
Loukas gave him a withering look. “We stick as close to our prey as possible. Meridias can wait.”
Other books
Heart and Home by Jennifer Melzer
Summer of '76 by Isabel Ashdown
The Journals of Ayn Rand by Ayn Rand
Orchard Grove by Vincent Zandri
The Golden Apple by Michelle Diener
SEALed for Pleasure by Lacey Thorn
El Libro de los Tres by Lloyd Alexander
Ice Cold by Adair, Cherry
Bounty's End (Bounty for Hire) by Wiliams, AJ