The Betrayal (38 page)

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Authors: Kathleen O'Neal Gear

BOOK: The Betrayal
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A loud gasp sounded, followed by Zarathan's frightened voice: “There are skulls on the floor in here!”
“Well, don't break them!” Kalay called back.
She remained outside for a time, staring at Cyrus. His hair was blowing around his face. Even in the moonlight, his emerald eyes glittered when he looked at her. Softly, she said, “We are probably not alone out here. You know that, don't you? They almost certainly followed us.”
A slow, radiant smile turned his lips—the smile of a man who's already given himself up for dead. “Yes. I know.”
Annoyed, she snapped, “Get that martyr's smile off your face. You're not going to die unless you start taking reckless chances.”
His smile widened. “This entire trip is one big reckless chance.”
“Yes, well, there is that, but I order you to call out immediately if you hear or see anything suspicious.”
He nodded obediently. “I will. Kalay, can you …” He hesitated. “If you find anything important, will you come out and tell me?”
He obviously longed to be one of the chosen to enter the tomb, to see what it contained for himself. But he trusted no one else to protect them from the evils that might lurk in the night.
“Don't worry,” she said. “If we find something inscribed with the words THE PEARL
,
I'll bring it right out to you.”
He gave her a mildly irritated look. “Thank you.”
She grinned and ducked into the tomb.
Loukas, on his belly, slid back from the precipice, and whispered to Elicius, “Pappas Meridias is probably staying in the new monastery being built north of the city. Find him. Tell him we believe they have found it, and he should bring at least ten men to surround the tomb. Twenty would be better.”
“Yes,” Elicius said, and tossed windblown gray hair out of his eyes. “Just the sight of twenty armed men will take the fight out of Atinius.”
When Elicius kept lying there, smiling, Loukas said, “Now. Go now. And pick up those two men we saw guarding that open tomb. We'll need every man.”
Elicius' mouth pursed, but he got to his feet and silently trotted away into the darkness.
Alexander glared at Loukas, as though he didn't much like the way he treated his friend Elicius.
Loukas slid forward to the edge of the precipice again, and watched Atinius standing guard in front of the tomb. The gorge was deep and narrow, the rocky footing treacherous. The fool. With one well-placed arrow, an archer could kill him, then block the tomb and trap his friends inside. Even if they escaped, no one could run far or fast in these eroded limestone outcrops. They could be easily hunted down and killed. What was Atinius thinking?
But he's surprised me before.
Loukas turned to Alexander. “Stay here. Signal the soldiers when they come. I'm going to take my horse, go around, and block the mouth of the gorge below, so they can't possibly escape.”
NISAN THE 18TH, THE YEAR 3771
I see her the instant we ride to the edge of the gorge. In the moonlight, the pale limestone cliffs have a liquid silver shine. She sits far below, in front of the
tekton'
s tomb. Her himation is pulled over her head, and she is rocking back and forth. The breeze carries the faint sound of her mourning cries.
“Leave the horses to graze,” I tell Titus. “Come with me.”
We dismount and carefully make our way down the narrow trail that leads to the bottom of the gorge. Along the way, I touch the tombs of people I have known and loved. People I miss.
We reach the trail in the gorge bottom where the footing is better, though still precarious, and I quicken my pace. Ahead, the symbol of the
tekton,
carved only a few days ago by Yeshua, reflects the moonlight, glowing as though lit from behind.
She looks up when we stop before her. Long black hair fringes the edges of her himation, and frames her swollen, ravaged face. In her eyes, I do not see surprise, but utter despair.
I crouch beside her. “Maryam,” I softly say. “You did well. I spoke to Lazaros. He told me
—
”
“You don't know the whole truth, Yosef,” she says in a grief-stricken voice. “Forgive me, I
—
I deceived you.”
I reach out to touch her hand. “I know part of it. We were ambushed by Roman soldiers at dusk tonight, just outside of Emmaus. They cut the burial shroud open. We saw the man we carried.”
Her wet eyes widen, and tears trace lines down her cheeks. “You saw him?”
“Dysmas, yes.”
“Did you”
—
she wipes her cheeks with the corner of her himation
—
“did you take care of him?”
It was so like her to worry as much about the soul of a crucified murderer as she would the soul of a saint.
I gently say, “If you love them that love you, what reward have you?”
Her mouth quivers.
I smile. “We did the best we could for him. We buried him in a beautiful pomegranate orchard. I prayed for his soul. The rest is in God's hands.”
In a tender, almost lover-like gesture, she reaches out and clasps my hand. “He would be grateful, Yosef, as I am.”
I know she means Yeshua, not Dysmas, and her words bring tears to my eyes.
“Yosef, please try to understand. You helped us so much, helped … him … so much. I couldn't take the chance that if they caught you, you would bear the brunt of the praefectus' wrath. So, I …” She lowers her gaze, as though ashamed of her deception.
“You alone took the risk.” I expel a breath, and close my eyes for several long moments, letting her bravery sink into my heart before I say, “Maryam, truly, you are the greatest of his disciples. You made his teachings a part of you. He would be very proud.”
A sob lodges in her throat. She closes her eyes, trying not to make a sound.
I give her some time. Then I ask, “What will you do now? You mustn't stay in Jerusalem. It's too dangerous.”
She swallows hard. “I'm going to the Galil. A friend told me that's where Kepha has gone. I must face him. Yosef, I'm sure he's the one who
—”
“As I am.” Anger stirs the ashes of my grief. “Do you want me to go with you?”
She shakes her head. “No, I must do it alone. And you must leave, Yosef. Tonight. The Council is looking for you, and the praefectus
—”
“Yes, Lazaros told me. If I stay, I fully expect to be arrested.”
117
A cloud passes across the face of the moon, and the gorge is shrouded in utter darkness.
“Master,” Titus says. His curly brown hair looks gray tonight, making him seem older. “I know you could not tell me the whole truth when this began, but now
—”
“Yes.” I exhale the word. “Now it's time you understood. You deserve the truth more than anyone.”
He waits, watching me. Occasionally, he glances at Maryam.
“Gamliel … he said it would take something monumental to stop the revolt, something so stunning that the shocked crowds would forget their anger and lay down their arms to embrace each other.”
Titus appears to be thinking about that, his mind working through the maze of information. A cool breeze blows up the Kidron valley and flattens his robe against his chest. “You mean it had to be the fulfillment of prophecy?”
I glance at Maryam. When she says nothing, I add, “We knew that many people would think he'd escaped, and many more that his body had been stolen, but the faithful, those looking for the coming of the messiah …”
In an awed whisper, Titus says, “They would believe.”
Maryam breathes, “With all their hearts.”
I wait for him to ask more. When he does not, I rise to my feet and look at the tomb.
Maryam begins rocking again, back and forth.
“Is he in there?” I ask. “Is that where you put him?”
Why else would she be here?
She closes her eyes, and her shoulders heave. When she gains control, she says, “It is his family tomb. He carved the facade just days before … .” Her hoarse voice trails away.
I lift my gaze to the symbol of the
tekton.
His grandfather, and his great-grandfather, and more fathers back into the dark mists of time, were excellent stoneworkers. He would rejoice to be with them. It is a fitting place.
I just stare at it for a time, remembering the sound of his deep voice … .
Finally, I bow my head and pray, “Happy are they who dwell in the Lord's House, they shall be ever praising thee! Happy the people that is so circumstanced, happy the people whose God is the Eternal. I extol thee, my God, my King, and bless thy name evermore.”
Maryam, surprised, lifts her head. Together, she and Titus reply in unison, “Let the name of the Eternal be praised, and exalted in his name alone. Amayne.”
A trembling smile touches Maryam's lips. She rises unsteadily to her feet and turns, with me, to face the tomb as I begin the Yiskor, the burial service.
The setting is wrong. I cannot do everything I need to. But what little I can offer is better than nothing.
I take a deep breath, and sing in a soft voice, “May God remember the soul of our honored teacher, Yeshua ben Pantera … .”
The moonlight shining into the tomb was dazzling. It was as though it had been carved in anticipation of this exact moment.
As Kalay's eyes adjusted, she studied the squarish shape of the main burial chamber. There were three skulls on the floor; each rested before a loculus, or in Hebrew,
kokh,
a tunnel carved into the wall where ossuaries were placed on rock shelves. There were six
kokhim.
Even from here, near the entry, she could count several bone boxes in the recesses.
In a strained voice, Barnabas said, “Kalay, please, let me read this to you.”
She walked through the silver wash of light to where Barnabas and Zarathan crouched before a rectangular box carved from limestone. Back in the tunnel, she counted two more ossuaries.
Barnabas said, “I can't see very well, but I believe this one says,
Yuda bar Yeshua.
”
Kalay translated, “Iuda son of Iesous.”
Zarathan stared at her aghast. “Our Lord had a son?”
Barnabas shook his head. “It may mean nothing, Zarathan. Let's keep looking.”
He crawled deeper into the tunnel, and read aloud: “Here's one marked
Yose
and another,
Maria.
”
“Our Lord's parents!” Zarathan looked like he might faint.
Kalay shook her head. “Those are two of the most common names in the history of the Ioudaiosoi, you idiot. They don't mean anything.”
“There's also a
Mariamne
back here,” Barnabas called. “The inscription is in Greek, which is a little curious.”
Kalay looked straight at Zarathan and hissed, “That's probably one of your Lord's sisters that you don't believe in.”
“I didn't say I didn't believe!”
Barnabas crawled out and moved to another tunnel. He reached into it, turned one of the ossuaries, and leaned so close to the inscription his nose almost touched the box. He haltingly read,
“Yakob … bar Yosef … achui de … Yeshua.”
Kalay grinned at Zarathan. “Iakobos, son of Ioses, brother of Iesous.”
When Zarathan fell back against the wall with his mouth agape, Kalay said, “Obviously, your Lord's brother—er, cousin.”
In a strangled voice, Zarathan said, “I don't believe it!”
Barnabas continued moving around the tomb. “These have no inscriptions,” he said after searching three ossuaries.
As he moved to the fourth tunnel, he sucked in a deep breath and placed a hand against the wall, as though to gather his failing strength. They'd been up all night, eaten nothing in two days, and been traveling hard. She was amazed he'd made it this far.
“Brother,” Kalay called. “Please sit down and rest for just a few moments. Otherwise, I'm afraid you're going to fall down.”
“No, no, I … I can't. There's no way of knowing how much time we have.”
Zarathan righted himself, blinked as though waking, and marched across the room to take Barnabas' arm. “Forgive me, brother, I should have been helping you all along.”
“Thank you, Zarathan,” Barnabas said and leaned on his brother as he moved to the next tunnel.
The ossuary in front sat in a particularly bright patch of moonlight. It seemed impossible that such a thing could be an accident. Had the person who'd placed it here done it at night? With moonlight streaming through the entry just like this?
Barnabas got down on his knees to examine it. “There's an inscription,”
he said, “but it's difficult to make out.” He sounded out the letters for a time, then in a shaking voice read,
“Yeshua … bar … Yosef.”
118
Zarathan let out a small cry and spun around to stare at Kalay. “I
told
you Ioses was his father! I knew it!”
“Zarathan, do you know how common these names are?”
“B-but all of them!” Zarathan stammered. “All of them in one place? This must have been Iesous' family tomb!”
Kalay folded her arms. “That means you'll have to admit that your Lord had a son. Hmm. Then maybe that Mariamne was the one known as the Magdalen. Yuda's mother?”
It might have been the moonlight, but she swore that Zarathan's young face lost all color. “No,” he whispered. “I don't believe it. I
won't
believe it!”
Barnabas said, “There's another inscribed tomb back here.”
Kalay asked, “What does it say?”
He squinted hard. “It might be …
Matya.
”
“Oh, there's a ringer for you, Zarathan.” Kalay's brows lifted. “In Greek that's
Maththaios.
Why would there be a Maththaios in Iesous' family tomb?”
Zarathan wet his lips, and breathed before he said, “Maybe he was the son of Yuda or some other family member who lived later?”
“Now you're thinking,” she said, and shoved a lock of long red hair from her eyes. “Maybe all of these are from a later time. Maybe decades, or centuries later. Even yesterday—”
“No,” Barnabas corrected as he grabbed Zarathan's wrist to steady himself. “Decades, perhaps, but we know that this burial tradition dates only to the time just before and just after our Lord was alive.”
“See, I told you,” Zarathan stubbornly insisted. “It's Iesous' family tomb!”
Kalay gestured to Barnabas' hand where it clutched Zarathan's wrist. “Best let go, Barnabas. Your grip's jeopardizing the blood flow to his brain.”
Barnabas turned and his face glowed with deep reverence. Softly, he said, “The likelihood that the map would lead us here, and that all these names would occur in one tomb and not be associated with our Lord … well, it's virtually impossible.”
“Brother Barnabas,” she said as though reprimanding a child. “Do you know how many members of my own family have these names?”
He blinked. “No.”
“I have a cousin named
Yeshua ben Yosef.
My three aunts are named
Mari, Maryam,
and
Miryam.
My grandfather was
Yakob
”—she took a breath to continue her litany—“I have three second cousins named
Yuda
. And the number of men named
Matya
—well, too many to count.”
Zarathan's jaw had locked, and his eyes narrowed like a wild pig's just before it charges. “There are ten ossuaries in this tomb, and five have inscriptions that bear the names of our Lord's family. This is no accident. You're just trying to demean—”
“I surrender,” she said and threw up her hands. “You've found the Pearl. Let's go home to Egypt.”
Kalay stalked across the chamber and ducked outside into the night.
Cyrus, who stood three paces away, spun breathlessly, waiting for her to tell him what they'd discovered.
“Yes?”
The wind still gusted wildly, flinging sand and gravel in every direction.
She strode to him and said, “Go see for yourself. There's a tomb in there that bears the inscription
Yeshua bar Yosef.
”
His anxious expression slackened, and his eyes went wide and wet with faith. For several moments, he was unable to speak. Finally, he whispered, “Truly?”
“Yes, absolutely. Go and see it. I'll stand guard for the few moments it will take you.”
Cyrus hesitated. He clearly wanted to go inside, but was uncertain he could leave his post.
“Go on,” she ordered and made a shooing motion with her hands.
Cyrus grimaced, then broke. He rushed past her and ducked into the tomb.
Voices rose and carried on the wind, filled with awe and conviction. Several instants later, someone started crying, barely audible. She thought it was Barnabas. Then Zarathan let out a deep-throated sob, and burst into tears.
Kalay drew the knife from her belt and walked a few paces down the gorge. There, in the shadows, she leaned heavily against the cliff. The moon had almost sunk below the western horizon and the first rays of dawn filtered through the sky like pale blue smoke.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. What fools men were. A few names scribbled on rocks and they went to pieces.
Though, she had to admit, they were intriguing names.
She tried to imagine what the monks would do if they all agreed the ossuary was the Pearl. Would they pack it up and haul it home to place on the altar of a new monastery? Perhaps they would open it, and each start carrying around finger bones; “relics,” they were called. That was such a ghastly thought it made her slightly ill. She took a few more steps down the gorge.
Just ahead of her a cascade of pebbles bounced down the cliff, and Kalay craned her neck to scan the stone wall high above. The ferocious wind had probably scooped it from a ledge … but an old and familiar chill crept about her bones. It was like hearing a footfall in a room that's supposed to be empty.
She turned to study the black pool of moon shadow across the gorge where a small sandstorm spun. There was nothing there. Nothing.
Then … a whisper of leather and metal, a sudden glint of silver.
Instinctively, she spun with her knife held low, and slashed straight into the downward arc of a sword. The impact knocked her blade to the ground and left her hand stinging. Madly, she grabbed for the bronze dagger that remained in her belt, and fell into a crouch.
Loukas laughed and circled her. “You must have known I'd find you,” he said. His reddish-blond hair looked pewter in the moonlight, and his broad nose shone, as though covered with sweat. “I hope you've been preparing yourself for this moment.”
Kalay lunged at him with the dagger.
Loukas countered with the flat of his sword, bashing her hand, sending the dagger spinning off into the darkness. A cruel smile turned his lips.
She ran headlong down the narrow gorge, her heart pounding to the sound of his boots crashing on the dry gravel behind her. She fought to think, to—
Just as she started to scream, a hand clamped hard over her mouth, jerked her backward, and a muscular arm tightened against her throat.
In her ear, he whispered, “Be quiet,
beauty.
Don't struggle. Or I'll see that your friends die very slowly.”
As he gagged her, bound her hands behind her, and tied her ankles, she shot a frantic glance up the gorge, expecting to see Cyrus stepping outside.
“That's a good girl,” Loukas hissed as he pulled the ropes so tight they cut into her flesh like rusty knives.
Then he forced her to walk down the gorge to where a horse stood hidden in the shadows. By the time he finally muscled her onto the horse's back and took off at a fast trot, she could barely breathe.
As they galloped away, she heard horses. Many horses. Coming fast.
She had to twist around to look.
High above, flooding out of the Dung Gate, were at least two decuria, and perhaps another ten men dressed in religious robes.
Loukas quickly reined his horse down into a small shadowed drainage that emptied off to one side.
Kalay wrenched her body and tried to scream, to get someone's attention, maybe she could distract the soldiers long enough for—
Loukas slammed a fist into the back of her neck, almost knocking her unconscious. “Don't try it!” he hissed. “Your friends are doomed. You had better start thinking of yourself, and what you can do to make me forget that shed in Leontopolis.”
Kalay shuddered and closed her eyes.

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