The Betrayal (40 page)

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Authors: Kathleen O'Neal Gear

BOOK: The Betrayal
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Barnabas eyed him for several heartbeats, then stepped back. “More important than this tomb?”
“Maybe. I'm not sure yet. I had two of my most loyal monks excavating when Meridias arrived. They had to abandon their work and make it appear as though grave robbers had broken into the tomb, but—”
Barnabas sucked in a sudden breath. “The short leg? On the map? You found what lies at the end of the short leg!”
Macarios held up a hand. “Don't get your hopes up. I
may
have. But we've barely begun to explore the Shroud Tomb. Meridias himself entered it, but the man is too dim-witted to understand what he was seeing.” His expression tightened. “He's ordered it resealed. I'll have to stall.”
Zarathan ducked out to inspect the gorge outside one more time, then turned. “Brothers, we must find Cyrus and Kalay. They are nowhere to be seen.”
Barnabas said, “Macarios, I may need your help again. We—”
“You have it without asking. You know that. Why don't we head for the Shroud Tomb and you can tell me about your friends on the way.”
Barnabas nodded, but his eyes drifted around the tomb again, landing on each of the ossuaries, and a soft light shone in his eyes. “Are you sure this isn't it? It—it feels right. Holy.”
“It is holy. But as to whether this is our Lord's family tomb … I cannot say for certain.”
“No,” Barnabas whispered. “No, I suppose not.”
As they walked toward the entry, Macarios affectionately put his arm around Barnabas' shoulders. “Still, it might be.”
Kalay didn't know how long they'd been riding. It seemed only moments, but when Loukas dragged her off the horse, her legs felt like boiled straw. She could barely stand. He'd struck her harder than she'd thought.
They were on the slope, just at the brow overlooking the gorge. She recognized another of the numerous tombs, this one freshly opened, with loose dirt piled beside the dark opening. She ground her teeth in an effort to chew through the cloth he'd tied tightly around her head to gag her.
Loukas picked her up bodily, and carried her to the tomb. He shoved her through the small entrance, heedless of banging her against the stone. She almost tumbled down the stairs, squirming to keep from knocking her head.
Loukas stepped over her and reached down to drag her across the rough limestone floor. Then he shoved her onto a rock shelf near two ossuaries. He was smiling as he climbed the steps and went outside again.
While he was gone, and she heard him rummaging through the pack on the horse, she rolled to the floor, sat down, and managed to slip her hands beneath her hips, then her feet. When they were in front of her she frantically started trying to untie the knots.
Loukas returned with a burning oil lamp, saw her, and made a disappointed clucking sound. As he calmly set the oil lamp on an ossuary, he
said, “I can see you're going to be a problem.” With lightning speed, he backhanded her.
Kalay tumbled across the floor.
When she opened her eyes, she caught sight of a shrouded skeleton lying on the shelf above her.
I'll probably be up there with you soon, friend. After what I did to him in Leontopolis, he's not going to keep me for long.
Loukas carried the oil lamp into another chamber. When he returned, he knelt in front of her, and stroked her hair with a gloved hand.
“Soon, beauty.”
He roughly grabbed her by her bound feet and dragged her into the next chamber, where the oil lamp cast a faint amber glow over another dozen ossuaries.
As he glared down at her, Kalay didn't move. She just stared back, reading his hatred, breathing hard, trying not to think about the future.
The lamplight flickered, and she noticed small things. There was a strange, spicy scent that seemed to ooze from the walls, probably myrrh and aloes, maybe frankincense. And the ossuaries here were elaborately decorated, not like the plain, inscribed boxes in the
tekton
's tomb. These had domed lids with exquisite carvings around the rims and gorgeous interlinked rosettes cut into the sides. Many were painted. A master stoneworker had carved these. In the far corner, almost hidden by shattered ossuaries, was a sealed doorway, or the top of a doorway. It was as though there had originally been a third, lower level, and this chamber was built over the top of it, forever sealing the lower chamber, except for a maybe one cubit of the old doorway.
Loukas tugged his robe over his head and stood naked before her. His healed scrotum looked lopsided with its missing testicle, but his rising penis left no illusions about his intentions. He had arms as big around as her waist. As he knelt and cut the ropes binding her ankles, she wildly kicked him in the head, rolled to her feet, and made a mad run for the door.
He tackled her, bringing her down hard. She screamed against her gag, kicked him, and as a last act of defiance slammed him in the face with her forehead. When he finally pinned her arms and legs with his heavy body, his face was bleeding, but his eyes … his eyes were alight.
“Oh, I look forward to watching you suffer. You took half of me in
Egypt. Before I'm done, there will be nothing left of you but a bloody shell.”
Kalay locked her jaw as he viciously jerked her dress up past her waist. A hard slap dazed her enough that he could force her legs apart. He was watching her intently as he drove himself inside her. His thrusts were wild and brutal, designed to hurt her, to make her cry out.
Her entire body screamed at the hurt and outrage, but she bit back the cries that rose in her throat.
Instead, Kalay sought an old refuge, one she hadn't used in many years. It was a dark, quiet place inside her. As a child, she'd built it, brick by brick, creating a sanctuary from men, one she could return to in the worst of times, when she felt utterly hopeless.
She closed her eyes and with all of her strength sought to abandon her body. She sent her soul traveling down into that brilliant darkness, far away from here, from his stinking body, from—
A voice filtered through the chamber. Soft, calling out. A man's voice. She couldn't understand the words, but she knew it was a question.
She opened her eyes. Loukas didn't seem to hear it. He'd started to pant and move faster, and his eyes had that glazed look she'd seen on the faces of so many men.
The voice came again, this time louder, more mournful, as though pleading for someone to hear him.
To her right, a tiny flash of light sparked near the floor.
She jerked her head sideways to try to find the place it had come from.
“Move,” Loukas ordered. “Move or I'll tear your heart out.”
She moved.
His frenzy built. He buried his face against her shoulder and began grunting and groaning, writhing on top of her.
Footsteps.
She heard footsteps.
… and that voice again, this time it was frantic, almost shouting. The words lay just beyond her ability to hear.
Pure terror fired her veins.
Another flash of light to her right. She didn't have time to look. Loukas stiffened and cried out, and a massive shadow crossed in front of the lamplight, hurling down.
Kalay screamed into her gag, and barely jerked aside as Loukas' head smacked face-first into the floor, bounced off the stone, then was pounded down again.
“Get out of the way, Kalay!”
As the heavy ossuary lifted again, she glimpsed Cyrus' face, his eyes wild with rage. She shoved out from under Loukas and rolled away.
Blow after blow, Cyrus pounded Loukas' head until there was little more than pulp remaining. When the ossuary cracked on the final blow, and shards cartwheeled across the floor, Cyrus dropped the chunks he still held and stumbled backward.
For a long while, he stared at the body, waiting until the arms and legs stopped jerking. When he knew the man was dead, his gaze lifted to Kalay.
She made a muffled sound through her gag.
Without a word, Cyrus pulled his knife and went to her, sawing first through her gag, then the ropes tying her hands. When she was free, he said, “Forgive me,” pulled her into his arms, and ferociously crushed her body against his. She felt him shaking, as though on the verge of tears.
She sank against him, her relief so great she couldn't seem to think. “I thought you were dead.”
“I shouldn't have left you alone out there. I started looking at the ossuaries and I lost track of—”
“Cyrus?” She suddenly remembered the soldiers. “Where are Barnabas and Zarathan?”
He released her. “As soon as I realized you were missing, I ran to the top of the cliff and grabbed one of the horses, then I saw the soldiers riding down the slope and had to hide until they'd passed.”
“You left your brothers to face the soldiers alone and came after me?”
His jaw clenched for a moment and she could see the turmoil, the admission he didn't want to make. “It was too late, Kalay. There were too many of them. I wouldn't have been of any use there.”
“But how did you find me?”
He cocked his head as though the question were absurd. “I heard you calling me.”
“Calling you?”
“Yes.”
“What are you talking about?”
His brows pulled together. “You shouted my name. Over and over. I heard you from halfway across the Kidron valley.”
“Cyrus, I … I was gagged.”
His eyes darted to the gag on the floor. He'd cut and pulled it from her mouth only moments ago. He stared at the soggy cloth as though it were impossible. “Then, who called me here?”
Kalay's gaze went to the bricked-up doorway across the room. That's where the flashes of light had come from. She was sure of it.
Cyrus followed her gaze. “What is that? An old doorway?”
Shooting Loukas' corpse an angry glare, she struggled to her feet. “I swear I saw something … . Help me open it.”
This is the stone which was not set by you builders, which has become the cornerstone.
—Acts 4:11
By the time Macarios had led them to the Shroud Tomb, the wind had almost vanished, and the cloudless morning sky was shot through with pink lances of light that radiated outward from the golden halo on the rugged eastern horizon. The sweet scent of freshly sprouted wheat fields carried on the breeze.
As they rode over a rise, Barnabas saw the open tomb down in the Hinnom valley. He swiveled around on his horse and, in his mind, drew a line from the Dung Gate to the tomb.
“It's possible,” he whispered, but feared to hope.
For the first time in many years, he felt alone. From the moment they'd left the
tekton
's tomb, a black emptiness had begun filling him, until now he feared it would suffocate him. He had failed. The entire Occultum Lapidem had been a farce. There was no hidden stone. But many men—good, faithful men—had died to help him protect what was hidden at the end of the papyrus map. How would God ever forgive him? How would he ever forgive himself?
He kicked his horse into a trot, calling to the bishop who rode the horse in front of him, “Macarios, what is in this Shroud Tomb?”
Macarios slowed his horse so he could ride alongside Barnabas and Zarathan. “The ossuaries are extraordinary, much more elaborate than those in the
tekton
's tomb. I only got to look at them briefly, but two of the boxes are inscribed with the names Mari and Salome
.
”
“Possibly our Lord's sisters?”
“Possibly, but again, both names were common in the first century.”
As they rode down the hill for the tomb, Barnabas asked, “Why do you call it the Shroud Tomb?”
“In the rear of the tomb, there's a body laid out on a shelf, still wrapped in the original burial linens. It's an amazing sight. Though sad.”
“Why sad?” Zarathan asked from where he rode behind Barnabas.
“His family laid him out as was customary, but they never returned to finish the ritual burial, to clean his bones and place him in an ossuary. If you believe that the soul rests in the body until the resurrection, he's probably still waiting for his loved ones to come back and care for him.”
Macarios rode to a stop in front of the tomb, studied the two horses that wandered through a garden of wind-sculpted boulders in the distance, and gave Barnabas a warning glance. “Do you recognize those animals?”
Barnabas felt as though a huge hand had reached out and squeezed his heart. In a whisper he said, “The horse with the big bags strapped over its withers belongs to Cyrus, the other monk with us.”
“Just one of the beasts?”
“Yes, I don't know the second.”
Barnabas and Zarathan dismounted and walked to stand beside Macarios near the entry. The tomb was deathly quiet.
Barnabas turned to Zarathan. “Brother, could you go and retrieve the horses? We may need them in a hurry.”
“Yes, of course, brother.” Zarathan started down the hill at a trot toward where the horses grazed among the standing stones.
“Let me go in first,” Barnabas said. “In case Cyrus is hurt. He was once a Roman soldier and sometimes acts on instinct.”
Macarios nodded, and Barnabas ducked through the entry into the tomb. The floor was covered with broken shards of ossuaries. Barnabas could see the skeleton lying on the shelf in the rear. In the chamber to the left of the skeleton, lamplight fluttered.

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