The Betrayal

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 … .”

  FIFTY

  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.

  FIFTY ~ ONE

  Zarathan slumped down on the rock shelf in front of one of the unin-scribed ossuaries and watched Cyrus and Barnabas where they stood talking and gently touching the box marked YESHUA BAR YOSEF.119 The last half hour with the three of them together had been like a revelation. That same divine bliss that came over him when he’d prayed all night now filled his heart, but even more powerfully; it was an ineffable radiance, a peace such as he had never known.

  He looked around. They’d gone over each ossuary again with Cyrus, and he’d added his own knowledge of the people whose names were written on them. Zarathan felt for the first time as though he truly knew these long-dead saints.

  They had decided that the tomb simply marked YOSE may have been their Lord’s brother, rather than his adopted father, which conveniently settled a dispute, and that Yuda bar Yeshua was probably a relative from a decade or two later. His ossuary did seem different. It was smaller and more crudely carved. Maria and Mariamne were likely his mother and sister. Matya was still a mystery, one that, even now, Cyrus and Barnabas quietly debated.

  “It’s possible that he might have been the disciple known as Levi, but if this is our Lord’s family tomb, it seems unlikely the former tax collector would be here and none of the other disciples would be.”

  Cyrus was smoothing his hand over the Yeshua bar Yosef ossuary as though touching a lover. “I agree. Again, it could be a family member from the same time as Yuda. Perhaps even Yuda’s brother.”

  Cyrus’ deep voice had a strange resonance, a kindness that left Zarathan trembling.

  The wind outside increased to a roar and a fierce gust swept into the tomb and blew around the ossuaries like a ghost, kicking up dust.

  As though something had just occurred to Cyrus, he jerked his hand away from the ossuary, whirled toward the entry, and his eyes went huge. “Kalay! I forgot! Brothers, stay here. I’ll be right back!”

  He ran for the entry and ducked outside into the howling gale.

  Barnabas stared after him, then he glanced at Zarathan. “I’m sure she’s well.”

  But in a quarter hour, when neither Cyrus nor Kalay had returned, Barnabas began to grow anxious. He walked to the entry and peered outside. The moonlight had given way to a cerulean hue, heralding the coming of dawn.

  Barnabas turned back to Zarathan, took two steps, and opened his mouth to—

  A tall body blocked the entry, and Zarathan could see several other men behind, filling the gorge.

  “Brother!” Zarathan cried as he leaped off the stone shelf and stared wide-eyed over Barnabas’ shoulder.

  Barnabas swung around.

  Four Roman soldiers ducked into the tomb and took up positions around the chamber, their swords drawn. They wore bronze helmets and held the shields of the legion. The clinking of all the metal sounded loud in the quiet tomb.

  Two other men, both dressed in the black robes of bishops, entered after them.

  The tall, younger bishop had short blond hair and a clean-shaven face. The older man was short with wispy brown hair and heavy jowls. He looked to be about Barnabas’ age.

  Barnabas said, “Who are you?”

  The blond bishop extended a hand to the other man. “This is Pappas Macarios of Jerusalem. I believe you remember me, don’t you, Brother Barnabas?”

  Barnabas stared daggers at Meridias.

  Macarios glanced between the two men, then bowed slightly to Barnabas. “Brothers, greetings in the name of our Lord. Do you—”

  Meridias interrupted, “What are you two doing here?”

  Barnabas folded his hands in front of him and Zarathan wondered if he was thinking about the dead monks in Egypt, many of whom Barnabas had known and loved f
or twenty years. In a matter-of-fact voice, Barnabas said, “You know very well what we’re doing here, Meridias. We’re searching for the Pearl.”

  Macarios frowned as though confused, but he looked excessively nervous. Despite the wind and cold, his forehead glistened with sweat. “I don’t know what that is.” Macarios turned to Meridias for an explanation.

  Meridias didn’t look at him. He kept his narrowed gaze on Barnabas. “And did you find it?”

  “Of course not. It’s a legend. A fantasy created by some cruel prankster three centuries ago.” Barnabas pulled the papyrus from his pocket and threw it on the floor. “There’s the map, if you want it.”

  Meridias gestured for Macarios to pick it up. The elderly little bishop stooped, grasped it, and looked at it briefly before he handed it to Meridias.

  Zarathan couldn’t speak. He stared at the map in Meridias’ hand in horror. The man who’d destroyed their monastery, killed their brothers, was now holding the sacred artifact. It was almost too much to bear.

  Meridias glanced at Zarathan. “You. Boy. Why are you crying?”

  Zarathan planted his feet, swallowed hard, his mind racing. “I—I’m sad because we didn’t find the Pearl.”

  Again Macarios said, “What is the Pearl?”

  Impatiently, Meridias said, “No one knows, it’s—”

  “It was supposed to be the tomb of our Lord, Iesous Christos,” Barnabas said to Macarios. “Just foolishness.”

  A stunned look of reverence came over Macarios’ face. “And—and the map led you here?”

  “If we followed it correctly, yes. Though I’m still not certain we did. However, the ossuaries in this tomb do make one wonder.”

  “What do you mean?” Macarios took a step forward.

  Barnabas gripped Macarios’ arm and led him around the chamber, reading the inscriptions aloud. Macarios’ expression grew more awed with each name.

  Zarathan knew how he felt, but Pappas Meridias seemed totally unaffected … until they came to the tomb inscribed YESHUA BAR YOSEF.

  Meridias shouted, “What? Is that correct? Macarios, you read it. Is that what it really says?”

  Macarios leaned down to study the inscription. After several agonizing moments, he straightened. “Yes, that’s what it says.”