The Messiah Secret (25 page)

At the far end of el-Hiba, JJ Donovan stood beside a part of the old city walls and watched his targets through a small pair of binoculars.

About a hundred yards away, Bronson and Angela had their backs to him and appeared to be looking at something. Then they suddenly turned directly towards him, and for a brief, unsettling instant, it seemed to him as if
they were staring right at him, their magnified faces clearly visible through the lenses of the binoculars.

Then he saw Angela gesture, and they turned back and started walking slowly down the hill away from him.

The walls were massive. Not just feet thick, but yards thick, the old mud-bricks still largely intact. ‘These must be the old city defences,’ Angela said. ‘They’re not in a bad state of repair, bearing in mind how old they are. They date from the Twenty-First Dynasty – that’s about one thousand
BC
– so they’ve been standing here for three millennia.’

Bronson glanced around. The village nestled in palm trees – this close to the Nile, the soil was obviously reasonably fertile – and more palms studded the settlement itself. But the main road was busy, cars and trucks roaring past them at regular intervals, and they had to be careful to keep well clear of the road itself.

‘We’ve no guidebook or anything,’ Angela said, ‘so we’ll just have to walk around until we find what’s left of the Temple that Shoshenq built. All I know is that it’s somewhere inside the old walls, which is why I thought we’d start looking from here.’

Slowly they started to retrace their steps, looking closely at all the structures as they passed them. A couple of times Angela thought she’d spotted it, but each time she was mistaken. Then she looked ahead and muttered something under her breath.

‘I don’t believe it.’

‘What?’ Bronson looked where she was pointing.

‘I think these Egyptian idiots have driven the bloody road straight through the temple. Look, you can see the same kind of stone walls on both sides of it over there.’

It wasn’t anything like as clear as that to Bronson. ‘You might be right,’ he said, ‘but perhaps the engineers had no option. There might have been nowhere else here they could have built the road.’

‘So they demolished half of an irreplaceable temple just to lay down a strip of tarmac? There’s always an alternative in this kind of situation, Chris. This is just archaeological vandalism, caused by nothing more than sheer laziness. They could have routed the road around the hill, down in the valley. It would only have added a few tens of yards to the length, and it might even have been easier to do.’

‘Yes, but when this road was built the government may not have realized this
was
an important site. I thought that most of the excavations over here had been undertaken by foreign archaeologists anyway. Essentially, Egypt’s been dug up by the British and the French and the Americans, not by the Egyptians themselves. They probably just saw a bunch of old stones and thought they’d do nicely as a hardcore base for the road. I don’t suppose it’s the first time something like that has happened.’

Angela nodded slowly. ‘That’s a remarkably accurate assessment, actually, and you’re quite right – it’s been very
common. A lot of people don’t know that when St Peter’s Basilica was being built in Rome, many of the stones they used for it were taken from the Coliseum, which is one reason why it’s in the state it is now. It was only a lot later that the Italians seemed to realize that the Coliseum was an internationally important archaeological site – at least as important as St Peter’s, maybe even more important – and started taking steps to give it the protection it deserved.’

Bronson put a comforting hand on her shoulder. ‘Let’s take a look at what’s left of the temple.’

They walked up the slope towards the structure that remained standing beside the road. The walls were very low and the majority were little more than tumbled piles of masonry. Angela crouched down beside one of them and pointed at the carving of a foot and lower leg. The rest of the carving had vanished when the wall fell to pieces – or perhaps was demolished – but there were just a few hieroglyphic characters visible over to one side.

‘Anything useful here?’ Bronson asked, bending down beside her.

‘Not a lot. The carving could have been of Shoshenq, or even of the god Amun, but of course there’s no way of telling now.’ She bent lower and looked more closely at the hieroglyphic characters, where a curved incision was visible at the edge of a vertical line of characters. ‘That looks like the upper edge of a cartouche, so this inscription probably relates to a pharaoh.’

‘A cartouche – that’s the kind of border they drew around an important name, yes?’

‘Yes. The names of pharaohs were always enclosed within a cartouche. In fact, these three symbols above it confirm that the inscription
is
talking about a pharaoh.’

Bronson looked at the characters she was pointing at. He could see what looked like a walking stick symbol with two curved lines sprouting from either side of its bottom end, a half-moon shape and a wavy line.

‘That’s a word, is it?’ he asked. ‘What does the walking stick thing mean?’

Angela nodded. ‘It’s actually a sedge plant, and it’s used as a determinative. The letters spell “n”, “s” and “w”, and that means “nesu”, or “king”. About the only word which could follow that would be the name of the pharaoh himself and, as this temple was built by Shoshenq in honour of the god Amun, the cartouche almost certainly contained his name.’

Bronson looked beyond the ruined wall at the space beyond it, studded with stones, mud-bricks and bits of masonry. ‘It looks as if this was quite a big building,’ he said.

Angela pulled out a small notebook and flicked rapidly through the pages. ‘Yes, it was. According to the few records that exist, this originally consisted of a brick enclosure and inside that was a temple house nearly twenty yards wide and thirty yards long. Don’t forget, Amun was a really important creator god, who was
believed to live inside everything. He could appear as a goose or a ram with curved horns – which showed he had a function as a fertility god – or more commonly as a ram-headed man and sometimes as a man with two tall plumes on his head. Later on he merged with the cult of Re or Ra to form Amun-Re, the sun-god. He was
really
important to the ancient Egyptians.’

Bronson looked back at the ruined wall. ‘Is there anything here that tells us if Shishaq or Shoshenq did actually seize the Ark of the Covenant?’

‘I can’t be sure. I’ll photograph what there is and translate it later.’

There were a number of surviving pieces of inscription on various bits of wall and even on a few of the fallen stones, and Angela took pictures of every one she could find, checking each image on the screen of her camera to make sure it was clear and legible before moving on to the next.

Finally, she slipped the digital camera back into her handbag and took a last look around the site.

‘Is that it?’ Bronson asked.

‘Yes. It’s a real shame. I was hoping there’d be a few complete walls with intact inscriptions still standing. I certainly didn’t expect the temple to be in as bad a condition as it is.’

‘Did you see anything helpful?’

‘Not really,’ Angela replied. ‘I’ve spotted a couple of cartouches, both with Shoshenq’s name in them, and a few
mentions of Amun, but not much else. But obviously I’ve still got to check the pictures I’ve taken.’

‘Amun’s name consists of those three symbols – the feather or leaf or whatever it is and the other two drawings?’

‘That’s the leaf of a reed plant, a draughts-board and a ripple of water, yes.’ Angela sighed, and Chris could see that she was tired. ‘I’ll take a look at the pictures on our way back to Heliopolis, but I’m not hopeful I’ll find anything useful. I had planned to do the work out here, but there’s so little material on the site that I don’t see any point in trying to do that now. And at least our room is air conditioned.’

Bronson nodded and turned away from the ruins of the temple towards the road. As he did so, he caught a fleeting glimpse of a figure wearing a white shirt and light-coloured trousers ducking swiftly out of sight behind a wall on the opposite side of the road.

He felt a warning stab of surprise. Unlike the citizens of Cairo, the residents of el-Hiba clearly didn’t see that many foreign tourists, and he and Angela had been objects of interest ever since they’d arrived there. But most of the people they’d seen had simply stared at them with frank and not unfriendly curiosity. Maybe that man – and Bronson was reasonably certain the figure had been male – was just shy. The only odd thing was that it looked as if he’d been holding a pair of binoculars or perhaps a camera in his hand. Certainly he’d been clutching a small black
object. And his Western-style dress was unusual in a place where most people seemed to be wearing the more traditional Egyptian
dishdasha
or
jellabah
.

‘What is it?’ Angela asked.

‘I think there’s a man over there watching us.’

‘I don’t see anything.’

‘I know what I saw. You stay here. I’ll go and check.’

But Angela grabbed his arm with both hands to stop him. ‘No, Chris. Let’s just get away from here, right now. It might be that priest again.’

Bronson nodded reluctantly, and looked back up the road to where the car was parked. ‘You start running,’ he said. ‘I’ll be right behind you.’

Angela took to her heels, heading back the way they’d come.

Bronson stared across the road for a few seconds more, then followed her.

Two minutes later, Bronson spun the steering wheel of the hire car and powered down the street and away from el-Hiba, the car trailing a cloud of dust as he headed for the open road and Cairo.

While Bronson drove, Angela sat in the passenger seat of the Peugeot, transferred the memory card from her camera to the slot on the laptop and copied all the photographs she’d taken of the hieroglyphics on to the computer’s hard disk. The LCD screen on her camera offered reasonably good quality, but she needed the better resolution of the laptop screen to be sure of what she was seeing.

And what she was looking at wasn’t what she’d hoped for. There was nothing in any of the surviving sections of the inscriptions in the temple that suggested Shoshenq had seized the Ark of the Covenant. In fact, quite the contrary.

‘Oh, damn,’ she muttered, as she looked at one particular image.

‘What is it?’

‘On this picture there’s a readable section of hieroglyphics, just a few words that probably came from the middle and end of a sentence – the rest of the inscription’s
long gone. If I’m interpreting it correctly, the top line says something like “the gold from the temple”. That sounds to me like part of a description of Shoshenq’s foray into Judea or Judah. We know he was paid off by Rehoboam, who gave the Egyptians the treasures of the Temple.

‘But the second line finishes with “sacred box” – that’s as close a translation as I can get – “which remained”. As far as we know, the Ark of the Covenant was in the Temple of Jerusalem when Shoshenq’s forces entered Judea, and “sacred box” would be a reasonable description of it. This would mean that the Egyptians may not have seized the Ark. They allowed the priests to keep it in the Temple: the “sacred box which remained”. And so—’

‘We’ve been looking in the wrong place,’ Bronson said, finishing it off for her. ‘Shoshenq didn’t seize it, so he can’t have taken it to Tanis or anywhere else. Is there anything else there?’ Bronson asked, glancing sideways at the laptop screen. ‘Hang on – I’m getting distracted by all the pictures. I think I’d better stop for a few minutes.’

He pulled the car to a rapid stop just off the road. The driver of a heavily laden lorry which had been following far too close behind gave an angry blast on his horn, but Bronson ignored him and turned towards Angela.

‘There’s nothing else in these hieroglyphics that even mention the Ark,’ she said. ‘These inscriptions, for example, seem to be part of fairly standard texts honouring Amun, and there are a couple that I think are praising
Shoshenq’s courage and leadership. Again, pretty much what you’d expect to find in a temple erected by the reigning pharaoh to one of the most important Egyptian gods.’

She pressed the cursor control key and started flicking back through the other pictures on the computer’s hard drive. One of the images showed a dark-haired man standing beside a chair.

‘Who’s that?’ Bronson asked, as he glanced down at the picture.

Angela had already moved on to a different image, but then scrolled back and looked at the screen. Then she laughed.

‘That’s the man who started this hare running. That’s one of the paintings of Bartholomew Wendell-Carfax as a young man, one of the two we were looking for. I told you there were decent-quality photographs of the paintings in Bartholomew’s box of goodies. They were almost A3 size and folded, in fact, and I scanned them both in my office at the museum.’

Bronson glanced down at the screen of the laptop Angela was holding, and a sudden thought struck him.

‘We never really worked out why he had those pictures painted, did we?’ Bronson asked. ‘I mean, we guessed from that remark about “the Montgomerys” that Bartholomew had hidden the text of the parchment in them somewhere, in a cavity in the frame or something, but why did he choose those subjects? Himself as a young man wearing – what – a Red Indian outfit in one and dressed like an Indian prince in the other.’