The Betrayal by Kathleen O'Neal Gear

Author:Kathleen O'Neal Gear
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2012-03-01T05:00:00+00:00

TWENTY ~ NINE

Kalay sat in the high-backed chair with her knees drawn up, sipping wine while she watched the two old men who stood leaning over the ancient maps on the table. Brittle and yellowed, dotted here and there with drips of candle wax, Libni would allow no one but himself and Barnabas to touch the maps. The four other men had to stand back, watching from one or two paces away as their elders pondered the meaning of the faint, archaic symbols.

“That’s the problem,” Libni murmured, frowning. “We don’t know where to start. There were eight major cities on the coast at the time of our Lord. Which one is the papyrus referring to?”

Candlelight lay like a thick amber resin on the surface of the tabletop. It seemed to catch in glowing lines on the edges of the maps.

“If the beginning point is a city at all,” Cyrus countered as he paced behind Libni and Barnabas, his arms folded across his broad chest. “It could be a cove, a standing stone, a ruin, anything. There’s no way to know.”

Barnabas placed a hand on one curled map corner, carefully flattening it out so that he could read it. “If we are correct that the man who wrote the papyrus was Ioses of Arimathaia, then perhaps we should look at sites closest to Jerusalem.”

“Why?” Cyrus asked skeptically.

“No reason really, except that’s where he lived, and it gives us a starting place.”

Libni’s finger was moving through the air above the parchment. “The choices, in that case, would be Apollonia, Ioppe, and Ashkelon. Pick one.”

Barnabas waved a hand uncertainly. “The one in the middle.”

“Ioppe, or do you say Yapo?”

“Ioppe.”

They both leaned over the table, staring at the map like scavenger birds waiting for their prey to die.

Kalay sighed. Though she had traveled much of Palestine and Egypt, she did not believe she had seen any place as desolate as the honeycomb of caves that Libni and his students called home. The chambers were virtually empty, except for a blanket folded in the corner where someone slept, or a prayer rug and a candle sitting in the middle of a swept dirt floor. Elsewhere in the region, people might live in caves, but the chambers had color. The walls were painted or contained colorful objects and bright fabrics, beads or polished stones. Except for the library where she sat, this place was barren, the walls hollowed and smoothed by eons of wind and water. There was little here to break the monotony. Fortunately, the wine was tasty. She took another drink.

The faint creak of Cyrus’ sword belt broke the silence as he shifted to prop one hand on the hilt. “How many stadia is it from Ioppe to Jerusalem?”

Libni rubbed his bearded chin. “Perhaps three hundred fifty or a little more. Why?”

“Because that means Jerusalem is ‘two camps from the coast.’”

“Not if you’re traveling on foot, it’s at least three camps.”

Cyrus lifted his chin and Kalay could see the thoughts flashing behind his emerald eyes.

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