The Temple Scroll

by D C Macey

  Next to Simon was Nick, the young Greek Orthodox priest sent by Father Andreas. Together with Helen, Nick had been kitted out for the hike last evening. Then a late night phone call from Father Christos had left him devastated, quite inconsolable. But morning had brought with it a determination to fulfil Father Andreas’ wish, no matter what. Helen smiled encouragement to him. Nick tried to smile back but it was clear his heart and mind were far away.

  She wondered if it would have been better had they left him at the hotel. But her attention was pulled back to the direction of travel as Sam spoke.

  ‘Nearly there. See the little layby ahead, that’s our spot.’

  In the distance, she could see the blue of the sea where it occasionally showed between dry, scrub covered ridges.

  They got out and Sam hefted a heavy rucksack onto his shoulders and made sure everyone was carrying plenty of drinking water. Then he pointed them towards the ridge that rose away in front of them before dropping off unseen to the coast. ‘Let’s go. Watch your step. It’s quite deceptive. Even where the ground looks solid, there are plenty of loose stones. It’s a fair hike up to the ridge; then it slopes gently down for a bit towards the coast, that’s easier walking. But after that, we’ve a tricky climb down through a ravine to the beach. We’ll need to go right down to the beach and then work our way back.’

  As they walked steadily up, each rocky feature merged unremarkably with the next. When they finally reached the ridge, they were all relieved to start heading downwards. The going underfoot didn’t alter but with gravity on their side, it got a little easier. Then, almost imperceptibly, there was a change. A dried out streambed formed ahead of them. Initially it was hard to spot amongst the rough rocks, scrub bushes and stunted olive trees that dotted the landscape - but it was there; slowly it grew in size, opening a narrow cut into the rocky surface. Then the cut steadily widened and steepened, cutting a sharp V channel into the rock; it became a ravine, formed by the action of many thousands of winter rains.

  To reach the beach they had to scramble down the ravine, its rocky slopes sprinkled with more of the dry looking bushes and stunted trees. Quickly, the ravine broadened and deepened, opening a gash in the cliffs as the streambed dropped sharply away. Taking real care, they continued their descent, following the streambed’s course down through the ravine. Suddenly it turned hard right and there, way below them, they could see a little bay, its sandy beach empty and still beside a vivid blue sea.

  Helen was glad of the boots and trousers she had bought the night before. The climb down was hard. Bumps and slips and thorns made it treacherous. She knew it would have been an impossible struggle without the new kit.

  Finally, reaching the bottom, she let out a whoop and sat down on the clean sand, took a drink and glanced around. Sam and Simon seemed unfazed by the journey, albeit both were wet with sweat. Nick sat on the sand beside her; the look of despondency had faded. He was quietly taking handfuls of sand and slowly releasing them, watching as they trickled back on to the beach.

  ‘You’re looking a bit better now, Nick,’ she said.

  For the first time she saw him smile properly. ‘Yes, this is a bit like the land at home - it’s not nearly so green here though… Things are not good for me today. But this brings me a little closer to where I ought to be.’

  Sam stepped over and rested a hand on the young priest’s shoulder.

  Helen smiled encouragement. ‘We appreciate you coming. I know it’s difficult for you, for all your friends too. You want to be there and we’ll get you back as soon as we can. But remember, this is what Father Andreas had devoted his life to. Being here, you are serving his wishes, perhaps more than you can ever understand.’

  She scanned the sea. A few fishing boats sat against the horizon, one or two yachts caught the gentle breeze to work their way down the coast, while well off shore a couple of jet skis buzzed around a luxury cruiser. Other than themselves, the beach was deserted.

  ‘Well, Sam. Take us through it. Then I guess we had better make a start. This puzzle won’t solve itself,’ said Helen.

  Sam opened his rucksack and pulled out a bundle of protective bubble wrap. From within he produced the gold framed glass. He stood with his back to the sea and aligned the frame so he held the east and west sides in his hands, the blue lapis decoration showing around his thumbs.

  The plain gold side of the frame, the north side, was furthest from him and aligned with the cliffs. Closest to him was the south side, its lapis decoration vivid against the gold of the frame; unlike the perfectly straight edges of the east and west lapis inlays, this one was different. Here it described a distinct concave shape arcing gently in towards the edge of the glass then out again.

  At once, the artefact presented a message one hundred times clearer than the photograph he had relied on the previous day. The blue of the lapis exactly matched the curve of the bay. Now he knew he was right, could suddenly feel his pulse beating against the gold in his hands.

  For two or three minutes, Sam stood in silence. He squinted up at the headland, down to the beach, and turned slowly to gaze around the bay. Then he let his hands run across the gold framed glass, twisted it this way and that, lifted it up to eye level and then reoriented it in his hands, considering how the real thing added to Helen’s original photograph that he had relied on the previous day. Now, at last, he had a handle on things. With an audible sigh, he closed his eyes and let his mind still for a moment. When he opened them again, he found three spectators waiting, expectantly.

  ‘Look,’ said Sam. ‘I think the gold framed glass is a representation of this headland. The land juts out square, bounded on three sides by sea, the three sides of lapis set in our frame. The fourth side is the headland’s landward boundary near where we parked.

  ‘Now look there, right in front of you; see, it’s the only headland I have found on this side of the island with a little bay just in the right place as represented by this arc of lapis set in the southern side of our gold framed glass.’

  ‘Okay, I can see your idea, I can see the proportions are about right,’ said Helen.

  ‘About right? It’s perfect. Look here,’ he touched the lapis inlay then swept his hand round the bay, ‘the curve of the lapis exactly captures the arc of the bay.’

  ‘I’ll give you that, Sam, but what does this all mean?’ Helen pointed her finger at the glass beneath which Sam had fixed the scale pictures of seven of the eight patterned daggers. Then she pointed up to the ravine they had just scrambled down. ‘That’s not a labyrinth; it’s a cliff face. Nobody is going to start buzzing about that. They’d break a leg or fall to their death in a minute.’

  Sam gave a little grin of triumph. ‘You’re right. Well, partly right. That surface is far too dangerous, but that doesn’t matter if the labyrinth is below ground. Very much like the old myth, a series of tunnels.’

  Helen took the glass from Sam and aligned it herself. Nodded, squinted through the glass and looked at Sam. ‘Okay… and?’

  ‘Look. The gold thread set in the glass weaves a route from roughly south to north, yes? On its way, it touches the ruby. Marking the point where we think whatever is hidden lies. And look at the pictures of the blades I’ve fixed beneath the glass. All combined, their patterns provide a plan of the labyrinth - and see how the gold thread overlay provides a route to follow. Those little gaps between each blade don’t matter now. Just count turnings as we pass them and only turn when the gold thread turns.’

  Helen was following Sam’s explanation exactly. But he had not covered every point. ‘What about the missing dagger?’ she said.

  ‘No problem, we’ve been lucky, see, its slot beneath the glass is the most northerly in the set. It’s on the far side of the ruby. I’m sure, as we suggested before, it does mark an alternative entrance from the landward side.’

  ‘So we don’t need it?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Maybe we’ve got a break at last.’

  Simon had been listeni
ng in silence, watching. He didn’t know the background at all but he could see a simple flaw. ‘Excuse me, it’s your baby, I’m just along to provide support in a crisis, but I don’t understand.’ He paused for a moment waiting for an invitation to proceed.

  Sam tilted his head slightly. ‘Go on, what’s up?’ he said.

  ‘Well if it’s a tunnel, where is the entrance? It must be hidden or somebody would have found it sometime.’

  ‘Good point,’ said Sam. He turned his attention back to Helen who was waiting for an answer to Simon’s question. ‘Look here, at the southern edge of the frame. You can’t really see much, but there is what appears to be a flaw in the metalwork. See, here in the edging lip of gold, between the blue lapis and the glass - between the sea and the cliffs. When I first saw it in the photograph, I had attributed it to a lighting quirk in the bank, or a shaky photographer’s hand, who knows?’ He glanced towards Helen, she responded with a glare of mock indignation. ‘But then I began to think it might actually be there in the gold, meant as a signpost, why not? Everything else has a purpose. Now, just run your finger over the metal and feel; it’s real.’

  Helen let her finger run gently over the gold of the frame. There was a very slight yet quite discernible ridging in the metal. ‘Perhaps in the past somebody dropped it or dented it somehow.’

  ‘Possibly,’ said Sam, ‘but now look carefully, see how the ridging is V shaped, describing the shape of a funnel or if you hold it up and compare it to that ravine we’ve just climbed down -’

  ‘It’s a plan of the ravine. The entrance to the labyrinth!’ Helen finished his sentence.

  ‘Yes, and see, look up there where the ravine narrows and suddenly turns away to the left, out of sight?’ Sam pointed and they all looked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Helen, ‘we see.’

  ‘Well, look again at the marking on the gold frame, at the corresponding point just there; see the marking bends to the left too. This is no metalwork flaw. And do you see the lightest of marks offset to the left of the main mark? I think that’s where we’ll find the entrance, to the left-hand side, just at the bend in the ravine.’

  ‘We didn’t see any tunnels on the way down,’ said Simon.

  ‘No, but we didn’t look on the way down and of course, as you said before, it’s going to be hidden.’

  ‘There’s only one way to find out. Let’s go see,’ said Helen.

  ‘Okay, but let’s be very careful. Believe me, if you think coming down was tough, you haven’t seen anything yet. I discovered yesterday that going up is twice as hard,’ said Sam as he swung his rucksack on to his back and quickly took the lead.

  Simon hung back a little, allowing Helen and then Nick to follow in Sam’s steps before he brought up the rear. Though by far the oldest of the party, Simon was a fit man with more than his share of strength, and a life based mainly in Switzerland had given him plenty of experience in working the mountains: mostly for sport, but very occasionally his employers at the bank would find little off-piste tasks - retrievals, recoveries and such private things. Sometimes these demands would carry him into the high mountains. For him, today’s little scrabble was nothing more than a cakewalk.

  While Helen kept step for step with Sam as he climbed up into the ravine, she frequently cast worried glances back towards Nick; she could tell that he was not a climbing man. They paused frequently to ensure the group did not split up. During one such pause, as she and Sam shared a drink of water, she admired the perfect sea. In the ravine, they were sheltered from the gentle breeze but it had carried the yachts farther away, they were almost on the horizon.

  Only the luxury cruiser was still in the vicinity. Its two jet skis were tied up alongside now and she could just make out some people at the back of the cruiser. They seemed to be messing about with a RIB that was bobbing around the stern. ‘Oh to be a millionaire,’ she said wistfully.

  Sam had been following her gaze, he laughed. ‘Well if anyone can afford that lifestyle it’s you.’

  Helen joined in the laughter. She could still not quite come to terms with her inheritance and had certainly not considered spending it on herself.

  Just as they resumed their climb, she glanced up at Sam; saw he was looking again at the luxury cruiser - wistful or worried, from below she could not quite read the expression. Then it was past and he set off again, leading the ascent.

  Finally, they reached the point where the ravine narrowed and turned away to the left. Sam called a halt at the turn. Here the ravine’s sides were close, and squat trees were well established in the gaps between the rocks. Protected from the wind and burning sun many of them had managed to stretch branches out across the divide to form a shaded arch under which the climbers rested.

  After a few moments, while Simon sat with Nick, Sam began to search. Helen scrabbled to join him.

  ‘The mark was on the left-hand side, wasn’t it?’ she said.

  ‘Yes, so let’s concentrate our search around here, on the left side of the ravine. Though I’m not sure what we’re looking for.’

  ‘No, let’s hope we know it when we see it. What do you think? A big slab or something?’

  ‘Maybe, let’s just cast about and see.’

  Sam and Helen spread out a little and climbed a couple of metres up the side of the ravine but it quickly steepened, barring any easy progress.

  Simon’s voice rose from his resting place. ‘Look for a ledge with a flat surface; better still, one with a raised lip. That would form an inclined surface, something that scree could rest in. Can you see anything like that?’

  ‘I can see a ledge. Just above us, can’t tell from here if there is any scree lying on it though. Why does that matter?’ said Sam.

  ‘This is a steep slope, it would be hard to move a slab big enough to cover an entrance and if you did manage it the thing would stand out like a sore thumb. A nice inclined ledge, set well above the flood level during the winter rains can hold scree forever, pretty well. The perfect cover in this environment. Who’s ever going to start climbing the sides of a ravine to move scree off a ledge they can’t even see?’

  ‘Good suggestion,’ said Sam, impressed. ‘I’m going to climb up this next little bit and see what’s there.’

  He gripped a gap in the rock and hauled himself up. ‘It’s definitely a ledge, and it’s really quite broad and deep,’ he called out, providing the team with a commentary on his progress. ‘The ledge slopes back from the edge… Yes, it’s definitely inclined away from the edge, that’ll prevent any scree from falling off.’ He stopped talking as he concentrated on pulling himself up over the edge and on to the ledge.

  ‘Bingo! Scree, the ledge is covered in it, a thick layer. And you know, Simon, it would look perfectly natural if you hadn’t suggested it might be otherwise.’

  Helen started to climb. ‘You wait there Sam Cameron, do not start moving stones until I’m there. Or else!’

  Helen heard Sam’s voice coming from above. ‘Don’t worry; I wouldn’t dare start without you.’

  The ledge was around five metres from end to end and under two metres wide. It had an incline, dropping from the lip towards the wall of the ravine, creating a trough in which the scree was held. It was impossible to guess how deep the trough was, only digging would tell. Helen watched Sam pull small tools from his rucksack: a collapsible shovel and a trowel. She found herself laughing as he started carefully removing the surface scree with his trowel.

  ‘Sam, only an archaeologist would have that kit in his bag on the off chance.’

  ‘No, there’s no off chance about it, if you’re looking for old and lost things they are invariably underground. On the surface, they wouldn’t have stayed lost. Anyway, as I said, if we are to make progress, we will be facing a tunnel. Check the bag, we’re kitted out for that too.’

  Helen glanced in the bag. Beside the bubble-wrapped glass was a packed lunch, bottles of water, a cluster of head torches and a rope. Yet more things lay beneath, obscured by the rop
e. That’s our Sam, she thought as she put the bag down, always ahead of the game.

  Simon pulled himself up on to the ledge and seemed to purr in approval at what he saw. ‘Man, if you want to cover a hole this is how to do it. You could sit over it for your lunch and never know. I think you may have found what you’re looking for.’

  Sam grinned. ‘Let’s hope so.’

  ‘Yes, let’s. But we’ll never know if we follow your approach,’ said Simon. ‘Forget the archaeology; you can come back another day for the signs. You guys need to get answers before whoever is dogging your steps turns up. They sure as hell aren’t going to stand on ceremony. And from what I’m hearing, they’ll just do away with anyone in their way. I’m guessing that includes us.’ He picked up the collapsible shovel, extended it and made to dig away the scree.

  Helen looked at Sam. ‘He’s right you know; we probably don’t have time to excavate this properly.’

  Sam stopped trowelling, turned his head up towards the sky and screwed his eyes shut, holding the pose for a long moment.

  Helen saw his eyes open, could see him nodding gently. It went against his every instinct but he recognised Simon was right. Without another word, they started clearing the scree as fast as possible.

  A little while later, Helen reached her hand down to help Nick up the final step and he made it on to the ledge just as the last of the scree was being cleared.

  All four stood and looked down at the ledge. At its deepest, the trough they had excavated was over twenty centimetres deep. It had been a mammoth task to complete in such a short period of time, but nobody was complaining. At their feet, set hard against the wall of the ravine was a level section of ledge perhaps a metre long by a half metre wide. It was quite uniform and a very slightly different shade to the surroundings; to Sam’s trained eye, it was clearly not natural. Though even when exposed, as it now was, the uninitiated might well have missed it.

  ‘I think it’s an entrance,’ said Sam, ‘but an entrance to what? And look at the work that’s gone into it. Something underneath is supporting it, but I’d guess they have sealed this up with mortar and covered it in a fine mosaic of rock from the ravine walls, like a camouflage.’