by Brad Ricca
“You will not believe it!” said Uotila. “Guess what the hell he had?”
“What is wrong?” asked Juvelius. “Had what? Are you drunk?”
“I wish,” Uotila said. “No, it is Hoppenrath!” He sat down and tried to catch his breath. He continued: “I was at their hotel, for a riding lesson. It was fine. But she invited me inside, and Hoppenrath was busy, and I saw … I saw…” He was breathing heavily.
“What?” Juvelius had an idea what he might say next.
Uotila looked at his friend with an exasperated look.
“He had a full survey of your work!” Juvelius was aghast; that was not what he had anticipated. Uotila pointed to Juvelius’s papers on the desk. “He came in and confronted me. He asked questions that could not have been asked without the guidance of the cipher!”
Juvelius was surprised. He knew that Hoppenrath wished for more information on the cipher, but not like this.
“I acted completely ignorant,” said Uotila. “He wanted more information. He was distressing me—he was really distressing. But I didn’t say anything. Finally, he complained, ‘Mon Dieu, you do not understand me!’ and declared it a misunderstanding.”
“He rode with me, silent, all the way home. But as soon as he left, I was so excited I turned around and rode to the house, to tell the Englishman what happened.”
“What?”
“I had to know. You don’t understand. He admitted that Mrs. Hoppenrath had tried to get some of the secrets of the report from him during their riding lesson.” Juvelius considered this carefully. The Englishman had full access to all of Juvelius’s reports. Hoppenrath had seen a great deal of it, but he clearly wanted more interpretation that he did feel comfortable asking for directly.
“Did he betray us?”
“No, he’s a good man.”
Juvelius was relieved. He knew that one would have to have mediocre intelligence to think they could milk secrets from an English gentleman.
Uotila was silent for a moment and added: “This is not a story that you read in novels. The lady was clearly trading herself under … certain conditions.” He stared at Juvelius, who knew what he meant. “These men and their wives—these adventurers!”
Juvelius sat on the bed. What was to be done? Juvelius thought about reporting it to Mr. Parker, but that could be catastrophic with the people involved. Mr. Parker was too much of a gentleman to have to decide between his man and them. Juvelius couldn’t see a way forward. He had to gain Mr. Parker’s trust.
The next day, Juvelius, along with Uotila, made their way to the house where the Englishmen were staying. On the first floor, the men had set up a series of tables to catalog their archaeological finds. Father Vincent was down at the very end of one, peering at some old piece of cookware.
Juvelius found Father Vincent to be an extremely pleasant, well-educated man. The men gossiped that he had been born in a noble castle in southern France and had earned degrees in law and philosophy from the University of Lyon. His future had looked full of fortune when he suddenly turned to the ecclesiastical life and locked himself into a monk’s oath. Juvelius found it impossible to dislike the man. His fine nobility, beautiful dark eyes, eagerness for intelligent discussion, and deep expertise in every area of life made him very amenable.
Father Vincent motioned Juvelius and Uotila over. He looked quite comical wearing his magnifying glass; his left eye looked enormous and liquid under the lights. Father Vincent showed him the particular chip of clay he was investigating. It was clear that he was very pleased. Father Vincent regarded his guests.
“You should go,” said Father Vincent, translated through Uotila. He understood that Juvelius had reservations about seeing the rabbi that Mr. Parker had recommended.
“You could do great trying to find out rabbinic opinions on some of the things that are in the context of our research,” said Father Vincent. “He speaks several European languages quite fluently.”
“I’m not a diplomat,” replied Juvelius. “Maybe you can’t go yourself?
Father Vincent gave a slightly malicious smile. “Ah, I’m afraid it would attract too much attention,” he said, gesturing down to his consistently filthy robes.
As they rode home, Juvelius was still wrestling with the question of how to proceed.
“What are you going to do?” asked Uotila.
“If I go see the rabbi, it will satisfy Mr. Parker, and perhaps get him on our side. But I think it would be unwise to take any conversation with the rabbi. He could get a hint of what we are doing. Of our information.” He paused. “But I need Mr. Parker to believe my report. We’ll put it together, you and me,” Juvelius said. “You could help me so we can keep it out of Hoppenrath’s hands.”
“Of course!” said Uotila. “That’s why I am here.”
“There’s something else,” Juvelius said. “We have somewhere to go first.”
Fourteen
Monty Parker
JERUSALEM, 1909
The hour was late when Monty finally got up to his room at the tall ramshackle house that they were renting from the mukhtar, the chieftain of Silwan. Monty walked up the creaky stairs. Its high ceilings were guarded by very stubborn spiders. The men had turned the first floor into what appeared to be a Jerusalem version of a jumble sale. There were bits and pieces of digging equipment scattered over handsome Persian rugs, pickaxes propped up against heavy cracked bowls spread out on the Turkish divans. Wall shelves and cupboards had been repurposed to temporary storage spaces. But all was not lost: there was a smoking table full of fine Havana cigars and Egyptian cigarettes in the corner. They were English, not barbarians.
Monty clicked his door shut and walked over to the closet. As he passed a mirror, he caught a glimpse of himself, or at least a version of it: different, but generally recognizable in the moment. He walked into the closet—it was still dark—and switched on the special bulb. He looked into the shallow tray on the small table before him. A shadow had begun to form, like smoke, on the surface of the paper. As the image began to fade in, the strange black cloud solidified into a sharper rectangle. Monty shook the tray a little, before grabbing it with the tongs. He then placed the print in the stop bath, where he could get a clearer look. He had not taken this many photographs since the war. Looking at the image, three and a half by three and a half, he remembered that a photograph always held three versions of the subject: the one on the paper, the one in his head, and the real one somewhere in the past. He patted his big camera on the way out.
Monty shut the door to his closet, walked across the Persian rug, and sat down at his chair before the fireplace. The night was cold, and the room was crackling with the warm light of the flames. Monty grabbed a mostly empty glass from the end table, sniffed it, and took a drink. He lay back into the chair and groaned. This dry place was not Saltram, but he decided it would do. He took another swallow. He reached for his bag and took out a folder that was wound up with a string. A book spilled out, but he let it lay. As leader of the expedition, Monty was in charge not only of the day-to-day running of the excavation but also something far less exciting: the bloody paperwork. He had expense reports due and was late in sending an update to the Syndicate in London. He had to admire Foley. Ascending the Dragon Shaft was a bold maneuver, though he knew it was probably Walsh who had done it first. But the Ark was not there. Monty took another hard swallow.
There was mail to return. He looked over the newest packet of letters. Nothing from his younger brother Jack or his sister Mary back home. Nothing from the earl, either, he chuckled. Monty could only imagine what his older brother might think of where he was right now.
There was nothing from her, either. Obviously. Monty pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers and shut his eyes. He wanted to write a letter, telling her everything of his adventures, but he knew he could not.
Monty sighed and set the letters aside. He saw the pages of the cipher, bound in thin red ribbon, peeking out from the bottom of the
pile. When Juvelius had finally handed it over to Hoppenrath, Monty took the originals to John Venn & Sons, a notary on Cornhill, to have them translated. Monty could only imagine their reactions as they worked on the document, but the firm was quite reputable, and Monty knew he could rely on their discretion. Still, the frontispiece must have been an eye-opener:
TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SWEDISH
A SUPPOSED CIPHER WRITING IN EZEKIEL
SEEMS TO REFER TO THE HIDING PLACE
OF THE ARK OF THE COVENANT AND THE ARCHIVES OF THE TEMPLE
Signed V. H. Juvelius
The translation was completed in pencil with a long, looping cursive over seventy-four pages imprinted with a light red and blue border. Monty looked through the messy interior. Words had been scratched out and replaced willy-nilly. Some portions were flipped on their side and extended into the margins.
This was the document, full of strange words and numbers, all spread apart on the page like some unfamiliar game of cards, that had launched the entire expedition. The cipher was difficult to read, most likely because of the multiple languages it had gone through, but also because Juvelius did not—except for one example—show his work step by step. At first, Monty found the words to be an impenetrable morass, like a riddle with no solution. Juvelius explained in the beginning pages that the cipher was “intentional symbolical writing,” which meant that any interpretation must involve some guesswork. After all, the whole point of the cipher was to offer a trail of crumbs to something that its ancient writers still wished to conceal.
But over time, it had begun to make more sense. The cipher claimed that there was a hidden chamber, a “hiding place” or “asylum,” where the Ark had remained untouched, somewhere behind a walled-up tunnel. Through analysis of the cipher solutions, Juvelius believed that there were three possible entrances to this secret place: the Dome of the Rock, the Virgin’s Fountain, and a less-specific third entrance from the lower valley. There were no exact maps to get to the asylum, only clues locked into the ancient words.
Monty sat back in his chair and looked through the pages, trying to find something he knew he had seen before. Much of it was devoted to Ezekiel, the prophet who had clairvoyant dreams of Jerusalem while in captivity in Babylon. Monty pulled out the Bible he had brought with him, with the black leather cover that looked brand new, and turned to Ezekiel. It took him a while to find it. Monty read the verses where Ezekiel has a vision of the water of life as it wells up from the Temple of Jerusalem and flows out into the valley, healing the land in its wake. The prophecy is shown to him by a nameless man whose appearance is like shining brass:
Afterward he brought me again unto the door of the house; and, behold, waters issued out from under the threshold of the house eastward.
And when the man that had the line in his hand went forth eastward, he measured a thousand cubits, and he brought me through the waters; the waters were to the ankles. Again he measured a thousand, and brought me through the waters; the waters were to the knees. Again he measured a thousand, and brought me through; the waters were to the loins. Afterward he measured a thousand; and it was a river that I could not pass over: for the waters were risen, waters to swim in, a river that could not be passed over.
Juvelius had worked from the ancient Hebrew, but perhaps Monty could check the tone and message. He read the cipher’s interpretation of the same verse:
THE FLAME HAS DISAPPEARED
Into the hiding places / lead / its hole / cunningly
Hewn. / The body of water / collects itself / together
Covers / the refuge of the cave / and roars
There is / The place of refuge / that which /
Does not flow over / Publish / Provided not (in fact)
Wrong counsel / empties out / and wickedly
Fractures / the vault’s water / and leads away
The water’s dam / and the vault’s protection
And the Threshold! / Be silent!
As he read the words, Monty could see Father Vincent moving down the stairs and into the cave of the Virgin’s Fountain, his eyes darting around like arrows. Monty could see him look at the strangely carved passage at the cave below. “Be silent!” said the cipher. Monty could see Father Vincent putting his head down to hear the sound of the spring, of the water. “The refuge of the cave,” Monty read again, “cunningly hewn” and “roars.” It fit almost perfectly.
Monty felt a chill on his spine. There was no doubt that the solution sounded very much like the cave of the Virgin’s Fountain, not to mention the water in the main tunnel. Monty quickly flipped back to the first page of the cipher.
Juvelius had written it in 1907.
Two years ago.
Monty read on. “The stairs” and the “noise of the waters” were common themes in the entries. The cipher also kept referring to the “hollow stairs”—did that mean something was under the steps of the Virgin’s Fountain? Monty thought of the main stairs back home at Saltram, which hugged the walls in two flights separated by a landing. The stairs in the great hall were supported by nothing; they seemed to be some strange magic trick, floating in the air. There were good, darkened places underneath to hide or hang a painting.
The cipher was less straightforward about what the stairs meant.
(The entrance of the filling water) subdue, behold, the steps of the hollow and 80 rooms between, 80, unstable, shakes the steps of the hollow staircase:
Separates itself. (“The dragon RAHAB.”)
(The Pleiades’ behold!) “The Nails” “the nails” close
(Behold) Mountain, “the morning star’s the healing (Behold the opening)
The Pleaides? Was there a clue somewhere in the sky? It would not be the first time a star was used as a direction to a divine place. Juvelius further explained this connection in a footnote:
/ “STAR” = the symbol of the Ark, Messiah was also called “the son of the star,” perhaps with alluding to the taking out of the Ark by the appearance of the Messiah.
Monty turned the pages forward. The other recurring subject was “the tunnel.”
And the tunnel (?) / and the surroundings / tear asunder
The living body / Raise itself / that oh!
The shovels / the noise of the waters / the holy place
Hezekiah’s Tunnel was the main route between the Virgin’s Fountain to the Pool of Siloam that they were currently beginning to clear out. Warren had made it through decades ago, but Monty was beginning to wonder if it was possible. The cipher directed that by the “rivers of water / The tunnel was long (“The distant lying answer”).” Juvelius wrote that his “opinion” was “that in the middle of the tunnel there must have been a perpendicular shaft full of water … but it has now been emptied.” Monty immediately thought of the Dragon Shaft. In the light of their recent discoveries, the cipher seemed to have become clearer somehow. Juvelius explained in the text that he thought Ezekiel was envisioning a sluice, part of an ancient waterworks that could drain the tunnel itself. The cipher said that it “could be entered through a higher way, or a lower one”—just like the Dragon Shaft, which could be accessed through the surface or from the ladder below.
Monty looked into the fire. The wood popped and hissed. Monty sometimes thought of his older brother when he saw such a fire. In 1903, right before their father died, Edmund had been on the steamship Ovalu, off the coast of Australia, when the ship caught fire. The hold was filled with copra kernels, so the flames spread fast. They headed for Lord Howe Island, some six hundred kilometers away. As they got close, the fire accelerated, and they got into the boats. As they rowed for the beach, the fiery ship behind them began to hiss terribly. It then exploded and sank to nothing. His brother was fine. The newspapers proclaimed him a hero.
Monty had wondered if the cipher might be a fake. But how could it be so tantalizingly close to being accurate? Juvelius might have used existing maps, Monty supposed, but Warren’s work was incomplete in this area. A more daring question lay
right behind it. How could the things described in the cipher—the stairs, the hidden shaft, the water, and the tunnel—be things that they were seeing with their own eyes and dirtying their hands over right now?
Juvelius explained that the verses he had found in the Scripture functioned as part of a larger message, “forming a complete whole by themselves and containing within themselves everything necessary to complement and illustrate each other—all the links are firmly welded together—no gaps exist.” By looking at various books in the context of one theme—finding the Ark—Juvelius’s cipher had ironed out its own kind of truth, and it was not just vague direction; it seemed to be a story. “The flame has disappeared” the cipher claimed. The Ark had been lost. But “the solution” was “confirmed and reliable” to recover it.
Monty was beginning to feel a sense of welling excitement. “In spite of the terrifying long way,” Juvelius explained, “one should not allow oneself to be dismayed, because the ark is here.” Once the secret chamber was found, the instructions were clear:
And push against / the ornament of the crown / and the dividing wall
Swings round / opens on the hinges
And something / beautiful / resplendent / seek
(and) measure / the entrance!
IT!
Monty Parker was tired, sunburnt, and weary, but he could almost see it along the blurry edge of the fire. A long tunnel led to a hidden door that opened to a small room. There, in absolute and total darkness, he saw the shimmer of polished gold, somehow immune from the dirt and dust of the ages. He could see it gleam. Staves of wood were attached through rings of gold at its corners. The lid looked to be solid gold and was covered by two cherubim whose wings were pushed forward like thrusting spears, meeting at their sharp, gleaming tips as all dissolved to fire.
Monty put his pipe to his mouth. He put the cipher down gently. These were great and serious things, he thought, as sleep came to his tired limbs.
