The Last Secret Of The Temple

by Paul Sussman

  Layla finished copying down the translation and, sitting on the edge of the desk, read through it. Whatever she'd been expecting from the document, it wasn't this. It sounded like some sort of riddle.

  'Any idea what it means?' she asked.

  Roberts took the sheet from her and skimmed through it. There was a long silence.

  'It's certainly unusual,' he said eventually. 'Judging by the references to "Jerusalem" and "across the sea" I'd say it was written during the crusader period, although that's just an educated guess so don't go quoting me.'

  'And this was when exactly?' she asked. 'Crusader history not being my strong point.'

  'Mine neither,' he replied, scratching at the eczema-blotch on his neck. 'Let's see. The First Crusade captured Jerusalem from the Saracens in 1099. After that there was a crusader state in the Holy Land for, what, the next two hundred years, until the end of the thirteenth century, although Jerusalem itself was recaptured by Saladin in' – he paused for a moment, thinking – '1187, I think. Yes, 1187. After the Horns of Hattin. So this must have been written before that. Some time between 1099 and 1187, that's my guess. Although like I say, I could be talking complete rubbish.'

  He put the translation down and, removing his glasses, started polishing them again.

  'The crusader kingdom was known as Outremer, incidentally,' he added, 'which means "across the sea".'

  Layla stared down at the cryptic message.

  'So you think whoever wrote this was a crusader?'

  'Well, not one of the rank-and-file crusaders, certainly. Most of them were illiterate. The fact that this GR knew Latin and was educated enough to encrypt it would suggest he was either a nobleman, a scribe, or a member of the clergy.'

  He held his glasses in front of him, examined them, then put them back on.

  'Esclarmonde is a medieval French name, so far as I'm aware only used in the Languedoc region, so it's probably a fair bet GR was from that part of the country too. Who exactly he was, however, and what this ancient thing is he found I have no idea. It's certainly intriguing. Very intriguing.'

  ' "C"?' queried Layla, pointing at the letter in the text.

  'Presumably an abbreviation of a place name, but . . .' He shrugged as if to say 'who knows?'

  'And it's genuine?' she asked. 'Not a fake?'

  Again, that noncommittal shrug of the shoulders.

  'I simply can't tell you, Layla. Not without the original. Even then, it's not at all my subject. You need to go and talk to an expert. A palaeographer or something.'

  He smiled apologetically.

  'I think my usefulness is rapidly starting to run out.'

  'Not at all,' she said, reaching over and squeezing his shoulder. 'You've been fantastic.'

  They cleared up all the sheets of scrap paper and dumped them in the bin, then headed back through into the living room. Layla thought of offering him a drink, but decided against it. He seemed to sense her reticence, because he said it was time he was leaving.

  'I can't thank you enough, Tom,' she said, opening the front door for him. 'You've been so helpful.'

  'I've enjoyed it.' He smiled. 'Really. It's been a challenge. And lunch was excellent.'

  He stepped out onto the landing.

  'Look, Layla, I know I said no strings attached, and I meant it when I said no strings attached, but I was wondering . . . I don't want to hassle you, but would you . . .'

  He seemed nervous, tripping over his words. She came forward a step and kissed him on the cheek.

  'I'd love to go for dinner,' she said, smiling. 'Can I call you?'

  He beamed. 'Of course. Wonderful. I'll wait to hear from you, then.'

  He set off down the stairs with a spring in his step and she closed the door behind her, leaning her back against it. She'd been lying, of course. She had no intention of calling him. Not for a while, anyway. All she wanted to do now was to find out more about the mysterious letter.

  'Who are you, GR?' she muttered to herself, gazing down at the translation in her hand, Tom Roberts already forgotten. 'Who the hell are you? What did you find? And who sent you to me?'

  JERUSALEM

  At the end of the day Ben-Roi drove home to his grubby, lonely, one-bedroom flat in Romema, where he showered, dabbed on some cologne and then set off on foot to his sister Chava's apartment for Shabbat dinner.

  It was a cool, clear evening, with a translucent blue sky and a slight breeze drifting in from the north, unnaturally quiet and still, the streets having all but emptied for the Sabbath observance. He passed a group of Haredi Jews hurrying home from synagogue, their side-curls bobbing up and down like coiled springs, and a line of young female soldiers sitting in a shelter above the main Egged bus station, laughing and smoking, their M16s balanced on their slim, khaki-clad legs. Otherwise the city seemed deserted. He liked it like that – clean, empty, silent. There was something pure about it, unsullied, as if everything that had gone before had been swept away, leaving a new city, a new beginning. He wished it could be like that all the time.

  Chava's flat was back towards the Old City, on Ha-Ma'alot, a plush, tree-lined avenue in the heart of West Jerusalem. Arriving in front of the yellow-stone building he took a swig of vodka from his flask and pressed the intercom beside the glass door. There was a pause, then his nephew Chaim's voice echoed from the panel.

  'Uncle Arieh?'

  'No,' he replied, putting on an American accent, 'it's Spiderman.'

  There was a pause as the boy considered this, then a guffaw of laughter.

  'It's not Spiderman,' he cried. 'It's Uncle Arieh! Come quickly!'

  There was a loud buzzing and the door clicked open. Ben-Roi went through into the foyer, smiling to himself, and took a lift to the fourth floor, removing a mint from his pocket and popping it in his mouth to mask the smell of alcohol.

  He enjoyed Shabbat evenings at his sister's. It was one of the few social occasions he was able to deal with these days – just himself, Chava, her husband Shimon and their two kids, Chaim and Ezer. The religious element didn't mean much to him now. Since Galia's death his faith, once such a central part of his existence, seemed to have crumbled away, to the extent that it was now almost a year since he had last set foot inside a shul, missing even the High Holy days of Passover, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, the first time in his life he had ever done so.

  No, it wasn't the religion that made Friday nights so special to him, nor even so much the fact of being with his family, his own blood, although that was of course important. Rather, it was a simple pleasure in being with people who were happy, who could laugh, who saw the world as something full of light and hope rather than the maelstrom of pain and confusion that it was for him. They were such a contented family, so warm, so close. To be with them helped him, if not to forget, at least to remember a little less.

  The lift door opened and he stepped out onto the landing. Four-year-old Chaim and his elder brother Ezer charged from their front door and leapt at him.

  'Did you catch any killers today, Uncle Arieh?'

  'Have you got your gun with you?'

  'Will you take us swimming next week?'

  'To the zoo! To the zoo!'

  He swept the two boys up into his arms and carried them into the flat, kicking the door closed behind him. His brother-in-law Shimon, a short, plump man with curly afro hair – hard to believe he was a decorated paratrooper – came out of the kitchen, an apron tied round his waist, a smell of roasting chicken drifting after him.

  'You OK, brother?' he said, clapping Ben-Roi on the shoulder.

  Ben-Roi nodded and deposited the children on the floor. They scuttled away into their bedroom, laughing and making shooting noises.

  'Drink?' asked Shimon.

  'Is the Chief Rabbi frumm?' grunted Ben-Roi. 'Where's Chava?'

  'Doing the candles. With Sarah.'

  The detective frowned. He hadn't expected anyone else to be there.

  'A friend of hers,' explained Shimon. 'She was at
a loose end tonight so we invited her round.'

  He glanced down the corridor, then dropped his voice.

  'Seriously good-looking. And single!'

  He winked and disappeared into the kitchen to get their drinks. Ben-Roi wandered down the corridor towards the lounge, glancing through into the dining room as he passed. His sister, a tall, broad-hipped woman with bobbed hair, was leaning over the table blessing the Shabbat candles. Beside her stood another woman, smaller, slimmer, with auburn hair almost down to her waist, dressed in chinos, sandals and a white shirt. She glanced up, caught sight of him and smiled. Ben-Roi held her eyes a second, then, without reciprocating the gesture, continued into the living room. The sound of his sister's voice echoed behind him, reciting the traditional Shabbat blessing.

  'Baruch ata Adonai, eloheinu melech ha'olam, asher kid'shanu b'mitz'votav v'tzivanu l'hadlich ner shel Shabbat:

  He was joined a moment later by Shimon, who handed him a large whisky. The two women came in shortly after that, Chava coming over and hugging him.

  'I just love that aftershave,' she said, kissing him on the cheek. 'This is Sarah.'

  She pulled away and indicated her friend, who smiled and held out her hand.

  'Chava's told me a lot about you,' she said.

  Ben-Roi took the hand and muttered a greeting, making little effort to be polite. He found the woman's presence unsettling. He liked it when it was just the five of them, family, no outsiders. That way he could be himself, didn't have to make an effort. Now, with a stranger here, the intimacy of the evening was somehow polluted, spoilt before it had even begun. He was starting to wish he hadn't come.

  'Don't mind him,' his sister joked, jerking her head in Ben-Roi's direction. 'He's the super sabra. Give him till dessert and he'll be the life and soul.'

  The young woman smiled, but said nothing. Ben-Roi downed his whisky in two long gulps.

  They exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes, then Chava excused herself and went off to the kitchen to check dinner. Ben-Roi followed her on the pretext of refilling his glass.

  'So what do you think?' she asked when they were alone.

  'What do you mean, what do I think?'

  'Of Sarah, stupid. She's beautiful, isn't she?'

  Ben-Roi shrugged, pouring himself another slug of whisky from a bottle on the sideboard.

  'Hadn't noticed.'

  'Right,' said his sister with a laugh, opening the oven and checking a large chicken that was roasting inside.

  Ben-Roi came forward and, lifting a lid, sniffed the contents of a pot that was simmering on the stove. Chicken kneidlach soup. His favourite.

  'She's a good person,' said Chava, basting the chicken. 'Fun. Intelligent. Kind. And single.'

  'So Shimon tells me,' said Ben-Roi, dipping a spoon into the pot and slurping a mouthful of soup.

  Chava slapped his hand and replaced the lid.

  'I know what you're thinking, Arieh. I'm not trying to fix you up—'

  'You could have fucking fooled me.'

  'Zedakah box! You know we don't have swearing in this house.'

  Ben-Roi grumbled an apology, fiddled in his pocket and produced a five-shekel coin which he dropped into the charity box on the windowsill.

  'I'm not trying to fix you up,' repeated Chava. 'I just think—'

  'What? That it's time I started screwing someone else?'

  He bit his lip, produced another coin, ten shekels this time, and dropped it in the box.

  'Sorry.'

  Chava smiled and, stepping forward, wrapped her arms around her brother's neck.

  'Come on, Ari. Please. Lighten up a bit. I can't bear to see you like this. None of us can. So unhappy. So . . . tormented. Galia wouldn't have wanted it. I know that. She'd want you to start living again. Being happy.'

  Ben-Roi let her hold him for a moment, then pushed her away, taking a long gulp of his whisky.

  'Just let me deal with it in my own way, sis. I need time, that's all.'

  'You can't mourn her for ever, Arieh. You have to move on. You know it, deep down.'

  He drained the rest of the whisky, something hardening inside him.

  'I'll mourn her for as long as I fucking want, Chava. It's no-one's business but my own.'

  This time he neither apologized for the expletive nor put a coin in the box. He filled his glass again and made for the kitchen door. His sister grabbed his arm.

  'At least try and be polite, Arieh. Please. At least try and be nice.'

  He looked down at her, her eyes moist, imploring, then nodded and walked out into the corridor.

  Twenty minutes later they gathered in the dining room. The men and boys donned yarmulkes and Shimon recited the kiddush over a cup of wine, everyone taking a sip before they all sat down to eat, Ezer and Chaim insisting on sitting to either side of Ben-Roi.

  'You're under arrest, Uncle Arieh,' explained Ezer. 'And we're your guards.'

  With a couple more drinks inside him Ben-Roi's mood had lightened slightly.

  'OK,' he said. 'But remember, if you're proper guards you have to watch me all the time. All the time. Which means you can't have any dinner because it will distract you.'

  The boys took up the challenge and, swivelling in their seats, stared at him. They managed to hold it until the soup was served, at which point they lost interest. Shimon nodded at Ben-Roi, who stood up and crossed to the sideboard, where he opened a bottle of wine.

  'Some guards you turned out to be,' said Sarah, smiling. 'Look – your uncle's just escaped. And you didn't even notice.'

  'He didn't escape,' countered Ezer, slurping at his soup. 'There are other guards, but they're invisible.'

  Everyone laughed. Ben-Roi's eyes caught Sarah's for a fraction of a second, then flicked away again. He returned to the table with the opened bottle.

  'So, what do you do?' he asked, pouring the wine.

  'She's a teacher,' said Chava.

  'Since when was she mute?' snorted Shimon. 'Let her answer for herself.'

  'Sorry,' said Chava. 'Go on, Sarah, tell him what you do.'

  The young woman shrugged.

  'I'm a teacher.'

  Despite himself, Ben-Roi smiled.

  "Where?'

  'Down in Silwan.'

  'Silwan?'

  'It's a special project. Experimental.'

  Ben-Roi raised his eyebrows questioningly.

  'We teach Israeli and Palestinian kids together, in the same school,' she explained. 'Try and integrate them. Break down the barriers.'

  Ben-Roi stared at her for a moment, then lowered his eyes, his smile fading. Shimon took a piece of hallah and swiped it round his empty soup bowl.

  'Did you get that funding you applied for?' he asked.

  Sarah shook her head. 'They manage to find money for the bloody settlers, but for teaching . . . the way things are at the moment we can't even afford to buy colouring books and pens.'

  Ben-Roi was poking a kneidl around his bowl.

  'I don't see the point,' he muttered.

  'Of colouring books?'

  'Of trying to integrate Arab and Israeli kids.'

  She looked at him, eyes sparkling.

  'You don't think it's worth a try?'

  Ben-Roi waved his spoon dismissively.

  'Different worlds, different values. It's pointless thinking they can get on together. Naive.'

  'Actually, we've had a lot of success,' she countered. 'The kids play together, share experiences, form friendships. It's amazing how open-minded they can be.'

  'In a couple of years they'll be cutting each other's throats,' said Ben-Roi. 'It's the way things are. There's no point trying to pretend any different.'

  For a brief moment it seemed she was going to argue with him. As it was, she simply smiled and gave a slight shrug of her shoulders.

  'We'll give it a go anyway. You never know, it might do some good. More good than encouraging them to grow up hating each other, that's for sure.'