‘I think someone was working here as well,’ he said. The wall was rough, and sharp in places, as though an adze or a chisel had been used on it. He let his fingers wander over the limestone.
Aharoni came across and swung the lamp upwards, shining its light on the wall.
‘Yes, I think you’re right,’ he said. It was peculiar. He had not noticed it before, in the harsher light supplied by the generator. But in the muted glow of the hurricane lamp the signs of rough work could be seen quite clearly across a section of wall.
Working together now, the two men traced the lines along which the tool had been worked.
‘The marks seem to stop about here,’ said the bishop, running his fingers along a narrow fissure at about waist level.
‘I’d say the cutting was confined to this central section,’ Aharoni added, marking out an area about three feet square. He ran a finger along the sides, first the left, then the right, on down to the floor. A few pieces of limestone fell to the ground. Bending down, he traced the bottom of the square, then straightened up and stepped away from the wall.
Migliau turned and looked at him. His face was in shadow, his eyes invisible.
‘This isn’t part of the wall at all,’ he said. His voice sounded hollow, insubstantial. The thick walls buried it like flesh and bones.
What do you mean?’ The Israeli felt a prickle of excitement stab at his spine.
‘It’s a block that’s been cut out and re-inserted,
then worked over to conceal the joins. I do not understand. Why have you not seen this before?’
Aharoni knew the answer to that. They had been under so much pressure, rushing against time to do all the obvious jobs: measure the chambers, remove the ossuaries from the loculi, gather up the pieces of lamps and piriform pots that littered the floor. There had been no time for subtleties. And these joins were subtle, very subtle. Even under normal conditions they might not have been noticed for a long time.
We’d better get back to the museum, let the Director know. There’s maybe just enough time to see what’s behind the block, if anything, and if necessary ask for an extension. We could start work on it in the morning.’
‘But we are here now. You have already told me time is pressing. I think we should at least look at it tonight.’
Migliau had never been this close to a discovery before. The digs he had assisted at had all been relatively mundane affairs, the main work already finished by the time he became involved. Now he had a chance to see a new find at first hand, even to rank as its discoverer. Who could tell what might lie behind the block? It might even be what he was looking for. He placed both hands against one edge of the block and began to push.
‘I don’t think we should...’ Aharoni fell silent as the sound of stone grating against stone echoed through the chamber.
‘Please help me,’ Migliau called. ‘The stone is very heavy.’
Let him poke about a bit, get his hands dirty, find an artefact. What the hell, thought Aharoni. The excitement of discovery was everything. He was an archaeologist, after all. Such moments came rarely,
if at all, in a lifetime. He put the lamp down carefully and stepped to Migliau’s side, laying his hands on the heavy stone.
They pushed together, straining their arms and backs, feeling the stone’s weight in their legs, a dense, trembling weight that belonged somehow to this place, beneath the earth. The stone moved, a little at first, then, as they got the measure of it, several inches at once. Suddenly, they felt it rock - a fraction only, but enough to show that it was beginning to come free. They pushed harder, veins standing out on their necks, muscles knotting with the strain.
Without warning, the rock flew from their hands and fell back into blackness. A split second later, there was a loud crash, followed by the most absolute of silences. Neither man breathed. A stale smell of long untasted air crept through the opening into the chamber where they stood. And deep beneath the surface flatness of the stagnant air, there lay another smell, an odour of spices, elusive, intangible, mournful. It seemed to touch them for a moment, then it was gone.
Aharoni lifted the lamp and held it into the dark aperture. A million shadows seemed to crowd round it. He leaned forward into the opening, squinting into the darkness. When he spoke at last, his voice was muffled and tense.
‘I think we’ve found another tomb.’
TWO
Aharoni was the first to enter. He trod carefully, holding the lamp nervously in front, anxious lest he disturb or break anything that might chance to be lying on the floor. The tomb was tiny - smaller than any of the others. But it seemed better finished and tidier. Parts of the walls had been plastered, and the floor had been carefully swept. There were no loculi, just three large limestone sarcophagi in the centre of the domed chamber. They were much longer and sturdier than any of the ossuaries found in the other tombs.
Migliau took longer to work his way through the narrow opening. His greater bulk made it a much tighter squeeze, but he made it in the end, very dusty, scraped raw in places, and breathing heavily. At once he sensed it: this was no ordinary tomb that they had stumbled upon. Correction, he thought: that he had stumbled upon.
He stood tensely by the entrance, watching the Israeli as he moved between the coffins, bending to read an inscription, then straightening again, the soft yellow light transforming the harsh limestone to the texture of butter. The bishop wanted to speak, but his mouth felt dry and his tongue hard and inarticulate.
Finally, Aharoni stood and turned to face the other man.
‘I think you should come here,’ he said. His voice was shaking, and Migliau noticed that the hand in which he held the lamp was also unsteady. The bishop felt something clutch at his heart and squeeze it like a wet sponge. This was no ordinary tomb, these were no ordinary coffins, they contained no ordinary bones. He was certain of it. And his certainty frightened him to the marrow. Something told him that he had found what he had been looking for.
It seemed to him that the distance between the wall and the sarcophagi was the longest he had ever traversed, that it was not mere feet and inches, and not even centuries, but something more tremendous and more internal than any of those.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked. ‘Is something wrong?’
Aharoni’s face was pale in spite of the yellow light. Migliau wanted to laugh, to cry out, to strike something. His mood was fluctuating wildly. He felt confined in the tiny chamber.
The Israeli licked his lips. He could hear the faint hissing of the lamp. He could hear his own breathing, in and out. The rest was silence. He had not wanted this.
‘Can you read Aramaic?’ he asked.
‘A little ... Enough to get by on. I’m no scholar, I...’
‘No matter. I just want you to help me examine these inscriptions, that’s all.’
‘But you’ve examined them. What do they say?’
Aharoni did not answer. He looked at the Italian enigmatically.
‘I think you should take a look at them,’ he whispered.
The first sarcophagus was a long box with a gabled lid, ornamented with rosettes and incised lines. It was about six feet long and rather over two feet wide. A typical Jewish sarcophagus of the period. An inscription in Hebraic characters ran down one of the long sides.
‘Can you read it?’ asked Aharoni.
Migliau shook his head. It was nothing more than a box full of bones, he told himself. The flesh had been allowed to rot away, then the bones had been gathered together in a heap and placed in this box. Why should the sight of it disturb him so?
‘I’ll read it for you. Tell me if you think I’m wrong.’
Aharoni bent closer to the inscription, bringing the lamp nearer.
... Then there’s a couple of words I can’t make out, then As far as I can interpret it, it reads: “This is the tomb of James son of Joseph, master and shepherd ... the community which is in Jerusalem - killed at the command of Hananiah the high priest in the days after the death of Festus the governor.” ‘
Migliau said nothing. His breath caught tightly in his chest, but he was unable to breathe out. He was no scholar, but he knew enough to understand just what the inscription was about, whose bones it referred to. James,
