of them was James. So if the James ossuary is real, it throws into question the whole concept of perpetual virginity, and perhaps, by association, the concept of virgin birth.”
Another Jake snort.
“ Saint Jerome and his cronies cooked that one up in the fourth century. Jesus’ pal Mary Magdalene became a prostitute. Jesus’ mother became a virgin. Good women don’t have sex. Bad women do. The idea appealed to the misogynist male ego. The concept became dogma, and the Vatican ’s been championing it ever since.”
“So if the James ossuary is real, and the box actually belonged to Jesus’ brother, the Vatican has some explaining to do.”
“You bet. The idea of Mary as a mama is a mega-problem for the Vatican. Hell, even if the box means only that Joseph had other kids, that’s still a problem. It suggests that Joseph impregnated his wives. And, again, the Vatican ’s credibility is screwed.”
The blackbird had been joined by others. For a few moments I watched them squabble over carrion rights.
Okay. The James ossuary blew the lid on Mary’s virginity. I could see how the Vatican would be concerned about that. I could see how Christian or Muslim radicals might want to get their hands on the box. Same argument Morissonneau had presented. Save the faith. Wreck the faith. But how did the ossuary link to the Masada skeleton? Or did it? Had the two finds coincidentally surfaced at the same time?
“What does the James ossuary have to do with Morissonneau’s skeleton?”
Jake hesitated. “I’m not sure. Yet. But here’s an interesting sidebar. Oded Golan worked as a volunteer at Masada.”
“For Yigael Yadin?” I asked.
Jake nodded, again checked his surroundings. I wanted to probe the connection between Max and the James ossuary, but Jake gave me no chance.
“Let’s go.”
“Where?” I asked.
“The Jesus family tomb.”
20
BEFOREICOULD REACT, JAKE CLIMBED FROM THE TRUCK. THEblackbirds cawed in protest and flapped skyward.
Reaching behind the seat, Jake transferred items from his pack to the zipper compartment of my hockey bag. Then he shouldered the bag’s strap, scanned the area, locked the driver’s-side door, and set off.
I trailed behind, a cascade of questions whirling in my brain.
The Jesus family tomb? If authenticated, such a find would be huge. CNN, BBC, around the globe mammoth.
What proof did Jake have?
Why had he waited until now to tell me?
How did this tomb relate to the bones I’d carried from l’Abbaye Sainte-Marie-des-Neiges? To the James ossuary?
I felt fearful.
I felt awestruck.
I felt totally jazzed.
Ten yards downslope, Jake stopped on a ledge.
“We’re standing on the edge of the Kidron Valley.” Jake indicated the gorge at our feet. “The Kidron meets the Hinnom just south of here, then veers west.”
I must have looked lost.
“The Hinnom Valley runs south from the Jaffa Gate on the west side of the Old City, then eastward along the south side of Mount Zion until it meets the Kidron. The Kidron separates the Temple Mount from the Mount of Olives on the east side of the city.” Jake pointed. “Over there. Know much about the Hinnom?”
“Not really.”
“The place has quite a colorful history. In the pre-Christian era, babies are supposed to have been sacrificed to the gods Moloch and Baal in the Hinnom. The Jews turned the valley into a city dump-garbage, anything deemed unclean, including the bodies of executed criminals, were burned there. In later Jewish literature the valley was called Ge-Hinnom, and in the Greek of the New Testament, Gehenna. Because of the trash fires, the Hinnom provided imagery for a fiery hell in the Books of Isaiah and the New Testament. Gehenna is the source of the English word ‘hell.’”
Jake stuck a thumb at an ancient tree at my back.
“Judas is supposed to have hanged himself there. According to tradition, his body fell from that tree and was disemboweled.”
“You don’t believe that’s the actual tree-”
A small bird darted between us, moving so fast I couldn’t make out its color. Jake threw up an arm, and a boot slipped. Pebbles shot downward.
My adrenals opened fire.
Regaining his footing, Jake continued with a question.
“According to the Bible, where did Christ go after his crucifixion?”
“Into a tomb.”
“He descended into hell, and on the third day rose again. Right?”
I nodded.
“At the time that was written the Hinnom was constantly burning and had taken on the popular image as the place ‘down there’ where the wicked would be cast into the flames of destruction. Hell. Hell Valley. The biblical reference is to burial in a location in or near the Hinnom.”
Jake left no gap for comment.
“These valleys were the location of the tombs of the wealthy.”
“Like Joseph of Aramathea.”
“You got it.” Jake pointed flat-handed to our left and rear, then swept his arm in a clockwise arc. “Silwan’s the village behind us. Abu Tor’s across the way.” Jake closed his circle on the hill to our right. “The Mount of Olives is to the north.”
I sited off his fingers. Jerusalem crawled the summit westward from the Mount, its domes facing off across the Kidron with the minarets of Silwan.
“These hills are honeycombed with ancient tombs.” Jake yanked out a bandanna and wiped sweat from his head. “I’m taking you to one unearthed by Palestinian roadwork a few years back.”
“How far down the valley?” I asked.
“Way down.”
Jake backhanded the bandanna into a jeans pocket, grabbed a bush, and hopped off the ledge. I watched him scrabble downhill, bald head shining like a copper pot.
Using the same bush, I squatted, kicked out my legs, and bellied over the edge. When my feet made contact, I let go, turned, and began picking my way downhill, sliding on loose rocks and grabbing vegetation.
The sun was climbing a brilliant blue sky. Inside my Windbreaker, I began to sweat.
Again and again I thought of the pair outside l’Abbaye Sainte-Marie-des-Neiges. My eyes kept moving from the ground at my feet to the village at my back. The slope was at least sixty degrees where Jake had chosen to descend. If anyone wanted to pick us off, we were easy targets.
On one backward glance I spotted a man walking a path on the valley rim.
My heart gunned into overdrive.
An assassin? A man walking a path on the valley rim?
I looked downhill. Jake was drawing farther and farther ahead.
I goosed the tempo.
