document, and I am more than halfway to believing that it could indeed have been written by Mary the Magdalene, a lost apostle of Jesus of Nazareth.
'The letter begins in the traditional epistolary style, naming both the author and the intended receiver, then a greeting, followed by the message itself. It is in Greek, with a few Hebrew and Aramaic words, two of the latter written in the Greek alphabet, and includes a passage from Joel, in Hebrew:
'From Mariam, an apostle of Jesus the Messiah [That could be translated as 'Joshua the Anointed One,' but it seems awfully noncommittal, somehow] to my sister Judith in Magdala, may you be granted grace and peace.
I write to you in haste, with little hope for a reply to this, my last letter. Tomorrow we go down from this place, and I think we shall not return. I send this in the hand of my beloved Rachel, for I know you will care for her as her mother's mother can no longer do. Keep her in the way of God, and teach her well.
Jerusalem has fallen to the locusts, the Temple is defiled, the exile is upon us once again.
Let all the inhabitants of the land tremble,
for the day of the Lord is coming,
it comes near,
A day of dark and of gloom,
a day of clouds and heavy darkness.
Fire devours before them,
and behind them flame burns.
The land is like Eden before them,
but behind them a howling wilderness,
and nothing escapes.
My heart sickens when I look from my window, and the stink of the soldiers fills my nostrils. I leave at dawn with my husband and his brothers, but Rachel the Romans will not have. Her future lies with you; I will think of the two of you among the pomegranates as I look out across my rocky desolation. I do not know how long the Romans will leave us there, but I think not long.
My sister Judith, many things lie between us. I do not know how I hurt you more, when I struck at you in my time of madness, or when I turned to the rabbi who healed me and followed him through the countryside. You heard madness in my words as I spoke of him, and I know you will hear only madness now. I will say only that in my deepest heart I know him to be the anointed of God, and I believe that somehow his life among us has transformed the world. Not overnight, as I once thought and some still look for, but nonetheless I believe in the sureness of it. I know that somehow beneath the turmoil and confusion of these times, his message is at work. I go tomorrow with a mind at peace and heart full of love for my family, my friends, and even some of my enemies. I try to love the Romans, as I was taught to do by the Teacher, but I find it hard to look past the blood on their hands. Perhaps if they did not stink so, it would be easier.
The night is late, and I have much to do before dawn. Say the prayer for the dead over me, when you receive this, and think no more of me. What lives of me is not on a rock overlooking a waste, but stands before you, in Rachel. Love her for me. My husband sends his greetings. Peace be with you.'
The fire subsided into rustling embers, and Holmes sat curled up in his chair, sucking at an empty pipe and staring into the glow. I took up my hairbrush and began to plait my hair for the night while the voice of a woman whose bones had long since turned to dust echoed softly in the dim room.
ELEVEN
The following morning was spent waiting. A singularly frustrating experience, waiting, made more so by the feeling that the labours of others are neither as quick nor as thorough as one's own. I always envied Holmes his ability to switch off the frustrations of enforced inactivity and turn wholeheartedly to another project. He spent the morning pottering happily in the laboratory, while I turned resolutely to my books. I had intended to produce a first draft of my book (on the concept of wisdom in the Hebrew Bible) before the end of the year, but that was before Miss Ruskin's letter hit my desk. Something told me that hunting down her murderers was going to take large chunks of time from the coming days, if not weeks.
Through sheer determination, I managed to focus my mind on the words in front of me, though every time I came across a reference to
'Russell. Yes, this is she.' Where was that? I racked my brains. It was a reference to the goddess Ma'at, surely. Budge's book on— 'Yes? Who? Oh, yes, certainly, I'll wait. Holmes!' I shouted, books forgotten. 'Holmes, it's Mycroft.' I listened hard for a minute over the sound of his descending footsteps, the earpiece glued to my ear. 'He wants to see us, and could we get to London for dinner tonight? What's that?' I shouted into the telephone, then strained to hear across the distance and the numerous exchanges the call was coming though. 'Oh. He says he has some grouse and a new port he'd like you to try,' I told Holmes. 'At least, I think that's what he said. Either that or he's in the house and has a few darts he'd like to let fly. In either case, perhaps we ought to go? Right.' I drew a deep breath and readdressed the mouthpiece. 'We'll be there by seven o'clock. Seven! Right. Good- bye.'
In the typically contrary nature of the beast, the telephone, which had sat obstinately silent all morning, rang again almost immediately. I picked it up and the operator informed me that it was another London call, would I please wait a moment, dear, so I did, until the line crackled into life. I bellowed my name into it, and that must have come near to rupturing Lestrade's eardrum, for his voice when it came was as clear as if he were standing in the room beside me.
'Miss Russell?' He sounded a bit tentative. I hastily lowered my own voice.
'Good day, Inspector. Sorry about that. I've just rung off from a very bad connexion, but this one is all right. Have you any news?'
'A few things have come in, and I'm expecting more this afternoon. Shall I give it to you over the telephone, or send it to you? I'm tied up here, unfortunately.'
'Look, Inspector, we're coming into Town ourselves later today. Will you be at the Yard around, say, six o'clock?' Holmes, who had turned and come back downstairs at the second ring, gestured at me. 'Just a moment, Inspector, Holmes is saying something.'
'Invite him for dinner with Mycroft. There's sure to be enough grouse for a regiment,' Holmes suggested.
'Inspector Lestrade? Are you free for dinner tonight? About eight o'clock, at Mycroft Holmes' rooms? Good. And you remember where he lives? That's right. You what? Oh yes, certainly, he would be flattered. Right. See you tonight, then.'
I rang off, then got the operator back to place a call to Mycroft. While waiting, I spoke to Holmes.
'Lestrade would like a bottle of your honey wine to present to a lady friend of his on the occasion of her birthday.'
'I am honoured.'
'I thought you might be. He even promises not to tell her where it came from. He wants the substance for its own true self.'
'Good heavens. Am I to become a rival to France? A honey wine to make you weep?'
'Weak, perhaps,' I said under my breath, but I was saved from repetition by the call coming through. Mycroft was more audible this time, and when I told him he'd have to pluck another bird for Lestrade, he replied that he should be happy so to do, even if it meant performing the task with his own pale hands, which I doubted. I hung the earpiece back on its rest.
'I'll go pack,' I volunteered. Leaving such a thing to Holmes could mean some interesting outfits. 'Anything in particular you want?'
'Only the basic necessities, Russell. Anything undamaged is likely to be unclean, and we will be making purchases in London for our personae. I shall go tell Mrs Hudson of the change in plans— she had thought to leave tomorrow, but we can take her with us to the station.'
'What about the box? Back in the beehive?'
