Razak moved back to see what the Englishman was implying. Turning toward the blast hole again, he studied the space that the brick wall had filled. Certainly it was wide, but no larger than twice the width of an average doorway. “What do you think this means?”
“It strongly suggests that our thieves weren’t the first intruders here. It seems clear to me that this room wasn’t designed to be a crypt.”
The Muslim stared at him blankly.
“This room is a vault specifically built for concealment and security,” Barton explained. “Somehow it was built in conjunction with Solomon’s Stables. And I think I know who was responsible.” In his mind’s eye, he saw the graffiti that hovered in the bedrock over Father Demetrios’s stout form—the image that helped him postulate this new theory.
Razak thought it through, mulling over the history that he knew about this place. One thing that clearly stuck out in his thoughts was the notion that the area now converted into the Marwani Mosque was supposedly used as a horse stable centuries earlier. And supposedly, it was built by... Suddenly his face slackened. “The Knights Templar?”
Barton smiled and shook his head knowingly. “Correct! It’s a long shot, but most archaeologists credit them with constructing Solomon’s Stables. How familiar are you with Templar history?”
Clearly not thrilled that the archaeologist was venturing into history again, Razak told him what he knew from his surprisingly extensive reading around the subject. After all, he thought, to understand the modern struggle between East and West, one must open a history book.
The Poor Knights of Christ and the Temple of Solomon had been founded in 1118 CE, after the first Christian crusade. The Knights Templar were an order of militant, monastic mercenaries commissioned by the papacy to protect the reclaimed kingdom of Jerusalem from neighboring Muslim tribes, ensuring safe passage for European pilgrims. They were notorious, feared for their lethal tactics and their fanatical oath to never retreat from the battlefield and fight to the death in the name of Jesus Christ. The Templars had remained in control of the Temple Mount until slaughtered by a Muslim force led by Saladin at the Battle of Hattin in the twelfth century. They’d even used the Dome of the Rock Mosque as their headquarters, giving it the Latin name Templum Domini, or “Temple of the Lord.”
Barton was impressed by Razak’s knowledge and said so. Not many Jews, or even Christians for that matter, could readily display such command of the finer points of history. “These ossuaries were transferred here from another site where the proper rituals would have initially taken place. If we go with the theory that this is a vault,” Barton continued, “it would suggest the Templar Knights might have constructed it to protect the ossuaries.”
“Or treasure.” Razak responded swiftly, spreading his hands. “Let’s not forget that possibility.” He wasn’t thrilled about the archaeologist’s determination to link the theft to a revered prophet’s remains. “After all, weren’t they very rich? Looting Muslim mosques and homes, bribing public officials...”
“True, the Templars amassed a fortune, mostly plundered from conquered enemies. The papacy even allowed them to levy taxes and collect tithes. Eventually, they became bankers. The Templars were the medieval equivalent of...say...American Express. You see, prior to embarking on their journey to the Holy Land, European pilgrims would deposit money with a local Templar lodge where they’d be given an encrypted depository note. Upon their arrival here in Jerusalem, they’d exchange the note for local currency.”
“Then how can you be so sure this vault didn’t contain their loot?”
“We’ll never know for sure,” Barton admitted. “But it seems highly unlikely they’d seal away assets so permanently knowing they’d need it for such frequent transactions.”
“Not good for liquidity,” Razak agreed, “But it would ensure safety for assets not needed in the short term.”
“Touche,” Barton admitted. “However, those etchings on the rear wall don’t make reference to anything else. Just the names of those whose remains are in these boxes.” He ambled over to the ossuaries again, scrutinizing them, searching for an explanation. “If these were transferred here to be locked away, then where were they originally found?” he muttered quietly, thinking aloud.
“I’m still confused.” Razak spread his hands. “How could a secret vault have been excavated beneath such a public place?”
“I’ve given that a lot of thought and this is where it all gets interesting.” Barton looked at him closely. “In the first century, the House of the Sanhedrin—where the Jewish authorities congregated and held trials—was located directly above Solomon’s Stables. And back then the platform beneath it was rumored to be honeycombed with secret passageways.” Many leading to the temple’s inner sanctum, he thought. “As a member of the Council, Joseph would have had access to those areas and stairs leading directly to the vaulted chambers beneath the platform, allowing him to construct the vault in complete secrecy.”
“This Joseph of Arimathea. I’m assuming he was from somewhere called Arimathea—correct?”
Barton nodded. “That’s what the scriptures imply.”
“Then perhaps the original crypt was in Joseph’s own land, where his family lived?”
“Perhaps,” Barton replied unenthusiastically. But it made him think: could the real tomb really have been beneath the Church of the Holy Sepulchre? It didn’t seem possible since the basilica had been there long before the Crusaders arrived. “The problem is that no one knows what place Arimathea really referred to. Some think it was a Judean hill town. But that’s all conjecture.”
“Assuming you’re on the right track, how do you suppose the thieves found this place?” Visualizing Taheem’s horrid, blown-out face, Razak felt an urgent sense of linking this to something the authorities would find useful— something that could help to bring closure to their investigation.
Barton let out a long breath and ran his fingers through his hair. There was so much to consider. “The only thing I can think of is that the thief got hold of a document of some kind. This burial spot must have been accurately described in an ancient text. The entry was far too precise—it had to have been measured.”
“But who could possess something like that?”
“I’m not sure. Sometimes these ancient scrolls or books have been lying around in plain sight, untranslated, in museum rooms—for decades. Maybe some fanatical Christian museum employee,” he said halfheartedly. But then he wondered if it wasn’t that far-fetched after all.
