The Sacred Blood

Ma’at’s feather and either granted the deceased eternal bliss or fed him to Ammit, the Devourer . . .”

“Heaven and hell,” he admitted. With Jules getting more impassioned, the female docent was now casting curious glances at them. Amit held an index finger to his lips so Jules would lower her volume.

“And in the Book of the Dead,” she continued more quietly, “Osiris’s son, Horus, fed five thousand with just a few loaves of bread.”

“Jesus feeds the multitudes,” he said, playing along.

“The five thousand, to be precise,” she said. “There’s the image of Horus suckling the breast of Isis, later spun as the Madonna and child,” she sarcastically added.

Amit knew there were dozens of parallels between Jesus and Horus— everything from virgin birth to consecration through ritual baptism, and both were even portrayed as a shepherd or a lamb. So he only hoped Jules would keep it short.

“And let’s not forget this one: Isis, the healer and life giver”—she stuck out her right index finger; “Osiris, the judge of souls”—the middle finger went up; “and Horus, ruler of the heavens who happens to be the son of Osiris.” When the splayed ring finger went up, she tightly fused it with the other two. “Sound familiar? Three separate gods recast as one?”

“The Trinity.” He nodded.

“And Jesus’s assertions about the afterlife and the judgment of souls? That’s philosophical thinking that’s got Egypt written all over it. Just think about the ba,” she said.

The ba, Amit recalled, was the ancient Egyptian equivalent of a soul, which separated from the body at death to roam at will. And it was depicted as a bird, which Jules would no doubt consider the forerunner of the Holy Spirit.

“Forgive me if I’m not racing off to church every Sunday,” she said skeptically, crossing her arms tight in front of her chest and leaning back on her left leg.

He held up his hands in peaceful surrender. “Got it, Jules. ‘All things Egypt.’ We could go through the same motions with the Old Testament too, and come up with the idea that the whole Jesus story was made up.” He began spouting off a few examples, tipping his head side to side to emphasize the parallels between stories: “David was born in Bethlehem”— head to the left; “Jesus was born in Bethlehem”—head to the right. “Moses went up on Sinai for forty days”—left; “Jesus went into the desert for forty days”—right.

Her eyes now seemed apologetic.

“You could also point out that Jesus’s father was descended directly from David and Abraham and his mother descended directly from Moses’s first high priest, Aaron, the Levite; a convenient fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy— making the Messiah a priest and a king. And of course the whole thing with God offering his own son the same way Abraham tried to sacrifice Isaac—”

“Okay,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Do I sound that crazy?”

He shrugged. “You don’t really think Jesus is just a created literary figure, do you?” He could only hope she wasn’t aware that Jesus exhibited nineteen of the twenty motifs associated with the heroes of Greek mythology.

She sighed wearily—the way any sympathetic minimalist would. “Then how do you explain that historians who lived during the time of Jesus— Philo and Josephus, to name a couple—never mention anyone even remotely close to Jesus or his disciples? Let’s face it, a guy who walks on water, feeds multitudes with a sack lunch, and raises the dead isn’t exactly B-list material.”

“Sure, no direct mention of Jesus himself. But Josephus’s accounts vividly described the Essenes as one of three Jewish sects in first-century Judea. Philo wrote about them as well.”

“So what does that have to do with it?”

A knowing smile pulled at Amit’s goatee. Doubters overlooked the historical record time and time again. “ ‘Essene’ is actually a bad transliteration of the word Josephus and Philo ascribe to the Jews at Qumran. It was actually pronounced ‘Esaoin’—a word with roots in Greek, Aramaic, and Arabic. Since you live in Cairo, I’m sure you can figure this one out.” He could tell by the softened look on her face that she already had. Finally, something broke through her armor.

“ ‘Follower of Jesus,’ ” she said with some reluctance in a low voice.

“Right. ‘Follower of Jesus,’ ” he repeated. “And this Jesus happens to have an Egyptian spin to his name. So if you ask me, history does provide an account of a group many believe were the earliest Christians.”

“Now you’re stretching it a bit.”

“Perhaps. But we both saw this same symbol in that chamber at Qumran,” he said, pointing to the ossuary’s relief again. “And like I said, some very intelligent archaeologists are whispering that this ossuary belonged to Jesus.”

Jules gave the ossuary another once-over, this time more seriously.

Seeing that she still looked skeptical, he decided to lay it on thicker. “You remember John the Baptist?”

“Of course.”

“Many biblical scholars contend that his teachings echo teachings found in the Dead Sea Scrolls. He too was a minimalist who practiced ritual immersion, or baptism. And if you recall, he lived in the desert and baptized his followers in the Jordan River, which flows directly into the north end of the Dead Sea. Jesus was baptized by him, then remained in the desert for forty days. And where is Qumran located?”

She rolled her eyes. “The northwest shore of the Dead Sea.”

“After Herod Antipas beheaded John, Jesus continued John’s ministry. A changing of the guard, some might say.” He stared at the ossuary again. “And what if I told you that the thief also returned a book that was determined to be the oldest Gospel ever recovered, dating to the early first century, and regarded as the original source for the books of Matthew, Mark, and Luke?”

“Makes for a compelling case,” she admitted.