The Exodus Quest dk-2 Page 12

  Gaille could feel herself blushing. 'I just think it's too early to be sure one way or the other.'

  'Then why did she tell us?'

  'This is a wonderful part of Egypt. The people are enchanting, the history is magical, but hardly anyone ever comes here. Fatima wants to change that.'

  'And we're the bait?'

  'I wouldn't put it quite that bluntly.'

  'It's fine,' grinned Lily. 'Actually, I'm glad. I'd like the programme to do something good.'

  'Thank you.'

  Lily nodded. 'Can I ask you a really stupid question? It's been bugging me ever since we got down here, but I haven't dared ask.'

  'Of course.'

  'It's about pronunciation. I mean, the Ancient Egyptian alphabet didn't have vowels, right? So how do you know how all these names like Akhenaten and Nefertiti were pronounced?'

  'That's anything but stupid,' smiled Gaille. 'The truth is, we don't, not for sure. But we do have some good clues from other languages, particularly Coptic.'

  'Coptic?' frowned Lily. 'I thought Coptic was a church?'

  'It is,' agreed Gaille. 'It all goes back to Alexander the Great's conquest of Egypt. He introduced Greek as the language of administration, but all the people still spoke Egyptian, of course, so the scribes gradually developed the habit of writing down Egyptian speech phonetically with the Greek alphabet, which did have vowels. That eventually became Coptic, which in turn became the language of early Christianity here, and the name stuck. So whenever we find an Egyptian word written in Coptic, we get a very good idea of its original pronunciation. Not perfect, of course, particularly for the Amarna era, which finished over a thousand years before Alexander. Our best guesses for that actually come from Akkadian cuneiform rather than Coptic; and Akkadian is a bastard, believe me. That's why Akhenaten's name has been transcribed in so many different ways over the years. The Victorians actually knew him as Khu-en-aten or Ken-hu-aten, but recently we've…' She broke off, put her palm flat upon her belly, her breath suddenly coming hot and fast.

  'What is it?' asked Lily anxiously.

  'Nothing. Just a little turn, that's all.'

  'This wretched sun.'

  'Yes.' She gathered herself, found a smile. 'Would you mind terribly if I went back to the car, sat down for a bit?'

  'Of course not. You want me to come with you?'

  'Thanks, but I'll be fine.' Her legs were unsteady as she made her way down the path to where the Discovery was parked. The tourist policemen were dozing in the front of their truck. She took Stafford's book from the dashboard, sat sideways on the driver's seat, the dark synthetic fabric feeling gluey from the sun. She flipped through the pages, found what she was looking for.

  Yes. Just as she remembered.

  But it couldn't be. It couldn't be. Could it?

  IV

  The moment the IV stand had crashed to the floor, Peterson had known his opportunity was gone: the best he could hope for was to get out unseen. He'd hidden behind the door as the policeman had looked in, had slipped out when he'd gone hunting for a nurse, through the swing doors at the end of the corridor, down two floors and out through a fire exit. Then he'd sat in his Toyota, taking a few moments to gather himself, think things through.

  He prided himself on his strength of character, Peterson. On his ability to hold his nerve. But he undeniably felt the pressure right now. Knox was sure to blab about the intruder in his room. Even if he didn't remember yesterday's events, he'd have no trouble describing his assailant, and Farooq would make the link in a heartbeat. Straight-out denial wouldn't save Peterson. He needed an alibi. He needed to get back to the dig.

  A window on the first floor opened at that moment. He looked up in time to see Knox hauling himself out, tumbling onto the sand pile beneath, then scrambling to his feet and staggering out onto the road.

  A huge shiver ran through Peterson. He felt overwhelmed by a sense of privilege. God had wanted him to see this. It followed that He still had work for Peterson to do. He knew in his heart what it was too, and he accepted his mission without hesitation.

  He put the Toyota into gear, followed Knox out onto the road, watched him collapse into a taxi. He followed the taxi east across Alexandria until it pulled up outside a tall grey block of flats. Knox climbed unsteadily out, vanished inside. Peterson found a place to park then went to check the names on the buzzers. An Augustin Pascal lived on the sixth floor. A man of that name was Alexandria's most celebrated underwater archaeologist. Surely it was him Knox had gone to see. The lift doors opened. Two women emerged chattering into the lobby. Peterson couldn't afford to be seen. He ducked his head and hurried back to his Toyota to await the opportunity he was certain his Lord would provide.

  EIGHTEEN

  I

  Lily watched curiously as Gaille walked down to the Discovery. The way she grabbed Stafford's book from the dashboard and flipped avidly through it reminded her that Gaille had also pestered Stafford with questions about the Copper Scroll.

  Something was up, she was sure of it.

  She made her own way down, approaching quietly from behind, drawing to within a few paces before Gaille heard her, snapping Stafford's book closed, holding it down low as she turned, clumsily trying to hide it. 'Christ!' she said, putting a hand over her heart. 'You gave me a fright.'

  'Sorry,' said Lily. 'I didn't mean to.' She put her hand on Gaille's shoulder. 'Are you quite sure you're okay?'

  'I'm fine. Please don't worry.'

  'How can I not? After all you've done for us.'

  'It's nothing. Really.'

  Lily allowed herself a mischievous smile. 'It's the Copper Scroll, isn't it?'

  Gaille's eyes went wide. 'How did you know?'

  'Really, Gaille. We need to play some poker before I leave. Come on. Spill.'

  Gaille's eyes flickered anxiously up to Stafford, but the need to confide was evidently too strong. 'You won't tell anyone?' she asked. 'Not until I've had a chance to think through what it means, at least.'

  'You have my word,' nodded Lily.

  Gaille opened the book, showed her the clusters of Greek letters from the Copper Scroll. 'See these?' she said. 'These first three would have been pronounced something like Ken-Hagh-En.'

  'Kenhaghen?' frowned Lily. 'You don't mean… as in Akhenaten?'

  'Yes. I think I do.'

  'But that makes no sense.'

  'Tell me about it.' Gaille gave a mirthless laugh. 'But the Copper Scroll is a Jewish document, remember, and you're the ones here doing a programme on Akhenaten as Moses.'

  'Jesus!' muttered Lily. She looked up at Stafford. 'I'm sorry, Gaille,' she said. 'You've got to let me tell him.'

  She shook her head vigorously. 'He won't thank you.'

  'Are you kidding? This is dynamite.'

  Gaille held up Stafford's book. 'Haven't you read this? He made his money and his reputation on the back of it, claiming that the Copper Scroll treasures came from the Temple of Solomon. You want to tell him he's got it all wrong, that they really came from here?'

  'From here?'

  'If this really is Akhenaten's name,' nodded Gaille, 'that has to be the implication.'

  'But the Copper Scroll was in Hebrew,' protested Lily.

  'Yes, but copied from another, older document. Maybe the Essenes translated it when they copied it. After all, if you're right about Akhenaten being Moses, the Essenes would be by far his most likely true heirs.'

  'How do you mean?'

  'Have you read Akhenaten's poem, the Hymn of the Aten? It outlines his way of thinking. Basically, he divided everything into sunlight and darkness, good and evil. That was exactly how the Essenes viewed the world. They called themselves the Sons of Light and they saw themselves as engaged in a life-or-death struggle against the Sons of Darkness. They practised a form of sun-worship too. They thought of God as the "perfect light" and they prayed to the east every morning, beseeching the sun to rise. They even carried trowels with them to bury their faeces so they would
n't offend the sun. They used a solar calendar, just like they did here. And Amarna faces twenty degrees south of due east, you know, and Qumran is on exactly the same axis.'

  'Jesus!' muttered Lily.

  'Essene ritual linen was Egyptian, as were their dyes. Their burials were Egyptian. Archaeologists even found an ankh inscribed on a headstone at Qumran, and the ankh was Akhenaten's symbol of life, as you know. They marked up their scrolls with red ink too, a practice only otherwise found in Egypt. Then there's the Copper Scroll itself. Ancient Egyptians sometimes inscribed important documents on copper. No one else did – not as far as I know, at least. And the other Dead Sea Scrolls are absolutely packed with references to the Essenes' spiritual leader, a Messiah-like figure known only as the "Teacher of Righteousness". That's precisely how Akhenaten was known here in Amarna.'

  'It's true then. It has to be.'

  'Not necessarily. Over a thousand years passed between Amarna and Qumran, remember. And everything I just said is circumstantial. No one's ever found a smoking gun.'

  'The Copper Scroll isn't circumstantial,' pointed out Lily.

  A few moments' silence. 'No,' admitted Gaille. 'It isn't.'

  II

  The decorators had been out of Augustin Pascal's flat for nearly a week now, but they'd left their distinctive smell behind, that sour cocktail of paint and solvent. It was most noticeable at this time of the morning, with the unwelcome intrusion of another dawn, the way it combined with his low-wattage acid hangover and the mocking empty space on the mattress beside him. Two weeks he'd had this damned bed, and still untested. Something had gone seriously wrong in his life.

  A pounding on his front door. His bastard neighbours were always complaining. He turned onto his side, muffled his ear with his pillow, waited for them to fuck off. God, but he felt tired. His expensive new bed and mattress, his fine linen, his duck-down pillows. He couldn't remember ever sleeping so badly or feeling such relentless fatigue.

  The pounding continued. With a cry of exasperation, he pushed himself to his feet, pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt, went to open his door. 'What the fuck…?' he scowled when he saw Knox. But then he noticed his friend's cuts and bruises. 'Jesus! What the hell happened?'

  'Car crash,' slurred Knox. 'Can't remember.'

  Augustin looked at him in horror, turned and strode into his bedroom for his jacket. 'I'm taking you to hospital.'

  'No,' said Knox. 'Not safe. A man. He put a pillow over my face.'

  'What? Who?'

  'Don't know. Too dark.'

  'I'm calling the police.'

  'No! No police. No doctors. Please. Find out what's going on.'

  Augustin shrugged and helped Knox to his sofa, then went to his kitchen, poured them each a glass of water, swallowed his own in one. 'Okay,' he said, wiping his mouth. 'From the beginning. A car crash. Where?'

  Knox shook his head. 'Can't remember. Last thing I remember was coffee with you.'

  'But that was the day before yesterday!' protested Augustin. 'Do you have any receipts? Any way to work out your movements?'

  'No.'

  'How about your mobile? See who you've called.'

  Knox patted his pockets expressively. 'Lost.'

  'Email, then.' He helped Knox to his breakfast table, set up his laptop, dialled up a connection. Knox logged into his account, found incoming from Gaille. Hi Daniel, I've attached your Therapeutae photos, the ones I could make anything of, at least. The others were too badly lit or blurred for the short time I had, but I'll keep working. Where did you take them? Are you up to no good again? I'm dying to hear. I'm on taxi-duty in Amarna today but I'll call tonight.

  I miss you too.

  All my love, Gaille. Augustin's heart thumped as he read the message; he felt the blood draining from his face. 'Everything okay?' asked Knox, looking curiously at him.

  'Therapeutae photos?' said Augustin. 'Where the hell did you take Therapeutae photos?'

  'How should I know?' retorted Knox. 'Concussion, remember?'

  Augustin nodded. 'Then download these damned photos, will you? This is getting interesting.'

  III

  The appendices of Stafford's book included full transcriptions and translations of the Copper Scroll. Gaille and Lily read the translation together. 'How much did a talent weigh, exactly?' asked Lily.

  'It varied from place to place,' replied Gaille. 'Anywhere from twenty to forty kilos.'

  'But here's a cache of nine hundred talents,' protested Lily. 'That would be eighteen thousand kilos of gold. That's not possible, surely.'

  Gaille frowned. Lily was right. The quantities were simply unbelievable. She checked the transcription of the original Hebrew. 'Look,' she said. 'The weights are designated by the letter "k". That's been translated as talents, because talents were used by the Jews and in the Bible. But if this was Akhenaten, and the treasure came from Egypt, it would surely have been designated in Eighteenth Dynasty units of weight, and they didn't use talents, not then, not for gold. They used something called a kite, which was denominated by the letter "k". And a kite was just a fraction of a talent, only about ten or twelve grams.'

  'So these numbers would make more sense?'

  'Much more. I mean, it would still make for a huge amount of gold, but plausible, you know. And look at this numbering system. These slashes, this figure ten. That's classic Eighteenth Dynasty.'

  Lily took a step back, shook her head. 'But why would Akhenaten's followers bury their gold? Why not take it with them?'

  'Because they couldn't,' said Gaille. 'There was a massive reaction after Akhenaten's death, remember. The traditionalists took back over, and they stamped down hard. Most Atenists recanted and moved to Thebes, but not all of them. If you're right about them being the Jews, Exodus says they did a moonlight flit. And you can't take this much bullion with you on a moonlight flit, it would slow you down too much.'

  'So they buried it,' said Lily. 'And wrote down the hiding places on a copper scroll.'

  'They wouldn't have been too worried,' nodded Gaille. 'After all, this was the One True God's home on earth, and they were fervent believers. It followed that they'd soon be back, triumphant. But of course it didn't happen that way. They fled Egypt altogether, settled in Canaan, convinced themselves that was their Promised Land. And when their original Copper Scroll was in danger from oxidation, or perhaps when they couldn't read Egyptian any more, they made a copy, only in Hebrew this time. And maybe another copy after that. And somehow it ended up in Qumran.' She frowned at a thought. 'You've heard about the End of Days, right? The great battle at Meggido?'

  'Armageddon,' said Lily.

  'Exactly. Afterwards, God is supposed to reign from a New Jerusalem, a city described in Ezekiel and the Book of Revelations. They found a different "New Jerusalem" scroll at Qumran. Six copies of it, in fact, which suggests it meant a lot to the Essenes. The city's layout is given in precise detail. Size, orientation, roads, houses, temples, water, everything. And it maps onto one particular ancient city with quite startling accuracy.'

  'Which city?' asked Lily, though she must have suspected the answer.

  'This one,' replied Gaille, spreading her hands. 'Amarna.'

  IV

  Knox clicked through Gaille's photographs in stunned silence. A half-excavated grave, a statuette of Harpocrates, catacombs, mummified human remains, a box of severed human ears. 'Good Christ!' he muttered, when he brought up the mosaic.

  Augustin tapped the screen. 'You know what this reminds me of?'

  'What?'

  'Ever heard of Eliphas Levi? A French occultist, like Aleister Crowley, only earlier. He created a famous image of an obscure Templar deity called Baphomet that became the model for modern iconography of the Devil. It showed him in this same posture, legs crossed, right hand pointing up. And he had the same look too. That long chin, those stretched eyes, those accentuated cheekbones. See what I'm saying?'

  'Slow down a bit,' said Knox, gesturing at his banged-up forehead.

>   'No one's quite sure where Baphomet came from,' nodded Augustin. 'Some claim his name was a corruption of Mahomet. Others that it came from the Greek Baphe Meti, baptism of wisdom. But there's another theory, based on the Atbash cipher, a Jewish transliteration code that swaps A for Z, B for Y and so on.'

  'I know it,' said Knox. 'The Essenes used it.'

  'Exactly. Which makes sense if this place belonged to the Therapeutae. Anyway, if you put Baphomet through the Atbash, you get Sophia, Greek goddess of wisdom, firstborn of God. Sophia was female, of course, but Levi made Baphomet a hermaphrodite with breasts, rather like the figure in the mosaic.'

  Knox peered closer. He hadn't picked it up before, but Augustin was right. The figure in the mosaic looked masculine, yet was clearly depicted with breasts.

  'Hermaphrodites were sacred back then,' said Augustin. 'The Greeks considered them theoeides, divine of form. The Orphics believed that the universe began when Eros hatched as an hermaphrodite from an egg. After all, it's easier to imagine that one thing came out of the void, rather than multiple things. And when everything starts from one thing, that one thing must be both male and female.'

  'Like Atum,' said Knox. In Egyptian mythology, Atum had arisen from the primordial soup, created only by himself. Feeling lonely, he'd masturbated into his hand, a representation of the female reproductive organs, giving birth to Shu and Tefnut, beginning the cascade of life.

  'Precisely. In fact, that's almost certainly where the Orphics got the idea from, though divine hermaphrodites crop up everywhere. Hebraic angels were hermaphroditic, did you know? And Qabbala souls are just like that famous wheel in Plato, hermaphrodites divided into their male and female aspects before entering the world, fated to search the earth for their other half. Even Adam was an hermaphrodite, according to some traditions. "Male and female He created them, and He called their name Adam." That was what Jesus was talking about when he said: "Therefore now are they not two, but one flesh." And Gnosticism is full of it. It's even in the Sophia itself, now that I think of it.'