A River in the Sky

Since Emerson seldom pays attention to where he is going, I was able to arrange our return route in such a way as to view another of the famous sights of the city. Selim and Daoud were perfectly agreeable to visiting the Church of the Holy Sepulchre; Jesus, whom they call Issa, is a venerated prophet to Moslems. It was surrounded by Turkish soldiers, who were there-I regret to say-in order to keep the peace among the various Christian sects. Despite the relatively late hour, the edifice was full of people, some pilgrims, some clerics going through various rites at various altars. The smell of incense was strong and the noise level high. A group of pilgrims, weeping and praying, had gathered around the Stone of Unction, where the Saviour’s body was anointed after being taken down from the cross.

“If someone isn’t keeping an eye on them,” said Emerson, doing so, “they’ll chip chunks off for souvenirs until there’s nothing left of the stone. Not that it matters, since-”

“Hush,” I said.

The Tomb itself was completely encased in marble and illumined by dozens of lamps. Emerson, who had relieved me of my guidebook, read aloud:

“‘Of the lamps in the outer chapel, five belong to the Greek Orthodox, five to the Latin Church, four to the Armenians, and one to the Copts.’ The whole bloody church-”

“Emerson!”

“…is divided among the various sects. If one intrudes on the space of another, a-er-sanguinary battle may ensue. Orthodox priests battering at their Latin brothers with incense burners, Armenians trying to throttle Copts…”

At one end of the vast chamber was a wooden structure covering the Hill of Calvary. Upon request, a panel in the box was lifted. Underneath was a rock.

Emerson, who was by now thoroughly enjoying himself, remarked, “How very convenient that the Tomb was within a few hundred yards of the place of the crucifixion, and that both were within the city.”

“Emerson, if you cannot speak politely, do not speak at all.”

In duty bound, we visited the various chapels, though I was beginning to get a headache from the close air, the babble of voices, and-since I must be candid-the garish ornamentation that covered every available surface. Emerson trailed after me, reading aloud from the guidebook and bumping into people. A chorus of complaints followed our little group. I caught Daoud, who was beside me, in the middle of a gigantic yawn, and informed my companions that it was time to leave.

“Not yet,” said Emerson, turning pages. “We have yet to view the Chapel of the Derision, and the chapel where Adam was buried, and there must be another thousand icons we haven’t-”

Turning on my heel, I led the way to the entrance. Emerson followed, chuckling.

Chapter Six

FROM MANUSCRIPT H

“Well?” Ramses asked. “What do you think?”

After the conclusion of the banquet, they had been shown to a smaller chamber behind the haremlik. It was part of a suite that had probably belonged to a favorite wife, consisting of a small bathroom and a sleeping room decorated in the same shabbily elaborate style as the main salon. The only light came from two oil lamps of pierced brass. Their hosts had also left a jug of water and a basket of oranges and figs.

Stretched out on the divan, David said sleepily, “I can’t complain about the accommodations or the food. Have you always been treated so well?”

Squatting at the head of the divan, his face on a level with David’s, Ramses said softly, “Tonight was the first time I’ve been allowed to bathe or change clothes for three days, and the amenities have improved considerably. It’s part of Mansur’s strategy-insignificant annoyances, but the sort that mount up. The question is, what is the lady’s strategy?”

David said in the same low murmur, “I assume we are being watched?”

“Or overheard, or both. Keep your voice down. It’s a safe assumption.” He went on in the schoolboy Latin he and David had sometimes used when they didn’t want to be understood. “Where are we?”

“You not know? I know not. I was a-uh-from Nablus when they…damn!”

This wasn’t working too well. David had forgotten most of his Latin. Ramses switched to the Cairene dialect of Arabic and spoke rapidly. “We need to get away. I don’t like the way this is going.”

“What do you mean?”

It would have taken too long to explain, even if he had been able to find the right words. He had assumed that Frau von Eine was the one giving the orders. Mansur’s petty tricks might have been his own idea; none of them would have violated a general order that Ramses not be physically abused. But watching the pair during that bizarre dinner party had left him with the distinct feeling that their relationship had changed-or that he had been mistaken about the nature of that relationship. Open conflict between the two could leave him and David uncomfortably in the middle, subject to the whims of whichever party was on top. And neither party had their best interests in mind.