A River in the Sky

“Of course.” She took Plato by the arm. “Are you feeling quite well, Mr. Plato?”

Plato lowered the scarf he had wound round his neck and coughed hollowly. “Better, my dear, better. A trifle faint from lack of nourishment, that is all.”

“We may as well have a spot of lunch while we wait for Selim,” I suggested.

Daoud was happy to go in search of nourishment. He came back with bread and cheese, dates and figs. We had not quite finished when Selim returned, with a coil of rope over his shoulder and an armful of stout stakes. Emerson paced off the area he wanted enclosed, and then addressed our audience.

“In two days’ time I will return and hire workers. Until then no one is to dig in this place or pass behind the ropes. If you disobey I will know and my curse will fall upon you. Your eyes will go dark and your ears will wither and fall off, and so will your-”

It was this last threat-which propriety prevents me from recording-that carried the greatest conviction. A chorus of protestations arose, and as Emerson waved his arms in mystic gestures, some of the men retreated to a safe distance.

I handed Emerson the last piece of cheese, plucking it out from under Plato’s hand. “Well done, my dear. Have we finished here? Obviously you cannot begin work today.”

“No,” Emerson admitted reluctantly. “We haven’t the necessary tools or the cameras, or…Camden, did Petrie teach you anything about opening a new site? How would you begin here?”

“Well, uh…As you said, sir, photographs…Laying out a grid…” He looked helplessly at the unprepossessing slope. “This isn’t at all like an ordinary tell.”

“Hmph,” said Emerson, rubbing his chin. “Very well, that will be all for today. We won’t begin here for several days. How can we reach you?”

“I am at the King David Hotel, sir. Good day to you all.”

And off he went, at a pace that suggested he was relieved to have been relieved.

“He may know a great deal about pottery, Emerson,” I said, interpreting Emerson’s frown.

“He doesn’t seem to know much else, Peabody. What I wouldn’t give to have…” He broke off with a catch of breath. “Well, well. Let us see what we can do with Morley.”

We retraced our steps, back toward the pool and the area guarded by Morley’s men. I decided to improve Emerson’s state of mind by giving him a chance to lecture. He always enjoys that.

“I confess, Emerson, that I am somewhat confused about what Mr. Morley is doing. Is it Warren’s shaft he is exploring?”

Emerson took my arm and said in a pleased voice, “I don’t wonder that you find the situation confusing, my dear. This area is a warren of tunnels and sewers and cisterns, some ancient, some modern. In ancient times two passages were dug to ensure that a source of water would be available to the city in case of siege. The first, constructed by the Jebusites, was a shaft from inside the walls down to a point where jugs could be lowered into a pool below. That’s the one your friend Joab”-he jerked a thumb back at Plato-“is supposed to have used to lead the forces of David into Jerusalem. There is, of course, no evidence what ever for this. Eh, Joab?”

“It was a hard climb,” Plato droned. “The stone was slippery with damp and some fell, down, down into the pool.”

“At any rate,” said Emerson, “the next water tunnel was constructed by Hezekiah on the eve of the Assyrian attack.” He gave me a challenging look, which dared me to remind him that he had denied the historicity of the entire Old Testament. There was no denying this fact; the inscription found in the tunnel had been dated to that period.

“It ran,” Emerson went on, “from the Gihon spring to the present pool of Siloam and is still extant today.” He whirled on Plato, so abruptly that the latter let out a little scream. “Is that the tunnel referred to in your famous scroll?”

“I believe so.”

“Don’t you know?”

Plato raised his eyes to heaven. “It has been many centuries since I led the Israelites into the city. Since then Assyrians and Babylonians, Greeks and Romans-”

“Never mind the rest of them,” Emerson growled. “Confound it! That bastard Morley has gone on with his excavation despite my warning.”

We had reached the barricades, which were guarded by a few men in uniform. Some little distance beyond we could see a line of men carrying heavy baskets. They were stripped of most of their clothing and so coated with grayish dust, they resembled ambulatory mummies.

“They have been working underground,” said Emerson. “The tunnel must be badly silted up. Here, you-where is the Englishman?”