The Rosetta Key

“Into the Jewish Quarter!” urged Farhi. “It’s our only chance!” Now there were calls of alarm from the minarets, and Christian bells were ringing. We’d roused the entire city. Shouting people streamed into the streets. Dogs were howling, sheep bleating. A terrified goat galloped past us, going the other way. Farhi, panting, led us uphill toward the Ramban Synagogue and Jaffa Gate, the Muslim mob behind lit by torches in a snake of fire. Even if I could find time to load again, my single shot would be no deterrent to the anger we’d aroused by trespassing under the Dome of the Rock. Unless we got help, we were doomed.

“They want to burn the Ramban and Yochanan ben Zakkai synagogues!” Farhi shouted to the anxious Jews as they poured into the streets. “Get Christian allies! The Muslims are rioting!”

“The synagogues! Save our holy temples!” And with that, we had a shield. Jews ran to block the mob surging into their quarter. Christians warned that their real goal was the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. Mob collided with mob. In moments there was chaos.

With it, Farhi disappeared.

I grabbed the others. “We split up! Jericho and Miriam, you live here. Go home!”

“I heard Muslims call my name,” he said grimly. “We cannot stay in Jerusalem. I was recognized.” He glared at me. “They’ll sack and burn my house.”

I felt sick with guilt. “Then take what you can and flee to the coast.

Smith is organizing the defense of Acre. Seek protection with him there.”

“Come with us!” Miriam pleaded.

“No, alone you two can likely travel unmolested, because you’re native. The rest of us stand out like snowmen in July.” I pressed the seraphim into her hands. “Take these and secrete them until we meet again. We Europeans can run or hide, sneaking when it’s dark.

We’ll go the other way to give you time. Don’t worry. We’ll meet in Acre.”

“I’ve lost my home and reputation for an empty room,” Jericho said bitterly.

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w i l l i a m d i e t r i c h

“There was something there,” I insisted. “You know there was. The question is, where is it now? And when we find it, we’ll be rich.” He looked at me with a combination of anger, despair, and hope.

“Go, go, before it’s too late for your sister!” At the same time, Tentwhistle pulled at me. “Come, before it’s too late for us!”

So we parted. I looked back at brother and sister as we ran. “We’ll find it!”

I and the British sailors headed toward the Zion Gate. I looked back once, but Jericho and Miriam were lost in the mobs like flotsam in a tossing sea. We stumbled on, too slow and desperate. Little Tom, his arm sticky with blood, couldn’t hurry but kept manfully on. We entered the Armenian Quarter and came to the gate. Its soldiers had gone, probably to control the rioting or search for us: our first stroke of luck in this entire fiasco. We unbolted the great doors, pushed hard, and passed into open country. The sky was just pinking. Behind, flames, torchlight, and the coming dawn had turned the sky orange above the city’s walls. Ahead was sheltering shadow.

To our right was Mount Zion and the Tomb of David. To the left was the Valley of Hinnom, the Pool of Siloam somewhere in the darkness below. “We’ll circle the city wall to the north and take the Nablus Road,” I said. “If we travel at night we can make Acre in four days and get word to Sidney Smith.”

“What about the treasure?” Tentwhistle asked. “Is that it? Do we give up?”

“You saw it wasn’t there. We have to figure where next to look. I hope to God they didn’t catch Farhi. He’ll know where to try next.”

“No, I think he’s betraying us. Why’d he slip off like that?” I wondered that too.

“It’s our own skins first,” said Big Ned.

And with that his lieutenant jerked and the sound of a shot echoed up the hill. Then another and another, bullets whapping into the dust.

Tentwhistle sat down with a grunt. Then I heard the words in French:

“There they are! Spread out! Cut them off!” It was the group that had tried to brick us up in the tunnels, the t h e

r o s e t t a k e y

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same Frenchmen who had accosted Miriam. They’d crawled back out of the Pool of Siloam, heard the chaos, and waited under the wall for someone to appear.

I crouched by Tentwhistle and aimed. My lens found one of our ambushers and I fired. He went down. Pretty rifle. I feverishly reloaded.

Ned had taken Tentwhistle’s pistol and he fired too, but our assail-ants were not within pistol range. “All you’ll do is draw their aim with your flash,” I told him. “Get Tom and the lieutenant back through the gate. I’ll hold them here a moment and then we can lose them in the Armenian Quarter.”

Another bullet whined overhead. Tentwhistle was coughing blood, his eyes glazed. He would not live long.

“Right, guv’nor, you buy us time.” Ned began dragging Tentwhistle back, Tom groggily following. “Potts dead, two more of us wounded.

Bloody inspiration, you are.”