The Rosetta Key

“I will get him to Silano,” the man growled.

I’d not forgotten the burns and beatings. “This torturer is nothing more than a thief. I don’t need his escort.”

“But I do,” Napoleon said. “I’m tired of you wandering off in all directions. You’ll go with Najac or not at all. He’s your ticket to the woman, Gage.”

Najac spat. “Don’t worry. After we find whatever it is we’re looking for, you’ll have your chance to kill me. As I’ll have a chance to kill you.”

I looked at what he was carrying. “Not with my rifle, you won’t.” Napoleon was puzzled. “Your rifle?”

“I helped make it in Jerusalem. Then this bandit stole it.”

“I disarmed you. You were a captive!”

“And now an ally once again, whether I want to be or not. Give it back.”

“I’ll be damned if I will!”

“I won’t help if you won’t return it.”

Bonaparte looked amused. “Yes, you will, Gage. You’ll do it for the woman, and you’ll do it because you could no more give up this mystery than pass a promising game of cards. Najac captured you, and he’s right. Your gun is a prize of war.”

“It’s not even that good,” the scoundrel added. “It shoots like a blunderbuss.”

“A weapon’s accuracy depends on the man who wields it,” I replied.

I knew the piece shot like the very devil. “What do you think of its telescope?”

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“A stupid experiment. I took it off.”

“It was a gift. If we’re searching for treasure, I need a spyglass.”

“That’s fair,” Napoleon adjudicated. “Give that to him.” Grudgingly, Najac did so. “And my tomahawk.” I knew he must have it.

“It’s dangerous to let the American be armed,” Najac warned.

“It isn’t a weapon, it’s a tool.”

“Give it to him, Najac. If you can’t control the American with a dozen men when all he has is a hatchet, perhaps I should send you back to the constabulary.”

The man grimaced, but gave it up. “This is an instrument for savages, not savants. You look like a rustic, carrying it about.” I hefted its pleasing weight. “And you look like a thief, brandishing my rifle.”

“Once we find your damned secret, Gage, you and I will settle once and for all.”

“Indeed.” My rifle was already nicked and marked—Najac was as much an oaf with firearms as he was unkempt in clothing—but it still looked as slim and smooth as a maiden’s limb. I longed for it. “Do me a favor, Najac. Escort me from a distance where I won’t have to smell you.”

“But within rifle shot, I promise.”

“Alliances are never easy,” Bonaparte quipped. “But now, Najac has the rifle and Gage the glass. You can aim together!” The annoying joke made me want to discomfit the general. “And I suppose you want me to hurry?” I gestured at the sick.

“Hurry?”

“The plague. It must be panicking your troops.” But I could never get him off-balance. “It gives them urgency. So yes, make haste. But do not concern yourself too deeply with my campaign timing. Greater things than you know are afoot. Your quest is not just about Syria, but Europe. France herself waits for me.”

c h a p t e r

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I’d assumed we’d travel directly to Mount Nebo with Najac’s band of cutthroats, but he laughed when I suggested it. “We’d have to cut our way through half the Ottoman army!” Ever since Napoleon had invaded Palestine, the Sublime Porte of Constantinople had been gathering soldiers to stop the French. Galilee, Najac informed me, was swarming with Turkish and Mameluke cavalry. Gallic liberation was not being embraced in the Holy Land with any more enthusiasm than it had been in Egypt.

Now General Jean-Baptiste Kléber, who had landed with Bonaparte on the beach in Alexandria nearly a year ago, would take his division to brush these Muslims away. My companions and I would accompany his troops eastward to the Jordan River, which flows southward from the Sea of Galilee to the Dead Sea. Then we’d strike south on our own, following the fabled Jordan until it passed by the foot of Mount Nebo.

Mohammad and Ned were not happy at having to march with the French. Kléber was a popular commander, but he could also be an impetuous hothead. Yet we had no choice. The Ottomans were directly in our path and in no mood to differentiate between one 1 7 4

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group of Europeans and another. We’d rely on Kléber to bludgeon a path through.

“Mount Nebo!” Mohammad exclaimed. “It’s for ghosts and goats!”

“Treasure, I’d guess,” Ned said shrewdly. “Why else would our magician here be signing on again with the frogs? The hoard of Moses, eh, guv’nor?”

For a lummox, he guessed entirely too much. “It’s a meeting of antiquity scholars,” I said. “A woman I knew in Egypt is alive and waiting. She’ll help solve the mystery we tried to answer in the tunnels beneath Jerusalem.”

“Aye, and I hear you already have a pretty bauble.” I shot a look at Mohammad, who shrugged. “The sailor wanted to know what prompted our expedition, effendi.”

“Then know this is bad luck.” I took the ring from my pocket.

“It’s from the grave of a dead Pharaoh, and such plunder is always cursed.”

“Cursed? That’s a life’s wages right there,” Ned said in wonder.