Bloody hell.
There, upended at an awkward angle, was an incised golden lid, measuring approximately two and a half by four feet.
The lid to the Ark of the Covenant. What the ancient Hebrews called the mercy seat.
Affixed to the top of the lid were two winged stern-faced figures. The cherubim, Gabriel and Michael. I will meet with thee and will commune with thee from above the mercy seat, from between the two cherubim which are upon the Ark.
Without a doubt, it was the most spectacularly beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“God does truly work in mysterious ways,” he murmured, well aware that the cherubim were traditionally associated with the primal element of fire.
How ironic that the two winged figures survived the fiery blast.
Utterly bedazzled by the find, he stretched out a hand to touch the beautifully incised lid.
Just as quickly, he withdrew his arm, suddenly recalling the fate of the hapless men of Bethshemesh. Worried that a residual spark of the Ark’s awesome power might still inhabit the golden lid, he rolled onto his back and gazed heavenward, silently asking, begging, permission.
Instead of a heavenly dispensation, he instead saw the sins of his life flash in quick succession across his mind’s eye like so many cue cards.
“Oh, shag it,” he irreverently cursed, rolling back onto his belly and shining his torch into the crevasse.
Teeth clenched, he shoved his hand into the rocky fissure and committed the unthinkable—he placed his hand upon the lid of the Ark of the Covenant.
When nothing untoward occurred, he slowly inched his fingers along the rim, able to detect some sort of etched ornamentation. He adjusted the angle of the torch, enabling him to inspect a small incised figure that had the body of a man and the head of a falcon.
“I don’t believe it.”
“What are you doing?” a voice behind him inquired.
At hearing Edie’s worried tone, he sat upright. “Come, have a look.” He extended a hand to help her onto the boulder. Then he directed the torch beam at the golden lid.
“It’s the lid to the Ark of the Covenant!” she exclaimed, nearly coming bodily off the boulder.
“Yes, that’s what I thought, as well,” he replied, knowing that he was about to burst a very inflated bubble. “Do you see that row of markings on the rim?”
She scooted a few inches closer to the crevasse. “Uh-huh.”
“Those are Egyptian hieroglyphics.” Reaching into the crevasse, he pointed to a line of incised characters. “This is a rough translation, mind you, but I believe the etched inscription reads, ‘Ra-Harakhti, Supreme Lord of the Heavens.’”
Edie immediately snatched the torch out of his hand and directed it into the fissure, evidently needing to verify for herself. “But . . . I don’t understand . . . why are there Egyptian hieroglyphics on the Ark of the Covenant?”
“Because it’s not the Ark of the Covenant. Rather it is an Egyptian bark.”
“An Egyptian bark,” she parroted, clearly stupefied. “But—are you absolutely certain?” she demanded; the woman was a hard nut to crack. “And what about the two angels on top?”
“Isis and her sister Nephthys, I suspect. As you may recall, the ancient Egyptians were the originators of a sacred chest known as a bark. Furthermore, I believe the Egyptian bark was the prototype used by Moses in creating the fabled Ark.” He took the torch from her shaking hand. “It would seem that Galen of Godmersham uncovered an Egyptian bark, not the Hebrew Ark of the Covenant.”
Tears silently cascaded down Edie’s cheeks. Soon followed by an unexpected burst of raucous laughter.
“Bloody hell!” she loudly bellowed.
At hearing the spot-on impersonation, Caedmon grinned.
“Come here, love.”
CHAPTER 95
As she stepped onto the hotel room balcony, Edie pulled the two halves of her terry-cloth robe closer together and tightened the belt; there was a damp, but invigorating chill in the air. Overhead, a few stars were still visible, shimmering specks of light flung haphazardly across the predawn sky. Glancing heavenward, she sighed, always amazed by the breathless expectancy that heralded the arrival of each new day.
“Enchanting, isn’t it?” Caedmon said as he joined her on the balcony. Having just gotten out of the shower, he was attired in an identical fluffy white robe. He handed her a teacup and saucer.
Catching a heady whiff of bergamot, Edie smiled. “The Earl Grey is much needed and much appreciated. And, yes, it is enchanting,” she agreed as she seated herself at the small bistro table set up in the corner of the balcony.
So enchanting, she wasn’t altogether certain she wanted to leave. At least not yet. After the violence of the night just passed, she needed some downtime. Some stress-free, kick-off-your-shoes, sleep-till-noon, I’m-not-answering-the-telephone downtime. She didn’t know, however, whether Caedmon would be joining her. Other than a brief discussion regarding what time the hotel breakfast buffet opened, no mention of the future had been made.
Caedmon seated himself next to her. Suddenly nervous, Edie stared at the horizon, the sky now tinted a soft pink. Like the inside of a seashell. On the wharf, a few industrious fishermen were already out and about, tossing huge nets onto whimsically painted skiffs.
“When I was little, I used to think that the stars went into hiding once the sun came up. Of course, being older and wiser—well, actually, I’m not exactly certain what happens to the stars come daybreak, so just forget I even brought it up,” she said, waving away the silly thought, belatedly realizing that she was rambling.
“When I was a young lad, I used to wonder what alchemical mix created the rainbow,” Caedmon remarked, his English accent sounding more clipped than usual; Edie wondered if he wasn’t a little bit nervous himself.
“The mysteries of the universe. Seems we were both intrigued at an early age.”
“By the by, I sent an e-mail to my old group leader at MI5,” Caedmon said, changing the subject. “Told him that I caught wind of a plot to destroy the Dome of the Rock on the upcoming Muslim holy day. Trent is a good man. He’ll see to it that Mossad and the Israeli public security minister are contacted.”
“You don’t think that—”
“No, no,” he quickly assured her. “I’m just dotting my i’s, as they say. The possibility that MacFarlane had a contingency plan is rather remote. He seemed very much the micromanager.”
Edie fiddled with the delicate handle on her teacup, hesitant to broach the next topic. “You haven’t said anything, but . . . I know you’re disappointed. That it wasn’t the Ark of the Covenant.”
For several long moments, Caedmon stared at the early-morning activity on the bay; Edie was unable to gauge his thoughts. Or his mood; the small pucker on his brow made her think that he was wrangling his way out of a quandary.
Finally, taking a deep I’ve-come-to-a-decision kind of breath, he redirected his gaze toward her. “You wrongly assume that I no longer aspire to find the Ark.”
“But I just thought that—” At a sudden loss for words, she stared at him.
“It’s still out there. I’m certain of it. Still waiting to be discovered. Still waiting to bear holy witness to an eternal truth that is beyond mortal man’s comprehension.”
“‘Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought as doth eternity.’”
Smiling, Caedmon took a sip of tea. “How did you know that Keats is my favorite poet?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t. It just seemed”—again she shrugged—“apropos. So, gosh, this is—wow. Guess you can tell I’m kind of speechless, huh?” Crestfallen, she had a sudden urge to glug down one of those tiny bottles of scotch from the room’s minibar.