Death of a Pharaoh (33 page)

Port of Valencia, Spain, morning of
November 10, 2016

The container ship from Egypt docked in the Port of Valencia the next
day. In the course of the sea voyage from Alexandria, agents of the Servants of
Ma’at constructed a large wooden crate to camouflage the coffin. Father Marco
knew this because one of the Filipino cooks on the crew suddenly took ill in
Cairo, induced by a hefty bribe. A Polish sailor, one of his operatives,
possessed the requisite papers and took his place. He sent daily reports by
email and although security was tight in the hold where they kept the
sarcophagus, he overheard one of the carpenters talking about a large box.

Father Marco was
convinced they planned to use the empty stone coffin as a decoy. He had
provided his agent with a miniature tracking device, but in the end he thought
it too risky. Dozens of his men covered the docks in Valencia and with the
knowledge that the final destination was Santiago de Compostela, he preferred
not to tip his hand. He managed to bribe a clerk, a devout Catholic woman, in
the Spanish handling agent’s office who confirmed that an address near the
Cathedral in Santiago appeared on the manifest. He only had to wait until the
shipment cleared customs then his men would spring into action.

Father Marco felt
no need to remain in Valencia. His team would provide constant updates as the
truck made its way north. The distance was just under one thousand kilometers
and with rest breaks, he expected the trip to take twelve hours. He had enough
time. He intended to fly to Santiago with a brief stop in Madrid where the
Secretary of the Papal Nuncio, Padre Javier, would be waiting at the airport
with a letter of introduction for the Dean of the Cathedral Chapter asking him
to provide whatever assistance necessary to him and reiterating the need for
absolute secrecy.

He dispatched a
team to pose as pilgrims and Cathedral security to keep a discreet eye on the
delivery and the entombment of the coffin. He had no desire to interfere until
the Servants of Ma’at departed with the false security that they had
accomplished their mission. He would pay anything to be present when they
returned later, only to discover that the crypt was empty.

On his arrival in Santiago that afternoon, a driver sent by the
Archbishop met him outside the baggage hall. Word went ahead that he was on a
mission sanctioned by the Holy Father himself. They reserved a suite for him in
the former pilgrim’s hostel, now a national Parador, on the famous Obreiro
Square in front of the imposing façade of the cathedral. As usual, the area was
crowded with pilgrims, despite the cool weather, and even more weekend tourists
following guides with signs in various languages. The appeal of Santiago was
truly universal and it had the same feel as Rome but on a much smaller scale.
None of the visitors could even imagine that in less than 48 hours, Santiago
would house an attraction far greater than Saint Peter’s, the Papal Mass, the
Sistine Chapel and La Pieta by Michelangelo combined.

Father Marco
registered at the hotel, dropped his bag then headed directly to the Office of
the Dean to introduce himself. There was a pilgrim’s mass in progress when he
entered the Cathedral and the team of six robed men had only just started to
swing the extraordinary incense burner that weighed some 80 kilos and reached
speeds of 68 kilometers per hour as it soared above the heads of the faithful.

Father Marco
became as transfixed as the rest of the congregation as the gigantic thurible
rapidly gained height and velocity with heads moving from left to right as if
everyone was watching a celestial tennis match. Large plumes of scented smoke
wafted over the crowd and he remembered that originally the incense served to
hide the odor of the great unwashed as they arrived after months on the road
and few opportunities to bath. The Catholic Church had always been adept at
mixing the spiritual with the practical.

He felt some
nostalgia for those weeks he spent doing the Way of Saint James as a young
seminarian. They were glorious days filled with companionship, song and prayer.
Sadly, he couldn’t even remember the last time he truly enjoyed himself. His
sacred responsibilities as Director of Sanctus Verum had aged him prematurely
and he missed the innocence of his youth willingly sacrificed on the altar of
his zealotry.

Fortunately his
emotional drought was about to end. With the recovery of the body of Jesus, he
would have provided one of the greatest services in the history of the Church.
Surely, the Pope would make him an Archbishop out of gratitude, perhaps even a
Cardinal. The centuries old threat created by the revelation of the report of
Rahotep would be eradicated at long last. The physical proof that Christ never
rose from the dead would be safely in their hands. The faithful would continue
to believe and all would endure, as it should. He only needed to be patient for
another three days.

The Holy Father
asked him to notify him in person the moment he confirmed the identity of the
body. He possessed a direct number that the Pope answered himself without the
call going through his secretary. Father Marco found himself overwhelmed with
emotion. It was so out of character. Pilgrims around him also cried with
happiness; and relief that they didn’t have to walk anymore. Father Marco’s
long journey was also near an end. He wiped away his tears and turned to seek
out the Office of the Dean. He had a recovery operation to supervise.

Motorway near Montblanc, Catalonia, Spain, 16.41 CEST,
November 11, 2016

Zach nudged Ryan to wake him from a nap just in time to see the white
stone castle of Montblanc on the left. They were close to their destination.
The driver exited the toll highway a few minutes later and almost immediately,
they could see the walls of the 12
^th
century Royal Abbey of Saint
Mary of Poblet, surrounded by fields of grape vines recently pruned for the
winter.

Ethan explained in
Dakar that an order of Cistercian monks ran the monastery first built on land
retaken from Moorish invaders. In the early part of the 13
^th
Century, the brothers offered refuge to members of the Cathar sect fleeing
murderous Papal persecution in the Languedoc region of France. Many were
Servants of Ma’at and dozens of them joined the order establishing a
relationship that continued to this day. The Abbot and key members of the
congregation were dedicated lifelong members.

The monastery,
lovingly restored, was a UNESCO world heritage site, a coveted spiritual
retreat and the tomb of the Kings and Queens of Aragon. These factors aided in
their decision to select Poblet as the final resting place of the Pharaoh
Jesus. Archeologists working in secret at night enlarged one of the royal tombs
in the church to receive the modified coffin in a private ceremony early the
next morning.

As the driver
pulled through an arch, Ryan could see Ethan standing in front of an impressive
medieval tower beside two monks with their long white robes topped with
distinctive black hoods. Several tourists snapped photos of the welcoming
committee. The driver pulled between them and the greeting party to ensure that
no one captured Ryan’s face.

“My Lord Pharaoh,
may I present Father Josep Grau, the Abbot and Father Enric Martell, the
Prior,” Ethan announced.

Ryan shook hands
and followed them into the tower then through another set of doors into a
private reception area away from the lenses of curious visitors.

“My apologies for
the lack of ceremony, my Lord but we wanted to avoid what you Americans refer
to as a Kodak moment,” the Abbot explained.

“I understand,”
Ryan replied. “This is my friend Zach.”

Zach shook hands
with the monks then Father Enric offered them chairs. “May I interest you in
some refreshments or perhaps a glass of our excellent wine?” he inquired.

“Something cold
would be great,” Ryan suggested.

Zach nodded in
agreement.

“My Lord, we are
deeply honored to be able to provide this great service,” the Abbot assured
Ryan.

“We are grateful
that my revered predecessor will have such a beautiful place to rest,” Ryan
replied then turned to Ethan, “What is the ETA for the hearse?”

“About one hour.
You will have time to see your rooms and change if you like before he arrives.”

“That would be
perfect.”

“My Lord, please
follow me,” the Prior motioned.

He led the Pharaoh
up a staircase to a room located on the third level of the tower. Two small
windows provided views of the courtyard where they had arrived and the
magnificent bell tower with beautiful carved arches. It was truly a wonderful
place and he looked forward to a tour later. This was Ryan’s first time in
Europe and the thought of castles and ancient churches excited him. He showered
quickly and selected more somber colored clothes. Zach knocked to let him know
that it was time to head down. Ethan waited for them at the bottom of the
stairs.

“Unfortunately,
Lady Mariam wouldn’t even be allowed past that door,” Ethan pointed out.

“Good reason not
to join the order, but I bet none of them die from stress related diseases
either,” Ryan observed.

“They always have
each other,” Zach commented as if he was still in prison.

“Where are they
bringing the body?”

“Through a private
gate in the back,” Ethan responded, “They’ll take us there now.”

A monk waited to
act as their guide. They passed a long hall on the right and he explained that
for centuries it was where they made their wine. Now they sold the grapes to a
commercial winery that provided them with enough for their own needs. They
passed a printing press then several storage buildings before arriving at a
gate that was open.

The members of the
order gathered around the Abbot. No one spoke as all eyes focused on the lane
outside the walls. It wasn’t every day these devote Christians would receive
the body of their Savior. When he announced the decision a weeks ago, each of
them swore never to leave these walls for the rest of their natural lives. In
the future, they would only accept novices chosen from among members of the
Servants of Ma’at to safeguard the extraordinary secret these ancient walls
would soon hold. The rules of the congregation had always included a vow of
silence in public but now it took on added importance.

A group of
three monks standing on the right were the
first to see the black hearse arrive. They didn’t know whether to kneel, make
the sign of the cross or prostrate themselves on the ground. Ryan was also at a
loss for an appropriate reaction. When the vehicle stopped, the Abbot signaled
for him to come forward to lend his shoulder as a pallbearer. It was a deeply
moving experience as they slowly carried the coffin along pathways lined with
brick and shaded by ancient Cypress trees. The smell of roses filled his nostrils
then faded to that of incense and burning wax when they entered the solitude of
the church. The late afternoon sun poured through a large circular stained
glass window at the far end of the main apse and painted the creamy stone floor
with dapples of pastel colors. The effect was marvelous. They left the coffin
on a temporary stand in front of the main altar in the shadow of a dramatic
wrought iron cross. The setting was as perfect as any of them could have hoped.
Truly, it was a tomb fit for the King of Kings.

The monks placed
four tall candles, one at each corner. They would keep a prayer vigil all
night. The Abbot made certain everything was in order then invited Ryan and his
friends for dinner in the refectory. They crossed through the cloister where a
monk indicated they should wash their hands in the spouts of water emanating
from an ancient fountain.

The dining room
had one long table and a raised pulpit on one wall that they used for readings
during most meals; although the Father Abbot waved the tradition tonight, as
well as the rule of silence in deference to his guests. The roast chicken in
garlic sauce was simple but delicious. The wine was black like ink and a bit
strong for Ryan who was more of a beer man. Zach seemed to like it very much.
Ethan was on duty and only drank water. Father Martell, a published historian,
offered a fascinating account of the role of the monastery over time including
its place in Catalonian nationalism. He also expounded at length on the origins
and fate of the Cathar heresy that had generated countless legends related to
the Holy Grail. Ryan understood why so many Servants of Ma’at had been
attracted to Catharism as the two philosophies shared similar concepts of good
and evil.

After the meal,
Ryan and the others excused themselves to have a meeting to review dispatches
from Philadelphia and the logistics for the trip to Cairo the next afternoon.
Many of his guests were already at the hotel near Saqqara awaiting their
arrival. Susan and Alexander had landed a few hours ago. The monks began their
day before dawn so it would be an early night for everyone. Ryan wanted to
experience their schedule and a friar agreed to knock to wake him at 4.30 am
for matins.

Not a sound from the outside world intruded on the nocturnal calm of
Poblet and especially through the thick walls of the tower where Ryan stayed;
cloaked in the most absolute blanket of silence and darkness. One so profound
that he feared the obscurity might drown him even before the water. It wasn’t
enough to keep his nightmare at bay and he soon found himself in a lake devoid
of even a sliver of light. A soft noise pulled him back from the depths of his
unconscious mind and dropped him into a reality just as black and bathed in
sweat.

“Mi Se
ñor
?”
someone whispered followed by a light knock on the door. “It is time to get
up,” the voice announced.

“Thank you,” Ryan
replied, “I am awake.”

His caller’s
departure was so quiet, he wondered for a moment if he was still waiting
outside.

“Hello!” he
tested. There was no answer; even their feet took a vow of silence it seemed.

He struggled to
find a light switch then stumbled to the bathroom sink to throw some water on
his face. God it was early. He wouldn’t be surprised if Lord Thoth received a
“to be continued” message on his dream file. He deeply admired the devotion of
these monks but he was glad he didn’t have to keep these hours every day of his
life, year after year, until the end of time. Amen!

He dressed in the
wrinkled shirt he had forgotten to hang the night before then unlatched his
door, making an effort not to disturb a peace so thick that it hung in the air
like an invisible fog. The flickering of a tall red votive candle illuminated
his path to the staircase. Centuries of pious comings and goings had worn the
steps smooth. A tenuous light allowed him to avoid a collision with the ancient
wooden door leading to the cloister. He pushed forward with his right arm. It
was heavier than he remembered. He stepped down into the cloister and was hit
with a wave of sweet citrusy jasmine perfume and enveloped in a veil of utter
darkness. The door pulled shut behind him and locked, probably to keep tourists
out of the private quarters.

He waited for a
moment hoping his eyes would adjust but when they didn’t he reached for the
stone wall and began to feel his way forward. He shuddered when he remembered
that numerous ossuaries hung along the length of the cloister with the bones of
former abbots. Despite the gruesome thought, his confidence grew with each
step.

He sensed the
monk’s presence even before he made out the shape of the cowl covering his
head.

“May I guide you?”
he asked. He possessed a voice of remarkable richness that Ryan knew he would
never forget.

He assented with a
nod, his heart still racing from the fright of the sudden apparition.

The monk reached
for his hand. He expected visions of piety or even an innocent bit of not so
pious brotherly love but instead he winced as a blinding light exploded in his
skull. He almost fainted from the intensity. He was still recovering when the
man spoke again.

“I have long
desired to meet you, my Lord Pharaoh.”

“Have you been
here at Poblet long?” Ryan asked as they strolled along.

“I too have only
just arrived,” he answered.

“It is a beautiful
place.”

“You chose well, my
Lord,” he commented as he turned, his face still hidden by the cowl. “This is
the entrance to the church. I will leave you now but we shall meet again soon.”

Ryan was about to
ask why he wasn’t coming in when the church door opened and Ethan peered out.

“My Lord, they are
waiting for you.”

“I forgot a
flashlight but thank goodness someone showed up,” he explained. He turned to
thank the monk but no one was there.

Ethan stepped out
to let him through. The Abbot and the rest of the congregation stood in the
choir. There were two empty places beside Zach. Ryan walked toward them hoping
he looked apologetic enough. The instant he settled in, the Abbot tapped the
side of the carved wood with a small metal rod and the service began.

The monks of
Poblet prayed in Gregorian chant and the glorious notes of their supplications
bounced off the stone hidden behind pre-dawn shadows that only seemed to
enhance the acoustics. Ryan closed his eyes and wrapped himself in a rich
liturgical cloak. He knew the sound of their chants would remain with him
forever. It finished far too soon and they exited single file with the Abbot in
the lead.