The Third Day (44 page)

I was angry enough to leave Bryson in the same condition as well, though I knew that would impede our progress.  Reluctantly, I cut his bindings loose. 

He immediately started to babble an explanation for his conduct, but I was in no mood to hear it; nor was anyone else. 

“Shut up, Professor.  Let’s get out of here.” 

***

As we threaded our way back through the labyrinth heading the other direction, Lavon had the presence of mind to examine Bryson’s chip. 

“Yellow,” he announced. 

“Thirty minutes,” said Sharon.  “Maybe even less.” 

How much less, we had no way to know. 

“Keep going,” I said.  “It won’t be long before the main body realizes their comrades aren’t following behind.” 

We had advanced to within striking distance of the western end of the quarry when Bryson suddenly jerked away. 

“My camera!” he shouted. 

Before any of us could react, he had already started to rush back to the tomb. 

Had I been thinking clearly, I would have tackled the jackass and sent Naomi, by herself, to retrieve the infernal device.  She had shed her old-woman act as quickly as she put it on, and I didn’t think the two we had trussed up would recognize her. 

But I had been out of action too long to fight tunnel vision, and by the time the idea occurred to me, it was already too late. 

Bryson had such a head start that we could do nothing but crouch behind the familiar hill and watch as he strode across the narrow bit of open ground to retrieve his precious camcorder. 

He cautiously moved the rock pile aside, stone by stone, as if the device would crumble under the slightest impact.  Once he had uncovered it, he lifted it up and brushed off the dust. 

Then, to our utter dismay, he opened the viewfinder. 

“He’s going to watch it right now!” Sharon whispered.  “I can’t believe this!” 

“Get back here, you idiot,” I said, trying my dead level best not to shout. 

He ignored me for a moment, but the sound of approaching footsteps became unmistakable, even to him. 

“Run!” I yelled.  

The Professor finally grasped the seriousness of his predicament.  He snapped the viewfinder shut and headed toward me at full speed, while I waved to the others, imploring them to go ahead. 

Just as Bryson approached me, two men – neither in uniform and both clearly winded – emerged from behind the rocks and paused in front of the tomb.  One started to give chase, but his companion held him back.  Neither seemed quite sure what to make of us. 

I could guess who they were, but didn’t dare stick around. 

I grabbed the Professor’s arm and rushed him along for a couple hundred yards before we caught up with the others. 

“Keep moving,” I said. 

By then, though, Bryson was gasping for air, so we finally had to stop. 

As we paused for him to regain his wind, we couldn’t help but reflect on the irony of it all:  the confused, angry men from whom we had just fled would lend their names to the largest cathedrals on two continents, one of which they would never know even existed.  

“Who could have thought it?” said Lavon. 

None of us really could, but as much as we wanted to go back and speak to them, we had to keep going. 

We proceeded at the pace of a brisk walk and had nearly made it out of the quarry when we stumbled onto our next surprise:  a cluster of rough-looking characters unpacking sacks filled with hammers, picks and chisels. 

Sharon’s scarf had fallen back, exposing her hair, and this crew had noticed its unusual hue.  One of them pointed at her and yelled out something in Aramaic. 

Naomi answered straight away.  Though her tone sounded abusive, the men laughed heartily, and when one of their party shouted back, they laughed even harder. 

Lavon grinned as Naomi gave him a brief, G-rated translation. 

“Stonemasons,” he said.  “We tend to forget that Easter Sunday was the first day of their work week.  These guys are just getting started.” 

Sharon rolled her eyes.  “I see some things never change.” 

Naomi and the construction workers continued to trade good-natured barbs until we passed behind a final hill and scrambled up toward the main road.  From there, we made our way to the northwest, keeping a parallel track to avoid the crowds heading into the city. 

***

It wasn’t long before angry shouting from the edge of the quarry told us that the men on our tails weren’t all that far behind, although we did encounter one unexpected bit of good fortune. 

Naomi explained that from the perspective of the masses, the Temple police ranked only slightly above the Romans at the bottom end of the popularity scale.  Her new friends – the stonemasons – would do what they could to slow our pursuers down, if only out of spite. 

But she admitted that we’d gain only a momentary delay.  We could hold no illusions that the laborers would risk their own necks to save ours. 

“That may be all we need,” I said. 

We all took another look at the Professor’s LED.  This time Naomi saw us do it, and asked why. 

As we pressed on, Lavon tried to explain our situation to a now very confused woman, who once again had to be wondering if she had made the right call, and whether instead of producing freedom and wealth, her alliance with us would leave her broken body trampled in the dust. 

The rest of us, though, had no time for such considerations.  A couple of minutes later, we glanced back to see the first black helmets rise up to ground level, less than half a mile to our rear. 

“What
color
, Professor?” asked Lavon, trying without success to conceal his worry. 

“Still yellow,” he replied. 

The others heard this exchange, along with the nervous tones that accompanied it. 

As if by instinct, and without any prompting, we each shed our outer robes and took off at a dead run toward a clump of scrub trees nestled into the top of a narrow ridge about two hundred yards to our west. 

Just beyond the trees, we leapt over a pile of rocks – the remains of a long-decayed stone wall, as it turned out – and fell panting to the ground.  Even Sharon seemed a bit winded, while Bryson gasped for his next breath. 

I reached for his tunic. 

Yellow
. 

We peered over the rocks without seeing anything, but our respite only lasted a brief moment. 

“Here they come,” said Lavon. 

The black helmets edged slowly toward us once more, although this time, we could see that the guards’ demeanor had changed.  They no longer appeared to be a hundred percent confident of success. 

A moment later, we saw why. 

Lavon gestured to our right.  “Look over there,” he said. 

As if to confirm Naomi’s description of the gendarmes’ unpopularity, a group of shepherd boys began to pelt our persecutors with stones.  Though these served more as an irritant than any serious danger, the guards could no longer be certain that they were chasing only a handful of bedraggled foreigners. 

We watched the activity for a brief moment before I concluded that we should take advantage of the interlude to buy ourselves a few more precious seconds.  I hefted Bryson up by the tunic and turned him toward the next ridge, a hundred yards beyond. 

“Let’s go.”  

***

In hindsight, this was a mistake.  Our party lost all semblance of order as we dashed up the hill in a mad scramble.  Worse, toward the end of our run, Bryson stepped into a hole and twisted his ankle.  Lavon and I had to drag him the rest of the way to the top. 

Compounding our predicament, the ruckus caused by the stone-throwing boys had drawn the attention of a Roman patrol, which immediately wheeled around and trotted toward us at a brisk double-time pace. 

The shepherd kids knew trouble when they saw it, and as the legionnaires drew closer, they scattered in all directions, leaving the soldiers’ attention focused squarely upon us. 

I glanced around toward the next hill to the west, but by then, Bryson’s ankle had become painfully tender.  He’d never make it, nor would we, if we tried to carry him. 

I reached for the Professor’s pendant and saw that the LED still glowed with the same hideous color.  This time, I ripped it from his neck and surprised even myself. 

I handed the chip to Sharon and pointed to our rear. 

“Go.  You and Naomi might be able to make it.  We’ll stay here and hold them off as long as we can.” 

I knew the time would be short, but every second might count. 

“We still have a chip,” I added. 
“Go!”
 

Sharon hesitated long enough for Lavon to translate what I had said to a now thoroughly bewildered Naomi, who categorically refused to leave the archaeologist’s side. 

By then, Sharon, too, had determined not to budge. 

She handed the chip back to Bryson.  “We stay together,” she said, “to the very end.” 

And this was good, for by then, the choice was no longer hers to make. 

While we had debated, the Roman commander divided his forty men into three groups.  He sent two on a double-time pace to circle around to our left and to our right, to cut off any possibility of escape. 

Then he paused to confer with the Temple guards, to ascertain any details he might have missed. 

Once again, I found myself admiring the Romans’ raw efficiency.  This officer knew his business. 

I instructed Markowitz and Bryson to keep their eyes on the soldiers to our rear, to warn us if they started to advance.  Meanwhile, the rest of us could do nothing but observe the gathering storm to our front, as we racked our brains in search of options. 

Suddenly, Lavon cried out.  “That’s Decius!  He’s the one in command.” 

Without further discussion, the archaeologist stood up and shouted something my translation software didn’t catch. 

“There’s no use trying to hide our identities,” he said as he turned back to us.  “Perhaps we can stall them by negotiating long enough for our return ticket to be validated.” 

This was true enough, and very smart thinking. 

By now, the Romans had advanced to within a hundred feet of our position.  There, they paused and lowered their shields to the ground. 

While his men rested, Decius shouted back. 

“Your bravery and skill are worthy of Rome.  I heard the governor promise that he will spare your lives.” 

Lavon translated this for us before turning back to the Roman. 

“Will the governor also promise that we will not spend the rest of those lives in slavery?” he replied. 

Decius paused to converse with another
optio
.  After the second man nodded, the Roman turned his eyes back to us. 

“Yes, you will be allowed to go free.  We will keep you as prisoners only until the king has gone back to Galilee.  Afterwards, you may depart and return to your homes.” 

“Why that long?” Lavon shouted. 

“We must maintain appearances,” said Decius.  “Surely you understand?” 

This made sense, though I didn’t relish the thought of spending one second in a Roman dungeon.  Governors have been known to change their minds. 

“And our women?” said Lavon.  “What of them?” 

“Herod has insisted upon the return of his property.  But do not worry:  a brave and resourceful man such as yourself will have no difficulty finding others of equal quality.” 

Before Lavon could reply, Naomi leapt up and unleashed a torrent of violent abuse. 

The Romans laughed, at least at first, but this time, I could detect nothing good-natured in her tone.  As her tirade continued, several of the soldiers grew visibly angry. 

At last, Naomi ran out of steam and slumped down, dejected, behind the cover of a pile of stones. 

Decius waited for a brief moment, and then spoke, one last time. 

“In recognition of your service to us, I will offer you a final opportunity to surrender peacefully.  If you refuse, then my conscience is clear, and the responsibility for your deaths will rest entirely upon your own heads.” 

I glanced back to Bryson’s pendant:  still that nasty puke-yellow. 

“Ask him if he’ll let us discuss it among ourselves,” I said.  “Tell him we’re all free men, and thus each of us must choose his own individual fate.” 

Lavon did so, and the Roman granted us a momentary reprieve. 

My mind raced as I tried to work out which tactic would provide us with the greatest delay:  whether we should demonstrate that we would resist – perhaps causing the soldiers to reconsider their battle plan – or whether we should feign cooperation. 

Though we risked being separated after our capture, my inclination was to go for the latter option. 

“If we fight,” I said to Lavon, “they’ll kill us in short order.  You know this.”