“Hush,” I said.

The Tomb itself was completely encased in marble and illumined by dozens of lamps. Emerson, who had relieved me of my guidebook, read aloud:

“‘Of the lamps in the outer chapel, five belong to the Greek Orthodox, five to the Latin Church, four to the Armenians, and one to the Copts.’ The whole bloody church-”

“Emerson!”

“…is divided among the various sects. If one intrudes on the space of another, a-er-sanguinary battle may ensue. Orthodox priests battering at their Latin brothers with incense burners, Armenians trying to throttle Copts…”

At one end of the vast chamber was a wooden structure covering the Hill of Calvary. Upon request, a panel in the box was lifted. Underneath was a rock.

Emerson, who was by now thoroughly enjoying himself, remarked, “How very convenient that the Tomb was within a few hundred yards of the place of the crucifixion, and that both were within the city.”

“Emerson, if you cannot speak politely, do not speak at all.”

In duty bound, we visited the various chapels, though I was beginning to get a headache from the close air, the babble of voices, and-since I must be candid-the garish ornamentation that covered every available surface. Emerson trailed after me, reading aloud from the guidebook and bumping into people. A chorus of complaints followed our little group. I caught Daoud, who was beside me, in the middle of a gigantic yawn, and informed my companions that it was time to leave.

“Not yet,” said Emerson, turning pages. “We have yet to view the Chapel of the Derision, and the chapel where Adam was buried, and there must be another thousand icons we haven’t-”

Turning on my heel, I led the way to the entrance. Emerson followed, chuckling.

Chapter Six

FROM MANUSCRIPT H

“Well?” Ramses asked. “What do you think?”

After the conclusion of the banquet, they had been shown to a smaller chamber behind the haremlik. It was part of a suite that had probably belonged to a favorite wife, consisting of a small bathroom and a sleeping room decorated in the same shabbily elaborate style as the main salon. The only light came from two oil lamps of pierced brass. Their hosts had also left a jug of water and a basket of oranges and figs.

Stretched out on the divan, David said sleepily, “I can’t complain about the accommodations or the food. Have you always been treated so well?”

Squatting at the head of the divan, his face on a level with David’s, Ramses said softly, “Tonight was the first time I’ve been allowed to bathe or change clothes for three days, and the amenities have improved considerably. It’s part of Mansur’s strategy-insignificant annoyances, but the sort that mount up. The question is, what is the lady’s strategy?”

David said in the same low murmur, “I assume we are being watched?”

“Or overheard, or both. Keep your voice down. It’s a safe assumption.” He went on in the schoolboy Latin he and David had sometimes used when they didn’t want to be understood. “Where are we?”

“You not know? I know not. I was a-uh-from Nablus when they…damn!”

This wasn’t working too well. David had forgotten most of his Latin. Ramses switched to the Cairene dialect of Arabic and spoke rapidly. “We need to get away. I don’t like the way this is going.”

“What do you mean?”

It would have taken too long to explain, even if he had been able to find the right words. He had assumed that Frau von Eine was the one giving the orders. Mansur’s petty tricks might have been his own idea; none of them would have violated a general order that Ramses not be physically abused. But watching the pair during that bizarre dinner party had left him with the distinct feeling that their relationship had changed-or that he had been mistaken about the nature of that relationship. Open conflict between the two could leave him and David uncomfortably in the middle, subject to the whims of whichever party was on top. And neither party had their best interests in mind.

Instincts weren’t evidence, but there was another, even stronger reason for his decision. David’s arrival had caught them by surprise; perhaps they hadn’t had time to arrange separate accommodations for him. Wily Mansur wouldn’t allow that to last. He must know that neither would try to escape without the other. This might be their last, best chance.

“Later. Is there anything in your pack that could be useful? A knife, even a torch?”

“I had an extra knife, but I doubt it is there now. They wouldn’t have given us our luggage if-”

“Look,” Ramses snapped.

David sat up with a grunt. “I ate too much,” he said in more audible tones. “Do you have anything to settle one’s stomach?”

Ramses suppressed a smile. David hadn’t lost his touch.

One of the lamps flickered and went out. The other was burning low. They dragged their luggage closer to the light and began sorting through the contents. The wind must be rising. The carved mashrabiya screens rattled and squeaked. A draft of air rustled the tattered hangings.

“Here’s the medical kit Mother gave me before I left,” Ramses said. “There may be something there. If I know Mother, there will be. She thinks of everything.”

“You haven’t looked?”

“Reisner had his own medical supplies.”

Silently David shoved the open box under his nose. Under layers of rolled bandages, compresses, cotton wool, and tightly packed, neatly labeled containers of aspirin, iodine, stomach powders, and alcohol was a small leather folder that contained a set of surgical instruments.

Ramses breathed out a word that would certainly have won him a scolding if his mother had been there. David’s response was less profane but equally admiring. “Amazing! Er-the stomach powders. Just what I need.”

He uncapped the bottle and reached for the jug of water. Ramses took a closer look at the bottle labeled “Alcohol.” He couldn’t see the contents, since the glass was dark brown, but he didn’t doubt the label was accurate. His mother favored brandy as a general antiseptic, since it could also be drunk.

Their search turned up several other items that could be useful, including all the money Ramses had been carrying. Ramses put it aside, with the medical kit. Honest fellow, Mansur, he thought. Either it hadn’t occurred to him that a large sum of cash could be the equivalent of a key to a locked door, or he believed his people were too fanatical or too intimidated to be bribed.

They were methodically going through the pockets of coats and trousers when a stronger gust of air extinguished the lamp. It came, not from the windows but from the door. A slit of light appeared and widened.

Ramses sprang to his feet, gesturing David to stay where he was, and took up a position next to the opening door. If this was another of Mansur’s games, allowing them to find items that gave them a faint hope of escape and then confiscating them, he’d have to take them by force.

The light came from an electric torch. Its beam focused on David, kneeling by the suitcase. He was trying to look ineffectual, his mouth ajar and his eyes squinting-but he had tossed a few items of clothing over the medical box. The beam moved away from him, darting round the room as if in search of something. Ramses had averted his eyes as soon as the light was switched on; now he made out a dark shape in the doorway. He plunged through the opening and caught hold of it. Before he could get a solid grip or whisper an order for silence, he knew who it was.

IT HAD BEEN, I admitted to myself, a grave error to take Emerson to the holiest site in Christendom. If anything could have reinforced his negative opinion of organized religion, the garish, unsuitable adornments and the quarreling of the followers of the gentle Prince of Peace would have had that effect. However, he had the sense to let the matter lie, and we spent a quiet evening going over our lists and planning our schedule for the following day.