Brotherhood of the Tomb Read Free

and incised lines. It was about six feet long and rather over two feet wide. A typical Jewish sarcophagus of the period. An inscription in Hebraic characters ran down one of the long sides.
    ‘Can you read it?’ asked Aharoni.
    Migliau shook his head. It was nothing more than a box full of bones, he told himself. The flesh had
    been allowed to rot away, then the bones had been gathered together in a heap and placed in this box. Why should the sight of it disturb him so?
    ‘I’ll read it for you. Tell me if you think I’m wrong.’
    Aharoni bent closer to the inscription, bringing the lamp nearer.
    ... Then there’s a couple of words I can’t make out, then As far as I can interpret it, it reads: “This is the tomb of James son of Joseph, master and shepherd ... the community which is in Jerusalem - killed at the command of Hananiah the high priest in the days after the death of Festus the governor.” ‘
    Migliau said nothing. His breath caught tightly in his chest, but he was unable to breathe out. He was no scholar, but he knew enough to understand just what the inscription was about, whose bones it referred to. James, the brother of Jesus, first head of the Christian community in Jerusalem, had been stoned to death with some others in ad 62. By decree of the Sanhedrin. On the orders of Hananiah - Ananias.
    The bishop did not know what to do. He wanted to weep or shout or find some other means of giving voice to the emotion he felt, but all he could manage was to stare at the stone as though the very sight had struck him dumb. He breathed out at last and reached for Aharoni, grabbing him hard by the upper arm.
    ‘Are you certain?’ he demanded.
    The Israeli placed a hand on his, dislodging his fingers.
    Aharoni paused. ‘No, I’m not certain. The lettering’s
    poor, this light is terrible. But I think I’m right. When you see the other two, you’ll understand.’
    ‘Understand? Understand what?’
    ‘You’ll see.’ The Israeli stood and went across to the second ossuary. It was simpler than the first, but otherwise of the same design and quality. The outline of a tree had been carved on the lid, but the sides bore no pattern, only a brief inscription. Migliau knew how it would read. He had known for years.
    Aharoni read awkwardly, as though the words refused to surrender themselves to him.’ “The bones of Miryam, wife of Joseph, mother of Jesus and James. Peace be upon her.”’
    The light made ghastly shadows all across the walls and ceiling. Migliau thought he could hear them as they moved, like vast black wings flapping in the enclosed space, the wings of blind, outraged birds. He raised a hand as though to ward them off, but they grew still and left him in a vast silence.
    ‘There’s one more,’ said Aharoni, and to Migliau the voice seemed to come from the other end of the universe.
    Together, they walked the last few paces to the third and final sarcophagus. It was a thing drained of colour, white and delicately carved, yet very solid, as though it was not hollow at all but a single block hewn from living stone. Migliau watched as Aharoni ran a hand lightly along the lid.
    On the side, among the rosettes and incised patterns, a circle stood out in sharp relief. Inside it there was carved a seven-branched menorah, the Temple candlestick, taken by the Romans when they destroyed Jerusalem in the year 70. This was not a normal menorah, however. The six side branches
    were the usual shape, but the middle column was shaped in the form of a cross. Beneath the circle, a row of sharply-cut characters struggled for expression in the light.
    He read in a slow voice, meticulously pronouncing each word, not with the awkwardness of uncertainty, but with the precision of one who knows exactly what it is he is reading and what it signifies:
    He fell silent. Migliau had understood. Not every word, not every syllable, perhaps, but as much as was needful. Aharoni could not bear to look up, to see him watching