The Moses Stone Read Free

forests carpeting the fertile lowlands that stretched from the Sea of Galilee down to the shores of the Dead Sea, heading up into the Plain of Esdraelon. The track they were following meandered left and right, skirting obstacles and avoiding the higher ground that lay between them and their destination. It made for very slow going, and was all the more exhausting because of the relentless heat of the sun, their constant companion.
    It was midafternoon before they saw their objective, and almost dusk before they reached the foot of the hill. Rather than attempt to climb the slope and carry out the task they’d been given by Elazar Ben Ya’ir in the dark, they decided to rest for the night.
    When the sun rose the following morning, the four men were already on the plateau. Only one of them had been to the place before, and it took them over eight hours to complete their task.
    It was late afternoon before they were able to descend the steep path to the plain below and almost midnight before they reached Nain, their journey made slightly easier because now they were no longer carrying either of the two cylindrical objects or the stone tablets.
    The following morning, they sought out a local potter. They offered him just sufficient gold that he would ask no questions, then took possession of his workshop for the remainder of the day. They remained in there, with the door barred shut, until late into the evening, working by the flickering light of a number of animal-fat lamps.
    The next day the four men went their separate ways, each with a single further task to perform.
    They never saw each other again.

PART ONE
     
    MOROCCO
     

1
     
    Margaret O’Connor loved the medina , and she simply adored the souk .
    She’d been told that the word “ medina ” meant “city” in Arabic but in Rabat, as in many places in Morocco, it was a generic term applied to the old town, a labyrinth of winding streets, most far too narrow to accommodate cars. Indeed, in many of them two people walking side by side would find it a bit of a squeeze. And in the souk itself, although there were large open areas surrounded by stalls and open-fronted shops, some of the passageways were even more restricted and—to Margaret—even more charming in their eccentricity. The streets meandered around ancient plastered houses, their walls cracked and crazed with age, the paint flaking and discolored by the sun.
    Every time she and Ralph visited the area, they were surrounded by hordes of people. At first, she’d been slightly disappointed that most of the locals seemed to favor Western-style clothing—jeans and T-shirts were much in evidence—rather than the traditional Arab jellabas she’d been expecting. The guidebook they’d bought from the reception desk of their hotel helped to explain why.
    Although Morocco was an Islamic nation, the population of the country was only about one-quarter Arab; the bulk of the inhabitants were Berbers, more properly called Imazighen, the original non-Arab people of North Africa. The Berbers had formed the original population of Morocco and initially resisted the Arab invasion of their country, but over time most of them converted to Islam and began speaking Arabic. This gradual assimilation of the Berbers into the Arab community had resulted in a colorful mixture of dress, culture and language, with both Arabic and the Berber tongue—Tamazight—being widely spoken, as well as French, Spanish and even English.
    Margaret O’Connor loved the sounds and the smells and the bustle. She could even put up with the seemingly endless numbers of small boys running through the narrow passageways, pleading for money or offering to act as guides for the obvious tourists wandering about.
    It was her first visit to Morocco with her husband Ralph who was—it has to be said—rather less enamored with the country than his wife. He found the crowds of people that thronged the souk claustrophobic, and the myriad and unfamiliar