The Jerusalem Puzzle. Laurence O’Bryan

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      20

      ‘Pontius Pilate was the Governor of the province of Judaea at the time of Jesus. Roman governors in the early Empire in eastern provinces kept all the records of their term of office, including records of executions, at their villa for security reasons.’

      Simon stopped. The hubbub of the street outside washed over us. I looked up as a Japanese tourist and his wife entered the juice bar. They looked alarmed by the demonstration outside. Isabel nudged me.

      ‘My colleague, after a little arm twisting, told me they’d found a reference to Pontius Pilate at this dig.’ Simon was talking quietly, almost whispering.

      ‘Amazing,’ said Isabel. ‘Pontius Pilate!’

      ‘Shussh,’ he said. He held his hand up and looked around quickly to see if anyone was listening.

      ‘It’s not confirmed yet.’

      ‘What’s not confirmed?’ Mr Get-straight-to-the-point, that was me.

      He leaned closer. He was whispering now. ‘Apparently they’ve found a cache of scrolls under some Roman-era rubble. There’s a layer of soot above the rubble, which means the site has most likely lain undisturbed since 70 AD, when this part of Jerusalem was destroyed, after Tacitus put down the great Jewish revolt. This was all well before Islam started. Getting access to such a cache would be a wonderful thing for an archaeologist.’ He made a low humming noise.

      ‘Do those people out there know anything about this?’ I gestured towards the crowd outside. They were a little way up the street, but they were still close enough for us to hear the chanting they’d started.

      ‘Don’t know,’ said Simon.

      I had no idea what they were saying, but there was real tension in the air. Almost everyone in the juice bar was craning their neck every few seconds to see what was going on. Outside on the street people were hurrying past.

      I leaned forward, stretching until I could see the demonstration. The crowd had grown since the last time I’d looked. It was totally blocking the Via Dolorosa now.

      ‘What are they chanting?’ said Isabel.

      ‘They’re saying that no one should be allowed to dig in this area,’ said Simon. ‘They’re saying that there used to be a Mamluk madrasa over there, that it was burnt down during a revolt five hundred years ago with all its students in it. They say the dig is desecrating a gravesite.’ He finished his juice noisily.

      ‘Is it?’ I said.

      ‘There are bones under every house in this city,’ he said. ‘I’m surprised they got permission for this dig at all.’

      ‘One thing’s for sure,’ I said. ‘A hell of a lot of people will be interested in this site.’

      He held his hand flat on the table. ‘I have no idea what the site will prove. But you are right, there are people who will be worried about any records from Pontius Pilate’s era, in case they might show that the truth of that time is any different to what the Bible says.’

      ‘Maybe there’ll be universal rejoicing,’ I said.

      ‘And you still think you can get us onto this dig?’ said Isabel.

      Simon looked from her to me, then back again. I glanced at Isabel. Her black hair was tied up in a bun, but it was still unruly looking with odd hairs sticking out. She looked good with it that way.

      ‘Come on then, let’s see if I can.’ Simon stood.

      We walked all the way around to the other end of the lane from where the crowd was demonstrating. The lanes behind the Via Dolorosa were only four to six feet wide in places. The high walls of the buildings, constructed mainly out of sandstone, made them seem even narrower too. As did the windows, which were barred as if we were walking beside a prison, and mostly too far up to reach no matter how high you could jump.

      Many of them were shuttered anyway, with thick sand-coloured planks. Some had iron bars too. Most of the thin, half-width, wooden doorways had one or two worn sandstone steps leading up to them. In some places canvas awnings and stone arches high up blocked the light out completely.

      This wasn’t a medieval warren like you’d find in European cities. It was a Biblical-era warren.

      A group of young men pushed past us. Then three more followed. They were all in a hurry.

      After making another turn, we found the building they had come from. It looked like a school of some sort. Young men were hurrying out of it with bags under their arms or backpacks on their backs.

      After we passed the school there were less people about. The lane we turned into as we circled back to the Via Dolorosa was narrower than any of the others we’d passed through. It seemed as if we were being squeezed by the buildings rising up on either side. There wouldn’t be much we could do if someone with a knife held us up here, demanding our valuables.

      Finally we turned another corner and our way was blocked by a shoulder-high blue plastic barrier. There were Israeli soldiers in khaki behind it. Their black helmets had see-through plastic wrapped around them to cover their faces.

      As we came up to the barrier, we were the only other people in the lane beside the soldiers. Simon waved an ID card in the air. One of the soldiers shouted something at him. Simon held the card over the barrier. Half a minute later the barrier moved back and to the side.

      Beyond it, up against the wall behind СКАЧАТЬ