Bill Thompson [Thompson - Brian Sadler Archaeology 01 - The Bethlehem Scroll

The Bethlehem Scroll

A Brian Sadler Archaeological Mystery

Book One of the Series

2011 First-place EVVY Award Winner for Fiction

Colorado Independent Publishers Association

To Marilyn

My Proofreader and Critic Extraordinaire

Still the one

after all these years.

Note to 2016 edition:

Marilyn died a year after this book was originally published.

She was always a staunch critic but also my wife and greatest supporter for 42 years.

Authors Note

It is accepted by many scholars that Jesus was born in the spring, maybe two or three years B.C.

In this novel, rather than using Christmas Day, December 25 of the year zero, I have chosen to set His birth in the spring of 3 B.C.

Prelude

The Qumran Hills near the Dead Sea

Late 2003

It was hot, blisteringly hot, on the canyon floor. The afternoon sun beat mercilessly on the rocky hillside. Only insects and reptiles had the stamina to venture about outdoors in this heat. Mammals stayed under cool rock overhangs or sought shelter in one of the many small caves dotting the landscape.

Deep in the darkness of this particular cave the temperature was below seventy degrees Fahrenheit, far less than the searing heat outside its obscure entrance. Other than the occasional desert fox or snake seeking refuge from the afternoon sun, nothing had ventured into the cave for hundreds of years. This was no place for men.

The cave consisted of two small areas the space inside the room farthest from the caves entrance was tight less than eight feet lay between the tiny entrance and its rear wall. The rooms ceiling was no more than three feet above its floor not even a child could have stood erect. That was part of the reason why the jar had remained untouched for these many years. The Bedouins occasionally used larger caves nearby for shelter but this small indentation went unnoticed.

The jar sat on a small ledge behind some rocks. Its tight seal, put into place long ago, guarded its contents well. Neither searing desert heat nor the cool cave created a problem. There was neither humidity nor dampness to damage anything. So the jar sat, hidden behind two stones at the back of the cave, exactly as the boy had carefully placed it two thousand years ago.

----

National Museum of Antiquities

Cairo, Egypt

May 3, 2004

The translator had sat for two hours bent over the table, painstakingly examining the ancient manuscript that lay flat on the table in front of him. He had made astonishing progress, although translating from Aramaic into Egyptian was a slow process, made more difficult by the partial deterioration of the document on which he was working. He had to work very carefully, unrolling with great care the two thousand year old scroll.

Achmed thought to himself how much easier this scroll was to handle than the others which had been found back in the forties. Many of them were mere fragments, eroded by the passing of time. This scroll obviously had been cared for much differently, he thought. Although its condition was rough, it still was intact. He wanted to know more about its provenance, but knew the man sitting behind him wouldnt tell him anything.

Earlier today, Achmed had been sitting at his desk, working on the translation of an old Greek parchment that one of the museums financial supporters had brought in. The benefactor said it had been found at a dig in Alexandria. He purchased it from one of the workmen, who apparently had whisked it away from the site in his pocket. Achmed had barely gotten started on the document just far enough to know it was some sort of shipping manifest when the museum director had burst into his workroom, accompanied by a pockmark-faced man who now sat behind him.

The man had produced an identity card and badge, identifying him as a Detective Inspector with the Ministry of Interior, the agency that controlled all police activity in Egypt. Achmed found that strange. He had had no interaction with the police in his entire career here. The museum director instructed Achmed to stop what he was doing and to do a quick translation of the document now before him. He wants to know what it says, the director said. Not word for word, but an overview of what the scroll is all about.

So began the ordeal that had gone on for hours. The swarthy inspector sat in a chair behind Achmed, occasionally taking or making a call on his cell phone, talking quietly while Achmed worked. His face had startled Achmed when they met. The scars might have been from smallpox, he thought. Once, when Achmed arose to go to the lavatory, the Inspector questioned him, then said, We will both go, but do not enter this room again until I am with you. It was obvious the man would not allow Achmed to be alone with the document.

What Achmed had translated had astounded him. Now he understood why the man was so protective of the scroll he had brought to the museum. There were groups governments even who would do almost anything to get their hands on this parchment.

I have important work to do, the inspector said to Achmed. Finish up now, and give me the parchment. Achmed had only a few lines left. He had hurried through the lengthy manuscript, and knew he had missed some of the words, but the meaning was as clear as day to him. His body shuddered involuntarily as he thought of the importance of what he had in his hands.

Achmed made notes on a legal pad next to him as he carefully read the ancient language. Although he wanted to make sure he got the meaning, he wasnt concerned about every word. The document was longa story with no ending. He struggled to contain the excitement that grew within him as he read sentence after sentence.

Whats taking you so long? the inspector asked Achmed. I only want to know what it means, not to have you translate the whole thing.

I know exactly what you want, Achmed thought to himself. And I may never see this scroll again, so Im going to take my time and see everything it says.

Aramaic is a difficult language, sir, Achmed replied to the man. And the parchment is lengthy.

The man responded gruffly, impatiently. Tell me, then, if the name Yahweh appears in the text.

I knew it! He wants to know if Gods name is in the document. He answered, I have seen no such name so far, sir. But Achmed also knew from what he had seen that it was only a matter of time until the name appeared.

I will be finished momentarily, Achmed said to the policeman. He watched out of the corner of his eye as the man turned to retrieve the topcoat he had laid on a counter by the door. There was something unusual going on, Achmed felt.

Finally Achmed put down his pen, turned to the man and said, I am finished. The document is a scroll that appears to be ancient. It is written in Aramaic, a language common two thousand

I dont want a history lesson! the inspector interrupted. He stood, his voice loud and menacing. What does it say?

Its after 6 pm, Achmed thought. I am likely the only person still in the building. He nervously stammered, Thethe scroll resembles those from the Dead Sea discoveries. It speaks of a birth in Bethlehem. The last sentence calls him a King Yahweh. Since Achmed knew that was the name this Inspector was seeking, he decided not to tell him the other name that appeared in the scroll, the name Yeshua, or Jesus. This was an important scroll, without a doubt. This scroll mentioned God and Jesus, Yahweh and Yeshua, together in a single document.

The Inspector smiled. You have done well, translator, he said quietly as he pulled a pistol from his coat pocket. Achmed had no time to think even of his wife and child at home, and he barely felt the bullet enter his chest. He died before he hit the floor.

The pockmarked man who had called himself an Inspector stepped over the body, rolled up the parchment carefully, and took Achmeds notepad. Opening the door, he looked up and down the quiet hallway. He could hear no sounds. He moved to the museums entrance and left the building, making sure the door locked behind him.