Mythos Christos

By Edwin Herbert

A Vatican team invites the young scholar Lex Thomasson to Egypt to help them solve a sequence of puzzles left by 5th century philosopher Hypatia in her attempt to preserve the truth about the hidden origins of Christianity ─ information the Church did not want exposed.

Lex finds himself on an archaeological treasure hunt! But as he unlocks the secrets along the path, mortal peril follows. What forbidden knowledge would the desperate Hypatia risk her life to save and Lex jeopardize his to uncover?

Mythos Christos alternates between the two time periods. In both, assassins lurk and fanatics abound. And all along, religious Faith and historical Truth struggle for supremacy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jan 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781682229750

Book preview

play.

It will be hard for you who have taken authority as truth, rather than truth as authority.

—Gerald Massey

1

Oxford University, England

Late May

Floorboards creaked as Lex Thomasson approached the front of the classroom. Picking up a nub of chalk, he scrawled two words on the slate. He then turned to face his fellow students, most of whom looked bored, distracted, and uncomfortable. Some fanned themselves with notebooks. Though the windows were open, the air in the room was humid and stagnant. But thunder, distant and delicate, murmured rumors of a coming storm, promising to break the fever and end the unseasonable heat wave.

In stark contrast to the students, Professor Morley appeared riveted. He leaned against the window sill, his aged, moist eyes glistening with keen interest. The Oxford don once declared that Lex never failed to find some linguistic pearl Morley had never heard of, a rarity for the old teacher of ancient languages. He actually rubbed his hands together with anticipation.

Lex was in his element. Not the speeches, they frayed his nerves every time. Rather, the academic arena itself. He glanced around the room, a throwback to an earlier era. The antiquated wooden chairs, chalkboards, even the old schoolhouse smell had characterized one of the few remaining ancient halls that had yet to be refurbished or torn down. He would miss the atmosphere of Oxford, perhaps this room most of all.

He was twenty-four, though he looked younger, and was in his last days of the master’s program. He’d anticipated continuing on next year in the doctoral program, yet that was uncertain as his scholarship came to an end and he had no idea how he would pay for further education. But as his grandfather used to say, One disaster at a time.

Lex felt prepared for his final presentation—a literary analysis of two words with similar meanings but from different languages, not an unusual assignment for a master’s level philology course. Yet only now, as he stood facing a group of his peers, did he wonder if he should have chosen a less controversial topic. At least, he thought, it might rouse some of them from their finals week stupor. He took a deep breath to govern his anxiety.

For ancient Greek and Roman story writers, Lex began, adjusting his glasses and raking nervous fingers through unruly brown hair, "it was not an uncommon practice to draw from earlier myths, legends, and epics as models for their own sagas. Scenes from Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey were probably the most common source material for emulation. We’re not talking about outright plagiarism, mind you. Rather, emulation was more of an imitation with alteration to better align with cultural, political, or religious sensibilities of the later writer’s target audience—a transvaluation, in other words, which reflected the shifting values of the times.

"The two words I’ve chosen are actually character names. An interpretation of their linguistic roots reveals they share a similar meaning. Proculus in archaic Latin means literally ‘to proclaim,’ while its Greek parallel, Cleopas, can be defined as ‘to tell all.’ As I’ll demonstrate, it’s not just a happy coincidence the two characters had names with the same definition. Instead, one came from a scene which deliberately emulated a parallel scene from a previous legend."

Lex studied the faces of his captive audience, hoping he hadn’t lost anyone.

He continued, "According to legend, Rome’s king and namesake, Romulus, was the son of the god Mars and the Vestal Virgin, Rhea Silvia. When he is unjustly murdered by the first Roman Senate, his corpse vanishes from the tomb and he subsequently appears to his loyal follower Proculus on the road from Alba Longa to Rome. The demigod orders Proculus to announce a message to his fellow Romans—if they are virtuous, they’ll conquer the world.

Likewise in the Gospel of Luke, when Jesus is killed and his corpse vanishes, he appears to Cleopas on the road from Jerusalem to Emmaus. Jesus, too, orders his follower to proclaim his words.

A hand shot up, its owner a young man, bearded and unsmiling.

You’d have us believe, he challenged, "the Lord’s famous visitation on the road to Emmaus was a mere literary lift from a Romulus tale? As in…Romulus and Remus, the boys raised by a she-wolf?"

Titters of laughter followed.

The same, said Lex, his anxiety rising. I’m merely presenting the commonalities between two ancient literary pieces, the definitions of the names being one example.

The bearded student rose and turned to the professor. If I may?

A few of the students groaned.

With a pained expression the professor waved him on. Briefly, Mr. Matthews, this is a presentation, not a debate.

Matthews turned back to Lex. As a council member of the Campus Crusaders for Christ, I must say I’m a bit dismayed at the misguided nature of your thesis. I mean, how do we know the Romulus legend wasn’t modeled on Luke’s account? That seems to me a more likely scenario.

Lex shook his head. We know from the Roman writer Livy, who wrote decades before Jesus was purportedly born, that the death and resurrection of Romulus was celebrated in Rome with an annual public passion play. The myth was therefore pre-Christian.

Perhaps, Matthews conceded with a wave of his hand, as though the point was not important anyway, but the differences between the two accounts outweigh the similarities, which are no doubt coincidental.

Of course there are major differences, said Lex, holding his hands up defensively. In the Gospels Jesus had no twin brother and he wasn’t brought up with wolves. As I said, the story wasn’t plagiarized, it was emulated—imitated but with changes to appeal to a certain sect of Jews. Regardless, the similarities are the subject of my talk, and they’re too numerous to be coincidental. The scenes appear to be parallel myths, the latter intentionally lifted from the former.

Matthews wouldn’t let the matter drop. He wagged his index finger back and forth. Your comparisons are false, or at least insignificant and tangential. I’ve heard it referred to as parallelomania.

Actually, countered Lex, "an example of parallelomania would be correlating, say, the number of letters in the names Lincoln and Kennedy—details which are unimportant and acausal. But what I’m discussing is far more significant and has a direct causal link.

Let’s look at the parallels: Both Romulus and Jesus are born of virgins and are hailed as ‘God,’ ‘Son of God,’ and ‘King.’ Both incarnated in the flesh to establish kingdoms and are killed by a conspiracy of ruling powers. Both of their deaths are accompanied by a supernatural darkness, and both corpses later vanish. Both appear on the road around the break of dawn to close followers whose names literally mean ‘to proclaim.’ Romulus’ ethereal body gleams, befitting his glorious message of empire. Jesus materializes in humble disguise, befitting his message of humility—that virtuous believers will join the spiritual kingdom.

Lex then addressed the class as a whole, who’d been observing the dispute with rapt attention. You’ll each have to weigh the evidence and make up your own mind as to which is the more likely scenario: emulation or coincidence.

Matthews made some remark about faith taking precedence over evidence, but it was drowned out by the class’s unexpectedly raucous applause.

2

June 2

Renowned philologist Ignatius Morley hunched powerlessly over his office phone. The timing couldn’t have been worse to receive the call.

I do apologize, Eminence, but I’m simply overwhelmed with projects requiring my immediate attention, said Dr. Morley.

Cardinal Fuccini was adamant. In his lilting Italian accent he said, I am afraid this cannot wait. We’ve discovered something in Egypt. We fear it could be…world changing. The Commission requires your expertise on site and is willing to double your usual honorarium. More may not be said over the phone.

This was nothing new to the Oxford professor. He had come to the assistance of the Commission, whom he suspected was none other than the Vatican’s Pontifical Biblical Commission, many times before. They would typically find some ancient scroll or dusty parchment and would want an outside, disinterested expert to translate it for them—a professional who could be discreet about the discovery.

There was always a sense of urgency with these missions, although the finds thus far had been of limited value archaeologically. But the Commission had remunerated him so well, he never felt an urge to abuse their confidence or question them too closely about their interest in the old manuscripts. He rather enjoyed these little all-expense paid trips to Corinth, Ephesus, or various sites in Syria or Israel. They would put him up at the best hotels when possible and wine and dine him at the top restaurants. So it was not without some regret he had to refuse the current offer. But another possibility came to mind.

As I said, I’ve too many irons in the fire just now and will be unable to go anywhere for some time. But perhaps I could send a surrogate in my stead. I have a student entering the doctoral program who has demonstrated a considerable aptitude with difficult translations of ancient textual material. This young American is truly a natural. So good, in fact, I decided to take him on as my assistant for the summer. It’s a bit embarrassing to admit, but I recently put him to work on an old Egyptian scroll I’d been struggling with for two years. I was shocked to find he’d deciphered it in a matter of days. It turned out to be some sort of code—

A student? Fuccini interrupted. You’re not serious!

I am indeed. Lex has achieved a master’s in paleography in our own Rhodes scholarship program. I believe I could persuade him to put his talents at your disposal, if you won’t keep him too long.

which was placed anterior to a Rhodes Scholar’s name once he or she completed the program. The letters after his name are of far more concern to us. That and experience, neither of which you are offering us with this student. I would prefer an expert in the field of paleography who has already proven his talents linguistically, and one who has demonstrated his ability to maintain a degree of silence about it.

Dr. Morley said, I am truly sorry, but I’m afraid I cannot help you myself. You should, however, give this young man a chance, unless you can find a paleographer closer to home on such short notice. He does have a genius for deciphering the written word. Not to mention, since he is not yet credentialed beyond his master’s degree, few would believe the Vatican would contract him. If he did go public, you could disavow any connection to him.

There you have a point, Fuccini ceded. It seems I have no recourse but to accept the generous offer of your student. As time is of the essence, I cannot argue with you. Per favore, have the young linguist—Lex is it?—ready to go by 5:00 this afternoon. We’ll send a car and fly him to Alexandria by private jet.

Alexandria, you say? It is not an extraordinary find, I trust, such as the Great Library itself?

Nothing of such magnitude to my knowledge. My apologies for giving so little warning, but again, we must move with haste. Let me know if any problems arise in getting your man prepared to travel with so little forewarning.

3

It was with admirable skill that Lex weaved his skateboard along the concrete walkway, describing a varying sine wave pattern in an effort to avoid colliding with the other students on their way either to or from final exams. Lex’s destination that morning, however, was the Bodleian Library, or the Bod, as the Oxford students referred to it.

Having finished his finals a few days before, he thought he’d get off to a good start by spending time in both the Bodleian and Sackler libraries searching for pertinent material for his doctoral thesis, assuming he’d still be here in the fall. He wanted to get in some of this work before Professor Morley found another time-consuming task for him. But as the weather was unusually fair, he procrastinated by taking a far-ranging route to get there.

As Lex shifted his spare, six-foot frame and coasted downhill along the walk, he considered the classroom debate he’d had with Matthews again. How can anyone be so sure his particular religious faith is true?

He recalled asking his grandfather that very question many years ago. It was at his family’s cabin in Upper Michigan where his grandpa would take him fishing. They’d often discuss deep topics — the universe, science, even religious ideologies.

"It’s known as cognitive dissonance, his grandpa had explained. People have a remarkable capacity to cling to their convictions in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary. I once saw a hypnotist who had a man convinced he was enjoying a crisp, sweet apple, when in fact the audience could see he was biting into an onion. The mind is a mysterious thing. Once beliefs are ingrained and deeply rooted, they cannot easily be overturned no matter how much one might appeal to the intellect."

Lex saw he’d stepped on Matthews’ literal faith, and the man naturally became defensive. Still, he felt religious claims should be questioned, especially those which don’t conform to objective reality.

As Lex neared the massive library, a blonde ponytail caught his eye. A co-ed had exited one of the Exeter dorms across the street, hopped on a bicycle, and crossed the road to the walkway in front of him. She barely gave him a passing glance as she headed in the opposite direction.

It was not just her Barbie doll looks that induced Lex’s abrupt U-turn. Rather, something about her aloof, supermodel-on-the-catwalk expression stirred his memory. He recalled meeting her at a party the previous summer. Days later when he wanted to phone her, he realized he had never gotten her number. He now decided the library would have to wait, as there were better pursuits in the offing.

Lex’s wheels roared along the pavement as he put his full energy into catching up to the young woman. Fortunately, she rode at a leisurely pace, having no idea she was being tailed so sedulously. After pedaling through several city blocks, she turned onto a quiet side street and parked her bike in front of a teahouse. By the time Lex got there he was panting like a dog.

Skateboard in hand, he entered the shop and immediately spotted the blonde taking her teacup to a table. He ordered himself a cup and, before he lost his nerve, moved to an empty table near hers. The beauty appeared to be entirely focused on texting a message. Lex sat and stared at her, trying to remember her name.

Cassandra? he said tentatively.

Cassondra, she corrected, looking up briefly from her cell phone and grimacing with distaste at Lex’s torn denim cutoffs and the skateboard he had placed upside down on his table.

Strike one, he thought.

At a loss for words, he swept his disheveled hair from his forehead, adjusted his wire-rimmed spectacles and said, Come here often? At once regretting the cliché, he rolled his eyes at his own stupidity and stared down at the contents of his cup.

Fairly often. I like a ginger tea to perk me up in the morning. She finished texting and looked at Lex curiously. Your accent tells me you’re an American—from the Midwest, if I’m not mistaken—and, by that pungent aroma, you’re drinking coffee. She glanced out the window and shook her head in a clear demonstration of her disdain, as though ordering coffee in a teahouse was unthinkable.

Strike two.

But I must confess, she resumed haughtily, I don’t recognize you.

We met last summer…the solstice party at Stonehenge.

Lex fondly recalled the pagan ritual. At that time of year, the area around the henge was packed with revelers in various states of undress and drug-induced ecstasy. He judged this to have been somewhat less solemn than celebrations held there millennia ago, but enjoyable nonetheless. And the image of this blonde beauty was seared into his memory. Scantily clad with her hair in braids, she resembled a Nordic faery princess, a forest nymph.

Oh, of course, she said, now somewhat abashed. That was a surreal night. I’ll bet you were the bloke who gave me the history lesson about how most megalithic stone circles were actually calendars put in place to keep track of equinoxes and solstices. As I recall, you were interested in studying some kind of ancient sky worship or…what did you call it?

Astrotheology, said Lex, thrilled she remembered their conversation that well.

Yes, that was the word! The thing that struck me most about the topic was when you said that in most myths the sun was a male god while the moon was a goddess, owing to the fact that the lunar cycle is similar in duration to the human female’s menstrual cycle. Fascinating information, but hardly practical. What sort of degree can you earn in that area of study?

I just finished my master’s in paleography, the interpretation of ancient writing, and now I’m hoping to get a student loan so I can continue school here. I’d eventually like to translate ancient star charts and records. In fact, I was about to begin serving my sentence in the Bod when I saw you. I thought I’d ask you if you’d be going to the henge again this year for the solstice. It’s only a few weeks away, Lex said hopefully.

Oh, my boyfriend won’t be interested in going. He’s captain of the rowing club and is training almost nonstop for the midsummer competition with Cambridge. And he’d frown on my participating in that kind of revelry without him. In fact, she looked at her watch, he should be along any moment now. As if her message were not clear enough, she added, I’ve always been more attracted to rich, athletic types than to eggheads. No offense.

Uh…none taken. Strike three.

Lex quickly finished his coffee and made to leave before any scull boat captains happened along. As he stood, his cell vibrated. He cringed. It was a text message from Professor Morley: Urgent. See me in my office immediately!

4

Alexandria, Egypt

June 2, 2006

The little jet soared through clear skies on a southeasterly course to Egypt. Lex sat in the back of the cabin sipping a Pepsi and gazing out the window. As he watched the Mediterranean slip by beneath him, he couldn’t believe his luck. If there were any place in the world where a historian with a proficiency in ancient languages would want to be, Alexandria would top the list. It was enough to completely overshadow his strike-out with the teahouse beauty. He only wished he could share this with his grandfather.

When Lex was nine, his father was killed in a car accident. His father’s father, a self-described philosopher, filled much of the void in Lex’s life and became the role model he sorely needed. He taught Lex to view the world with a skeptical, scientific, and to his mother’s chagrin, secular eye. But his grandpa succumbed to illness only a year ago, leaving Lex feeling very alone. Nevertheless, he tried not to let that sadness dim his current elation.

And there was more bad news Lex tried to push to the back of his mind. He had just gotten off the phone with his mother, to let her know he’d be out of reach for a while.

Lex, she had said, I’m afraid the bank won’t approve the loan for the Oxford doctoral education. Too expensive! I offered to cosign but my home equity wasn’t enough to put up as collateral. I’m so sorry.

So that was that. He’d have to move back home soon after this mission.

Lex still had no idea why he had been chosen to decipher the ancient writings when Dr. Morley turned down the assignment. There must be plenty of Ph.D.s far more capable, he thought. The Commission had to be desperate. But who exactly was this Commission? It all seemed so mysterious. The professor gave him very little background information about the people he was to help, only advised him to not ask too many questions. They preferred to keep their secrets. As this maxim was not too unusual in the world of archaeology, he took it in stride.

Naturally, he jumped at the chance to go to Egypt. He guessed any paleographer would. Dr. Morley gave him the phone number of a friend of his, a wealthy Sicilian artifact collector by the name of Virgil Soterelli who now lived in Alexandria. Lex was to call him for a tour of the more interesting archaeological sites when he finished this caper. How long the caper would take, he had no idea. He only hoped he was equal to the task.

Nevertheless, the Commission said they’d pay Lex a handsome fee for his trouble, one commensurate with the help he could provide. He had never before been compensated for applying his skills in decipherment. How much would they pay? Just the opportunity to solve some puzzling ancient Alexandrian text would have been enough to persuade him to go, but he thought it best not to mention that. He sat back and tried to enjoy the flight, though for someone who could only afford college on a scholarship, it was a little strange to be the sole passenger.

Lex deplaned in Alexandria, surprised at how little time the whole trip took. A car was waiting and took him directly to the site. As he ascended the gentle slope of the oldest part of the city, what had long ago been the ancient fishing village of Rhakotis, he recognized the site from pictures he’d seen. Though the flight had lost him a couple hours of daylight and the sky was darkening fast, he could still make out Pompey’s Pillar and a large sphinx nearby.

Carved from red Aswan granite, Pompey’s Pillar stood about ninety feet in height—the tallest structure in the area. It was erroneously named for Julius Caesar’s nemesis, Pompey, whose head, it was said, was encased within the top of the monument. In truth, the pillar had nothing to do with the Roman triumvir. But, as often happens, the name stuck.

Spotting these famous landmarks, Lex realized he must be near the ruins of the Serapeum—the ancient temple to the god Serapis. What this Commission could have found here he had no idea, but he was eager to find out.

5

Theodora Durante, a junior Vatican archivist assigned to the Egypt expedition, was a bronze-skinned, Italian woman in her late twenties. Her straight black hair was pulled back in the ponytail she always wore during excavations. She was personable, though not coquettish, and had an easy and agreeable disposition Lex found hard not to like. Her partner in the expedition, Alberto Sicari, was a fossore—an excavation expert. Thea explained to Lex that this thick-necked, burly man of fifty-ish was the technical supervisor of the dig. Though not nearly as amiable as his associate, he was competent and knowledgeable about the excavation’s logistics.

When introductions were made, Alberto ignored Lex’s proffered hand and just gaped at him in disbelief. He then turned away, muttering something in Italian.

I apologize, Thea said in superb English, "it’s just that we had expected the famed professore."

He couldn’t make it, said Lex. Busy time of year for teachers. I’m one of his student assistants.

Alberto clutched his forehead, and it took Thea a few minutes to calm him down and impress upon him that they had just better make the best of it.

The find is so peculiar, I’d be shocked if even the professore could interpret it, she said.

So what exactly did you find? Lex finally asked.

A couple of months ago, something unusual was discovered beneath an old Roman chapel. As they prepared to enter the newly discovered tunnel, Thea gave him an edited sketch of the pertinent events that led them to Alexandria.

Once the fossore reined in his anger, the three donned hard hats and descended into the passage on a rope ladder. Having alit on the floor of the passage, away from the ears of the excavation team, Thea said the find would have to be seen to be believed. Lex was intrigued, but could not help wondering how these Italians merited such apparent freedom to access a new find in Egypt. Adjusting their headlamps, they started down the long corridor.

Lex examined the ancient stone walls of the tunnel. The workmanship appeared to belong to the early Ptolemaic period. The sheer longevity of the construction was testament to its strength in design despite the lack of Roman arches. The ceiling had been corbelled in the Greco-Egyptian style and he was surprised they did not even need to crouch, as the passage was over two meters in height.

So far, Thea said, there have been many surprises, Signore Thomasson. A sconce on the wall turned out to be a release mechanism for a door that was so well camouflaged, we would not have known of its existence at all if not for the map.

May I see this map? asked Lex.

Of course, said Thea as she produced the tattered copy from her satchel, despite Alberto’s glare.

From what we can tell, this tunnel and the hidden chamber were likely constructed when the Serapeum itself was built, about twenty-three centuries ago.

Lex studied the map in the light of his headlamp. It’s labeled as the chamber of the ‘Most High.’ Seems hardly possible these ancient doors and their mechanisms still work. What are the sconces made of? Few metals can last that long without corroding to dust. I know it’s dry here, but there's a salty sea breeze.

They appear to have been carved from kiln-hardened marble, said Thea. Their rock cutting technology was apparently sophisticated.

Lex pointed to the area of the map which indicated the torch embrasures. Cautes and Cautopates. Ah, of course, so one of the sconces had to be inverted then. And you knew to do that from this clue?

Thea and Alberto exchanged glances. Well, not exactly, said Thea. We just tried to turn them, assuming they would unlock the hidden door our ground penetrating radar had shown must be here. What do Cautes and Cautopates signify?

They’re the guardians of the gate of the Tauroctony, the slaying of the bull in the sacrificial rites of Mithras. The god Mithras was considered a sungod who would turn the zodiac, the great wheel of the heavens, around the world axis. On this wheel, Cautes was Taurus and Cautopates was Scorpio. These face each other on opposite horizons so as one rises, the other sets. So when depicted in artwork, one holds a raised torch while the other directs his torch downward. Since this mythology is dated from the first or second century before the Common Era, we can assume the sconce mechanism was installed well after the chamber was completed. He smiled at Thea. It’s always easier to open a door when you have the key.

Alberto turned and squinted at Lex, You might be of some use yet. Then he nodded toward the dark tunnel ahead. Follow me.

Thea smiled. I hope you can solve the next riddle just as easily.

Lex could not guess what sort of riddle could be important enough to fly a paleographer in from England.

As they moved along the corridor, Thea became curious about the young language specialist. So tell me about yourself. You are an American studying in England. What part of the U.S. are you from?

I was born and raised in a small town in Wisconsin with my mom and two older brothers. My dad died when I was very young.

And what degrees do you hold? Alberto asked. You look to be barely out of secondary school.

I have a degree in ancient history from the University of Wisconsin and was just lucky enough to get a Rhodes scholarship at Oxford. I finished my master’s in paleography there only a few days ago. Look, I’m as surprised as you that I was sent here to help.

Well, said Thea, Professor Morley apparently thought you were up to the task. But as you will see, this find is unlike anything we’ve had him analyze in the past.

They came to the twin torch embrasures which glowed white in the dark passage. Thea turned the right one clockwise 180 degrees and, inserting a shiny bronze key into a keyhole just above the base of the sconce, she pushed the wall beneath and a door appeared where none had been visible. Though Lex expected it, he was amazed to see such ancient ingenuity in action.

They continued through the opening and down a short corridor until the passage widened into an antechamber. A small stone barrier became apparent in the center of the wall opposite them. Great golden ankhs hung on either side. The door, a square slab of polished white marble about three feet on a side, stood in stark contrast to the rough grey stone of the walls. Engraved in its smooth surface was a circle bisected by a horizontal line. Gold lines radiated from the symbol, giving it a sun-like appearance.

But the most shocking features were the jade wheel devices set into the stone wall itself just above the door. They reminded Lex of the combination lock for his bike, but larger and made of green stone. Lex found these adjacent wheels would independently rotate. Upon closer inspection, he saw each wheel displayed one of eight faces at a time along its rim. Each face was marked with a curiously inscribed letter or number that clicked into place as he turned it. Above the left corner of the door were two such combination locks, the top with four Greek letter wheels and the bottom with three number wheels. Above the right corner were seven letter wheels on top and again three number wheels on bottom. On the wall above the door were inscribed strange symbols that ran together—something like Egyptian hieroglyphs, but not quite. A message in an ancient language.

Fantastic! said Lex, adjusting his glasses.

We believe, said Thea, indicating the door and its locks, this was installed here around 400 A.D.

Lex stroked his beardless chin and shook his head. That’s not possible. These look to be combination, or more precisely, permutation locks. The first lock of this type was invented at least a thousand years later. Also, the numbers on those wheels are Indo-Arabic numerals, the same numbers we use today. Such numerals were not adopted by western civilization until around the year 500 or so.

Thea frowned. "But the map itself has been examined by scholars and found to be authentic to the period. Although we do not know who drew the map, it has been radio-carbon dated to 404 A.D. plus or minus 18 years. My guess is the concealed doorway must’ve been constructed by pagans before the razing of the Serapis temple. Christians of the time wouldn’t have used such symbols. And they would have removed the ankhs, if just for the gold. Once the Christians converted the temple to a church, it’s difficult to imagine how later pagans could have built this right under their noses.

As for the Arabic numerals, it’s true they might not have been generally known. But some scholars at the Library may have been aware of them. After all, Alexandria was a melting pot and as such, Indian and Arabic scholars would have spent time here. Perhaps the designer of these locks employed the numerals as a code.

Impressed by her reasoning Lex said, No doubt the pagans at that point in time would’ve worshipped their gods and observed their rituals with the greatest secrecy, especially when the Roman Emperor became wholly intolerant of any competing religions. And you’re right, I’ve heard the persecuted pagans coded their messages to avoid discovery. So I suppose it’s not impossible the Arabic number symbols were also known to some scholars. The numerals would’ve looked like Chinese characters to the majority of Greeks and Romans. I guess it’s lucky we’re familiar with them.

Be that as it may, said Alberto, I assume the key to opening this door is there. He pointed at the inscription on the wall above the door. Here is your chance to prove your usefulness. He glanced at Lex doubtfully. I would just as soon blast it open with explosives."

And risk caving in the whole of it, Thea censured. We would surely attract the attention of the SCA then. Besides, I could never countenance the willful destruction of such a work of engineering.

Again Lex wondered if the Italians even went to the trouble of securing a permit from Egypt’s Supreme Council of Antiquities. However, he put it out of his mind as he studied the curious characters on the wall. He touched the inscription silently for a moment. Hieratic, he said. A very antiquated version of it too. Like a cursive form of Hieroglyphic.

I’ve heard of it, said Thea. Egyptian priests made use of that script, no?

Exactly. This type of hierogrammata, or sacred lettering, would have been virtually unknown in the year 400. A long dead language by then. Whoever wrote this was purposely obfuscating the message. Again, a code language.

Si. But can you read it? said Alberto.

I can try, Lex said. But I’m more acquainted with the later Hieratic and Demotic scripts. Thea, you may want to write down my translation.

Thea produced a pencil and paper from her satchel. She waited hopefully for Lex to speak. Silent moments passed as Lex examined the ancient words, tracing the graven message with his finger as if to absorb its meaning tactilely. Alberto stood with his arms folded, scowling.

Finally, Lex spoke loudly if hesitantly, "The deity sits upon his…celestial throne. His golden arms stretch from one side of the great circle to the other. Reveal his…identity and that of the wheel he turns. Only then may you be deemed worthy to enter."

The room was silent once again.

I was hoping for a more intelligible clue, said Thea. Is that all it says?

That’s all, said Lex.

Once again he scrutinized the letter wheels and recorded in a notebook each of the eight possible characters available for every letter in the word, and then each numeral in the three-number sequence. He was thoroughly perplexed as to their significance. He then inspected the bisected circle in the center of the sun. He pushed the little door but the cold stone did not give.

What is that symbol on the door, asked Alberto, the eye of Horus?

No, replied Lex, not sure if the fossore was asking a legitimate question or just being sarcastic. It’s the Greek letter theta. It was often used to symbolize God. In this case, a sungod.

They worshipped a sungod? Alberto scoffed. Little wonder the Christians thought the pagans mad and misguided.

Actually, said Lex, his eyes never leaving the peculiar markings, like the pagans, some early Christian sects thought of the ‘Son of God’ as the ‘Sun of God’ as well. He was the spiritual sun behind the physical sun. Hence, the term He is Risen is usually accompanied by a sunrise emblem. And wasn’t Jesus referred to as the S-U-N of Righteousness?

Alberto’s eyes blazed fire. But before he could argue, Thea cut in, What about the entry code, Signore Thomasson? Any ideas yet?

Lex shrugged. "Well, the first four-letter Greek word is probably theta, on the lock mechanism and was satisfied he’d guessed correctly since all the characters were among the available selection. The seven-letter word might have something to do with a throne or a great wheel…the zodiac perhaps. The numbers are a little more obscure. I’d need to do some research on my laptop to work out some possibilities. I’ll just need some time.

Alberto said, Unfortunately, time is a luxury we do not have. We must open this blasted door before the SCA finds it. A Council official is expected here tomorrow and will want to know all about our newly discovered subterranean world. You, my young friend, have until morning to work all this nonsense out and get us into the chamber or we may never know what secrets lie within. Should the Egyptians take control of the site, we can scarcely count on their willingness to share those secrets with us.

With that, they closed the secret passage for the night.

Ubi dubium ibi libertas.

In doubt there is freedom.

— Roman Proverb

6

Vatican City

(Two Months Earlier)

Marco Scipio managed to bring down the old stone wall. Though the mortar was crumbling, the wall itself was as stout as the day it was erected and particularly recalcitrant to his ministrations with the portable jackhammer and mattock. But in time, some of the top stones relented and broke free, and he was able to gain purchase with a grapnel and take down the rest of the wall in sizeable chunks. Once the dust cleared and he removed much of the rubble, Marco could see his efforts were not in vain.

The senior archivist was correct then, Marco thought. The old floorplans depicted this very chapel. When he discovered this lower level to be over two meters shorter in length than the ground floor, he wondered why a wall was put up here in the first place and what secrets lay beyond.

The architectural blueprints that led Basilio Regulus, the senior archivist of the Secretum Archivum Vaticanum, to investigate the little chapel in the shadow of Saint Peter’s Basilica were located amidst some early 17th century records. Ordinarily, old church designs would have piqued little curiosity. But as these were filed in the restricted section of the archives, the senior archivist had decided to check them out.

Neither the name of the architect nor the chapel depicted could be found on the architectural drawings, yet it was clear they were restoration plans for an existing house of worship. The details were sketchy, but apparently languishing in the hidden sub-basement of the chapel were cabinets which stored "Objects—Holy and Accursed," according to the barely legible words on the parchment.

The problem was no one had any idea where this chapel was located. The only clue was a tiny sketch on the floorplan depicting a man sacrificing a bull. This odd picture was framed by the circle of the zodiac and placed in a corner of the frayed material.

Basilio said he recalled a mosaic like this on the floor of the abandoned Chapel of Saint Mary of the Assumption nearby and that, though it was not unusual for the oldest synagogues and Coptic churches to sport zodiacs, it had struck him as strange here on Vatican Hill. It was on that hunch he sent his trusted maintenance man to find out if the old ruin was indeed the chapel described in the floorplans.

The task would have been hopeless enough for a man of ordinary stature. But it was made all the more Herculean, as Marco was a dwarf. Standing four foot two, he required a ladder or stepstool to reach almost anything. His short arms and legs made some of his work nearly impossible. He lived alone and preferred to work alone, priding himself on ignoring his handicap and overcoming any adversity. The more complicated or overwhelming the job, the better.

Sweat trickled down Marco’s neck and forehead, stinging his eyes. He blinked and directed his headlamp into the dusty gloom. He was not entirely surprised to see an arched doorway in another stone wall a few feet beyond the one he had just dismantled. He thought about the words on the floorplan. They suggested there may be some items down in the sub-basement the Vatican’s seventeenth century collectors found disturbing.

Rubbish, he thought. Superstitious nonsense. Marco suspected this church probably housed some of the collectors’ overflow books and relics they could find no place for in the Vatican Treasury at the time. A secret annex. They would have erected the wall to keep out curious priests and wandering parishioners.

Beyond the arched opening, as the plans had depicted, Marco located the hidden stone staircase to the sub-basement.

He suppressed a shudder as he entered the blackness of the secret stairway, though why it should bother him he wasn’t sure. He’d spent countless hours in the oldest and deepest recesses of the Vatican archives installing lighting and dehumidifiers, or rebuilding ancient bookcases. He was not by nature a superstitious man, yet he could not abolish the idea he was now entering a portal to hell. Demons seemed to be waiting, watching. Warily, Marco descended into the gloom.

At the bottom of the steps, another wooden door blocked his way. A rusted iron crucifix hung askew on the door, which had been barred on the outside as if to keep something within from getting out. A chill ran up Marco’s spine. Nevertheless, he unbarred the door and pulled the handle. The old door creaked but came open with little effort.

He entered a spacious room furnished with several rows of rough-hewn benches. He saw at once it was a storage room for what looked