Solomon's Gold

Prologue

The High Priest of Israel bent over a low table, feverishly copying a disintegrating scroll by the flickering light of an oil filled lamp.

There wasn't much time.

The heavy pounding of battering rams vibrated through the stones under his feet. Nebuchadnezzar's army would soon be through the gates. Once inside the walls, horror would descend on the people of the city.

King Zedekiah had betrayed his oath to the Babylonian king, thinking the Egyptians would defeat him. That mistake would now cost him his kingdom, his family, his eyes, and the lives of almost everyone in the city.

The temple would be sacked, the sacred treasures looted, the women raped before they were slain. Those not killed by the savage soldiers of Babylon would be taken off into slavery.

There were some things that could not be saved, but others would never fall into the hands of the dark king. The elders had seen what was coming. The ark was hidden, deep below the temple. The great golden menorah had been spirited away, a clever replica left in its place. The High Priest's concern now was for the legacy of Solomon.

An officer wearing armor and a short sword stood nearby, waiting for the priest to finish. He was a dark, wide man, hardened by combat, in the prime of his strength. His legs were like tree trunks, his bare arms knotted with muscle.

The soldier said, "Is it ready, Teacher?"

"Yes."

The High Priest rolled up the sheet of parchment and tied a piece of cloth around it. Then he took an empty pot from a shelf by the table. He placed the scroll inside the pot and sealed it. He picked up the lamp and held a stick of beeswax over the mouth of the pot, watching the flame melt the wax down over the sealed opening. When he was satisfied, he set the lamp and wax aside.

The officer stepped forward, his hand on the hilt of his short sword.

"You know where to take this?" the High Priest said.

"Yes, Teacher. You have told me many times."

"Be careful, the Edomites have risen against us. God will protect you, but you must leave now. Use the tunnel that goes under the east wall."

"Yes, Teacher," the soldier said again.

"Now," the priest said. "Do your duty."

"Teacher…"

"Daniel, my son. I am too old to escape and I must not be captured. I am weak, I will reveal where the King's treasure lies hidden. Babylon must not have it. You know I cannot take my own life. Do your duty."

Daniel knelt before his spiritual leader and grasped his feet.

"Forgive me, Teacher."

"You go with God's forgiveness and His blessing," the priest said.

The soldier stood.

"Do your duty," the High Priest said again.

Daniel drew his sword and drove it with a powerful blow into the aged priest's heart. The body toppled to the floor. Daniel sheathed the bloody sword and placed the pot in a leather satchel slung over his shoulder. He took a last look at the corpse of the man who had mentored him and headed for the secret tunnel that would take him under the walls and outside the city.

Hours later, Daniel looked back. Black smoke rose from the burning city. It seemed to him that he could hear the cries of the dying on the desert wind.

He turned and walked away, toward the rising sun.