The Exodus Quest

II

Augustin got little joy at the police station. No visits allowed for Knox; even after an offer of baksheesh. In interview, apparently. Come back in an hour. He went out onto the station steps, fretful, feeling the need to do something – anything – that might help. A clear blue sky, the sun still too low to offer much warmth. He rubbed his cheeks, massaged his temples, his mind leaden and fuzzy. Sometimes, in the middle of conversations, he'd start slurring slightly for no reason whatsoever. He'd stop speaking at once, limit himself to grunts and nods. People thought him rude.

Perhaps Kostas would know something. Knox had been arrested at his apartment, after all. He got onto his bike, sped through the morning traffic, parked down a narrow alley, hurried up the front steps. The elderly Greek grimaced at the sight of him, the smell of whisky on his breath.

'Last night's,' grunted Augustin, as he went inside.

'If you say so.'

'You've heard about Knox?'

Kostas nodded. 'They arrested him here, you know,' he said, his hands trembling, his eyes watery. 'It was awful. Is it true what they said about Omar?'

'That he's dead, yes. That Knox was responsible, no. Listen, I don't have much time. I need to know what you and Knox talked about.'

'All kinds of things. The Therapeutae. The Carpocratians.'

'The Carpocratians?' A bell rang distantly in Augustin's mind. 'What about them?'

'Among other things, that they used to identify each other by tattooing the lobes of their right ears.'

'Ah!'

'Quite. That was Knox's reaction too. He asked me why biblical archaeologists might be hunting them down. That's when those policemen arrived. I think I've found the answer, though.'

'And?'

'They were quite the aesthetes, the Carpocratians. They didn't just admire the philosophy of people like Plato, Aristotle and Pythagoras, they decorated their temples with their portraits and busts.'

'So?' frowned Augustin. 'Why would a biblical archaeologist be interested in a bust of Plato or Pythagoras?'

'Oh, no,' chuckled Kostas. 'You misunderstand me. Not a bust. A painting. And not of Plato or Pythagoras.'

'Then who?'

'According to our ancient sources, the Carpocratians possessed the only portrait ever made of Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.'