The Exodus Quest

FORTY-FIVE
I

Augustin watched raptly as the scoop of the mechanical digger munched great mouthfuls out of the earth. He turned to say something to Claire but she'd moved off a little way, hands clasped in front, fingers twining, nervous of her ordeals ahead. He walked across, wanting to reassure her, but not knowing quite how. 'Do you know what Peterson was after?' he asked gently.

She shook her head. 'He never really included me in that side of things.'

'Did he ever mention the Carpocratians?'

'Once or twice,' she nodded. 'Why? Who were they?'

'A Gnostic sect. Founded in Alexandria. Based here and in Cephallonia. They were reputed to own an artefact that your reverend craved. A portrait of Jesus Christ, the only one credibly attested before the relic boom of the Middle Ages.'

Claire gave a grunt. 'I suppose it had to be something like that.' She turned to him. 'Did he find it, then? Is that what sparked all this off?'

'No. He found something else.'

'What?'

'There's a text called the Secret Gospel of Mark. At least, there isn't, but some people fear there might be.' He gave her a precis of what Kostas had told him: how the letter had been repudiated as a forgery, but how Peterson had found something on the walls of this place that had made him worry that maybe the secret gospel had existed after all. A mural depicting Jesus and another man emerging from a cave, while a kneeling figure implored: 'Son of David, have mercy on me'.

'So?' asked Claire.

'The Secret Gospel described precisely such an incident. This mural is proof that this incident really happened, and therefore is strong evidence that the Secret Gospel is authentic after all.'

'But why couldn't the mural simply be depicting a similar incident?' she frowned. 'Like with Bartimaeus, for instance?'

'Bartimaeus?'

'You must have heard of him. The blind man who pleaded with Jesus to heal him. He used those exact words. It's in the Gospel of Mark, I'm sure. And in Matthew too.'

It was Augustin's turn to frown. He'd been certain of his reasoning. But then he saw the answer, and it made him laugh. 'I'm not the only one who didn't know that story. Your reverend didn't know it either.'

'Of course he did,' protested Claire. 'He's a preacher.'

'Yes,' agreed Augustin. 'But an Old Testament one. Fire and brimstone, not love and forgiveness. Have you ever seen his website? On and on about the word of Christ, but all the references are actually to Deuteronomy, Leviticus and Numbers, never to the New Testament, never to Christ himself.'

'You can't be serious.'

'Tell me, then. You must have heard him preaching. Can you ever remember him citing Christ?'

The digger's scoop scraped something solid at that moment, saving her from having to answer. The driver stopped and reversed away, allowing Augustin to scramble down into the pit. He cleared the hatch with his foot, lifted it up to reveal the steps beneath. His heart swelled with unfamiliar sensations as he nodded up at Claire. 'Thank you,' he said.