"The Coptic Secret" - читать интересную книгу автора (Loomis Gregg)

II.

Jabal al-Tarif

Near Nag Hammaddi

Upper Egypt

December 1945

Muhammad Alf al-Salman and his brother Hassam Mustafa wanted revenge. Not only did family honor demand it, their grief at the murder of their father had become a hatred simmering like hot coals.

But first the sabakh, the soft soil used to fertilize the crops, make them grow in the dry, barren sand. They had ridden the two old camels out here to the mountain where they were using mattocks to dig around a boulder.

The daggerlike blade of Hassam's pick hit something harder than soil but substantially softer than rock. Both men knelt to use their hands to scoop away the surrounding dirt until they uncovered the neck of what looked like a large earthenware jar,

Hassam made a futile attempt to wipe the dust from his beard. "Perhaps, brother, Allah has smiled upon us. Perhaps there is treasure inside. Else why would someone hide it here at the base of the mountain?"

Muhammad sat back on his haunches. As the older of the two, he made the important decisions. "Just as likely a jinn lives inside."

Ever since childhood, both men had heard stories about the evil spirits that had been captured by heros of old and confined to jars. Those foolish enough to let the malevolent creatures escape had usually lived to regret it.

Hassam pointed a jagged, dirt-encrusted fingernail at a spot just below the neck of the vessel. "But see, older brother, there is a crack. A jinn could have easily gotten out long ago."

Muhammad thought about this. More likely treasure than a jinn. Standing, he used his mattock to break open the jar.

It was instantly obvious the thing contained neither genie nor treasure. Instead, there were thirteen leather packets. Hope of instant riches quickly fading, the two men unwrapped each to find a number of crumbling papyrus books.

"I cannot read them," Hassam said, staring at the incomprehensible writing only dimly visible.

"Of course not," Muhammad snorted. "You cannot read."

"But these marks are unlike the writing I see in the marketplace. They must be in another language."

Muhammad glanced over his shoulder, seeing nothing but the familiar rolling dunes and craggy mountains. "They are old, very old."

"Perhaps their very age gives them value."

"Such old things are forbidden to keep."

Both men had heard stories of their fellow bedouins who had found objects of great age and, supposedly, greater value, only to have them confiscated before the finder could seek a sale to an antiquities dealer in Cairo.

Hassam grinned, showing as many empty sockets as teeth. "Forbidden only if the government knows."

Silently, the two began to fill the sleeves of their billowing robes with the codices.