The fact that the book seemed authentic and unique meant it could be valuable. “That’s it?” said Anne disappointed.
“That’s it. Just blank pages left in the book.” Joseph seemed equally disappointed.
“Well I don’t think we’re going to add to the book, so we should see what we can get for it?” said Anne expectantly.
“Did anyone see you take it?” Joseph looked serious.
“No, I’m quite sure of that.”
Joseph thought about the consequences. “Here’s what we should do. Go back to work tomorrow and see if the book is even missed. If people are expecting to see the book, they will ask you if you saw it. Always say no, you didn’t see anything. Tell them, you were too upset at seeing the body to notice anything. Tell them, that you can’t read. Only offer this information, if they ask you directly,” said Joseph trying to help.
Anne did not like to lie. She was never any good at concealing anything. Taking the book was so out of character for her. “I’m not good at twisting the truth.”
“Don’t worry, you won’t need to. They won’t notice it’s gone. Just keep quiet and see how the day goes.” Joseph scratched the back of his hand with his nail.
“What if they notice me, acting strange?” Anne had serious reservations.
“Tell them that you’re still a little shaken from seeing the body, they’ll understand.”
“What then?” Anne looked at Joseph with doubt in her eyes.
“If nothing happens tomorrow, it means they don’t know that you took the book. I’ll wait until the end of the week. If nobody is asking about it, then I’ll take it to the bookstore, next to the butchers. I should be able to get something for it and I’ll tell them it was a gift from a customer.”
“I’m seeing a different side of you Joseph. One that seems comfortable distorting the truth,” said Anne in a serious tone.
“You’re right. I should return it to the innkeeper and inform him that my wife-to-be is a thief.” Joseph wished he had not said those words, the moment they spilled from his mouth. He was tired and irritable.
“I suppose, I deserved that. It was me, who stole the book.”
“I’m just trying to figure out a way for us to profit from your actions, with no repercussions.” Anne looked at Joseph with a puzzled look. She did not understand his large vocabulary. Joseph explained, “We have to make sure we don’t get caught.”
The next day, Anne reported to work as normal; she tried to keep out of sight by doing extra chores. She was not asked additional questions and was left to her duties. She felt on-edge the entire day; she wondered if her decision was worth her feelings of guilt. The day dragged and although she was busy, it seemed like a day with longer hours. When it was time to leave, she found herself looking over her shoulder. She left via the servant’s entrance, at the back of the hotel. As the week wore on, her interactions felt more normal and she relaxed. Joseph prepared to take the book down to the market today. They would learn how much they would get for it.
It was early; the market was setting up for another busy day. Joseph walked past his usual stall and did not stop to prepare his wares. He walked briskly towards the butcher’s; they seemed to be taking an early delivery of meat. He did not stop to chatter with the butchers, like he had done so often before. They waved as he passed by. Joseph turned the corner and approached the bookstore. He was not a consumer of books and had never been inside the store. Mr. Charleston was a portly man who seemed to know everyone in the market. He was clearly an educated man; he often bought fruit from Joseph’s stall. Joseph knew him only as a customer. Joseph approached the door and stared at the closed sign. He peered through the glass and spotted movement inside. He knocked lightly on the wooden frame, pushing his face closer to the glass.
Mr. Charleston lifted his head and bellowed from the back, “We’re not open yet.”
Joseph knocked again. This time Mr. Charleston turned to see who was being persistent. He recognized Joseph’s smiling face through the glass and hurried to the door. Unlatching the door, he opened it enough to peer around the frame.
“What’s so important young man, that you would leave your stall?”
“I need to come in and show you something, in private.”
“I don’t usually let people into the store before opening hours,” he said with a concerned look racing across his portly face.
“I thought we could discuss this,” said Joseph waving the book under Mr. Charleston’s nose. He cast a curious eye upon the cover and listened to his heart racing above its normal beat. He was not afforded a chance to inspect the book; he could tell it was rare. He liked old books and he wanted to see more.
The fish was hooked. “Come in; let’s see what you’ve got.”
Both men entered the store; the door was locked behind them. Mr. Charleston led Joseph to the rear of the store. A large wooden table was placed near a window, affording a space for the sunlight to stream in. He inspected the cover closely. He turned the book to look at the back and the binding.
“It’s very interesting. It smells of ash. It’s very interesting indeed.” He opened the book and started to read the contents.
What’s it worth?” asked Joseph impatiently.
“Don’t know yet. Where did you find this?”
“A customer gave it to me. Guess he ran out of money, everyone has to eat,” said Joseph, as honestly as he could.
Mr. Charleston continued to inspect the pages. He had never seen anything like it; he recognized a few languages of long ago. The book was entirely hand written and hand drawn. It was authentic and very collectible. Did this fruit stall owner know what he had? There was no time to evaluate it and his story sounded suspicious. “I’m not sure what this is. It just looks like a journal or a handwritten story. A few of these books exist, where people pass them on and they just add to the story as it circulates. The problem is, people with limited writing skills and limited illustration skills, add to the book. Your book is not even written in the same consistent language. I’ll take it off your hands, because it’s old. To be honest with you, I’ll have trouble selling it to anyone.”
“How much is it worth?”
“I can give you a pound for it,”
Joseph wanted to barter. “Three pounds or I’ll take it elsewhere.”
“Two and that’s my last offer.”
“Three,” said Joseph defiantly.
Mr. Charleston played his gamble. He shook his head and pushed the book towards Joseph. “Then I bid you good day.”
The look of horror registered upon Joseph’s face, he quickly re-engaged. “I’ll take two pounds.”
“Good, two it is,” he shook Joseph’s hand vigorously and moved to his money drawer. Joseph had done well; Anne would be pleased. Joseph walked away excited with the money they had received. The bookstore owner was more excited, knowing he had stumbled across something special. What he did not know was how special this book was. He managed to find a linguist; he seemed to be able to decipher a few of the pages. He explained that the title of the book was, “The Book of Byblos.” A collector from Paris bought the book; an addition to his collection of Egyptian antiquities. The book sold for five pounds, returning a handsome profit. The book disappeared from sight, until an art collector in Madrid bought the book for an undisclosed amount of money. The book was deemed to be authentic. The government of Egypt had no rights to reclaim it as a stolen Egyptian treasure. It was not conclusively proven that the book originated in Egypt. After several opportunities for translation, various linguistic experts translated the entire book. The book told a coherent and fanciful tale, based upon one of the most enduring ancient Egyptian legends.
The book’s pages had been added to, over the years. Countless individuals contributed but each remained anonymous. Four languages were used to tell the tale, with only one page hinting at an author. One of the diagrams appeared to have the initials, “REA” written in a corner. The book described a set of rin
gs and a secret compartment; it lacked the actual location. The modern entries seemed to be deliberately vague, when it came to locations. Places were described in vivid detail but it was impossible to locate these places. They sounded real, but could they have been the products of a fertile imagination? The book was interesting but nobody could be sure. Did it chronicle an actual society, sworn to a secret mission? Was it a fanciful exercise of collective story telling? Was it fact or fiction? From that standpoint, the book was interesting. It proved to be desirable for any educated collector.
It was certainly a unique book that became well known, within the private collector space. When the wealthy Madrid-based wine merchant passed away, his spouse reviewed his collection of valuable books. Outlined in his will, he had left specific instructions on how his collection should be dismantled. He established a minimum price for the book. He offered it for sale to a collector he had befriended in London. His friend had admired the book and believed the accounts detailed within to be true. The widow contacted the banker in London. The banker was pleased to be given the first right of refusal on this unique piece. He paid above the minimum price, because the book had always intrigued him. He tried to rationalize why people from different backgrounds would keep the book updated, if this were merely fantasy. He believed in the story and he believed in the book’s contents.
The modern day resting place for “The Book of Byblos,” was deep within a bank security vault, in London, England.
* * * * *
Chapter 12: The Meeting of the Magicians
Upper Egypt, 3150 B.C.
It was a special day at the palace, there seemed to be an electrical charge sparking through the dry air. Bener-ib tried to go about her business in a normal way; she knew today could change the course of history. She walked along a wide stone hallway, admiring the craftsmanship. Workers had pieced together the large stone slabs with unparallel precision. At the far end of the hallway, she could see a figure approaching. It was clearly a woman, her hips swayed as she walked. She kept her head bent downwards, obscuring her face. Bener-ib wore a thin gold band around her head; it glistened against her long straight black hair. As the woman approached, she became aware of a presence within the hallway. Aya lifted her eyes, to focus on the approaching woman. She adjusted her gaze to the changing light and found herself looking at the beautiful face of Bener-ib. Aya felt the rush of blood course through her veins, her faced flushed with sudden anger. She resented her beauty; she resented the way she flaunted it with the Nesu. Aya was fiercely loyal to Queen Nithotep; she really disliked the woman approaching.
What should she do? There was no way of avoiding her and she did not want to acknowledge her. She wished she had a knife, ready to plunge deep into her wicked soul. The two women drew closer. Bener-ib recognized Aya, she was a servant she had seen attending to Queen Nithotep. She fixed her gaze upon the eyes of the approaching woman. She was smaller in height and had a welcoming face. Most men would concede that she was attractive, but not beautiful. Aya raised her eyes to meet Bener-ib, she flashed a look filled with pent up anger and frustration. Bener-ib smiled and nodded out of respect; her gesture was rebuffed. Men are often described as simpler creatures; they remain calm until excited. Once agitated, it is not uncommon for men to manifest their feelings through immediate acts of violence. Men can be quite volatile. Women are more intuitive and can react to the smallest things. Women are generally more in touch with their feelings; some would say they use logic to confirm their intuition.
That chance passing in the hallway would have seemed innocent to a man. Within seconds, an exchange had occurred that only women would understand. A battle line had been drawn and a tone had been set. It had started with an innocent gesture of mutual respect. Bener-ib knew she was clearly the more beautiful and desirable. She afforded a smile and a polite nod of the head. Aya met this gesture with a snub. The snub was delivered by refusing to nod her head or reciprocate with a smile. Why was that? Aya’s body language was tense and she made no attempt to slow her stride or acknowledge Bener-ib. These acts are a subtle form of feminine passive hostility. Aya’s stare was infused with hatred, resentment, anger and loyalty. Strong emotions, transmitted through silence. Bener-ib would have felt this; like a knife piercing her heart from a relative stranger. She has experienced resentment and jealousy before but this was different. This was hatred. Hate is a strong word but this woman hated her. What had she done? She had clearly raised her anger beyond any petty jealousy. As the two women passed each other, Bener-ib turned at the waist. She looked over her shoulder at the scorned stranger passing her. Aya continued to walk briskly with her head pointed forward, as if Bener-ib had never been there. Bener-ib felt the bad energy. She could not recall doing this woman harm. She shook her head and proceeded to the great hall.
The hall had been prepared the evening before. Aides had worked tirelessly to follow exact instructions from their Queen. Two chairs were facing the room; each elevated upon a decorated wooden stage. One of the chairs was designed for the Nesu. To his left, another chair was positioned for the Queen. Facing the ceremonial chairs were two smaller chairs, about twelve feet apart and separated by a long table. The table had been stocked with fruit, wine, beer, water and an assortment of the finest foods. Two very important visitors were expected at the palace. The guards were placed on high alert. Bener-ib approached the hall as the servants were concluding their preparations. Nithotep scanned the room, she decided the layout was exactly as her husband had requested. Bener-ib approached Nithotep with her palms clearly visible and her arms at her side.
“My Queen, I trust everything is in order?”
Nithotep had not talked with Bener-ib, so the approach had surprised her. Nithotep stumbled through a response, “Yes, we have the hall prepared as instructed.”
“May I inquire; has the great Magician of the north arrived at the palace yet?” Bener-ib suspected the answer to be no; she hoped she would gain some insight into his timing.
“I have word that they are imminent.”
“My Queen, I’m sorry to have misled you but…”
“I understand, my husband has explained everything. Now go and prepare, they’ll be here soon.” Queen Nithotep was pleased with the thoughtful apology but she still needed more time to make the room perfect. Bener-ib turned and walked towards the door to the hall. She saw large heavily armed guards receiving orders from a military commander. They were pointing to the door and the approaching hallway. As Bener-ib walked away, she caught a glimpse of a familiar servant. With hips swaying, she recognized Aya bringing wine to the table. Aya caught the glance and returned it with her usual stone-faced look. Bener-ib shook her head once more and left the hall to prepare for the afternoon.
The preparations continued, when a guard appeared and approached the Queen cautiously. He was invited to deliver his message. Bes and his team of guards had finally arrived at the palace. He was immediately escorted to a royal suite, awaiting the Queen. If all had gone well, he would have returned with the Magician of the south. If he had returned empty handed, he would know his fate. The palace seemed to buzz with whispered conversations and elaborate stories. Each story was supplemented, making it more incredible. The palace staff recognized that Bes, and his two companions, had returned without the Magician. They could not be sure. Some said, the Magician had the power to deceive the eye and walked past the palace guards undetected. Others speculated that the Magician turned into a small spider. He was resting comfortably within the Golden box that Bes carried. The stories were fanciful but one thing was certain; nobody had seen the Magician of the south.
The Queen hurried to the royal suite and prepared for the important visitor. Aya gossiped with a few of the palace staff. She heard wondrous tales of the mysterious Magician of the south. Some said he was the most talented Magician that ever lived; he had dark powers. Aya wanted to see him and wondered why he had been escorted back to the palace? Perhaps the Queen was planning to ask the Magician t
o help with her revenge towards Bener-ib? Aya caught herself smiling at the thought. She needed to see this powerful man. She decided to run an errand, in order to create a need for her to be present. Aya sought out a large jug of cool drinking water and headed for the private suite. The guards would assume Queen Nithotep had ordered Aya to bring refreshments for her guest. As Aya approached the hallway, a guard stopped her and peered into the translucent pool of cool water. Satisfied that she was not concealing anything within the jug, she was waved through. Aya walked towards the entrance to the suite; two more guards were stationed outside. The tallest guard stepped forward and inspected her cargo. Aya peered into the room, her view obstructed. She could see the back of her Queen and recognized the cool white robes that she wore. To her left was a figure; she could only see a small amount of green colored cloth.
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