Solomon's Throne

by Jennings Wright

  The palace continued to entrance Isabel, and she sat with a small sketch pad under an umbrella while the men walked around the massive structure.

  “Aqa, why is it that no one has lived beneath these walls all these years?” Joao asked.

  Through Khadem, Rahimi said, “It is bad to live in the king’s house if you are not the king.”

  “But there are no Persian kings now…”

  “One day there may be a king again. It is bad to be in the king’s house if the king returns.”

  Joao nodded. They walked around the rear of the structure, looking up at the towering wall. Joao touched an area of brick that had been scratched. “What does this mean?”

  Rahimi looked closely at the graffiti. “It is a prayer. For the dead.”

  Joao kept walking. The walls were remarkably intact. The brick was barely crumbling, and, although the roof had been burned centuries before, and the center section seemed to have lost many of its walls, it was still a breath-taking site.

  “Do you know what was here?” He waved to the area behind the arch, which was a large open space.

  “The palace was very grand. The ceiling was…” He made a tenting motion with his hands. Khadem consulted and came up with the word. “Round. The roof was very high from the ground, and the king and his people did their business there.” The king’s court.

  He walked through the center to the arch. It was well known through the building of the gothic cathedrals in Europe that arches were very strong. The wings of the palace were beginning to fall apart, but the arch… the arch would stand until the brick crumbled to dust in the winds. Judging by the solidity of the building blocks, that would not be for a very, very long time. He had his spot.

  “I will get my wife, and then we would like to see the carvings, if you please.” He strode to Isabel and helped her gather her drawing paper and pens.

  “I’d like you to copy some of the carvings for me, my dear. Can you do that, do you think?”

  “Oh certainly! That would be wonderful, Joao. We would have lembranca, souvenirs, for our new home.” She walked along beside him, bustling with excitement. “I have never seen such a place as this, my love! I did not relish the camel journey, I must confess, but now that we are here I am ever so thankful to you for even those camels! Obrigado, meu amor.”

  Inside the structure, they enjoyed the cool shade. The day had heated up considerably, and the cool brick and shadows were much welcomed. Rahimi showed the couple several of the carvings made by the kings’ artisans, and they both went to work copying them. While they were thus engaged, the two Persian men went to the camels and brought back cool wine, fruit, smoked meats, and bread. The set out a rug and all of the delicacies, and called to the travelers.

  The food and drink were marvelous, and much needed refreshment. They relaxed for an hour, watching the birds that flew over the ruins and the few clouds that appeared very high up in the rich blue sky. After each had gone outside to wash their hands and face with water from a clay pitcher, Joao and Isabel went back to their drawings. By mid-afternoon they were pleasantly tired, and agreed that it was time to go back to their new temporary home on the Tigris.

  That night, Joao was up until the early hours, working by the light of a small brazier. He sat hunched in the far corner, careful not to wake his wife. On a board on his lap were the tools of his former trade—quill pens, ink, parchment. He put all his skill into the letter, not knowing who might ever read it. He hoped it was a son. A son’s son, perhaps. But, of course, he had no way of knowing who, or even if… The Throne of King Solomon might sit for endless millennia, never found, never freed. That wasn’t his burden any longer. He had found it. He had known when he saw it that he couldn’t do more than make a few hasty drawings. He was being watched and followed, and he didn’t always know when or by whom. He could not take the risk.

  Shaking his head at the memories of those strange silent men he wondered, Where do they come from? How did they always seem to find him? He didn’t know. He continued to write on the small scroll, making ornate letters and small border drawings. It was in God’s hands, and he could only do his best.

  The next several days brought strong winds which blew the sand sideways and into frightful swirling demons. The small party did not venture back to Ctesiphon. Isabel and Joao had strong hot coffee in the village, and Joao was reintroduced to the hookah. He wasn’t sure if he enjoyed the sweet, fruity smoke, but he did enjoy the company of the smiling men who welcomed him. Sometimes Khadem joined them, and he could communicate. Other times, all was done with smiles and bows and hand gestures. But the goodwill on both sides was readily apparent, and the time was passed in satisfactory fashion.

  Finally a morning dawned clear and still, and Joao and Isabel prepared to visit the Taq-i Kisra again. It had begun to greatly disturb him that he had withheld so much from his beloved wife. No, to be honest, had lied so much to her. He was not sure what to do to rectify this, and put it to the back of his mind until he had accomplished his mission here, and they were safely back aboard the Santa Antonio de Tanna.

  They arrived at the ruins in short order, and once again the site took their breath away. It is the stillness, thought Isabel. The majesty of the place… Whatever it was, the lonely palace, with its soaring arch, seemed to point to heaven. Isabel dismounted and turned to Rahimi.

  “Aqa, was the Taq-i Kisra built by Muslims?”

  “No, senhora, by the Persians. They were not followers of Mohammed. They were Zoroastrian…We are still followers in our village. There are not many of us left, but we are the gatekeepers of the great kings…We await their return.”

  Isabel turned back to the ruins. Whoever built it, and whatever they believed, she could feel her God smiling on them.

  Joao said, “Rahimi, we will be doing more drawings today. Perhaps we will do some digging, and discover a hidden treasure!” They all laughed. “If you would like to just prepare a place for our meal nearby, we will be happy to wander about solitario.”

  Rahimi nodded his assent after the request was translated to him by Khadem, and Isabel and Joao set off to the palace. Joao had made sure that their small caravan dismounted to the north side of the ruins so that the arch and interior of the ruins were out of site of their guides.

  When he took out a small hammer and chisel, Isabel looked quizzical. “O que e que voce esta fazendo? What are you doing?”

  Joao smiled at her. “We shall leave something here. If our children ever travel this way, we can tell them where to look, and they can find a letter from their parents when they were young… I do not know that this would be welcomed by Aqa Rahimi, so we shall make it a secret.” He withdrew a metal tube from his robes, made to hold a small telescope.

  Isabel laughed. “You are crazy!” But she clapped her hands and began to look around. “Where shall we hide it?”

  “I think in the kings’ court. The arch is the strongest part of the palace. I think it will stand for many years yet.” They continued to walk, looking at the archway. The court was dozens of feet long, and Joao craned his neck to look at the top. “When we walked all around the palace before, I did not see any place where the walls seemed weak. They are at least twenty feet thick at the base, and the bricks appear to be well fitted. I think that we must find somewhere to carve a mark, and that also has perhaps a loose brick or other indentation where we can hide our letter.”

  Isabel nodded, eyes bright with the adventure. “Perhaps this corner, where it joins the back wall…” It was darker in the recesses, although the light still shone through the opening made by the missing roof. She began rapping and pushing against the bricks as she walked along the two walls.

  “Here! Joao!” She showed him a representational carving of a man on horseback, his enemies trod underfoot. The bottom of the relief was made of a row of smaller bricks, like a narrow shelf. One of those wobbled ever so slightly when she pushed down on it. “This one!”

  The loose brick was directly
under the carved, agonized face of a defeated Roman soldier. His helmet was still on his head, but his cheek rested on the ground, just above the ledge. Joao used his chisel carefully in the thin line of mortar between the bricks and pried it out. Because it was set along the top edge of the row making the wall, there was a recess between the back of the small brick and the next row of bricks. He grinned at Isabel.

  “Brilliant, meu amor!” He put the small tube up next to the outer bricks and replaced the ledge stone. “How will we reset this?”

  “We shall ask Rahimi about the making of the bricks and mortar. He will tell us more than we want to know, and we will come back tomorrow and repair it.”

  “Brilhante!” He kissed her soundly on the lips. “And I shall make our mark now. Pray that we shall not make too much noise! You go up towards the archway and draw one of the carvings there. If Rahimi or Khadem comes to investigate, yell for me. In this corner I should be hidden in shadow, and my mark should not take very long to create. Deus seja com nos! God be with us!”

  Isabel gathered her small satchel and went fifty feet towards the opening of the arch. There she set to drawing. From the back she could hear scraping and an occasional tap tap of Joao’s chisel on the brick. It was not overly loud, and she hoped it was muffled by all the towering walls. In any case, no one came—the Persians were probably laughing at the crazy Portugues newlyweds. She had just completed her drawing of the bas relief bust of a king when Joao ambled over to her, slightly dusty, but smiling broadly.

  “E acabado. It is finished.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Cape Town, South Africa

  Present Day

  Rei’s nose was literally pressed against the plane’s window as they approached Cape Town. Table Mountain rose from the city in glorious green, looking for all the world like a giant had swiped off its top in one clean cut of an axe. The water around the horn was green and blue, with long white cresting waves along the shore. The bay was enormous, and one could see the east and west coasts of the great continent all at once. It was the most breathtaking sight Rei had ever seen.

  “Gideon, my God! It’s stunning! Can you imagine being a sailor and seeing that great flat mountain rising out of the sea? And what a welcome sight it must have been. It’s just amazing.”

  Gideon leaned over his wife and peered out the window. “It’s sure beautiful, but I have to say, I hope we aren’t spending a lot of time here.”

  “Oh…” Rei’s disappointment was brief. “You’re right…” She turned away from the window to look at her notebook, open on the tray table. “I have some ideas, and I’ve been studying Father Eduardo’s journal since we left Lisbon. There really aren’t that many places that he could have hidden a clue, at least not that’s still here. So if we’re going to find it, we don’t have that far to look. The main problem, as far as I can tell, is that if this clue is gone, the hunt’s over. He only wrote about this one location in the journal. We know that he followed the spice route, but that could be dozens of places. Portugal had lots of outposts, both for trading, and for provisioning ships who were traveling. And also to try to expand the Empire. So if we don’t find this one, we could literally look for years and not find the next one…”

  “Great…” Gideon grumbled.

  “We just have to pray that he chose well… I do think we can narrow it down some, with what we already know about him.”

  The captain came on the public address system and announced their imminent landing and preparations. The weather in Cape Town was 69 degrees and sunny, which was good news to the sun-loving Rei. The couple began to put away all their electronics, put on shoes, and wrap up their headphones.

  “Sucks that my Kindle is considered an electronic device… I doubt it could crash the plane,” Gideon complained. He pulled out the South African Airways magazine once again. “I’ve read all this, and it wasn’t so great the first time.”

  Rei handed him Sky Mall. “Here ya go, hon. Do some Christmas shopping.”

  Gideon flipped through. “Ok, for your mom, we’ll get this zombie rising up out of the ground….”

  Rei whacked him with her paperback. “Keep it up, funny man. You might have nose hair clippers in your stocking.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “At least Mr. Xavier popped for first class. My butt hurts from these seats, but they’re pretty darn comfy.”

  “First class treasure hunting all the way… If we don’t find the first clue, I hope he doesn’t make us pay him back!”

  “We’re gonna find it.” She ran her fingers through her auburn hair, and put it up in a messy bun. “If we can find this one, we will. I just feel it.”

  “Well feel this one then, because I won’t be real happy if we have to report back that Cape Town was a dead end. Short of tearing Goa apart, which would be about as successful as following the entire spice route, we’re going to have to piece it together from here.”

  Rei blew out a sigh. “I know. I’m feeling a lot of pressure on it… but when we get to the hotel, we’ll look at the places that are old enough, and try to figure out a plan.”

  “How will we know if we’ve found the right place, though?” Gideon asked.

  Rei smiled. “Our Senhor Xavier had a sense of humor—apparently, X marks the spot.”

  “What? You’re kidding?”

  “Nope. X for Xavier. Quick, easy and inconspicuous.” She grinned.

  “Holy cow.”

  “I know! It’ll make the best treasure hunt story ever if we find it, and if Mr. Xavier makes it public. Anyway, we’ve got a few scribbled notes, but the descriptions aren’t going to help us much til we find the right structure. You can’t exactly Google ‘where’s the small crack near the carving in Cape Town.’”

  “Is that what he says?”

  “Pretty much. He didn’t want it to look like he was leaving clues, so he just made quick drawings, and short notes. I’m trying to read between the lines, so to speak. We know he did want someone to find it, so we just have to assume we’ll figure it out when we have more information.”

  “Alrighty then…” Gideon sighed. The wheels touched down.

  The drive from the Cape Town International Airport through the bustling city kept Rei in amazed silence. She was from Beaufort, North Carolina, which was a tiny seaside town, had gone to college at UNC Greensboro, and graduate school at Duke. Until she moved to DC for a job with the Smithsonian, she had never lived in a big city. She thought DC was an insane place to live, and she and Gideon escaped to the Outer Banks whenever they could get away. When Gideon had been promoted to head of security at Xavier International, they had moved to London, which was, of course, huge and crowded and damp and confusing. Cities, in her experience, were not beautiful. But Cape Town had captivated her at first sight.

  Cape Town snaked around Table Mountain, which was the defining feature of the tip of Africa. It could be seen from anywhere in the city and gave one the feeling that no matter where you drove, you were simply orbiting the mountain. Driving first on Airport Approach Road, and then west along Settlers Wy from the airport, they passed the beautiful King David Golf Club, and then the Mowbry and Rondebosch Golf Clubs.

  “Shoulda brought my clubs…” Gideon muttered, gazing longingly at the immaculate courses.

  “You better hope we don’t have time for a round!” Rei said.

  The Mount Nelson Hotel was off Government Avenue. Between them and the sea was Signal Hill. Their taxi delivered them to the front of the pink hotel, with its spectacular gardens and lawns.

  “Wow!” breathed Rei.

  “Put this on the bucket list, honey,” Gideon whispered back.

  They checked in and were taken to a lovely garden cottage by the pool. The Afrikaans porter opened the curtains as he checked the room. “These cottages were renovated in 1990 and added to the property. You have your own rose garden out here,” he gestured out one window. “And an enclosed patio. There is a stocked bar, and of course, we can provide anything you n
eed. Just press the Front Desk button on the phone.” Again he pointed, this time to the phone on the ornate desk. Gideon tipped him, and they stood, a little dumbfounded, in the middle of the cottage.

  “We owe Mr. Xavier a bottle of champagne,” Rei said.

  “It’s pretty amazing,” Gideon agreed. “Unfortunately, we really need to get to work. Here, I’ll set your laptop up on the desk and get your Internet connection going.”

  “While you’re doing that, I’m gonna have to try out this tub.” At Gideon’s scowl, she made a face of her own. “We’ve been traveling fourteen hours, and I haven’t slept in two days. I’m going to take a bath, and put on clean clothes. And then I’ll get to work. This ain’t the Army, son.” She winked at him, and flounced into the marble bathroom.

  Rei had long abandoned the towel she’d wrapped around her wet hair, and was frowning at her computer screen, scribbling notes on the hotel note pad. “OK, so here’s what we’ve got to choose from, and it’s not much.” She flipped through her pages. “The oldest building here is the Castle of Good Hope. It was an active fort run by the Dutch both times Father Eduardo was here. The pros are that it was obviously built to last, and had very thick walls. It was a working fort, meaning there were a lot of activity by civilians as well as employees of the Dutch East India Company and the soldiers here. And there were always ships in Table Bay. So he would have had any number of excuses to be there… The question is, could he have found the privacy to carve a mark and leave a clue?”