Serpent of Moses

20



The sheer size of Milan Cathedral was enough to make even someone as travel-seasoned as Espy pause in a spot from which she could view it in its entirety. In her lifetime Espy had witnessed some truly remarkable sights. This was different, however. Standing with her brother and staring up in awe at the majestic cathedral, it did something to her—made her wonder at the human spirit, the creativity and persistence it took to raise up something so grand. She suspected her brother felt the same way, though he’d spent the last half hour distracted, complaining about his empty stomach.

As if to lend credence to that thought, Romero shuffled on feet that had to be as tired as Espy’s own and said, “As much as I admire your on-again, off-again beau—and this remarkable building—I have to warn you that I have only a certain amount of reserve to expend before I abandon the entire enterprise and go hunting for the rarest piece of red meat in the area.”

There was nothing exaggerated about the statement; Espy knew her brother well enough to understand that when presented with a task, he would work for hours without complaint. Yet when his circumstances called for aimless wandering, his stomach often held sway.

“We have a good idea about what we’re looking for,” Espy said. “I think you can hold out for another half hour.”

The look on her brother’s face suggested otherwise, but she knew he would acquiesce, if only to keep his sister from punching him. And as much as he might grumble, he wouldn’t abandon a friend.

Once they’d stepped into the building, it hit Espy that if she wasn’t careful she could lose her focus. They were there for a specific reason—to study a small portion of the massive cathedral. But everywhere she turned, she saw something she wanted to learn more about—something she could spend hours studying. Without the specter of Jack’s disappearance hanging over her, she would have been content exploring every corner of the building. And so it was with a sigh that she shook off the lure of leisurely study and set her sights on what they’d come there for.

Leaving the entryway, they entered the nave, where in less than two steps, Esperanza’s resolve to stay on point faltered. The nave rose up more than 140 feet, the cupola decorated with so many statues—saints, church fathers, mythical beings—that Espy felt as if a crowd of mute but attentive witnesses surrounded her. Romero, knowing his sister well, put his hand on her elbow and guided her forward. She looked up at her brother and saw that he wasn’t immune to the masterwork that surrounded them. His eyes moved over everything, his trade granting him an understanding and appreciation for details that the average tourist would not notice.

The nave was filled with people, and Espy and Romero had to weave their way down one of the aisles toward the altar, Espy trailing her hand along the pews as she walked. Before they reached the altar, they passed a large two-tiered marble dais—a platform in the empty space between pew and altar that looked ready to act as a base for something large such as a statue, although the position of the dais made it an odd place to set anything large, as doing so would obscure the view of the altar. Espy paused for a few moments to study the dais, with its stones adorned with a variety of symbols, most of which Espy did not recognize. However, as much as she would have enjoyed spending time around the platform and hazarding guesses as to its use, she knew it wasn’t the reason they’d come.

When they reached the front, Espy paused because, while no service was in progress, a few people were kneeling in front of the altar, heads bowed in prayer. And while what Espy and Romero had come to see required them to ascend the steps, she couldn’t help feeling that doing so would be an intrusion on their private moments.

“If they wanted privacy, they could pray in their homes,” Romero said in a stage whisper.

Espy considered that and, with a shrug, stepped around a woman well into her rosary.

Standing near the altar with her brother, Espy spotted the choir stalls she’d noticed when they’d first entered the sanctuary. Now that she was closer to them, she found herself surprised that, if they were right, the information they needed was somehow linked with the simplest structures in a building of beautiful, intricately detailed artwork.

The wooden stalls had been constructed on two levels, with the first level running in a semicircle around the back of the raised platform. The second level was separated into two elevated sections akin to theater boxes. From Espy’s perspective, the stalls possessed a simple beauty; she could see the intricate carvings along the rails and seams, but other than those, the lines were straightforward and clean.

“They hardly seem the place in which to implant a clue,” Romero said, echoing her thoughts.

“There may be nothing here,” Espy said, “but there was only one artist from northern Africa in the records and this is what he worked on.”

Romero looked unconvinced, yet with the absence of another plan he kept silent.

They’d spent more than an hour sitting with Bramante, going through his book, and regardless of how many different searches they’d performed on the text, they kept returning to a single name. And after they’d finished their review of the book, Romero had used Bramante’s computer to validate the findings. But while the Internet search opened up the door to a few additional candidates, none of them seemed as good a fit as al-Idrisi.

According to the construction logs—documents that spanned hundreds of years and were compiled with varying degrees of detail—the choir stalls had been added in the early seventeenth century, with the charge of design and construction falling to an artisan carpenter named Francesco Brambilla. However, rather than assign the stalls a strict European identity, the man had involved an African carpenter in both the design and construction phases.

To even Espy’s unpracticed eye, Muhammad al-Idrisi’s cultural identity had been formed by both the region’s old yet fading Greek presence as well as the influx of Islamic influence. This could be seen in every detail, from the gentle arc of the handrails and the intricate latticework to the denser base that would have looked crudely hand-carved if one did not notice the complete uniformity of its entire span.

Esperanza began her study of the first level of stalls to her left, looking at both the flat facing surface and the more detailed portions that gave it life. From the corner of her eye, she saw Romero do the same, starting from the right. Espy’s experience with this sort of thing was limited; she’d proven helpful in the hunt for Elisha’s bones years before, but that was because, ultimately, the most important element of that search had been a language puzzle, which was her province. She doubted she would get that lucky again. It was why she held out the greatest hope in her brother, who while not as accustomed to the practice of archaeology as their missing friend, had a good deal more experience with the process than she.

She took her time walking along the stall, her hands running over certain places, bending so she could get closer to review something of interest. But as she walked, and as she saw Romero making similar progress, she could not find anything that stood out as something other than adornment.

Fifteen minutes later, they met in the middle and shared a look that communicated their disappointment.

“The other side?” Romero asked.

Espy nodded and they separated again, each finding the small opening near their respective walls that allowed them access to the place in which the choir would stand. With less light on that side, Espy found it more difficult to study the stalls and had to rely more on her hands. As she moved along, slower than she had with the front, she caught the occasional glimpse of her brother disappearing from view, then popping up at some distance farther down.

On the choir side, a wooden footrail ran the length of the stalls. While Espy was impressed that she could not find a seam in the entire run of the rail, neither could she find any mark or symbol on its surface.

“There’s still the second level,” Romero said when they’d finished their search.

“Unless we’ve missed it,” Espy said, acknowledging the fact that the person most suited to conduct the search was the person who was relying on them.

“There’s also the distinct possibility that we’re wrong,” Romero said. “That our conjecture regarding a Libyan connection being found in this building—and that the only north African artisan on the project somehow fashioned a message into his work—could be completely without merit.”

“It certainly sounds ludicrous to me,” Espy said.

“But what other choice do we have?” Romero finished for her.

With that, the two found the narrow stairs that led up to the second level, this time choosing to stay together. When Espy arrived at the top, she moved to the wall and looked out over the nave, the whole of it stretched out before her. Some of the people sitting in the pews, or walking about taking pictures of the sculptures, frescoes, and stained-glass windows, were looking in her direction, making her wonder if she and Romero had crossed some line no one had shared with them. With that in mind, she stepped away from the wall and set to work.

In backing away, she noticed that the panels of the stall contained a level of detail and design missing from their counterparts below. Romero noticed it too, and lowered his large frame to a knee so he could lean in and get a closer look.

“I don’t know what these are, but there’s an Arab look to them,” Espy said, pointing to a symbol formed of an outer box, an inset triangle, a box within that, and an interior circle. The only thing that made it seem more than a progression of geometric shapes was the decorative edges of the outer box.

Romero grunted. “It’s not Arabic. It’s an old European symbol for alchemy.” He pointed to the edges of the outer box. “This looks similar to an Arab technique common to Muslim craftsmen of the time period.”

Espy absorbed that and was about to ask a follow-up question when she saw her brother frown.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing to something blue along the edge of the outer box.

Espy followed the line of his finger and saw what he meant. It was just a small amount of color, hardly noticeable. She traced the edge of the box with her finger, and when she pulled it back, her fingertip was blue. Puzzled, she rubbed together her finger and thumb, then watched as the powdery substance spread.

She stared at her discolored fingers for several seconds, brow furrowed. When the answer came, a smile replaced the former expression. Turning to Romero, she held her finger up for investigation.

“It’s powder,” she said. Her smile grew wider. “Jack was here; he took an etching.”

Romero reached for her hand, using his own larger finger to wipe a portion of the blue powder from Espy’s. Then he turned his attention to the stall panel, his eyes tracking downward. He pointed to a short trail of the same powder on the floor.

“I’d say we’re on the right track,” he said.

Esperanza felt her excitement level growing, yet she tempered it by realizing that neither she nor her brother understood the significance of the symbol.

“I suggest we study the rest of the panels,” Romero said. “I don’t think that this by itself will take us where we need to go.”

With no further prompting, Espy backed away from the find and continued on, this time keeping an eye out for any telltale marks left by Jack’s etching chalk. However, in studying the rest of the panels, she didn’t find anything that stood out. The rest of the ornamentation, excepting the alchemy symbol, looked solely decorative, forming a semicircle with what appeared to be a bisected flower at the midpoint of the handrail. Romero thought so as well, and as he and Espy took a break to sit against the wall, the stall paneling across from them seemed content to retain its secrets.

“There has to be more than that,” Espy said.

Romero nodded his agreement. “Perhaps it’s in the loft we haven’t yet searched.”

“Perhaps.” Although . . . while she lacked Jack’s, and to a lesser extent Romero’s, experience with this sort of thing, she thought that finds like the one they’d made often followed a definite pattern. Which meant they would find another symbol—perhaps even the same one—in the other loft. Assuming that was true, she tried to envision what they could do with the information. How could they take two different symbols and learn something meaningful from them?

“That can’t be all of it,” she said. “Symbols are one thing, but what about instructions about how to use them?”

“Maybe Jack already had those,” Romero suggested.

Espy supposed that made as much sense as anything else, and she released a resigned sigh and lapsed into silence. After a few moments, though, she heard footfalls on the steps to their left. Neither sibling moved as a head came into view—an older woman with a camera, followed by a younger woman who bore a family resemblance to the first woman. Catching sight of Esperanza and Romero sitting against the wall, both sets of eyes turned in her direction, the woman stopped before reaching the top of the steps, a startled, almost guilty expression on her face—as if she, rather than the Venezuelans, had been caught hiding in the choir loft.

“Excuse me,” she finally said and, grabbing the younger woman by her elbow, disappeared back down the stairs.

“Well, now she has a story to tell when she gets back home,” Romero said.

Espy didn’t answer but found that the incident had left a smile on her face. As she turned back to the panels that had tantalized but ultimately disappointed her, her spirits were higher. She decided to enjoy the moment, to appreciate the fact that she was in another part of the world, in one of the most extraordinary buildings she’d ever seen, and had stumbled onto a clue left by an artisan almost four hundred years ago. When considered in those terms, she was rather pleased with their progress. Too, the last choir loft still remained to be searched and might yield something they could use.

She was about to suggest that to Romero when something about the design on the panels struck her in a way it hadn’t before they’d been interrupted. At first she couldn’t figure out what it was about the semicircle design that bothered her and she tried examining it from afar piece by piece. When that yielded nothing, she changed her focus, trying to take in all of it at once. How long she remained like that, absorbing the panels as a single unit, she didn’t know, except that when she emerged from it, when what had been pressing itself upon her suddenly clicked and she snapped to alertness, she found her brother watching her.

Rather than saying anything, Espy rose and walked over to the loft wall, placing her hands on the rail and peering down at the lower level of the cathedral, toward the dais that had so intrigued her earlier. After committing its shape and basic features to memory, she moved back and studied the panel walls. She did this twice more, and by that time Romero had reclaimed his feet, though he knew better than to interrupt.

When she’d satisfied herself that she was on the right track, she turned her attention to Romero.

“It’s a representation of the dais in front of the altar,” she said, pointing at the outline. “While al-Idrisi didn’t reproduce the pictures from each of the stones, you can see where he identified the edges.”

She watched as Romero studied the panels with new eyes, and then as he performed the same back and forth dance she’d done.

“Okay, I’ll grant you that,” he said. “Now, what does it mean?”

“I don’t know. But it can’t be coincidence that the alchemy symbol sits right in the middle of one of the stone block segments.”

Espy went back to the alchemy symbol, knowing she would have to return to the dais to see if the stone represented on the panel held the same symbol. Letting her fingers trace the lines of the outer box, she was surprised when a word popped into her head, coming as if from nowhere. And as she considered the word, she was even more surprised by the fact that it was neither Spanish nor English.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” she said.

“What is it?” Romero asked, but Espy shushed him.

Pulling back her hand, she looked at the ornate outline in a new light, working to separate the words from the unnecessary line that gave it the appearance of trim. It took some time; after all, the language had been extinct for hundreds of years. But after some trial and error, she was convinced she had it.

“It’s Gafat,” she said.

Romero looked at the panel and then back at his sister.

“I’ve asked you not to curse at me in foreign languages,” he said.

“It’s a language that went extinct in the mid-seventeenth century,” Espy said. “About forty years after al-Idrisi carved this.” At Romero’s incredulous look, she shrugged and explained, “It’s a Semitic language, so the basic structure isn’t hard to identify if you know what you’re looking for.”

“What does it say, then?” Romero asked, sounding unconvinced.

Espy turned to the panel and used her finger to point out the message. “Two parts; two steps.”

He frowned. “And that means . . . ?”

“I have no idea,” she admitted. “But I’m going to head over to the other loft and see what I can find.”

Less than ten minutes later, they had another symbol, different from the first, and even Romero was unable to provide it with a meaning. The words around this symbol, though, were the same as those around the first. Having exhausted their well of ideas, they descended the narrow stairs and headed straight to the dais, where they were pleased to discover that the symbols on the stall panels matched the positions of their marble cousins. They studied the dais for a long while, trying to determine how to use the information but came up with nothing. Espy, seeing a priest walking up the far aisle, hurried to corral him.

“Excuse me,” she said in Italian. “Could I ask you a few questions about the dais over there?”

The priest smiled and followed her over to where Romero waited.

“Can you tell me about these symbols?” she asked.

She had hardly finished the question before the priest began to answer, causing Espy to believe that hers was not the first inquiry into the nature of the designs.

“In each of the smaller naves, you will see sarcophagi for some of the duomo’s prominent saints,” he said. “This monument was installed after the last interment—that of Archbishop da Intimiano. The symbols you see here are also found on the sarcophagi.”

Espy nodded. “And is each symbol on each sarcophagus? Or is each combination of symbols unique to the deceased?”

“While several of the symbols are used on more than one of the tombs, the combinations are all unique,” he said. “But to the best of my knowledge, the symbols do not represent anything beyond the whims of those who designed them.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate the information.”

They waited for the priest to leave before speaking again.

“We treat it as a road map,” Romero said. “My guess is that only one of the tombs will have both symbols.”

The layout of the cathedral made for quick work, and they found the sarcophagus they were looking for on the third try. To be thorough, they examined the fourth and last tomb as well to be sure the one they’d selected was indeed the only one with both symbols in the stone.

As they moved around the tomb of the Archbishop Ottone Visconti, the two symbols assigned an unobtrusive spot on the lid at the position where Romero suspected the man’s feet to be, they worked to determine what the symbols and their positions meant—and if the other tomb markings and adornments were tied together. But with no point of reference, nothing to give them direction, they foundered.

“There are several symbols along this side of the lid and lower, along the containment vessel here,” Romero said, gesturing. He pointed at one in particular. “This one is on Intimiano’s tomb but in a different spot.”

“So position is a clue,” Espy said.

Romero nodded, but slowly, as if his thoughts had suddenly gone somewhere else. As Espy watched, Romero retrieved his phone and began to scan through the pictures he’d taken of the symbols around the dais. When he’d cycled through them, he frowned.

“This one here,” he said, pointing at a symbol on the side of the tomb. “This one does not appear on the dais.”

“Are you sure?”

Romero didn’t answer. Instead, he muttered, “I need a pen.” He pulled the cathedral guide from his pocket. While Espy looked among her belongings for a pen, Romero unfolded the guide until he found a panel with white space. Taking the pen from Espy, he quickly drew one of the symbols and then, after studying the sarcophagus for a moment, he drew the second symbol directly over the first. When he finished, he held the paper out for Espy’s inspection.

The result of Romero’s efforts was a near-perfect representation of the symbol that was not on the dais.

“I knew there was a reason I brought you along,” Espy said.

She knelt down and began to trace along the outer edge of the new symbol. A moment later, she looked up.

“It’s not Gafat,” she said. “It’s Latin. Two words. The first is—I’m not sure I’m reading this right—Nehushtan? The second is easier: Cyrene.”

“Cyrene is the name of a Greek settlement. I’ve sold pottery recovered from the ruins there.” He shook his head and aimed a wry smile at Espy. “It’s in Libya.”

The smile the two shared was one of satisfaction, but floating along the edges of that feeling was the ugly fact that knowing Jack had gone to Libya was not the revelation they’d hoped for. However, there was still the promise of the second word.

“Any idea what Nehushtan means?”

Romero could only respond with a shake of his head.

“Give me a minute,” he said, pulling his phone out again. It took what seemed a long while to Espy before Romero could establish an Internet connection and find any information about what they’d uncovered. When he did, he released a low whistle. “I know now what Jack’s searching for. And why Sturdivant wouldn’t tell us even after I threatened to fly there and present a convincing argument.”

He handed his phone over to Espy, who brought it close so she could read the small screen.

“You’re kidding . . .”

“I never knew the name for it,” Romero said.

“You’re kidding,” Espy repeated.

“I think we’ve covered that,” he said, reaching for the phone. “According to legend, it had the power to heal snakebites.”

“I remember,” Espy said. “I was the one who always paid attention in Sunday school.”

Romero chuckled but the laughter faded quickly. “Does your boyfriend ever do anything that doesn’t have quite so dramatic a flair?”

Esperanza knew that the question was meant to be lighthearted, but it had a sobering effect. Now that she knew what Jack was after, she felt an iciness grip her insides. There were simply too many similarities to the last time Jack had gone after a biblical artifact. And since she couldn’t reach him, she couldn’t help but imagine a number of horrible possibilities.

Her brother didn’t have to rely on their familial relationship to understand that his normally strong sister was falling into a dark place, and he did the only thing a brother could do. He reached out and drew her into a hug that all but enveloped her. When a few moments later he released his embrace, tears were trailing down her cheeks.

Yet her eyes held a smile. Stepping back from Romero, she nodded her thanks and wiped her face with the back of her hand.

“So what now?” she asked.

“We study,” he said. “We build on what your friend Duckey is doing in Al Bayda and we figure out what happened to Jack once he reached the ruins.”

“Okay,” she said. “But I think we need to be prepared to accept that Jack had to know more than he learned here. Or what he learned here provided him with a specific plan of action we know nothing about right now.”

Romero nodded and turned to leave.

Espy absorbed her own words, considering the difficulties posed by their imperfect understanding of Jack’s profession. Then, as she pondered that, something occurred to her. “What about the Gafat text?”

Romero turned back around. “What about it?”

“It wasn’t necessary to use the text to find this symbol,” she said. “So why put it there?”

He shrugged. “What did it say?”

“Two parts; two steps.”

Espy went to the tomb, stopping in front of the symbol they’d just discovered. Using that one as a starting point, she found the symbol two spaces to the right. It was a representation of one of the symbols on the dais and was absent of any writing around its outer edge. She tried again, this time moving left, and landed on a symbol she was reasonably certain she’d not yet seen. It was surrounded with the markings of the dead language.

It took her longer than it had with the Latin, but when she looked up at Romero, her face was flushed.

“It says Cyme,” she said.

“Are you sure it doesn’t say Cyrene?” Romero asked.

“It’s Cyme,” she repeated.

“Alright, Cyme it is. So what does it mean?”

Espy stood and stepped back from the sarcophagus, wiping her hands on her pant legs. “Two parts; two steps.”

She and Romero pondered the mystery for a while as tourists shuffled around them, some of them coming near to take pictures of the tomb, oblivious to what it had just revealed to the Venezuelans.

“Doesn’t the Bible say that Hezekiah destroyed this pole?” Romero asked.

“Supposedly people were praying to it and so he had it destroyed,” Espy affirmed. “But if Jack is looking for it, and if the effort that went into these clues is any indication, I’d say that Hezekiah wasn’t successful in destroying it.”

“Unless . . . he didn’t destroy it completely. What if he broke it, perhaps in two pieces?”

“Two parts; two steps,” Espy said, excitement in her voice.

“Two parts; two steps,” Romero agreed.

Espy’s eyes widened.

“Jack wouldn’t have known.” At Romero’s questioning look she explained, “He wouldn’t have seen the Gafat. He wouldn’t have known there was a second symbol.”

“And so even if he finds it, he will have only found a portion of it.”

“If he’s in any position to find it,” Espy said quietly.

Romero had no response for that, and Espy, despite what they’d accomplished, felt her mood darken.