She headed back out into the cool morning,
pausing at the gate of the monastery, the threshold to the wild. Outside was a hostile place, but one where you could perhaps get closer to the Divine, and that was always better done alone. She swung open the low door and ducked outside, pulling it closed behind her.
Morgan walked steadily up the steep slope of Mount Sinai, heading for the place where legend said that Moses received the Ten Commandments. This proximity to ancient places made her think of her own past, for she had a complicated relationship with Judaism, and being out here brought those memories and insecurities to the fore. As she stretched her legs she thought of her father. She hadn’t been born Jewish, as her mother had been a Welsh Christian, her father originally a secular Jew. When her parents divorced, Morgan was taken to live with her father in Israel, while her twin sister Faye remained in England with their mother.
So Morgan was brought up in a country of Jews but the word had so many meanings. Some were secular, the bronzed Israelis of Tel Aviv beach, playing volleyball in the sun, muscles oiled and tanned, the type she was definitely interested in as a teenager. But she also met other Jews when accompanying her father on archaeological digs every holiday when he was a Professor at Hebrew University. At those gatherings, conservative and reform Jews mingled with the secular. The food was Kosher and they sang songs at night, ancient melodies of this very desert and the faithfulness of God who brought them out of Egypt. Then there were the Ultra Orthodox, the Haredim, whose area of Jerusalem her father had warned her to avoid. The men would stone her for her immodest dress, he said, raising an eyebrow at her tiny shorts and long, lean brown legs.
Morgan had entered the Israeli Defense Force for her National Service, and around that time her father had begun to observe the faith which he had put aside as a younger man. After a particular dig in Safed, he had began to research the mysticism of Kabbalah and, over the years, as she studied as a psychologist, he became a devotee. His little flat in Jerusalem became piled high with sacred texts and writings of the Kabbalists and like them, he sought the truth behind the words of the Torah.
Morgan had never joined him in the faith he embraced and so never officially converted. She could have made that decision at any point, but part of her was tied to a mother and twin sister in England, and she wanted to stay an outsider so she would never forget them. She thought of her sister Faye and her niece, Gemma, who would be sleeping in their beds right now in a little village outside Oxford. Her attachment to them had endangered their lives in the past and that gave her pause, but she wouldn’t let that happen again.
Dawn rose in shades of peony pink above the rocks of Sinai, a cathedral of twisted and windswept stone. Morgan had started walking in the darkness, hiking up towards the peak to greet the sunrise and look down on the monastery. Now she climbed the Steps of Repentance towards the summit of Jebel Musa, Mount Sinai. She wheezed a little and slowed her pace, thrilling at the exercise but also feeling the strain as her injuries were still healing. She forced her legs onwards, overcoming the need to stop with sheer will.
The light was stronger now and Morgan could see the scrub of the mountain more clearly. Close-growing bushes and angular rocks projected from the dust like ancient monuments, half buried in the ochre earth. The occasional skitter of lizards was the only sound other than her footsteps and labored breathing as she pushed herself faster up the mountain. Perhaps her ancient ancestors had seen sunrises here as they spent forty years wandering this desert, a pillar of fire lighting their way by night and a pillar of dust by day. The old stories were resonant with hidden truth, rooted in the physicality that this desert held even now. Morgan felt the power of the earth beneath her and a desert sky that had enthralled generations, stars that had inspired the prophets and a land where a Chosen People had met their God.
A piercing cry sounded from above. Morgan looked up to see a golden eagle with a wingspan of over six feet, hunting for rock hyrax, soaring in the mountain air, majestic and timeless. Birds like these would have seen the march of the Israelites across the desert, she thought. Morgan felt myths rise and swirl about her, for it was a place of magic where perhaps the supernatural could manifest. The eagle swooped low and hit, then soared again, carrying its struggling prey to hungry chicks which would tear it to pieces while it still breathed. Nature is not kind, Morgan thought, as she reflectively stroked the scars from her own battles. As Tennyson said, it is indeed red in tooth and claw, for we are violence incarnate and human decency is only a facade to hide our true selves.
Finally Morgan walked out from behind a large rock and emerged onto a platform, chiseled onto the mountain top for people to sit and contemplate the heavens and the earth that lay before them. The desert stretched to the horizon, a rock-sculpted landscape of incised valleys and rolling hills, empty of human habitation, except for the monastery which lay tiny below her.
Morgan breathed in the cool air as her heart rate returned to normal after the climb. The warmth in her muscles began to chill as she stood unmoving, looking into the sunrise. Orange and pink streaks pierced the clouds and a ray of sunlight touched the desert hills in front of her. Morgan smiled as she remembered her father saying that angels travelled on these rays: perhaps one was riding to earth at that moment.
She recalled the words of Exodus, when God summoned Moses to the top of this mountain. Morgan loved storms, and her father would tell her this story when thunder rolled over Jerusalem and rain hammered down on their roof. As lightning forked, splitting the sky, he had told her how God came to Moses. Mount Sinai had been covered in smoke and the Lord descended on it in fire. The whole mountain had trembled with its violence but Moses had gone up into the thick darkness and met with God. Here he had received the tablets of Testimony, stone inscribed by the very finger of God.
Morgan shivered, whether from the chill air or the feeling that this place was indeed holy. For there were places in the world where the physical stretched thin, when the spiritual bubbled up and made its presence known. For her, Sinai was heavy with symbolism, impregnated by faith. She watched as the sun rose higher, pink and orange fading to a yellow that darkened and was absorbed into the slate-grey rocks. The landscape seemed to devour light, as if the demons of the desert pushed back against the sun, protecting their hiding places with dank shadow. Looking into the rocky hills was like watching shape-shifting clouds. It seemed there were figures hiding, abandoned cities, animals that crouched and leapt, slithered and flew in the shade of the cliffs. She blinked and it became an empty place again, where anything living was finding shelter before the sun blistered the land for another day.
Morgan turned and looked towards the final summit. The platform where she was standing was clearly made safe for tourists but there was a further climb with prohibiting signs that blocked the way. Faint markings showed where a rough path had been made, perhaps by people determined to find a more private spot to commune with God. She climbed over the barrier and scrambled up the rocky face, heading for a cleft in the rocks above.
Her father had read to her of how Moses had asked to see the glory of the Lord, daring to request a physical sign. So God had revealed himself, but as He passed, He had hidden Moses in a cleft in the rock because no one could look on His face and live. Morgan had always been fascinated by that story. How had Moses dared to ask such a thing of God? And what did His Glory look like?
She reached the cleft and slipped inside. It was wide enough to hide in but the entrance could easily be covered. Morgan smiled. If Jake could see her now, he would laugh at her acting out this myth. They both knew that there were things that couldn’t be explained, and both had a kind of faith that didn’t fit into any religious box, but both of them also had a healthy cynicism. She thought of Jake back in the hospital, the machines beeping around him, keeping him alive, and she clenched her fists. She needed to focus on finding the Ark and Natasha.
St Catherine’s Library. Sinai, Egypt. 1.33pm
The dour-faced Abbot unlocked the door to the library with a heavy, old-fashioned key tied to a rope belt around his waist.
“Epharisto,” Khal said in Greek, bowing slightly to the older man, who responded with a nod before leaving them to enter alone.
Morgan walked into the library, spinning slowly around to take in the scene that confronted her. Shelves of dark wood stretched away from them making corridors of books, whilst above them towered more volumes on balconies supported by thick pillars. The vaulted ceilings and supporting columns were a dull cream color, a backdrop to the dramatic expanse of knowledge displayed before them. A few monks were sitting at desks, large tomes open in front of them.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” Khal whispered. “I came here several times with Abasi, although not the last time.” Morgan heard the regret in his voice as he paused, then continued. “It has the second largest collection of early codices and manuscripts in the world, exceeded only by the Vatican. There are over 3500 volumes here, in Greek, Coptic, Arabic, Armenian, Hebrew, Syriac and other languages.”
Morgan walked to the closest rack of shelves.
“Is there some kind of index?” she asked. “We don’t have enough time for a random search, much as I’d love to stay here and immerse myself in these glorious books.” She ran her fingers along the spines, feeling the rub of their pages, letting the ancient dust coat her fingertips.
Khal walked around behind a bookcase.
“There’s a computer here with a searchable index of the material,” he said. “No internet access of course, but at least it’s something to help us narrow the search.”
Morgan started to walk towards him and then noticed an alcove with a glass cabinet.
“What’s that?” she asked. Khal looked around and joined her in front of the case.
“That’s the Achtiname in which Mohammed bestowed his protection on the monastery. Written in 623, it exempts the monastery from taxes and military service and commands Muslims to help the monks.”
“Wow,” Morgan said, peering into the cabinet. “That’s pretty impressive.”
Khal nodded. “It’s also the reason why the monastery has remained independent for 17 centuries. It has never been attacked and the dry atmosphere has been an almost perfect environment for preserving these treasures. Muslims destroyed so much of the Christian heritage in the Middle East, but this place was spared by Mohammed himself.”
Next to the cabinet was an alcove with a twelfth century icon of the Ladder of Divine Ascent. On a gold background, it showed a ladder pointing towards heaven with monks perching precariously on the rungs, walking the thirty steps of the monastic life towards heaven. Angels watched them from afar, but around them buzzed black demons with arrows and sharp wings, lassoing the faithful and pulling them off towards Hell beneath. Morgan felt a flash of pity for the fallen, for she knew this path of struggle, attempting to fly but being pulled relentlessly down.
Shaking her head, she walked to the computer desk, as Khal checked the notebook pages again. He tapped on the keyboard, began a search, then clicked the Print button. The dot matrix printer cranked into life and scrolled slowly, creaking as it tapped out the locations of books in the vast library.
Morgan raised an eyebrow at the ancient device. “I know they think tradition is important, but seriously?”
“There should really be an app for it, right?” Khal said, ripping the paper from the printer. Twenty-four items on the list were marked with the key of Exodus. There were versions of the original text and commentaries on the book, some Jewish, others Christian, with two by Koranic scholars.
“So where shall we start?” Morgan asked.
“Abasi’s notebooks mention fragments from the Codex Sinaiticus,” Khal said, running his finger along the index and looking for the location.
“I thought that was in the British Library in London?” Morgan said.
Khal looked up, a rueful smile on his face.
“Let’s not argue about British imperialistic values, shall we?” he said. “But you’re right, the main manuscript is in London. There are fragments here though, kept secret from the researchers by nationalistic monks who thought that at least some of the book should remain here. A previously unseen fragment of the Codex Sinaiticus was discovered in the monastery library in 2009, and we came to research it but more have since been found.”
Morgan looked puzzled.
“Why would Abasi be interested in the Codex?” she said. “It’s a handwritten copy of the Greek bible, written thousands of years after the supposed Exodus and the period of the Ark.”
“True again,” Khal said. “But the Codex is one of the most corrected manuscripts in existence as well as the oldest, almost completely preserved copy of the Bible. It is possible that the updates to the document were the result of more ancient books being found, and perhaps the monks also decided that some oral traditions were important enough to change the meaning of words in the Bible.”