Foxes in the Vineyard

Spiraling feet-first through the aqueduct in total darkness, Evan fought to breathe, his mouth filling with water. He arched his neck, coughing and gulping for air. He called out to his father but couldn’t even hear his own voice over the roaring torrent of water. Buffeted, he covered his head with his arms and wondered where the channel would lead. He thought of his father. God, let him be safe. Please let him be safe. The inscription on the cavern wall flashed in his mind–Exaudi orationem meam–Hear my prayer. Suddenly he was falling through air, still in darkness. Then, with a jolting splash, he found himself submerged, disoriented, and under water. He stared into the blackness but could see nothing. Frantically twisting around, he detected a faint light from a direction he hoped was up. It was. He broke the surface and gasped for air as he shook the water from his eyes. He swiveled around and around, treading water, looking for his father. “Dad!” He waited for an answer. None came. With growing panic, he gulped a lung-full of air and plunged back into the water, into the blackness, groping as he swam down. But his hands met only water. Finally, he could stay under no more and shot back to the surface. “Ah! There you are!” Clive’s voice was calm. “I was just beginning to worry.” Evan breathed a sigh of relief as he turned toward his father's voice. Clive was silhouetted against a bright light shining through a slit-like grate on the wall behind him. “Have a seat.” he patted the wet stone next to where he sat on a narrow ledge bordering the pool. As he swam toward Clive, he saw they were in what appeared to be a large cistern. Ten yards to his right, a steady stream cascaded into the pool with a low murmur. He looked up but couldn’t see the source of the water, only darkness. “Come on, son, you’ll catch cold.” Evan pulled himself up on the ledge next to his father. He let out a low whistle. “This is one huge cistern.” Clive nodded as he wiped water from his glasses. “Back in the 1860s, the Palestine Exploration Fund referred to a cistern like this as the Great Sea.” “You think this is it?” “Could be. Look at the size of it!” Clive replaced his spectacles and peered about in the darkness. “They said it could hold two million gallons of water, that it was as big as the Dome of the Rock shrine.” He looked over the dark water. “This could be the one...” “Shhh!” Evan whispered and raised his hand. “Listen!” From the grate behind them came music–measured, orchestral music. “Well, bless my soul!” Clive whispered. “I believe that's Mozart!” “Yes.” Evan inclined his head and listened. “It’s the beginning of the Requiem." The combined force of a full chorus and orchestra rose and poured over them. They looked at each other in stunned silence. Turning, they scrambled to their feet on the narrow ledge to look through the slender grate in the wall behind them. “Dad,” Evan whispered. “Where are we?” The light glinting off his glasses, Clive smiled. “I have no idea.” Templar banners of black and white flew from the battlements of tall walls of rose-colored limestone beneath a perfect blue sky. Within the walls, a large square was filled with people, a multitude wearing white-mantled robes. The orchestra was beyond their narrow field of vision but, at a distance of a few meters, the chorus stood facing away from them. The music swelled. The radiant light bathing the square looked natural, and Evan squinted upward through the grate trying to determine its source. He shook his head and whispered, “Who are these people?” “You know very well who they are, Evan. Look at those banners.” “But it can't be. This is 1948–the 20th century, not the twelfth century.” Clive smiled. “Rather ironic, isn’t it? Here you’ve been dissecting the historical record for years, searching for traces of the Knights Templar. Now here they are, and you can’t believe your own eyes.” The hooded figure of a woman stepped from the front row of the chorus and a soprano voice of astonishing vibrancy rose alone in the golden air. “That voice...” Evan murmured and shook his head as he stared at the soprano's back. “There’s something very familiar...” “Exaudi orationem meam, ad te omnis caro veniet…” The full chorus continued. They stood together on the ledge, gazing out at the host filling the square. Then the soprano turned to take her place with the chorus. Evan saw the woman’s face beneath the hood. His breath caught. “Tirzah!” He spoke her name in disbelief. “Now what’s she doing down here?” Clive suddenly turned. “Do you hear something? I think it came from there–sort of a whisper.” He pointed into the darkness of the cavernous cistern. They fell silent, listening. “I don't hear it now.” Clive shrugged and turned his gaze back to the square. Evan’s eyes were fixed on Tirzah. Clive turned again, staring into the darkness. “Lord, have mercy on us!” he said frantically. Still looking at Tirzah, Evan nodded. “Yeah…” “No, Evan–NO!” Clive rasped as he tried to scramble past Evan. “ROACHES! COCKROACHES!” Evan turned and saw a good-sized insect perched on Clive's shoulder--shining black carapace, inch-long clubbed antennae, a large head with mouthparts moving. This was no cockroach. He flicked it off. “For God's sake, Dad – still afraid of bugs at your age?” Then he heard a dry whisper insinuating beneath the music. Looking past Clive, he saw the ledge alive with a metallic undulation. Quickly, he turned and led his father away, along the ledge. But after a few paces, he stopped short. Another glistening tide of insects was skittering toward them from that direction. “Damn!” Evan growled. “After you, Dad!” He pushed his father into the pool and then jumped in himself. Treading water, he turned and, to his horror, watched as the insects poured into the water. “Have you ever seen cockroaches swarm like this?” Clive’s voice was rising in terror. “These aren't roaches, Dad – some kind of scarab beetle...” Evan swiveled around and saw a low dark tunnel in the far corner of the cistern, “This way!” He pointed and swam into the darkness. “Follow me!” Nearing the tunnel, he felt a strong current tugging at him–drawing him forward. They were swept into the fervent tide of another dark aquifer. After a few seconds Evan saw a flash of daylight and he was falling free. He glimpsed blue water below, then splashed in shallow water partially cushioning the hardness of stone beneath the surface. Dripping wet, he got to his feet. The water came to his knees. Just as he stood up, Clive descended on top of him, driving him back into the water. Pushing his father off, Evan stood up. Wiping the water from his eyes, he looked around quickly. I’ve been here before. He saw that they were in the subterranean pool of the Gihon Spring on the southeastern side of the Temple Mount. He also saw that they weren’t alone. At the bottom of the stone steps leading up to the Kidron Valley two men were filling their canteens. One was dressed in the khaki uniform and red kaffiyah of the Arab Legion. The other wore long white robes and a field gray fez with a dark green tassel. The men were staring back at them. “Hello!” Evan waved. He took a few steps forward. Then he stopped. He looked closer. On the soldier's gray fez there were two shining emblems. He had seen them both before; one was a silver skull and cross-bones, the other was a silver eagle clutching a swastika with its talons. The wearer of the fez opened his robe exposing a camouflage tunic, decorated with an iron cross, and secured by a black belt. From a black holster, he drew a Parabellum pistol and pointed the muzzle at Evan. “Oh no!” Evan raised his arms in surrender. “I do not believe this!” “What?” Clive asked as he fumbled with his glasses. “Didn't we get away from the insects?” “Not exactly, Dad. No.”