The Courtship - Catherine Coulter [44]
Lord Beecham looked over. “Yes, it is close. It’s Aramaic.”
“A cup of tea, my dear?”
“That would be marvelous, Mr. Gilliam,” she said, blinking up at him. “You are very kind. Oh, dear, look at all the dust we’ve raised in here.”
He waved her back when she started to get up. “No, you two remain doing what you’re doing. I will see Cook about the tea.”
Thirty minutes later, their empty teacups set aside, Lord Beecham shouted, “I’ve got it, Helen. Eureka, I’ve got it!”
She was on her feet in an instant. He was bending over the vicar’s desk, a very old vellum book open in front of him.
“What is it?”
He looked up at her, his dark eyes even darker now with excitement. There was no indolent, world-weary nobleman in his look now. Lord Beecham was fascinated, he was exhilarated. He was, in short, thrilled to his toes.
“I’ve found it. I’m sure of it. Look, Helen, just look, and tell me if you don’t think this is it.”
She looked over his shoulder. She hummed while studying the script. “I think so,” she said. “See that strange-looking figure that is repeated many times? It’s identical. What is the language?”
“It’s called Pahlavi. The alphabet developed from the Aramaic, which is why it looked so similar. Pahlavi was the writing system of the Persians around the beginning of the second century B.C. It lasted until the advent of Islam toward the seventh century A.D. The Avesta—that’s the Zoroastrian sacred book—is written in a form of Pahlavi called Avestan. Oh, God, Helen, this is just amazing. To find something like this—” He broke off, gave her a big grin, and clasped her around the waist. He lifted her over his head and swung her around. “We found it. Imagine: Pahlavi, a language so old that it has long been gone from this earth. Just to say the word makes me want to laugh and shout. Think about it: someone actually wrote the leather scroll more than a thousand years ago and we have it here with us, today, in modern times.”
He let her down, kissed her mouth, then immediately released her. He was soon bending over the text before him.
She stared at him for a moment, then looked down at the book with the strange writing that was surely identical to the writing on the leather scroll. He was talking to himself as he trailed his long fingers lovingly over the words.
“Tell me about it,” she said. “Can you translate our leather scroll?”
“I’m going to try my damnedest. It will be difficult, very difficult, because it was the Pahlavi custom to use Aramaic words to represent Pahlavi words. So take our word “king.” It’s shah in Pahlavi, but it’s spelled exactly like the Aramaic word malka. And the thing is, you have to read the Aramaic word and translate it instantly into Pahlavi, and read it as shah. So you’re always having to go back and forth in your mind to find the right words. It makes it very difficult to translate, much less simply read. But I can do it, Helen. Given enough time, I can translate the leather scroll.”
He turned, grinning from ear to ear. “What’s wrong?”
“What if the leather scroll has nothing at all to do with the lamp?”
“Come, Helen, you always knew that was only a remote possibility, despite that you found it on the east coast of England. Why should it? But don’t despair just yet. The fact of the matter is that we know the lamp came originally from the Holy Land. We are in roughly the right geographical area. Whatever it says, it will be fascinating, an incredible find, and you, Helen, you are the one who found it and gave it to the world. When it finally comes out, I can imagine scholars from all over Europe coming here to see it.” He rubbed his hands together, gave her a vague pat on the shoulder, and looked down once again at the parchment pages.
“But why would a Pahlavi scroll be buried in an iron cask in a cave on the east coast of England? If it was brought here by the Romans when they invaded England, why would it not be written in Latin?”
“I don’t know, but we will find out. Don’t worry. Your