Arthur sets out on a dif­fi­cult jour­ney from Con­stan­tino­ple to Mosul in 1872, trav­el­ing near­ly 900 miles across Mesopotamia. As he makes his way through this ancient and com­plex region, he becomes increas­ing­ly aware of the reli­gious and cul­tur­al diver­si­ty that char­ac­ter­izes the land. The dis­par­i­ties between the var­i­ous peo­ples, even those from the same area, leave him intrigued and some­what bewil­dered. Despite the over­whelm­ing dif­fer­ences, Arthur finds a sense of famil­iar­i­ty in the land­scape, rec­og­niz­ing ele­ments from his stud­ies of ancient civ­i­liza­tions, such as irri­ga­tion sys­tems and reed hous­es. These sym­bols of the past seem to echo through the land, pro­vid­ing Arthur with a sense of time­less­ness, as if his­to­ry itself is still alive in the earth beneath his feet.

Dur­ing his stop at Jacob’s Inn near the Tigris, Arthur is teased by a friend about the poor­ly pre­pared meal that is served, pro­vid­ing a moment of humor in an oth­er­wise seri­ous jour­ney. This inter­ac­tion high­lights some of the cul­tur­al quirks and con­trasts Arthur encoun­ters through­out his trav­els, mak­ing him reflect on his expe­ri­ences and the mis­un­der­stand­ings that can arise from cul­tur­al dif­fer­ences. The term “Ori­ent” often comes up in his thoughts, leav­ing him con­fused and search­ing for its mean­ing in the con­text of his trav­els. This leads him to think about Napoleon’s his­toric cam­paigns in the Mid­dle East, which were heav­i­ly influ­enced by Enlight­en­ment ideals. The ideals of the West, as embod­ied by Napoleon, seem to clash with the real­i­ty of the region, offer­ing a glimpse into the com­plex rela­tion­ship between East­ern and West­ern per­spec­tives.

As Arthur con­tin­ues his jour­ney along the Tigris, he finds him­self drawn to the river’s unpre­dictable nature, espe­cial­ly when com­pared to the Nile. The Tigris, with its mix of beau­ty and dan­ger, serves as a reminder of the imper­ma­nence of both life and his­to­ry. Arthur can­not help but be struck by the con­trast between the images of ancient pros­per­i­ty he has stud­ied and the pover­ty he sees around him. These stark real­i­ties paint a pic­ture of a land that has seen great civ­i­liza­tions rise and fall, a place where his­to­ry is both tan­gi­ble and elu­sive. The riv­er itself becomes a sym­bol of this dual­i­ty, its cur­rents car­ry­ing not only the phys­i­cal water but also the mem­o­ries and tragedies of count­less gen­er­a­tions that have lived and died along its banks.

Upon his arrival in Mosul, Arthur attends a ban­quet host­ed by the local pasha, where cul­tur­al mis­un­der­stand­ings begin to sur­face. Arthur’s fail­ure to meet the pasha’s expec­ta­tions cre­ates ten­sion, as he real­izes that his actions and words are often mis­in­ter­pret­ed due to the stark cul­tur­al divide between him­self and his hosts. This inter­ac­tion under­scores the chal­lenges Arthur faces as a for­eign archae­ol­o­gist in a region with com­plex polit­i­cal and social dynam­ics. His Lev­an­tine friend sub­tly warns him that the pasha is sus­pi­cious of his inten­tions in the area, adding anoth­er lay­er of dif­fi­cul­ty to Arthur’s already chal­leng­ing mis­sion. Despite these grow­ing doubts, Arthur remains focused on his ulti­mate goal of uncov­er­ing and pre­serv­ing the region’s rich antiq­ui­ties.

As Arthur con­tin­ues his jour­ney, the excite­ment of his archae­o­log­i­cal pur­suits is reignit­ed by the sight of the leg­endary ruins of Nin­eveh. Yet, he is not with­out reser­va­tions, and the local guide’s warn­ings about Zêrav—a vil­lage with a dark rep­u­ta­tion for devil-worshippers—raise con­cerns. Arthur’s resolve to push for­ward only strength­ens, set­ting the stage for poten­tial con­flict as he ven­tures deep­er into a land full of both ancient his­to­ry and mod­ern-day dan­gers. This deter­mi­na­tion to con­tin­ue, despite the fore­bod­ing atmos­phere, marks the begin­ning of a more com­plex and dan­ger­ous phase of his jour­ney, one that will test his per­se­ver­ance and judg­ment in the face of both his­tor­i­cal dis­cov­ery and per­son­al risk.