Jerusalem's Hope (33 page)

Marcus grunted his reply. Shomron, as a Samaritan, rejoiced in Jewish calamity. Marcus had never liked the old warhorse. He was too matter-of-fact about death, too ready to arrest any troublemaker and crucify him on a charge of
maiestas,
disrespect for Rome.

Shomron drawled, “In my younger days, the old King Herod would have crucified the whole lot of them. Shepherds. Their kin. Everyone. And I would've been on the detail to complete the task.”

“This place has a feel of death,” Marcus muttered.

“And so it should. Herod murdered his two sons by Mariamme here, they say. Poisoned her, and she being the one who gave his line proper pedigree, you might say, back to Israel's kings. Herod was no Jew. Idumean, he was. And oh how the Jews hated him!”

“Even after he built the Temple?”

“Yes, well. There's more rotten about the man than the good he might have done. He burned all the records of Jewish genealogy stored at the Temple because he feared the day when some descendant of David would be born right there in little Beth-lehem and grow up to become King of the Jews.” Shomron scratched his beard. “Oh the slaughters of innocents that came about over that myth! I could tell you things! And the soldiers . . . young men we were. Just following orders. Worst duty in the empire. We rode from this very fortress and joined Herod's personal guard to put an end to baby messiahs and future kings in Beth-lehem. Ask them. There's no men there between the ages of thirty and thirty-three. A whole nest of little Jews . . .” He drew his finger slowly across his throat.

Marcus snapped, “Worthy enemies, were they?”

“Ah well. Gone and forgotten. Except the Jews have a day of remembrance to
celebrate
the day Herod died. Sure. All mourning is forbidden. A real butcher that one. But he was quite the builder, all the same.”

Marcus was aware that Augustus Caesar had once remarked about Herod the Great that he would rather be Herod's pig than his son. There was much about the past Marcus didn't want to hear. Not tonight. There were present-day slaughters to avert. He couldn't contemplate the inglorious past.

“You'll have to crucify them come morning. Young and old.” Shomron spit over the wall. “Teach them a lesson.”

“It's nearly Passover. Executing anyone right now could tip the scales toward riot and revolt in Jerusalem.”

“You'll have to kill these. Come what may. And Jerusalem? Packed with messiahs, they say. Maybe that Yeshua from Galilee. Or bar Abba, the rebel. Let them come, I say. From what I hear, Praetorian Vara and his cohorts will take care of any and all who raise their faces to defy Rome in Jerusalem this Passover. It'll be a bloody holy day indeed. Who needs lambs, eh? They'll get what they've got coming to them. One and all.”

Marcus' head throbbed. How could he keep Yeshua from walking into what was poised to be a wholesale massacre? Had the Master come south, even after refusing the crown?

And what about Miryam and her family? Surely they planned to attend the ceremonies at the Temple in Jerusalem. With Vara in charge of maintaining peace, there would be no peace. Pilate, Herod Antipas, and possibly the members of the Sanhedrin were in no mood to indulge a hint of disagreement.

Yes. The collapse of Siloam Tower was merely the warning of approaching disaster.

Marcus bade Shomron pleasant dreams and retreated to the privacy of his own bedchamber. He held the light up to the
corona obsidionalis,
which hung on a dowel beside his sword. Surely it had been easier to face a howling tribe of Germans at Idistaviso than to deal with the convoluted intrigues of the stiff-necked children of Abraham.

From somewhere in the enormous cone of Herodium Marcus thought he heard the muffled sound of a man weeping.

LO VE-HAYIL

A
t dawn the next morning Marcus emerged from the tunnel at the base of Herodium. In pale, shimmering light he made his way to the road circumscribing the hill. He was just outside the boundaries of the fortress grounds when he stopped.

Beside him was Oren, his arm bandaged and hanging from a sling about his neck. Centurion Shomron and a decade of troopers flanked the two prisoners. Benjamin and Lev were chained hand and foot.

Marcus observed others approaching from the direction of Migdal Eder. Even in the mist of early morning that hung about the slopes Marcus had no difficulty recognizing Zadok's distinctive form. The old man was accompanied by three boys and a reddish-coated dog.

Zadok looked weary, troubled by what had happened, and grim-faced about what would be the sequel. “You're up early, Centurion,” he said to Marcus.

“I knew you'd arrive at first light,” Marcus returned in a matter-of-fact tone. “Does it suit you to speak here?” Stepping closer and lowering his voice he added, “I know you cannot enter Herodium's precincts without defiling yourself on almost the eve of your Passover.”

Zadok's eyes widened in surprise. Perhaps he'd never met a Roman officer who even understood, let alone cared about the scruples of religious Jews.

“Yes, here, thank you,” Zadok replied. “I have news. The tower was sabotaged, but not by shepherds. This boy,” the flock master said, indicating Emet, “saw the perpetrators. Speak up, boy.”

Marcus bent close to listen as Emet's voice was reedy and barely above the level of his breath in volume. “It's my fault. I saw them. Asher and the others.”

“Asher of bar Abba's men?” Marcus noted sharply.

Emet's head bobbed. “He said he'd kill me if I told anyone . . . so it's my fault! It wasn't shepherds. Please don't kill Lev! I'm the one who should be punished.”

Straightening up again, Marcus said, “Your punishment I leave to your master here.” Then to Zadok he added, “Gaius Robb and I reviewed the tower's collapse. He and I agree that it was not an accident. Robb wanted me to arrest all of Migdal Eder, and without other evidence I might have had no choice. But I also believe your witness. These boys were with bar Abba's band for a time . . . I overheard them. If Truth says it was Asher, I believe him.”

Zadok regarded Marcus with curiosity. “You are an unusual man, Centurion. Why is that?”

“Another time,” Marcus concluded gruffly. “Twenty-one men killed and twenty-five maimed in the tower's collapse we can blame on bar Abba. But there remains the matter of two murders that came after. Your man, Jehu, and the stonecutter, Amos, were slain by these two captives. No one disputes their guilt. Shomron and Robb think I should crucify the two of them as examples.”

“No!” Emet cried.

Zadok grasped the boy by the shoulder and pulled him back. “You have that right,” the chief shepherd acknowledged.

Oren, who had been listening intently, surged forward. “One of the condemned is my son,” he pleaded. “He was angry because of what happened to me. He did wrong. But if you must make an example, use me! Don't take my son's life!”

“You see where it stands,” Marcus added. “Two dead, two to be punished. A stern warning to any who would disturb the peace. That would be the simplest course . . . unless you can think of another way to guarantee calm between the aqueduct workers and the shepherds.”

Oren fell to his knees. “Please,” he begged. “In the heat of anger blows were struck on both sides. Hasn't there been enough killing already?”

“Perhaps there is a way,” Zadok said carefully. “A blood covenant. A life for a life is demanded, but we have a fearful vow that may serve the purpose. It will only cost the lives of two lambs and not two more men.”

Marcus listened as Zadok explained. At the conclusion he said, “You understand that I only accept this proposal if two of high standing will act as guarantors. Their lives are forfeit if there is any further violence. Is that clear?”

With dignity Zadok said, “I, myself, will represent Migdal Eder. Does that suit you?”

Even before Marcus agreed Oren implored, “Use me for the stonecutters' vow! My life for my son's if there's any more fighting.”

Marcus stood for a time, stern and implacable. He knew Shomron and Robb believed that the guilt lay with the shepherds for their hostility toward the aqueduct. In their minds Jews were either totally acquiescent to Rome's authority or they were rebels. Shomron in particular would have crucified them all. Any leniency shown by Marcus would be equated with weakness. The least response required was a double execution.

Marcus made up his mind. “I'll spare them,” he said. “But the ceremony must take place today, soon! I'm riding after the rebels who carried out the attack.”

Emet waited beside the Tower of Migdal Eder, together with Avel and Ha-or Tov. A phalanx of shepherds was drawn up around Zadok, who was dressed in white robes, almost like a priest. Wives and children, friends and neighbors from Beth-lehem, were all on hand as witnesses.

The mood was somber and angry, fearful and mournful, all mixed up together. Sorrow at the loss of Jehu mingled with apprehension that Lev would yet be executed. Indeed there was concern that Roman justice would reach out and strike others of Beth-lehem's shepherd community.

There was also a simmering undercurrent of animosity. The aqueduct was an abomination; the misuse of Korban, a sacrilege. The Jewish laborers, being paid out of stolen Temple funds, were traitors and blasphemers.

Emet overheard some say the Almighty brought down Siloam Tower on apostate heads as a fitting punishment. Besides, how could Migdal Eder be blamed? It was none of their doing, even if they approved the collapse. Nor had they started the battle that resulted in the death of the stonecutter.

But you couldn't expect a Roman to understand. Quick to condemn, quick to punish. That was the Roman vision of justice when it came to Jews.

Emet knew some of the shepherds carried skinning knives in the sleeves of their robes. If the centurion had lied . . . if he came to arrest and punish . . . then Migdal Eder would in fact join the rebel cause and fight back!

As for Emet himself, he recognized the confusion of emotions while experiencing only the sorrow. He alone possessed one sentiment not shared by anyone else: guilt.

By not telling anyone about the rebel saboteurs, Emet was responsible for Jehu's death, for the mason's death . . . for all those killed by the fall of the Tower of Siloam.

It was a crushing burden for a five-year-old to carry.

The detachment from Herodium arrived early, but Zadok was prepared. “Oren, representing the masons, and I, on behalf of the shepherds, will go alone to select the lambs for the covenant. By the sacrifice of innocent blood, we bind ourselves to keep the peace, or else our own lives are forfeit. Y' understand that they cannot be Passover lambs, because then we would be compounding bloodletting with sacrilege.”

Marcus signaled his acceptance. “We'll remain here with the pris oners.”

Emet observed the trudge of Zadok and Oren up the hill toward the lambing caverns. In the perfectly clear, bright daylight, it was easy to watch them all the way to the cave entrance. He imagined what Zadok was feeling. Lev was chained between a pair of Roman legionaries and under sentence of death. Zadok had one chance to get this right; one opportunity to hold at bay the malice of Rome.

And what was in Oren's heart? It was his own son who was threatened. Emet had heard him welcome the opportunity to put his own life on the line . . . to publicly announce his willingness to be crucified . . . in order to save the life of his boy.

Emet shivered, despite the warm sunshine.

Silence fell over the witnesses as Zadok entered the lambing barn first. Moments later he emerged with a lamb cradled in his arms.

Then Oren disappeared into the cave.

No one spoke. The chief mason was gone for several minutes.

When he reappeared it was difficult to see the lamb he carried, though it should have been easily identified by the contrast of its fleece with his dark brown tunic.

Where was it? Wrapped in his cloak?

Then the creature struggled in Oren's unfamiliar grasp. Ha-or Tov, evidently seeing the truth before anyone else, reached out for Emet's hand. Next, Avel gasped.

And Emet knew.

Bear bleated helplessly, the black limbs futilely resisting.

Emet cried out, an incoherent expression of grief and pain. But there was nothing to change the outcome. The choice of the beloved black lamb had been made. Bear would pay the price for transgression.