Rebekah's Treasure (23 page)

“We are grateful for your kindness.” My praise is quick in order to keep my sons silent. “And we welcome the rest.” I bite into another piece of meat, knowing we’ll not get as much rest as Lamech supposes for I’ll have us sleep in shifts so that one pair of eyes will always be on our too-gracious host.

We have survived the night without incident, and depart at first light. In a few hours we reach Hyrcania. And after briefly exploring two tunnels at the base of the mountain and finding nothing of worth, we begin the climb. From the base of the mountain the steep winding path to the summit forms a curious M-shape. It takes us a while but when we reach the top we find the ruins of a once great fortress, one among a chain of many that lined the Salt Sea. When we finally navigate the man-made ditch surrounding the fort and gain access to the interior, I point to a nearby tower. “We’ll rest in there.” And so we enter—glad for the shade—and sit and eat almonds, then drink from our water skins and talk about which treasure we should look for first.

We finally decide to go in search of the chest containing seventeen talents of silver even though this weight of silver cannot be carried to Masada by just the four of us. I’ve already told my sons that when we
find it . . .
if
we find it . . . we’ll take only a talent with us to Masada to show them that treasure does exist here, and that it’s worth sending their men back with us to help transport the rest.

The scroll tells us this chest of silver is in a cistern and buried at the bottom of a flight of stairs that face east. It will not be easy to find, but I don’t bother mentioning this to my sons. Instead I rest my head against the cool mudbrick and close my eyes as I listen to them chatter. Too little sleep last night has left me exhausted. But they are excited, all except Joseph. He continues to complain.

“It’s more ruinous that I expected,” Joseph says.

I open my eyes and watch him mop his forehead with the rag from his head.

“It will not be easy finding the right steps,” he continues.

“At least the scroll tells us we are to look in a cistern,” Aaron adds.

“And how many cisterns are there in Hyrcania? Do we even know?” Joseph again. “We could be stumbling around here for days!”

His gravelly voice is beginning to irritate me. It must annoy Benjamin, too, for he says, more sharply than he needs, “At least there’s a breeze atop this summit. Be grateful for that!”

“Most of the buildings have toppled.” Joseph is persistent. “Bricks and rubble are everywhere. In such a place we could dig for years and never find anything.”

“Enough!” I say, springing to my feet. “I would rather labor in the burning sun than endure any more of your complaining. Come, all of you, let’s begin.”

Aaron chuckles. “See what you’ve done, my brother? Now Father will work us unmercifully just to prove you wrong, and to silence your disagreeable tongue.”

Joseph grumbles about being tired, but even he knows better than to persist in his complaining. Soon we’re beneath the blazing sun, eating dust and poking through the ruins.

“Lamech let us off too easily. It troubles me,” Aaron says, as we examine the first cistern we come across. It is vaulted and lime-plastered, and a
good place to start for it’s not goblet shaped but rectangular, exactly the type that would contain a flight of stairs along one of its walls. “I don’t think he really believes we’re going to Masada.” With his small hand shovel, Aaron begins moving rocks and debris which still contain layers of white–lime plaster. After he digs awhile, he looks up and frowns. “All the way here I had the feeling we were being followed, though I saw no signs of it.”

“You’re beginning to sound like an old woman,” Joseph says, shadowing Aaron, and kicking stones and dirt as if he’s doing something important all the while his shovel hangs idly in his hand. “Why should he bother with us? He’s probably happy to be rid of us after all the food we ate.”

“You mean after all the food
you
ate,” Benjamin says, helping Aaron move a large pile of rocks to expose what’s behind it.

“Lamech is a rogue, a dog who has returned to his own vomit,” Aaron says, tossing stones over his shoulder. “Be assured he does nothing out of kindness. His hospitality last night was only a means of seeing if we were birds worth plucking. I say we still need to keep a sharp lookout, in case he really did follow us. He and his men know these hills better than we. It’s possible they could have tailed us without our knowing it.”

Before I can voice my agreement, Aaron yells, “Look! Here behind the pile of rocks! It’s a stairway!”

We all dig now, and soon our faces and clothes are powdered with dirt. But before long we uncover two steps and are quickly disappointed when we see they fail to head east as the steps must, according to the scrolls. And so we leave the relative cool of the cistern for the blistering sunlight.

We walk for hours over loose rocks and hard-mud ground, poking through ruins and rubble, and discover there are six cisterns on this summit, including one lined with benches. We stand before the final one now. The entrance is blocked, and the interior can only be reached by lowering oneself through the hole in the high vaulted ceiling. Though it is as tall as our house in Jerusalem, debris and dirt packed against the outside walls
have decreased the distance from the ground to the hole in the rounded ceiling, making outside access easy. But one problem remains: getting safely through the hole and down into the cavernous cistern itself.

“We can tie our robes together; use them to lower one of us through the hole,” Joseph says, nibbling an almond. “I’ll go, if my brothers are afraid.”

Benjamin jabs him with his elbow. “And who was it that jumped out of his skin when he saw that little snake in the last cistern?”

“Little! It was as long as the road from Qumran, and hungrier than me, I’ll wager.”

We all laugh. But suddenly I stop and crane my neck and listen.

“What’s wrong, Father?” Aaron asks.

“Did you hear rocks falling?”

“Rocks have been falling all morning,” Joseph says with a chuckle. “Every time we touch something, rocks fall away.”

But Aaron doesn’t laugh, and neither do I. And by the look on his face I know he’s thinking my thoughts.
Has that fox, Lamech, followed us after all?

Our robes are in knots at my feet. We stand in our tunics, dripping with sweat, while the sun glares overhead. It’s the heat of the day, but no one, except me, wants to delay exploring the cistern until it’s cooler. The impatience of youth is often like a runaway chariot, best left to curb itself. There are only three of us to dig. At my insistence, Aaron has posted himself as a sentry, high up in one of the towers to keep Lamech from surprising us again. I know Lamech well enough to understand that he’s a dog who can’t be trusted. At least with Aaron in the tower I feel a measure of peace.

Joseph seems to feel nothing but excitement as he stands grinning and pulling his tunic between his legs. He belts it at the waist. Always first to complain, and first to put himself at risk. He confounds me,
this son who is brave and foolish and often annoying. I watch him bend and pick up the knotted robes, then hand the end to Benjamin.

“All the food you stuffed into your mouth last night will make my task the harder,” Benjamin grunts.

Joseph laughs, then taking the other end of the makeshift rope, ties it around his waist. Then he climbs up the outside of the partially buried cistern and lowers himself through the jagged opening.

“What do you see?” I shout, helping Benjamin hold the rope.

“It’s deep! Very deep. And to my left is a large plastered wall, solid from top to bottom; a separation wall. I’ve seen this before in other cisterns. There must be another chamber on the other side . . . but how to get in?” His voice sounds muffled as though his mouth is full of dirt. “The wall still looks well mortared except for . . .” his voice trails off.

“Except for what?” I shout.

“Yes . . . I can see it plainly now . . . a hole, a hole near the ceiling, large enough for a man to crawl through. If only I could get a little closer . . . .”

I hear scraping noises and a thud. “Joseph?”

“There, I’ve lifted myself onto the ledge . . . I can see through the opening, to the other side . . . it’s . . . a shaft, yes, a shaft! The opening is just above my shoulders. If you pull on the rope and I use my arms as levers, I think I can raise myself high enough to go through it.

As Benjamin and I pull, I hear another thud, then groaning, then Joseph’s voice. “I’ve done it. . . I’m through.” And then nothing.

We wait . . . and wait. Finally, when I can stand it no longer I shout, “Joseph? Are you well?” No answer. I pull on the rope. It’s slack. He’s untied himself. “Joseph!”

“Be calm, Father,” Benjamin says softly. “He’s not as foolish as you think. He’ll not take unnecessary risks.”

And so we wait, my mind conjuring up dreadful scenes of what may be happening: Joseph has fallen and broken a leg; a plummeting rock has crushed his skull; the shaft is full of water and he has drowned. I’m
getting old. I’m beginning to think like a woman—cautious and fretful.
Oh, be careful, Joseph!

It will take two of us to safely pull my son from the cistern, so I can’t go in. If only Aaron were here I’d send him after his brother. And just when my patience is at an end and I’m about to call Aaron from the tower, I hear a muffled voice say through the hole in the roof, “It was dark down there!” The rope jerks and I know it’s Joseph tying himself once again. “Only the hand of
Hashem
kept me from falling into that well,” he yells to us.

Benjamin and I pull Joseph up. “What’s this about a well?” I say, relieved to see my son, but afraid to show it. It’s not always easy for a father to let his son be a man.

Joseph laughs as he slides off the top of the rounded cistern and lands on his feet beside me. “Oh, yes, there’s a well at the end of the shaft, but between the shaft and the well are stairs, stairs facing
east
!”

My sons won’t sleep. The young can be foolish in more than matters of love. The sun has long set, and we’re sitting on the first floor of the northwest tower, one of four towers positioned at each corner of the fortress perimeter. A sliver of moon stabs a broken piece of wall. It’s the only light we have.

“What can we use?” Benjamin says. “If we are to dig beneath the steps as the scroll says, we must actually dig inside the well for there is nothing in that space except the well. And Joseph says it’s too dark. What, then, do we use for light?”

“First we must be certain there’s no water in it. We can’t dig if there’s water.” Aaron says.

“I already told you the well is dry.” Joseph’s voice is strained by both annoyance and fatigue.

“How can you be so sure?” Aaron persists. “If it was as dark as you say, then there’s no way to know.”

“It only became dark at the end of the shaft. The light from the hole in the cistern reached at least that far.”

“My point exactly!” Aaron says, sitting cross-legged on the floor, rigidly leaning into our circle.

“Let Joseph explain,” I say, putting my hand on Aaron’s broad shoulder and feeling pleased that my words and touch make him relax against the mudbrick wall.