The Wolf and the Lamb (23 page)

Chapter XLV

“I know I will sound the fool, but what makes you think Marius will magically appear on your doorstep? We have had no contact with him for a week or more. He is Pilate’s slave and yet even the Prefect does not know where he is. What did the Master of the Plays say to you that led you to believe the boy would suddenly surface? I heard every word that passed between you and I recall nothing about the boy”

“No? I asked about boys, if you stop and think about it. All troupes of players include a few boys among their number if they can.”

“Yes, I remember. You think Marius was an actor at one time?”

“Not at one time, Loukas. Marius is an actor even as we speak.”

“But, he is Pilate’s slave.”

“So he says.”

“So Pilate agrees. What are you imagining?”

“First, to be clear, Mordekay told me only what I expected to hear. Second, he told me in the amphitheater. Never underestimate your location when you ask a question that might produce the answer that solves your puzzle. Third, we were there in order to draw the boy to us and, just as importantly, in the one place where he imagined he’d be safe. Finally, earlier I also had words with your Yakob, if you remember.”

“You castigated him for being involved with the Zealots.”

“Among other things, yes. I also spoke to him afterwards, if you recall. I said I would tell you about that conversation later.”

“And you will tell me now?”

“Yes, well, I described our Marius to him, or a variation of him and—”

“A variation? Pardon, but what does that mean?”

“Patience, my friend. You will see. So, shortly after we left he set out on our trail. I assumed the boy lurked somewhere nearby. In fact, I believe he has been doing so for days—with an occasional absence to report to one or more of his masters. I also assumed that sooner or later the possibility he would be threatened or worse by his recent acquaintances would cause him to panic and run. If I guessed correctly, Yakob will deliver Marius to us within the hour. I hope so because Shabbat will soon be upon us, and I will be helpless to do anything about him or our task for a whole day.”

“You astound me, Rabban. How can you possible know all this?”

“Tut, it is not difficult if you refuse to be led by the nose. Think for a moment. If Pilate is a murderer, fine, it all fits, not well but adequately. Or, if the murder was committed by someone else to discredit him, also fine. But if either of these two possibilities are not the case and he is not responsible for Aurelius’ murder, nothing of what we have been thinking then makes any sense.”

“He is caught red handed and…oh, I see, if he isn’t. We assume that. Very well, if he is not then…then what? I am lost.”

“We have been looking at this backwards, Loukas.”

“Sorry, backwards?”

“Backwards, yes. Now, it is nearly the ninth hour and we have not had our midday meal. I am famished. If we hurry along, I can have Binyamin fix us something to eat while we wait for Yakob and the boy to arrive.”

“And you are sure they will?”

“I am hopeful, yes…what?”

As Gamaliel spoke the earth shook under his feet. Loukas grabbed at a wall to steady himself. Three roof tiles dislodged from their moorings and shattered at their feet. A fourth followed and grazed Gamaliel’s shoulder. The masonry under Loukas’ hand cracked and then buckled. He jerked back in time to avoid a shower of rubble from the disintegrating wall. People screamed and looked this way and that for safety. In an earthquake, there are no safe places. Some ran only to stumble and fall. Finally the shaking stopped. Gamaliel rubbed his shoulder.

“Are you alright, Rabban?”

“Bruised I suspect, but still in one piece.”

“Well, you did mention an earthquake as a recruitment device to increase the faithful. Shall we expect a hoard of new converts?”

“Possibly. I wonder how the High Priest is reacting to all this.”

***

Whether it had been the last or the first of many, the slap to his face brought Marius to his senses. When he saw the man who’d delivered it crouching over him, he nearly fainted again.

“Please don’t kill me,” he squeaked. “I promise I will never tell anyone what I know. No, I mean, if I did know anything, which I don’t, I wouldn’t ever tell anyone. Please, I don’t know anything. I just did what you asked. I don’t even know your names—”

“You’ve said a good deal already, boy. You would be wise to close your mouth and keep it that way until we get you to the Rabban of the Sanhedrin.”

“Who? No, I mean I know him but…why am I being taken to him?”

The earth trembled. Boxes and crates tumbled from shelves. Heavy stands and candelabra crashed to the floor. A long pole that held a curtain against one wall snapped in half and the curtain ripped in two, top to bottom. Masks careened across the floor and ended in an untidy pile against the opposite wall.

“We have to get out of here,” Marius yelped, but he didn’t move. Fear locked him in place.

The strange man increased his grip on the boy. “Sit still, boy. Listen to me. If you believe in a god or
the
God, pray to him or her. Pray that the roof on this cattle shed doesn’t collapse.”

“It isn’t a cattle shed, it’s—”

“I know what it is, imbecile. I also know what it smells like.”

The earthquake subsided. The man stood and hauled Marius to his feet.

“Are you going to walk with me quietly, or will I need to knock you senseless again, and haul you to the Rabban’s house like a sack of grain?”

“I can walk.” Marius decided if he was to be killed, he would face it with honor. Until that moment, he would stretch out the time to his demise for as long as possible.

***

Loukas put his cup down on the table and sighed. For a moment the food, the wine, and the comfort of Gamaliel’s dining area had let him forget the earthquake and his chronic confusion about what his friend was up to.

“You said I was looking at the situation backwards. What did you mean?”

“Not you, we, and not we were, we are. We are looking at it that way, you, me, and Pilate. After dismissing Pilate as a murderer, we have assumed that Aurelius was murdered by someone else and Pilate set up to take the blame. We further assumed that the motivation had to do with that same someone’s desire to unseat him and take over his Prefecture.”

“We did. But you’re saying that is not the case? If not, what then? We have nothing.”

“Actually, we have more if we do. Listen, if we stay with the backwards theory, then instead of assuming all our witnesses were lying, we assume they were all telling the truth. Priscus the Centurion says he sent no message to Pilate. If he is telling the truth, who did? What if Aurelius was not the intended victim? Then who was? If the murder was not an impulsive act but a premeditated one, what do we conclude? And one last thing, who knew that the official party from Rome was on the way? Pilate says he didn’t, so who? Did anyone? Perhaps that is the reason why Aurelius is dead.”

“That is too much. I have to think each of your ‘what ifs’ separately. So, you’re saying backwards leads us forward.”

“It is a paradox, but yes. Start over with the same set of facts, and you will see where and how this must have happened.”

Loukas did not seem convinced.

“Ah, someone at the door. Binyamin, the door. Show our visitors in here. Now you will see, Loukas.”

“I will see what? You are going to unravel this problem and win the favor of the Prefect and the enmity of your countrymen?

“The first I hope, the second, I expect not. All will be revealed. And here is Yakob and our Marius, or should I call you Maria today?”

SHABBAT

Chapter XLVI

For most of Gamaliel’s life, Shabbat had been spent in prayer, reciting the psalms, or quiet contemplation of scripture, with family and, lately, alone. But from the moment the third star had blinked into view the previous evening it had been one interruption after another. Keeping Shabbat with the boy in residence turned out to be nearly impossible. First, Binyamin complained at having to prepare extra food at the last minute. Then, Loukas refused to stay and divert the boy so that it fell to Gamaliel to instruct his guest in the rigors of Shabbat. In that respect, the boy did not appear to be a willing student. As the day dragged on Gamaliel had to fend off the boy’s questions and complaints. Only the fear of what might be waiting outside kept him from bolting out the door.

He had questioned Marius at length the previous evening, right up to the time the shofars sounded from the pinnacle and he had to stop. Loukas lingered and tried to explain to Marius why the Rabban could not violate Shabbat by continuing his questioning. It was a form of work, he’d said and prohibited by the Law. The boy frowned and asked a dozen more questions. Finally, Loukas had to excuse himself and leave. The boy attempted to question Gamaliel repeatedly and finally dropped off to sleep. He was at it again the first thing in the morning.

In desperation, Gamaliel instructed Binyamin to keep an eye on the boy, and he left his house. Peace, if there was to be any, would be found at the Temple. It had become a frequent retreat from the complexities of life for him, and if ever there was a time to seek peace, it was this moment. He had not gone more than a hundred paces from his door when any thoughts of a quiet afternoon were blown away by a gale named Rufus, Pilate’s friend and, today, his messenger boy.

“Rabban Gamaliel,” Rufus began. Neither the title nor the name came easily to him, and he cleared his throat as if he’d just expelled something unpleasant from somewhere deep within.

“Honored sir,” Gamaliel said and nodded.

“You are to come with me.”

“I am afraid that is quite impossible.”

“This request comes from the Prefect himself.”

“Even so…”

“You fail to understand me.”

“Oh, I know what you are asking. It is just that I am unable to comply with Pilate’s request, as you describe it.”

“Then understand this. It is not a request or a wish. He orders your presence at once.”

During the exchange, Gamaliel had managed to gain the Temple Mount. His path led directly to the Temple. The crowds were thinner than the week before. Pilgrims had either started on their way home or remained in their camps and tents.

“Oh, I know what your Master wants. I offer my regrets at not being in a position to give him it, but it is Shabbat and I cannot. Tell him that. He will not be happy, but he will understand. I suspect he knows it already.”

Gamaliel turned on his heel and stepped into the Temple courts. Once in the Court of the Israelites, Rufus could not follow him—not without consequences, at least. Rufus was left to fume in the Court of the Gentiles. Gamaliel did not turn to catch his reaction. He might need Rufus the next day when he finally did confront the Prefect.

“You cannot deny him, Rabban,” Rufus shouted. “In two days, he is to be taken to Rome. He will be ruined. He might be assassinated.”

Gamaliel wheeled around and raised his right hand. “He will not be going anywhere, Rufus. Tell him that. Tell him I will call on him tomorrow and I will require the presence of his guests as well.”

He turned and disappeared into the Temple.

***

Loukas had been Hellenized in his youth and had never really embraced the strict observance practices of his neighbors. Jerusalem differed from the rest of the country in that. The Temple served as the city’s focus and primary business, as it were. Orthodoxy characterized its inhabitants. Elsewhere, for example in the Galilee, observance of the Law was more relaxed. So, he did not keep a strict Shabbat. And that explained why he’d left Gamaliel with the boy. He’d spent one Shabbat with the Rabban and vowed he never would again. For Loukas, Shabbat meant a relief from work, not a prohibition of it. It meant no patients to visit unless they represented an emergency. He would spend his day catching up. His bag needed replenishment, bandages, potions, powders, and balms. He also needed to sit down with Yakob and have a serious talk about Zealots and Sicarii. It would not be a pleasant conversation. Given his servant’s volcanic temper, it might even be dangerous. Either he would end up with a faithful servant and ally or with no servants at all. He had no prescription in his bag to relieve his dislike of confrontation, no powder or pastille to ease its execution. Gamaliel, he knew, would throw himself into any verbal conflict. In fact, he would frequently invite it. It is what rabbis did in each other’s company. The art of disputation fueled their lives as wine did that of a drunkard, but Loukas had a more conciliatory nature and heated argument did not sit well with him.

“You wanted a word, sir?” Yakob stood before him in as near a posture of servility as his pride would allow, which wasn’t much.

“Yes, I do. Sit.”

Yakob seemed taken aback. Servants rarely were allowed to sit with their masters. But then, this Greek Jew didn’t fit anyone’s mold. He sat.

“You may find this difficult, Yakob, but bear with me. You served the Empire for many years, not because you wished to, but because you were forced to. I understand that. As a Physician, I know how painful old wounds can be and how long some take to heal, if they ever do.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Yes, well it is like this. I need a servant whose loyalty is to me first and foremost. Such a servant sees my enemies as his, my friends as his. I must depend on him for support and even defense should that ever be necessary. Do you understand?”

“I was a legionnaire, as you noted, for many years. What you just said is what we were taught. We were to serve Rome. Rome was the master, but the lesson was the same.”

“Good, then we understand each other. If, back when you marched against Rome’s enemies, you were to have divided your loyalties, perhaps offered succor to your enemy or aid to another army, what was the likely outcome if you were to have been discovered?”

“I would not see the next sunrise.”

“Exactly. Yakob, I expect no less than the same loyalty from you albeit, if I do not receive it, your life will not be in danger, only your livelihood. As you know, the Rabban and I are working to salvage the Prefect’s life. That cannot sit well with you. I also know you are in contact with certain radical elements in the community. As my servant, whom I hope will be with me for a long time, I cannot have a divided loyalty. Irrespective of your feelings about the Prefect and your sympathy for the ideas of these Zealots, I must ask you to set them aside and be of service to me and the Rabban. Can you do that?”

Yakob’s scowl would have done an angry Zeus proud. Loukas could almost hear the thoughts knocking against one another in his servant’s mind. At last, his expression softened.

“I did as the Rabban asked yesterday. I will again. To tell you the truth, sir, I am weary of fighting, weary of carrying this hate around. If you will always be honest with me, I will serve you as you ask. Also, Sarai has had these same words with me. I do not wish to lose her.”

“Thank you. That could not have been easy for you to say. Now, go and enjoy a quiet Shabbat. Tomorrow, I fear, might be trying for you. We go to rescue the Prefect. As much as I am sure you will dislike doing it, you might be called on to help us in that undertaking.”

“Yes, I will, but I would ask one question? Why did your Rabban want me to scare that woman half to death and then drag her to his house?”

“The woman is not a woman at all. He is a boy named Marius and he is an actor. He dressed as a woman for several reasons, but when you found him, it was to hide—to hide in plain sight. Why he did will be made clear tomorrow, I hope.”