To the Death (16 page)

Eleazar watched the Roman carefully. How close was he to giving in? None of the Roman officers said anything. Metilius badly needed advice, but couldn't bring himself to ask for it in case the deal collapsed. Absentmindedly he pinched the bridge of his nose. As he did so his eyes met those of his scribe. In that split second the Greek took a chance. Without taking his eyes off the Roman commander, he gave a barely discernible nod.

The Roman officers missed it; so did the Zealots but Eleazar didn't. He lowered his eyes to conceal his satisfaction.

“Agreed”.

An imperceptible sigh greeted the single word.

Eleazar rose. “Excellency, you have made a wise decision. You have saved your men from a futile and useless death. ‘Until tomorrow, then. I will personally ensure that your departure from the city is without incident. Your escort will be sufficient to ensure your safe passage to Caesaea”.

Metilius breathed a sigh of relief. “It's going to be alright”, he told himself.

“Excellency might I suggest your scribe returns to the city with us. We need to draw up a document confirming our agreement. We are not familiar with how such a treaty should be best worded, bearing in mind that Caesar himself will be the recipient”.

Metilius blinked in surprise at this offer. Eleazar stood smiling, perfectly at ease, the picture of magnanimity.

Metilius nodded. “A good idea; take him with you. He is an excellent administrator.

The Greek, totally amazed at this turn of events, bowed and said “By your leave Excellency, I will collect my writing materials and go with”, momentarily he was at a loss as how to address Eleazar and then he remembered Eleazar was a priest, “with the priest”, he murmured.

Agrippa, with his sister and Amal, left Jerusalem before dawn. The King insisted on being at the head of the column. Berenice rode at his side. For safety's sake Agrippa placed his baggage animals in the centre of the train. Without undue hast, with his standards and banners displayed, the King made a measured progress out of the city to take the road to Caesarea.

In the half-light they approached the vast temporary settlement. Camp fires burned everywhere as the waking pilgrims rose to go about their business. Recognising the King's standards they saluted his passing, for he was held in high regard by the ordinary people. Many of them recognising Berenice who, like them, had come to Jerusalem as a pilgrim, saluted her and were reward by a courteous wave or an inclination of the head.

Agrippa's steward, Ilderim, had ensured that the King and his sister had a plentiful supply of coins which they dispensed generously to those who begged for alms.

Delays were inevitable, for among the vast multitude encamped for miles outside the city, Jews of importance and substance had established what were veritable small villages to accommodate their families, servants and guards. When such men became aware of the King's passing they rushed to greet him, begging him to honour their house by stopping for refreshment.

To avoid causing offence Agrippa would dismount and embrace the man, begging him to understand that he had urgent business in Caesarea. Berenice would graciously ask the pilgrim for a goblet of water, which a servant would be dispatched to bring. Thus the social niceties were observed. By mid-morning they had cleared the last of the encampments and were moving swiftly along the road to Caesaraea.

At nightfall they made camp in a wide stony valley, far enough away from the nearest hill for it to be used to ambush them.

Agrippa had spent years observing Roman military methods and had incorporated them into his own army. Before any man was allowed to take his ease, a trench was dug around the camp. The King's tent was then placed at the centre of a tented village whose streets radiated out from the centre. Sentries were posted and officers patrolled the perimeter. Outside every tent was a stand holding the men's weapons. Every man knew exactly where to go and what to do if an alarm was sounded.

As was his practice when campaigning in the field, the King invited his generals and senior officers to dine with him.

Berenice was not invited to join them, and dined in her own tent with Amal for company. The two women had grown to like each other although Amal, conscious of their difference in rank, was careful never to treat the Queen as an equal, in spite of being invited to do so on several occasions.

The floor of the tent in which the two women were sitting was covered in fine silk and wool carpets from Persia. Oil lamps on stands placed around the interior cast a soft warm light.

Heaped cushions and chests to hold clothing and personal possessions were the only furniture. Trays of food and drink were placed on the low tables. A young girl sitting crossed legged in the corner played a harp. Smiling, Berenice said, “the King likes you”.

Amal dipped her head, “I am pleased my Lady, for his Majesty has done me much honour. I will be in his debt forever”.

Berenice chuckled, leaning against a mound of multi coloured cushions. She said, “You miss my point, no doubt deliberately. When I say the King
likes
you, I mean as a woman as well as a person. And”, Berenice continued, watching her from beneath dark lashes, “that's most interesting - because he hasn't looked at another woman for years”.

Amal stiffened. “God”, she thought, “what do I do now? Acknowledge that which everybody ignores, that the King is sleeping with his sister, then assure her that I am no threat, or simply tell her that I'm not interested?”

“My Lady”, said Amal, “the King has been kind to me. I am in his debt as I am in yours”.

Berenice leaned forward locking her hands round her knees, her head tilted to one side as she appraised Amal. “You are beautiful and clever. You claim a blood tie. The Jews of Galilee and Judaea have declared war on Rome and their challenge will not go unanswered. Sides will have to be taken”.

Amal's head snapped up and she stared into Berenice's eyes. “I am yours and the King's to command my Lady. What significance can your hand-maiden have in such momentous events?”

Berenice reached across and took Amal's hand in hers, gently turning it so that it lay palm up. She studied it intently. “It matters a great deal, if it is your destiny to achieve greatness”.

“And what else do you see my Lady? Greatness is not happiness. Am I to be happy?”

Berenice considered for a moment before saying, “Is not happiness a condition of the heart, not a state of mind? The answer to your question is concealed from me, though not your pain. Yes you will know pain, but you will also know joy. But happiness is another matter. Are any of us truly happy?”

“James the Just was”. Amal was as startled as Berenice at her own reply. She had spoken the words without thinking. No thought of James was in her mind.

“Why do you say that?” asked Berenice.

Amal sighed. “I saw him on his knees, his body broken. He was dying, but it was in his eyes, in his voice as he prayed for those killing him”.

Berenice who had unconsciously held her breath at the mention of James' name asked, “You were there?”

“Yes”. The two women sat in silence. Outside a desert fox screamed, an unearthly blood curdling sound. Amal said softly “He prayed for those who were destroying him. To a God he claimed was the God of
all
mankind. The God his brother Jesus proclaimed had declared a new covenant for all men, not just the Jews, which is why the High Priest condemned him to death. Ciaphas refused to believe that God's covenant was with all mankind. If he had, he and the High Priesthood were finished. The Temple was finished. Ananus was faced with the same situation as Ciaphas; James the Just – Jesus' brother – had to die.

Berenice moved closer to Amal, her face inches away from hers. “Do you believe him?”

“Who, James or Jesus?” she parried, eyes narrowing, suspicious of the question. This woman, this Queen, was a Jewess. True she was a Hasmonaean and did not observe the strict practices of the orthodox, but she was still a Jew though her private life condemned her utterly for incest was punishable by death. It was a heinous crime - any trial would be a formality. Her station in life would not protect her if ever a charge was brought.

Berenice persisted. “Do you believe that Jesus was God's prophet?”

Amal's answer was softly spoken. “He claimed that he came to uphold the law not to destroy it. He claimed that through him God was announcing that His covenant was with the
whole
of mankind – with every man, woman and child on earth. This is the covenant God gave to Abraham. This is God's law and it is unchangeable. It is forever. This was the message that God had entrusted Jesus to deliver to mankind”.

Tight lipped Berenice reached into the folds of her gown. She withdrew a slender golden chain. On the end of it was a golden fish. “Do you know what this symbolises?” she asked quietly, “What I risk in letting you see it?”

Amal took the fish in her fingers. “Yes my Lady, I know what you risk and you must know what I risk when I say yes. Yes I do believe that Jesus was God's messenger and believe his brother James was also”.

Berenice hugged Amal to her, tears in her eyes. “Now they are gone, both murdered. How will we ever atone for what we have done? God will surely punish us for killing those he sent to deliver us”.

Amal shook her head. “Jesus preached love - love is forgiveness. It has no measure. No beginning. No end. God is love. We only have to ask and it is given unconditionally, without terms, forever, to everybody, all men, including Jews, who are guilty of the sin of pride, pride in believing that God would shut all of mankind out from His love except the Jews”.

Berenice kissed Amal tenderly. “We are sisters in Christ, as well as blood. Whatever the future holds, we will face it together”.

“The King”, Amal asked huskily. “Will he not be angry at this; may he not accuse us both of blasphemy?”

Berenice smiled. “The King is a righteous man, but he is not a Sadducee. He greatly admired James the Just. As a pious man, he was angry at his murder but it happened before he could intervene. However, he has sworn his allegiance to Caesar. On oath he has pledged to defend Roman interests, and will do so to the death”.

“Against the Jews of Palestine?”

“Against anybody”, was the grim rejoinder, “who challenges Rome's authority. He will argue that upholding Roman law is upholding the civil law. The Romans have never interfered with how we Jews worship. The King will defend his sworn word with his life”, she ended firmly.

Amal frowned slightly as she concentrated. “And”, she asked, “the Christians? Rome is mercilessly attacking Christians. They are being killed daily in their thousands in Rome's arenas; their property is confiscated and they are sold into slavery”.

“Nero is using them as scapegoats”, said Berenice, “to divert the mob's attention from his own madness”.

“If the Christians in Palestine”, Berenice continued, “attack Rome's interest, the King will put them down without mercy. In his eyes they will be traitors. However,” she continued dryly, “the few Christians that exist in this tormented country keep their heads down. They have had enough to worry about trying to stay alive.

“The war of the Jews” she ended grimly, “will be fought to the death. The Romans have to make an example of the Jewish rebellion to retain their credibility throughout the Empire - and the Jews have nowhere to go. All they can do”, she ended sadly, “is die”.

14

T
he
route from the Antonia to the city's main gate had been cleared by Eleazar's Zealots. When Metilius and his men marched out of the Antonia, it was into streets eerily silent. Every building along the route was blind, windows shuttered, doors locked. Not a single street trader plied his wares. Apart from a few scavenging dogs competing with weary crows among the rubbish, the Roman column had the streets to themselves.

The disciplined ranks marched through the oppressive silence, the only sound the tramp of their hobnailed sandals, the creaking wheels of their supply wagons and the jingle of the horses' harness.

Before leaving the fortress, Metilius had addressed his men. “Soldiers of Rome, it is our sworn duty to defend the empire against its enemies. To be prepared to die in the service of the Emperor”. The fortress' commander had paused to ensure the import of his next words reached every man. “We are surrounded by tens of thousands of armed nationalists. Tens of thousands more Jews who have come to the city as pilgrims, are outside the walls, aching to die for their invisible God.

“Across the entire country rebels have sacked villages, even entering Syria in their impudent confidence. The cities of Sebaste and Escalon have been burnt to the ground. The cities of Anthedom and Ghasa are destroyed, their citizens slaughtered”. Metilius paused to mop his brow, the silence solid, every eye from the silent ranks fixed on him.

“Philadelphi,” Metilius continued, “Heshbon, Gazara, Pella and Scythopolis, are now in the insurgents' hands. Their Roman garrisons”, he ended ominously, “have been wiped out”.

Virtually all Metilius' legionaries were made up of Syrian Arabs who had volunteered for the army. They also brought with them an inherited antipathy for all Jews. They listened to their commander in silence.