Retribution, page 3
part #3 of City of God Series
Ari rummaged through the stack, found a pair of leather sandals, and slipped them on his feet. Now he was ready to face whatever Eleazar and Yoseph and Gamaliel had to tell him.
* * *
Ari
Yoseph’s father had a room in his palace that he used as a library. Neat racks of acacia wood held many dozen scrolls. Ari’s hands itched to look at some of these scrolls, but reading was not his business today.
Brother Eleazar sat on an ivory couch. Ivory! Yoseph’s family must be fabulously wealthy, that they had a couch made of ivory. Eleazar was a massive man, as tall as Ari, but much more powerfully built. Ari had not seen a larger man in all Jerusalem, where the average man stood barely taller than Rivka. Eleazar’s thick black beard billowed out from his face, a great mass of steel wool. Behind him stood Gamaliel and Yoseph, his two lieutenants, ready to do his will. Gamaliel was short and stocky and always grinning. Yoseph was taller, slim, aristocratic, with clever eyes that revealed a potent intellect. Ari knew from Rivka that one day, Yoseph would be the famous historian Josephus. But that was years in the future.
Eleazar’s piercing black eyes studied Ari with keen interest. “You are recovered already, Ari the Kazan?”
Ari shrugged. “The prayers of a righteous man are powerful. Brother Baruch is a very righteous man.”
Eleazar’s eyes narrowed. “This man Baruch seems to me to lack sense. He is a child.”
“Then perhaps we need more children,” Ari said.
Eleazar leaned forward. “No, Ari the Kazan. We need Mashiach. We need Mashiach now.”
It was so like something Ari’s ultraorthodox stepfather would have said that Ari flinched. He had spent most of his life running away from such foolishness. But he could not run away from Eleazar, who was sagan, second in command of the Temple hierarchy. Eleazar was an aristocrat like Yoseph, and his father had once been high priest.
“Do you disagree?” Eleazar’s eyes probed Ari. He stood up, filling the room with his massive presence. He was as tall as Ari, but outweighed him by at least fifty kilos, all muscle.
There was something frightening in Eleazar. He seemed to wear danger all about him, like a suit of armor. Ari had always felt a little discomfited by him. But not today. After standing before HaShem, Ari would never fear any man again.
Eleazar took a step toward Ari. “My friend, I have asked you many times and you have never yet answered me. Now let me speak plainly. The revealing of Mashiach depends on you.”
Revealing? Ari wondered if he had missed something these last five years. Eleazar had often spoken of the coming of Mashiach. To speak of revealing implied that Mashiach was already here, but hidden.
Hidden in plain sight.
The thought hit Ari like a thunderbolt. Eleazar intended to be Mashiach. That was the only explanation. That fit with what Rivka had told of Eleazar’s future actions. It fit with his machinations in the past. And it fit with his impatience now.
It did not make sense. Eleazar was a priest, and therefore of the tribe of Levi, whereas Mashiach would come of the tribe of Judah, the House of David. Eleazar could not be Mashiach, and yet clearly he meant to be. No doubt, Yoseph’s fine lawyering mind would find a way to interpret the prophecies as needed. Ari had seen enough of the messianics, both now and in the future, both Christians and Jews, to know that facts were of small consequence when a determined man wished to see a prophecy fulfilled.
Eleazar’s eyes suddenly glowed hot. “So!” He rubbed his enormous hands together. “You understand us at last!” He turned to Gamaliel and Yoseph. “Ari the Kazan knows our secret. He understands.” He returned to the ivory couch and sat down again. “So you will help us?”
Ari sighed, exasperated. This was meshugah—foolishness most profound. Helping Eleazar would not turn him into Mashiach. Nor would opposing him prevent him from destroying the nation. “What is it you wish me to do? There are yet four years before—” Ari clapped his hand to his mouth.
A hiss of astonishment filled the air. Brother Yoseph’s face quivered with disappointment. “Yet four years? You know this from your woman? It is still four years until Mashiach comes?”
Ari saw that the three men were expecting Mashiach much sooner than that. They were children if they thought they could oppose Rome now. He closed his eyes and said nothing.
Ari heard excited whispering, but the only words he could catch were “seer woman” and “four years.” He felt sick at heart.
“Ari the Kazan, you will help us then?” Eleazar’s voice, deep, booming, an irresistible force in the small room.
Ari said nothing. If he helped these children, he could not take Rivka away to a safe place.
“I will tell you a tale,” Eleazar said. “Then you will understand my rage. Once there was a small boy. So young that he did not know better than to mock a Roman soldier in the street. The soldier caught the boy. Did he scold him? Did he beat him?” Eleazar’s voice quivered with fury. “No, he did not. He cut off the boy’s ear and threw it in the street. The boy was of a priestly family, and he grew up to be a brilliant man, Hizqiyahu by name. Have you heard of this man?”
Ari shook his head. A great lump had grown in his throat and he could not speak.
“He is my uncle, my father’s brother. He should have been high priest, but he is unfitted to serve in the Temple of the living God. Why? Because a filthy Roman mamzer violated him. A man without an ear cannot serve as a priest. My father, who is a fool, cares nothing of the matter. When I was a boy, my uncle showed me this ear. And I swore that I would one day avenge my family, that I would exact retribution from the dogs who violate our land.” Eleazar pointed to Yoseph. “Now you will tell Ari the Kazan your tale of rage.”
Yoseph’s eyes turned hard and bright. “When I was a young man, in the sixteenth year of my age, I was a Torah student studying with Rabbi Yeshua ben Gamaliel, the greatest of the Sadducee teachers. Do you know of this man?”
Ari nodded. “He is allied with Hanan ben Hanan, and he sat on the tribunal that condemned me to be flogged.”
Yoseph’s hard face softened. “Then you will understand my tale. There came a night when we studied together and he was summoned to a council meeting. He brought me also, and there I saw a sight I do not wish to see again. A Jewish man, a bandit, so-called. He was captured by Jews and flogged and handed over to the Romans to be killed. His name was Eleazar ben Dinai, and his crime was avenging the death of certain Jewish pilgrims slaughtered on the way to Jerusalem for Pesach. I saw then that our fathers are in league with the Great Zonah.”
“The great ... what?” Ari said.
“The Great Zonah—the whore of Babylon,” Yoseph said. “Rome.”
“I see.” Ari did not see at all.
Yoseph gave a deferential nod to Eleazar. “That same night, I met Brother Eleazar, and he showed me a way that is better than the ways of our fathers. The way of retribution.”
Eleazar nodded to Gamaliel. “You will tell Ari the Kazan your tale of rage.”
Gamaliel flexed his large and powerful hands. “Three days before I became a man, I was in the Temple with my father. By an evil misfortune, we saw a vile deed. A Roman soldier, standing guard on the portico roofs, exposed his nakedness and turned his hind parts to the Temple and made a disrespectful noise. The people cried out and made a riot, and the soldiers attacked us, and many ten thousand of our brothers were crushed in the press at the gates.”
Something seemed to be squeezing in on Ari’s lungs. He fought to breathe. “And your father ...?”
“My father was trampled and he died.” Gamaliel blinked twice. “I swore to exact retribution on the man ... on the great Dragon.”
An uneasy silence passed between Gamaliel and Yoseph and Eleazar. Ari wondered what Gamaliel had intended to say.
“And so he joined us,” Brother Eleazar said. “And all the forty men in our brotherhood, the Sons of Righteous Priests, have such a tale. There are many like us in Jerusalem. Ari the Kazan, we are men of zeal, awaiting Mashiach. He is coming and then the Dragon will be slain. We will need weapons such as Rome uses, machines of war. You are skilled in matters of machines. You will help us.”
Ari’s brain was buzzing. Of course he must refuse. It was foolishness to battle Rome. A band of zealous young men stood no chance against hardened legions. He could not dissuade them from this foolishness, but he could not join them either.
And yet ...
Ari looked again at Gamaliel, whose father was murdered by Romans. Felt a righteous anger bubbling up in his heart. Turned and stumbled toward the door, fumbling through a haze that clouded his vision.
“Ari the Kazan, you will think on it?”
Ari staggered out and slammed the door. Rage welled up from a deep abyss in his soul. He would not help these children in their foolish quest for retribution. Never. But if he did ...
If he did, HaShem would understand.
* * *
Gamaliel
The door slammed. Gamaliel flinched. He had been certain that Ari the Kazan would be persuaded by his story.
“He wishes to join us,” Brother Eleazar said.
Brother Yoseph began pacing. “He needs a reason. We must put him in our debt.”
Gamaliel thought that Ari the Kazan had every reason he needed already.
“We must have him,” Brother Eleazar said. “He is worth ten thousand ordinary men. With the weapons he will build, an army will flock to us.”
Gamaliel shook his head. “He is distracted, that is the problem. He will be caged in this palace so long as Hanan ben Hanan is high priest.”
Brother Eleazar glowered. “My father says that King Agrippa has no intention to depose ben Hanan.”
“Then we must persuade the king.” Yoseph pointed a finger at Gamaliel. “You are a witness to what ben Hanan did. Will you testify?”
Gamaliel was mystified. “King Agrippa has heard already from the rabbis on the matter. If Rabbi Yohanan ben Zakkai and Rabbi Shimon ben Gamaliel could not convince him, then how will I?”
Brother Eleazar jumped up. “That fox Agrippa will not be persuaded by Jews. Therefore, he must be persuaded by Romans.”
Gamaliel stared at him. “Romans? What Romans?”
“The new governor,” Eleazar said. “We will persuade the rabbis to lead a delegation to him asking for justice. I am second in command under ben Hanan—therefore I cannot go. But you can, Brother Gamaliel. You will tell him what you saw, and the rabbis will appeal for justice. A Roman governor wishes first and always to be known for justice. He will force the issue with Agrippa.”
“You want me ...” Gamaliel swallowed back his fear. “You want me to testify against Hanan ben Hanan?”
Eleazar put a huge hand on Gamaliel’s shoulder. “If the governor rules in our favor, then you will gain great honor. And if he rules against us, you will gain more honor. It is a rare man who spits in the eye of Hanan ben Hanan.”
Gamaliel sat down and put his head in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. Honor. Yes, there would be very great honor in this, if Hanan ben Hanan did not kill him. And Ari the Kazan would be much in his debt.
“I ask you as my brother to do this thing,” said Brother Eleazar. “For me and for our brothers in that other city.”
For five years, Gamaliel had known that someday Brother Eleazar would call in this debt. For the six brothers in Rome and the one who was dead. He could not deny him now. To deny Brother Eleazar would be to bring the blood-guilt back on his head.
Gamaliel sucked in his breath. “I ... will testify against Hanan ben Hanan.” A great wave of fear washed through him.
The tension in the room broke. Brother Eleazar began pacing, and when he spoke, there was triumph in his voice. “Brother Yoseph, you will meet with the rabbis and arrange a delegation. I will ask my father to send messengers to find out who will be the new governor and where we can find him. When Ari the Kazan is in our debt, then he will stop his foolish dithering.”
“We have time,” Brother Yoseph said. “The seer woman said four years.”
“Four years is nothing.” Brother Eleazar strode to the door and yanked it open. “We need Ari the Kazan now if Mashiach is to be revealed in four years.”
Gamaliel sighed and stood up. The lots were cast, and now it remained to be seen if they would win or lose.
Chapter 4
Berenike
BERENIKE PEERED AT HER REFLECTION in the polished brass mirror. Her features were dull and indistinct in the uncertain image. What a tragedy that she would never see her own beauty. But it could not be helped. She opened her poison chest and took out a small alabaster jar full of white arsenic powder. Berenike pinched a tiny amount between her fingers, dropped it into the crystal goblet of wine on her one-legged marble table, and stirred it gently.
When it was ready, she raised the goblet and drank it down in one long draft. It was a daily ritual that could save her life. She had raised her dosage high enough that she would be immune to an amount that would kill several strong men. It was a necessity for one born of royal blood. Arsenic was tasteless and readily available and it had killed more kings than the sword. If Papa had been more careful in his own dosage, he would still be alive, still be the Great King of Judea, Samaria, Galilee, and parts north.
And she would still have a chance to be Queen of All the Earth.
That was the dream Berenike had envisioned for herself since the age of five, when her father’s best friend put a riddle to her and she solved it on the spot and discovered that she had a mind, a deep, subtle, conniving mind like Papa’s. She was not an empty head like her mother.
Like her brother.
Berenike seized her goblet and flung it against the wall. It shattered into many ten thousand shards.
Even so, her life.
She would never be Queen of All the Earth now. Her marriage to King Polemon had failed and her foolish brother Agrippa—empty of mind, but male of body—now despised her. She hated him for despising her. And for ... that other thing he had done. On account of his sin, she had done a greater sin, destroying the child of her womb. For Agrippa’s honor. So that she might someday be Queen of All the Earth.
Well, it was done, and her life was ruined, and every night was torment because of the evil dreams that clawed at her heart. And because of it, she would never rule.
HaShem was making an evil game with her. She would continue to play, with hope or without it, because one never knew what the dice might bring on the next roll.
Even HaShem could be beaten.
“Mistress?” Shlomi’s voice, behind her.
Berenike turned and scowled at her. “What is it?”
“I heard a noise.”
Berenike waved her arm at the wall. “Another goblet has thrown itself at the wall. You will see to it.”
“Yes, mistress.” An empty-headed reply from—
A loud pounding came from the door of Berenike’s bedchamber.
Berenike gestured with her head toward the door.
Shlomi went to answer. For a moment, she stepped outside and held a whispered conversation with someone. Shortly, she returned.
“Mistress, your brother the king sends word by his servant Andreas that you will come to see him at once.”
Berenike did not wish to see her brother ever again. “Tell him no.”
“Mistress, Andreas told me that you would say so. He said to give you this note.” Shlomi held a scrap of papyrus out in a trembling hand.
Berenike snatched the papyrus and scowled at it.
One word in Latin. Albinus.
A rush of excitement shot through Berenike’s soul. Less than a week ago, the seer woman had predicted that Caesar would name a certain man to be the new governor, a man who would punish Agrippa for allowing Hanan ben Hanan to commit murder in the name of HaShem. Agrippa had laughed then, but he had marked the name, as had Berenike. It was a name neither of them had heard before—Lucceius Albinus.
Berenike began pacing. “Fetch my palla and put it on me. Quickly, quickly! We are going to speak with Agrippa.”
Shlomi found the beautifully woven fine woolen outer garment and draped it over Berenike’s shoulders.
Berenike’s mind was already racing down a thousand corridors of the great maze that HaShem had set before her. The dice were thrown and had gone against Agrippa. Excellent! It was far too soon to see if the game would turn in her favor, but ... this was something. She could not work with nothing, but with this she could employ her wits.
Berenike went to the door and waited impatiently for Shlomi to open it. With a little luck, she might yet outplay that old fox, HaShem.
* * *
Berenike
Agrippa handed the letter to Berenike and slumped onto a low couch.
Berenike scowled at him in disgust. Agrippa had the lean, aristocratic face and dazzling good looks of all the Herod men. But where Papa’s eyes had been those of the fox, warm and clever, Agrippa’s eyes were those of the wolf. Papa had wanted to be king so as to govern his people well. Agrippa wanted to be king so as to plunder the people.
He pointed at the letter in Berenike’s hand. “Read.”
Berenike held it up to the light and read it aloud. “Lucceius Albinus, procurator of Judea, to Marcus Julius Agrippa. I am informed by a delegation of ranking men from Jerusalem that one Ananus the son of Ananus, head priest appointed by you, has encroached on the rights given by Caesar to myself alone—namely, the right to put men to death. Why have you allowed this, fool? I will arrive in Jerusalem shortly and deal with this man Ananus. As for you, I intend to send a letter to Caesar regarding your incompetence before shipping closes for the winter. You will be permitted to make your defense when I arrive.”
Berenike fought to repress a smile. “The seer woman spoke true.”
Agrippa’s eyes burned red with fear. “What else did the seer woman tell you?”
