Retribution, page 31
part #3 of City of God Series
“Blessed be the queen!”
Soon shouts rang through the streets. A great roar filled her ears. Heat filled Berenike’s chest. Joy. It had been long since she had felt such pleasure. She reached the top of the hill and turned south into the heart of the upper city. She walked through empty streets, hearing the voices of her people shouting blessings down on her head.
Too soon, the streets ended and she found herself staring at the upper market. The stalls were deserted. Tables were turned over. Vegetables and fruit lay abandoned in the sun. And in the square before Herod’s Palace ...
Crosses.
Berenike had heard it already from her Germans. Still, the sight took her breath away. Many crosses, dozens, perhaps a hundred. Filled with the dead and dying. Screams tore at her heart. This was evil beyond evil, senseless evil.
At the far end of the plaza, Governor Florus sat taking his ease, watching the scene as if it were a Greek play put on for his amusement. Not a Greek tragedy. A comedy. The governor was laughing.
“Take me to him.” Berenike pointed at the governor.
The Germans shuddered and then moved forward.
Rage burned inside Berenike. She would carve out Florus’s heart for this.
They began walking across the market, but Berenike stopped. This part of the market had many small stones and shards of pottery in it, and her bare feet were too tender to walk on them. “Find a way where I can walk!”
They backed up to the street. One of the Germans went to investigate and found that there was a clear path through the very center of the square, where the dust lay thick and soft. They took this path to the edge of the market.
Berenike felt sick with grief. More than a hundred crosses had been raised up around the public square, and all bore a human cargo. Already, many dead bodies lay on the ground where they had been thrown down.
Berenike and her Germans threaded a path through the crosses and stopped before the dais.
The governor looked at her with an amused expression on his face. “So very nice to see you, Your Highness! Your hair looks hideous. Have you come to join me in the festivities?”
“Stop this abomination at once!” she hissed. “Do you think Caesar will let you live when he learns what you have done?”
Florus gave her a paternal smile. “Caesar will thank me for defending the honor of his name.”
“What foolishness are you talking about?” She pushed through the line of her Germans and stepped closer to the governor.
“Surely you know that certain young men mocked Caesar and me in the Temple, begging for alms as if we were indigents. When I learn the names of these men, then this little charade will end and I will punish the true culprits.” Florus picked up a Jericho date with dainty fingers and popped it in his mouth. “Delicious! Would you like one?”
Berenike wanted to slice his throat, but she saw there was no hope of that. Two soldiers stood on either side of the governor’s dining couch, and their ready posture told her she could not hope to reach him. She jabbed a finger at him. “I order you to stop this barbaric thing.”
Florus laughed at her. “You dare lecture me about barbarism, you filthy Jew?”
Berenike felt the tight leather sheath on her wrist and wondered again if she could somehow find Florus’s heart with her dagger.
A filthy smile crossed Florus’s face. “You will take a message to Ananus, and then you will join me.”
She glared at him.
“Tell Ananus that I am satisfied that he knows nothing. He may go home to his pigsty now. We have found a man who knows something, and he will talk.”
Berenike put both hands on her hips. “What scum would tell you anything?”
Florus pointed toward the middle of the forest of crosses. “He is with Ananus and the others, enjoying the spectacle.”
Berenike squinted in the direction pointed. She saw a dozen chief priests watching the soldiers crucify a woman. A little apart from the priests, standing in the center of four soldiers, stood a very tall man. Ari the Kazan.
Mesmerized, Berenike moved toward the scene. She could not believe Ari the Kazan would tell the governor anything. The men were just now nailing the ankles of the woman on the cross. Hanan ben Hanan knelt in the dust, begging for mercy. Tears streamed down the face of Ari the Kazan.
As Berenike drew nearer, the soldiers shifted slightly. Berenike gasped.
Ari the Kazan had both hands tied behind his back. They were going to crucify him also.
Chapter 38
Ari
ARI’S HEART WAS FILLED WITH horror. He had never felt so helpless. The evil here was a hundred times greater than Rivka had told him, and he was a hundred times weaker than he had thought. Who was Ari the Kazan, that he should battle the Queen of Heaven?
“So then,” said the voice of the Samaritan translator. “The governor wishes to speak with you again, Ari the Kazan.”
Ari could see little through the tears in his swollen eyes. Rough hands seized his elbows and yanked him toward the governor’s dais. Ari staggered along, guided by his captors. When they reached the governor, a slave appeared with a towel and wiped Ari’s face and eyes.
Ari blinked several times and he could see again.
The governor said something to the Samaritan in rapid Greek.
“His Excellency asks if you have now remembered the names of the men who insulted him and Caesar.”
Ari felt despair engulf him. He shook his head. “I told you, I know nothing.”
“Please think again. We know that you know these names.”
“I do not.”
The Samaritan said something to Governor Florus.
The governor barked an order in Greek. “Staurotheto.”
Even Ari knew the meaning of this word. Crucify him. Sick terror raced through his veins.
“Wait!” shouted a voice.
Ari spun his head to look, but he recognized the voice, even before he saw Baruch appear from behind a slashed tent at the edge of the market. No, please, HaShem, do not allow Baruch to do something foolish. He is unskilled in fighting.
But Baruch had come unarmed. He strode toward the governor’s platform, his face unmarked by fear.
“Baruch, run!” Ari shouted. “They will show no mercy even to a tsaddik!”
Baruch ignored him. He marched past a dozen soldiers and stopped next to Ari. “Please, Excellency, hear me,” he said in simple street Greek. “Do not kill my brother. Crucify me instead. Let my brother go free.”
Pain unimaginable shot through Ari. “Baruch, no!” he hissed. “Run! This is foolishness!”
Four soldiers surrounded Baruch and seized his arms. Baruch did nothing to resist them.
The governor laughed, long and low. He beckoned the Samaritan translator. The two men held a long conversation in rapid Greek. The Samaritan nodded several times.
Finally, he turned to Ari. A smile twitched on his face. “This man is known to you?”
Ari nodded. “Yes.” It would be senseless to deny the obvious.
“He wishes to take your place. Will you allow him to do so?”
Hot shame welled up inside Ari. For the last year, he had refused Baruch’s friendship, had ignored him, treated him as an enemy. Yesterday, he had slapped Baruch and thrown him in the street. Now Baruch wished to take his place? A hard knot tightened in Ari’s throat.
No, he could not do it. No man with a milligram of pride could allow it. That was the way of weakness, not the way of honor. A man who accepted such a sacrifice was not a Jew.
“No,” Ari said. “I will not allow it.”
“Brother Ari!”
“Shall we release him?” the Samaritan asked.
Ari could not look at Baruch. “Yes, please.”
The Samaritan spun and gave an order to the soldiers holding Baruch. One of them pulled out his dagger and set it to the top seam of Baruch’s tunic at the throat.
“No!” Ari lunged forward.
Strong arms jerked him back.
With one long slice, the soldier slit open Baruch’s tunic all the way down the front. He went around behind and slit it at each sleeve. The tunic fell into the dirt. Another soldier yanked at Baruch’s loincloth and it came free.
Baruch stood naked before his captors.
Fury rose up in Ari’s belly like a flood. “No!” he shouted again. He could not allow them to kill Baruch. “I refuse it! I refuse it!”
The Samaritan smiled at him. “We have already granted your request, Ari the Kazan. You refused that he should take your place. Very well, then he will not take your place. He is now a hostage, like all the others. You will give us the names of the beggars, or the man will die.”
Hopelessness cut through Ari’s soul. “Please, I do not know the names. Release him, I beg you. He is a good man, skilled in healing. He is a man of prayer, a tsaddik.”
“That is a pity.” The Samaritan turned to the soldiers holding Baruch. “Crucify him first, and then the tall man.”
Eight soldiers led Ari and Baruch back into the forest of crosses until they reached an execution stake that was empty. Baruch’s captors kicked him in the back of the knees. He collapsed in the dust and lay there without struggling.
Ari’s heart was jack-hammering in his throat. Please, HaShem, no. This is worse than evil. There is no meaning to this evil. Please, HaShem, take me, not Baruch. He has done nothing wrong. He gave himself for me and ...
The full horror of what he had done hit Ari in the belly. Baruch had come back for him. Had thrown himself into the jaws of the enemy. Had given himself willingly as a sacrifice for Ari.
And Ari had refused him.
Sorrow took Ari like a storm.
* * *
Berenike
Berenike turned her head and vomited. She recognized this man called Baruch. He was the pious man who had once healed her, seven years ago. Now he lay in the dust, naked as a newborn.
His face was serene. “Courage, Brother Ari. The battle belongs to HaShem.”
Ari the Kazan was weeping. “Brother Baruch, forgive me for the things I said to you.”
“Of course, Brother Ari. HaShem also forgives you.”
Two soldiers brought a crossbeam and dropped it in the dirt behind Baruch’s head.
Baruch did not struggle against the soldiers who held him down. He tilted his head and looked at the man on his right hand. “I bless you and your sons,” he said in very accented Greek. “May God grant you grace and peace.”
The soldier’s face went pale and he looked away as he raised Baruch’s wrist and set it on the crossbeam.
Baruch said the same to the soldier on his left. This man’s face filled with shame, but he pulled Baruch’s left wrist onto the coarse wood.
Berenike felt a tingling in her heart.
Baruch blessed the two men who held his legs.
Tears sprang up in Berenike’s eyes. She could not believe that a man would forgive those who killed him.
“Hanan ben Hanan,” Baruch said. “I ... bless you also. May HaShem give you peace.”
Berenike turned her head and saw Hanan’s face.
Anguish filled his eyes. And astonishment.
Baruch gave a little gasp. Berenike saw that the soldiers were setting an iron spike to his wrist and raising a heavy mallet.
Berenike bit her lip.
“B–bless you, my son,” Baruch said.
The soldier swung the mallet down hard.
The spike entered Baruch’s wrist. Baruch’s whole body spasmed. Berenike wanted to scream.
“Bless you, my son.” Baruch’s voice was a naked whisper.
The mallet swung again.
Baruch grunted in pain and sweat sprang out on his face.
Ari the Kazan lunged forward again, but his captors yanked him back. One of them hit him in the face.
“Bless you ... my son.”
Berenike closed her eyes, feeling a dull ache in her heart. She heard the sound of the cruel mallet again.
“Bless you, my son.”
Again the mallet thumped.
“May God fill you with peace.”
At last, the pounding stopped. Berenike opened her eyes and saw that both of Baruch’s arms were spiked. The four soldiers went to the ends of the crossbeam, counted to four, and lifted Baruch to a sitting position.
His face was now torn with pain. His gaze locked on Berenike. Compassion filled his eyes. “My daughter, HaShem says ... this to you—that you are forgiven, that he wishes to hold you in his arms as his own daughter, if only you will come home to him.”
Berenike covered her face with her hands and wept.
She heard the soldiers lifting again, heard their grunts, heard the thump of the crossbeam as it dropped onto the top of a stake. Heard a spike slide into a hole, locking the crossbeam in place. She dared to look again.
Baruch hung between heaven and earth. The soldiers made no move to spike his ankles. His face slowly turned blue, then purple. Berenike realized that the soldiers were taking mercy on him. They would let him die swiftly.
A centurion hurried up to the cross. “What are you doing, fools? Nail his ankles!”
The soldiers looked at each other. Berenike read their shame. Saw that they hated themselves. Two of them seized Baruch’s feet and pressed them to the stake.
Baruch pushed himself up and began gasping for breath. Slowly the blue color left his face.
The soldiers brought spikes and a mallet. One held the ankles while the other pounded in the spikes.
“Thank you, my sons.” Pain etched Baruch’s face. He gulped for air.
One of the soldiers walked away a little, and Berenike heard the sound of retching. The other soldier’s face hardened to granite.
Berenike found it unbearable to look. She turned around and nearly bumped into Hanan ben Hanan. She remembered the message Governor Florus had given her. “Hanan ben Hanan, the governor says that you and the other chief priests may go. He is persuaded that you know nothing, and he believes Ari the Kazan will give him the information he requires.”
Hanan nodded and lurched toward the circle of chief priests. He spoke to them briefly in hushed tones. They all threw one last look at Baruch, and then hurried away.
Berenike had long prided herself that she could read the face of any man, but she could not read the look she saw now on the face of Hanan ben Hanan.
* * *
Hanan ben Hanan
Hanan should have been the happiest man in the world. Today, his long enemy Kazan would die. Also, the other man, Baruch, who had cursed him once, who had then escaped sentence of death.
Hanan did not understand what he had seen. This Baruch had ... blessed him. Had forgiven the men who killed him. More extraordinary than that, this Baruch had offered himself in exchange for his friend. Hanan had no friend in the world for whom he would die. For the Temple, yes, he would die. For his daughter, Sarah, yes. But not for Hananyah ben Nadavayah. Not for Yeshua ben Gamaliel. Not for any of his friends. Nor would they die for him. A great knot rose in his throat. Hanan wondered what it might be like to have such a friend.
Hanan’s bodyguards stood muttering quietly among themselves. Hanan rejoined them. “We will go home.” He threw one long look back over his shoulder at the governor.
Florus was shoveling some delicacy into his mouth.
Hanan shuddered and hurried away.
Another face framed itself in his mind. The queen. Her head was covered in dust. Even so, she was a beautiful woman. Hanan had despised her for many years, and yet ...
And yet she had risked her life to come here. The governor had not summoned her. She had come on her own, and that was an act of courage. Berenike was cast from different metal than her brother. Agrippa was scum. Berenike was ... something more than scum.
She still looked like a zonah, but at least she had courage.
Hanan hurried through the empty streets. When he reached his palace, his doorkeeper pulled open the wooden door beside the gate and gaped at Hanan’s dust-covered head. Hanan stormed past him and hurried across his open courtyard and into his palace.
“Abba!” Sarah’s voice sounded horrified. She raced to him and threw her arms around him. “What happened, Abba?”
Hanan held her, and his heart ached. “Great evil, Sarah. Great evil.”
* * *
Baruch
As the end drew near, despair pressed in on Baruch. He had known when he came for Brother Ari that he could not escape. Had sacrificed himself willingly for the sake of Brother Ari, who had yet some great thing to do for HaShem.
And he had failed. He had come to save Brother Ari, yet Brother Ari would still die. Hana and Rivka would be left widows, Dov and Rachel orphans. Was this the will of HaShem? It made no sense. Baruch knew that he had heard true from HaShem, to come and offer himself for Brother Ari. How could he have failed?
Or had HaShem failed him? Baruch could no longer evade this question. HaShem had sent him here, knowing that Brother Ari would refuse him, knowing they would both die. A great ache filled Baruch’s heart. His head felt light-headed with grief. Why? The thing had no reason. He could accept it if only he knew the reason. A thing for no reason he could not accept.
A sacrifice of blood was a great and terrible thing.
A sacrifice of blood refused was a horror beyond imagining.
Baruch pushed himself up and gulped in air. The pain in his ankles tore at his soul. He sank down again, and now his wrists cried out and the black fist of death closed again on his chest.
Brother Ari was kneeling now, weeping. Baruch could think of no comfort. The evil men would do this same thing to Brother Ari. They were wicked—more wicked even than the men of violence.
Baruch saw now that he had been wrong and Brother Ari right. The men of violence were wicked men, yet they were innocent children next to Rome. If one must choose between the men of Rome and the men of violence, then the way of the men of violence was better.
Baruch pressed himself up again, sucking in another breath. “Brother ... Ari.”
