Retribution, page 9
part #3 of City of God Series
Ari stared at him. “And you still fight against the Queen?”
“Always.” Menahem’s eyes pooled with deep pain. “And now it is not I who am captured, but my son.” His voice cracked. “My son will be crucified and my line ended and the Queen of Heaven, who spits on HaShem, will violate the holy land of our fathers for all time.” He leaned forward and gripped Ari’s hand with shocking strength. “Ari called Kazan, you are a man of honor. You will help me.”
Ari found that he could not breathe. “How? In what way could I help you?” Of course it was foolishness to think of helping this outlaw. This bandit.
Menahem’s nails dug into Ari’s hand. “We have taken a hostage of the house of the chief priest Hananyah ben Nadavayah.”
Ari was sweating now. That was Brother Eleazar’s house. Had they captured—
“We will kill the hostage,” Menahem said. “We must kill him, unless Hananyah intervenes in the matter of my son and those others who were captured by the Queen.”
It was all clear now. Ari felt appalled. These bandits, these dagger-men, wanted him to broker a deal. Of course he could not do it. These men of violence were evil. Murderers, robbers, outlaws. Such men as these had once taken Rivka for ransom and would have killed her.
Menahem’s eyes hardened. “You will help us, yes?”
Ari wanted to say no, but that seemed to be a quick way to be killed. Yet how could he say yes? A man of honor would not lie.
“You will not allow my son to be killed,” Menahem said. “He was taken by the lies of the Queen.”
Ari blinked. “What lies?”
Menahem’s eyes flickered with anger. “Surely you have heard the lies concerning a certain rich man from Shushan who was to bring gold as the sand of the seashore for the comfort of Jerusalem?”
“I have heard of this man.” Ari’s throat felt painfully dry. “I have heard he was murdered by men such as you.”
“Lies!” Menahem spat in the dirt and glared at Ari. “We were fools to believe in this man Mordecai ben Hanina.”
Ari felt his heart hammering in his chest. “I do not understand. Bandits ambushed him and took his gold on the Jericho road.”
Menahem glowered at him. “And you believe this lying tale? You believe in this Mordecai? Pah!” He spat again, then waved Ari away with his hands. “Go! I will not make business with a fool.”
Ari leaned forward. “You are telling me there was no Mordecai ben Hanina?” His breath was coming in tight little gasps now. Something was very wrong and he must know what had happened. “You will tell me what happened, please.”
Menahem’s eyes narrowed like a cat’s. “Many dozen men were gathered in the hill country to ambush this man Mordecai. Men of my clan and some others we are allied with. Good men, who love HaShem and have never bowed the knee to the Queen of Heaven.”
Good men. Ari had heard that often used of men who were not good. “And?”
“It was a trap!” Menahem said. “We chose a spot to wait for this man Mordecai. He had spies in the hills, and they signaled him to retreat. He lured us into pursuit along the road, back toward Jericho, and there we were trapped ourselves.”
Ari stared at him. “Trapped? By men of Shushan?”
“No, fool!” Menahem’s face bristled with rage. “Mordecai was an idle tale, designed to lure us in. These men did not fight as Jews. They were the Queen’s men.”
“Romans?” Ari said. “Roman soldiers?”
“As I said.” Defeat filled Menahem’s eyes. “My men know many escapes in those hills. We ran a hundred different ways. By the will of HaShem, I escaped, but my son was taken. My own son, who swore when he became a man to bow to no Lord but HaShem, is now taken by filthy idolaters, the Queen’s men.”
Ari sat in deep thought for a long time. He had never felt any sympathy for these dagger-men, these outlaws who terrorized their own countrymen. And yet he had a strange feeling. If Mordecai was nothing more than a lie, a lure to draw in these dagger-men, then ... he was also a lure for Ari the Kazan. This ambush had been intended to catch him also. All the Sons of Righteous Priests. Rivka. Racheleh. That was the only explanation. Cold sweat bathed Ari’s forehead. An old Arab proverb crossed his mind. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
Which made no sense. Such men as Menahem ben Yehudah murdered chief priests in the streets. They had killed many already, including two men of the House of Hanan.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
No. Ari would not fall into that cycle of retribution, that blind hatred. He shook his head. He could not help these men.
Menahem snapped his fingers. “Yoav! You will guide Ari the Kazan out of the camp.”
“I can find my own way,” Ari said.
Menahem gave him a thin smile. “You would be killed if you were found alone in the camp of Menahem ben Yehudah. By the women.”
Ari stood up. His knees felt wobbly.
Yoav led him outside the cave and began leading Ari through the tent village. “Will you help us then?”
Ari felt his skin crawling, imagining a murderer in every tent. “Please tell me about your clan. Are you related to Menahem?”
Yoav shook his head. “I am an orphan. Syrians raided our village in Galilee. They killed my father with hammers. They raped my mother many times before she died. They killed my brothers, stole my sisters, and burned our fields. I escaped by hiding in a cave. When I am a man, I will avenge myself on the Queen.”
“But ...” Ari felt his mouth hanging open. “Syrians are not Romans.”
Yoav’s eyes narrowed to slits. “They were Syrian auxiliaries, soldiers of Rome. I saw their insignia. They were the Queen’s men. When I am a man, I will kill such men and avenge the name of HaShem, which they dishonored.”
A wave of dizziness washed over Ari. Partly it was the matter-of-fact way in which this small boy described horrors unimaginable. And partly ...
Ari reached inside his belt.
Felt the small wooden cross, the token of his own father’s murder.
Stopped walking.
Yoav turned and looked up at him. “Please, you must follow me.”
Ari felt a wave of revulsion inside his throat. No, he could not do this. Yes, he must do this. How would he ever explain this to Baruch, to Rivka?
“Take me back to Menahem ben Yehudah,” Ari said. “There is a thing I must tell him.”
Chapter 11
Rivka
“YOU’RE GOING TO WHAT?” RIVKA shrieked at Ari.
“Please, you must not wake Racheleh.” Ari’s voice sounded very quiet, very calm. It was late at night and they were snuggled together in bed.
Rivka felt the thin edge of panic sliding under her skin. Please, God, no! “Ari, do you know who those men are? Menahem ben Yehudah—he’s a revolutionary! He’s the son of Judas the Galilean, who led the revolt in the year A.D. 6.”
Ari nodded. “Perhaps he has his reasons for hating Rome.”
Rivka thought she might throw up. “Ari, you can’t help this creep! He’s a murderer. He robs Jews. Kills women and children.”
“You know this from your own experience?” Ari said. “Or you know it from someone else?”
“I ...” Rivka stopped. “I read it in Josephus.”
Ari said nothing.
“Ari, please, don’t have anything to do with Menahem.”
Ari clenched his eyes shut tight. “Perhaps I should tell you the tale of one of this Menahem’s warriors. He is a boy of perhaps nine years old ...” Ari told her the story of the boy, Yoav.
By the time he finished, Rivka was crying. “Ari, do you think it’s true?”
“He is a boy, an innocent, unskilled in deception.” A deep sigh shuddered through Ari’s frame, rocking Rivka. “I do not believe he is lying.”
“And you think Menahem was telling the truth about the ambush? We could have been on that road with Mordecai.”
“There was no Mordecai,” Ari said. “They were Roman agents, probably Syrians or Samaritans dressed as Jews.” A long silence. “We would have been killed if we were there. It was a trap for us also.”
Rivka felt nauseous. She clutched Ari and closed her eyes, wishing she could make this horrible story go away.
“Rivkaleh.” Ari held her tight. “I believe that I must help this man Menahem. Yes, he has blood on his hands. But yes, he and his people are also victims of much evil. He wishes me to help him regain his son. If Racheleh were taken, what would you do to regain her?”
Rivka took a deep breath. “There’s something in Josephus about this. He says bandits kidnapped the secretary of Eleazar ben Hananyah and held him for ransom. Hananyah paid a large sum of money to Governor Albinus, who released some of the bandits.”
Ari’s arms tightened around her. “You know for certain that Hananyah will pay this ransom? That Albinus will release the men?”
Rivka nodded. “This incident is well-known. One of the earliest recorded acts of terrorism.”
Ari’s whole body shuddered. “What do you think we should do?”
Rivka didn’t know what to say. The last thing she wanted to do was to collaborate with terrorists. But one man’s terrorist was another man’s freedom-fighter. Which were these dagger-men? Satan’s spawn? Or righteous agents of HaShem?
“I believe I should help these men, Rivkaleh. But perhaps I am wrong. Please, you will pray on this matter.”
Rivka felt cold sweat all over her body. “Of course.” You better believe I’m going to pray about it. If ever I needed to hear from HaShem, it’s now.
* * *
Ari
Two days later, Ari was sweating when he went with Brother Eleazar to meet his father, Hananyah ben Nadavayah.
Eleazar also seemed jittery, and that was not usual. “You will let me do the speaking,” he said for the third time that morning as they walked through the great iron gate into the palace compound where Eleazar lived with his father’s clan.
“Of course.” Ari did not wish to talk to Hananyah at all. Yesterday when he woke up, the whole idea had seemed very foolish. But yesterday afternoon, Rivka had another vision. When Ari returned home from work, she had told him he must speak to Hananyah as soon as possible. So Ari had gone to find Eleazar this morning and told him what he must do in order to recover his secretary.
“You are certain he is still alive?” Eleazar said.
“I spoke with him yesterday,” Ari said. “He was terrified but alive. They have said they will kill him after the feast unless the Romans release ten certain bandits. I have their names on a list.”
“I could take Temple guards and seize him by force,” Eleazar said. “Tell me where they hold him.”
Ari shook his head. “A man of honor does not break confidence. I am sworn to keep secret their location. Besides, they know where I live, and retribution on my house would be swift.”
Eleazar led the way into the great palace and spoke to his father’s steward. The servant nodded and hurried away, leaving them to wait in the receiving room.
Ari had never been here before, and he studied the interior with interest. It was sumptuously decorated, like Brother Yoseph’s palace, but on a much grander scale. A mosaic abstract pattern covered one whole wall of the receiving room, and some of the tiles were real gold. A representation of the Temple menorah was scribed into the plaster of another wall. An extraordinary tapestry with glittering threads covered a third wall. None of the art had representational forms of animals or humans. There were no furnishings to sit on.
Ari stood and sweated.
Eleazar paced.
A quarter of an hour passed, and then the steward returned. “He will see you in his scriptorium. Follow me.”
Ari wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his tunic, then followed Eleazar and the steward down a long plastered hallway, lit every few meters with an olive-oil lamp. Again, there was much art, all abstract. The floors were marble tile, cut in many geometrical shapes and cleverly fitted together in a mosaic pattern that never repeated.
At the end of the hallway, Eleazar stopped before a great oaken door. “You will let me do the speaking.”
Ari nodded.
Eleazar pushed open the door and they went in.
Eleazar’s father looked to be about sixty. Like Eleazar, he was a large man, not as tall as Ari, but thickly built. He had a dense gray beard and the deadly black eyes of a cobra, eyes that pierced Ari with keen suspicion. Ari knew that this man, Hananyah ben Nadavayah, was a malicious old man, hated even by the other Sadducees. Hananyah stood at a tall writing desk made of ivory.
Ari caught his breath. Hand-carved ivory was more valuable than gold. He had never seen such extravagant waste.
Hananyah did not make any move to clasp hands with Ari. “I have heard tales of you, Kazan. What is it you want from me?”
Brother Eleazar’s breath hissed in his throat. “Father, my secretary—”
Hananyah turned his malevolent eyes on Eleazar. “I asked Kazan.”
Eleazar seemed to shrink visibly.
Ari clasped his hands behind his back, wishing he were somewhere else. A den of lions would be an improvement.
Hananyah pointed at Ari. “Speak, Kazan. I have little time for foolishness.”
Ari told of his visit with Menahem ben Yehudah, leaving out details of where his camp might be found.
Hananyah looked unimpressed. “When a man chooses to become a bandit, he takes certain risks. I am not concerned with this Menahem and his son.”
Ari told of the boy, Yoav.
Hananyah scowled. “Galilean swine! They are no concern of mine.”
Ari did not know what to say. Hananyah had not a milligram of compassion in his body. This was the man who had stolen tithes from the poor priests a few years ago. His thugs had beaten up several men, and Ari had gotten his arm broken. All because of this man, who had more wealth than any man could need, more gold, more ivory, more slaves—
Something tickled at Ari’s brain. Slaves. Slaves were wealth. Eleazar’s secretary was a slave, a trained scribe with facility in three languages. Ari turned to Eleazar. “How much did your secretary cost?”
Eleazar grimaced. “More than a talent. Fifteen thousand dinars. But that was seven years ago. To replace him in this market—it would be eighteen thousands.”
Hananyah blanched. “You should have protected the man better. Such waste ...” Rage crossed his face.
Ari took a step forward. “With respect, nobody could have known this man was at risk. The dagger-men have never kidnapped a slave before. Until now, they have been killing men such as yourself.”
Ari saw at once that his words struck home.
Hananyah’s face hardened and he stared into space for a long moment. “Eighteen thousand dinars,” he muttered.
“The governor could be persuaded for much less than that,” Ari said. “If you were to offer him a silver talent, he could be persuaded to release the bandits.”
Hananyah’s eyes bored through Ari. “You know this with certainty?”
Ari knew it because Rivka had gone to talk to Berenike yesterday, who had told her that the governor was much displeased with the yield from the province so far. In Berenike’s judgment, a silver talent would buy the release of the prisoners. Ten thousand dinars.
Hananyah’s eyes gleamed. “Seven thousand dinars. I will offer no more to this pig, this Albinus.”
Ari did not know if that would be enough. “With respect—”
Hananyah froze him with a stare, then turned to his son. “Eleazar, send in my steward and I will see to it. You are dismissed.”
Eleazar took Ari’s arm and backed out of the room.
Outside in the hall, Ari dared to breathe again. He had faced the old lion and won.
Or had he? Ari shook his head. It was impossible to say. He had done what he thought right, what history told him would happen. HaShem could not ask him to do more.
* * *
Rivka
Three weeks passed with little news. Eleazar reported that his father had paid seven thousand dinars to the high priest, Yeshua ben Dannai, who took it to Herod’s Palace and gave it to the governor in person.
And then ... nothing.
All the city seemed to hold its breath through Rosh HaShanah, then the Ten Days of Awe, then the Fast, and finally the seven days of Sukkot. If the bandits were not released by the end of the feast, Eleazar’s scribe would be returned in pieces. So said the tales on the street, and so said Ari.
Rivka worried that she had done something wrong. Menahem and his men were criminals. Helping them was like helping the Mafia.
On the last day of the feast, Shimon ben Klopas and the other elders came home with Ari after the morning prayers to get the bone-box. Tomorrow, on the anniversary of the death of Yaakov the tsaddik, they would go to gather his bones and take him to his final resting place.
Two burly elders trundled the ossuary out. The other elders gathered around them and they all proceeded back toward the synagogue. Shimon remained behind. “A word with you and your woman, Brother Ari?”
Rivka was so surprised she nearly fell over. In years past, she had often spoken with Yaakov the tsaddik, but Shimon was a different sort of man. He was not unkind, but just traditional. Rivka could deal with that.
The three of them came inside. Rachel’s eyes widened when she saw them.
“Run upstairs and play,” Rivka said.
The three of them sat on wooden stools around the one-legged kitchen table.
Shimon looked at Ari. “Has Sister Rivka heard a word from HaShem yet on when we are to leave the city?”
Rivka shook her head. “I’ve been trying to listen. It’s very hard.”
Shimon still did not look at her. “And yet Sister Rivka has heard from HaShem.”
“HaShem warned me that we should not go to Jericho.”
“It saved many lives,” Ari said.
