“I don’t know, but I pray he’s alive. Where are your brothers?”
“They’re watching the main road.”
Yosef said, “Stay here. I’m going in alone.”
“But why? You may need me.”
“If this is a trap, someone must ride back and warn your brothers, or they too will be caught and executed.”
Mattias stared at him, then nodded. “You’re right. I’ll wait here.”
Yosef reined his horse to within twenty paces of the house and cautiously dismounted. “Titus?” he called. Then a little more loudly, “Titus? Are you here?”
The only sound was the breeze whistling through the gaps in the collapsed roof.
He impatiently tied Adolphus to an overgrown bush, and walked toward the dark house. From the smell, the building had recently been used as a barn. The scents of manure and moldering hay were strong.
As he peered in one of the windows, his nerves stretched to the breaking point. He couldn’t keep his hands still.
He walked to the door. Inside, he could see fallen roof beams, broken pots, and piles of windblown debris. “Titus?”
Wind shoved a loose board, and when it creaked mournfully, Yosef jerked his knife from the sheath and froze. Along the wall to his right, tiny, glistening eyes flashed as mice scurried for cover.
He listened for any other sound.
Then he stepped into the house, edged around a pile of sheep manure, and tiptoed toward the closed door in the rear. “Titus?”
He pushed the door open and entered. Blackness. When he and Titus had last been here three years ago, this had been a storage room. The faint fragrances of dried fruits and herbs temporarily overpowered that of the manure and mildew.
As Yosef groped along the wall to his left, he bumped against an old crate. Then his hand touched another wall and he felt his way toward the wall niche he remembered—the curtained niche where the farmer had stored his family’s most precious items. When his hand brushed a rotted piece of cloth, then sank into the wall, he knew he’d found it.
For five rapid heartbeats, he just stood there, praying. Then he stuck his hand deeper into the niche and felt around. Nothing. Just thick dust and spiderwebs.
Yosef pulled his hand out and sank against the wall. There was no message. Titus had not been here. At least not yet, and if he hadn’t already arrived, there was a good chance he never would. Though Titus must have been forced to hide out for hours or even a day, he would not have lingered anywhere, knowing as he did that time was of the essence.
Yosef’s despair was so overpowering, he barely noticed the tiny creak in the outer room. As the night cooled, wood contracted and the small animals began to emerge from their hiding places in search of food … .
The next time he heard it, he looked up and focused on the ajar door.
The third time, he crouched down behind a toppled cupboard and gripped his knife in a hard fist.
Just above a whisper, a man called, “Master?”
“Titus!”
Yosef lunged for the door, threw it open, and ran straight into the arms of four Roman soldiers. Dressed in common brown robes, they had clean-shaven faces and carried the gladii, the short swords, of the Legion. Two of them held Titus by the arms. He was filthy and sweating profusely. His face and brown curly hair were covered with dust and streaks of soot.
“Throw down your knife!” the tall blond man said and aimed his sword at Yosef. He had an almost feminine oval face with long lashes, but the muscles that bulged through his robe spoke of many battles.
Yosef tossed the knife to the floor and held up his hands.
“Forgive me, Master,” Titus said in a shaking voice. “I arrived only moments before you and found them waiting for me.”
“Then …”
Neither of them had to say it.
They have the Pearl.
Titus’ chest heaved with silent sobs.
The officer said, “I am Centurion Lutatius Crassus, here by order of Praefectus Pontios Pilatos. You are under arrest.”
“On what charge?” Yosef asked.
“Come with us.” The officer led the way out the door and the men holding Titus forced him to follow. The remaining soldier used his sword to gesture for Yosef to follow Titus.
With his hands up, he stepped out into the dusk, where four more soldiers stood guard.
The surrounding orchards had turned dark and foreboding, but the sky continued to gleam with a faint purplish hue.
Centurion Crassus strode out into the trees and, as Yosef fell into line behind Titus, he saw eight horses grazing placidly amid the fruit trees … and the packhorse tied to a low branch with the linen-wrapped bundle still on its back; it looked intact.
Hope rose up to choke him.
Perhaps, if one of them could create a diversion, the other could …
The centurion walked straight to the horse, used his knife to cut the straps, and shoved the heavy linen bundle to the ground. Yosef let out a small cry of shock, and tried to run forward, but his guard shouted, “Stop or I’ll kill you!”
Yosef’s steps faltered. He stood trembling as tears filled his eyes.
“What is this?” the officer asked pointing at the bundle with his sword.
Titus and Yosef glanced at each other, but neither answered.
Grumbling, the officer bent down and ripped at the linen with his sword, shredding it. He ripped again, only to stop when a human arm flopped out. The sword had cut a wide gash across the wrist. Bloodless, it gaped open like a ragged violet mouth.
For a moment, Yosef was so stunned, he couldn’t speak. He could clearly see the man’s right hand. What had happened to his ring? His grandfather’s ring? He’d placed it on the index finger himself, he knew for certain … .
“Are you aware,” the centurion said, “that it is a crime to steal the body of a crucified criminal?”
Yosef’s eyes blurred. The world took on a blinding shimmer.
The centurion kicked the bundle over and tugged hard to unwrap the linen. When the body rolled out, Yosef couldn’t help it, a sob choked him and tears traced warm lines down his cheeks. If he lived to be a thousand, he would never forget this terrible, wrenching moment. He felt like his heart had been ripped out.
The centurion stared down, then straightened. “You”—he gestured to Yosef—“come forward and identify this man.”
Guards escorted Yosef to the body. He looked down, and his knees went weak.
In stunned confusion, he stammered, “It—it’s Dysmas. D-Dysmas the Zealot.”
“That’s what I thought. I was sent to arrest you for the theft of the body of the criminal known as Yeshua ben Pantera, but this is not his body.”
Yosef glanced at Titus, silently asking what he’d done, but Titus violently shook his head.
The centurion appeared perturbed. “Where is the body of ben Pantera?”
Yosef shrugged. “I do not know, Centurion. That’s the truth.”
The officer scowled at Titus. “Where is the body?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about! We promised that when the holy days were over, we would get Dysmas’ body to his family in Ioppe. My master received a special permit from the praefectus himself to bury this man! Now …” He swallowed his tears and waved to the body. “Now, his body has been violated, mutilated! I can’t face his mother.”
Yosef longed to kiss him.
Crassus sheathed his sword and propped his hands on his hips as he glared at Yosef. “You are Ioses of Arimathaia, yes?”
“I am.”
“High Priest Kaiaphas told the praefectus that after you’d placed ben Pantera’s body in your tomb, he’d had you imprisoned to prevent you from doing something foolish, like stealing the body and proclaiming your friend had fulfilled Jewish prophecies. Were you imprisoned?”
It was against the law for Romans to interfere in the actions of the Council of Seventy-one, unless the Council requested their assistance. Yosef was pr
aying it had not.
Yosef wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “I was not imprisoned by Roman order, Centurion, therefore you have no jurisdiction over my escape. Do you? Are you here to enforce the orders of the Council of Seventy-one?”
Crassus’ mouth pursed disdainfully. “I do not enforce Jewish orders.”
“Then we’ll be on our way. Good evening to you.” Yosef started to walk away.
“Wait.” Crassus frowned angrily. “How did you escape?”
“I have good friends.”
Crassus did not need to know that Gamliel, who routinely used Kaiaphas’ key to visit prisoners in the dungeon cells, had secretly released him.
Yosef sucked in a halting breath and shifted his weight, waiting for the final hammer’s fall.
The centurion said, “My orders are to arrest you for stealing the body of ben Pantera, and to return the body to the praefectus, but—”
“But we do not have the body. There is also no evidence that we are guilty of the theft of his body. Were you ordered to arrest us without evidence?”
If Pilatos had followed his own procedures, the body would have been the condemning evidence required to justify the arrest. Without it …
The centurion gazed at him with stony eyes. As night deepened, the horses began to wander into the shadows. Two of the soldiers went in search of them, and Yosef heard reins jingling as the men gathered the animals and led them back.
Upset, the centurion ordered, “We have no proof that any crime has been committed. Let’s return to Jerusalem and report our findings to the praefectus.”
A little resentfully, Yosef said, “Please give Lucius Pontios my regards.”
The centurion glared at him, then waved his men forward. They mounted their horses and galloped up the twisting trail toward the main road. A gossamer haze of dust rose in their wake.
When they’d ridden out of sight, Yosef’s legs failed him. He sat down hard. Titus knelt in front of him, his eyes wide and filled with questions that Yosef did not know how to answer.
Yosef said, “The soldiers were waiting for you here?”
“Yes.”
“How is that possible?”
Titus shifted uneasily. “I’m not sure. But … Master, on the way here, just outside of Emmaus, I passed two of the Rab’s followers.”108
“Which two?”
“Cleopas and Kepha.”109
Yosef’s gaze drifted over the dark orchard, the packhorse tied to the tree, and the body on the ground. “Did you see them speaking with the Romans?”
“No, but why else would they be out here?”
Yosef concentrated on his heartbeat, which continued to slam against his ribs as though unaware that the danger had passed. “I don’t know,” he murmured.
This morning, Nisan the seventeenth, had been the first morning people were allowed to leave their homes. Maryam would have found the tomb empty and run to tell the disciples. Why weren’t Kepha and Cleopas in Yerushalaim consoling their heartbroken, grieving flock, which numbered over one hundred people?
“Perhaps there was rioting and they needed to get away,” he said.
But he didn’t believe it.
Titus surveyed the darkness. “Where is the Dawn Bather? I didn’t see you ride in with him.”
“I left him a good distance back. I suspect that when he saw the soldiers, he assumed the worst. He and his brothers must have fled.”
Titus’ lips pressed together in disdain, as though he’d always known Mattias was a coward, but was restraining himself from voicing that opinion.
Yosef forced himself to breathe, hoping it would relieve some of his anxiety. His gaze returned to the body of Dysmas. The sense of utter astonishment had not diminished.
Bewildered, Titus said, “I don’t understand. I thought we—”
“As did I.”
Titus exhaled hard. “Well, now we have another problem. What shall we do with Dysmas? We can’t just leave him out here for the wild animals.”
“Let’s bury him and be on our way.”
“To where?”
Yosef ran a hand through his dirty hair. “Maryam wrapped the bodies in linen. She’s the only one who knows the truth.”
THIRTY ~ NINE
Following behind a young monk named Albion, Pappas Meridias tramped across the once beautiful city of Jerusalem. The boy was around fifteen years old, with soft brown eyes and short, sandy hair. His tattered brown robe looked as though it had recently been plucked from a trash heap. Meridias eyed it distastefully. Surely Pappas Macarios of Jerusalem could do better. Was he teaching the youth some lesson in poverty? Or perhaps self-denial? Regardless, such dress did not project the image of the Faith that Rome wished to cultivate. Who would convert if he thought he had to look like a derelict?
As they strode up the flagstone-paved street toward the hilltop, Meridias got a good view of the city. Remarkable. The devastation caused by the Tenth Legion during the Jewish wars of 66 and l32 was still evident. The Temple Mount, at the emperor’s orders, had been left in ruins, and everywhere he looked he saw the remains of Roman camps, as well as the infamous pagan temples built by Emperor Hadrian: the Temple honoring Jupiter built on the Temple Mount, and the Temple to Aphrodite built over the site of the crucifixion. From this angle, he could just see the top of Aphrodite’s Temple.
After the defeat of Shimeon Bar Koseva and his rabble in 135, the Tenth Legion had remained in Jerusalem for almost two hundred years. Their main occupation had been the production of clay bricks baked in fireproof kilns. The demand for bricks was great, and each brick was marked with the Tenth Legion’s emblem and trademark: LEG X.
As Meridias and the youth crested the hill and walked into a thick cloud of dust, Meridias drew a scarf from his pocket and placed it over his nose. Then he carefully scrutinized the huge excavation.110
Only the might of Rome could have orchestrated and engineered the filling and leveling of an entire valley. And now, only the might of Rome could have initiated the massive effort to restore an entire valley to its original condition.
Meridias might have stood atop some unnatural human hive. Hundreds of men carried baskets of dirt on their backs or shoveled it into carts to be hauled away. The mountains of refuse, stones, artifacts, and earth that had been dug up, were growing by the instant. As well, another group of laborers worked to tear down the magnificent Temple to Aphrodite. Meridias shook his head. In his opinion it was unfortunate that they couldn’t have saved the structure and reconsecrated it to the Virgin Miriam, or to the Magdalen. But perhaps the emperor was right; it had been irreparably tainted by idolatry. Not only that, they had to remove the massive landfill if there was any hope of locating the actual remains of the crucifixion and tomb of Iesous. Unfortunately, the Temple to Aphrodite sat on part of the landfill.
“There he is,” Albion said with a big, boyish smile. “Down there.”
Meridias squinted against the dust and saw a man dressed in a long black robe apparently directing the excavation. He was short and ugly, with heavy jowls and wispy brown hair. “He’s not very impressive, is he?” Meridias said.
Albion’s smile dissolved in horror. “But … he’s a very holy man.”
“Yes, well, perhaps he is. Let’s go meet him.”
Albion led the descent into the yawning excavation, picking his way down through the gray haze. As they descended, the banging of hammers against chisels, of shovels striking hard-packed dirt and cart sides, along with the sharp ringing of picks on rocks, became almost unbearable.
Macarios saw him coming, detached himself from a group of engineers, and walked to meet Meridias with a smile on his ugly, dust-coated face. He had a large gap between his two front teeth.
“Pappas Meridias?” he greeted. “May the peace of our Lord be with you. I hope your arrival here has been—”
“Pappas Macarios,” he interrupted with a dismal sigh. “I am happy to find you busy obeying the emperor’s orders. What have you found?”
/> Macarios, clearly taken aback by the lack of polite opening conversation, said, “Uh, well, many things. Firstly, how was your journey?”
“Long and dirty. What have you found?”
Macarios blinked. “To b-begin, let me explain that when Emperor Hadrian built the Temple to the god—”
“To the pagan deity Aphrodite,” he corrected.
“Yes, of—of course. Anyway, in order to build the Temple, the emperor had to fill in the garden and the rocky escarpments to raise the level of the garden to the level of the remaining saddle of the mountain. We’re talking tens of thousands of square cubits of—”
“I know all that. What have you found?”
Macarios’ jowls jiggled as he rushed to say, “Just today we uncovered the rocky spur of Golgotha itself. That’s it there.” He pointed.
Through the dust, Meridias studied what looked like a small nondescript hump of rock. It was little more than a ridge of malaky, or “royal stone.” “What else?”
Macarios’ expression drooped. “Well, on the west side, the escarpments of the saddle contain at least two tombs.”
“Our Lord’s tomb?”
“I don’t know yet. Not for certain. We’ve only just begun our excavations. As we proceed, we will be able to answer your questions more reliably.”
“That will be a welcome change. The emperor wants answers now.”
Something on the ground caught his eye. Meridias reached down and pulled a small clay lamp from the soft earth. As he brushed it off, the image of a naked woman suspended with her legs spread over an erect male became clear. He roughly tossed it to the ground again.
Macarios glanced at it and said, “Appalling, aren’t they? We’ve uncovered a number of pornographic oil lamps in the vicinity of the Tenth Legion’s camps. Apparently they amused the soldiers.”111
Meridias lifted his scarf and, again, covered his nose. Already his clean robe was coated with a fine powder, and he imagined that his blond hair looked the same.
Macarios studied his expression for several moments before bravely asking, “Meridias, can you tell me what this is all about? Pappas Silvester sent a series of questions regarding biblical place names that he wished me to answer. He seems to believe they are a map, but I could make no sense of them. Do you know what he’s talking about?”
The Betrayal Page 27