“What is it about State sanctioned death that so fascinates people, Rabban? Death, anyone’s death, cannot be pleasant to witness.”
“Public executions, gladiatorial shows in the circus, an obsession with conflict…? I was asked that earlier today and I have no answer beyond the suggestion it reflects the times we live in. Our history, Loukas, is hardly one of peaceful or negotiated settlements with our neighbors. We conquer, we are conquered. ‘Saul had his hundreds, David had his thousands’ the Book tells us if you remember. And you know the reference is not to sheep, but to the Philistines each is credited with dispatching. National heroes are almost universally warriors. Emperors and Kings rise to power on the cold, dead bodies they have laid at their feet.”
“That is a very dark view of the world.”
“I wish it were not so, but to date, can you think of an exception?”
“I wish I could. Will there ever be an end to it?”
“I think it unlikely. Not in my lifetime anyway. Changing the subject, have you noticed anyone in the street demonstrating an inordinate interest in us?”
“We are at this again?” Loukas paused and, as unobtrusively as he could, glanced both ways. “I cannot tell. There are many people, and some are looking at us. I doubt any of them would be after us.”
“No, if they were, the last thing they’d do is make eye contact. Did you happen to see a tallish woman?”
“Did I see…? I may have. Shall I look again?”
“No, no, keep walking. We will make our way to the amphitheater now.”
“The amphitheater? We are going to that cesspit because…?
“Because, as unlikely as it may seem to be, I believe Aurelius’ murder began in that place weeks ago.”
“At the theater? Weeks? How on earth could that be? Aurelius and the other two did not arrive but a little over a week. They were not expected. How does one plot a murder if you do not know if your victim is going to be where you may get to him?”
“An excellent question, and one I shall answer when two things happen.”
“Two? Only two or two that may lead to many more?”
“The former, although I cannot say anything for certain just now.”
“Care to share the two?”
“Ah, we have arrived. When you visited this place before what didn’t you see?”
“Pardon me, what did I not see?”
“Exactly.”
“You jest. Very well, I did not see any evidence of hippopotami, eagles, respectable citizens, fruit trees—”
“I do not jest, and you are wasting precious time. I mean, what was missing in that theater that you would have a reasonable expectation of seeing.”
“Not hippopotami, then. Let me think…what did I not see…what was missing, you meant. I don’t know.”
“What about actors?”
***
The boy had, in fact discovered how the release of Barabbas would affect his future. Thus, he was in the streets this morning making himself as inconspicuous as possible while keeping close tabs on Gamaliel and Loukas. They might be, he thought, his only hope of staying alive. But could he trust them to keep him safe or would they turn him over to the authorities? He dared not return to the Praetorium under any circumstances.
Besides allowing himself to be drawn into the net of these dangerous men, his problems really began when he discovered that his usefulness to the General had come to an end. He’d returned to the hut outside the Sheep Gate as he’d been told. By chance or luck, before he pushed through the curtain that served as a door, he’d hesitated. The voices within brought him up short.
“He has to go,” one of them had said. He couldn’t be sure which. The only voice he really knew was the General.
“He is just a boy. What harm can he do?”
“He can tell Pilate’s people where to find us.”
“Pilate will be gone in three days. Then it will make no difference. It will be months before we have a new Prefect and by then…” the voice trailed off.
“We cannot risk it. What if Pilate escapes the charges? What if it turns out they don’t care if he killed one of his own? What if the Rabban succeeds in clearing him?”
“What are the chances of that?”
“If he finds the boy, very good.”
“Oh. I see. Do you think he will?”
“The Rabban is not a stupid man like our High Priest. If he has enough time, he will sort this out.”
“If only the assassination had worked as we drew it up.”
“Or if only you’d sent someone competent to do the job or at least had a little more patience, we might not be sitting here worrying about this.”
“Too late for that now. We press on. Very well, kill the boy.”
When he overheard the men’s talk, he knew that unless he fled immediately, he would not see another day. The Dagger Men would soon be on his trail. Shabbat was not a special day for him, but even so, he’d like to see it and live beyond as well.
Marius sped away into the city as fast as his legs would take him. He needed to hide, to flee. He changed his attire and took to the streets in search of a way to save his skin. The obvious next step would be to leave the city immediately, to attach himself to one of the hundreds of pilgrims packing and pouring through the city gates and roads on their way to the sea or northward to the roads that would take them east and west to their homes. He would have done so, but couldn’t. He had no money. He might have been welcome to join any of the departing families, but he could hardly expect them to feed him. His life before and then since becoming a slave in the service of these people meant he had no means to acquire coins. He could try to cut a few purses, he supposed. It wouldn’t be the first time, but he hesitated. To be caught in that would also end in his death. Returning to Pilate was out of the question. First, he would be trading what little freedom he currently enjoyed for safety in a life of slavery. Even that didn’t sway his decision not to go to Pilate. After all, there was a certain security in slavery. That is if you could pick the right master. But since the people who intended to see him dead also had free access to the Fortress, he knew he wouldn’t last a fortnight no matter in whose household he served.
That left continuing to live by his wits in the streets in the hope his pursuers would not find him and eventually give up trying or trusting someone like the Rabban or his friend the Physician to help him. But could he? More importantly, would they? The Rabban worked for Pilate and was trying to find out who killed that other Roman. How likely would they overlook his involvement? Wouldn’t it be simpler for them to turn him over to the Prefect? Their task would be completed. Marius had a difficult decision to make, and he didn’t have much time to make it. Which way to turn? If he had money he could leave this wretched city forever and his problems would be solved. His world pivoted on that if. Thieving was an occupation he never really developed, though he had tried on occasion, and he had few marketable skills otherwise. If he just had something to sell…who would buy it?
When he turned a corner he spotted the Rabban and the Physician. He stayed close to the storefronts and stalls keeping the Rabban and the Physician in sight while simultaneously scanning the street for men carrying daggers. He needed time to decide whether running into the two men constituted good or bad luck.
Chapter XLIV
By most cities’ standards the amphitheater in Jerusalem would be deemed a disappointment both architecturally and artistically. It lacked size and style. Furthermore, classical drama whether comedy or tragedy, Greek or Roman, did not play well to the sober tastes of the city’s religious population and there were barely enough gentiles and Hellenized Jews to keep it open year-round. Because of that and its general lack of panache, it could not generate an audience base sufficient to sustain anything more than traveling troupes of actors performing the classics and other entertainment of dubious merit. In the past, one or two attempts had been made to stage Exagoge, the play depicting Moses’ freeing t
he Jews from Egypt. It had met with little success. It would have been appropriate for the time and would be mounted in the laxer spirituality of Alexandria and Damascus to great acclaim, but not here. Not in the city of David. Not in the very shadow of the Lord’s dwelling place.
Gamaliel paused before the entrance and studied its façade. A slight wind stirred the dust on the street and the faded banners strung across the theater entrance. The sunlight, which had nearly blinded him a moment earlier, began to fade. The streets and building before him were plunged into darkness.
“Loukas, what is happening?” Gamaliel feared nothing of men, but an act of Ha Shem was another matter.
“Rabban, it is a phenomenon of the stars. An itinerant astrologer told me about it. Somehow the moon crosses the sun and momentarily blots it out.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“What else could it be?”
“I am considering the possibility that the High Priest was right? That Yeshua has angered the Lord.”
“Really, Rabban, is that the Lord you fall before, one who punishes his creation because it occasionally strays?”
“In a word, yes.”
“I see. Well, fear not, the light will return any moment now…There you see, it is finished. The Lord has not moved against us yet.”
“Nevertheless, it is very disconcerting. The moon blots out the sun, you say. I imagine the pagans are having a field day with that one. Apollo’s chariot collides with Selene’s. A catastrophe. Listen to the wailing and moaning.”
“I would have wagered any amount that you, of all people, would have no idea who those deities were.”
“And you would have lost a great many denari. It is my duty to know these things if I am to refute them.”
“Yes. Well, tomorrow is Shabbat, Rabban. After that astral display, I expect many of the lapsed will return to the faith, at least for a while.”
“Possibly. All we need now is an earthquake and ‘for a while’ could become for a lifetime.”
“You have more confidence in conversion from fear than I do. Now, before you ask again, Rabban, the Master of the plays, manager, or whatever he is called, is named Mordekay. I have no idea where he comes from originally. His accent could be Greek or slightly farther east and his name is obviously an invention he believes will ingratiate him to the citizenry. He will not tell you the truth even if there is no reason to lie. That should tell you the sort of person you hope to pry information from.”
“I wasn’t going to ask, but thank you for all that anyway. When you questioned him before, he did say there was no troupe currently in residence?”
“Not exactly. I asked him if any were missing. I assumed a troupe did, in fact, exist. He said no one had gone missing which confirmed my assumption. If no one had gone missing, naturally there had to be something not to be missing from.”
“I see, very clever. Did you ask when the players arrived?”
“I saw no reason to. Should I have?”
“At the time, I didn’t think so, but now, yes it might be an important piece of information. One more question, when you interviewed him, did you actually see anyone else?”
“Now that you mention it, no I did not. That is strange, isn’t it?”
“Probably not as much as you might think. Remember, Loukas, that if the actors are not acting, if there is no audience to pay admission, they wouldn’t get paid. No pay, no eat. If the troupe arrived and then, because of the Holy Day or an official edict of some sort, they were denied work, they would have to spread out through the city and look for work, money, something, until they were called to perform or found the wherewithal to move on.”
“That is not much of a life.”
“No, it is not. Now let’s ask this Mordekay person when this troupe arrived in Jerusalem.”
“And that will tell us what, exactly?”
“When the plot that ended in the murder of Aurelius was first hatched.”
“I know you think Aurelius’ murder was premeditated because of the dagger. What has a troupe of players to do with it?”
“Think a moment. Pilate’s dagger is stolen. Only half the torches in the hallway were lit. The Centurion denies any involvement in sending a message. Later men, including your servant Yakob, hatch a plot to free Barabbas. It is all of a piece, Loukas.”
“Barabbas? Really, Gamaliel, that can’t be true. How can Barabbas be connected to the death of the noble Roman?”
“That, my friend, is what we must discover. But I assure you that both Aurelius’ death and this amphitheater are smaller segments of a much larger picture.”
“And the link that connects them is Mordekay?”
“Mordekay? Certainly not. He is as ignorant as a stump. Mordekay will provide a date and some meetings with the actors that will link us to the boy. The boy is the connection to the murder.”
“Marius?”
“The same. Now, we go in.”
***
Eyes were watching him, following his every move, burning a hole in his back. They had found him. That must be it. Marius spun around searching for the watcher, the threat. He couldn’t pick out anyone in the crowd. Of course he couldn’t. Those people were trained to blend in, weren’t they? Assassins had to or they’d never succeed at what they did. No one walked the streets with a placard declaring them to be a murderer, did they? The boy panicked and started to run. He no longer cared what happened to the Rabban and his friend. He needed to find a place to hide and think. His headlong dash brought him to a narrow but relatively tall building. He pushed through a half open door and slammed it shut. After the bright sun he found himself in near pitch black darkness. He tried to slow his breathing while his eyes adjusted to absolute dark. Not even a sliver of light shone through the crack between the door and the sill. Marius was too frightened to notice.
After a moment his panic subsided and his vision improved. He could make out the shapes around him. He realized he had barged into the scaena at the amphitheater. He recognized the musty smells of dusty fabric, paint, and bygone actors. The door, which he’d just closed, creaked open. His panic returned. He glanced wildly around looking for a hiding place. He knew he had almost no time to become invisible before this new person’s eyesight would adapt to the dark and he could be seen. He scurried as quietly as he could to a corner, crouched down, and drew what he thought must be the flap of a tent over his head.
He could hear voices outside on the stage or in the orchestra. He strained his ears first to listen for someone moving about in the dark and secondly to the conversation outside.
***
“So, Master Mordekay,” Gamaliel said, “This troupe which you do not remember being here, can you tell me when it would have arrived in the city, if there had been one?”
The manager frowned and shook his head. “Sir?”
“If you insist there is no troupe of players in the city, so be it. I need to know when this nonexistent troupe arrived. You will save me a great deal of time and yourself a great deal of inconvenience and pain if you answer my question. When—two weeks, three?”
“Three.”
“Good, now we understand each other. Please describe the members of this troupe that is not here.”
“The players only or including the people who came with them?”
“The players first. If I need the others, I will tell you.”
“Well, the usual. Five men, three boys, all players. They had with them three dressers who also formed part of the chorus and six others who were part of the chorus and occasional players when the drama called for crowds.”
“Tell me about the boys.”
“What’s to tell? They were boys. You know, they had parts if called on. Otherwise they worked the masks.”
“Can you describe them in any detail?”
“I’m sorry, but they were not here long enough to even form an impression. When they heard that any play making they would do would have to wait until after Passover and the
Shabbat following that, they disappeared into the city.”
“While they lingered, did you notice anyone else showing any interest in them—soldiers perhaps, or people from the Praetorium, Pilate’s servants, perhaps.”
Mordekay shuffled his feet and kept his eyes fixed on the floor. “No, no one.”
“Thank you Mordekay. You are a very bad liar, but in spite of your attempts not to seem so, you are a veritable fountain of information. Come along Loukas, it’s time to repair to my house. I am expecting the boy any moment.”
“The boy? You expect the boy to present himself at your House?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. We must be on our way.”
***
Marius thought he recognized the voices. It must be the Rabban. He didn’t hear the Physician speak so the other voice must be the man in charge of the theater. Why had they come here? What had they discovered? He was doomed. Either those men who’d forced him into that terrible business and who now wished him dead would find him, or the Rabban would and turn him over to Pilate. Whichever came to pass, he was a dead man. He made himself as small as possible. His covering smelled like its last user had been a camel. He lifted the edge of his shelter to access some fresher air. He thought he heard footsteps. There was enough grit on the floor to signal the movements of anyone not treading very carefully. There it was again. A scrape, a thump followed by a muttered curse. Whoever was out there must have barked his shin on a crate.
Marius held his breath for as long as he could. He exhaled. His shelter flap fluttered. Another step, close by, almost on him. He froze.
A hand clamped down on his shoulder. The pain caused him to cry out. Another caught up the fabric across his chest and hauled him to his feet.
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