Holy Smoke: A Jerusalem Mystery

by Frederick Ramsay

  “Curative? He says it starts as a small thing and will grow to be like a tree where birds may build their nests. The Kingdom is tiny but may soon be a large shrub with birds in nests at its top?”

  “Did you know that gardeners are reluctant to plant mustard? It grows so fast and it is nearly impossible to root out once established. Now, I would take that to be a rather good representation of what we hope for, don’t you?”

  “We hope the Way will grow and encompass the world? I think not. The Lord has his people. They were the chosen out of Egypt. If He wanted more, He would have them. His kingdom shall be like the cutting placed on a high holy place and it will grow and be tall and grand for all to see.”

  “You do understand that Ezekiel spoke that piece while in exile in Babylon?”

  “No matter, it is appropriate. We do not grow, Rabban, we cultivate.”

  “Do we? Is that all, then? Perhaps you are right, but to wish to punish this Galilean for disagreeing with you seems a bit harsh.”

  “He has followers and their number grows daily. They say he is the Messiah.”

  “He is not alone in having that honorific. Others have before him and still others will after him, and as for as his numbers increasing, good for him. But consider. How long will they follow after they grow weary of similes and wish rather for action? Has he an army? Can he free us from bondage? Can he lead us like Father Moses to a promised future? Can he reestablish a kingdom free of outside pressure like David? You know he doesn’t and he can’t. Failing in that, it is only a matter of time before his followers turn to a new leader, a new Messiah, if you will, one with at least the illusion of power. In the meantime, I tell you with respect, you are wasting your time on this. Help me with the more serious matter of the defilement in the Temple.”

  “That is a dead issue, Rabban.”

  “Yes certainly, dead and scorched.”

  “Don’t be coy with me. You know what I mean. There will be no investigation into the death.”

  “Deaths, pleural…there has been at least a second and the consensus is there are two guards lying dead somewhere as well.”

  “That is as may be, but as far as the kohanim are concerned, the facts are as they seem and no more need be done. In this, I believe the Sanhedrin will agree with me.”

  “The defilement was outrageous. Where is your anger? Justice, High Priest. We must have it. But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream. Justice, High Priest. Surely we cannot turn away.”

  “I have never liked Amos. He is too simple-minded.”

  “Nevertheless, he is a prophet and speaks for Ha Shem. Listen to yourself. Either we fulfill our calling to be the Lord’s chosen and stand for the Perfected Way or we are just another religious sect, no better or worse that the Greek and Roman pantheons, the followers of Mithra in his several manifestations, or even Ba’al-Zebuwb.”

  “Now you blaspheme.”

  “The truth cannot blaspheme, sir. Now, I am tired. I have had a very busy and confusing day. My head has been crammed full to overflowing with facts and speculations. I have been followed by criminals, witness to a murder, and I have not had my evening meal. So, I will bid you goodnight. If you want your radical rabbi, you will have to catch him yourself. I have no interest in the process.”

  “You will be remiss in you duties as rabban.”

  Gamaliel bit his lip. “Yes, yes, good night, High Priest.”

  Gamaliel escorted the still fuming Caiaphas to the door and saw him into the street. Two Temple guards he had not noticed when he came in stepped forward to accompany the high priest away.

  “And, so that you do not hear it from one of your informers,” Gamaliel yelled after him, “I will continue to study the business of the dead man in the Temple. It is certain that there is more to that death than anyone realizes or, perhaps, wishes to be known.”

  Caiaphas wheeled around. “You accuse me of complicity in this?”

  “Not at all. Are you?”

  The high priest scowled, turned, and marched away, his bodyguard and dignity in disarray.

  Chapter XXI

  That night Gamaliel dreamt again. The man in the mask appeared, as he had done before as did the body, and the burns, but instead of the wild dancing and alterations in its expression, the figure wheeled and turned his back. Then mustard plants, the wild sort they call black mustard, popped up from the ground one after another and the plants, growing, budding, leafing, first here then there, flowed toward him like a river. Seeds flew from their casings, hit the earth and sprouted, producing new shrubs. There seemed to be no end to this inexorable march of the plants. The man spun and tried to flee, but disappeared into the sweep of plants and drowned as they caught up and enveloped him. The burned body, everything, disappeared into the roiling green and yellow stream. Gamaliel woke sweating and fearful. What did all this mean?

  As with the earlier dream and less reluctantly, he determined to take this new version seriously. Ha Shem intended for him to find some meaning, to understand. Why else visit him with these bizarre images of the masked man, a corpse, and now an invasive, tidal wave of plants? It had to do with the murder, certainly…but did it? Would the Lord waste time on such trivial matters? Would the murder of one out-of-place gentile concern the Creator? People might wish the Lord intervened in their petty affairs. People prayed it to be so, but would He concern himself in anything so mundane, here or anywhere else? It was not likely, no matter how nontrivial it might seem to the persons involved. No, this was not the stuff to place at the Lord’s feet.

  Perhaps this dream was to be understood as a warning of something greater. Was there a great calamity to be visited on the Nation soon? Rome ruled with an iron and cruel hand. What worse thing could happen beyond that? No, something else had to be behind the dream—that is, if it meant anything at all. His last conversation with the high priest related to the rabbi from Nazareth. But it seemed unlikely that the maunderings of an insignificant country rabbi had anything to do with the dream or would hold any interest for the Lord.

  He replayed his conversation with the high priest in his head. Kingdom like a mustard seed. Caiaphas had objected to the simile. People’s understanding of the future, of end times, varied from one end of the array of possibilities to the other. What one wished for told you much about the speaker, but those wishes were rarely ever congruent with Torah. No, the future must remain a mystery except when the Lord wished to move his people toward a new place in history as he had done in Egypt. Gamaliel held to the notion that Israel’s history began with Moses, not with Abraham as others believed. This dream must be a warning, but of what sort, and in what way did mustard, plants—plants with medicinal properties—relate to the events of the past few days, much less to the future?

  He rose and washed and prepared for his morning meal. Benyamin brought him his usual pitcher of cool goat’s milk, a wedge of cheese, and the end of a loaf of bread—his milk meal.

  “Benyamin, how do you treat a cough?”

  “Pardon? Did you ask me how I treated a cough, Rabban?”

  “I did.”

  “You have a cough that needs treating?”

  “No, it is a hypothetical question.”

  “Ah, like the one about how would I go about murder, I see. Is the person coughing me or someone else, hypothet…whatever?”

  “Is there a difference?”

  “Indeed, yes.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “There are treatments and there are still more treatments. If the coughing is from a child, there are things one does that would not be done for an adult and the other way round, you see?” Gamaliel opened his mouth to speak but Benyamin kept talking, so he filled it with bread instead. “And if it is an adult, what sort of cough it would be makes a difference.”

  “There are different remedies for different coughs?”

  “Oh, certainly. For the cough that follows the stuffiness one experiences after getting
a chill, one simply sips warmed wine that has cinnamon or some other spices or fruit in it. If there be no wine available, or if wine is part of the sufferer’s general problem, well, you could do nothing as that sort of cough usually takes care of itself.”

  “I see, and the others?”

  “There are tonics and poultices available. Some are very sharp and bring a quick relief, but will often, if improperly applied, burn the skin, or the throat if imbibed. Of the tonics, there are some that make you sleepy and you will be of no use to anyone for hours and—”

  “I take your point. May I assume that the majority of these concoctions are mustard based?”

  “Yes, but some formularies add other items. Pepper is sometimes used to promote sneezing. Some healers believe sneezing will help the body to expel the bad humors quickly. And there are other ingredients that the apothecaries keep secret. One usually finds the formula that works best for oneself and then stays with it.”

  “I see. Thank you, Benyamin. That will be all.”

  Alone again, Gamaliel turned his attention back to the dream and its possible significance. Nearly an hour of concentration brought him no closer to comprehension than before he’d started. His students began to arrive and he put aside his worries about dreams, mustard, and the mysterious Hannah, who seemed to turn up every time he rolled one aspect or the other of it over in his mind. Did that mean the Lord had an investment in the problem of murder in the Temple after all? No, not likely.

  But who was Hannah?

  ***

  Ali bin Selah, in his latest disguise, arrived in time to see the seven young men he took to be the students Loukas had told him about enter Gamaliel’s house. If he understood the arrangement right, the rabban would be engaged for the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon. If he were going to make his presence known to Loukas, now would be the time to do it. Yet he hesitated. He knew the physician, but was it enough? Could this philhellenic healer be trusted? Or would he go to the Jewish or Roman, authorities? Ali needed to find out exactly what he knew. If he knew too much and if that knowledge should happen to uncover the solution of the death…Ali would have to deal with that, but how to do so would not be easy.

  He was about to slip away when a familiar figure skulked down the shadowy side of the street and planted himself in the entryway of a small alley. The rabban interested someone else, it seemed, but probably not in the way he did. Ali’s only wish was to avoid the Jew. This man apparently wished to confront him. Confront might be too strong a word. At the very least he had to have designs on the old man. What could they be? Did Ali care and if so, why? Whoever he was, he clearly did not know his prey, and whatever it was he wished to do had would have to wait. Gamaliel would not emerge from that fortress of a house for hours. Ali started to leave when another thought struck him and he stepped back into his hiding place.

  What if Gamaliel was not the person of interest, but some other man? After all, didn’t the students just arrive? Maybe one of them had a secret. Ali would delay a visit to the physician for now. He settled into his own shadowed hiding place to wait.

  Chapter XXII

  Gamaliel greeted his six students and set them a task to unravel, a text—some lines from Amos, the high priest’s least favorite prophet, or so he said. The rabban had tossed off a line or two the night before about justice which had irritated Caiaphas. In the morning he decided to see how these bright minds would interpret them. Once he’d made the assignment he turned to the seventh man.

  “Zach, I assume you have a good reason for arriving here in a plain robe rather than properly dressed as a Temple guard and accompanying my students at that. Forgive me if I do not consider the latter a coincidence.”

  “You would be correct, Rabban. I waited for them so as to blend in. The same reason dictated my leaving my armor at home.”

  “Then you must have something important to tell me…perhaps it is something you do not wish others to know you are telling me.”

  “I have been ordered by those above me, and they by those above them, to cease my inquiries into the matter of the bribes and…you can see how that would work. Whatever or whoever is behind the man’s death in the Temple, it is certain that important people wish the matter to stay hidden. I received instructions to speak to no one, especially not to you.”

  “But you didn’t stop?”

  “Not right away. I kept asking questions, but I added a warning. If any of my guards spoke to anyone else about what I was doing, they would soon be looking for a job as a shepherd—and lucky to get that. Yesterday I stumbled onto something I think is important enough to pass on to you, and dangerous enough to persuade me to be much more discreet.”

  “Ah, in that case you’d better sit down.” Gamaliel pulled a bench away from the wall and gestured for the guardsman to sit. “Benyamin, bring us some wine.”

  The guard sat and glanced around the room. “There are no windows here? We cannot be seen or overheard?”

  “We are quite private here. Why do you ask?”

  “I am sure someone followed me here. I made a point of joining your students. Everybody knows they arrive here at the third hour and most know their number varies. I thought seven men instead of six would not attract much notice. I guess I was mistaken.”

  “This man might have started following you before you merged with the students.”

  “That is so. But I felt sure I was alone up until I met up with your six. I am usually pretty good at that. My friends say I have a hawk’s eyes because I can see things well off to either side.”

  “That must come in handy. Did you consider the possibility that it was not you, but one of the students who was being followed?”

  “No, I did not. I supposed that, because I came across this knowledge, I must be the target.”

  “One last thing before you tell me your news. If what you know is so dangerous, why would the man only follow? Isn’t it more likely he would simply get you aside and kill you on the spot?”

  “I served briefly as a legionnaire in one of the cohorts assigned here. Many people know that and they know that I am not so easy to kill.”

  “I see. Well, here is the wine.”

  Benyamin placed two cups and a ewer of wine on the table between them. He glanced at the guard and his expression left no doubt as to what he thought of a palace guard sharing wine with the rabban of the Sanhedrin.

  “Benyamin, I have a small task for you. Find some reason to exit to the street and walk west toward the Upper City and then circle around and approach the house from the east. Keep alert and see if you can tell if there is anyone lurking in the street as if he is waiting for someone in here. Also note if you are followed. Oh, and wear this man’s cloak. Do not pull it all the way round you, just enough to cause someone to notice.”

  Benyamin’s furrowed brow suggested he had second thoughts about his master’s sanity, but he left. Moments later, the sound of the great front door banged shut.

  “We will have a report in soon enough, but Benyamin is a slow walker. Now, tell me your news.”

  ***

  Ali saw the man exit. For a moment he thought it was one of the students, but it was an older, stooped man, a servant perhaps sent on an errand. The man hesitated and peered nervously up and down the street, then toddled off toward the Upper City. Ali sank further into his shadows. The watcher on the other side of the street stepped forward as if to greet this new arrival. Then he, too, hesitated and stepped back. What to make of that? Ali watched the old man disappear.

  He had begun to think he could use the time to better advantage elsewhere. The errand runner, though running did not describe the old man’s pace, soon returned. But from the east this time. Now that was odd. Either he had multiple errands to perform and the last at some location on the east side of the city, or the errand in the Upper City had failed and he’d been sent elsewhere, or he had been sent out for some other reason. What? To scout the street for people like the man across and himself?
Did Gamaliel believe there would be someone out here with a less than innocent motive? How did he arrive at that? Ali shot a quick look at his counterpart. If his posture meant anything, that man was as confused as he.

  The old man disappeared through the great door.

  ***

  Gamaliel sat back and tried to process what Zach had told him. He tapped his foot and waved one hand about, silently ticking off points in his mind and arranging them in columns in the air. The guard waited, unsure of what was expected of him.

  “Rabban? What does it mean…beyond the obvious, that the palace is somehow involved in the man’s death?”

  “The palace? Oh I think not. Someone from the palace surely, but it is more complicated than that. The king would not condone it. The king and his government are away in Tiberias. Only a few low-level functionaries remain in the city. No, what you tell me leads elsewhere.

  “But…”

  “I have sources in the palace. If the king or anyone near to him were involved, I would know about it.”

  A very annoyed Benyamin entered the room. If he were a person of rank and privilege, a person whose facial expression would be important to read, thunderous would describe his features best. He shed the guard’s cloak with an air of disgust. As he found himself downwind from the garment, so to speak, Gamaliel had to admit that it did smell a little ripe.

  “So, Benyamin, what did you learn?”

  “Aside from this man’s poor sense of cleanliness and maintenance of his clothing, only two things that would interest the rabban.”

  “And they are?”

  “There are two suspicious men in the street, not one. One tallish, lean person stands in the shadows across from the front door, and a shorter, stocky man likewise to the west in the alleyway. That one seemed very interested in the cloak, which I suppose means he is interested in your guest.”

  “And the first one?”

  “He is just there. He could be simply an idler, or someone expecting to be joined later, or he might have followed the first. It is impossible to say.”