The Ironsmith

by Nicholas Guild

  Suddenly he laughed.

  “Probably those soldiers will be privileged to be the first to witness the coming of the Kingdom. Think how surprised they will be to hear the trumpet blast and see the messenger of God’s judgment descending from the clouds.”

  “Will it be soon, Master?”

  “Soon, Matthias. Soon enough. I am filled with hope that this Passover will see great changes. But the time is known only to the Father.”

  All the while they spoke, their steps carried them further from the fortress, which they all would have preferred to ignore, and in an arc along the outer wall. The Temple was a vast structure, best appreciated at a distance.

  All at once Joshua stopped, crossed his arms over his chest, and smiled. There, over the heads of the crowd, he could see the thing whole. Over the inner wall he could even see the upper half of the Holy of Holies.

  “Old Herod was a black-hearted rogue, but this one thing he did right. It took him thirty years, but he came as close as a man can to building a house worthy of the living God.”

  For a long while he stood there, letting the sight of it delight his heart. Then, as if something important had just occurred to him, he glanced about.

  “Where is Judah?” he asked impatiently. “He was supposed to meet us here, and he is late.”

  “Here I am.”

  They heard his voice before they saw him, and then he emerged through the crowd. He smiled uncertainly, like someone unsure of his welcome.

  Where had he been? It was the inevitable question, if only because he seemed not himself. Under any circumstances, Judah always appeared ill at ease and out of place, but that was ascribable to the social chasm between a son of the Levites and a crowd of Galilean workmen—Judah always tried a little too earnestly to forget that he wasn’t a peasant. But today he looked unwell. His eyes had an unnatural glitter and his temples appeared hollowed out.

  “Are you ill?” Joshua asked him, staring into his face. “Did you eat something that didn’t agree with you?”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  “Then, did you find us a place to sleep?”

  “Yes. An upper room near the fuller’s tower. We can have it for the week for two silver shekels.”

  “And where did you get the two silver shekels?”

  “I borrowed them. A friend loaned them to me.” He glanced about, as if to judge how the explanation was accepted. “I still have friends in Jerusalem.”

  Joshua threw his arm across Judah’s shoulders.

  “Very well then. Have you immersed yourself?”

  “Yes. Yesterday.”

  “Good. Then we can go look at this upper room.”

  * * *

  Beyond the eastern wall was a ridge covered with olive trees, and at its base a patch of wilderness called Gethsemane, an old word for “olive press.” There may have been an olive press there once, but now it was deserted, given over to wildflowers and ancient trees. The place had a certain beauty and, though only a ten minute walk from the Temple gate, was very peaceful and quiet. Joshua had discovered it when he was still a boy, and he liked to go there to pray.

  The next day was the Sabbath, and he spent most of it there, alone with his thoughts and with God. When he returned after sundown he was told that his cousin Noah had been looking for him.

  “I will see him tomorrow, near the Temple,” he said.

  The next morning the final rite of purification took place. Joshua stood with a crowd of pilgrims as a priest sprinkled them with water mixed with the ashes of a red heifer. The following day they would enter the Temple to offer sacrifice for their sins.

  He was still wiping the water from his beard when Noah turned up.

  “Come away with me,” he said. “I need to talk to you.”

  “Then you can buy me breakfast,” Joshua replied cheerfully.

  Just beyond the main Temple stairway they found a stall, where Noah bought two cups of beer, along with lentils wrapped in flat bread. The beer was weak and the lentils had been left in the pot too long, but one couldn’t expect better in Jerusalem during a festival.

  They sat in a doorway and ate.

  “I have been making inquiries,” Noah said, staring down into his cup. “I found the owner of your colt. After an exchange of silver, he told me it had been rented for the day by a man with whom he regularly does business and whom he knows to be an officer in the Temple guard. He would not give me his name.”

  “Someone had to provide the colt,” Joshua answered. “Why not someone from the Temple?”

  “Because the Temple guards are supposed to maintain order, and yet this one procures you a colt so that you may ride into the city.”

  “It was kind of him.”

  “It was part of a performance, in which you were the principal actor. You mount the colt, and almost immediately you are hailed, ‘Anointed one. Son of David.’”

  “I have never claimed to be either—well, at least not since we were boys.”

  “Does it matter what you have claimed? It is enough that you have been made to appear to claim these titles. How do you think the Romans will interpret all this?”

  Joshua had by this time finished eating. He wiped his hands on his tunic and looked about him as if trying to remember where he was.

  “The Romans? What have they to do with it?”

  Noah could only shake his head.

  “The Romans, for better or worse, are our masters. They don’t like it when the mob becomes excited, and they particularly don’t like it when someone claims to be king of the Jews. You don’t even have to claim it—it’s enough if the mob claims it for you. Did you know that Caleb is in Jerusalem?”

  “It’s the Passover, Noah. Everyone is in Jerusalem.”

  “I’ve looked into it. Caleb hasn’t been here in years.”

  Now it was Joshua’s turn to shake his head.

  “You amaze me,” he said, as if he meant it. “How did you find all this out?”

  “I am told I have a talent for bad news.”

  “Apparently. And you think Caleb is behind all this?”

  “Who else would go to the trouble? In Galilee you are safe because you cannot be arrested without the Tetrarch’s approval, but in Judea you are under Roman authority, and the Romans are very sensitive about anything or anyone who might cause a riot during the festivals. I believe Caleb is working to convince the Romans that you are a threat. I don’t pretend to understand his motives, but he means to have you killed.”

  Joshua grew very quiet as, apparently, he tried to absorb the idea that he was the object of a murder conspiracy, and Noah took advantage of the interval to get up and have their cups refilled. It was very bad beer, but it was at least something.

  He sat down again and put the cup in Joshua’s hand. Joshua looked at it for a moment and then drank it off.

  “What do you think I should do?” he asked.

  “Leave the city as quietly and as quickly as possible. Once you are beyond the city gates, the Romans will lose interest. Go back to Galilee, where you will be safe.”

  “We have had this conversation before. I can’t run away.” Joshua made a despairing gesture with his hands. “If it was your object to frighten me, then you have succeeded, but I can’t run away.”

  “If you stay, you may be dead before the end of the week. The Romans will not tolerate a threat to their authority.”

  As if with a single impulse, the two men turned their heads to look into each other’s faces. Then, quite suddenly, Joshua began to laugh.

  “What of God’s authority?” The laughter died away. “What of God’s authority, Noah? We are in Jerusalem, within sight of the Holy of Holies, where on the Day of Atonement the high priest stands in the very presence of God. What is the authority of Caesar compared to that? I cannot leave. God demands my presence in this place, at this time. I have no choice.”

  “That is what I was afraid you would say.”

  “Yes, well … You tried.”

/>   “Yes.”

  For a long time the two of them sat together in the doorway, their arms across each other’s shoulders, silently saying farewell.

  * * *

  That afternoon Joshua was in the Temple courtyard, preaching to the crowd.

  “At long last God will redeem His creation and cleanse the world of sin. Those who live by the Law will inherit the earth and will live forever. There will be no poverty, no injustice, no death. And what is the Law? Is the Law so hard? It asks merely that you love God with your whole heart and you love His creation, your brothers, your fellow men. Are our hearts made of stone that this is so difficult? Love your enemies and pray for them. Treat others as you would be treated. Divide what you have with the poor. Open your hearts to God and know the joy of His forgiveness.”

  There was a large audience gathered around him, and they seemed receptive—more receptive than the villagers in Galilee.

  “When will it happen, Master? When?”

  “Soon, my friend. One like the son of man will come, sent from heaven to judge the world. The sky will open and we will behold the bright day of God’s love. Prepare yourselves. Live as if the day had already come. Live in fellowship with all. Set aside your anger and jealousy. Know now that God loves his creation.”

  There was a priest among them. The crowd made way for him, and when he stood before Joshua they all fell silent.

  “By what authority do you presume to teach?” the priest asked. “You appear to be a villager, and your accent betrays that you are a Galilean. Are you a learned student of Torah? What good ever came out of Galilee?”

  The crowd laughed, but the priest ignored them.

  “By what authority do you presume to teach?” he repeated.

  “I will answer you if you will answer me,” Joshua replied. He found it possible to pity the man. “By what authority did the Baptist teach? By God’s or his own?”

  One could almost see the priest’s confidence draining away. They were in Jerusalem, in the Temple itself, and yet John had been much loved and respected by the people, who now revered him as a martyr. What could this priest say? What was his own authority compared to John’s?

  “I—I don’t know.”

  “Then you cannot hope to understand my answer, so I will make none. But I will tell you this. Whether of our own will or not, we are all merely the servants of God.”

  Without a word, the priest turned and walked away. And Joshua raised his eyes to heaven and remembered Noah and his fears.

  Am I not safe in my Father’s house? he thought.

  * * *

  The priest, Meshach, walked back into the Temple precincts, which were closed to the common people. Caleb was waiting for him, leaning against a pillar.

  “What was your impression, my lord?” Caleb asked, with just that degree of deference a Levite owes to one of priestly office.

  Meshach smiled mirthlessly, as if to imply that the question was naïve.

  “Except for that display at the city gate a few days ago, I would describe him as merely a nuisance,” he answered, with a slight shrug. “The crowds are amused by such as him.”

  “Yet he allowed himself to be hailed as the Son of David.”

  “The mob hailed him as such. Yet he is here, preaching as usual.”

  “Preaching the end of Roman rule, my lord.”

  “Possibly.” The priest glanced about him, seeming bored. “A return to Eden might be thought to presuppose an end to Roman rule. Personally, I think it sounds delightful.”

  Meshach had only to look at Caleb to realize the irony was lost on him, so he raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

  “It is not a violation of the Law to preach that God will redeem the world. It is not even a violation to claim to be the seed of David.”

  “Yet the Romans would think so, my lord.”

  “Then let the Romans deal with him. As you see, he is popular. I don’t want the Temple authorities involved.”

  “Yet he is dangerous.”

  “Possibly. I would have said so a few days ago.”

  “And now?”

  “Possibly.” Meshach looked down at the stone floor beneath his feet. He seemed to be preparing to make a decision he found distasteful. “I am like you, my Lord Caleb. I don’t want to see a riot. I am responsible for order in the Temple and therefore, indirectly, for the safety of the people who come here. I don’t want the Romans coming in, because then there will be blood.”

  “Then, my lord, you would be prepared to recommend that the case be referred to the Romans?”

  “Possibly.” The priest looked up. He decided he didn’t like Caleb very much. The man would himself have done very well as a Roman. “Yes, I suppose so.”

  44

  Joshua prayed and God was silent. There was no quiet in his heart. Thus does a man know that he is abandoned to death.

  For four days he preached in the Temple. Many gathered to hear him. Some mocked, some listened for a while and then wandered away, but some came back the next day, and the next. A few believed.

  The priests left him alone.

  Yet even in the Temple, God seemed deaf to him. He could not feel His presence. The house of the Lord seemed deserted by its master.

  In the mornings Joshua wandered through Gethsemane, seeking in its wilderness solitude some way to make God listen, and in the afternoons he preached. In the evenings, in the upper room near the fuller’s tower, he taught his disciples. They had to be prepared to continue his work, as he had continued John’s, for he was coming to believe he would not be with them long.

  “He means to have you killed,” Noah had said of Caleb. Noah understood the world.

  What would motivate such a man? Had Caleb grown so estranged from God that he had forgotten the commandments? Thou shalt not bear false witness. Thou shalt do no murder. Could a man be so blind? It seemed incomprehensible.

  The fear of death was never absent from Joshua’s prayers. “Father, if I may be spared this, if I may continue to do Your work … But if not, give me the strength to accept Your will.”

  But God’s voice was stilled. In his heart Joshua heard only silence.

  He could not help but think about going home. In a week he could be back in Nazareth, in his father’s workshop, with the smell of freshly cut wood in his nostrils. If he simply admitted to himself that he was a carpenter and not a prophet, his family would welcome his return and he could resume the life he had known before the Baptist. He could survive into old age.

  He tried to picture all that to himself, but it seemed like someone else’s life, not his.

  People believed in him. He had brought Matthias back to life simply by convincing him that God had offered forgiveness. Had he been wrong about that?

  In memory, he kept returning to John and those days beside the Jordan when he himself had been a disciple. John had realized that he would soon face death. Either Antipas or the Romans would arrest him, and he would be executed.

  “To die is nothing,” he had said. “We suffer for a little time and then sleep. And then at the coming of the Lord we awaken and we live forever. What is there to fear in this?”

  John had had no doubts. He knew that the end time was near, that the power of the mighty was a shadow. One had merely to trust in God.

  “So I will trust in God,” Joshua told him. “I will school myself to trust. It must be as God wills.”

  So, on the seventh night after his arrival in Jerusalem, while he gathered with his closest disciples, he spoke for the first time of the possibility that he might not live to see the coming of God’s kingdom.

  It was time for dinner. After prayers, when they were all seated, he took a loaf of bread and broke it.

  “Thus you see,” he told them. “Bread must be broken before it can be eaten. We even speak of eating as ‘breaking bread.’ That is what bread is for, to be broken and eaten.

  “Men, too, sometimes are broken. When God wills it, men kill other men. Men die,
and this too can serve a purpose—a purpose which God does not reveal to us. It is well to remember that all things happen through the will of God.”

  Joshua looked around him, and it was clear to him that they did not understand.

  “Yet there is one difference between men and bread,” he went on. “Bread, when it is broken and consumed, is no more. But the dead will rise again in God’s kingdom. For those who believe, death is no more than a little sleep. If I am taken from you, you will have but a short time to wait until you see me again. For such is the mercy of God.”

  They ate in silence. They seemed depressed and confused. It did not matter, Joshua decided. In a little while he would take them with him to Gethsemane and teach them to pray for understanding.

  * * *

  Noah’s cousin Baruch was the grandson of the man to whom his own grandfather had been apprenticed, who in turn had been a cousin of Benjamin’s mother. Thus the tie was one more of affection than of blood. Baruch was nearly seventy, and he and his wife had had no children who survived beyond infancy. Noah was a great favorite, almost a son.

  And now they could welcome Noah’s new wife, whom it was impossible not to love.

  “But what of your cousin Joshua?” Baruch had asked, as if to reassure himself of some future pleasure. “Will he be joining us again?”

  “Yes, and I fear he will bring a mob of his followers.” Noah threw up his hands, as if the thing were no more in his power to stop than the wheeling of the sun.

  “The more the better,” Baruch answered, puffing out his chest. “For the Passover, I like a house full of friends.”

  At dinner that night, Noah was like an actor playing a role. He laughed and told jokes, but a part of him was somewhere else. He had to force himself to attend to the conversation.

  He was full of dread.

  Joshua, he was quite sure, would never again sit in this room and break the unleavened bread of the Passover. He felt as if he were attending a funeral banquet.

  After the meal, he and Baruch stayed a long time over the wine.

  “What is troubling you?” Baruch asked him at last. “There isn’t … some problem with you and your wife?”

  “Oh no!” Noah actually laughed, it seemed so ludicrous. “A man would have to be far more fastidious than I not to be happy with Deborah.”