The Ironsmith

by Nicholas Guild

  “That was my impression. Then, is it business? Do you need money?”

  “No. I am prospering.”

  “Then, what?”

  It seemed impossible to explain. Noah gestured, as if waving away a fly, and said, “It is nothing. I think I am merely still tired from the journey.”

  They were all about to go to bed, when a servant entered the room.

  “There is a man here,” he said. “He says he must see the Lord Noah.”

  “Did he give his name?”

  “Yes. He said his name was Simon.”

  Noah felt as if his bowels had turned to ice.

  “I will see him,” he said.

  He followed the servant down to the entrance of the house, where he found Simon. He had only to look at the man to know that something was terribly wrong.

  “What is it?”

  For a moment Simon seemed unable to bring himself to speak, and then he opened his arms in despair.

  “Joshua has been arrested.”

  45

  From his first entrance into the city, Joshua had been watched. In the crowds at the Temple there was always someone who listened attentively and reported to Caleb everything Joshua said. When Joshua left, he was followed. When he was in the upper room near the fuller’s tower, someone watched the door. His every move was observed.

  Caleb knew it was necessary to acquire an understanding of Joshua’s habits, but time was running short. The Passover would be celebrated in only two days, and this business had to be over by then or it might be too late. After the Passover, Joshua could easily melt into the crowds and disappear.

  The crowds were what Caleb feared most. Joshua’s teachings were making an impact. People listened to him. He was popular. If he were arrested in public, there might be a riot. The whole matter had to be handled with discretion, so that he was up on his cross and safely dead before anyone missed him.

  The best time, Caleb decided, was after the last sundown before the Passover. People’s attention would be directed toward the feast. On that night, men did not go into their wives, so as to maintain ritual purity when they went to the Temple for the sacrifice of the lambs. The wineshops were closed. People stayed home and prayed.

  There would be no one about to take an interest in what happened to Joshua of Nazareth.

  And the best place was the wilderness of Gethsemane. In the evenings, after dinner, Joshua went there to pray, and he was usually alone, although sometimes two or three of his disciples would accompany him. Gethsemane was outside the city walls. A dozen men could close off all avenues of escape. The arrest could take place with a minimum of disturbance.

  Caleb knew Gethsemane well, having played there as a child.

  He had decided on a mixed force of Temple guards and Roman soldiers. The Romans would be there mainly to be seen. The Temple guards knew the area, but the presence of the Romans would be what everyone remembered.

  Gideon was just as content. He had observed Joshua in the Temple, and the man’s popularity worried him. “Let the Romans take the blame,” was the way he had put it.

  Gaius Raetius was happy to oblige. For a little silver, some of which he parceled out to his men, he was quite willing to risk the mob’s hatred.

  “We will get him to the fortress, and then he’s your worry,” he had said. “Just be sure you have him in front of Pilatus at first light. The prefect likes to deal with this sort of business before breakfast.”

  They reached Gethsemane and took up their positions before it became dark. A trail no wider than a goat path threaded its way through the trees, which were dense and would impede flight. They had merely to close off both ends to trap anyone within. The first group went a few dozen paces up the Mount of Olives to wait. Concealment was easy, provided they kept silent.

  Shortly after dark, Caleb saw a glimmer of light coming from the northern end of the trail. Gradually the light began to fragment into separate little points, the flames of oil lamps carried by perhaps as many as twelve or fifteen people, the flames dancing with every step they took. He heard the sounds of voices and laughter.

  Finally the group stopped, and then Caleb heard only one voice. He could not make out the words, but it was clear from the cadence of sound that someone was explaining something. He did not have to ask himself who that someone was.

  “Give them a few minutes,” he murmured to Raetius, who was crouched beside him. Caleb did not understand precisely what, but there was something about the voice that made him reluctant to silence it.

  Raetius did not look pleased. After a moment he shook his head.

  “We need to close them off before they even know what is happening,” he said in a hoarse, insistent whisper. “Every moment we wait increases the chances of discovery. Do you want him to get away?”

  “No. Of course not. You are right. Go.”

  Raetius drew his sword and slapped it against his body armor. That was the signal. Within a quarter of a minute the soldiers were at either end of the trail and closing toward the center.

  Joshua and his followers were taken completely by surprise. No one even tried to escape. They simply stood there, holding their flickering oil lamps as if afraid they would drop them.

  Raetius made a sign with his hand, and four of his men lit torches. Suddenly their little patch of bare ground was awash in lurid yellow light.

  Caleb looked over his catch. He saw Judah, who avoided his eyes, and then suddenly realized that the disciple standing beside Judah was his own man, Matthias.

  “Bind those two,” Caleb ordered. “Be careful of the big one.”

  There was a pause, just long enough to make him glance back at Raetius, who then nodded to one of his men. When Matthias was secure, Caleb walked up to him and smiled.

  “I wondered what had happened to you,” he said quietly, almost confidentially. “I was worried they might have succeeded somehow in killing you. Before we’re finished, you’ll wish they had.”

  He looked up into Matthias’s face and his nerve almost failed him. He was confronted not with fear or hatred but with an almost pitying serenity.

  He quickly turned away and directed his gaze at Joshua, who was calmly snuffing out his oil lamp. When he was finished, he rubbed his fingers together to wipe away the soot and then handed the lamp to the disciple standing beside him.

  “So you are he, Joshua of Nazareth,” Caleb announced, perhaps with more force than he had intended. “King of the Jews.”

  He allowed himself to laugh.

  “You have said so, not I.”

  “But you have prophesied that God will sweep away the rulers of the earth. And who better to take their place than you?”

  “God. There will be no king but God.”

  Caleb did not immediately respond. For a moment he merely stood there, one hand at his waist, as if admiring Joshua like a work of art.

  “It is an interesting idea,” he replied at last, “but it involves a distinction I doubt the Romans will understand.”

  Joshua said nothing. He seemed to have lost interest in the conversation.

  “Bind this one as well,” Caleb almost shouted.

  “What about the others?” Raetius asked, as one of his men roped Joshua’s hands together behind his back.

  “I care nothing about the others. Let them go.”

  A big, square-looking man, who seemed to be a leader of the other disciples, looked at Joshua appealingly. Joshua nodded and said only the single word “Go.”

  They all quickly vanished into the darkness.

  “We can’t wait around here,” Raetius said. “Let’s take him to the fortress. We can hold them there until everyone is asleep.”

  “An excellent idea.”

  During the march back, the prisoners were kept surrounded by their escort of soldiers. It was unlikely that anyone in the streets even noticed them.

  When they were inside the fortress walls, Joshua and Matthias were taken to a long, narrow, windowless room on the first
floor. It contained no furniture and had iron rings fastened to the walls.

  At the doorway, Caleb took Judah by the arm and held him back. He then drew a knife and cut Judah’s bonds, after which he courteously offered him a cup of water.

  Judah hardly seemed to hear him. He merely sank to the floor.

  “You must forgive the little pantomime,” Caleb said, crouching beside him. “After tomorrow, if you play your part, you can go back to Tiberias, pick up your old life, and forget any of this ever happened. You can tell people you suddenly decided on a trip to Athens.”

  “What is my part tomorrow?”

  “Nothing much. You will simply tell the prefect that you heard Joshua bar Joseph claim to be the rightful king of the Jews.”

  “I can’t do that. It isn’t true. He is a good man, beloved of God. I can’t.”

  Caleb shook his head.

  “You can’t? Of course you can. The Roman will crucify him anyway, and if you don’t do as I tell you, you’ll be right up there next to him. You’ve seen what it’s like. Do you really want to die that way?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  Caleb patted him on the shoulder and stood up. He then went over the where Raetius was drinking a cup of wine.

  “Keep the big one here for now,” he said. “Be careful with him. He’ll go back with me to Galilee.”

  “For special treatment?”

  “That’s right.”

  Raetius grinned.

  “Don’t underestimate him,” Caleb warned. “He’s done worse things than you ever will, and he’s clever.”

  “You don’t need to worry. We know how to handle his type.”

  They waited two hours, during which they were joined by the priest Meshach, who did not seem pleased to be there.

  “I thank you, my lord,” Caleb said to him. “It is a—”

  “Never fear, my Lord Caleb,” the priest answered from behind his masklike face. “I shall do what is required.”

  He then walked away and stood by himself, gazing at the bare stone walls in a way that suggested he wished to be alone with his thoughts.

  When Joshua was brought back out, his hands were no longer bound.

  “I would feel better if we used the Romans for this,” Gideon murmured to Caleb, glancing about nervously.

  Caleb allowed himself to laugh.

  “Oh, certainly. And how would the Lord Anas feel if, after we wake him up, he found a crowd of legionnaires standing around in front of his door? You want the credit for the arrest, don’t you?”

  Gideon looked as if he were no longer sure.

  “Come along. It has to be done.”

  Gideon formed up his squad of Temple guards around the prisoner, and the gates of the Antonia Fortress were opened. For most of the way they kept close to the Temple’s outer wall. It was only a short walk to that section of the city where dwelled the upper orders of the priesthood, and the streets were deserted.

  Meshach knocked at one of the grander houses. He had to knock several times before an elderly servant answered.

  The old man opened the door, saw the uniforms of the guards, and said nothing.

  “We must see the Lord Anas,” Meshach told him. “It is important.”

  “The high priest is asleep,” came the answer.

  “Then you must wake him.”

  The servant shut the door, and they stood waiting for almost a quarter of an hour. The priest was about to knock again, when the door reopened.

  “Be pleased to come in.”

  Meshach, Caleb, Gideon, and Joshua went inside. The rest waited without.

  The Lord Anas stood in the center of his reception hall, still in his night tunic, with a long shawl thrown over his shoulders. He was over seventy, heavy, and his hair and beard were startlingly white. He had once been the high priest, a title by which his servants still called him, and he was the father-in-law of the current high priest. He did not look at all pleased to have been disturbed.

  “What is it, Meshach?” he asked crossly. “What couldn’t wait until the morning?”

  “We have arrested a village preacher, my lord. I thought it best to deal with the problem in a way that will attract the least attention.”

  “Ah.” The former high priest nodded and turned his eyes to Joshua. “You were right, then. In daylight you might have precipitated a riot.”

  “Precisely, my lord. He is preaching that God will exalt the poor and bring low the mighty, and he has been hailed by the mob as a son of David.”

  Anas began absentmindedly stroking his beard, which reached down to his breastbone.

  “Has he?”

  “Yes, my lord. The Romans are aware of him and, needless to say, they are concerned.”

  “And what have you to say about all this?” Anas asked, directing his question to Joshua.

  Joshua let his gaze rest on the old priest, as if noticing him for the first time.

  “I teach that men should turn their hearts to repentance,” he said at last. “I teach that God will redeem His creation, that we should love God and love and forgive all His children. My message is the same as that of my master, John.”

  “He means the Baptist, my lord,” Meshach interjected.

  “I know who he means,” Anas replied, not without asperity. He put his hand on Meshach’s arm and pulled him a little aside.

  “Why have you brought him here?” Anas whispered. “We are priests. We can only judge this man in accordance with Mosaic law, and in that light he is guilty of nothing. It is not against the Law to claim Davidic descent.”

  “You did not see how the mob reacted when he entered the city, my lord. We are responsible for the safety of our people. This man preaches rebellion—at least, so it is interpreted.”

  “Nevertheless, we cannot take responsibility. I agree with you that we can’t risk the Romans coming in to quell a disturbance, but if, as you say, they are concerned about his activities, let them deal with him.” The old priest patted Meshach’s arm, as if to console him.

  “If they have any wisdom,” Anas continued, “they will hold him until after the festival, then give him a good thrashing and send him home. That would be Galilee, by his accent, and what good ever came out of Galilee?” He laughed, not ill naturedly.

  “Then I have your authorization to refer this case to the prefect, my lord?”

  “Yes. Yes, of course.”

  All at once the former high priest stiffened, as if his heart had turned to ice.

  “Pilatus is an evil brute,” he said, “but I suppose we have no choice.”

  “None, my lord.”

  They turned back to the others, and Anas looked into Joshua’s face with something like pity.

  “Well, my lords,” he said, seeming to address the room itself rather than its occupants, “you have my opinion. Now good night, and let an old man go back to bed.”

  When they were back out on the street, Caleb fell in beside Joshua, taking his arm in the most friendly fashion.

  “Do you see how swiftly they dismiss you to the Romans?” he said. “The last time there was a riot during the Passover, some five thousand people were killed. The soldiers entered the city, and by the time they left, the cobblestones were thick with blood. Compared to that, what is the life of a peasant preacher, particularly one from Galilee?”

  “So it is settled? I am to be put to death by the Romans?”

  Joshua raised his eyes to the night sky, as if he could see through it to the face of God.

  “Of course. You preach sedition and you claim to be king of the Jews. We have witnesses.”

  “Witnesses? More than one? I thought it would be only poor Judah, whom you kidnapped and terrified into submission.”

  Caleb shook his head and laughed. “Yes, of course, you would know about that. From Matthias. Well, he will pay for his treachery.”

  “Is it treachery that he found himself unable to kill an innocent man? Yes, I suppose to one such as
you it must seem so. You murdered the Baptist and now you will murder me.”

  “It was not murder. The Baptist died by the Tetrarch’s warrant. And you will die because the Romans will judge you guilty of rebellion.”

  “On the basis of perjured testimony.”

  “The testimony concerning your entry into the city will not be perjured.”

  “No, but you invented that episode, didn’t you.” Joshua turned to look into Caleb’s face and smiled. “The guard commander, he is your intimate friend, is he not? Or, perhaps, your kinsman? One can see these things. And a certain high-ranking officer of the Temple guard hired the colt I was unwise enough to ride through the city gate. Doubtless you witnessed the whole scene yourself, or had witnesses present.”

  “You are very clever, Joshua bar Joseph. I admit I have underestimated you.”

  “It is not I who am clever, my lord.”

  It took Caleb a moment to understand what he meant.

  “Then your cousin is clever. But I have long known that.”

  They walked on in silence for a time. The only sound was the clap, clap, clap of so many sandals against the stone street.

  “I hope someday you will look back on all this,” Joshua said at last, almost as if to himself. “I hope that you will see it for what it is, and that you will repent and open your heart to God.”

  “Like Matthias?”

  “Yes, like Matthias. God has forgiven him, and would forgive you, if you would but allow it. Your heart is full of darkness. I pity you.”

  “You pity me?”

  “Yes. I will suffer and die, and sleep for a time, and then arise to everlasting life. You are already dead. But God will forgive you. You have only to ask. I hope someday you will remember what I have said.”

  46

  “When?”

  Simon’s face went blank—perhaps less because he didn’t understand the question than because he couldn’t imagine how it could matter.

  Noah decided to restate the question.

  “When was he arrested?”

  “About three hours ago.” Simon looked down at his feet, as if suddenly ashamed. “We all ran away. Then I had trouble finding this house.”