Nevertheless, after the fourth night he found out and ordered a stop to it. A guard would be posted wherever they stayed overnight, just to keep people away from Matthias.
“I’m told your master Joshua lasted only a few hours on the cross,” Caleb said, that morning, while Matthias was being unchained from the wagon axle. “Perhaps his heart gave out, or perhaps the Romans are going soft. In either case, I’ve decided that you won’t be so fortunate. I’ve decided that you’ll be spared the scourging and be crucified just as you are. And they won’t come and break your leg bones either. You’ll have to die all on your own. A strong man like you might last a week. We’ll see.”
Matthias made no response. He did not appear even to have heard.
For the rest of the day, Caleb was in a filthy mood.
* * *
In Sepphoris there was a gated courtyard through which soldiers always entered and left the palace, because it was adjacent to the barracks and the stables. It also served as a receiving point for prisoners. The walls were windowless up to about twice a man’s height and, once the gate was down, there was no escape. Until a few days before, the Lord Eleazar had not known about a prisoner, but he knew that, because of his escort, Caleb would enter through this gateway.
He had had Caleb watched since the end of the Passover. On the day Caleb left Jerusalem, a rider on a fast horse had carried word of it to Sepphoris. The Lord Eleazar had had plenty of time to prepare his servant’s reception.
When he knew that Caleb was only half a day from the city, he summoned the captain of the watch to his office, where he handed him a papyrus scroll.
“This is a warrant, signed by me, for the arrest and execution of the Lord Caleb,” he said. “You will speak of this to no one. No soldier of the guard is to be allowed to leave the palace until the arrest has been effected. Do I make myself understood?”
“Yes, my lord.”
The watch captain was careful to keep his own face impassive. Yet, was there just a hint of satisfaction around the corners of his mouth?
“Will the men feel any compunction about obeying this order?” Eleazar asked.
“No, my lord.”
“I thought not.”
For the next half an hour, they went over plans for the arrest. While they talked, the Lord Eleazar sat at his marble desk, sketching an outline of the courtyard on a wax tablet.
“What can be done about the escort?” he asked, without looking up.
“They won’t cause any trouble,” the watch captain answered. He hooked his right thumb into his sword belt, a gesture which somehow conveyed his vast contempt for cavalrymen. “All they’ll care about is looking after their horses and then getting drunk.”
“Nevertheless, the best thing would be to draw them off somehow. I’d prefer it if they went back to Jerusalem without even knowing that anything had happened.”
“Then we’ll get them into the stables before we make the arrest. By the time they come back out, Caleb will be gone.”
Eleazar nodded agreement.
“How many men will you need?”
“No more than four.”
“Choose ones you can trust, then.” The Tetrarch’s First Minister made a despairing gesture with his left hand. “There is no chance of keeping the arrest a secret, but I would prefer that Caleb be dead before it becomes widely known. The prisoner, of course, is a complication. I will decide about that when we have established his identity.”
“What do you want done with Caleb?”
“I will leave the palace as soon as he is in custody. Bring me his head in the morning.”
The watch captain smiled. “Perhaps you could send it to his wife as a wedding present,” he said pleasantly.
“You knew about that?”
“My lord, everyone knew about it, except perhaps her husband.”
Two hours later, when the gate was raised for the arrival of Caleb’s party, everything was in place. A small knot of soldiers were playing dice. The Lord Eleazar and the watch captain were standing in shadow. First the wagon entered, then the prisoner, then six men on horses. Then the gate closed.
The watch captain swore under his breath and then plucked at Eleazar’s sleeve.
“The prisoner’s name is Matthias, my lord. He is one of ours—or was, until he disappeared a few months ago.”
“I am familiar with his history, Captain.”
The arrest went as planned. The cavalrymen dismounted and, under the direction of a palace groom, led their horses into the stable, where they were offered wine to clear the dust from their throats. The watch captain went over to the wagon and opened its door.
“My lord,” he said, smiling and offering his hand. “Welcome back.”
Caleb of course took the offered hand, and was about to say something, when he was unceremoniously yanked off balance. He tumbled out of the wagon and onto the stone floor.
“Lamech,” he shouted, “are you out of your mind? I’ll have you…”
The threat died in his throat when the felt the point of the watch captain’s sword resting just under his right eye.
The dice players, by this time, had abandoned their game. Three of them took up positions around the prostrate Caleb, and the fourth attended to the wagon driver.
“Come on down,” he said. “We have a nice cell for you, where you can stay drunk for two or three days, and then go home to the wife.”
“But, but … What about the horses?”
“They’ll be attended to. Don’t worry about that.”
The watch captain lifted his sword away from Caleb’s face and slipped it back into his scabbard.
“Get up.”
Two soldiers grabbed Caleb by the arms and pulled him to his feet. At that moment the Lord Eleazar stepped forward out of the shadows.
“My lord…!”
But Eleazar ignored him. His attention was fixed on Matthias.
“Unshackle this man,” he ordered. “Who has a key?”
A search of Caleb’s pockets turned it up, and in another moment Matthias was flexing his arms and shoulders, for the first time in a week, free of the oxbow.
“Come with me,” Eleazar said quietly, gesturing to him with his hand. “You have nothing to fear.”
“My lord,” Caleb shouted, “what have I done?”
Eleazar stopped and turned to him, as if he had just noticed his existence.
“What have you done?” He shook his head in dismay. “Captain, you have your orders. Remove him.”
“Yes, my lord.”
With Matthias following behind, Eleazar returned to his office. Matthias slumped into a chair, only looking up to accept a cup of wine.
“Have you eaten?” Eleazar inquired gently.
“Not since this morning.”
“Shall I order you some food?”
“No. I am too tired to eat.” Matthias looked around him, apparently unable to comprehend where he was. “What will you do with me?”
“Nothing. You are free.” Eleazar cocked his head a little to one side. “Do you have somewhere to go?”
“If I’m not to be crucified, I’ll go back to Jerusalem.”
“What will you do there?”
“Try to pick up the threads.” Matthias set his wine cup down on the floor. “Try to find my master’s disciples and see what can be done. I don’t know. I’ll have to see.”
Eleazar opened a small wooden box on his desk and took out a leather pouch containing silver. He tossed it to Matthias, who snatched it out of the air by reflex.
“You will need money for the journey, and for when you get there. Consider it your retirement pay.”
He smiled. He had decided that he liked Matthias.
“You will need a place to spend the night,” he continued. “Why don’t you look in at Noah’s house? I’m sure he’ll give you a bed. I’m sure he’ll be very glad to see you. Do you know the way?”
“Yes.”
“I thought so.”
&nb
sp; “What will happen to Caleb?”
“By now he’s probably already dead.”
“May the Lord God have mercy on him.”
“I’m inclined to think it unlikely.”
* * *
“What shall we do with him?”
The question was directed at the watch captain, who stood close in front of the prisoner, smiling into his face.
“The Lord Eleazar wants his head by morning,” he said, speaking mainly for Caleb’s benefit. “Beyond that, he doesn’t seem to care.”
“What was he going to do to Matthias?”
“You can imagine.”
If Matthias had had a friend among the guard, it was Lamech. And, in any case, the men hated “Little Ahab.”
“Are there any volunteers to take his head off?” Lamech directed his gaze from one to the next of the four men who had been detailed for the arrest. “No one wants to do it? Are you afraid of getting your uniforms dirty?”
The men laughed nervously.
“Then I suppose it will have to be Uriah.”
The name was like a splash of cold water.
Up to that point, Caleb had been able to preserve his dignity. He knew how these games were played, and he had accepted the idea that his life was over. He thought he could face death, provided it was quick and he didn’t have to wait too long.
But Uriah was another matter. He felt the panic rising in his throat as they hustled him down the stairs to the lower prison.
Uriah was sitting on his bench. He looked up when the door opened. He saw Caleb, and immediately noted that his hands were tied behind his back.
Uriah stood up, but without hurry. There was no one before whom he needed to grovel.
“Death sentence,” Lamech announced. “Order of the First Minister, the Lord Eleazar. Cut off his head.”
The soldiers on either side of Caleb forced him to his knees.
“When?”
It was the only question Uriah asked, and he waited for the answer as expectantly as a child waits for a treat.
Lamech had to think. There was still an hour to dusk. What would be a just punishment?
“I’ll be back in twelve hours,” he said. “The Lord Eleazar wants the head, and it would be better if it were left unmarked—the lord might have a weak stomach.”
The men departed. The prison door closed. There was no one left behind except Caleb and his executioner.
Uriah walked around his new victim in a slow circle, as if he wanted to appreciate the sight of him from every angle.
“I was always your friend, Uriah.”
“No one is my friend.”
“Make it quick.”
But Uriah didn’t answer. He merely stepped behind Caleb, grabbed him by the rope that bound his hands, and dragged him over to the wall, to which an iron ring was bolted, about four feet above the floor. Uriah took a chain, threaded it around Caleb’s chest and then fastened it to the ring.
Then he crouched in front of Caleb. A small knife appeared in his hand. He lifted up the hem of Caleb’s tunic and cut away his loin cloth. The point of the knife went against Caleb’s scrotum, and with a quick backwards movement he tore it open.
Caleb was too astonished even to cry out, as the blood slowly leaked out onto his leg.
“You want to die quickly?” Uriah shook his head. “We have a long time. You will beg for death, but it will not come. You will suffer as you would not have thought it possible to suffer, but a man does not die of suffering. When at last you feel the blade against your throat, you will bless me for it.”
Then he stood up and walked back to his bench. He would give his victim time to think.
But Caleb could not think. He could not even catch his breath. He tried to remember something—anything—that would help him now, but all he could think of was Joshua on the way to the Antonia Fortress. “I hope someday you will look back,” he had said. “God will forgive you.”
“God forgive me,” he whispered. But all he meant was “God save me from this.”
“God forgive me!” he repeated, screaming now. And then, as his heart filled with fear, leaving room for nothing else, the screams became merely screams, incoherent and meaningless.
All the while, Uriah sat on his bench, rocking with obscene laughter.
51
It was the spring, and the grass was long and green around the city walls. The children were running ahead and Deborah was calling something to them. He couldn’t hear what she said because there was no sound in her voice. Young Joshua, their third son, looked back at her and laughed.
What was Deborah calling? Why couldn’t he hear it?
“Uncle Noah. Wake up.”
He opened his eyes and was back in the present, where he was an old man, sitting beside his doorway in the morning sunlight, and Deborah had been dead for two years.
“Don’t you want your breakfast?”
It was Merab, Hannah’s girl. She had married one of Hiram’s apprentices and they had moved to Nazareth. Nazareth was getting to be a town now, not a village, and there was plenty of work for an ironsmith.
Thus everything goes around and around. Benjamin comes back home to Nazareth and sets up his forge. He teaches his son Barachel, who moves to Sepphoris. Then Barachel’s son Noah, when his father dies, comes back to Nazareth and learns his trade from his grandfather. Then he moves back to Sepphoris and teaches Hiram, who teaches Jediael, who moves to Nazareth and sets up his forge.
“No, I won’t want any breakfast. I want a cup of wine.”
“It’s too early for wine, Uncle Noah. Have your breakfast instead.”
“Oh very well.”
Around and around. And now Noah had come back to Nazareth to live out his last years in his grandfather’s house, where he had been raised. After Deborah’s death, the house in Sepphoris was haunted for him and, besides, his eldest son Berachel’s family was growing and they needed the room.
But they all came to visit him—even widowed Sarah, still spry enough to walk the five miles to Nazareth. Family was the last remaining consolation.
Merab brought out a little tray and set it on the table to the left of his chair. She kept house and cooked for him. She and her husband were still struggling, and the money was welcome, but she was three months with child now, so other arrangements would soon have to be made.
Or perhaps not. Noah was an old man and gave very little thought to the future.
Breakfast was bread and lentils and beer. Noah ate slowly, drinking the beer, which was foul stuff, in little sips. When his breakfast was finished, he would pretend to fall asleep again so that Merab could slip back to her own house for a few hours. By these little stratagems does an old man hope to avoid becoming more of a nuisance than absolutely necessary.
Except that he actually did fall asleep again. He was awakened not my Merab but by a man making a noise as if to clear his throat.
“I apologize,” the man said first. “Did I awaken you?”
He was young, not much over twenty. He was also tall, with light brown hair, and he was speaking Greek, which meant that he was a stranger.
“It doesn’t matter,” Noah answered, in Greek, which he had not even heard in ten years. He tried not to scowl—the young are so sensitive. “Very soon I will sleep forever. Do I know you?”
“No. I am from Antioch. But when I was a boy I met a friend of yours. Do you remember Matthias?”
“Yes.”
He had not seen Matthias since the year of Joshua’s death. The sound of his name brought everything back, as if it had happened yesterday. It was very unpleasant.
“From the way you speak of him, I assume he is dead. How did he die?”
The young man from Antioch seemed taken aback.
“In his sleep. He was old.”
“Not as old as I am now.” Noah smiled. “But I am glad his death was gentle. Is that where he died, in Antioch?”
“Yes. But he will rise again when Jesus Christ returns.”<
br />
Noah sat quietly, his eyes cast down, as he tried to understand what this lad was talking about. Then it struck him. Jesus was the Greek for “Joshua.” Joshua the Anointed One. Was that still going on?
“So Matthias was a preacher?”
“Yes. He was our elder, the only one who had actually known our Lord in the flesh.”
“And your ‘Lord’ was, I take it, this Jesus?”
“Yes. Our Savior, the Son of God.”
Noah could only shake his head. Then it occurred to him that Merab was nowhere about, and there was a jar of wine in the kitchen. Company was the perfect excuse.
“But I have forgotten my manners,” he said, standing up. “Please be good enough to sit down and I will bring us some refreshment.”
The wine was reasonably cool, and she hadn’t cut it with more than three measures of water. Noah could hardly believe his luck.
He sat down again and poured two cups. The young man tasted the wine, apparently just to be polite, and then set his cup down again.
“Matthias spoke of you often,” he said. “He told us you were with the Lord Jesus when he died.”
“Joshua. His name was Joshua. By the way, what is your name?”
“Marcus. I am a Roman,” he answered, not without a hint of pride. “My father was posted to Antioch, and there my mother received the true faith.”
“I am pleased to meet you. I am Noah, as you know. And my cousin’s name was Joshua. Say it.”
But Marcus the Roman knew not a syllable of Aramaic and could not get his tongue around it.
“I suppose I shall have to be content with ‘Jesus’,” Noah said at last.
“I feel that I am on sacred ground,” Marcus said, giving the impression that he had not heard, “to be in the place where he grew to manhood.”
“We both did.”
Noah raised his arm and pointed to the house just opposite, across an open space of perhaps twenty paces.
“He was born in that house,” he said, as if the fact proved something important. “His younger brother’s grandchildren live there still. Of course, none of them remember him.”
“But you remember him.”
“Oh yes.”
“Were you really with him when he died?”
The Ironsmith Page 45