The Last Disciple

by Hank Hanegraaff

  “If I will find out soon enough, why not tell me yourself?” Sophia asked.

  “Because then truthfully you cannot be found guilty of helping a fugitive. My crime would be your crime.”

  “Crime?”

  “Go,” Maglorius said gently. “Find Vitas. Watch over the baby.”

  Sophia had one last question. But she could guess the answer. “Sabinus is your son?”

  Maglorius nodded. “My son. Until you helped me find my faith, he was my only reason to live.” With that, he turned and hurried down the street toward the lower city.

  Sophia entered the courtyard. She’d been promised that Vitas was here, waiting for her.

  She called his name.

  The only reply was the wailing of a baby.

  “Last night,” Queen Bernice said to Vitas, “when I asked, you explained that you wanted to be here without official recognition but were reluctant to tell me why.”

  A messenger had found Vitas at the Bellator household and delivered an urgent request for him to return to the palace. Upon his arrival he’d immediately been delivered to Bernice at one of the upper-palace courtyards.

  Vitas did not want to be here. He wanted to be back in the city looking for Sophia. He’d expected to find her at the Bellator household with Maglorius. Instead, Alypia had made her accusations with no mention of Sophia. Vitas could not believe Maglorius had murdered Bellator. But if he had returned to the Bellator household in the afternoon, Sophia had not been with him. Where was she?

  “And last night,” Vitas answered, impatient for Bernice to get to the point, “when I asked, you agreed that Ben-Aryeh was obligated to you but were equally reluctant to go into details.”

  “You know his son,” she said without hesitation. “Or you certainly know of him. A Jew named Chayim.”

  It took Vitas several moments to place the name. “Chayim. The Jew residing in the imperial palace in Rome?”

  Bernice nodded.

  Curiosity was enough to temporarily distract Vitas from his thoughts about Sophia and Maglorius. “I thought he was a member of the Herod family.”

  “Now you understand my reluctance to tell you about him. Especially because of your closeness to Nero. Telling you this exposes my deceit. I misrepresented his lineage when I sent him to Rome.”

  “But that raises other questions.”

  “Like, for example, why Chayim was offered as a hostage when he isn’t of Herodian descent?”

  “That would be my first question,” Vitas said. It was common enough. Kings of different countries sent Nero their sons, ensuring that they would not revolt. “And my second would be why did Ben-Aryeh agree to it?”

  “You spend enough time in the imperial palace. Surely you know or at least have heard a thing or two about Chayim.”

  Vitas snorted. “If Chayim is the son of Ben-Aryeh, that is like saying the sun gave birth to the night.”

  “So Chayim hasn’t changed.”

  “Was he a womanizer and devout disciple of wine and parties here in Jerusalem?” Vitas responded.

  Bernice nodded, smiling faintly. “You can imagine how much difficulty that presented to Ben-Aryeh.”

  “That, then, is the answer to my second question. Ben-Aryeh must have found it very convenient to see Chayim go.”

  “Yes,” Bernice said. “Which is also the answer to your first question. Because it was convenient for Chayim to go, it put Ben-Aryeh in debt to me. Where I wanted him.” She hesitated. “There’s more.”

  “Ben-Aryeh is one of the most powerful men of the temple,” Vitas said, “and it would never hurt you to have a way to control that power.”

  “You understand quickly.”

  “I deal in the politics of the imperial palace.”

  “Of course, which is why you want your presence here unknown to Florus?”

  Vitas merely smiled. This question was not why she’d sent a messenger for him.

  “Florus is a dangerous man,” she continued. “You know that too.”

  “Yesterday’s events are enough proof of that.” Thousands killed. It was doubly important now that Florus not discover the presence of Vitas in Jerusalem. Vitas grimly looked forward to delivering a report of his atrocities to Nero, knowing that whatever version Florus gave Rome would immediately be exposed as a lie.

  “Would you go to Florus directly if you knew it might save countless lives today?” Queen Bernice asked.

  “What do you know?” Vitas asked sharply.

  “Despite assurances he might give to the temple authorities, he intends to instigate another riot.”

  Vitas rubbed his face. Would Florus listen to warnings about Nero’s wrath, or would Florus take the opportunity to kill Vitas for the silence it would ensure?

  “What I say or don’t say will not make a difference to Florus,” Vitas finally said. “If I make it back to Rome, however, I can ensure that he loses his procuracy.”

  “I feared you might say that.”

  “Is my assessment wrong?”

  “Probably not. But I don’t know where else to turn.”

  “What about Ben-Aryeh? You reached me by messenger. Surely you can find him and use your leverage to make him speak to Florus.”

  “It’s too late,” Bernice said. “He’s already with the delegation in front of Florus.”

  “I understand you were successful in persuading your people to return to their homes this morning.” Florus spoke from a large chair, looking down on the delegation of priests, Ben-Aryeh among them.

  The room reeked of pomp. Florus wore his robes of power and was surrounded by soldiers. The priests wore their temple robes, and stood in a group of about two dozen, all of them men of greatest wealth and influence in the city.

  “We were,” Ananias replied. As high priest, he was the designated spokesman.

  Ben-Aryeh, like Ananias and all the other Jews, was well aware that a single political misstep among these Jews of influence would result in a delegation approaching Agrippa to relieve Ananias of the high priest’s position.

  “Are you satisfied that there will be no talk of further riots in protest of how Rome governs the Jews?” Florus asked. It appeared that he was deliberately allowing a smile to play across his face, as if he were taunting Ananias into arguing that the riots would not have occurred except for the actions taken by Florus.

  Ananias merely bowed his head.

  Ben-Aryeh could only guess how much self-discipline it cost Ananias to remain silent. Earlier in the morning, for nearly a full hour, the priests of greatest authority, including Ben-Aryeh, had pleaded with the great crowd gathered in the upper market, where the soldiers had begun their slaughter the day before. The leaders of the city had beseeched the people not to provoke Florus further; many of the priests had torn their clothing and fallen down before the crowd. These people had all suffered deaths in their immediate families because of the soldiers, had seen their shops or homes looted. Some of them—even Jews with Roman citizenship—had been whipped by soldiers. The gross unfairness of such punishment forced upon them by Florus had some ready to charge the fortress unarmed.

  Yet, finally, the priests and leaders had persuaded even the most seditious that discretion would serve the city far better than continued protest. And Florus had sent for this delegation to visit him here in the Antonia Fortress as a result.

  “Speak clearly,” Florus ordered Ananias. “You are satisfied that there will be no talk of further riots in protest of how Rome governs?”

  “There will be no talk,” Ananias said. “There will be nothing done to provoke you or your soldiers.”

  Tense as it was in the room, Ben-Aryeh felt a hateful stare, as if it were a physical presence pushing on his soul. He glanced sideways and saw Annas the Younger. Smiling.

  Annas the Younger, while no longer the high priest, still counted as one of the leaders of the city. Ben-Aryeh, who’d been triumphant in getting the last of the Annas family removed, had made efforts not to lord his triumph
over Annas, and indeed, on the advice of his wife, Amaris, had made great efforts to shun gatherings where Annas or his brothers might be.

  This, however, was unavoidable.

  Their eyes met, and Annas continued to stare. Continued to smile. Ben-Aryeh believed he was a stronger man in all aspects than Annas the Younger. But he was unable to outlast Annas in this naked contest and returned his attention to Florus.

  At least part of his attention. Part of Ben-Aryeh’s thoughts remained on Annas. Had someone recognized Ben-Aryeh the day before when the woman shouted for help and accused him of violating her? Had someone recognized him as he fled, an action that surely would have been seen as guilt of the crime? Had someone told all of this to Annas the Younger? Was that the reason for his wolflike smile?

  “Nothing done to provoke me or my soldiers,” Florus was saying. “You may believe that among yourselves, but you Jews are a contentious, stubborn people. I certainly find no reason to believe it myself.”

  “The city will remain quiet,” Ananias said. “Unless—” He cut himself short.

  “Unless?” Florus seemed amused, seemed hopeful that Ananias might attempt to cast blame on Florus.

  “The city will remain quiet,” Ananias repeated.

  “Your word means little to me. Actions, however, speak loudly. This is what I want from you and your people. I have two cohorts of soldiers arriving today from Caesarea. I want a peaceful demonstration. I want your people to greet my soldiers with silent salutes of respect. If they can do that, then I will be satisfied that your troublemakers are truly under your control. And I promise no further punishment will come to the city.”

  On the surface, it seemed like a simple enough request. But Ben-Aryeh knew better. A minority of the Jews were angry enough to start a war. The abuses of Florus had been going on too long, and Jerusalem was a covered pot ready to boil over.

  “Procurator,” Ananias began.

  “Are you going to inflict another long speech on me?” Florus asked, his face beginning to darken with rage. “Such as you did yesterday when you refused to deliver the troublemakers to me? Have you already forgotten the consequences of your defiance in that speech? Or should I invite you to go outside and listen to the wailings of those who mourn?”

  “It will be done,” Ananias said quickly. “We will assemble our people and send them to greet your soldiers with respect.”

  “Good,” Florus grunted. “Now leave before I change my mind.”

  The Eighth Hour

  The temple authorities were able to accurately guess how many people the Court of the Gentiles could hold, not by counting the people themselves, but because of their accurate calculations of the number of lambs slaughtered at the altar every Passover. At twelve people per lamb, they knew the court was capable of holding a hundred thousand people.

  On this day, Ben-Aryeh was able to cast an expert eye over the crowd and decide that only a fifth of the court held people. It was a crowd then, he knew, of roughly twenty thousand. All were assembled to listen to the chief priests.

  It was the second occasion that day—and also only the second occasion in the last eighteen months—that circumstances had forced Ben-Aryeh near the physical presence of Annas the Younger. In front of Florus, Ben-Aryeh had managed to stay on the opposite side of the room, as far as possible from Annas.

  Here, on a hastily built stage of rough lumbers, Ben-Aryeh was almost close enough to touch Annas, and he was very conscious of his enemy’s presence.

  This, however, was a mild concern for Ben-Aryeh in comparison to his greater worry. In the public eye here on the stage, every one of those twenty thousand gathered would be able to see him clearly if he moved to the front of the small group of priests.

  And the woman who’d accused him of violating her could well be among this crowd. His safety to this point had been in the likelihood that she would never see him again in the crowded city. He had not expected to be required to be part of an assembly in front of a crowd of this magnitude.

  It was his goal, then, to remain hidden among the other chief priests.

  As Ananias the high priest raised his arms and brought the crowd to silence, Ben-Aryeh allowed himself a wry smile. This was the first time in his life he was grateful for his relatively short stature. As long as he stood behind all the others, he would be nearly invisible.

  “People of Jerusalem,” Ananias began. “You well know that destruction is almost upon this city and our families!”

  Dust was sprinkled heavily in Ananias’s hair, as it was with all the other chief priests, including Ben-Aryeh. They were dressed in their magnificent temple robes, and the contrast of the dust of humility and the glory of the temple was a powerful and rarely seen sight for the people.

  “Yet by our actions we can save ourselves!”

  Ananias had no need to shout. The acoustics of the temple were superb; had there been a hundred thousand in attendance, with all of them silent, even a slight cough from the stage would have carried to all of them. Ananias shouted because he wanted the drama that all of the chief priests had agreed upon earlier as a necessity for swaying the crowd.

  “Two cohorts of soldiers arrive today from Caesarea. Florus already has enough forces in the city to defeat us, yet more arrive. We must show Rome that we want no battle, and the city will be saved!”

  Ananias raised his arms. “People of Jerusalem, we must leave this temple as one person, travel outside the city gates as one person, and quietly salute those soldiers as one person. Only this act will prove to Florus that there are none among us who wish more trouble from Rome!”

  “What benefit is a salute to soldiers who serve Rome?” one man cried. “I say death to Caesar! Over three thousand died yesterday! Women, children! Even infants! We leave this temple and fight them now before the cohorts arrive! We are God’s people. We shall prevail, for God has promised us a Messiah!”

  Shouts of agreement rose.

  Ananias pointed at the man, and temple police converged upon him, dragging him away.

  Despite the anxiety that came with the fear that the woman would suddenly shout and point an accusing finger at him, Ben-Aryeh allowed himself another wry smile.

  Had Ananias truly wanted the man silenced, he would not have waited so long to summon the temple police. No, the man’s protests and his arrest had been orchestrated earlier. Outside the temple, he would be released and sent home, two coins of gold richer.

  “No!” Ananias called. “No!”

  The chief priests had wanted an open argument started to give them reason for what happened next.

  “Bring out the holy vessels!” Ananias cried. “Show all of the sacred treasures we must protect for the sake of our God!”

  All of the temple’s harpists and singers—hundreds upon hundreds—poured out of the Court of Women, overwhelming the crowd with a glorious hymn. Following them came every priest in the employ of the temple—from lowest in status to highest—some carrying a holy vessel of gold or silver, some carrying ornamental garments trimmed with gold threads.

  Never before had the people of Jerusalem seen such a display of the wealth hidden within the Holy of Holies. Some actually fell back in the presence of such sacred objects. Some fell to their knees.

  Ananias signaled the harpists and singers, and instantly a silence fell upon the temple, the reverence of the crowd a palpable sensation.

  Now Ananias spoke quietly. “We are a great people, serving the great and only God. It is to Him and for Him that we must show control and discipline to honor Him and His treasures that we have successfully preserved for untold generations. Shall we yield to the few troublemakers and have the entire city and this temple laid waste because of them? Or should we remove all reason for any war that Florus might inflict?”

  “Death to the troublemakers!” came another shout. This, too, had been orchestrated. As were most of the other shouts of agreement.

  Before there could be any unanticipated shouts of defiance, the harp
ists and singers filled the court with another glorious hymn. Even though Ben-Aryeh knew all of it had been planned as tightly as any temple service, the music still touched his soul and brought tears to his eyes.

  He looked past the shoulders of the chief priests in front of him and saw many people openly weeping. This was exactly the effect that Ananias had predicted.

  The crowd was theirs.

  When the last strains of the music died away, Ananias raised his arms again. “Do any of you wish to cause trouble? Do any of you wish by the harmful actions of an individual to deny this city freedom and peace?”

  He let the words hang.

  Now if anyone answered, they were to be instantly swarmed by temple police and bludgeoned to death.

  But the music and the sight of the thousands of holy vessels gleaming in the sunlight and the thousands of ornamental garments were enough to control any remaining troublemakers.

  “Then follow us!” Ananias commanded. “We will lead you outside the city to the soldiers!”

  Ben-Aryeh knew then that he was safe. He could remain hidden among the chief priests until they were down from the temporary stage, where he would be out of the public eye.

  “You think I don’t know who arranged for Agrippa to remove me from the high priesthood?” The hissing voice of Annas the Younger broke Ben-Aryeh from his thoughts.

  Ben-Aryeh turned, almost startled. In the five years, neither had addressed the other directly during the few, brief occasions they were close enough to speak, let alone alluded to Annas the Younger’s fall from power and how Ben-Aryeh had orchestrated it. But each knew the other was aware of the events. And each knew the other was aware of the hatred between them that remained like a sword. So Ben-Aryeh knew exactly what Annas meant as he continued to speak in the temple courtyard.

  “You shall pay for it, Ben-Aryeh,” Annas said. “Finally. I lost my position. But you shall lose your life. And I will be the first one to cast a stone.”

  Before Ben-Aryeh could reply, Annas the Younger flashed another wolflike smile that seemed to stay in Ben-Aryeh’s vision as Annas shuffled forward among the other chief priests.