Premonition

by R. S. Ingermanson

  Men around him began praying quietly. One prayed against an evil spirit. Another against a curse. A third begged HaShem to remove his hand of affliction. All of these were wrong—they would not work on this kind of illness. Baruch did not know how he knew this, but he knew. He waited, helpless.

  Nothing happened.

  Yaakov the tsaddik began whispering something.

  Baruch strained to listen.

  Yaakov was a righteous man, the holiest man in the city, but he had no gift of healing. “I command you to be healed in the name of Yeshua the Mashiach.”

  Nothing happened.

  And yet Baruch knew Yaakov had heard true. A man knows when he knows. Baruch cleared his throat. “I command you to be healed in the name of Yeshua the Mashiach.”

  A shock pulsed through them all, as sudden and sharp as a blow to the nerve at a man’s elbow. The men lifted their hands, their faces lighting up with surprise and fear and delight. When all hands had been removed, Baruch also lifted his hand.

  The boil looked as red and angry as before.

  “By this time tomorrow, it will be healed,” Baruch said. He knew it was true, but he did not know how he knew.

  The man, Yohanan, looked skeptical.

  Brother Yosi took his arm. “We will go. The Spirit was here—did you feel it?”

  The other men nodded. “Yes, the Spirit was here. You will certainly be healed.”

  Baruch turned to Brother Ari. “Did you feel the Spirit?”

  Brother Ari gave him an enigmatic smile. “Did you?”

  A deep well of sadness opened in Baruch’s heart. “No.”

  Ari

  * * *

  On the way home, Ari asked Baruch the same question he had asked last evening. “Will the eclipse cause a panic?”

  “I do not know. I have never seen an eclipse.”

  “But what do you think?”

  “I think ...” Baruch hesitated. “Please do not be offended, Brother Ari, but I think a few moments of darkness is little to fear. Women may be afraid, but not a man.”

  “That is because you have never seen an eclipse.”

  “Have you seen one?”

  Ari smiled. “No, but I have heard reports. It is a solemn moment. Darkness sweeps across the land like a flood. When the moon fully covers the sun, one may safely look at the sun, and it appears as a deep hole in the sky, from which tongues of flame shoot out.”

  Baruch shuddered. “Then the people will panic when they see it. Sister Rivka is certain of this eclipse?”

  “She read about it in a book. It was seen as far as Rome, and the people there saw it as a portent of evil—as vengeance of the gods on account of Caesar murdering his mother.”

  “I have not heard that Caesar murdered his mother.”

  Ari flinched at Baruch’s skeptical tone. “You think Rivka is lying?”

  “Brother Ari, you must understand. I love Sister Rivka. I believe that you and she come from a far country, from a far time. I believe she speaks true. But she is a woman, and a man does not base his actions on the word of a woman.”

  Ari frowned. “The people hold her to be a seer woman. They will believe her.”

  “Brother Ari, you are not listening. Yes, the people will believe her. No, they will not follow her advice. It is not honorable to follow a woman.”

  Honor. Foolish honor. Ari spun on his friend. “Baruch, that is meshugah. A man is no better—”

  “Please!” Baruch’s voice shook with impatience. “I am not interested in what you will tell me about the customs in your far country. This is Jerusalem. The customs here are the customs here. You yourself show little interest in the words of your woman. How should you expect others to do so?”

  Ari stared at him. “I believe her. But I do not know what is the right thing to do. This meddling—”

  “You are certain of this eclipse?” Baruch studied him with intense eyes. “You know with certainty it will come on the next new moon?”

  “With all my heart.”

  “Then it will cause a panic unless you warn the people.”

  “I will permit Rivka to warn—”

  “No, not Sister Rivka. You. Brother Ari, if you have a weakness, it is that you fear to act. HaShem has given you great gifts, but you wish always to stand aside and think more. You fear to make a mistake, so you do nothing. If you say nothing, if you merely allow Sister Rivka to speak, then the people will say that Ari the Kazan does not believe his woman. Therefore, why should they?”

  “What should I do?”

  “If you believe your woman, then act as if her words are true. But do not do nothing. To do nothing is to shout that your woman is a fool and a liar.”

  Ari thought about that for a long time. Finally he cleared his throat. “Perhaps you are correct, Brother Baruch.”

  Baruch smiled.

  “But on another point, you are wrong.” Ari stopped. This might make Baruch very angry, but ... he had to say it. “You are much mistaken if you think the word of a woman is nothing.”

  “I ...” Baruch’s face hardened. “Brother Ari, I have never heard a woman say anything that I did not know.”

  Ari nodded. “Very well, my friend. We can remedy that. Come with me.”

  Rivka

  * * *

  Rivka paced back and forth, patting Rachel’s back. “Come on, sweetheart, burp for Mama. You can do it.”

  Downstairs, the door opened. “Rivkaleh!”

  Two pairs of feet on the stairway. Rivka realized her hair wasn’t covered.

  Ari burst through the doorway. “Rivka, Baruch and I would like—”

  “Ari, my hair!”

  Baruch came in behind Ari, took one look at Rivka, and backed out.

  Rivka handed Ari the baby. “Here, burp Rachel.”

  Ari put Rachel on his shoulder and began patting her, his big hands thump-thump-thumping on her back.

  Rivka grabbed a head-covering and expertly coiled her hair into it. Good grief, this is too natural. I’ve become one of them. “Brother Baruch, you may come in now!”

  Baruch came in, his face burning. “Sister Rivka, please forgive me.”

  “Of course, and you will forgive me also, Brother Baruch.”

  Ari was pacing now. “Rivka, I have been thinking on the matter of the eclipse.”

  Rivka sat down in her rocking chair. “It’s okay, Ari. I realized this morning that it’s not going to be much use. Nobody’s going to listen to me. They call me the seer woman, but what have I ever foreseen? I’m a big fraud. When I tell them the sun will disappear, who’s going to believe me?”

  “They will believe you, because I will vouch for your word,” Ari said.

  “Really?” Rivka’s heart did a double back-flip. “You’d ... do that for me?”

  Ari shrugged. “You should thank Brother Baruch.”

  Rivka gave Baruch a big smile, then caught herself and looked back at Ari. “Please thank Brother Baruch for me.”

  Ari continued patting Rachel’s back. “Now, perhaps you will do a small favor for Brother Baruch.”

  “Of course. Just name it.” Rivka wondered what was going on.

  Ari pointed to the tall stone writing table. “Brother Baruch, there is papyrus and a reed pen. Make ink and write.”

  Baruch went to the table and took a reed pen. He sharpened it with a knife, then took a small cube of dried ink and mixed it with water into a gummy paste. At last, he was ready.

  Rachel burped.

  Ari let out a little yelp. A fair amount of Rachel’s breakfast oozed down his back.

  Rivka hurried for a rag to wipe up the mess.

  When she finished, Ari handed the baby back to her. “Please, you will tell Brother Baruch what you know.”

  “I will ... what?” Rivka sat down in her rocking chair and stared at him.

  Ari began pacing. “You have a reputation as a seer woman. Based on what? On the word of Midwife Marta, based on the word of Gamaliel, based on the word of Rabbi Yohan
an ben Zakkai, based on nothing.”

  “It was something,” Rivka said.

  “Very little,” Ari said. “Rivka, you are effectively a prophet, yes?”

  “No.”

  “You have been given to know the future. That is the function of a prophet.”

  “Ari, you’ve got it way wrong. A prophet is not a fore-teller, he’s a forth-teller. The prophet speaks forth for HaShem. Once in a while, a prophet makes a prediction, but that’s not the main point. If a prophet fore-tells, it’s in order to warn against a wrong action, or to persuade in favor of a right action. Yes, I know the future, but no, I don’t speak for HaShem. I’m not a prophet and I don’t want to be one.”

  “And perhaps that is what qualifies you to be one,” Ari said. “Moshe did not wish to be a prophet. Nor Isaiah, nor Jeremiah. HaShem called them to be prophets. If he calls you, where is your right to refuse?”

  Rivka stared at him. Ari had come a long way in two years. But he was still off-base. “Ari, you aren’t getting it. HaShem hasn’t called me to be a prophet. He’s allowed me to know a few things that are going to happen.”

  “Then please, you will tell Brother Baruch some of those things.”

  “Why?” Rivka began rocking in her chair.

  Ari tugged at his beard. “Because ... it will serve as objective validation. There will come a day when men ask for proof that HaShem has given you to know the future. They will ask for more than the word of a woman. Then Brother Baruch will vouch for you. It may save many lives on such a day, to have a man who will swear that you speak true.”

  “Sister Rivka?” Baruch looked directly at her, blushing fiercely, and held her gaze. “Please. I ask you as a ... friend.”

  Rivka felt her pulse racing. A man who looked a woman in the eye, who spoke directly to her, who admitted to having her for a friend. Ari wasn’t the only person who’d come a long way. Rivka peered down at Rachel’s sleeping face. And I also have come a long way. A wife. A mother in Yisrael. But a prophet? That’s the last thing I want to be. Sticks and stones will break your bones, even if you’re a prophet.

  Especially if you’re a prophet.

  But I’m not a prophet. Just a plain old garden-variety seer woman.

  Rivka knew she was probably going to regret this, but ... what else could she do?

  She focused on Rachel and began rocking. “Let’s begin with the high priests, then we’ll do the governors. The high priest is now Hananyah ben Nadavayah. After him will come Ishmael ben Phiabi, then Yoseph Kabi, then Hanan ben Hanan, who will rule for only three months ...”

  Hanan, who will kill a great man—Yaakov the tsaddik—and go unpunished. Unshed tears burned in Rivka’s heart.

  Baruch’s pen moved furiously as he scratched down the names. Ari paced back and forth, a tense smile on his face. Rivka rocked in her chair, her eyes on the face of her beloved Rachel, fore-telling the future of her people.

  Fore-telling, but not forth-telling. She was not going to let anyone call her a prophet. Not now. Not ever.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rivka

  * * *

  RIVKA WOKE WITH A START. Her watch told her it was past 3:00 a.m. The little battery was fading. Someday soon, it would die, and another link to her past life would die with it. She heard pounding at the door downstairs.

  “Rivkaleh, are you awake?” Ari’s whisper felt hot on her ear.

  She yawned. “I am now. I guess somebody needs a midwife. I’d better get dressed. Can you go tell whoever it is that I’ll be right out?”

  Ari sighed and got up.

  Rivka pulled her clothes into the warmth of her bed and began dressing beneath the blankets. What had possessed her to become a midwife? Somebody should have explained to her that, two nights in every week, some stranger would come knocking on her door and she could not tell him to take two aspirin and call her in the morning. She had to go now. She ought to retire, that’s what she ought to do. It was nuts being a midwife with a baby in the house.

  Ari stumped up the stairs and into the bedroom. “There is a man outside who says he requires the assistance of the seer woman.”

  Rivka pushed back the covers and pulled on her cloak. She tried to ignore the pang of annoyance. “Requires? Who is he that he thinks he can order people around? Some chief priest?”

  Ari shrugged. “He is clean-shaven like a Roman.”

  Rivka slipped on her sandals. “Let’s go talk to him.”

  They went down and out into the street. A man of medium height, cloaked and hooded, stood in the shadows. He carried a sword, but neither torch nor oil lamp. “I require that you will come with me at once.”

  Rivka stared at him. “Excuse me? Who are you and why are you giving me orders? Where are we going?”

  “A young servant girl in my house has suffered a miscarriage two days ago and now has a fever. We fear she may die.”

  Compassion swept through Rivka. The girl no doubt had an infection—maybe some kind of toxic shock. She would probably die, whatever Rivka tried. “Where is your house?”

  The man’s face tightened. “You will come at once. Alone.”

  Rivka narrowed her eyes. This was getting weird. “Listen, I don’t know who you think you are, but I don’t go anywhere in the middle of the night without my husband.”

  “He may come with us as far as the gate.”

  Rivka put her hands on her hips. “What gate?”

  “There is no time. You must come now. Both of you.”

  Rivka stepped back into the house. “Wait. I need my things.”

  “I require—”

  Rivka turned and hurried upstairs. Good grief, this had to be some rich, spoiled aristojerk who thought he could just order people around. He had probably waited too long, and now when the girl died, he would blame the midwife. It was almost certainly a lost cause, but she had to go because ... she had to go. If she had a chance to save the girl, she had to try.

  Upstairs, Rivka bundled up Rachel and grabbed her soft leather bag holding the tools of the midwife. She hurried back down and outside.

  Ari put a sword in his belt and locked the house.

  Rivka handed Rachel to Ari and they set off through the streets of the upper city. They headed north first, then turned east on the deserted avenue that led downhill toward the Temple Mount. A few aristocrats lived over here, mostly the very oldest families. But this made no sense. Those families were of the highest repute, Sadducees, old blood. Blood so blue it was purple. Men of those families didn’t shave like Romans.

  They hurried past the palace of the high priest, a horrible man named Hananyah ben Nadavayah. Everybody hated him, even the other Sadducees. Past another mansion—one Rivka had seen excavated when she visited Jerusalem in the twentieth century. A left turn and ...

  The man stopped and turned to Ari. “You will be quite safe here, seer woman. You will not take the child in.”

  Rivka felt all the breath vacuumed right out of her lungs. The Hasmonean Palace—built two centuries earlier by the Maccabees. The palace of King Herod Agrippa. She had never dreamed she would enter this palace.

  Ari laid a hand on her arm. “Be well, Rivkaleh. I can take Rachel to nurse with Hana until you are done.”

  Rivka stood on tiptoes and kissed his bearded cheek. “Bring Brother Baruch here to this gate,” she whispered in English. “Right away.”

  “The king requires that you hurry,” said the hooded man.

  “All right, all right!” Rivka kissed Rachel, then turned away. “Show me the girl.”

  The man led the way to the great iron-barred gates. He said something and a stout wooden door next to the gate swung in.

  Rivka followed him through.

  A large blond man stood there, and for an instant Rivka’s mind conjured up an image of Damien West. But no—it was one of those infamous German bodyguards the king employed. Germans were supposed to be big, stupid, and loyal. Well, she could vouch for big. This guy could have played on the San Francis
co Forty-niners. And the vacant look in his eyes told her that stupid was probably accurate too.

  They continued through a small courtyard to the palace itself, past a pair of Germans, up some stairs, and into the palace. The receiving room had an incredible floor of marble, inlaid with a mosaic pattern. They strode across it to a vast staircase, also marble. Up the stairs and a left turn and a long hall. A right turn at the corner and down to the end of yet another hall.

  As they walked, Rivka let her mind wander. A servant was sick—possibly one of the servants of Queen Berenike. Would she get a chance to meet the queen tonight? Wouldn’t that be something? She had never seen the queen, but she had seen a picture back home of a bust in the National Museum in Rome. A statue of Queen Berenike—one of the few artistic representations of any person in the Bible. The queen had perfect high cheeks and a classic straight nose and pensive eyes. The woman was drop-dead supermodel gorgeous. For sure, this was going to be an interesting night.

  At the doorway, the man paused. “The girl’s name is Shlomzion,” he said. “She is a favorite of the queen, and you must not let her die.”

  Rivka shot him a look. Like there’s a lot I can do now. “Show me the girl.”

  He pushed open the door. The room was a sumptuous sleeping chamber. Silk hangings on the walls. An enormous bed with an ivory frame and satin blankets. Ivory! The girl lay in the bed, her thick black sweaty hair strewn over her face. A thin linen sheet shrouded her slim young body. A servant girl knelt beside the bed, tears on her cheeks, holding the dying girl’s hand.

  Rivka knelt on the other side and put one hand to the patient’s chest, the other on her forehead. Shallow, rapid heartbeat. High fever. A foul smell. “How long has she been sick?”

  “Three days,” said the servant girl.

  A day longer than the man said. Bad news. Rivka probed at the girl’s belly with strong fingers. By pressing ... there, she could feel the uterus. It was hot and swollen. A miscarriage, the man claimed. Or maybe a botched abortion? In the last year, she had seen a number of those. She pressed again, harder, and felt something that might be a tiny fetus.