Premonition

by R. S. Ingermanson

  Berenike felt faint. She knew what it was to slay the innocent. To save her own life, she had killed her child. None knew her secret except Agrippa and ... the seer woman. Was it possible that Paulos had heard this thing from her? No, the seer woman had sworn an oath to protect her secret.

  But HaShem also knew what she had done. HaShem saw all, and he would not forgive. HaShem would not excuse the powerful who killed the weak.

  Paulos said that he had gone to both Jews and Gentiles, preaching repentance and the forgiveness of sins, lest they be punished for their wicked deeds.

  Wicked deeds. Berenike’s heart fluttered in her chest. Paulos was mocking her, reading her thoughts and laying bare her secrets in a code that only she understood. He knew. He knew what she had done, and now he toyed with her, enjoying her torment, watching her squirm while he prepared a fatal thrust of truth that would leave her skewered, gasping before all, naked in her sin, ruined. Paulos was crucifying her with his words.

  Paulos said that he taught that this Yesous was Mashiach, that the prophets taught he must suffer and die, and rise again—the first of all who would rise from the dead, from the greatest warrior to the smallest infant.

  Infant. Berenike felt her sin like a weight in her chest, burning like fire, freezing like a cold breath from the grave. The single eye of Paulos held her pinned now, tortured, screaming, weeping, begging, dying. Cold sweat sheathed her body, and the pounding of her heart must surely fill the room. She wanted to scream, to cry out for mercy, to—

  “Paulos, you have gone mad,” Governor Festus said. “You have spent too much time with your books, and you have lost your mind!”

  Silence.

  Berenike tried to breathe, to think, to feel something in her numb heart.

  Paulos shook his head. “Excellency, I have lost nothing more than an eye—my mind is fully intact. You may ask the king and queen of the truth of these matters. It is not as if Yesous lived and died and rose again in some dark corner. King Agrippa, you believe the prophets, do you not? And you, Queen Berenike, you know that in ancient times, seers were given to know the secret things of our God?”

  Berenike nodded, clamping her eyes tight against the tears that threatened to burst out of her. The seer woman, yes, she knew many secrets which only HaShem could have taught her. Yes, the prophets of old—

  Agrippa laughed out loud. “Paulos, you amuse me! You should have been an actor. Do you think in such a short time, you can persuade me to play the role of one of those Khristianoi?”

  Berenike shuddered and then relaxed. Somehow, Agrippa’s laughter had broken the spell. What foolishness had come over her? It was some trick of his voice, of his madman’s eye.

  Paulos laughed too, a deep rich musical laugh. “King Agrippa, I do not care whether it takes a short time or long, but I pray that you and your lovely sister and all who have heard me today should become just like I am. Except for my chains, of course!”

  “Enough of this nonsense.” Agrippa took Berenike’s arm and stood.

  Berenike stared up at him, feeling as limp and helpless as a clump of seaweed floating in the ocean.

  He looked down at her, and his eyes plainly told her that she was an idiot.

  She tugged at his arm and fought her way to her feet. Her head seemed to float far above her body and all the world swayed gently.

  Agrippa scowled. “Paulos, you can keep your chains and your nonsense. Governor, we must be going. This fool does not deserve death, and he is no danger to anyone. If he had not appealed to Caesar, I would tell you to set him free. Maybe you could put him in the amphitheater and earn some money—if anyone would pay to hear him jabber.”

  They left the room in a flurry of laughter from the audience.

  Berenike wobbled along beside her brother, clutching his arm. Paulos was a horrible man. That probing, hideous eye of his! He had no right to look at her like that, to speak to her of sin, of repentance, of punishment. No right at all.

  Rivka

  * * *

  He’ll be fine, Gamaliel.” Rivka gripped Ari’s hand and watched the entrance to the Praetorium, where Saul was having a hearing before the king and queen. “He’s going to Rome, and there’s nothing King Agrippa can do to prevent it.”

  Sweat covered Gamaliel’s forehead. He stood silently, eyes glued to the palace.

  Ari said nothing.

  Voices. Movement inside the palace.

  Several Germans appeared. Behind them came King Agrippa. Queen Berenike stumbled along beside him, clutching his arm with trembling fingers, her eyes slits of fear, her face a white mask. Governor Festus came next, speaking in Greek and laughing like a jackal. They passed by without a glance at Rivka and Ari and Gamaliel.

  More soldiers. Saul stepped out, blinking in the bright sunlight.

  “Uncle Saul!” Gamaliel stepped into the road to greet his uncle.

  Saul and his escorts stopped. “Blessed be HaShem! All is well, Gamaliel.” Saul turned his good eye at Rivka. “My daughter, I thank you once again for sharing with me what HaShem has given you to see.”

  The soldiers clanked Saul’s chains.

  He shrugged. “Gamaliel. My friends. Please come visit once more before you return to Jerusalem.”

  The three stepped out of the road and watched Saul march toward his prison, his step as light as if he were going to a wedding.

  Ari hissed and squeezed Rivka’s arm. “Rivka ...”

  She turned to look at him, then froze.

  Hanan ben Hanan strode out of the Praetorium, his face on fire, taut with fury. As he passed Rivka, he spat at her feet.

  Rage seared her flesh. “Hey!” Rivka shouted in English. “You ... jerk!” She lunged after him.

  “Rivka!” Ari held her back.

  Rivka shook her fist at Hanan’s back. “Creep! Who do you think you are? Come back here, Hanan, and I’ll—”

  “Rivka, silence!” Ari shook her hard. “Do not make things worse. He knows.”

  She spun to look at him. “Knows what?”

  Ari’s face was pale and sweaty. “He knows ... that you have been meddling in his business.”

  “Who cares? I’m no longer afraid of him.”

  Gamaliel shook his head, and ghostly white framed his eyes. “Your woman is not wise, Ari the Kazan. Only a fool does not fear Hanan ben Hanan.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Rivka

  * * *

  ON THE ROAD BACK TO Jerusalem, Rivka walked alone, filled with longing to be home, to get Rachel back from Hana’s care. She had done what she came to do—she had saved Saul. But she still had to save Ari. Silence shrouded her. The other women in the merchant caravan all knew she was the famous witch woman, and they would have nothing to do with her.

  The countryside changed slowly over the next two days as they went south along the fertile green coastal plain, then turned inland and up into the hill-country of Judea. The road wound along the contours of the land, passing through small villages. The landscape changed to brown, rocky hills, steep canyons. Avraham had walked this country. David. The Maccabees. Yeshua. The land lay dense with memories.

  As they entered the long steep grade leading up to the pass of Bet-Horon, Rivka tensed. Seven years from now, Jewish rebels would destroy the rearguard of the Twelfth Legion here, one of the great victories of the war. This pass had seen many ambushes throughout history. Had she not warned Saul, he might well have—

  A shout echoed up ahead. Three men at the head of the caravan ran forward.

  Rivka hurried toward Ari. If there was trouble, she wanted to be with him, fitting or not fitting.

  More men went running up the road. Gamaliel was among them.

  Rivka reached Ari and clutched his arm. She craned her neck, trying to see.

  Slowly the caravan came up to the knot of men clustered around something beside the road. The buzz of flies filled Rivka with anxiety. A pair of woman’s legs, bare.

  Rivka felt dizziness slide a fist inside her head.


  Ari put his arm around her. “Rivkaleh, do not look, please.”

  Gamaliel broke away from the crowd and hurried back to Ari and Rivka. Tears stood large and round in his eyes. “Bandits. Perhaps a day ago.”

  A huge lump formed in Rivka’s throat.

  Ari held her tight. “How many dead?”

  Gamaliel’s face had gone pale as the white belly of a fish. “A father, a mother, two children. And one unborn child. The bandits made wicked sport of the children and ... ripped open the mother’s belly.” He turned away and vomited on the ground.

  Rivka struggled for breath.

  Two men nearby were whispering: “It is the birthpangs of Mashiach.”

  “Yet twelve miles to Jerusalem. We must hurry. We can do nothing for these dead.”

  Gamaliel looked back at the bodies on the ground, then turned to face Rivka. “I ... thank you for what you have done for my uncle. Whatever others may say, I believe you are a true seer woman.” His face reddened and he stared at the ground.

  Rivka smiled.

  Gamaliel had spoken directly to her.

  Hanan ben Hanan

  * * *

  When Hanan arrived back in Jerusalem, he immersed in his mikveh and waited until evening. After sundown, he went to report to the high priest on the disaster in Caesarea.

  He remained fuming in Ishmael’s reception room for the fourth part of an hour. Why this delay? That fool Ishmael should be waiting on him, and not—

  “Yes, Hanan ben Hanan, what is it?” Ishmael bustled in, impatience scrawled across his face.

  “We ... failed,” Hanan said. “Governor Festus ordered the apikoros to come to Jerusalem to stand trial.”

  “And ...?” Ishmael narrowed his eyes. “How is this a failure? That was what you promised would happen.”

  “The apikoros knew about it!” Hanan smashed his left fist into his right. “He was warned—and he appealed to Caesar.”

  “What does this mean, to appeal to Caesar?”

  “It is his right as a Roman citizen to interrupt the proceedings and appeal the case to be continued in Caesar’s court.”

  “But ... that means a long journey by sea,” Ishmael said. “Why would Renegade Saul request such foolishness?”

  “Kazan warned him. Kazan and his wretched woman.”

  Ishmael folded his arms across his chest and narrowed his eyes to slits. “You are concerned overmuch with Kazan and his woman.”

  “I saw them talking with the apikoros,” Hanan said. “And also with his nephew, that young Temple guard Gamaliel ben Levi. I am certain they told the apikoros to appeal to Caesar.”

  “You are telling me they discovered your plans?” Ishmael’s face darkened.

  “Yes, somehow.”

  “To whom did you tell these plans before you left?”

  “The young men who were to attack the apikoros on the way back. I chose reliable men.”

  “One of them is not reliable.” Ishmael paced back and forth. “I knew this was foolishness. You are obsessed with the matter of the apikoros.”

  “The messianics are arousing the hatred of the people—against Rome and against us. There is talk in the streets of the birthpangs of Mashiach. We must quash the messianics with a heavy fist.”

  Ishmael’s face hardened. “Again? You know nothing, fool. Your father tried that, and made a hero of that man Yeshua. Then he thought to smash those who remained, and only scattered them throughout Judea and to Syria. Then he turned Saul into an apikoros. Enough! Your house makes things worse with your fists.”

  “If you had a house worthy of the name, you would—”

  Ishmael turned his back. “You are dismissed, ben Hanan.”

  “I refuse to leave.”

  “I mean you are dismissed from your office. I will appoint a new sagan, one who is not intent on enflaming the people.”

  “And if I tell the king of your part in the plan we made?”

  Ishmael turned and gave him a thin smile. “Then you will never be high priest, ben Hanan. If you throw me over that cliff, I will pull you with me.”

  “What office will I be given instead of sagan?”

  Ishmael spread his hands. “Woe is me, but all the offices have been filled with worthy young men. Perhaps when the next high priest comes to office, he will find something for you—if you have learned more sense by then. I wish to hear no more of your provoking the messianics.”

  “I will do as I will—”

  “You will obey me or you will lose what remains of your good name.”

  Hanan spun and stalked to the door. Fury flooded his heart, and his hands tingled with rage. He strode down the steps and joined his bodyguards in the palace courtyard.

  Ishmael was a fool. Therefore, he would not last long as high priest. Next time, surely Agrippa would come to his senses and choose a man who knew to keep order. There must be no foolish talk in the streets of the birthpangs of Mashiach. That way lay trouble with Rome.

  Soon enough, I will be high priest.

  Then let Kazan and his woman—and every messianic who dared cross the House of Hanan—look to their own safety.

  Ari

  * * *

  Within a week of Hanan ben Hanan’s replacement, the new sagan, a man named Yoseph Kabi of the House of Qathros, hired Ari to complete the work on the pump. Ari and Levi the bronze worker made careful markings on the gears, took them to Levi’s workshop, and filed the teeth with an iron file. One day later, the Sons of Righteous Priests gathered in the Temple to watch the final installation.

  Ari stood in the first treadwheel and signaled to Brother Eleazar. “Walk!”

  Both began walking the treadwheels. A quarter turn. Half turn. Three-quarters. One full revolution. Another.

  The priests around the pump shouted a great shout. A cheering throng of men hauled Ari out of his treadwheel, shouting congratulations, pounding him on the back, dancing around the altar.

  Ari felt a great joy. His dishonor was turned to honor. HaShem had changed his fortunes, and for this he felt grateful.

  Afterwards, the men went to a beer-shop to celebrate. “What next for you, Ari the Kazan?” Brother Eleazar tipped back his huge head and drained a stone cup of beer.

  Ari smiled. “King Agrippa’s steward has offered me many dinars to design a new dining room for his palace.”

  Eleazar’s black eyes glowed. “I spit on Agrippa and all the House of Herod.”

  Ari shrugged. “The money he spends will hire many men, and that will aid the city.”

  Eleazar did not look interested.

  Ari knew it was useless to teach economics to him. As well teach physics to a bear.

  Gamaliel’s friend Brother Yoseph brought more beer. As he handed Ari a cup, Yoseph said in a quiet voice, “Ari the Kazan, I heard something in my father’s house today.”

  Yoseph, like Eleazar, came of an aristocratic family and occasionally heard useful gossip. Ari knew him to have a sober mind and good judgment. “Yes, what did you hear?”

  Yoseph looked both ways, then leaned close to Ari. “Hanan ben Hanan is angry at you.”

  Ari gave a wry smile. “I had some inkling of this already.”

  Yoseph took a sip of his ale. “He has sworn vengeance on Kazan.”

  “I am not afraid of ben Hanan.” Which was a lie, but Ari could not think what else to say. “He is only a man, after all, and not even King Armilus of Rome.”

  Eyebrows went up around the circle. Smiles. Laughter. Ari saw that he had scored a point.

  A look passed between Eleazar and Gamaliel. Eleazar took a long swallow from his ale. “Speaking of Armilus, Ari the Kazan, have you given thought to the matter of Mashiach? We have given you much aid. When Mashiach comes, he will need war machines for his army. You must come to our aid before then. It is not enough that you will join him only when he appears.”

  Ari hesitated. This was foolishness, but ... what could he tell them? They could not see the far future. “I will ... think on
the matter.”

  Eleazar studied him intently. “Do not think too long, Ari the Kazan. The birthpangs have begun. Soon all creation will writhe in the wrath of HaShem before the great and terrible Day of the Lord.”

  Part 3: Birthpangs

  Summer, A.D. 60

  Take care that no one deceives you. Many will come using my name and saying, “I am he,” and they will deceive many. When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed, this is something that must happen, but the end will not be yet. For nation will fight against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be earthquakes here and there; there will be famines. This is the beginning of birthpangs.

  Rabban Yeshua,

  Mark 13:5-8, Jerusalem Bible

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Hana

  * * *

  HANA WOKE UP WEEPING. LITTLE Dov lay beside her. She must not wake him, no, she must not. Behind her, Baruch snored. Soon he would wake and go to pray and then he would spend the day copying Torah scrolls. He was a good man, a kind man, a lonely man. He much desired a son of his own. Prayed to HaShem for a son of his own.

  But she was barren. In the night, she had woken and found that again this month, she was not pregnant. Tears washed her cheeks. She had done what she could, and yet HaShem had not heard her cry. She was barren, like that other Hana, the mother of the prophet Shmuel, who went to the tabernacle and cried to HaShem. Then the priest Eli prayed for her and she bore a son for her husband.

  Dov woke with a start and kicked his legs.

  Hana soothed him with her hand. “Shhhh, little bear.”

  He turned toward her.

  She heard the sounds of his hunger and she felt glad. Next year he would be three, and then she would wean him. Then perhaps HaShem would take away her barrenness and she would rejoice. If HaShem gave her a son, she would call his name Shmuel, after the prophet, the righteous man. Hana pulled Dov to her.