Premonition

by R. S. Ingermanson

  Inside the palace, Agrippa’s chief of staff met him.

  “Hanan ben Hanan to see King Agrippa on Temple business.”

  The chief of staff looked him over and frowned. “This is an awkward hour to visit the king.”

  “This was an awkward day for the king to make a fool of himself. You will show me to the king at once.”

  The chief of staff raised his eyebrows. “I will—”

  “The high priest has ordered me to deliver a message to the king today, and I will not leave until I have given it.”

  “Follow me.” The chief of staff turned and led him upstairs into a small receiving room. “Wait here.”

  Hanan tried to find a place where he could not see the frescoes painted on the stucco walls. The palace felt entirely too Greek. He felt soiled, standing here, but since he held no office in the Temple, it hardly mattered if he became ritually impure. Hardly mattered to Ishmael ben Phiabi. Hanan seethed. Ishmael had forced him to do this unclean task because he had no office. Ishmael would pay for his insolence.

  Presently, King Agrippa arrived.

  Hanan hid his feelings. “King Agrippa, I am sent by Ishmael ben Phiabi the high priest to inform you that he is most displeased with your new dining room and demands that it be demolished at once.”

  “Demands?” Agrippa gave a short laugh. “He demands?”

  Hanan scratched his nose with his left hand. Ishmael had not chosen quite this word. “Yes, he demands it. It is an act of impiety for you to observe the sacrifices from your palace—it violates the customs of the fathers, and Ishmael directs me to tell you that he will not tolerate it.”

  “And he will compensate me for mutilating my palace? This new room cost me more than three silver talents. I had the services of Ari the Kazan in its design.”

  Hanan stood in silence for a long moment. “Ishmael said nothing of compensation. Shall I ask him?”

  “Immediately.”

  Hanan ben Hanan

  * * *

  He laughed at your request.” Hanan ran his hand over his still-damp hair. He had gone home for a ritual immersion after leaving Agrippa’s palace. “And he demands full compensation for the costs of construction.”

  Ishmael scowled. “That is absurd. How much?”

  “Nearly four silver talents.”

  “I could have hired Temple workmen to do it for half a talent.”

  Hanan coughed. “Undoubtedly.”

  “Ask if he will consider dividing the cost.”

  Hanan turned to leave.

  “And you will immerse again before returning here with his answer.”

  “Of course.”

  Hanan ben Hanan

  * * *

  Hanan nodded his head. “Yes, he offers one quarter of a talent—the rest of the cost to be borne by you.”

  Agrippa’s eyes smoldered. “What? He offers? No demand this time?”

  Hanan said nothing, but lowered his head.

  “So he did demand it?”

  “Your highness, he offers one quarter of a silver talent.”

  “It is unacceptable. The room stays until he offers fair compensation.”

  Hanan ben Hanan

  * * *

  He demands full compensation,” Hanan said.

  Ishmael’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I will not negotiate with a rogue.”

  “What then should I offer him?”

  “Offer him nothing. We will not pay a dinar. The room must go.”

  Hanan ben Hanan

  * * *

  Ishmael withdraws his previous offer. He will not pay a single dinar. He demands that you destroy the room.”

  Agrippa glowered at Hanan. “No. I will not remove the room under any circumstances.”

  “But ... Ishmael demands it.”

  “Tell him never. I will not touch a single stone.”

  “I can ask him to reinstate his offer of a quarter of a talent.”

  “I spit on his offer. Tell him that.”

  Hanan ben Hanan

  * * *

  He spits on you and the Temple.”

  “Did you immerse again before coming here?” Ishmael looked at Hanan’s hair suspiciously.

  “Of course. The king is being unreasonable. I suggest we take up the matter with the governor.”

  “There is another way.” Ishmael smiled. “It will cost very little.”

  “What other way?”

  “Go home. You have done all that a man could.”

  “What way?”

  “You are dismissed.”

  “A pleasure to serve you.” Hanan bowed slightly and backed toward the door.

  Yes, he had done all that a man could. But still he would like to know what foolish scheme Ishmael would try next.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Ari

  * * *

  TWO DAYS AFTER THE FAST, Ari went to the Temple with a grinning Gamaliel, who refused to tell him anything other than, “You must see what Ishmael has done.”

  They found most of the Sons of Righteous Priests standing in the Court of Priests, looking up at the top of the wall where Ari and Eleazar and the others had blocked the king’s view. A new wall of white stone stood atop the old one, three meters high, running the full width of the western side of the inner Temple.

  A broad smile covered Brother Eleazar’s face. “Brother Ari! You would have been proud to see it! We used one of your cranes to lift all the stones. Ishmael hired fifty masons to work through the night. This morning, when Agrippa looked out his window, behold! His view was blocked!”

  “What about wind?” Ari said. “The new wall is high but not thick.”

  “Come inspect it with me.” Eleazar led the way to the staircase.

  Ari followed him up onto the southern wall of the inner court. They walked along it until they reached the new wall. It was about fifty centimeters thick, Ari guessed. He did not like such a small ratio of thickness to height. A free-standing wall without corners or buttresses could blow over in a high wind.

  “It must be reinforced,” Ari said. “You should have consulted me.”

  Eleazar shrugged. “This was Ishmael’s project. I was only called in last night to oversee the laborers. I will speak to him about reinforcements.”

  Ari walked along the wall to the northern end.

  Thirty meters away, a number of Roman soldiers stood on the roof of the porticoes of the outer court of the Temple Mount. He had seen them there many times. He had not realized until now how close they were to the back side of the Temple. They stood on a level just slightly lower than Ari’s, looking up at him, scowling.

  Ari shrugged. Romans were always scowling.

  Brother Eleazar took his arm. “Pay no attention to the dogs, Ari the Kazan. Soon enough they will be sent running into the sea. Look at Agrippa’s palace.”

  Ari followed Eleazar’s pointing arm to the new dining room of the Hasmonean Palace. The curtains were closed.

  “He opened his windows and peeked out this morning,” Eleazar said. “Then he closed them again so that none should see his dishonor. Ishmael has bested him.”

  “For the moment. Agrippa could depose him.”

  Eleazar laughed. “Then Agrippa would never live down the dishonor. He is not fool enough to use force on one who has outfoxed him.”

  “What is going on in the plaza?” Ari pointed toward the square in front of Agrippa’s palace. Another rock fight? No, it could not be. The gathering looked peaceful. And in the middle of the crowd stood a tall figure with long black dreadlocks. Ari sucked in his breath. “It is Brother Shmuel.”

  “You know this man?” Eleazar’s voice sounded tight. “My father is much concerned about him. All the Sanhedrin is worried.”

  “I know him,” Ari said.

  “This wall will take care of itself for the present.” Eleazar took Ari’s arm. “Come with me. We must see this man who has all Jerusalem talking.”

  Ari

  * * *

  Gamaliel a
nd Brother Yoseph also insisted on going to see Shmuel the prophet. On the way, Ari told them what he knew of Shmuel. He was a follower of Rabban Yeshua. Ari had known him a few years ago. Then Brother Shmuel went out to the desert to seek HaShem. A strange, quiet man, much given to his prayers, quick to help a brother, quick to rage at injustice. A Nazir for the last ten years. Now he was back, a bolder man, with power to heal. Ari had felt this power.

  Also Brother Shmuel had removed the strange rift between Baruch and his son.

  Yoseph nodded gravely at all this. “He turns the hearts of the sons to the fathers, and the fathers to the sons.”

  Ari thought that was a strange way to put it, but yes, that was what Brother Shmuel had done for Baruch.

  “Are you looking for Mashiach yet, my friend?” Eleazar asked.

  No. Yes? Ari was no longer sure. He looked into Eleazar’s gleaming black eyes. “Perhaps.”

  Gamaliel looked satisfied. “Mashiach is coming, and then your perhaps will become yes and you will give aid to him.”

  They arrived at the plaza. Brother Shmuel stood praying over a man with a crippled arm.

  Ari saw that the left arm was much smaller than the right. A genetic defect, maybe. Such things were hopeless. Even Brother Baruch had no skill to heal such things.

  Silence hung over the crowd like a fog, an intense expectant silence.

  Ari stood watching for many minutes. The powerful voice of Brother Shmuel rolled over the crowd, an endless stream of syllables in a language Ari did not know. Nothing happened.

  Finally Ari looked at Eleazar and Gamaliel and Yoseph.

  Eleazar shrugged. They all turned away.

  Ari raised his eyebrows. “So ... will he give us Mashiach?”

  “No.” A thin smile curled Eleazar’s lips. “But the birthpangs are upon us. Mashiach is nearer than you know, Ari the Kazan. Watch and be ready.”

  “I have agreed to consult with a builder in the upper city after midday,” Ari said. “That is the only thing I am ready for today.”

  “Be well, Ari the Kazan.” Eleazar turned and strode back toward the Temple, his great frame taking long strides across the plaza, Gamaliel and Yoseph scurrying to keep up. For a moment, Ari imagined Eleazar with armor, a sword, a great spear, striding across the earth like Hercules.

  Something fluttered in his heart. Such a man ... who would not follow him? Ari turned up the hill toward home. He must ask Rivka’s opinion on this matter.

  Rivka

  * * *

  Eleazar said what?” Rivka rocked faster in her chair. They had eaten a quiet lunch together and then she fed Rachel while Ari talked.

  Ari pursed his lips. “That Mashiach is nearer than I know. As he walked away, I thought ... he is such a man as the people look to for Mashiach.”

  Rivka sighed deeply. Messianic fever. She had known it would be like this. She just hadn’t known it would be ... like this. She wished Ari would have nothing to do with that man. “You know what Eleazar is going to do to this city. Why must you—”

  “Rivka.”

  She opened her eyes, startled by his sharp tone.

  Deep sadness pooled in Ari’s eyes. “Yes, I know that Eleazar will ignite the revolt. Yes, I know that he will cause untold suffering, destruction, death. Centuries of exile. But he is my friend. You likewise know the church will put our people to flame and sword, and yet you are not ashamed to call yourself a Christian. Why?”

  “I’m just a follower of Yeshua. That’s all.” Rivka leaned forward. “You know he’s Mashiach ben Yoseph, don’t you? The Servant?”

  Ari said nothing.

  Rivka swallowed hard. He was close, so close. “If you would just ... join with us, you could help me. The church doesn’t have to become evil, Jew-hating. We could change the course of things, if you’d only help.”

  Ari knelt beside her, kissed her cheek. “If you believe this, Rivkaleh, then you should require me to befriend Brother Eleazar. He also is not evil yet, and you should urge me to do all in my power to keep him from becoming so.”

  Rivka felt very tired. “You don’t believe you can prevent him.”

  “No.” Ari tickled Rachel’s cheek and stood up. “I believe that all is determined, and you and I can change nothing, however much we meddle. Now I am expected at the building site already. Be well.”

  She squeezed his hand. “Be well, Ari.”

  He stopped at the door. “You are certain Brother Shmuel is not mentioned in the books, Rivkaleh?”

  “I’m not certain. But I will think on it again.”

  For ten minutes after he left, Rivka sat rocking gently, paging through Josephus in her mind, looking for a Shmuel. What was she missing? A healer. A prayer warrior. A man of God. A man to turn Baruch’s heart to Dov.

  A man who turns the hearts of the children to the fathers, and the hearts of the fathers to the children.

  Mashiach.

  Rivka’s heart began racing. There was a vaguely messianic figure in Josephus for this year. But that made zero sense. Brother Shmuel was a good man. A gracious man, full of warmth. A follower of Yeshua. None of that described the “impostor” mentioned in Josephus. None of it. But Josephus did not name the impostor. Was it possible ...?

  Rivka rocked Rachel in her arms, checking to see that she was still asleep. She slipped on her sandals and covered her hair, then headed downstairs.

  Rachel slept on.

  Rivka

  * * *

  Rivka left Rachel with Hana and scurried toward the great square in front of the Hasmonean Palace. When she arrived, a large crowd had gathered. It always amazed her how silently a large crowd could listen when they wanted to. It was a cultural thing. Without microphones, a speaker could not be heard unless his listeners cooperated. In America, this would have been taken as the right to shout down any speaker, and nothing would ever get said. In Jerusalem, nobody would think of doing such a thing. It was simply not legitimate for one individual to violate the rights of the many to hear. The whole crowd could decide corporately to shout down a speaker, but nobody would think of individually making that decision for the others.

  Rivka could not see Brother Shmuel, but she could hear him. He had a kind voice, deep and gentle and resonant.

  “My brothers, you are troubled. Why are you troubled? Because the rich and the powerful take advantage of you. The chief priests steal your tithes, and their servants beat the people with sticks, and there is none to bring justice. The king and the queen consort together, laughing on their bed of fornication, eating and drinking during The Fast. They care nothing for you and your hardship, nor will they give justice. Caesar treats our brothers in Caesarea as dogs. He cares nothing for the commandments and he does not love HaShem. His governor is an evil man who causes his men to kill our brothers without reason. You cry out to HaShem to reveal his wrath against all unrighteousness. And HaShem has heard your cry, my brothers.

  “I have spent much time praying in the desert, my brothers. The word of HaShem came to me and he said, ‘Tell my people to come out of the stone city, to leave the Temple made with hands, to leave the rich and the men of violence, to escape from the dogs of Amalek. Come to the desert and there you will find peace.’ In the desert, our fathers received the commandments through the hand of Moshe, servant of HaShem. Now you also return to the desert, and there you will receive a new commandment. There you will be safe from the men of violence. Rest tomorrow on Shabbat according to the commandment, and on the third day, be ready to go to the desert.”

  The words of Brother Shmuel woke something inside Rivka. For the first time, she understood the deep injustice of this city. The social structure was fundamentally ... broken. Not merely flawed. Evil. Deep anger burned in her heart, a fire in her bones. Righteous anger, the wrath of HaShem. A longing for justice. Evil men ruled here, and nothing short of revolution would stop it. Rivka felt a powerful ache in her heart to ... follow this man.

  Which was foolishness. She couldn’t believe it, but her
heart screamed that she should go into the desert with this good, simple, honest man. She felt sick to death of being jerked around by the chief priests, the king, the governor, Caesar. Dogs, all of them. Evil.

  Rivka backed away from the crowd and began running. Tears murked her eyes, and she could not see and she staggered down the street, drunk with fear and anger and desperation. She had to hurry. Now she understood why Yeshua had warned so much about false prophets—because they looked so much like true prophets. The biggest lies were the closest to the truth.

  Her hunch was right. Dear sweet Brother Shmuel the prophet was going to get hundreds of people killed. Maybe thousands. Josephus didn’t say, but he wouldn’t have mentioned it unless it was big. All those people would die unless she did some serious meddling. Fast.

  Yaakov

  * * *

  Yaakov sat on the stone bench in front of his small home, praying. The Spirit was strong today, and he felt at peace and yet wary, both at the same time. The sun warmed him, but a shadow lay on his heart.

  Brother Shmuel had promised to speak to him of what HaShem had shown him in the desert. That was more than a week ago, and he had not fulfilled his promise. It was not like Brother Shmuel to fail in a promise. Brother Shmuel was a good man. An innocent man. Gifted in prophecy, and lately gifted in healing also. A man like Rabban Yeshua, a man who burned with righteous anger against injustice. He was not yet wise like the Rabban, but wisdom would come with years.

  What had Brother Shmuel learned in the desert? From where did his new power come? Yaakov had asked himself these questions many times, but he had not been able to ask Brother Shmuel. Many rumors filled the streets, and Yaakov felt uneasy. If only—