“Racheleh!” Dov raced inside past Rivka and up the stairs in search of his best friend in the universe.
Rivka could only wish she were four again—that had to be the best year of anyone’s life. She gave Hana a hug. “We’ll go for a walk. Your neighbor Yohana can watch the children.” The one woman in this city who doesn’t call me a witch woman.
Dov and Rachel marched down the stairs, holding hands, singing, happy as kittens.
Ten minutes later, Rivka and Hana strolled in silence down the hill, past the Hasmonean Palace, through the public square, and past the shopping district. Hana said nothing and Rivka was content to wait. She knew Hana felt increasingly desperate to get pregnant again. And it wasn’t happening. Maybe ... Baruch was infertile? But Rivka would never say so. In this culture, it was the woman who was barren.
They turned south into the open plaza south of the Temple Mount. Stone benches invited them to sit and rest from the heat of the early afternoon sun. Rivka chose one and they sat down.
Hana gave a deep sigh, like a sob. “I have decided to leave him.”
Rivka put a hand on her arm. “No! You can’t. How will you ... live?”
Hana set her face in stone. “I was alive before I met him.”
“Hana! That ... that was a hard life.”
“It is an impossible life now. He says he loves me, but he does not love my son. Dov cries for his abba, but Baruch will not touch him, not speak to him, not look at him. It is killing my son. Therefore it is killing me. I would rather be a zonah again than continue like this.”
“Have you told him?”
“Just now. He went out in a rage.”
Rivka’s heart lurched. Baruch was usually on such an even keel. Unless you brought up his ... problem. Then he lapsed into sullen silence, or walked out. There was no talking to him on the subject.
Rivka leaned close to Hana and just held her. “I’m sorry, Hana. I wish I knew what to do. But you’ll never have to live on the streets. If you must leave him for a while, come stay with us.”
“No.”
“Hana!”
“It would dishonor Baruch. Ari the Kazan would not allow it.”
Rivka put her hands on her hips. “He’d better allow it. If he doesn’t, I’ll—”
A scream cut across the square.
Rivka turned to look.
From around the corner of the Temple Mount, a man came running—a Roman soldier with half his gear torn off, running as fast as Rivka had ever seen a man run. His iron-cleated leather boots sparked on the stone square, his arms and legs churned, and the red feathers in his helmet splayed flat in the wind of his speed.
Behind him rolled a mighty river of young men, shouting, waving fists, jeering.
The soldier sprinted toward Rivka and Hana. Halfway across the square, his foot skidded on something, a loose rock maybe. Arms windmilling, he staggered, fell, smashed against the pavement. He rolled forward and up onto his feet and stumbled forward, his eyes white, sweat slicking his face. Blood streamed from his left knee, and he limped as he ran.
The young men behind were catching up.
Rivka grabbed Hana’s hand and yanked her away.
Again the soldier stumbled and fell.
Before he could rise, the young men were on him. Kicking, shouting, spitting, screaming. Four of them pinned his arms and legs. More men arrived with sticks, stones, clubs. One kicked the soldier in the face.
Rivka hid her eyes. She had seen violence on TV long ago. Stunt men, fake blood, sound effects. Phony violence. This was real. They were killing a human being.
The soldier screamed like a woman.
Rivka couldn’t take it any longer. She didn’t care what he had done, she was not going to put up with this. She marched up to the circle of men. “Stop it!” She pounded on the back of one of the men with her fists.
He turned around.
“Stop it!” She pointed at the soldier on the ground. “Leave him alone!”
“Rivka!” Hana grabbed her arms. “You will come with me now.”
“No! Stop it, you cowards! How dare you kick a man when he’s down?”
The man pushed hard on Rivka’s chest. “Go away, witch woman.”
“Don’t you touch me!” Rivka clawed at his face.
Hana tugged her away. “Rivkaleh, come back now!”
Rivka strained forward. “You can’t—”
Several hands grabbed her from behind.
Rivka staggered, desperate to keep her balance.
Somebody yanked her hair far back.
She closed her eyes against the brightness of the sun.
“Witch woman!” somebody hissed.
The soldier on the ground screamed again and again.
“Kill him!” somebody shouted.
An old woman began ululating in a high, cold chant. “Kill the goy! Kill the goy!”
Rivka couldn’t believe it. Flash-printed on her retinas was the image of the Roman, lying on the ground, blood streaming from his mouth.
His screams went on and on.
More women picked up the chant.
The air filled with the smell of sweating men. Long after the soldier fell silent, Rivka heard the thuds of club and foot on his broken body, the hooting laughter of the men, the horrible chanting of the women.
Rivka was crying now, her eyes a smear of tears and sweat.
Finally, many hands released her.
Rivka spun around, ready to tell off whatever creeps had been—
Half a dozen girls, maybe ten years old, scowled at her. “You’re the witch woman, aren’t you?” said one.
Another spit at her feet.
They all turned and ran away.
Rivka was hyperventilating. Little girls? Calling her a witch woman?
“Rivkaleh.” Hana took her arm. “Come, they are children.”
Rivka collapsed into her arms and wept.
Rivka
* * *
Rivka, there was nothing we could do.” Hana shook her head. “They were mad with joy because the governor is dead.”
“Governor Festus?” Blind panic swept through Rivka. No, please, no. She had been hoping she had another year.
“I do not know the name, but he was the governor from Caesar. He died two days ago and the people are happy.”
“I’d hate to see them when they’re upset.”
“They had a spirit of rage.”
Rivka couldn’t argue with that. This was evil, plain and simple. More would follow. In the year Governor Festus died, evil would roar through this city like a flood.
And nobody knew it but the witch woman.
Baruch
* * *
Baruch stumbled blindly toward the Temple Mount, his eyes wet with tears. Hana must not leave him. Brother Ari must speak to Sister Rivka and she would speak to Hana about this foolishness.
It was all on account of the boy. Baruch did not hate the boy. Only what the boy represented—the evil man who had dishonored him, violated his woman. To see the boy was to see the evil man. To feel the boy’s touch was fire. And this pain beyond pain was all the worse because he had once been free of it, before Brother Shmuel was lost.
Baruch hurried through the Huldah Gates and up the many dozen steps in the stony darkness of the tunnel leading through the heart of the Temple Mount. At last he emerged, blinking in the bright sunlight.
Brother Ari would be in the inner Temple, consulting on improvements to his water pump. Baruch must speak to him now. He would die if he could not speak to him. His heart burned with righteous anger. Brother Ari would help him.
Baruch hurried through the partition, then up the steps, through the Court of Women, past the Nicanor Gate, into the Court of Yisrael, and there he stopped. He was not a priest and he could go no further.
Brother Ari stood in the Court of Priests, talking to several men.
“Brother Ari!” Baruch shouted and waved his arms.
Brother Ari hurried to greet him. �
��Brother Baruch, are you well?”
Baruch shook his head. “It is a catastrophe. Hana has decided to leave me. You must speak to Sister Rivka.”
Brother Ari tugged at his beard. “It is over the matter of the boy?”
Baruch nodded. “She does not understand.”
“Brother Baruch, with respect, I do not understand either.”
Despair flooded Baruch’s heart. Brother Ari would not speak to Sister Rivka.
Brother Ari put a hand on Baruch’s arm. “Go to Yaakov the tsaddik for help. Ask for his wisdom. Perhaps he can help you.”
Baruch shook his head. “I cannot. Even to speak of the matter is dishonor.”
“Then you will lose your woman, and I cannot help you.” Brother Ari’s voice sounded hard. “Brother Baruch, I think you worry yourself overmuch with honor.”
Footsteps behind Baruch. An enormous young priest pushed past him and raced into the Court of Priests, shouting, “He is dead! The governor is dead!”
Ari
* * *
Ari’s heart stuttered. Rivka had told him that after Governor Festus died, chaos would fall.
But Brother Eleazar seemed to think it the best news in the world. He danced in a circle, leaping, shouting. “The dog is dead! The dog is dead!”
Yoseph Kabi, the high priest, rushed over, his face alight with joy. He kissed Brother Eleazar and leaped in the air. “Give praise to the living God! The prince of the world is dead!”
Ari gaped at them. Governor Festus had ruled wisely. Did they hate him only because he was a Roman? “My brothers, please!”
Yoseph Kabi threw his arms around Ari and kissed him too. “Rejoice! Today, our enemy is dead! He who dishonored us is no more, forever!” He spun Ari in a circle, then turned back to Brother Eleazar and slapped hands with him.
A stone settled into Ari’s belly. This reeked of the disgusting way American football players behaved after a goal. It was most unseemly for a high priest.
More priests poured up the steps from the lower levels of the Temple Mount.
Brother Eleazar greeted them with upraised arms. “Celebrate and be glad! Governor Festus is dead!”
A great cheer rang through the court. The echo of it came back from the facade of the sanctuary.
Ari stared up at the tall gold-faced edifice. Very soon, Rome would come and destroy this sanctuary. Because of Eleazar and men like him. The horror of it cut through Ari’s heart. He loved this city of the living God, this Temple, this people. Soon it would vanish in smoke and tears.
Somebody slapped Ari on the back. “Ari the Kazan! Dance with us!”
Ari turned and saw his friends, Gamaliel and Yoseph. The priests had formed into a circle and were dancing. Gamaliel seized Ari’s hand. “Rejoice and be glad. The wicked man is dead!” He dragged Ari into the circle.
Ari did not know how to make this dance, and he did not wish to learn. He shook free and backed up against the altar of the living God. The circle of priests bobbed and leaped and laughed and shouted, all the while turning, turning, turning, a burning wheel of fire.
Ari turned to look for Brother Baruch.
He was gone.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Berenike
* * *
WHEN BERENIKE RETURNED TO JERUSALEM after a wretched year of life in Pontus, one of her first visitors was the seer woman. The woman listened quietly for three parts of an hour while Berenike talked.
“It was terrible, just terrible!” Berenike said. “King Polemon is an old man living in a drafty, cold palace. He showed no interest in me. He married me only for my money. I could take no more, so I left him. He has the money, I have my title. Both of us have what we really wanted.” But that was a lie. She was out of the game again.
The seer woman looked at her in deep silence.
Berenike flinched. “What? I dislike when you look at me like that.”
“I’m sorry,” the seer woman said. “It didn’t turn out well for you, and—”
“I told you I got what I wanted.”
“If you say so.”
Irritated, Berenike stood up from the bench.
“Please sit down. I have something to tell you.”
Something in the seer woman’s voice made Berenike sit. “Yes?” She hated that her voice came out breathy and expectant, but she had to know. “You have another word for me?”
“For your brother.” The seer woman put a hand on Berenike’s arm, and her touch felt hot and dry. Her voice quivered with emotion. “You will tell him, please, that he is to remember his promise in the matter of Hanan ben Hanan.”
Berenike laughed. “A man of honor keeps his word.”
“It’s very important. Will you ask him?”
“He is unhappy with me right now.”
“Because you left Polemon?”
Berenike nodded. “He paid many talents to arrange the marriage.” And the marriage ended many rumors that embarrassed him.
The seer woman seemed to look inside Berenike’s heart. “So now his investment is wasted and people will again whisper about you. Your beauty is a curse to you. I am sorry.”
Berenike frowned. Beauty was no curse. It was a tool, a weapon. A woman’s only advantage in the game of power. She would never regret her great beauty.
“Please, will you ask Agrippa?” the seer woman said.
“It is not a good time. Perhaps next month.”
“Please do it today. Now.”
Berenike felt weary of this. She saw Agrippa’s chief of staff hurrying across the courtyard. “Andreas!”
He stopped as if shot with an arrow. “Your highness?”
“Where is Agrippa?”
“Receiving a visitor.”
“Who?”
Andreas looked all around him. “It is not permitted to say.”
“I will see my brother as soon as this mysterious visitor is gone.”
“Yes, your highness.” Andreas backed away, his head lowered. As he slipped into the shadow of the portico, he dared to look at her, then turned and scuttled away. But not before Berenike read the look of desire on his face.
Berenike laughed. It was such fun to torment men.
Berenike
* * *
Half an hour later, Berenike saw the weasel-faced high priest, Yoseph Kabi, slinking out of the palace, a storm in his eyes.
The seer woman tensed.
“You knew it was him?”
The seer woman nodded. “He is dismissed.”
Berenike waited.
Presently, Andreas entered the courtyard and crossed to Berenike. “Your highness, your brother the king will see you now.”
Berenike
* * *
I had to dismiss him,” Agrippa said. “He made a spectacle in the Temple yesterday, dancing on the grave of Governor Festus. There was a riot in the upper market and a mob murdered a soldier near the Ophel district. Yoseph Kabi incited it all, though he denies it. When Caesar hears of this, he will demand punishment.”
“Of course.” Berenike went to the window and looked out.
Agrippa came to join her, and his shoulder touched hers.
Berenike did not flinch. “The seer woman came to see me today.”
Agrippa said nothing.
“You will uphold your promise?”
Agrippa folded his hands. “She has not upheld hers.”
Berenike turned to look at him. “Oh?”
“She promised you Polemon.”
“And I got him.”
“And yet you are here.” Agrippa’s hands twitched, and he looked at her with heat in his eyes.
“She did not say I would stay with him, only that he would take me.”
“It did not turn out as we expected. The seer woman is unreliable.”
Unreliable. The word struck fear in Berenike’s heart. “She predicted Festus long before he came to Judea.”
“And she said Ishmael ben Phiabi was to be high priest. Ben Phiabi, who dishonored me b
efore the people and Caesar.”
“She did not promise otherwise.”
“She did not warn me, and now I am certain she knew. Then she said Yoseph Kabi was to be high priest, and you see what he has done.”
Berenike frowned. “She told you shards of what would be, but she did not claim to know all.”
“The people say she is a witch woman.”
“What are you telling me?”
Agrippa sighed and his shoulder pressed harder against hers. “Only this. The seer woman has failed to keep her word. She has not told me all she knew.”
“And therefore, what?”
“And therefore, I am no longer obligated to keep my promise to her. I have notified the four houses that I am seeking to name a new high priest.”
“And this time you will decide in favor of the highest bidder?”
Agrippa slipped an arm around her slim waist. “The treasury is depleted.”
Berenike pushed him away and spun out of his grasp. “You swore an oath before the living God.”
His eyes narrowed to dagger points. “She swore to tell all she knew.”
Berenike stepped to the door. “I have not heard that one broken oath justifies another.”
“You could persuade me to keep my oath.”
Vile man! “If you do not fear to break an oath before the living God, you will not fear to break a promise to me.” Berenike stormed out and went down to the courtyard.
The seer woman still waited, her face expectant and yet fearful.
Berenike stomped across the flagstones and stared into the fountain.
“What did he say?”
Berenike shook her head. “A man of honor keeps his oath.”
“Is he a man of honor?”
“You know what kind of man he is, seer woman.”
Yaakov
* * *
Yaakov sat on the stone bench in front of his house praying. It was late afternoon, and joy flooded his heart. HaShem was good. HaShem provided the sunlight and the rain in their seasons. Those who trusted in HaShem could never fear.
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