Delays were inevitable, for among the vast multitude encamped for miles outside the city, Jews of importance and substance had established what were veritable small villages to accommodate their families, servants and guards. When such men became aware of the King’s passing they rushed to greet him, begging him to honour their house by stopping for refreshment.
To avoid causing offence Agrippa would dismount and embrace the man, begging him to understand that he had urgent business in Caesarea. Berenice would graciously ask the pilgrim for a goblet of water, which a servant would be dispatched to bring. Thus the social niceties were observed. By mid-morning they had cleared the last of the encampments and were moving swiftly along the road to Caesaraea.
At nightfall they made camp in a wide stony valley, far enough away from the nearest hill for it to be used to ambush them.
Agrippa had spent years observing Roman military methods and had incorporated them into his own army. Before any man was allowed to take his ease, a trench was dug around the camp. The King’s tent was then placed at the centre of a tented village whose streets radiated out from the centre. Sentries were posted and officers patrolled the perimeter. Outside every tent was a stand holding the men’s weapons. Every man knew exactly where to go and what to do if an alarm was sounded.
As was his practice when campaigning in the field, the King invited his generals and senior officers to dine with him.
Berenice was not invited to join them, and dined in her own tent with Amal for company. The two women had grown to like each other although Amal, conscious of their difference in rank, was careful never to treat the Queen as an equal, in spite of being invited to do so on several occasions.
The floor of the tent in which the two women were sitting was covered in fine silk and wool carpets from Persia. Oil lamps on stands placed around the interior cast a soft warm light.
Heaped cushions and chests to hold clothing and personal possessions were the only furniture. Trays of food and drink were placed on the low tables. A young girl sitting crossed legged in the corner played a harp. Smiling, Berenice said, “the King likes you”.
Amal dipped her head, “I am pleased my Lady, for his Majesty has done me much honour. I will be in his debt forever”.
Berenice chuckled, leaning against a mound of multi coloured cushions. She said, “You miss my point, no doubt deliberately. When I say the King likes you, I mean as a woman as well as a person. And”, Berenice continued, watching her from beneath dark lashes, “that’s most interesting - because he hasn’t looked at another woman for years”.
Amal stiffened. “God”, she thought, “what do I do now? Acknowledge that which everybody ignores, that the King is sleeping with his sister, then assure her that I am no threat, or simply tell her that I’m not interested?”
“My Lady”, said Amal, “the King has been kind to me. I am in his debt as I am in yours”.
Berenice leaned forward locking her hands round her knees, her head tilted to one side as she appraised Amal. “You are beautiful and clever. You claim a blood tie. The Jews of Galilee and Judaea have declared war on Rome and their challenge will not go unanswered. Sides will have to be taken”.
Amal’s head snapped up and she stared into Berenice’s eyes. “I am yours and the King’s to command my Lady. What significance can your hand-maiden have in such momentous events?”
Berenice reached across and took Amal’s hand in hers, gently turning it so that it lay palm up. She studied it intently. “It matters a great deal, if it is your destiny to achieve greatness”.
“And what else do you see my Lady? Greatness is not happiness. Am I to be happy?”
Berenice considered for a moment before saying, “Is not happiness a condition of the heart, not a state of mind? The answer to your question is concealed from me, though not your pain. Yes you will know pain, but you will also know joy. But happiness is another matter. Are any of us truly happy?”
“James the Just was”. Amal was as startled as Berenice at her own reply. She had spoken the words without thinking. No thought of James was in her mind.
“Why do you say that?” asked Berenice.
Amal sighed. “I saw him on his knees, his body broken. He was dying, but it was in his eyes, in his voice as he prayed for those killing him”.
Berenice who had unconsciously held her breath at the mention of James’ name asked, “You were there?”
“Yes”. The two women sat in silence. Outside a desert fox screamed, an unearthly blood curdling sound. Amal said softly “He prayed for those who were destroying him. To a God he claimed was the God of all mankind. The God his brother Jesus proclaimed had declared a new covenant for all men, not just the Jews, which is why the High Priest condemned him to death. Ciaphas refused to believe that God’s covenant was with all mankind. If he had, he and the High Priesthood were finished. The Temple was finished. Ananus was faced with the same situation as Ciaphas; James the Just – Jesus’ brother – had to die.
Berenice moved closer to Amal, her face inches away from hers. “Do you believe him?”
“Who, James or Jesus?” she parried, eyes narrowing, suspicious of the question. This woman, this Queen, was a Jewess. True she was a Hasmonaean and did not observe the strict practices of the orthodox, but she was still a Jew though her private life condemned her utterly for incest was punishable by death. It was a heinous crime - any trial would be a formality. Her station in life would not protect her if ever a charge was brought.
Berenice persisted. “Do you believe that Jesus was God’s prophet?”
Amal’s answer was softly spoken. “He claimed that he came to uphold the law not to destroy it. He claimed that through him God was announcing that His covenant was with the whole of mankind – with every man, woman and child on earth. This is the covenant God gave to Abraham. This is God’s law and it is unchangeable. It is forever. This was the message that God had entrusted Jesus to deliver to mankind”.
Tight lipped Berenice reached into the folds of her gown. She withdrew a slender golden chain. On the end of it was a golden fish. “Do you know what this symbolises?” she asked quietly, “What I risk in letting you see it?”
Amal took the fish in her fingers. “Yes my Lady, I know what you risk and you must know what I risk when I say yes. Yes I do believe that Jesus was God’s messenger and believe his brother James was also”.
Berenice hugged Amal to her, tears in her eyes. “Now they are gone, both murdered. How will we ever atone for what we have done? God will surely punish us for killing those he sent to deliver us”.
Amal shook her head. “Jesus preached love - love is forgiveness. It has no measure. No beginning. No end. God is love. We only have to ask and it is given unconditionally, without terms, forever, to everybody, all men, including Jews, who are guilty of the sin of pride, pride in believing that God would shut all of mankind out from His love except the Jews”.
Berenice kissed Amal tenderly. “We are sisters in Christ, as well as blood. Whatever the future holds, we will face it together”.
“The King”, Amal asked huskily. “Will he not be angry at this; may he not accuse us both of blasphemy?”
Berenice smiled. “The King is a righteous man, but he is not a Sadducee. He greatly admired James the Just. As a pious man, he was angry at his murder but it happened before he could intervene. However, he has sworn his allegiance to Caesar. On oath he has pledged to defend Roman interests, and will do so to the death”.
“Against the Jews of Palestine?”
“Against anybody”, was the grim rejoinder, “who challenges Rome’s authority. He will argue that upholding Roman law is upholding the civil law. The Romans have never interfered with how we Jews worship. The King will defend his sworn word with his life”, she ended firmly.
Amal frowned slightly as she concentrated. “And”, she asked, “the Christians? Rome is mercilessly attacking Christians. They are being killed daily in their thousands in Rome’s arenas; their prope
rty is confiscated and they are sold into slavery”.
“Nero is using them as scapegoats”, said Berenice, “to divert the mob’s attention from his own madness”.
“If the Christians in Palestine”, Berenice continued, “attack Rome’s interest, the King will put them down without mercy. In his eyes they will be traitors. However,” she continued dryly, “the few Christians that exist in this tormented country keep their heads down. They have had enough to worry about trying to stay alive.
“The war of the Jews” she ended grimly, “will be fought to the death. The Romans have to make an example of the Jewish rebellion to retain their credibility throughout the Empire - and the Jews have nowhere to go. All they can do”, she ended sadly, “is die”.
14
The route from the Antonia to the city’s main gate had been cleared by Eleazar’s Zealots. When Metilius and his men marched out of the Antonia, it was into streets eerily silent. Every building along the route was blind, windows shuttered, doors locked. Not a single street trader plied his wares. Apart from a few scavenging dogs competing with weary crows among the rubbish, the Roman column had the streets to themselves.
The disciplined ranks marched through the oppressive silence, the only sound the tramp of their hobnailed sandals, the creaking wheels of their supply wagons and the jingle of the horses’ harness.
Before leaving the fortress, Metilius had addressed his men. “Soldiers of Rome, it is our sworn duty to defend the empire against its enemies. To be prepared to die in the service of the Emperor”. The fortress’ commander had paused to ensure the import of his next words reached every man. “We are surrounded by tens of thousands of armed nationalists. Tens of thousands more Jews who have come to the city as pilgrims, are outside the walls, aching to die for their invisible God.
“Across the entire country rebels have sacked villages, even entering Syria in their impudent confidence. The cities of Sebaste and Escalon have been burnt to the ground. The cities of Anthedom and Ghasa are destroyed, their citizens slaughtered”. Metilius paused to mop his brow, the silence solid, every eye from the silent ranks fixed on him.
“Philadelphi,” Metilius continued, “Heshbon, Gazara, Pella and Scythopolis, are now in the insurgents’ hands. Their Roman garrisons”, he ended ominously, “have been wiped out”.
Virtually all Metilius’ legionaries were made up of Syrian Arabs who had volunteered for the army. They also brought with them an inherited antipathy for all Jews. They listened to their commander in silence.
Swallowing hard he continued, “The Greek port of Caesarea is the headquarters of the procurator and the Fifteenth Legion. From there messages can be sent to Caesar requesting reinforcements. In the meantime we can join with the Fifteenth Legion and wait with them for Cestius Gallus and his Syrian legions, for he will surely march on Jerusalem to punish the rebels”.
What Metilius had no way of knowing was that as even as he addressed his troops, the Greek population in Caesarea had seized the opportunity to cleanse the city of its Jews.
Florus, who was in the city, learning that the Greek authorities had voted on a policy of “ethnic cleansing”, had shrugged his shoulders, negotiated his usual cut and looked the other way.
Metilius continued, “When we leave the Antonia we will meet our escort, which will guarantee our safety to Caesarea. It is at this point we will lay down our arms.” As a groan greeted these words, the Commander looked sharply at his centurions, who simply stared stonily into space.
“Those are the conditions of the solemn treaty we have agreed. We have a choice. Staying here to die like rats in a trap or accept the Jews’ terms of a safe conduct to Caesarea, from where”, he concluded, “we live to fight on, to return with Caesar’s legions.
When they had marched out of the Antonia, more than a few secretly doubted they would ever see Caesarea. At the city gates Eleazar was waiting to receive them. With him, drawn up into orderly ranks, was the heavily armed escort that was to accompany them. Outside the fortress a breeze scented with juniper could be felt. Herds of black goats being driven out to pasture passed by, their owners wide-eyed at the sight of mounted soldiers.
As Metilius and his senior officers conferred with Eleazar and his subordinates, the column stood at ease. A donkey brayed somewhere. Sparrows flickered across the stones lying at their feet, the early morning air pellucid as crystal under a pale blue sky.
Eleazar spoke directly to Metilius, indicating with a sweep of his hand an area of flat ground. “Please ask your men to stack their weapons. While they are doing that your officers can discuss with mine how they will perform their escort duties, the arrangements for camping at night and the route we will take”.
Metilius inclined his head in acknowledgment and turning in his saddle gave the order to disarm.
As the Roman soldiers filed passed and stacked their weapons, Eleazar discussed the route with the Romans. There was little dissent. The Romans had built the road on which they were to travel. They knew every inch of the terrain between Jerusalem and Caesarea. Bereft of their arms the Romans felt naked, viewing the heavily armed escort that virtually surrounded them, with a feeling of foreboding.
The day, however, passed peacefully enough. The military routines governing the march, the taking of rest periods, agreeing plans for the first night’s encampment, had passed without incident. In the late afternoon, emerging from a ravine, the Roman column made its way onto open ground patched with clumps of thistles. This was a point where several wadis met and the scouring of winter rain had created a small hill.
The escort, which had been out of sight for several hours, suddenly reappeared. Ominously it had been reinforced. The Romans suddenly found themselves surrounded by thousands of heavily armed men. On the low hill a group of horsemen silently watched them. Metilius gave the order for his men to form a square which out of habit they did, but as more than one man observed, “Without weapons, what’s the point?”
Metilius could just make out the figure of Eleazar among the group of horsemen. He was on the point of calling out when a blast from a ram’s horn sounded. This was the signal for the silent ring of men and horses to suddenly open, revealing companies of archers. A second blast was the signal to fire. The air turned black with arrows. The defenceless Romans didn’t even have their shields for protection. They called out in anger, cursing the Jews, damning Eleazar. But to no avail. Four times the archers fired before the ram’s horn sounded again, then the encircling Jews charged in, swords and axes swinging.
In less than an hour they had massacred the entire Roman column. Unbelievably they took Metilius alive. Disgracefully he had begged for his life, even offering to convert to Judaism and be circumcised. When Eleazar, who had roared with laughter at this, had recovered, he agreed. Then he and his men laughed and jeered as Metilius had to suffer the painful indignity of the operation, carried out by a nationalist using a none-too-clean knife and who, on Eleazar’s orders, also slit Metilius’ tongue.
Returning to Jerusalem the victorious rebels passed a dirt poor village, a conglomeration of tumbledown mud brick houses divided by a few rutted streets. The village elder was given the Roman Commander as a present and, when Eleazar’s men marched on, he dragged the praefectus into an almost pitch black room. Here a patient ox plodded endlessly round, milling the village’s corn. Unable to utter an intelligible sound, the wildly gabbling Roman was stripped naked and fixed by his wrists to a pole in company with the shackled ox.
Before closing the door on his new acquisition, the village elder ran an appreciative hand over Metilius’ buttocks. His new owner determined to ensure the Roman would be as well looked after as his beast. “Even better,” he mused, for as well as pleasuring himself, there would be those in the village who would pay for the novelty of pale flesh.
15
When Eleazar returned to Jerusalem he found the city centre packed with thousands of Sicarii. Every street leading to the Temple was lined with Menahem’s fol
lowers. Deeply suspicious, the leader of the Zealots ordered the gates of the Antonia fortress, which he had taken over, to be shut. After posting a double guard, he and his closest confederates made their way to the fortress’ walls which looked out over the Temple. What they witnessed took their breath away.
A coronation was in progress. Menahem, dressed in cloth of gold and accompanied by hundreds of his followers, was walking slowly down the central aisle of the inner court where a number of priests were gathered around a golden throne positioned under a canopy of royal purple. An incredulous Eleazar hissed to his companions “The bastard’s being crowned”.
“But that’s impossible”, replied Absolom, one of his lieutenants. “He is not of the house of David”.
“Neither was the Idumaean pig Herod”, interjected Judah, another of his companions, “yet he ruled for twenty years”.
“Go into the city”, grated Eleazar. “Find as many of the city’s father as you can. Tell them what’s going on. Tell them, if they storm the Temple to put an end to this blasphemy, we will support them”.
“The people will never attack the Temple” muttered Absolom.
“Yes they will, if blasphemy is being committed and the house of God profaned. It can only be cleansed by the blood of the transgressor. Now go and rouse the people”.
Eleazar returned to the Antonia, ordering his subordinates to get the Zealots ready to attack down the staircases that led directly to the Temple. “Let’s make good use of what the fucking Romans left us” he shouted. “Place a chain of men between me and the Antonia staircases. On my signal, attack – which will be when I wave this scarf ”. Eleazar unwound a gold and white scarf from his throat and tucked it into his sleeve.
Eyes slit with hatred, Eleazar crouched in his hiding place above the Temple court, watching as Menahem took his place on the throne. The smell of incense reached his nostrils. To the sound of trumpets, high priests in their vestments of purple and gold unrolled the sacred scrolls. As the reading commenced, hundreds of Sicarii who had gathered to witness Menahem’s triumph, prostrated themselves. A golden crown lying on a purple cushion, edged with cords and tassels braided from gold and silver thread, was brought in solemn procession.
To the Death Page 12