The Eighth Veil

by Frederick Ramsay

  “You are Menahem, companion to the king.”

  “And you are Gamaliel, Rabban to the Sanhedrin.”

  “So we know each other.”

  “Yes, it would seem so.”

  “As a point of reference, can you tell me how you came to be here?”

  “Here? The king and his entourage always travel from Tiberias to Jerusalem on High Holy days. They did this time and so, here I am.”

  “You misunderstand me. I am aware that the king prefers the relative laxity of his new city on the Sea of Galilee to the holiness of David’s. No, what I am asking is, how you came to be in the king’s entourage in the first place?”

  “With respect, Rabban, is your knowing that pertinent to your investigation?”

  “Let’s just say it might be. Indulge me in this. There are aspects of the situation, I find, that appear to transcend a simple murder of a servant girl.” Gamaliel thought he saw a shadow cross the old man’s face. “You know something of these matters I believe.”

  “If you believe I know more of these matters than I let on, you are mistaken, Rabban,”

  “Perhaps, but I think not. Very well, we will return to this line later. What can you tell me about the dead girl?”

  “Why would you think I knew anything about her?”

  “Menahem, I have trained myself to read people like some men read books. I turn your pages, scroll through your content, and I see things. You are an interesting read, if I may say so. I cannot quite make you out, but something is there. You know of this girl, of that I am certain, not merely guessing.”

  “Do you indeed?”

  Menahem’s gaze shifted away from Gamaliel. He turned his head and stared at a spot on the far wall, probably contemplating who sat behind it listening. Gamaliel started. He had seen that profile before, and very recently, but where? Menahem twisted back and nodded.

  “You have read me correctly. I know something of the victim. She did not have many friends and seemed so lost and unhappy, I took pity on her. It is an old man’s prerogative. We have so little else to offer, you see. Most servant girls are here because they have been sold into service, have been acquired from a grateful petitioner, or simply taken from the streets and offered a better life. Many would argue that point, but there it is. They are resigned to their fate and most make the best of it. This girl was different. She came to us when the king married the present queen. How she came to be in the queen’s household is a mystery that the child either could not, or would not confide. But clearly she did not belong, or so I thought.”

  “I see.” Did he? What was it about this stately old man than puzzled him? “Tell me this, then, did the girl have a name. Everyone I’ve asked thus far denies knowing her or maintains her name was Cappo, which seems unlikely”

  “Why unlikely? It is the sort of name a servant would have.”

  “It struck me as odd. That is all. She did not fit my notion of a palace servant, but how would I know, you might ask. Well, for one, the facts of her murder suggest she was not, but I will let that pass for now. Can you help me?”

  “You have a difficult puzzle to unravel, Rabban,”

  “I do and I could use some help.”

  “Her name was Alexandra.”

  “An odd name for a Jewish servant girl, isn’t it?”

  “Perhaps. I thought at first she might have come from Egypt. That would have explained the name. But then, Antipas’ grandmother, once removed, you could say, was also named Alexandra so, who knows?”

  “But you liked Egypt. Did she come from there?”

  “No. She said she didn’t, but she refused to confide where she did come from.”

  “Beside the name, was there anything else to suggest Egypt?”

  The old man hesitated and looked hard at Gamaliel. “Are you reading me again, Rabban?”

  “I am. Sorry, it is what I do. Tell me about Egypt.”

  “Why would you suppose I know anything about that country?”

  “No reason, really. But you were hesitant to talk about your early life, how you came to be the king’s companion. I thought I made a connection. Tell me if I’m wrong.”

  Menahem allowed a ghost of a smile to cross his face. It disappeared quickly “I came to the king, not this one, but his father first. He had conquered Nabataea and its capital, Petra. I was traveling through there when he found me. He brought me to this land and placed me in his household.”

  “Placed you. Forgive me, but you are obviously older than our king, yet you are described as his companion. Am I missing something?”

  “You are aware of the late king’s obsession with plots against him, I am sure. Anyone living in the land will know of it. The king, then, also worried about his sons. Two he had executed for their involvement in a plot to overthrow him.”

  “Yes, Alexander and Aristobulus.”

  “Just so. I was seventeen when he brought me into his house. Antipas was but ten. The king wished to protect him. My duty was to provide that protection as his constant companion.”

  “Protect him from assassination?”

  “From that, certainly, but more importantly, from those who might seduce him into becoming part of a plot like the one that ended in his half brothers’ deaths. King Herod could be cruel, and often acted unbalanced, but killing his offspring went down hard with him. He did not want to repeat that act again if he could help it.”

  This was a side of the man Gamaliel had never considered. Unbalanced? He’d put that down as an understatement.

  “So, you were in Petra and the king found you there. You were traveling through or…?”

  “I had been traveling, yes. I needed a place, he offered me one. That is all there is to it.”

  “I see.” Clearly no more of the old man’s past would be forthcoming and as so much time had passed since he’d arrived at court—nearly fifty years—it would be a waste of time to pursue it any further. Still, it would be nice to know. He placed the reproduced pendant on the table.

  “That is the girl’s.”

  “You know it then?”

  “Yes. She wore it always. It hung about her neck on a leather thong. How did you come by it?”

  “I found it in the bath with this.” He reached into his belt and pulled out the knife which he laid on the table beside the pendant.

  “In all your moving about the court, have you ever seen this rather wonderful knife?”

  “Yes, of course I have. It is mine.”

  Chapter XVI

  Menahem confesses. The knife is his! Gamaliel sat back in his chair and waited for what must come next. Could it really be this easy? He felt a flicker of hope. If this is where it ends, he thought, he’d soon be back with his scrolls, his books, and his students. He thought he heard a gasp from somewhere behind the intricately worked wall. Chuzas? Or one of the royal family?

  “Where did you find it? I have searched and searched since it went missing.” Menahem’s eyes were without guile.

  Gamaliel extended the knife toward the old man who reached out his right hand to take it. Gamaliel pulled it back.

  “I found it in the bath with the pendant and a thong which still had a knot where it had been secured, but cut through further along its length. There were other items in the bath as well on the day after the girl was found in it with her throat slit. I supposed this knife did the slitting.”

  Menahem sat back. He slumped as if the wind had been knocked from him. If he didn’t know better, Gamaliel would have said the old man shrank a half cubit in stature before his eyes.

  “That will make me your primary suspect, I believe.”

  “Indeed, my only suspect. Have you anything to say to me?”

  “What is there to say? I was not at the baths that night. I did not murder the girl. What possible reason would I have to do so?”

  “Why would you kill an innocent girl? I can think of several reasons. She resisted your advances. You grew angry and something inside of you snapped and in a rage, y
ou drew your knife and killed her.”

  “I never attend the revelries at the bath. You may ask anyone.”

  “This would have occurred after the revelries, as you call them, were over. Later, perhaps you went to the baths because you heard she was there and…” Gamaliel raised his eyebrows marginally.

  “But I did not.”

  “Then you must explain how your knife—this knife—ended up in the baths where a servant girl, a child almost, had her throat cut and—” Gamaliel stopped. And what else? Menahem was an old man, seventyish. Had he the capacity or the strength to do to the girl what had been done?

  “That knife has been in my possession for over fifty years, Rabban. I have worn it as ceremonial weapon at occasions many times. Everyone in this palace and hundreds of others know it, recognize it, and have commented on it. If I did as you say, kill the girl, what sort of fool would I be to use this knife, and even if I were to do so, would I be such a fool as to leave such an obvious thing behind?”

  “An old fool, Menahem. Can you explain how it came to be at the scene? If not you then who?”

  “I will say this and no more. That knife went missing the morning after the girl was found. As you can see, I am neither strong nor vital. Vital, do you follow my meaning? I do not know if that has a bearing, but you should know it.”

  “Yes, I see.” Gamaliel stared at the man as if to squeeze something more from him. Nothing emerged. “Well, if you can’t add anything more, and in light of your relationship to the king and your years, consider yourself under house arrest. I must consult with my expert on both the veracity of your story and the certainty this knife can be certified as the weapon used in the crime. In the meantime, you are not to leave the palace and will be in the company of a palace guard at all times.”

  “As you say, Rabban. But I must tell you, you have not solved this mystery.”

  “I have not?”

  “You have not.” Menahem stood and strode from the room. He did not do so with the same confident aplomb he had on entering. Gamaliel didn’t blame him.

  Chuzas popped up at his side as the door slammed shut behind Menahem.

  “You are to be congratulated, Rabban. You are finished here. The king will be very disappointed in his friend. He might even ban him from the court, though I don’t see how the old man will survive if he does. Certainly he will be shamed and lose his place.”

  “You are under the impression that the punishment to be meted out by the king for murder will be banishment or shaming?”

  “But she was nothing more than a servant. Servants die all the time and in circumstances worse than these.” Chuzas seemed quite relaxed, even happy at the outcome. Strange.

  “I hate to disappoint you, Steward, but we are not done here.”

  “Not done? But—”

  “You will attend me here tomorrow. By then I hope they will have found the Greek and I will be able to talk to him. In the meantime, I want a list of everyone who had access to Menahem’s quarters and who might possibly have taken his knife.”

  “You don’t believe his story.”

  “Don’t I? No, not at the moment, but as he would be tried for murder if he is guilty, I must be sure there is not the slightest doubt about it. The king will be eager to exonerate him, of course. However, if he is to be stoned or turned over to Pilate for crucifixion, we must be absolutely sure.”

  “Crucifixion? Surely not. He is an old man and…I don’t understand.”

  “No, that is true enough. You do not understand. Listen to me then, this crime was committed in the king’s palace during High Holy Days. The potential scandal surrounding the king and his family dictates he must be punished publicly and severely. It cannot be ignored, do you see? Flogging at the very least. A lashing of more than ten would likely kill him, so we must be absolutely certain of his involvement before we act. I do not want the blood of an innocent man on my hands.”

  “But, all this for a mere servant girl?”

  “Yes, even for a servant girl. A life is a life irrespective of station. It is what the Law teaches. You would be wise to remember that. Tomorrow morning, Steward, with the list as I asked.”

  The usually florid Chuzas left the room looking, Gamaliel thought, rather paler than when he’d entered. He sat a moment rehearsing in his mind all that Menahem had said. An idea, a flicker of something…Important? Something had surfaced when the knife came up but it had slipped away from him. What had he missed? Something about the girl…something Menahem had said, or not said, yes that was it, not said. He had side-stepped on some important detail and Gamaliel had let it go when the knife…What was it?

  ***

  Gamaliel did not sleep well that night. Normally he would read for an hour before seeking his bed. He’d a special lamp made for him by the potter. Instead of a single wick spout, he’d had the man create one with four. He learned from trial and error how much oil to place in the lamp so that all four wicks sputtered and went out in exactly one hour. He would then say his prayers and fall into bed. Normally he would drop off within moments, but not this night. Like naughty children, too many thoughts careened about in his brain bumping against each other, laughing at his attempts to corral them, robbing him of sleep. Images of Menahem, his best suspect, his only suspect, floated in and out among them.

  Was he truly the one who’d slashed the girl’s throat in such a brutal manner? There was enough evidence to turn him over to Pilate. If he were to do so, the inquiry would come to an end and he could return to his old life. He would be free. So, why hesitate? Gamaliel was a righteous man and the motive that would have driven the old man to such a terrible deed eluded him. Why would an old man do such a thing? If he did it, why use such an obvious weapon? As he said, he wasn’t a stupid man. And there was the girl and her mysterious medallion. What more should he know about the girl? Would it be pertinent? Who was the man called Graecus and where had he disappeared to? And why? There were just too many whys.

  The questions bedeviled him and he tossed and turned in his bed into the depths of the night and only then drifted off into a fitful sleep. In the morning he would tackle these questions, if he could stay awake long enough.

  Yom Chamishi

  Chapter XVII

  Gamaliel had developed his daily routines over a lifetime. A restless night or not, he rose at dawn and settled in to his morning devotions. This day his time with the Lord was noticeably shorter than usual and if asked about it later he would probably admit he had no idea what he had said or thought beyond the prayers he intoned without thinking every day. He had his breakfast and then sat at his desk to compose a brief report for the Prefect. Whether Pilate would read it he did not know and secretly hoped he would not. He indicated that significant progress had been made and that he had a strong suspect but left deliberately vague any mention of who he might be. He felt no need to bring up Menahem as he was disinclined to settle guilt on the old man yet. His agitated night had convinced him he needed to dig more before serving up the old man to Pilate on a platter. He dispatched a messenger to the Antonia Fortress and left for the palace.

  Chuzas and Barak waited for him in their usual place just outside the entrance to the bath. The water had been replaced and the fires relit. In a few hours the bath would be warm and inviting. He thought that if he were not the Rabban and not an observant Jew, and if he had not specifically instructed the king to cease and desist, he would be sorely tempted to shed his garments and luxuriate in that steaming water himself. A small part of his mind leafed through the laws governing the practice, searching for a loophole, an exception, so to speak, that would allow him to rebuild his own mikvah along the lines of this pool, without the frescos of course. Would a little heat be such a sin?

  “Rabban.” Chuzas seemed eager to get on with it; he must have had difficulty sleeping as well. “I have notified the Guard. They await your orders to arrest Menahem. Shall I call them?”

  “Excuse me—arrest Menahem? No, you are ahead of your
self, Steward. I am not prepared to arrest anyone just now. You were charged to produce a list of names for me first. Do you have it?”

  “Yes, but I can see no purpose for it now. The knife, it is his, and the—”

  “In good time. Menahem is not going anywhere and as I told you before, we must be absolutely sure of our man. Have you considered the possibility he may have had an accomplice, for example.?”

  “But he might flee. An accomplice?”

  “He is an old man. Would he have the strength to draw a knife across the throat of a struggling girl alone? And then, if he were to flee, where would he go? He is old. He has no friends in the city. He has lived most of his life as the companion to the king. What could he do?”

  Chuzas did not look happy. It seemed he was at least as anxious for a return to normalcy as Gamaliel, more so, in fact. “A few more days, Steward, then we will tidy up this mess and you and I can resume our lives. Find me Graecus and also, I’ll have that list now.”

  Chuzas handed over a wax tablet, the sort merchants use to calculate their sales. The list seemed unnaturally short.

  “These are all who have access to the apartments occupied by the royal family and their retainers? What of the servants, the guards, yourself?”

  “I didn’t think that you wanted all…I mean, weren’t you interested in the suspicious ones. Surely you do not suspect the king or the queen to have entered the man’s rooms and taken the knife. Sir, there is no point to this inquiry.”

  “Whether you deem it useful or not, Steward, it is what you were charged to do. What you have just told me is that if the knife was in fact stolen as Menahem claims, practically anyone could have done it. That assumes, of course, he told us the truth. Leave me now, but stay where I can find you. I wish to have a word with Barak in private. And the Greek. Where is the Greek?”