The Eighth Veil

by Frederick Ramsay

  “That is part of it, certainly. The rest seems to be largely political in nature. Symbolic steps made to please or delude the populace. A chance to report a positive outcome to his overseer, that sort of thing.”

  “Then you must provide your angry Roman with a viable political reason for accepting what you are doing. Can you?”

  Gamaliel turned that thought over in his mind for a while. Could he? Should he? Was playing the game an honest approach and if he did, would he not be as devious and self-serving as the men who opposed him?

  “I think I can, yes. Thank you, Loukas. You have just triggered the beginning of the solution, I think.”

  “You will play at politics then?”

  “Not play, no. The solution is, unless I miss my guess, political in fact. I cannot be sure, but I think so. Listen.”

  Gamaliel carefully laid out the clues for him. To his annoyance, Loukas insisted on labeling them his veils.

  “First, there is the fact she was drowned before or as a result of her throat being cut. Why cut her throat and then drown her? One or the other should be sufficient. If rape were the motive, why kill her at all. If she was only a servant, is it likely she would be in position to complain or seek a response? Then there are the coins, what do they signify if anything? Do they lead anywhere even if they are not directly related to the death? They had to come from somewhere, and they nag at me. What are they trying to prod out of my mind? There is the pendant which was not what it seemed. Was it the thing the killer really wanted, and if so, why not take it and run, why violate the girl? There is the knife, the too obvious knife—”

  “Too obvious? Oh, you mean it was one everyone would or could quickly recognize.”

  “Yes and…wait, that’s right. So why…? Ah! The steward, who saw it the very morning I pulled it from the bath failed to say something? He looked at it and said…what did he say? ‘Is that the knife the killer used?’ Something like that, yes. Why did he say that when he, of all people should have…I must go. This Chuzas needs to be queried again. This time I think I will ask the captain of the guard to stand behind me when I do it.”

  “But you haven’t finished your list. Stay. I must know.”

  “Very well, but for a moment only. Next, the girl could read. She received letters and apparently she wrote some as well. How did she post them? Do servant girls even post letters? Do they even read? I think not. Again, why does Menahem know her real name when no one else seems to, and where is Graecus? Goodbye, Physician, you have been very helpful.”

  Chapter XXV

  Chuzas did not appear overly anxious at the presence of the captain of the guard, probably because he considered his position superior to Geris. Gamaliel bade him to sit.

  “Steward, were you aware that I spent some time with your wife earlier in the day?” Chuzas looked at him quizzically and shook his head.

  “No? We had a fascinating conversation about her rabbi, the man of whom you and I once spoke and about whom you worried.”

  “She said nothing about your meeting to me. I hope you were not offended. Since she has fallen in with that lot of…well, since she heard about that man, she’s not been the same. I will see to it she will not disturb you again and I am sorry.”

  “Do not apologize. Is it true she experienced some sort of cure at the hands of that rabbi?”

  “She believes many things, but what is true is less clear to her. She was ill and she recovered. People do, you know.”

  “I see. And this illness, what form did it take?”

  “She was…They say she was possessed, but you know how people talk. She had difficulties and suffered from feelings of being persecuted, a not uncommon ailment with some women, I have observed.”

  “Have you, indeed. Possessed, you say? How so?”

  “It was all in her imaginings, Rabban. She is fine now but insists it is due to the rabbi’s intervention. Nonsense, of course.”

  “Of course, that is often the case, but the important fact is, she believes she was cured. If true, I would think you would be happy in that. Do you know what I suggested to her?”

  “No, how could I?”

  “Exactly, how could you. I suggested that if this man is all she believes him to be, she should urge you to join her in her admiration of him. You recall when the two of us spoke earlier, you described a problem and I, I regret to say, did not treat it with the consideration it deserved. By your account I naturally assumed she was, to put it nicely, resisting your position as head of the house. I told you to rein her in or words to that effect. I see now that I should have listened more closely. The problem is not of a recalcitrant wife, but rather a threatened husband. You do not like to hear the teachings of this rabbi coming from the mouth of your wife.”

  “Sir, it is only that she is a woman and you know the saying, ‘I would rather see the Torah—”’

  “I know it and it is wrong when used that way. Women have a place in the Law that is different than men. They have binah, among other things, and understand intuitively what must be hammered into the heads of the likes of you. Go with her in this.”

  “But this rabbi, they say he is a trouble maker and does not teach the Torah as it is to be known. Do you think he is a good rabbi?”

  “Good? No, probably not. He is untutored. He has not studied with anyone as nearly as I can determine, certainly not with me nor any one of my contemporaries. He does not speak with authority—”

  “Yes, there you see, I wish to protect us from—”

  “Let me finish, Steward. As I said he is not a rabbi whom I would recognize or endorse in the schools and synagogues. At the same time, he, and his teaching, is probably no worse than a hundred like him who walk the roads of this land proclaiming what they believe to be the mind of the Lord. And I understand he has one strong characteristic to recommend him, he speaks to people in ways they can easily understand. That is a gift. I suggest you take it.”

  “I still think that my wife is wrong and should be brought back to her senses.”

  “It appears she has been, if your description of her illness is accurate. So, you would be well advised to put aside those feelings. They have already led you to do a thing unworthy of the king’s steward and it could put you in jeopardy with the authorities, that is to say the king and Pilate were I to report it.”

  The captain of the guard shuffled his feet.

  “Unworthy act? I don’t know what you mean? I did something to compromise the king? I don’t understand.”

  “No? Tell me again about who has access to the royal apartments.”

  “Well, the servants are there at the times they are required and—”

  “You can come and go at will, is that right?”

  “Me? Of course, and even Geris here, but—”

  “Yes, Geris. Captain, I will not require your immediate presence anymore. Perhaps you would linger in the hallway in case I need to call you later. Thank you.” The guard frowned but left. In the silence that followed, Gamaliel stared at the steward.

  “It is my duty to see to it that all the things that must be done to keep the palace running smoothly are done,” Chuzas stammered.

  “So you could easily have entered the rooms of Menahem at any time he was not there and left and no one would have noticed or cared.”

  “Yes, but I don’t see why that is important.”

  “Don’t you? Explain to me something else then. Do you remember the morning I had the bath drained? You came into the area and you looked at some items I had placed on the rim of the pool. You said, ‘Is that the weapon used to murder the girl?’ Do you recall that?”

  “Did I?” Chuzas frowned as if lost in thought. “Perhaps I did. I do not remember. Is it important?”

  “Important? Oh yes, whether you recall the day or not, I do. You looked straight at that knife and asked if it were the weapon used to kill the girl. I did not think too much of it at the time because it seemed a very normal question. In fact, it had crossed my mind a
s well. But there is a problem, Chuzas. One that could lead to serious consequences for you, do you understand?”

  “Rabban, I am at a loss.”

  “Are you? I could recall the captain of the guard, you know.” Gamaliel nodded toward the door. He studied the little round man he found so difficult to like and who sat fidgeting on the edge of his stool, eyes darting from the door, to the latticed wall, and back to Gamaliel. So someone lurked behind the screen listening to them. If so what would he or she make of this? Gamaliel did not want to share what he knew of Chuzas’ duplicity with whoever lurked there and how he intended to use him because of it.

  “Shall I set for you a parable, Chuzas?”

  “Rabban, I…”

  “Listen, once there was a rich landowner who had two servants. To one he gave charge over ten hectares of land, to the other twenty, and said to them, ‘Cultivate my land and bring to me the fruits that are mine.’ When the first man saw that the other had been given charge over twenty hectares to his meager ten, he was envious. ‘Why,’ he said to himself, ‘has my lord given this man twenty hectares and I but ten?’ Over time this envy ate at him so that he made up his mind to act against the other man. To do so, he sought to discredit him by telling the merchants in the village this, ‘The man who has charge over twenty hectares of my master’s land has cheated you in the weights of his wheat and barley he sold to you.’ The merchants were astounded and reported this to the landowner who called in the man with the twenty and would punish him. But the man said, ‘I have not cheated these people, my lord. See here are my scales and here are the measures of wheat and of barley I sold to the merchants. Weigh them and see.’ And he showed him his scales and the land owner ordered the measures reweighed and the weights were true. ‘Who told you that the weights were false?’ he asked of the merchants, and they pointed to the man with the ten hectares. When the land owner saw what the first man had done he was extremely wroth and….What do you suppose he did to that unfaithful servant, Steward?”

  “Sir, I do not know.”

  “Venture a guess. What would that land owner have done? Finish the parable for me.”

  “I suppose, in the parable, he would have beat the envious servant and cast him out.”

  “Yes, that is the end of the parable. Do you hear and understand?”

  “Sir?”

  “Chuzas, everyone in the palace needs only to glance at the knife to know it belongs to Menahem. You did not become the king’s steward because you were stupid. Do not pretend to be so now.”

  Chuzas had begun to perspire halfway through the telling of the parable. Now he squirmed on his stool like a naughty schoolboy caught out by his teacher.

  “What will you do, Rabban?”

  Gamaliel frowned and lowered his voice so that only Chuzas could hear him and even that with difficulty.

  “As I said, Chuzas, you are not stupid. You behaved as if you were this one time because you thought someone had interfered with your place in your own house. But in doing so, you wasted my time. It has resulted in me being called out by the Prefect. It has deflected me from finding the girl’s killer, and caused irreparable damage to the reputation of an honest man. What do you think I should do? Shall I speak to the king…to the Prefect? It could go hard with you, Chuzas.”

  The steward seemed to have shrunk to a third his size. “Sir, is there no mercy?”

  “Indeed, there is. I believe the Lord is merciful and I shall be also, but from me this mercy must be earned. I will extract from you three promises. Promises made here in the sure knowledge the Lord will hear them. Agreed?”

  “Yes.”

  “You will put aside your envy of Menahem and follow your wife to this country rabbi. You will put your entire effort in helping me solve this mystery without resorting to reporting to the royal family behind my back. And you will reform, repent, and return to the Lord. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, thank you. It will be all right now?”

  “That, of course, is in your hands. The business of the knife is in mine. You must make it all right, Steward.”

  He watched as Chuzas, evidently relieved, slipped out of the room. Was he relieved because he had been shown mercy or because he no longer carried the guilt of his deed around or…there was one last possibility, of course. He knew he’d be caught in the ruse sooner or later and…If I were a killer, Gamaliel thought, what better way of avoiding suspicion than to be found out as one who planted evidence? Once exposed, who would think to look further or deeper? Of course the same could be said for old Menahem. Once cleared of guilt, who would dare reopen the case against him? But he told Pilate he couldn’t because Menahem was old and impotent and right handed. Was he? If you weren’t sure why the girl was killed, did any of that even matter?

  Gamaliel’s head began to ache.

  Chapter XXVI

  It had been a day Gamaliel hoped he’d never have to repeat. If he had his wish, he would never allow himself to be tangled up in this sort of thing again—ever. Murder and political intrigue, jealousy and deceit, betrayal…he smiled at the irony. If he were not so engrossed in this business, he would be reading the scriptures. And the history of Israel’s kings and heroes were mostly about intrigue, jealousy, deceit, and betrayal. It is the continuing human condition, endless conflict between good and evil, between the Lord and the forces that oppose him. Is it any wonder he seemed so angry so much of the time. Still, as he reflected on his day, he came close to regretting that he’d not accepted Pilate’s offer to throw Menahem to the dogs. With his only suspect, however poor, off his list, where could he turn now? The probable removal of a guilty Menahem left him with no other choice but to start all over again. He left the palace after charging Barak to tell the steward he wished to interview the captain of the guard and Menahem the next day. He made his way home.

  He trudged the width of the quarter and turned in to his house in time for his evening meal. He could only toy with his supper. He’d had it served early. He’d even skipped his prayers and mikvah. This business was slowly eroding away his routines, the things that defined him, things he’d forever held sacrosanct. He felt as if some new Gamaliel was replacing the old one, pushing him aside and introducing someone he did not recognize, someone who did not fit comfortably in his skin.

  He knew he needed to find a quiet place away from this sewer of royal plotting and scheming and sort the whole thing out, starting at the beginning, starting with a dead girl lying on the bottom of the bath, her throat cut, raped, and cast off like the carcass of a sacrificed lamb. Who was she? He secluded himself in his private room where he ordinarily pursued his studies apart from his students. He contemplated the physician’s remark that he had begun to think like a Greek. It was not a comfortable thought, but on reflection he believed it might be correct and further, that it might also be necessary if he was to ever sort through this basket of entrails.

  He sat at a small wooden table and lit his reading lamp. The scent of olive oil mixed with just a pinch of incense filled the room. The incense had been his late wife’s idea. He had objected at first—thought it unseemly. He’d heard of the houses in the city that were said to offer travelers the delights of the flesh. They were known for mixing incense in their lamp oil. But in the end, he became used to it and had to admit however reluctantly, the ambience it created relaxed him. Tonight he desperately needed relaxing. When he was a young man and newly married, he recalled, he had a more immediate method of finding relaxation and release. But he was older now and more importantly, his wife was dead these two years. So now it had to be the incense or nothing. Of course he could always remarry. He would think about that some other time. He had grown sons to consider. He poured a cup of new wine and set it close at hand. The lamp flickered and brightened as all four wicks of his marvelous reading lamp flared and settled into steady burning.

  One by one he placed each of the items he had collected over the last few days on the table in front of him. First the headdress which
he smoothed flat. In spite of its overnight soaking in the bath, it still retained the faint scent of nard and cinnamon. If he were skilled in the use of hair oils, he could have positively identified the scrap of cloth as belonging to the girl. Next he spread out the bit of clothing he’d at first referred to as a loin cloth even though it was shaped and sewn. He had to admit he knew little or nothing about the garments women wore beneath their robes, nor did he wish to. Where would the mystery be then? Next to the rumpled bit of linen he placed the coins he’d recovered, carefully lining them up in a neat row their obverse side up. They glittered dully in the lamp light, the faces of emperors and kings stared off into the dark in dull bas relief. Next to them he placed the pendants, the replica and the original that now glittered faintly in the lamp light. Agon had done a marvel with the false one. He dropped the thong next to them which he also rearranged so as to juxtapose its cut ends. At the far end of the table he placed Menahem’s knife. In a second row away from him on the table, he put the box and its seal next to the girl’s letters.

  Somewhere mixed in this pitiful collection of odds and ends, information, and guesswork he hoped to uncover both motive and killer. He closed his eyes. He wanted to sleep. To sleep a dreamless sleep and erase the awful images, blood, the ragged gash across the poor girl’s throat. Alas, not now. As much as he detested the Prefect and the task he’d been set, he owed justice to this poor anonymous girl. She’d been brought to the court for a reason and serving clearly wasn’t it. So what was?

  Not on the table, but etched in his mind, were the facts of the girl’s death. Alexandra, or Cappo, had been raped, held underwater and either drowned and then had her throat cut, or drowned as a result of having her throat cut. He would probably never know the truth of that. All this done, it seemed, by someone who used his “dirty hand” to do it. If he was going to rape her, why kill her as well? To prevent her from identifying her assailant? Probably, but…If the rape was not the primary purpose of his attack, it had to be something else. What else was there? The pendent. He picked up the gold original and stared at it.