“I went back to Joppa and spent two weeks of intense study in the Scripture at the temple there. Although I had a vague sense that I would recognize what I was searching for once I found it, I wasn’t sure I could explain it to anyone else. Even so, by the end of the second week I was beginning to despair.
“One afternoon, late in the day, I was walking on the outskirts of the city. I’d been studying Isaiah for several days, not quite sure why I lingered upon his words. I experienced mixed emotions as I read, alternating sadness and joy. The great prophet’s words came alive in me as never before, almost as if he were reaching out with his visions and revelations, traversing through time to speak to me personally. But his message eluded me.
“I found myself in the midst of a small clump of olive trees. In the center of the stand was an unusually tall carob tree. Its branches swayed in the cool breeze, causing the sunlight to ripple across the leaves and coarse bark of the shorter trees. The effect was very unusual; the whole stand seemed to be swaying.
“It was cool in the shade, so I sat down against the carob and closed my eyes. I could feel the cool bark where it touched the back of my neck and I imagined that I was standing on the deck of my uncle’s boat, watching dolphins chase one another in the blue-green ocean. It was then that I heard the voice—
“‘And there shall come forth a rod out of the stem of Jesse, and a Branch shall grow out of his roots. And the spirit of the Lord shall rest upon Him, the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and of the fear of the Lord: and He shall not judge after the sight of eyes, neither reprove after the hearing of His ears: But with righteousness shall He judge the poor, and reprove with equity the meek of the earth: and He shall smite the earth with the rod of His mouth, and with the breath of His lips shall He slay the wicked. And righteousness shall be the girdle of His loins, and faithfulness the girdle of His reins.’”
“What happened next?”
“I opened my eyes immediately. Much to my surprise, there was no one to be seen. Baffled, I stood up. Again the voice spoke. This time I realized that the words had come from within me: ‘The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light: they that dwell in the land of the shadow of death, upon them has the light shined.’
“My heart began to pound. The haze of twilight blurred before me as I cried out with understanding: ‘Bethel, the place of God!’”
Uriel remained silent, unmoving. He studied Joseph through hooded eyes as he absorbed everything the young man said.
“The next morning I set out for Jerusalem. I’d been immersed in my studies, and it wasn’t until I was on the outskirts of the city that I remembered the Passover would start that evening.”
“It was just after the sixth hour, and I was about five miles away. In a matter of minutes the deep blue, cloudless sky turned an angry purple-black. The wind began to blow with such force that it was all I could do to stand. I expected a torrent of rain at any moment, but no rain came! Instead, the wind began to howl, and great bolts of lightning crisscrossed the sky, like sparks created by the pounding of metal upon metal as the ironsmith pulls red-hot iron from the furnace and works it with his hammer.
“I imagined that all the forces of darkness had been loosed in the heavens above Jerusalem. I fell to the ground, trembling, and cried out to Almighty God.”
Joseph’s eyes grew wide and his face became flushed as he relived the experience. The light danced off his glistening hazel-brown pupils and his taut, finely muscled body was drenched with sweat. “Abruptly, the wind stopped! The sudden quiet was deafening. I knew, somehow, that I was hearing death instead of seeing it.” He shuddered with the memory. “An especially loud crack of thunder ripped through the silence. It reminded me of the singing sound the scourge makes before landing upon flesh.
“Then the rain came. Great torrents of it. The fat drops fell. . .and fell. . .and fell—like a flood of heavenly tears. I thought it would go on forever.
“I started to run, but had not gone far when, just as abruptly as it had started, the rain ceased. No drizzle. No light shower. The deluge just stopped!
“I arrived in the city just after dusk. The streets were deserted. Shortly thereafter, I came upon a woodworker in the process of closing up his shop. ‘Greetings, friend,’” I said, my mind still contemplating the strange occurrence. “I’m a stranger here and in need of lodging for the evening.”
“What business do you have in Jerusalem?” he asked me, moving forward from the shadows into the light of a lantern. “I seek a Rabbi from Galilee. . .a Jew who heals the sick and teaches love of his fellow man.”
“And what would the name of this Galilean be?”
“Jesus of Nazareth—”
“The shopkeeper became very quiet. When he finally spoke, tears filled his eyes. “The one you seek is here no more.”
“Where has he gone? I must find him. It is most urgent.”
“No brother, you misunderstand. The Nazarene was crucified this very day by the Romans at Golgotha,” he whispered, then paused and quickly scanned the darkening streets.
“Golgotha?”
“The place of the skull, just outside the city.”
“But—”
“Just then several Roman soldiers headed our way and the proprietor glanced at them furtively, then added, ‘I’ve said enough already, especially to one who is a stranger. Go now. . . I’ve work to do.’ Then he disappeared into the recesses of his shop, taking the light with him.”
“Is that all?” sighed Uriel.
Joseph stoked the fire to keep it going. “Not quite.” Outside, stars danced a promenade across the heavens, using the black canopy as their stage, and a soft wind carried the scent of salt and fish into the cave. Below, on the marl beach at the base of the cliff, a fleeting tremor in the belly of the earth rearranged the pulverized limestone ever so slightly. Neither of the cave’s occupants noticed.
“I asked questions of several and learned the location of the Rabbi’s burial. I arrived at His tomb well after midnight,” continued Joseph. “There was a chill in the air that belied the normally warm nights. I stood before the great outcropping of rock and shivered. I couldn’t take my eyes off of the huge slab of stone that sealed the entrance.
“Finally, exhausted and having nowhere to go, I collapsed in front of the sepulcher. Mercifully, the sweet release of exhaustion rescued me from my waking nightmare. Oddly, I dreamed of my time in Joppa.
“Suddenly, an intense, almost blinding, white light filled my head. Then, out of the light, a voice spoke! And it was the same voice I’d heard at Bethel. . .and Joppa! It was difficult understanding what the voice was saying because another voice was talking at the same time. “Wake up, you!” the other voice said.
“I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes, only to discover that I was surrounded by a contingent of Roman Centurions led by a Praetorian. ‘Who are you and what is your business here?’ the Praetorian asked me.”
“I was terrified. My name is Joseph,” I told him and stood up. “I came seeking the man who is buried in this tomb. Who are you?”
“I am the Commander of Pontius Pilate’s Praetorian Guard. And I warn you, if you stay here any longer you will be subject to immediate arrest.”
“I knew enough about the Legion to know that one does not argue with a Praetorian. Inexplicably, in spite of the Praetorian’s harsh words, I felt a strange kinship with him. Had we met under different circumstances, I believe we might have become friends.”
“That’s quite a story, my young friend. And now, because of what you’ve told me, I will share something with you that I’ve never spoken about to any man.”
Joseph suddenly grew flushed, like he was being comfortably immersed in a pool of warm oil. Impossibly, the cave suddenly smelled as if it was filled with frankincense.
“We have not met by accident,” Uriel said solemnly, fastening his gaze upon the younger man. “I have known for some t
ime that a man such as your would come. I just didn’t know when. I know now my time here is nearly finished.”
Joseph started to say something, but Uriel silenced him with a look. “The area around this cave was once known as the Vale of Siddim,” he continued. “Many believe the name means Valley of the Fields. However, the Vale Siddim is known to me, and others like me, as the ‘Valley of Demons.’ Beneath the green expanse of water below this cave lays the plain of abomination, and beneath it lays the graves of giants. . .the Nephilim.”
“The fallen ones?” muttered Joseph, translating the Hebrew.
Uriel nodded. “They are better known to you as the Rephaim—aboriginal giants who inhabited Canaan.”
“Spirits of the deceased. The Anakim, the Emim, and the Zamzummin,” whispered Joseph, remembering reading about them in Scripture.
Uriel frowned. “Cursed because of their lust for the flesh and blood of men, they perished in the Great Flood.”
Joseph’s heart hammered. He knew from his studies that Sodom and Gomorrah were said to be buried under the great inland sea, and that the word “Gomorrah” actually meant submersion. Is it possible? he wondered in amazement.
Uriel stood and went to the back of the cave, where he withdrew something wedged between two rocks. “What I am about to tell you, Joseph, is covered in detail in these manuscripts,” he said, holding up a linen wrapped bundle.
“Are you the author?”
Uriel shook his head. “Merely a guardian.” He handed the parchments to Joseph. “There will come a time when you will know what to do with these. Trust your heart when that moment comes.” The old man paused, a faraway look in his glistening eyes, then continued in a somber voice. “You know the phrase “wayigra,” of course?”
Joseph nodded. “It means ‘and He called’; the opening lines of the third book of the Pentateuch.”
Uriel smiled. “You learned your bar mitzvah lessons well. Yet, when the Greek scholars translated the books of Moses into the Septuagint, nearly three hundred years ago, they named the book ‘Leviticus,’ because it contains the law of the priests, the Levites, and illumines the priestly approach to God.”
“Atonement,” interjected Joseph. How did this abrupt transition fit in with the information about the Nephilim?
“Atonement as it relates to Aaron and his descendants, the Tabernacle, the brazen altar. . . the entire nation of Israel,” pressed Uriel, skillfully guiding the conversation. “And the most important element throughout the entire book is—”
“The blood—”
“The Torah teaches that the life of the flesh is in the blood, and that it is given to make atonement for the souls of men. That is why God admonished Noah not to eat the flesh in its life, the blood, and later instructed Moses to tell His people that anyone, even strangers who sojourned among them, who ate or drank of the blood of any animal would be forever cut off—not only from their people, but from Him.”
“But how—”
“Shhh. . .let me finish, my impatient young friend. What I must tell you is this. The remnants of the Nephilim, although they no longer have fleshly bodies, are still very active. They can no longer operate in the natural realm as physical beings, but they still foment madness and perversion among the ignorant. Being offspring of angels and women, they are neither angelic nor human. Having once been flesh, they desire again to be flesh. But this is denied to them, except in rare instances. Nevertheless, they feed on fear, anger, strife, and all the perversions of the flesh. Ever consuming, never coming to fulfillment, they are eternally damned. They hunger for blood, because they know that there is life in the blood. Yet, they are spiritual bastards, so no matter how much blood they consume, it is never enough. For them, there is no life—only the torment of everlasting darkness.”
Joseph was stunned. He was having a hard time comprehending all that the old man was telling him. True, he knew the basics—but the rest! Disembodied demons, thirsty for blood, searching for hosts. . .
His mind reeled with the implications. He was suddenly lightheaded, like a marathon runner nearing the end of his long, yet exhilarating, ordeal. He gathered the bundle to his chest and wondered why he did not doubt for a moment what Uriel had told him.
Uriel studied Joseph’s face, then reached over and took his arm, patting it, as a father would a child’s who needed reassurance. For the time being, he had given Joseph enough information about the scrolls. God would do the rest. “It is time you slept,” he said soothingly. “And tonight I promise your dreams will be peaceful. The demon has left you. He seeks more succulent prey.”
Joseph’s whole arm tingled when Uriel touched him, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. At the same time, he felt lethargic, as if he had been drugged. No, he thought, it’s more like a tremendous burden has been lifted from me. He stretched out on the limestone floor and a smile crossed his lips as he closed his eyes. His last thought was that in the morning he must tell Uriel of his decision. He would seek out the disciples of Jesus and join them, if they would have him.
When he woke in the morning, Uriel was gone. Beside him lay the linen bundle. Joseph knew deep in his spirit that the old man would not return. He stood and stretched, refreshed for the first time in weeks, then walked to the mouth of the cave and looked out. He took several deep breaths, savoring the salt air, and watched the sun rise, smiling.
It was time he returned to Jerusalem.
CHAPTER FOUR
What would I do without you, Deucalion?” Pilate asked rhetorically, adjusting his toga as the two men walked through the narrow, dusty streets at the heart of Jerusalem. Underneath the toga he wore a tunic, the angusticlava, with a narrow bordering strip of purple running the length of the garment, indicating he was a member of the equestrian order, a clan second only to the senatorial, which boasted the laticlava, a wider purple strip. “You know, my young friend, there are pitifully few people one can trust these days. And there is a strange kind of madness in the world. . .”
“I’m not sure I understand what you mean, Pontius,” replied Deucalion as he adjusted his own clothing. Unlike the Procurator’s loose fitting toga and tunic, the armor he wore weighed heavily upon his tall, muscular frame. The sun had only been up a short time and already his body was complaining about the heat.
“It is in their eyes, my young friend,” Pilate whispered, indicating a group of old men engaged in a heated discussion on their left. “Never doubt what you see exposed in those twin mirrors of the soul. Men hide their feelings in many ways, but few are able to control their emotions so that the truth of what they feel does not register in their eyes.”
Deucalion, caught off guard by the moment of intimacy, stared first at the old men, then back at his superior. In the past few weeks Pilate’s body had become gaunt, almost emaciated, and his deeply tanned skin had taken on the consistency of parchment. His cheeks were sunken, and there were deep, dark circles underneath his once bright, brown eyes. A sudden, strange thought flowed into his mind. He wondered if Pilate was suffering from some untreatable malady—perhaps a vicious parasite that consumed the procurator’s life force from within. It would be like him not to speak of it to anyone.
“It is the eyes that record a man’s life—and it is the eyes that provide a record of a man’s sins. Words can deceive. But the truth of what is in a man’s heart is found here,” continued Pilate, tapping the spot to the right of one eye with a long, bony index finger. “If you look into the eyes of the people as we pass among them, you will see the anger. . .the fear. . .and the desire to be free from the burden of Rome upon their backs.”
Deucalion grew more and more perplexed as Pilate talked. He realized that something was bothering the Procurator, yet his superior was obviously finding it difficult to express what he truly felt.
“Did you know that the Jews have a unique way of dealing with a man who kills another without just cause?”
Deucalion shook his head in the negative, matching Pilate step for ste
p, as they entered into the open square that was the central marketplace of Jerusalem.
“The dead man is securely fastened upon the back of his murderer. The guilty party must carry the rotting, maggot-infested corpse in that manner, until he succumbs himself to the filthiness of death. Sometimes, late at night, when the city is as quiet as a tomb, I dream that Rome is that decaying corpse, and that her carcass rots upon the backs of the innocent.”
The Procurator stopped abruptly in midstride and grabbed Deucalion by the arm. “Do you find my dialogue morbid?” he asked petulantly, a pained look in his tired eyes.
“The truth Pontius?”
“Don’t you always give it to me. . .whether I want to hear it or not?”
Deucalion managed a chuckle from his sun-cracked lips. He wanted desperately to banish the stifling heaviness that cloaked their conversation. “You know me all too well, Pontius. . . perhaps too well for my own good.”
The intensity of Pilate’s stare unnerved him, but he continued, “Yes, I find our conversation much too revealing for the light of day. These topics are better reserved for the emptiness of night, when a drunken man’s tongue can speak freely of the demons that haunt his sleep.”
The Procurator flinched.
Deucalion didn’t seem to notice. “I, too, as we have discussed on many an evening, am concerned about the course Rome’s helmsmen have plotted,” he said. “We who man the oars have little to say about our destination. I have learned, however, not to worry about the steering of the ship. I leave that to the captains.”
“And what if you were captain?” asked Pilate, thinking he would be proud to have this man as a son.
Deucalion stared hard at Pilate for a moment before he answered and tried to read what he saw in his superior’s eyes. What is it that torments him so? “Perhaps I would chart a different course,” he answered solemnly.
Pilate arched his eyebrows, something he did when he was impressed with what he heard, which was not often. “You never cease to amaze me with your boldness, Deucalion. For one so young, you are quite a remarkable soldier.” He paused, then let out a deep, unrestrained laugh and added, “If I had but a cohort of men such as you, I would seriously consider taking on the Empire.”
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