“While the Nazarene was on this earth, James rejected Him, ridiculed Him. Yet later, James died rather than deny Him. That has always haunted me. What would it take to believe that your own brother was the Son of God? What would it take to be willing to die for that belief?”
“Insanity,” Eleazar muttered.
“Or seeing the Nazarene resurrected, as was claimed by so many witnesses.”
“A man does not live after death,” Eleazar said. “Not after a whipping and crucifixion. Nor, if taken off the cross still alive, would he have the strength to move a stone that covers a tomb and defeat soldiers sent to guard Him. The witnesses have conspired to spread tales.”
“And endured our persecution to maintain that lie? My son, people do not give up their lives for that. Indeed, that’s why I’ve had my doubts. Watching the Jews among us who give up everything because of this faith.”
“Our Messiah will not arrive as a lowly carpenter from an obscure town, nor will our Messiah allow himself the humiliation of crucifixion. No, he will lead our people to victory against the oppressors.”
Ananias continued as if he had not heard Eleazar’s answer. “Many of the Nazarenes in this city have begun to sell their property. They believe the end of the age is upon us.”
Eleazar became more agitated as he listened more closely. “Exactly! The end of the age is upon us. The Messiah must come soon, and when he does he will vindicate the Temple of our God and free our people from the tyranny of Rome once and for all. The Nazarenes are right to see the recent events as signs, but they blasphemously misinterpret them, claiming that they are the birth pangs of God’s wrath against Israel. Soon they will realize that the riots and wars do not portend God’s judgment on Jerusalem but rather the coming of Messiah to free Israel from her enemies. We have worshiped God alone and haven’t fallen into idolatry. We’ve kept the laws. There is no other explanation for what appears to be happening to our people and to Jerusalem than that the coming of Messiah is near.”
“I hope that you are right. But if you continue to provoke Rome, you may help prove the Nazarenes correct,” Ananias responded. “Surely you know the prophecy that the Nazarene made before he was crucified. Before the end of this generation, he said, those who pierced him would see him coming on clouds. If the Temple is destroyed as he prophesied, he will be vindicated, not Israel. God will truly have punished those who pierced the Nazarene.”
“The Temple cannot be destroyed. No military power on earth is capable of taking this city, not with Jews ready to die for it, not with God on our side.”
“If He isn’t?”
“I cannot believe we are having this conversation,” Eleazar said. “The upper city wars against the lower city. You lead one side and I lead the other. Who knows when we might again speak alone? Why are you wasting time on this?”
“Because, here, away from the battle, we have time to waste,” Ananias said. In his love for Eleazar and his fear that they might not speak again, the voice of Ananias nearly cracked. “And because I, too, am fully aware that only God knows when we will speak again as father and son.”
“Then let’s speak of ending this standoff.”
“There has been no letter from Rome.”
Valeria shrugged and began to turn away from Joseph Ben-Matthias, toward the stairs that would take her off the roof and down the streets of the upper city that were so familiar to her. Every day—except the Sabbath, for in the strange manner practiced by all Jews, Joseph Ben-Matthias did not engage in anything that suggested commerce—Valeria had stoically prepared herself for this same answer from the man.
There has been no letter from Rome.
Day by day, since sending a letter to Rome begging for help, Valeria had never lost hope because she had never allowed herself any hope. Florus, the most powerful man in Judea, had wanted her family destroyed. Maglorius, a legendary killer of men, wanted to kill her and Quintus to hide the fact that he had murdered their father. Her stepmother, Alypia, had abandoned them during the May riots and fled for Rome, probably intent on securing the family fortune as the Bellator widow and matriarch. The very people Valeria would have turned to for help were the ones who posed the most danger.
Who then had given her and Quintus refuge? Families of Jews. Whom had she been forced to trust with her letter to Rome? Another Jew. The irony. She, the daughter of a noble Roman family, accustomed to Jewish servants, in Jerusalem because her father had overseen the tax collection of this subjugated people, now lived among them in hiding.
What choice did she have?
None, except to find Joseph Ben-Matthias every day but one, even now during the standoff between the upper and lower city. None, except wait until he had a reply for her from Rome. So, unless she was caught crossing the line of demarcation between the upper and lower city, she would return tomorrow to ask the same question.
“Wait,” called Joseph from behind her.
Valeria turned back to him. She said nothing. She made it a habit to speak little and, when she did speak, to speak in a near whisper. She had chopped her hair short, and she wore loose men’s clothing to disguise her femininity. Her appearance she could hide, but she feared her voice would someday give her away.
“There has been no letter from Rome,” Joseph repeated. “But it has been answered. You can go back to Valeria and Quintus to tell them that someone has been sent here to escort them to Rome.”
Valeria unconsciously cocked her head. Had she heard correctly?
Joseph was smiling. “Your persistence on their behalf has finally been rewarded.”
She had heard correctly. Yet how did he know?
As if understanding her thoughts, he continued. “Falco, the man who arrived today, told me this. As a result, much more about all of this is clear to me.”
Valeria relaxed.
“I must caution you,” Joseph said. “Falco feared the city was too dangerous for him, and he dared not wait until the rebels are defeated. He went to Florus for help, who sent soldiers with him.”
Florus! Valeria began to edge away. Soldiers! Were they nearby?
“Please, stop,” Joseph said. “Let me explain.” He kept his distance from her, showing that he was aware that she was ready to bolt. “Falco and I discussed this at length while we were waiting for you this morning,” Joseph said.
This very morning! Were the soldiers nearby? To calm her nerves, Valeria reminded herself that the soldiers did not want a mere messenger boy, as she had represented herself to Joseph.
“Falco and I both concluded that there could be only one reason Valeria sent you to me instead of openly going to Florus with her brother for protection and help to go to Rome. That, of course, would be fear of Florus.”
A cry of outrage reached them from somewhere in the lower city. Then screams and wailing. Neither acknowledged it to the other, but both knew. A dart or catapulted stone from the royal troops in the upper city had found a victim in the lower city. It was never the opposite; the rebels did not have military equipment capable of striking the troops from a distance.
Joseph adjusted his tunic and sat on the raised edge of his roof. He looked down across the city and smiled sadly. After a few moments, he spoke to her again. “Falco and I both agreed on one other conclusion. Their fear was justified.”
It was, as Valeria was all too aware. Her brother Quintus had told her that Maglorius had murdered their father on the final afternoon of the May riots across the city. But Valeria also knew that the ex-gladiator had taken advantage of the confusion and violence already inflicted on the Bellator household by Roman soldiers sent upon orders from Florus. Bellator had escaped the soldiers, only to be betrayed by Maglorius, who later made it look as though Bellator had died at the soldiers’ hands.
But surely neither Joseph nor Falco knew these details. Valeria and Quintus had dared not leave hiding to publicly accuse Maglorius of this.
“You see,” Joseph said, once again anticipating the questions that he implic
itly raised, “a man like Florus does nothing unless it serves him. All of this city knows he has withheld Roman troops from helping us because he wants civil war to hide his atrocities from Caesar. Yet in the middle of this, he sends soldiers with Falco. Perhaps Florus seeks to curry favor with the senator in Rome helping Valeria and Quintus, but I argued otherwise with Falco. I believe that Florus wants the Bellator children in his possession.”
Valeria had been unaware of how much she’d been hoping her letter to Rome would save them until this moment, with the black despair that filled her when it appeared all was lost.
“Understand this,” Joseph said. “Anything that denies Florus is something that helps the Jews. So I’ve made a proposal to Falco.” He gazed steadily at Valeria. “But for it to work, you’re going to have to convince the Bellator children to trust me.”
What choice did Valeria have? She nodded.
“Good,” Joseph said. “Come with me and let me introduce you to Falco. He’ll tell you about our plan to escape the soldiers.”
“I want to end the standoff too,” Ananias said to Eleazar. “Yet I cannot shake my questions. If the Nazarene was who he claimed to be, then I foresee that bringing down the wrath of Rome may turn their entire military might against us in fulfillment of his prophecy. Rebels have won battles against Rome in the past, but never wars. Allow the foreigners to sacrifice at the Temple. Help me unite the city.”
“No. The Nazarene was not the Messiah. Therefore his prophecy cannot be fulfilled. Jerusalem and the Temple will not fall. God will preserve His people until the Messiah arrives. He did it when He brought us out of Egypt into the Promised Land. When He sent an angel of death to kill the Assyrians. God is faithful to His covenant. He will vindicate His people and His Temple. All through our history, God has saved us and will do so again.”
“What if the covenant was fulfilled with the Nazarene? What if he was the Son of God and truly the last sacrifice? Then those in the city now selling their land because they believe his prophecies will be fulfilled in this generation will be the only ones preserved.”
“Who has filled your head with these ideas?”
“You and I are not the only father and son divided,” Ananias said ruefully. “Your friend Mordecai is a Zealot, but his father . . .”
Eleazar showed astonishment. “Phinehas most surely is not a Nazarene!”
Ananias nodded. “They live in houses side-by-side. At night, Phinehas has secret meetings with Nazarenes on his roof, while next door, Mordecai plots against the Romans, sharing your belief that the cause is holy.”
“How do you know this about Phinehas?”
“Before the standoff separated our city, I went to him many times. He’s a wise man, and I wanted counsel and solace on how to deal with this division between you and me. He told me about his own problem. Above all, remember that I am your father and you are my son, and my heart breaks because of my love for you.”
Silence again fell upon them.
Eleazar lowered himself to his knees and bowed. “Father,” he said, without raising his head, “I love you too. And I wish we could be on the same side. But I must do what God has called me to do. Remember Judas Maccabeus and the abomination of desolation in the Temple that Daniel predicted. Remember how God gave him victory.”
Ananias thought of how Annas the Younger had used this love against him earlier. It brought tears to his eyes again, and he was glad that Eleazar did not see his face.
Ananias leaned forward and placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. “I only pray that you are right. Remember, though, Judas Maccabeus led our people after Antiochus inflicted the abomination upon us. What I fear is that this war will lead to the ultimate abomination that the Nazarene predicted.” Ananias helped his son to his feet. “We are here, meeting in secret, because you sent me a message. I doubt you wanted or expected a conversation like this.”
“No, Father,” Eleazar said. “I have a request.”
“A father will always listen to a son’s request. Whether I can grant it in this situation . . .”
“Tomorrow is the Festival of Xylophory. We must get enough wood to last until the end of the year.”
Eleazar didn’t have to explain more. Ananias immediately understood the consequences. And the predicament. “You are asking me to ensure that the royal troops let in those from the countryside.”
“It is the festival. You know full well that thousands upon thousands have been traveling for days to bring wood in service to God.”
Ananias did. The festival was a popular and joyous occasion, where maidens dressed in white and sang and danced in the vineyards around Jerusalem. As for the wood, the people flooded the Court of the Gentiles, depositing their offerings in an outer temple chamber, where priests disqualified from more important service by skin blemishes were sent to pick out wood that wasn’t worm-eaten or otherwise unfit for the altar.
“Many of those thousands upon thousands will be sympathetic to your cause,” Ananias said. “I’m not sure I can convince those in the upper city to allow them into the Temple.”
“This is not about politics,” Eleazar said. “The altar’s fire must burn forever in honor of God.”
“If it is not about politics,” Ananias said, “then allow citizens of the upper city to enter the Temple to honor God as well.”
Eleazar shook his head. “I cannot. The upper city has the wealth. Which means you also have the weapons. These peasants are poor, fortunate to own a hoe. They are no danger to anyone.”
“You are asking too much and giving too little in return.”
“This is not politics.”
Ananias sighed. “This is not politics.” A moment later he said, “How do I know you won’t take advantage of this in some way?”
“All I want is one day of truce to ensure that the altar has sufficient wood and that faithful Jews are not disappointed in their service to God,” Eleazar said. He, too, paused briefly. “You have my word, Father. As your son, I promise I will not betray you.”
Finally Ananias nodded. “All right then. Because I trust and love you, I will pledge my honor and my position and the Sanhedrin will have no choice but to grant the truce. Service to God is more important than our politics.”
The door opened in front of Boaz.
Maglorius stepped outside. Without the scrolls. “There’s another problem,” he said.
“Let me guess,” Boaz said. “Amaris doesn’t read either. Nice try. Well, let me tell you, the judge was able to read those contracts. Very plainly. That’s why the house was provided as a legal settlement for the debts of Ben-Aryeh.”
“Amaris can read,” Maglorius said. “That’s not the problem.”
Boaz found himself grinding his teeth again. He spit out each word. “What, then, is the problem?”
“She finds it too hot outside at this time of day.”
“I fail to see how—”
“That’s exactly it,” Maglorius said. He was grave, almost sanctimoniously troubled. “She fails to see in the dimness inside.”
“She’s not blind.”
“No, not at all. But the scrolls have such dense handwriting that it was difficult for her to see the writing very clearly.” Maglorius paused. “As you pointed out to her earlier, she’s no longer a young woman.”
“Once again, I fail to—”
“It was my suggestion, and I’m very sorry for it. I take full blame.”
“For what!” Talking to this ex-gladiator was like dealing with a village idiot.
“I brought over an oil lamp. I told her I would hold it steady so that the light would help her vision.”
“She could have stood by a window.”
“Yes,” Maglorius said. “I understand that now. In the moment, I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“So you helped her read the contracts with an oil lamp. Good. I’m sure she explained to you that the contracts are valid. Step aside and let us in.”
“She didn’t get a chance t
o read the contracts. It really was my fault. I apologize sincerely to you.”
“For what!”
“There’s no other way to tell you this. I burned the scrolls. Held the lamp too close and just like that, they caught fire.” Maglorius held up his hand to forestall any protest from Boaz. “Fortunately, I threw them in an urn so that nothing else could catch on fire. The house is fine. Amaris is upset, but other than that, she’s fine too. I know you’d want to know that.”
“Put them in an urn,” Boaz repeated dully. “And let them burn.”
“There wasn’t any water nearby.”
“You could have dropped them on the floor and stomped the flames out!”
“I understand that now,” Maglorius said. “As I mentioned, in the moment, I wasn’t thinking clearly. To tell you the truth, I made a choice to let them burn. I know the contracts were upsetting to Amaris and . . .”
“The contracts are gone,” Boaz said. Believing, yet not comprehending. “You burned them.”
“If it helps,” Maglorius said, “I’ll apologize again.” He looked at the five armed men behind Boaz. “It’s embarrassing. I’m much better at fighting than dealing with scrolls.”
He received several nods of sympathy from the men. As if they were comrades in the same trade.
“It shouldn’t inconvenience you too much, should it?” Maglorius asked Boaz. “It’s not too far back to the archives. Right? Amaris and I will wait for you, of course. It’s the least we could do.”
“You are an idiot,” Boaz said. “If the keepers of the records made duplicate contracts of everything, there wouldn’t be any room left in there.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t think this means the contracts are void,” Boaz said, starting to recover. It wasn’t possible, was it, that this man had been smart enough to do all of this deliberately? Because if he was that smart, he would have known he would only accomplish a delay at best, for the final result would be the same. “I’ll find the merchants and have them witness new contracts.”
The Last Sacrifice Page 20