The Third Day

  Chapter 49

  Servants directed our party to our quarters through a series of narrow tunnels, which only compounded my belief that without inside knowledge, we’d never find our way through the palace’s tangled web of passageways.

  Publius sent the woman to a side chamber and then scribbled something in Greek on a wax tablet. He gestured that I should take advantage of my free time to have a look around, which I did – though after half an hour of stumbling about in the dim light, I decided that I could accomplish more by getting a good night’s sleep.

  A slave woke us just before dawn and led us down to the stables, where I could see that my reputation for horsemanship had preceded me. The Romans all laughed as one of the hands brought up an elderly mare only a step or two away from the glue factory.

  At least it wouldn’t throw me. I hoped.

  We made our way around the northern perimeter of the city at a leisurely pace, though we sped up toward the end as the Romans sensed trouble brewing.

  They weren’t wrong in their assessment, either. A crowd had begun to gather at the northern end of the plaza fronting the Antonia. Though I couldn’t understand what they were saying, there was no mistaking the angry murmuring. This was not a happy bunch.

  The interior of the fortress had turned into an anthill of activity as well. As soon as we charged through the gates, grooms took our horses – mine to cut up for breakfast, in all likelihood – as a Roman messenger called out to Publius.

  The centurion directed me to follow him and shortly thereafter, I found myself once again in Pilate’s office.

  The governor was pacing back and forth, mumbling to himself. Publius saluted and inquired about his foot, but Pilate just waved his hand as if he couldn’t be bothered.

  Seeing that no one paid any attention to me, I backed up to the wall and did my best to blend into the stone. I tapped the earpiece’s transmitter so Lavon also could listen to the most amazing conversation I have ever heard. To this day, I can recall every single word.

  ***

  Pilate finally stopped pacing and beckoned Volusus and the centurion to sit.

  “You might wish you had stayed with Herod,” said the governor, who was no doubt well aware of the standard operating procedure at the king’s feasts. “We have a situation on our hands.”

  “What’s happening,” said Publius.

  “It’s that prophet,” said Volusus. “The Temple police picked him up last night.”

  “They’re questioning him as we speak,” said Pilate. “In order to overcome the objections of his sympathizers in their council, Caiaphas will provide him a final opportunity to renounce this kingdom nonsense, publicly and unequivocally. If he does, I’ve agreed they can let him go. If he does not … well …”

  “This is good, isn’t it?” said Publius. “I thought you wanted to get rid of him.”

  “I do indeed,” Pilate replied.

  But the governor did not appear to display any real enthusiasm for the task – something Publius found confusing.

  “The problem,” said Volusus, “is his followers.”

  “How many do we have in custody?” asked Publius.

  “None,” said Pilate. “We weren’t involved in the arrest at all. I thought it best that their Temple police handle the business. I only sent an agent to observe.”

  “Well then, how many did they take into custody?”

  “Again, none,” said Volusus.

  Now the centurion looked really perplexed. “Their soldiers couldn’t catch them? Didn’t any of his followers try to resist?”

  “One of them took a half-hearted swing with a sword,” Volusus replied. “He sliced off a guard’s ear or something like that; so I’m told.”

  “Only one?”

  Volusus chuckled and held up a finger. “Yes; one. A single, solitary man fought back for a brief moment. The rest of them ran like rabbits.”

  “Where did they go?” asked Publius.

  “We don’t know,” replied Pilate. “Like I said, we had no direct role in picking him up. Our friends in the Temple have never demonstrated our customary thoroughness when handling this type of affair. You know that.”

  Publius stared down at his feet. Finally he looked up. “You’re worried that this is a trick; a deception of some sort?”

  Pilate nodded. “The whole thing was too easy. Only a few days ago, at least two thousand people lined the road waving palm branches as he rode into the city. They’re still out there. Some of them may be inside the walls as we speak, waiting for a signal.”

  “Our intelligence networks are pretty good,” said Publius. “Surely we would have picked up at least some hint of that?”

  “I would caution us all against overconfidence,” said Pilate. “An assumption like that is a time-honored path to disaster.”

  “Herod, too, would have warned us if he had knowledge of trouble,” said the centurion. “I heard nothing to that effect last night.”

  “That’s because your head was between – ”

  Pilate cut himself off. “Never mind,” he snapped.

  The governor stood up and got something to drink; then he started pacing back and forth once more. As he did so, the two senior Romans talked quietly amongst themselves.

  I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but their faces visibly brightened. Whatever they were cooking up, they seemed well pleased with it.

  “Perhaps, excellency, there is another solution,” said Volusus. “As you know, a crowd is beginning to form to the north of the fort.”

  This got Pilate’s attention. He stopped pacing and returned to his seat.

  “Did you find out what they want?” he asked.

  “We heard grumbles about Barabbas,” said the centurion.

  Pilate sighed. “With this prophet business, I had forgotten about him. What do you have in mind?”

  “We let him go,” replied the commander.

  “Let him go?” said Pilate.

  “Yes, excellency.”

  Pilate shook his head, vigorously. “No. Not a chance. This man is directly responsible for the deaths of Roman soldiers. Your men,” he added. “He must die.”

  “And die he will,” replied Volusus. “Please hear us out.”

  The governor signaled for them to proceed.

  Volusus spoke carefully. “As I understand it, your intention is to make a public example of this prophet, but only in circumstances that will minimize the danger of a riot slipping out of control.”

  Pilate nodded. “That is the heart of the matter. Go on.”

  “And our primary hesitation in carrying out this objective is that we have too little in the way of reliable information about his followers – how many of them are in the city, where they are hiding, or their propensity for violence.”

  “Hundreds of them may be planning to launch a revolt this very day,” said Publius, “or a few dozen may be cowering in fear inside tiny closets. We simply don’t know.”

  “Yes,” said Pilate, “but what does this have to do with releasing Barabbas?”

  “Our thought was that you could, perhaps, offer a choice between this prophet and the type of prisoner that certain, um, sectors of the society here are likely to support,” said Volusus. “Let them decide who lives and who dies. By doing so, they would give a stamp of popular approval to your decision.”

  “And in the event a disturbance does break out as they choose,” said Publius, “two factions of the crowd would be set against each other. Eliminating the surviving troublemakers will be much less hazardous for us once they have exhausted themselves.”

  I could see Pilate wasn’t entirely convinced, though he was obviously intrigued by the concept.

  “Tell them that you’ve decided to release a prisoner as a goodwill gesture for the Passover, or something like that,” said Publius. “You’ve done it before.”

  “Once,” grumbled Pilate. “And I swore I wouldn’t make that mistake again. The ungrateful bastard went out and
murdered your predecessor straightaway.”

  “That will not happen this time,” said Volusus. “Barabbas may leave this fortress today, but I can assure you that he will not die at peace in his bed, nor will any of his spawn. Within a month, after these crowds have gone home, he will begin his journey to the underworld.”

  Pilate considered this in silence for a couple of minutes.

  “All right,” he finally said, “The idea has promise. But how can we be sure the crowd will select the right man? What if too many of this prophet’s followers show up?”

  “Barabbas’s supporters are already starting to assemble,” said Volusus. “Once enough of them are present, it won’t be hard to block a few streets, if the need arises.”

  “We can also sprinkle agents in with the crowd to make helpful suggestions, just in case,” said Publius.

  “Yes, do that,” said Pilate.

  “Actually,” said Volusus, “if you stage-manage this properly, by the time you’re finished, you could even have the crowd cheering for the prophet’s death. Any repercussions will be their fault, not yours.”

  “Take the theatrical approach,” said Publius. “Get a big bowl; wash your hands of the entire matter in front of them while they decide. Once it’s clear they’re going to vote the right way, you can act perplexed – like what you are supposed to do with their king? If you use the right tone of voice …”

  Pilate considered this for a moment and then broke out into a smile.

  “I like it,” he said, “although one thing still troubles me: freeing Barabbas could send his sort of vermin the wrong message. Even if you do plan to dispose of him later, the crowds will not be around to witness his death. Some of them may take away a mistaken impression of our resolve.”

  The three Romans thought for a few moments. Then Volusus turned his head downward, as if toward the dungeon.

  “A handful of the bandits we caught with Barabbas are still alive. Once the crowd has made its decision, wait an hour or so to let them disperse; then pick two of the prisoners and crucify them along with this prophet. That should send a clear enough signal.”

  Chapter 50

  A few minutes later, a courier rushed into the office and handed Pilate a note. The governor read it and then immediately strode out with Publius and Volusus in tow. Since no one had spoken to me, I took the opportunity to slip back up to our room and rejoin the others.

  The palace woman was waiting for me at the base of the stairs. I had become so engrossed in the conversation I had just overheard that I had completely forgotten about her.

  We jogged up the steps, and as the servant opened the door, I saw that Markowitz was awake, though a bit groggy and suffering from the effects of a hangover.

  “Can you get that servant to bring us some coffee?” he grumbled.

  “Sure,” Lavon laughed, “you’ll only need to wait eight hundred years.”

  Coffee, as it turns out, didn’t appear in the historical record until the ninth century.

  Markowitz made a barely audible grunt while I introduced the woman to the others. Naomi examined us with the trained eye of a practiced courtesan. Then she stepped over to the bed and began to remove her clothes.

  I hadn’t expected this – at least not yet.

  “Tell her to stop,” I said to Lavon.

  He did so, and we were all surprised by her puzzled reaction.

  “You don’t like women?” she asked.

  We all laughed after Lavon translated.

  “Of course we like women,” I said. “Only women, we must emphasize.”

  I, for one, wanted no confusion on that point.

  Lavon told her what I had said, but she only grew more perplexed.

  “Very well; I am yours all day,” she said.

  I considered this for a moment.

  “Tell her the day is early,” I instructed Lavon. “We have some things we’d like to discuss with her first.”

  That seemed to satisfy her that we were ordinary, red-blooded men. She jostled with her clothes for a minute and then sat down on the bed.

  Lavon sent our servant to fetch some breakfast, both because we were hungry and because we needed to be certain that we weren’t overheard. Once the kid had gone, he asked her what she knew about the Amazon.

  “You know her?” she asked.

  “We serve her father,” said Lavon. “She was taken to the king against our will.”

  I couldn’t help but chime in. As goofy as it sounds now, it seemed like the thing to say.

  “And I have sworn an oath to my God not to enjoy the company of women until we get her back. Surely you understand why this makes our task all the more urgent.”

  At that, she smiled, though her face also reflected concern.

  “I have heard the soldiers talk: the king is smitten. He will never release her.”

  “We know. That’s why we need your help,” said Lavon.

  “We have reason to believe she is being held in the Phasael Tower,” I said.

  “Yes, she is being kept in a chamber at the very top. After her escape, the guards are taking no chances.”

  “How did her face get bruised?” I asked.

  “The tracker caught her sleeping. When he moved to seize her, she screamed and jabbed him in the eye. From what I heard, he punched her and threw her to the ground.”

  So that’s what had happened.

  “Was he punished for this?” I asked.

  “I don’t think so. Herod requires the Bedouin’s services to track down fugitives. The man has never once failed to locate his quarry.”

  “What about the guard she slipped by; the one atop the wall?”

  Her face turned grim. “Herod had him flogged, for dereliction of duty. I think he survived, but I am not certain of this.”

  This was unwelcome news.

  “He has also forbidden wine on the walls.”

  This was even more unwelcome. I explained to the others that Sharon would remain alive as long as she retained the king’s favor. The instant she lost it, she could expect nothing but the worst sort of abuse.

  I suppose one had to be an old soldier to know.

  Sharon’s escape had turned what had been a cushy posting into a tedious chore. The men would now have to endure inspections and drills for months on end, even though everyone, from the king on down, knew that nothing of consequence would happen on those walls for the next decade.

  Lavon frowned; then he turned back to Naomi with a look of newfound urgency. “Will you help us?” he asked.

  “What can I do?”

  “You are aware of secret passageways through the palace, are you not? Tunnels, drains, water conduits – places a person could slip in and out undetected?”

  “Yes, I have been through many passageways that few others know about.”

  “Then you can lead us to her, and show us how to get away once we have rescued her.”

  Her head drooped and she quit smiling. She didn’t say anything for a minute or two; then she glanced up at Lavon, with a sad expression on her face.

  “I cannot,” she said. “I told you: the king is smitten with her. If he discovers my role in her escape, as he surely will, he will have me beaten.”

  She shook her head and shuddered. A woman being thrashed was something she had undoubtedly witnessed, more than once.

  “And if I survived that, Herod would order me sold – to a filthy shepherd’s brothel, or to a squad of soldiers, or worse. I cannot take that chance.”

  No one could argue with her logic, so we spent the next few moments brooding in silence.

  “We understand,” Lavon finally said, “but we can offer you another option. Once Sharon is free, we will go back to our country. You may come with us and live as a free woman, obligated to no one.”

  She sat up straighter, clearly interested.

  “How does your country differ from this one? What can I expect to see in your lands?”

  “Wonders beyond your wildest imagina
tion,” replied Lavon. “If you’d like, you can even fly through the heavens, like a bird.”

  I shot Lavon a dirty look. We’d gain no advantage by pushing things too far.

  “Fly like a bird?” she said.

  Then she began laughing. “You are amusing, Lavonius. What will you say next? That men from your land have walked on the moon?”

  Lavon glanced in my direction and smiled before turning his attention back to Naomi.

  “I am serious,” he said. “If you choose to help our woman escape and return to our country with us, you will not have to worry about earning a living. Her father will reward you, in gold. He is very rich.”

  “How much gold?” she asked.

  Lavon looked around the room and finally pointed to the water jug, which looked like it held a couple of gallons.

  “Do you see that jug?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Fill it with gold; it will all be yours.”

  Her eyes lit up for a moment, but then I could see her grow skeptical. Whatever that amounted to in modern US dollars – roughly $5 million, I learned later – I knew Sharon’s old man had it. But once again, Lavon seemed to be overselling our case.

  Naomi sat quietly on the bed, considering her options.

  “I can’t believe she doesn’t jump at the chance,” said Bryson.

  From the modern perspective, the Professor might have been right, but as I thought about it, her hesitation was understandable.

  Despite her duties, Naomi lived in the palace, while most women of Jerusalem spent their days emptying chamber pots, or standing in line for water and carrying it half a mile, several times a day.

  “You may find it hard to comprehend, but by their standards, she has something to lose,” I said.

  That gave Lavon an idea.

  “Naomi, how long have you lived in the palace?”

  She considered this for a moment. “Fourteen years. Azariah bought me when I was eleven.”

  “So you are twenty-five years old?”

  “Yes.”

  “What will you do when you get older?” he asked.

  She paused to think. “I will oversee the palace women, when I am too old to serve men directly.”