The Third Day

by David Epperson

  Some guys get all the breaks.

  But I shouldn’t complain. We only had to remain still for a quarter hour before the two love-birds returned.

  Lavon lifted the foul-smelling refuse off the top of my basket and whispered the all-clear, while Naomi did the same with the Professor and Markowitz.

  “Follow me,” said Lavon, “and keep your mouths shut.”

  We scrambled around the corner and slid through an open doorway, pausing to let our eyes adjust to the low light. After a few seconds, Naomi stepped into the lead, and Lavon drifted back to ensure that no stragglers remained behind.

  We hadn’t gone far when we passed into a narrow tunnel. As soon as all of us were inside, Lavon reached back and pulled a recessed handle, closing the door and plunging us into darkness.

  We stood still for a brief moment, waiting – in vain this time – for our eyes to adjust. Then we crept forward.

  We had gone about a hundred paces when Naomi stopped to explain.

  “I have worked here,” she said.

  As it happened, the madam who supervised the palace entertainers ran a thriving sideline supplying women to the Upper City’s most exclusive brothel, conveniently located at the terminus of a neglected escape tunnel the first Herod had dug over half a century before.

  Naomi sounded surprisingly positive about it, too. In contrast to their labors in the palace, these extracurricular duties were voluntary, and the women were permitted to keep a quarter of what they were paid. One had even managed to save enough to buy her own freedom, though what she had done afterward, Naomi didn’t know.

  Now the charade by the baskets made perfect sense. Had they been caught, Lavon could have passed for yet another satisfied customer.

  I was about to ask where this particular tunnel led when I heard voices in my earpiece. Lavon heard them too. He listened for a moment and then handed the device to Naomi.

  “What’s happening?” said Bryson.

  “Shh,” I whispered.

  Naomi translated the Aramaic into Greek when the conversation paused. Like the discussion in Pilate’s office, I will never forget the exact words she related to us.

  Chapter 53

  Herod spoke first. “Azariah, I commend you. Her eye is healing nicely. By tomorrow evening, no Roman will be able to say that I have to flog my women into submission.”

  “She is truly a unique specimen, my lord. It is a shame she cannot speak a word of our language.”

  “She knows no Aramaic?” asked the king.

  “Nor Greek, I’m afraid.”

  “Latin?”

  “A word or two at most.”

  Herod shrugged off this complication.

  “Well, it is of no importance. To carry out her responsibilities, she will not need to talk. The others chatter too much anyway.”

  The courtiers in the room laughed, and one of them cracked a joke Naomi didn’t bother to translate.

  For the next few minutes, we heard nothing but idle gossip. But then I could hear the approaching sound of marching feet.

  “About half a dozen, I’d guess,” I whispered to Lavon.

  The soldiers halted some distance away. One of their number broke off and came closer. He came to attention and saluted – I’d recognize that sound anywhere – and then I heard some brief shuffling before the man saluted once more and backed away.

  Nothing happened for a minute or two. Then we heard a voice.

  “It appears that Pilate is sending us a prisoner, my lord,” said Azariah.

  I heard a brief grunt. Whatever was happening, the monarch didn’t like it.

  “Despite holding the title of prefect, Pilate is only of the Roman equestrian order,” said Herod. “Yet he, a mere knight, presumes to tell a crowned king how to handle our affairs.”

  From what Naomi said, this was a familiar complaint.

  “A most lamentable circumstance,” said Azariah.

  A brief period of silence followed.

  Finally, Herod spoke again. “Well, who is this prisoner?”

  “The message says that it is the Nazarene.”

  “The Nazarene?”

  “The same, my lord. He is a Galilean, so Pilate is sending him to us.”

  We heard another grunt. Herod did not welcome this news.

  “Just what I would expect. He fears a riot, and if one does occur, he wants someone else to bear the responsibility.”

  “Yes, my lord. That is how I see it, too.”

  As did I, though I regretted that we would never have the chance to find out whether Publius or Volusus had planted this idea in the governor’s head or if Pilate had thought of it himself. Both struck me as plausible.

  “How was he caught?” asked Herod.

  “Apparently, one of his followers saw the light.”

  “No doubt reflected off some silver,” grumbled Herod. “Who arrested him: the Romans or the Temple police?”

  “I don’t know. Whatever happened, though, he ended up in the hands of Pilate, who will crucify him; of that we can be certain.”

  “Yes, but Pilate is afraid that his followers will cause a disturbance, like, um, what’s his name –”

  “Barabbas,” said Azariah.

  “Yes, Barabbas. Pilate will not want to write a dispatch to the Emperor explaining why he could not keep order, so he seeks a way to blame any problems that might arise on me. Perhaps the Romans will use this as an excuse to remove a portion of Galilee from my jurisdiction as well, and keep its revenues for themselves.”

  “That may be their intention.”

  After last night’s shindig, I could feel Herod’s concern. From my limited observations, the king didn’t seem like the type who troubled himself much with budgets.

  “What do you suggest?” Herod finally asked.

  Azariah didn’t have a ready answer. Like all courtiers caught in such circumstances, he seemed to be stalling for time.

  “You wanted to see him, my lord, did you not?” he finally said. “Perhaps he can work some sign.”

  “You’re certain this is not the Baptist?”

  “Positive, my lord. He and the Baptist are distinct individuals, though they are cousins, which would explain the resemblance.”

  “That man tormented me to no end. I could not have let him live and kept my dignity.”

  “No, my lord. You only did what had to be done.”

  Another pause.

  “Well, bring him in.”

  I heard the sound of shuffling feet and metal dragging across the floor, as if soldiers were leading a prisoner bound by a heavy chain.

  No one said anything at first. I suppose the king was examining whether the prisoner’s physical appearance matched what he had expected to see.

  Finally, Herod spoke. “I hear you are a miracle worker.”

  The man did not respond.

  “The Romans have sent you to me. Show me a sign, and I can set you free.”

  Again, silence; and sign or no sign, this was almost certainly a lie; unless Pilate had some new scheme up his sleeve that he hadn’t mentioned before.

  Herod made the request again, and I could tell that he was becoming irritated. The prisoner, though, never uttered a word.

  A little later, one of the retainers made a crack, but neither the king nor Azariah said anything in response. Then, finally, we heard a loud cry.

  In English.

  “Oh my God!”

  Sharon’s breaths came rapidly. “Oh my God! My Lord!”

  “What’s this?” I heard Herod say.

  “Oh my Lord! My God!” she repeated.

  Whatever Sharon was doing, the king didn’t care for it much.

  “How does this one know the prisoner?” he barked. “I thought you said she cannot speak our language.”

  “She cannot,” said Azariah. “I am absolutely certain of this.”

  “Yet she grovels before him as if he were a king, and not me. Look at her! She is afraid even to look into his eyes.”

&
nbsp; “I cannot explain it, my lord.”

  I could feel the tension from our hiding place in the tunnel, though I suppose that was because my own stomach was turning in knots.

  Nothing happened for a few moments. Then we heard Azariah bark an order and several pairs of feet trotted off.

  They returned shortly, and after the next few words, we needed little imagination to visualize what was beginning to happen.

  “As you know, some call him King of the Jews,” said Azariah.

  “So,” Herod groused.

  “Well, then,” said Azariah, “if he is a king, we also must honor him.”

  I heard a loud guffaw from a distant courtier, but for the moment, the others kept silent. Like parasitic sycophants everywhere, Herod’s entourage waited to see which was the safe side.

  The king himself said nothing for a brief instant, but then he, too, burst into laughter. “Yes, yes; you are correct. We must all bow before our new master.”

  At this, the floodgates opened.

  “A monarch must have a scepter, and a crown,” said one of the retainers.

  I heard footsteps recede into the distance and return shortly thereafter. After a short interval, whoever it was must have been satisfied with his handiwork.

  “All hail, King of the Jews,” I heard him declare.

  “All hail,” shouted other retainers.

  One even came forward with a bucket of water, with the excess sloshing over the side.

  “We have run out of wine,” he said. “If it’s not too much trouble, we’d like you to make us some.”

  “Hear, hear,” said another.

  Then a woman’s voice burst out. “I will prostrate myself before my lord, just like the Amazon here.”

  We could hear her throw herself to the ground.

  “All hail, my lord and master” she said. “We celebrate your visit.”

  Two other women joined her, and the mockery continued until the courtiers finally began to grow bored.

  “What do you recommend that we do with him now?” Herod asked as the chamber fell quiet.

  “Send him back to Pilate,” said Azariah. “Tell him we have paid homage to our king. He must now do the same.”

  Laughter echoed through the room as guards led the prisoner away. We learned later that Herod then walked over to a prostrate Sharon and gave her a vicious kick in the side before launching into a couple of obscene hip thrusts.

  “She wants a lord,” we heard him say. “Now, I will go to the baths. When I return, we will have a small festival, and I will show her who is lord around here.”

  Chapter 54

  I felt that old familiar sense of dread. In the parlance of my instructors at the Army War College, our plan, such as it was, had been “overtaken by events.” I could only be thankful that the king had not assaulted her on the spot.

  Lavon and Naomi whispered briefly amongst themselves as they considered our new situation.

  “They must bathe her also,” she finally announced.

  Apparently, Herod had a fetish for cleanliness.

  “Where?” I asked. “Will they take her back to the tower?”

  She considered this briefly and then said no.

  Sharon’s preparation would require two to three hours. Given the king’s newfound impatience, the attendants would not want to delay matters further by escorting her all the way back to the opposite end of the palace. Instead, they’d prepare her in the baths under the women’s dormitory, under heavy guard.

  I started to ask whether we’d be able to intercept her party, but Naomi was already thinking several steps ahead.

  “Follow me,” she ordered.

  Since it was still almost pitch-black, we crept slowly down the tunnel until I could make out a dim light about thirty yards away. We paused. She and Lavon whispered again, and then she motioned us forward once more.

  At that point, the tunnel broadened out and intersected what appeared to be a regularly used corridor, complete with ventilation shafts leading to the lawn above. These admitted a faint hint of the morning sunlight, so we could finally see exactly where we were going.

  Naomi stepped into the corridor and looked both ways. Seeing and hearing no one, she directed Lavon to cross over to the other side and to back himself into a small indentation, a relic from a section of tunnel that had been bricked up years before.

  After he was securely ensconced in his hiding place, she stripped completely and tossed me her undergarments, which I then passed back to Bryson. Then, she draped her robe back over her olive skin in a loose and provocative manner.

  I glanced across the corridor to Lavon and quickly got the picture. He held a leather sap – an item he picked up at the bordello while I squatted in that basket – and pointed to my leg. I nodded and unstrapped the gladius, motioning for Bryson and Markowitz to take a few steps farther back.

  We waited quietly until we heard footsteps approaching. When they had come within about twenty feet of our position, Naomi tugged on her robe to reveal more of her ample cleavage. Then she staggered into the corridor.

  The girl could have won an Oscar.

  She gasped as she saw the soldiers and immediately yanked up her robe to cover her breasts. She blinked both eyes twice, signaling to us how many opponents we faced. Then, she began to ease herself backwards, as if she wanted to make a run for the baths but didn’t dare to turn her back on these strange men.

  The first of the guards took three quick steps forward. Apparently, he was unable to resist an opportunity to ravish a stray lamb before returning her to the fold. The other man, a bit more senior, rushed up and barked an order – no doubt telling the kid that they had a job to do and had better be getting on with it.

  Those were the last words he spoke. Lavon swung the leather sap and caught him squarely on the back of the head. The soldier, who wore no helmet, crumpled without a word.

  Before his young comrade could react, I held the point of my sword to his throat, while Bryson, per my instructions, managed to jam my last ampoule of Sufentanil into a vein in his foot.

  He collapsed without a peep. More importantly, neither man left a drop of blood.

  I lowered my gladius and turned to face Sharon, who stood, frozen, as if her mind had not yet comprehended what her eyes were telling her.

  When it did, she rushed forward, threw her arms around me, and squeezed as if she were holding on for dear life.

  I held her as long as I thought prudent, though we really did need to move on.

  And I wasn’t the only one to share that thought.

  “We’re not yet out of danger,” Lavon insisted.

  I gently pulled away. I continued to clasp Sharon’s shoulders with my hands, although by then, she scarcely seemed to notice.

  Instead, her initial shock at encountering us in such an unexpected spot had been replaced with an odd, almost beatific, radiance that made me wonder whether she had been drugged.

  “I have seen him,” she said.

  “Seen wh –”

  I cut myself short as I realized the obvious.

  “I have seen him,” she repeated, more insistently this time.

  I glanced over to Lavon, hoping he’d have an answer to this unexpected complication.

  I took a half-step sideways as he shook her gently and spoke.

  “Sharon, we’re not home yet. Until we get there, we are all in great peril. Do you want to go back to Herod?”

  She didn’t respond for a few seconds, but the mention of the king’s name snapped her out of her reverie.

  “I’ll never go back to that monster,” she said.

  I took her hand and led her forward. “Then let’s do what we must to ensure that doesn’t happen.”

  She didn’t say anything, so after a brief moment, I halted and repeated Lavon’s question.

  “Are you with us, Sharon?” I asked.

  Finally, to our great relief, she answered as though she meant it.

  ***

  “K
eep ‘em busy,” is a proven technique I learned in the Army to divert upset soldiers from troublesome thoughts, but as I turned around to look for a task I could assign Sharon, I only saw a visibly agitated Naomi.

  By now, she had put her clothes back on. She whispered, insistently, to Lavon while she gestured for Markowitz and Bryson to pull the two unconscious guards back out of the tunnel through which we had come and to lay them in the corridor.

  They looked at me in confusion, but I directed them to comply with her wishes.

  Once they had done so, Lavon instructed Bryson to help him carry one of guards while Markowitz and I toted the other.

  “Don’t let their clothing drag the ground,” he ordered.

  We carried both men about a hundred feet until we arrived at a storage closet. From the dust patterns around the door, I could see that it received regular, but infrequent, use.

  I glanced over to Naomi and smiled, nodding my approval at both her choice of disposal site and the remarkable stroke of good fortune that had brought us together. She smiled back, though her worried expression didn’t entirely go away.

  The others stood out of our way as Lavon and I carried the first man inside and laid him on a stack of what appeared to be scrap lumber. We came back out and repeated the drill with the second man.

  This time, though, Naomi blocked our exit.

  I knew immediately what she wanted. Without saying a word, I unwrapped the cloth belt around my outer robe and signaled for Lavon to do the same.

  The archaeologist wasn’t slow on the uptake. He started to protest, but he could see that her eyes had hardened.

  “No blood,” was her only comment.

  “I don’t like it either,” I said.

  And I truly didn’t; but we couldn’t take the chance that one of these people would wake up unexpectedly. Some things just had to be done.

  We each wound a cloth strip around our man’s neck in the manner of a tourniquet. I counted off several minutes and then checked each soldier for pulse or breathing. Sensing none, I signaled for Lavon to move on.

  Once we had rejoined the others, Naomi explained that leaving evidence that Herod could trace to the tunnel could have devastating consequences for the girls left behind, though personally, I think her motivations ran deeper.