Resting his head back on the wide girthed olive tree, Hanan closed his eyes and relaxed. He was almost asleep when the sound of a rock bumping another rock came from his right side. Hurling himself away from the base of the tree, Hanan swung onto his feet and crouched ready to defend himself as Yosef had taught him.
A dark-haired boy stood facing him dressed in a clean but old tunic. They appeared to both be the same age, but the newcomer stood slightly shorter.
“I’m sorry... I didn’t see you until I walked around the tree.” The unknown boy backed several steps before halting.
Hanan calmed but felt his heart still pounding against his chest. He glanced in the watchtower’s direction and realized the men may have seen him jump and would come to ensure his safety.
“Here,” Hanan said, motioning to the far side of the tree. “Sit with me so the watchmen don’t see you.”
The sun had set further on the horizon and pale shadows were spreading across the field.
“Thank you,” the boy said, seemingly unconcerned about the men as he took a seat against the olive tree. “My name is Yeshua. Is this your orchard?”
Shaking his head, Hanan grinned as he sat beside him. “I wish I owned these trees, but they belong to my uncle. Don’t you know there are men in the watchtower who will chase you away if they see you in this field?”
“I meant no harm. I was talking with my Father and turned the wrong way to go home.”
A puzzled look crossed Hanan’s face as he glanced about the orchard. No one else was in sight. He shrugged it off, believing Yeshua may have kept walking after earlier leaving his father.
They talked as boys of twelve do, discussing their lives, likes and dislikes, exchanging information which seemed of no true importance. But to Hanan, though, everything his new friend said was important. Micah had taught him well to pay heed to the slightest detail that composed a larger story about a person, information that may later be used to obtain a future business contract or protection from them. Hanan realized they were of separate worlds. Yeshua held a purity of thought, a wisdom of sorts yet seemed innocent to life’s harsh realities while it had forced Hanan to grow old working with Johanna in the brothels.
Shame raced through him at having been with her the times she left the sinners’ unwanted in the wilderness. Few nights passed without Hanan recalling the newborns’ frantic cries that only summoned wolves, jackals, and hyenas. Regardless of Johanna’s explanations about death being better for them than starving on the street, in time he refused to accompany her past the city’s limits.
Hanan sat wrapped within his thoughts when Yeshua abruptly said goodbye and left. A minute passed before Hanan’s mind cleared. He glanced about the orchard and saw how dim the dusk had become. Rising from his tree, he walked toward the watchtower and the path leading home.
***
Men’s voices carried from the courtyard of the palatial house as Hanan washed himself clean in preparation to eat. In the cooking room he lit several oil lamps and found food the servants, Elizabeth and Benjamin, had left for him. He sat by a window that allowed him to listen to Micah and the unknown visitors while he ate.
“What’s his name again?” Micah asked, his tone flat and stern.
“Elias ben Nagar, a minor Sanhedrin priest of the temple in the twentieth course of Jehezkel. We confirmed that he is retained by the Roman Prefect Coponius as a spy. Passes along information about other priests and any Jews he believes that may rebel against Roman rule,” a deep-voiced man replied. “If someone wrongs him, he doesn’t mind reporting them as Zealots for the Romans to question.”
Other men said more, but they kept their voices low and Hanan couldn’t fully understand all of their conversation.
“And the woman?” Hanan recognized Yosef’s voice.
“The Romans have a prostitute in Jerusalem they pay for Elias’ use. We’ve heard he wants to marry her, but temple laws prohibit such marriages,” a new man answered; his voice light in tone with a slight northern country accent.
“What are you thinking, Micah?” Yosef asked. “Wait and kill him when he goes to the woman?”
A long silence passed before Hanan heard Micah speak.
“No, she would have to be killed if we waited. She could identify our men. We may later use her against the Romans. I think it’s best to take the priest during the Passover Festival. Kill him while he’s in the middle of the crowd then blend with the masses to escape. The woman can’t expose us, and the Romans will have no one in particular to suspect.”
More talk passed in low voices then the visitors left. Hanan finished his meal, washed his cup and bowl, and put them away.
Micah and Yosef entered the cooking area. “Did you hear?” Micah asked, gazing at Hanan.
The boy nodded impassively.
“We will go to the Passover Festival in Jerusalem next week. While we are there, you will assist Yosef while I attend to several contracts. After the festival we may stay an additional week.”
Hanan let his gaze drift from Micah to Yosef. “Yes, sir.”
Micah warmly smiled. “Your studies have been going well. Yosef believes you are ready to expand your training with him. I agree. We’ll talk more tomorrow, but for now, prepare for bed. Be sure your prayers are given.”
Hanan was elated at Micah’s compliment and the coming opportunity to begin his next level of training. He couldn’t restrain his smile.
“Yes, sir... Thank you.”
Chapter Five
Settled in the Judean Mountains between the Mediterranean Sea and the Dead Sea, Jerusalem was an old city, actually older that many in surrounding countries. Considered a holy site, Jerusalem had endured the ages, although, every conquering army renamed it to their pleasure. Canaanites, Egyptians, Assyrians, Persians, Macedonian’s, and Jewish kings had at one time dictated its fate. But now with the Roman empire occupying the country, and like all past victors of war, they chose their own name; Jerusalem, transliterated from the Greek and Latin name of Hierosolyma.
Previous wars had destroyed Jerusalem, yet through different political turn of events the city had always been rebuilt. Herod the Great, to appease the Jews for his having constructed gladiatorial rings and pagan temples, was having the Second Temple erected and expanded over the original site of King Solomon’s destroyed temple. Almost complete, the Second Temple was an architectural marvel both inside and out, declaring itself once again to be the true religious center for the Hebrew faith, one the Sadducees attempted to govern through the Sanhedrin priesthood. The temple’s massive stone walls rose high into the air and stretched its sprawling rectangular shape across the land, devouring a majority of the city. Within the walls lived workers to clean the temple, and Levites who acted as priestly assistants. More than a thousand priests divided into courses, the divisions to daily maintain the temple’s religious needs, were housed there. Attached to the temple’s northwest corner by parapet walkways was the Antonia Fortress, an equally large Roman fort with a residence for the Prefect, the governor, if he wished during the major festivals, and a regular garrison of legionnaires assigned to Jerusalem.
The city’s population throughout the year was no less than forty thousand, yet during the days of festivals, especially Passover, the streets overflowed with thousands more from across the country. In the congested streets the faithful brushed and bumped shoulders with one another as they walked. Upon arrival Hanan, Micah, and Yosef were thrust into the masses and struggled to make their way to the small house Micah owned near the temple.
“Tomorrow will be worse with even more people arriving,” Micah had said before they retired for the night.
Hanan had never seen such maddening crowds and high levels of activity even in Caesarea during the Gentile’s pagan holidays and temple worship. Laying on his bed in the second-floor room, he listened to the din of laughter, talk and boisterous s
inging out in the city. The hour was late yet Hanan’s mind refused to allow him to sleep, running rampant with thoughts of all he’d seen that day, and the important mission to come. The last thing Hanan wanted to do was fail and disappoint his uncles.
“The man we seek is a corrupt Sanhedrin priest,” Micah had said during their journey to Jerusalem. “He has grown evil and hurts our people. He’s turned from the Laws of Moses and defiles the house of Elohim. For these things he must feel the blade of our Sica and know Elohim’s justice.”
“Will it be my blade?” Hanan asked, reaching beneath his robe to the small of his back where Yosef taught him to carry his Sica.
“No, another man will act. Your time will come. For now, you’re only to be my eyes and ears when we serve justice. I must know the mission is complete and the priest is dead.”
Hanan turned on his bed and pulled a blanket over him. With Micah’s words replaying in his mind, the twelve-year-old boy closed his eyes.
***
The rooster crowed mere seconds before the first trumpet blast blared across the city with the strength of the voice of Elohim.
Hanan leaped from his bed and stood in his loincloth, anxiously looking about the room. At the window Yosef leaned on the sill, watching the crowds in the street. He glanced back at Hanan and grinned.
“Did you believe the world was ending?” He laughed. “It’s only the temple priests awakening the city for the start of the day,” he said, turning back to gaze at the people in the street below that rose from their blankets. “They sound three blasts from long, silver trumpets every morning.”
Walking to him, Hanan leaned on the windowsill to stare out at the faint blush of dawn’s light.
“See the man standing atop the temple wall? He signals the trumpeters when to sound their horns,” Yosef said, watching the priest slowly raise his arms twice more.
The trumpets sounded with clarity, each forceful blast cutting the morning air. When they silenced, the clamor of the street people rose and settled into a consistent level of noise.
“Is that all the priests do to begin the day?” Hanan’s question came with such blamelessness that Yosef chuckled.
“No. Right now several hundred workers and Sanhedrin priests of all ranks are hurrying about performing different tasks. Before the massive temple doors swing open, the temple is inspected, cleaned, and prepared to receive the travelers. Large fire pits will be lit, and a lamb is placed on the north side of one of the many altars, watered from a golden bowl then laid upon the altar as tradition described the binding of Isaac with its face to the west. The priests stand on the east side and once they slash its throat, the manner in which the lamb’s blood flows marks the difference between whether the lamb will be an ordinary sacrifice or one to be wholly consumed.”
“Why is there a difference?”
Yosef shook his head and laughed. “I suppose it depends on how hungry the priests’ families are... In time you will understand how corruption within the Sanhedrin comes in many forms.” He straightened from the windowsill and ruffled the boy’s brown hair. “The servants are waiting for you. Wash and break your fast. We have much to do today.”
Hanan walked to his bed to dress in his normal tunic and robe made of good quality, but Yosef stopped him.
“No, today you are to be a poor shepherd boy and must dress accordingly.” Having spoken, Yosef walked to a pile of old, but clean clothes folded in a corner. “Wear these.”
***
While Micah and Yosef waited for Hanan to finish eating, they stood outside the house discussing their plans for the day. Micah wore quality sandals and a fine, knee-length blue tunic girdled with a wide rope belt. An expensive white robe covered the tunic, and a large leather bag draped from his left shoulder. Yosef stood dressed in old sandals, rough cloth tunic, and a patched, long, cream-colored robe of a shepherd. They appeared no different from any other master and servant within the throng of passersby.
“Well, boy, where are your sheep? Have you lost your flock?” Micah asked as if not recognizing his young ward wearing the ragged sandals, tunic and tan robe of a shepherd boy.
Hanan walked out of the house and stood by them, smiling at Yosef’s slow nod of approval. Yosef settled a keffiyeh on his head and made adjustments to let the cloth hang about his shoulders.
Holding his own out to Yosef, Hanan shook his head. “I need your help to put this on.”
Micah smiled, glad to see how close the two had become. He reached out before Yosef did, took the headdress and eased it onto Hanan, covering his brown hair, wrapping the cloth, and curling parts into rolls about the boy’s head. The excess length draped from his neck and hung freely. Gazing at the boy, Micah reached down and scooped dirt into his hand and smeared it over the top of Hanan’s headdress and robe, then dusted the excess off.
“There. Now you look like a thousand other boys here in Jerusalem,” Micah said. “Listen well, Hanan. I will conduct business today in the wine shop of Mohamed al Ibrahim while I wait for your report. This mission may take all day or be delayed. We cannot hurry such things. Pay attention to Yosef and do as he orders. Whatever the outcome may be, find me at the wine shop. If I am talking to someone and the mission is successful, ask me for a coin for the temple. If the mission is unsuccessful, ask me if I wish to buy a lamb for the temple. After that, make your way home. Do you understand?”
Hanan’s eyes narrowed as he placed the words into memory. “Yes, sir.”
Patting the boy’s shoulder, Micah nodded confidently to Yosef and walked out into the street to join the flow of people.
“When we get to the temple, find a spot along the edge of the steps to sit and watch the area. I’m to meet a man there who will tell me if the priest Elias is coming out of the temple today. If the priest does, I will point him out. All you are to do is follow him and be observant. Don’t worry, I’ll never be far from you. When the assassin strikes, just stay back and watch to see if the priest lives or dies. Then go report to Micah as he told you.”
“Are you supposed to—”
Yosef adamantly shook his head. “Never ask such questions. In this organization, people only know what they need to know and nothing more. The assassin will strike when the time is best. Your job is only to be Micah’s eyes and ears and report all to him.”
The boy’s green eyes displayed a mixture of excitement and apprehension. He tried to speak but his mouth was parched. All he could manage was a nod.
***
At the temple Hanan found a location along its front steps and sat waiting while Yosef went to the far side of the wide steps. The stream of people in and out of the temple made it difficult to keep watch on Yosef so Hanan rose to his feet.
Looking up the boy observed Roman archers patrolling the tops of the temple walls, monitoring the movement of the massive crowds in the streets. He returned his attention to Yosef and watched a beggar hold a bowl out then they talked. After the beggar left, Yosef nodded across the way to Hanan. An hour passed, then another.
As Hanan was thinking the corrupt priest wouldn’t appear today, a priest in a simple gray robe and cloth draped headdress bearing no designs to denote rank, strode out of the temple, eyes squinting against the sunlight. From his left shoulder hung a large pouch as most men wore of varying design. Yosef raised a hand for Hanan to see, then motioned to the priest Elias. Receiving an acknowledgement, Yosef backed away to blend into the crowd.
Elias was short compared to the others about him. A narrow streak of black beard along his jaws outlined his gaunt face. He walked down the temple steps and into the flowing crowd like an angry man. It was as if the people were fierce waves crashing onto a beach and he was fighting the strong tide to enter the sea. At first, he fell back. Frustration appeared on his face, but he edged his way into the mass of festival goers. The deeper the priest walked into the crowd, the more he was enveloped by t
he bodies pressed about him.
Hanan was tall for his age, but the festival goers blocked his view of the priest for several seconds until he could draw near. He struggled to keep pace with the agitated man who shoved people back when they bumped against him. There were moments when a gap appeared, large enough to see Elias’ gray robe that contrasted dramatically against the desert-colored robes of the poor. Then the next second, the priest was out of sight. Hanan never looked back for Yosef. He was afraid if he did, when he turned again, the priest would vanish forever.
Movement along the street was slow but steady. Hanan caught sight of a skinny, dirty-faced boy move closer and attempt to reach into the priest’s bag. The priest felt the pull and spun, knocking the boy’s hand away. When the crowd pressed forward again, the boy bent and slipped between the bodies.
Keeping pace with the priest as best Hanan could, they continued down the street. Another boy, his head loosely draped with a ragged shawl, tried to reach into the priest’s shoulder bag but again, the priest felt the pull and grabbed at the would-be thief. The head covering came off into the priest’s hand. The boy fled, bent and moving between the people, leaving the priest holding only the shawl. Anger painted Elias’ face. He threw the shawl to the ground, shook his head and started back along the street.
Hanan felt himself being shoved closer to the priest and tried to move aside to avoid contact. His effort was useless and as the throng ebbed toward Elias, Hanan was almost picked up and carried forward. He lost balance and stumbled toward the priest’s left side, bumping the handbag.
Primed for action, Elias waited for the next person’s attempt to steal from his shoulder bag. He spun, eyes wide with fury, lips curled as he spoke. But the surrounding people’s din of talk made the priest’s words difficult to understand. The priest bent forward and grabbed the stunned shepherd boy by both shoulders, fingers digging deep into flesh. He shook him hard then released his hold of the shepherd boy’s right arm to raise a hand and strike him.
The Daggerman Page 5