Holy Smoke: A Jerusalem Mystery

by Frederick Ramsay

  “Do you suppose that is important?”

  “Who knows what he thinks is important?”

  “Perhaps he waits for instruction and none comes, so he stays on the last task assigned,”

  “An interesting thought, Rabban. You amaze me. How did you figure that out?”

  “I merely guessed at—not deduced—one possible solution. It may also be that he has something specific in mind that can only be accomplished at a certain time, or place, or circumstance.”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe he wishes to cut my throat and a busy street would allow his escape. Maybe it is your throat he covets, Loukas.”

  “I do not find this line either comforting or reassuring. I prefer your original idea—he has nothing better to do.”

  “Then so be it. Pause at this jeweler’s shop while I walk on and see what he does. I will wait for you around the corner.”

  “Shall I accost him?”

  “No, we have had that pleasure once this week already. All it will accomplish is to create another substitute. Let’s stay with the one we know. Here is the shop.”

  Loukas turned into the shop and Gamaliel continued down the street to the corner. Their shadow hesitated and then continued following him, glancing quickly into the shop, and then as quickly averting his gaze. Loukas waited until he felt sure the stalker had moved far enough along the street and then started out the door to catch up with Gamaliel. That was when he noticed the second man—another follower it seemed. Following whom? Gamaliel or the man wearing the “ridiculous headdress?” He waited another beat and then he took up a position behind the newest member of this growing parade. Were they all going to the herbalists? What could possibly warrant such attention?

  An amused Gamaliel waited for him around the corner. The first of their entourage stood on the opposite side of the street feigning nonchalance by inspecting his nails. A bit farther down the street and better hidden, the other man fondled some fabric at a stall.

  “This is turning into to be a Greek farce, Rabban. Did you know we now have two followers?”

  “Two? No. Where?”

  “The man at the cloth peddler’s booth is on our trail as well.”

  “Is he really?” Gamaliel glanced toward the man in question. “He looks vaguely familiar, somehow.”

  “His back is to me now. How familiar?”

  “You know how it is. You are introduced to someone and later, maybe much later, they cross your path but they are not wearing the same headdress, or the hair is not the color you remember, or the salient feature that registered with you when you first met is no longer there?”

  “Yes, of course. And you think you may have seen such a person?”

  “I am not sure. It was a passing thought. We should be off. If the oaf who has been following us does not know by now we have uncovered him, I daresay he can pose no real threat. Let him follow. Should we invite him to walk with us?”

  “Do you think he would accept? If we do that, shouldn’t we ask the other man as well?”

  “This is becoming much too complex. Just wave to the first one to dispel any lingering doubts he may harbor about his invisibility and then let us be on our way. How’s your cough, by the way?’

  “Better.” Loukas waved an open palm at the man across the street. “There, you see, now he realizes that we have tumbled to his presence and does not know what to do. This trip is moving more and more toward comedy.”

  “Except that it has all been prompted by a dead man who is or is not an apothecary and, according to you, was or was not dead when he entered the Holy of Holies and has put this all into motion. Besides, the first man and the other are both carrying daggers under their tunics.”

  “You saw them?”

  “Not them, the bulges they make. What else could they be?”

  The two set off with one very confused and another very determined follower in their wake. The streets were crowded, and they both had difficulty keeping up, a situation made more difficult by the deliberate bobbing and weaving Loukas and Gamaliel did as they made their way down into the Souk.

  At the entrance to the Street of the Herbalist, they were brought short by a crowd of people. Thick smoke billowed from one to the shops.

  “That is not your ‘holy smoke,’ I don’t think.”

  Gamaliel frowned and squinted his eyes against its sting. “No, it is not but I fear it has one thing in common with it.”

  “Sorry, you’ve lost me again.” Loukas also peered in the direction of the smoke. A few flames flickered here and there, but the fire seemed nearly spent.

  “Burning flesh, Loukas. You can’t mistake it if you smell it once. Someone or something has been incinerated in that fire. This cannot be good.”

  He elbowed his way through the crowd with Loukas in his wake. An official-appearing person stood to one side of the smoldering shop asking questions. He challenged Gamaliel when he shouldered his way up front.

  Gamaliel told him who he was and why he was there. It was then he discovered that the shop was the one called Hannah and that a body so badly burned as to be unidentifiable lay in the ashes. Presumably this would be the man who used the name. It was very confusing. Why not call the shop by one’s own name?

  “It appears we are at a dead end,” Loukas said.

  “Really? I am not so sure. By the way, our followers have both disappeared. Now what do you suppose that means?”

  “Either we are no longer interesting to them, or they are fearful of the authorities milling around here.”

  “Or they have completed their task. Are you sure the second man followed us?”

  Loukas shrugged. “How else?”

  “Might he have been following the follower?”

  “Of course, that is a possibility, but to what end?”

  “I have no answer for that, but more interesting is why did he remind me of someone I knew? We should leave here and find some shade in your back court and think about this turn of events.”

  Gamaliel paused, then bent and studied the body. He picked up a stick that had somehow escaped the fire and poked at the burnt flesh. He lifted the man’s hands and grunted. He straightened and smiled at Loukas.

  “Bitumen, if I am not mistaken. Another murder. Now, perhaps you will find more of your very fine wine, which will sharpen our wits as we consider this latest addition to the growing number of corpses our investigation seems to have spawned.”

  “We are responsible for this, you think?”

  “Possibly—or not.”

  Chapter XIX

  Inside the city’s walls the streets teemed with people hurrying this way and that, busy with important matters, or so they thought. Buildings embellished with gold and silver, marble and alabaster, soared skyward and at their center, Herod’s contribution to Jerusalem’s glory—the Temple. Outside the walls, Jerusalem presented a different face to the world. The pace slower, movement less purposeful, and buildings modestly reflecting their inhabitants. Gamaliel, who’d never lived anywhere but inside the walls, found his visits to Loukas almost therapeutic. He would not admit that to his host as the code of urban living insisted that in every respect inside the walls was superior to any alternative, anywhere, and most particularly outside the walls. Loukas poured the wine and sat opposite, waiting.

  “I think we need to begin at the beginning,” Gamaliel mused.

  “Very well, a body is found in the Temple—”

  “No, not that part. We have discussed that ad nauseam. The part before that—a person persuades two, at least two, guards to accept a bribe and permit someone or more people entry into the Holy Place. We stipulate that they planned to carry in a corpse. Presumably those corrupt guards received enough coin to enable them to pick up and leave the area if they had to, or they were paid a pittance, but were led to believe the activity they agreed to ignore was trivial, no more than a practical joke. Later, when the awfulness of the deed became surfaced, they fled, never to b
e heard from again or, more likely, were eliminated before they could protest or speak.”

  “Which, do you suppose?”

  “I believe the latter. I believe their bodies now adorn a dung pile and the chances of finding them are slim to none. Their availability notwithstanding, we must begin there. Second, now that we know the victim was a gentile, we need to discover the connection he or his killers had with Temple protocols. How did they come by faithful replicas of a cup and an incense holder? Who provided them with the information about how things were done? Does this suggest our killers were Jews?”

  “How likely is that, Rabban, given the presumed consequences which must follow such an egregious act of blasphemy?”

  “Indeed. What sort of Jew would willingly risk his life that way? Even a faithless Jew would think twice before tempting the wrath of the Lord, particularly when there are dung hills and wadis aplenty for the disposition of bodies. Also, please note that whoever it might have been, he did not know the complete story—thus the cord on the ankle. Someone truly informed, a kohen would not have used it.”

  “Nor the high priest.”

  “Yes, nor Caiaphas. Good point.”

  “On the other hand, had they not used the cord, we might not have discovered the body for days or weeks until the smell….”

  “And from that we deduce…?”

  “Whoever put it there wanted it found.”

  “Exactly, which brings us full circle. Who wanted it found?”

  “It is a muddle. What you have just laid out is but preamble. The story that follows will be difficult to read.”

  “Loukas, you say it is a story. Maybe yes and maybe no, but you are correct. It will not be easy. It would be useful if we knew who the victim was.” Gamaliel frowned at the patch of ground that bordered Loukas’ wall, which contained herbs of various kinds. In one corner Loukas had planted mustard.

  Loukas waited for what he assumed would be more explanation. When none came he said, “Well, you deduced he was an apothecary. That was a start, and now it appears another practitioner of that trade has been killed. Surely, the two sharing a profession cannot be a coincidence?”

  Gamaliel stared at the city wall just beyond Loukas’ entryway.

  “Is it possible,” Gamaliel said after what seemed an eternity, “that that dead man did not own or operate out of that shop?”

  “Did not…? Then who or what?”

  “I am struck by the man who followed me home. Why follow me?”

  Loukas shrugged. “Because someone told him to?”

  “Someone else stalked the street this morning and saw me. He asked around and discovered I had questions about a missing apothecary, and he decided he needed to know why. But then I left the street. Suppose he had pressing business at the place and could not leave it. He would have dispatched an accomplice to run the more trivial errand. Later, when that man returned to the street in our wake, he could not find his contact to give his report. He asked around, while we were doing the same and he discovered…”

  “What?”

  “I think he might have discovered that his chief had perished in the fire, which, in turn, would send him rushing away. If this man is related somehow to the person we questioned…what’s his name…”

  “Aswad Khashab”

  “Yes him, and…wait…I lost it.”

  “Lost it? Lost what?”

  “Nothing. Let it go. Something…a memory or, I don’t know, something, but it’s gone. So, it would seem that there are several persons tangled up in this business, and by now they are in a panic. Ah yes, that must be it. If so, then let us assume that our first dead man, the one found in the Temple, was this Hannah person. He must have had associates? Are they, like us, on the trail of his killer?’

  “Gamaliel, really…”

  “Stay with me. Another thought—who traded with him, was he killed for a sale gone wrong? Why was his shop destroyed after the fact? You would think his death would be enough. Why attempt to erase all traces of him?”

  “To complete a cover-up.”

  “But why this second dead man? It is an easy enough matter to set fire to a deserted shop, but this man was murdered and his identity, like that of the man in the temple, deliberately obscured. No, we are missing something important.”

  “Something important? Of course we are, but…” Loukas sighed and pulled a face that Gamaliel knew meant his friend probably needed a break from any more speculation but he couldn’t break his train of thought just yet. Loukas would have to hang on a bit longer.

  “One last thing, Loukas. That man had been coated with bitumen and set on fire. That is something more than mere arson with consequences. Our killer wanted to send a message.”

  “To whom?”

  “Ah, now there you have me, Loukas.”

  “We need to find the man who followed us.”

  “That would be useful, but I think it would be more useful if we found the other one—the one who, I now believe, must have been following him. That man will have information that could unravel the whole.”

  “Well, if you say so. How do we go about doing that?”

  “I have no idea, but I am sure his seeming familiar is very important.” Gamaliel sighed and glanced down. “My cup is empty, Physician. Would you be so kind?”

  Loukas poured another portion into the rabban’s cup. “You will drink me out of my supply soon, Rabban. My well is not filled with this wine. Next, I will serve something local.”

  “Sorry about that. It’s just that…By the way, speaking of mysterious elixirs, were you able to pick up the ingredients for your cough tonic?”

  “Yes, I was. Curious, that. When I told the herbalist what I intended to do with the mustard and honey he said something odd.”

  “Odd? How odd?”

  “He said that our dead man twice over had his own formulation. A particular cough tonic he said, and it had a special ingredient of some sort which people were convinced bordered on the miraculous.”

  “Had your herbalist tried it?”

  “I don’t think so, but he said people from all over came to buy it.”

  “People from all over and we hear that Romans and palace people in disguise were his regulars as well. Now, don’t you find that interesting? I think I need you to tell me about that pharmacopeia as you promised. What sort of things do people seek from apothecaries?”

  “Ah, for that we will need more wine.”

  Chapter XX

  As evening approached, Gamaliel made his way homeward. The mixed aromas of roasting meat and spicy stews reminded him he hadn’t eaten. He felt exhausted from a day traipsing about the city. Worse, another death had been added to his list of things to cope with. But at that moment, all he wished for was some peace and quiet, a meal, and an hour or two to return, however briefly, to his studies. The last person in the world he wanted to see would be the high priest. Yet, he it was who waited for Gamaliel in his atrium.

  “High Priest, to what do I owe the honor of your presence?”

  “I am here to check the progress of your investigation.”

  “My investigation? Yes, well I am now certain that the dead man in the Holy of Holies was not—”

  “Dead man in the…Don’t be absurd. There is no investigation needed there. The situation is obvious. The man crossed through the Veil and was punished for his blasphemy. There is nothing more to be said.”

  “But I thought you asked me about my investigation. If not about that, what?”

  “The rabbi, of course. The rabble rouser, the irritant to the eyes of Ha Shem, that’s what. Have you found him out? I asked you to study him and find a reason to close down his movement.”

  “You asked, but I never agreed to it, High Priest. You will recall when we had this conversation before…was it only two nights ago? Yes, it was. I told you then that I could find no fault in his teaching beyond what other self-appointed teachers of his kind proclaim. He is radical, I grant you, but he is also clever.
He never quite crosses the line and breaches the Law.”

  “He breaks Shabbat law.”

  “Does he? How?”

  “It is reported he healed a cripple on Shabbat.”

  “Reported? By whom?”

  “It doesn’t matter by whom. The fact of the matter is, he did.”

  “I see. It raises an interesting moral question, if true.”

  “It is true. The man was questioned. Interesting moral…what? What do you mean it’s an interesting moral question?”

  “Well, put yourself in the cripple’s position. Should you refuse to be healed because receiving this sign would break Shabbat law?”

  “I am not speaking of the cripple.”

  “Ah, but you must. If this Yeshua did, in fact, cure the cripple, both are guilty of the same transgression. The cripple should have refused the help and trusted the Lord to provide relief at a better, holier time.”

  “That is nonsense.”

  “Nonsense? High Priest, it is you who overreach. I am charged with interpreting the Law. If I am not mistaken, that is why you are here. You wish me to catch this rabbi out. Well, sir, you cannot have it both ways. If the rabbi broke Shabbat, so did the cripple. Now, will you condemn him as well? You know you won’t because you are single-minded in this pursuit of this Yeshua person. I do not know why, and I cannot persuade you to change. So, I ask only that if you are serious about destroying this man and others like him, you must stay within the Law’s boundaries and punish all who break the Law equally. In this instance, that would include the cripple.”

  Caiaphas could barely control his anger. “But he blasphemes,” he shouted. “Listen to this: he says, and I am quoting him as exactly as I can, he says this, ‘The kingdom of the Lord is like a mustard seed.’ A mustard seed? That is idiotic. The Lord’s kingdom is as grand as Rome, as wise as Greece, and as holy as Jerusalem. A mustard seed? Hah!”

  “Yet it is an interesting simile, is it not? Mustard is not as simple a thing as I was always led to believe. It has great curative properties, for example. So, to compare the kingdom that way would be a compliment, don’t you think?”