Holy Smoke: A Jerusalem Mystery

by Frederick Ramsay

  “If you say so. At any rate, we should be happy for any respect he might show us, irrespective of its source or his mental state.”

  “Is that what this is, respect? Or is it mere expediency? We determined that this new hul gil is potent enough to incapacitate his troops if administered in high doses. He recognizes the danger and experiments on his own and must act. He can use you more, I expect, than you him. What did he discover by the way?”

  Gamaliel described the prefect’s trials with some of his men and the result. Loukas shook his head in dismay. “He may have learned how to assess phenomena from the Greeks but he certainly missed the part about the ethics that is supposed to accompany them. You say he destroyed six of his own men to find out how the drug works?”

  “So he said.”

  “Romans are a cruel people. Nothing new there, of course. The question is why will he help us find our killer? He can deal with his troops and people without our input. Why work with anybody—with you?”

  “I convinced him that there was more here than meets the eye, and finding the killer and taking him alive would allow us to ask some important questions.”

  “I see. You do realize the unlikely pair you two make? Isaiah is correct, it seems—The leopard will lie down with the goat. I am impressed, Rabban. It must be that the Kingdom has arrived. Weren’t we just discussing that lately? Next the mustard plants will—”

  “Do not try my patience. All he did was agree to supply me with some men, or perhaps soon will. I hope so in any event. What that gesture will cost us in the end I can only imagine, but the Kingdom will not be ushered in by a pack of Roman dogs. We work with them because there are no other choices.”

  “You are correct. We are in league with the devil.”

  “It can’t be helped.”

  “Can’t? Surely you do not believe that. You can refuse. You could have stayed home and discussed this with me first. You could have—”

  “I could have, but chose not to. Would you like to know why?”

  “I don’t know. Will I be better off for the knowing?”

  “I’ll take that as an affirmative. Very well, that drug is available anywhere and to anyone. It knows no borders, it has no loyalties. It is as insidious to you and me as it is to them. Think of our position. We are a Nation in despair. Who holds out hope to us? Many of us have decided that Ha Shem has abandoned His people. That being the case, who is more likely to succumb to this substance’s mind-numbing properties, Rome or us? You know the answer. Listen, we all yearn for a savior, for Messiah to come and throw off the mantle of this oppressive race of people from across the Middle Sea. We ache for it. We cry out, ‘Where is Moses now when we need him most?’ Silence is our answer. We think to ourselves, what are the chances of it happening? Can you envision any person, any set of circumstances, that can make that happen?”

  “Short of a miracle, no. You do pray daily for Messiah though, don’t you?”

  “I do. The Nation does. In Esther we read that whatever state we find ourselves in, we shall ultimately triumph.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “We live in hope, Loukas. Alas, at this moment in our history, Rome has its foot on our neck, and we can do nothing except pray.”

  “Pray and hope?”

  “Yes, and while we cower in our prayer shawls, our young men throw themselves at the Roman killing machine and die by the hundreds, thousands. The prefect said we are a nation of women and children. Rome will not go away in our lifetime, Loukas.”

  “That is a pessimistic assessment coming from you.”

  “It is realism. If Rome falls it will be because of rot from within, from a succession of insane and cruel leaders and forces arising elsewhere, not from action on our part. We are a decimated people. We no longer have the sinew to resist. Our destiny must be simply to stay alive and pray until they are gone. Survival, Loukas. Ha Shem expects us to survive. We are his people, his chosen, and to commit suicide by trying to defeat Rome would be contrary to His will. So, we must wait and survive.”

  “So, for that we help them save themselves?”

  “We do.”

  “I do not like this, Rabban.”

  “No more do I, but I promise you this, we will be here long after Rome has been gone and forgotten. We are His chosen. It is written. It is so.”

  Loukas paced to the window and stared out at the street. The two men were silent for a long time. Finally Loukas sighed. “Very well, Gamaliel. I do not like it, but I understand. What now?”

  “Now we consider. Here is what I have been thinking. Tell me where I am wrong and quickly. I must be at the fortress in less than two hours now.”

  Gamaliel recounted what he’d observed from the window after Loukas had departed. He explained again the ease by which identities could be altered due to the stereotyping that characterized Jerusalem’s population. He did not, however, repeat his suspicions about Ali bin Selah. Loukas did not need that piece just yet. He would find out soon enough on which side of the tent pole Ali slept.

  “It is time to go to your Roman,” Loukas said. “Have you a plan yet?”

  “Not all of it. Too much depends on the level of support the prefect offers. If it is small and begrudging, I have no hopes for any plan. If he insists on running the whole maneuver, then I can’t guarantee anything.”

  “But you do have something?”

  “I have something. We shall see. I must be off.”

  “And me? What shall I do?”

  “With Oren at your side, of course, I want you to act as if nothing at all was happening. We are being watched. It is like one approaches a hive of bees, Loukas, the less we stir them up, the better.”

  “Don’t you think that when they realize you are conspiring with the prefect, they won’t be in a state of high alert?”

  “Probably. If the prefect goes along with us, I will have him disseminate a rumor that he has thrown me out of the fortress and possibly will soon arrest me. Then, I will suggest that he create the impression he is returning to Caesarea Maritima with his men. That should persuade them we are easy targets.”

  “You think they are plotting as well?”

  “They, or he, is? Oh yes, no doubt. This is a complex game of move and counter move. I wish I had served in an army. It would make it easier to anticipate their next one.”

  “You as a soldier? Not in my wildest imaginings.”

  “Stranger things have happened. Who would have thought that David, the lyre-playing shepherd, would drop Goliath with a sling and a stone and then rule the land as king?”

  “I stand corrected, ‘Tribune.’ Off you go to the den of iniquity—pardon, the Antonia Fortress, and its resident serpent.”

  Chapter XLV

  Gamaliel spent nearly two hours with the prefect. He would later describe the meeting as remarkable for two reasons. First and foremost, the Roman’s willingness to commit some of his troops to the pursuance of a killer, “an insignificant man” he’d said of him at the time, an estimate Gamaliel thought well off the mark but didn’t say so. Then, what struck Gamaliel even more was his manner. In discourse and demeanor, Pilate, everyone knew, was sarcastic, arrogant, brutal, and invariably unpleasant—even to his friends, if he had any. Toward the Jews of the Palestine over whom he ruled, those characteristics compounded many fold. Yet this day, he’d been quiet and respectful. He’d listened and then agreed to put his men in play and, more or less, at the rabban’s discretion.

  “Are you feeling quite well, Prefect?”

  “I am very well, Rabban. Why do you ask?”

  “You are being nice to me. I just wondered…”

  “Don’t press your luck, old man, or you will see how nice the inside of my basement cells can be.”

  “Ah, you are back. I was worried there for a minute. Thank you for your troops, and I promise to deliver the man or men to you soon.”

  Gamaliel left the Antonia Fortress and prayed to Elohim that he could make good on his prom
ise. As it now stood, he had at best only a guess as to which of two possible culprits he sought and how, if his guess was correct, he would trip up one or the other of them.

  He stood at the top of the steps leading from the fortress down to the platform that formed the Temple Mount. He let his shoulders droop in discouragement and arranged his face into the best he could manage to appear defeated. His nemesis, who he felt certain would be watching somewhere nearby, needed to believe that the prefect had tossed him out on his ear. He proceeded down the steps and made his way homeward, looking neither right nor left. He did notice old Jacob in conversation with one of the priests and thought how wonderful it was that Loukas had restored the old man’s sight.

  But Gamaliel’s thoughts swirled elsewhere. What if a man pretended to be something he was not, for example? Did he breach the Law? Would one be correct in accusing him of bearing false witness? What if the same man had saved his money to buy clothing beyond his station to make himself feel better, would that be a breach? If he did it to deceive or trick someone into revealing a secret, what then? Where to draw the line? In fact, couldn’t his current posture of seeming defeat and despair constitute such a breach? Didn’t he hope to deceive the watcher, whom he felt sure had him in sight? He wanted him to believe that he was depressed when in fact he was elated. It was a puzzle. He would put the concept before the senior rabbis the next time they met.

  He knew ordinary people mocked him and his colleagues for the disputations they held. “Petty,” they said, “splitting the hairs and bringing a dead man to court.” But it had to be done. Perhaps a better example, curing a cripple on Shabbat, would be one they would understand. Doing so obviously broke the Law, Why? Because the next day and all the remaining days of the week the crippled man or woman would still be a cripple and still available for healing. He could think of no reason why the crippled person should not wait one day. A blind man, a leper, a demoniac, all would have the same condition on days when healing them would not force a breach of the Law; therefore they should wait and not be in violation of the Law. On the other hand, an intervention such as the one Loukas performed on the high priest, had it been on Shabbat, was a different matter entirely. One more day might not find him in the same condition. If an intervention had not been made, the man might have died. So, the question to be grappled with—where does one draw the line? Some instances were easy, others not so.

  Now, take the case of a man who imitates a priest to deceive or…Wait, Jacob had been talking to one of the kohen a moment ago. Not just one of the priests, he had been talking to him. Gamaliel wheeled around and retraced his steps to the Temple. He had to speak to Jacob. He mentally kicked himself for allowing his mind to wander into the minute intricacies of Law when he had a killer on the loose and people in harm’s way. One might put it down as an occupational hazard that fortunately or unfortunately characterized those like himself whose duty lay in defining the Law. As such it would be understandable, he supposed, but in this immediate instance it became dangerous and irresponsible. He would not dishonor the Temple by running, but he did step out briskly. Where had Jacob gotten to?

  Jacob, as it happened lay unconscious, his head bleeding profusely, not twenty-five cubits from where Gamaliel now stood searching for him.

  Yehudah, the Captain of the Guard rushed over to Gamaliel. “Rabban, quickly, Jacob ben Aschi has been injured.”

  “Is he hurt badly? How did it happen?”

  “They say…I cannot believe it, but they say he was struck by one of the kohanim, but that cannot be possible.”

  “You remember your priest turned merchant in the street? Oh yes, it is very possible, Captain, very possible indeed. Take me to Jacob and send one of your men to my house to fetch the healer, Loukas.”

  Gamaliel pushed through the crowd around Jacob and knelt at his side.

  “Jacob, can you hear me?”

  The old man’s eyelids fluttered, but did not open. “Is that you Rabban? I found him and would have brought him to you for a reprimand but he struck me. Why would he do such a thing?”

  “You are lucky that is all he did to you, Jacob. He might have killed you.”

  “He would have,” a voice from the crowd said, “but my friend and I saw him strike the old man and we rushed over. The man had a knife, sir. He would have done this man in if we hadn’t—”

  “Yes, yes, I see. Thank you and thank your friend. You saved this man’s life. Can either of you tell me what he looked like?”

  “He was a priest.”

  “Yes, so I gather, but his looks, his appearance? Tall, short, what?”

  “Why would a priest do such a thing?”

  “He wasn’t a priest. He was an imposter and probably a murderer. Please, what did he look like?”

  “Middle-sized, I guess. One doesn’t notice those things when the first thing you see is what he is, do you?”

  “No, you don’t. It is the thing he relied on.” Gamaliel stood and surveyed the crowd. “Can anyone tell me what he looked like?” People shuffled their feet and looked at everything and everywhere except at Gamaliel.

  Loukas appeared and sat his bag down next to Jacob. “Everyone step back at least ten paces. I need air and light.” He bent and spoke softly to Jacob. The old man shook his head. “Jacob,” he said more loudly, “I do not think a crack on the head will have brought your blindness back, but I can’t tell unless you open your eyes for me to see.”Jacob opened one eye and then the other and smiled. “There you see, you see. Now lie still while I bandage that wound to your scalp.”

  “Will he live?” Gamaliel asked.

  “What a question. Rabban, sometimes I think you were busy somewhere else when the Lord dealt common sense. Never ask a question like that with the patient within hearing. In this case, yes, he will live. All this blood is deceptive. Wounds to the scalp always bleed profusely. Now, Jacob. I want you to stay where you are until I can find some people to carry you to a couch. You should stay there until the tenth or eleventh hour and then have someone help you home.”

  “Before you do that, Jacob,” Gamaliel said, “if you can, tell me what your assailant looked like?”

  When Jacob told him, it was Gamaliel’s turn to smile.

  Chapter XLVI

  The wind, no more than a breeze, shifted from east to north and brought with it a plume of smoke from the Altar of Sacrifice. It drifted across the mount and down. Loukas coughed.

  “Do you think our man is watching us, Rabban, or has he slithered away and is hiding under a rock somewhere?”

  “Slithered away, if I am any judge.”

  “And your meeting with the other snake, it went well?”

  “The prefect? Amazingly well, our mercurial Pilate has given me men, ten to be precise.”

  “He has provided you a minyan?”

  “Exactly, and authority to act in his name.”

  “Another ring for your finger?”

  “Alas, no, not this time. I must say the ring he put on my finger the last time we had dealings had its advantages. Unfortunately, our roles are reversed this time. I am not doing his bidding, he is doing mine.”

  “And on the basis of no plan whatsoever, he has assigned you men and authority? How did you manage that?”

  “I wish I knew. If I did, I would pack the whole Roman government along with the prefect himself onto the first ship back to that wretched peninsula of theirs.”

  “That is a grand thought, Gamaliel the Messiah, but since that won’t happen, what do we do now?”

  “Now we retire to my house, Benyamin will feed us, and then I will retreat into my study and have a long conversation with the Lord. I am missing something, Loukas, something small but exceedingly important.”

  “And you are hoping a meal and this conversation you intend to have with…Do you actually think He will reveal the thing to you?”

  “I sincerely hope so. I pray so. Otherwise, I will have one very angry prefect on my hands tomorrow. Remember, we are not Ro
man citizens and, if he wished, he could consign us to prison, to pull oars in a galley, or to hang on that hideous cross his people seem so fond of. And if he so chooses, he could do it on a whim.”

  “Then let’s eat quickly and put your mind to work. Once, when I happened to be in Egypt, I had an occasion to examine a body taken down from one of those crosses. I promise you, it is not an experience you want to have.”

  Gamaliel stopped so suddenly that Loukas, who followed him closely, nearly ran him down.

  “Egypt, you said? Egypt, yes, that has to be it. You go ahead and inform Benyamin of our need for food and quiet. I will join you soon. I must be off.”

  “Off? To where must you be off? Shall I come with you?”

  “No, you go and talk to Benyamin. Also, I left some sheets on the table inside the front door for you. They are in Greek. You read Greek passably well, you said.”

  “I read Greek like a native, not just passably well, Rabban.”

  “Of course you do. Read through them and when I return, tell me what you think.”

  Gamaliel strode away toward the steps by the Pinnacle and disappeared into the city.

  ***

  Amun, an expatriate from Egypt, ran a small shop in the souk that specialized in metal ware. His reputation as a skilled craftsman provided a comfortable income, and he had become the unofficial leader of the expatriate Egyptian community. Gamaliel found him at his bench scoring a brass urn.

  “Greetings in the Name, Rabban. What can I sell you today?”

  “Amun, greetings to you as well. I need some information.”

  “That is free, but limited.”

  “Tell me what you know about an incense pot and a bowl. They would be marked with Hebrew letters and meant to be copies of those used by the high priest on Yom Kippur.”