All that he ever did ask of her was to listen, and repeat what she heard.
In the present situation, since the Lady Michal was as unlettered as a sparrow and it would hardly have been prudent to meet her again, Talitha once again proved her worth. Servants go largely unnoticed. A lady may speak to her waiting woman without incurring the least suspicion.
The Lord Eleazar’s house was only a short distance from the Tetrarch’s palace. Servants were engaged and dismissed so frequently that no one thought anything of the fact that a woman they probably never noticed in one place was now working in another. Talitha passed back and forth a few times a day, a fact which would not strike anyone as remarkable, since her son was being trained by the Lord Eleazar’s secretary.
It was like having a private window into Caleb’s domestic life.
Eleazar rose from his desk. “Speak,” he said, and smiled encouragingly.
“I have a message for the Lord Eleazar,” Talitha said, in Aramaic—it was her voice, but it was the Lady Michal speaking, even down to the peculiarities of accent. And then, in Greek: “A man came to see Caleb. His name was Judah bar Isaac, and I thought he was crazy at first, but he was only very afraid. He said Caleb was God’s instrument and God would destroy His prophet. What did he mean? I don’t know. Are you listening to me, you stupid sheep?”
This last was again in Aramaic, and Talitha shouted the words, but without emotion. She seemed to be in a sort of trance.
She continued, in Greek. “But he brought his cousin for dinner, and they joked about arranging a triumphal entrance for the ‘Son of David.’ His cousin is something in the Temple guard. The cousin, whose name is Gideon—I didn’t like him—mentioned a Roman named Gaius.
“Caleb says he will win everything back. He is like a coiled spring. Whatever he is planning will happen, I gather, in the next few days.
“I am keeping to my bargain, my lord. I am betraying my husband. I am telling you what he says and does. I am holding nothing back. I beg you to be merciful to me.”
And then, once more in Aramaic, “Leave me. Go away.”
Talitha closed her eyes and then opened them again and smiled.
“Have I done well, my lord?” she asked.
“You have done very well. The Lady Michal has bad manners, but I ask you to be patient with her.”
He reached into his purse and took out three silver coins and held them out to her. She took them and then kissed his hand.
“When did she tell you all this?” he asked.
“This morning, not an hour ago.”
“And is there a stranger in the house? One who seems a little mad?”
“There was. He saw the Lord Caleb and then left, around noon yesterday.”
“Go now, and spend time with your son. He misses you. You will soon be back in my household.”
She bowed and withdrew, leaving the Lord Eleazar to ponder all she had told him.
Since first discovering the identity of Caleb’s mysterious prisoner, he had learned a great deal about Judah bar Isaac, including the interesting fact of his relationship with his tormenter. Had Caleb chosen him, at least in part, as an act of revenge against his family? It was not unimaginable.
Judah, the Lord Eleazar now knew, had been a disappointment to his father, a man of strict principles who occupied a position of importance in Levite society. At nineteen Judah had been involved in some scrape, the details of which were unclear but which involved his relationship with certain young gentile wastrels living in the city, and his father had seized on this to banish him to Tiberias, where he had lived a comfortable and amusing life.
His involvement with John the Baptist was difficult to explain. Perhaps he saw the emptiness of the life he was leading. Perhaps, by being baptized, he felt he had reentered the community of the godly. It was impossible to know. Perhaps it was merely an impulse.
Now he seemed torn. He spoke of Joshua bar Joseph as God’s prophet and of Caleb as His instrument. The one inspired devotion and the other fear. His allegiance was divided between them and, whichever triumphed, the consequences for him would be dreadful.
Then there was the problem of what to do.
Eleazar found himself almost wishing he knew nothing of the matter. He considered warning Noah of the peril in which his cousin stood. After all, he owed the man. And Joshua was, apparently, innocent.
But what then? What would be gained by unraveling Caleb’s carefully constructed plot? The man thought he had hit upon the perfect stratagem to regain his position, while in fact he was busily destroying himself. One peasant preacher seemed a small price to pay for relieving Galilee of such a monster.
Eleazar did not want innocent blood on his hands, but how many more would die if Caleb succeeded? And were they not innocent?
It was an unpleasant choice, but unpleasant choices were the business of government. Not to choose was to fail in one’s duty. Not to choose was cowardice.
Therefore, he decided, the wisest course was to let events unfold as they would.
42
The pilgrimage routes within two days’ walk of Jerusalem were clogged, and the villages along the way were hard pressed to accommodate so many people. Every night, the floors of every room were covered with sleeping mats, while the poor slept on roofs or pitched tents in the open. Food was expensive and sometimes not available at any price, so most carried their provisions with them. Occasionally—inevitably—there were arguments, some boiling over into violence, but the mood of the crowds was generally hopeful and joyous. After all, the Passover was a feast of deliverance.
Noah’s party included six: himself and Deborah, Sarah and Abijah, who had only been married a week, Deborah’s servant Hannah, and Noah’s apprentice Hiram, who had begged to come, principally to be near Hannah, who flirted with him and teased him without mercy.
They had spent the night in a village not two hours’ walk from Jerusalem, and might end by spending another night there, because Joshua and his party were late.
It was inconvenient. In Jerusalem they would be staying in the home of a relative, where there was privacy, but a man with any pretentions to decency could hardly go into his wife while twenty other people were sleeping around them. Four nights of this was enough.
Surprisingly, it seemed hardest on Sarah, who complained pitifully to Deborah and sometimes cried.
“What can be the matter with her?” Noah had asked, genuinely worried.
“Don’t concern yourself,” his wife replied. “It is a problem which will solve itself the first night we spend in your cousin Baruch’s house.”
When this answer did not seem to satisfy him, she could only smile and shake her head, implying her disbelief that he could be so stupid.
“Oh, that.”
“Yes, ‘oh, that.’ She misses being with her husband, as I do.”
“I never would have suspected Sarah of having so sensual a nature.”
“She is only just a bride. It is too early. They would have done better to stay at home.”
“Abijah would not miss a Passover in Jerusalem.”
“Nevertheless, Joshua had better arrive today, lest both your sister and I greet him with a shower of stones.”
In this answer, Noah discovered yet another reason to be pleased with his wife.
It was just after noon when Joshua finally did appear, leading about fifteen people. The first thing Noah observed was that Judah was not among them.
“I sent him ahead to make arrangements for our arrival,” Joshua announced. “He knows the city better than any of us.”
“No doubt.”
For a moment Joshua seemed not to understand, and then he raised his hand in a dismissive gesture.
“You are too suspicious, Noah. This is not Galilee. We are beyond the Tetrarch’s reach. Besides, there is nothing to fear from Judah. Although he may not yet know it himself, his heart belongs to God.”
“I have every confidence you are right. Now, may we go? My women
folk are weary of traveling.”
Within five minutes they were on the road. Noah was walking arm in arm with his wife when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned his head and saw that it was Matthias, whom he then introduced to Deborah.
“My dear, this is the man who, two weeks ago, wanted to kill me. But God has forgiven him, and so have I.”
Matthias looked abashed, and Noah was instantly ashamed of his jest.
“I have repented, Lady. The Lord has softened my heart.”
“I rejoice in it,” Deborah answered. “We are all friends here.” She took the huge man’s hand in both of hers and kissed it.
“I am jealous,” Noah announced, and then everyone could laugh.
They walked on together, talking of trifles, and the change that two weeks had worked in Matthias was striking. He was relaxed and had even learned to smile. He seemed capable of happiness. For one, like Noah, who knew the horrifying story of his life, it was hard to believe this could be the same man.
Then he grew silent. He kept glancing from Noah to Deborah and back again. He seemed to be nerving himself up to say something, and it was possible to guess what.
“She knows about Judah,” Noah said quietly. “There is nothing I know that she does not.”
“I have not the Master’s strength of faith,” Matthias said, shaking his head in self-reproach. “I fear Judah. I always see the Lord Caleb standing behind him.”
“Does he know of your association with Caleb?”
“No. None of them do. To them it is as if I was born the day the Master found me. They seem to think that to inquire further would be a discourtesy.”
“And has your life changed so much then?” Deborah asked.
“Yes. I can drink a cup of wine without wanting another. I can sleep at night without fearing my dreams. I feel remorse for the evil I have done, but I know forgiveness. I have submitted myself to God’s will.”
“Which still leaves us with the problem of Judah,” Noah said. “I do not wish to appear cynical, but I share your misgivings.”
“It must be left in the Master’s hands.”
A few minutes later, the Master joined them. He was in a festive mood.
“I wanted to apologize,” Joshua said, smiling broadly.
“For what?”
“For not staying with you this year. But I could not impose such a large party on your cousin. We will find other lodging. Yet we will all break the bread of the Passover together, as we always have, won’t we?”
“I am sure Baruch won’t mind a few extra guests,” Noah answered, as he quickly tried to calculate how much extra food and wine would be required to take care of Joshua’s followers. “He loves to play the host.”
“I am very hopeful this Passover.” Joshua laid his hand on Noah’s shoulder, who thought it likely Joshua hadn’t heard a word. “I think we will see great wonders.”
The first of these was announced by a young man leading a colt. The colt was white and only just broken to the halter, and the swirling crowds of pilgrims, through which it was being led, made it skittish.
The colt held everyone’s attention, and when the young man stopped before Joshua, the scene was witnessed by a multitude.
“You are he,” the young man announced. “You are Joshua of Nazareth.”
“Do you know me?” Joshua asked, perplexed. “Have we met?”
“No, but I was told I would know you when I saw you.”
He held out the lead rope, offering it to Joshua.
“The colt is yours. Ride it into the city.”
Instinctively, Joshua took the rope, and the young man melted into the crowd. Joshua hardly seemed to notice. He ran his hand along the colt’s neck, speaking to it in a low voice, and instantly it began to grow calm. All his life, Joshua had had an affinity with animals, and now, as they stood together, colt and man seemed to have no attention except for each other.
“Well, why not?” Joshua said, smiling.
He took off his cloak and covered the colt’s back with it. Then he climbed on. At first the colt tried to step away from the unaccustomed weight, but then seemed to accept it and grew quiet.
“I will enter the city like some great lord,” he said, and laughed. “Or at least a bandit, which is even more honorable.”
Noah found himself wondering who could have sent such a gift.
They were perhaps two hundred paces from the city gates when the tumult started.
Here and there people began to shout. At first Noah couldn’t make out the words, but gradually, as the shouting grew, he heard “anointed one” and “Son of David.”
Soon, many in the crowd of pilgrims took up the cry. Joshua, riding in the middle of the road, clearly visible to everyone, looked around him with astonishment.
People surged forward to touch him. Some wept. Joshua bar Joseph, the carpenter from Nazareth, was suddenly their hero. Israel had found her deliverer. “Anointed one! Anointed one! Son of David!”
It was a scene of madness, a riot of joy. The colt was on the verge of panic, and Joshua had so much to do to keep it from bolting that he hardly seemed to notice the swirling chaos around him.
Noah happened to glance at Matthias, who was standing beside him, and saw that tears were streaming down his face.
“They love him,” he said, his voice choked with emotion. “He is their king.”
Deborah held her husband’s arm tight. “What does it mean?” she asked him.
“I fear this may be the beginning of a tragedy.”
* * *
The Roman centurion Gaius Raetius, who was watching from the top of the wall near the north gate, had a different impression.
“It’s more comic than a play by Plautus,” he said, laughing and slapping his knee. “You Jews are a queer lot.”
Caleb and his cousin Gideon exchanged a glance. The centurion was from Germania, a place of bogs and dark forests where the inhabitants worshipped trees. He was tall and broad, with a broken nose, scars on his face, and long, straw-colored hair that stank of rancid butter. And he thought the Jews were “a queer lot.”
Standing a little to one side was the priest Meshach, whom Gideon had persuaded to come. He seemed determined to ignore the Roman’s presence. His attention was fixed on the man riding the colt.
“Don’t worry,” Gideon whispered. “Gaius will report what he’s paid to report.”
Caleb nodded but, like the priest, he seemed wholly absorbed in the spectacle below him.
“It’s odd, since for weeks he’s been at the center of my plans, but this is the first time I’ve ever even seen this Joshua bar Joseph.” He shook his head. “Somehow I had expected him to be taller.”
“He is tall. It’s just hard to judge from this height.”
“The colt was a good thought,” Caleb said, turning to Gideon and smiling his approval. “It increases his visibility and somehow makes him seem more like a king in the making.”
“Has he ever claimed Davidic descent?”
“No, not that I am aware of. But what difference does it make?”
Gideon could not help but wonder what made his cousin so eager to destroy this village preacher. Of course, it hardly mattered. Self-styled peasant prophets were as common as finches—one more or less would not make any difference.
“Well, in any case, we’ll need someone to stand before Pilatus and say the fellow has claimed it,” Gideon said, complacently. “The forms of the law have to be observed, although I don’t suppose anyone, least of all Pilatus, will care whether it’s true or not.”
“Never fear. There will be a witness.”
Gaius Raetius turned to them, grinning and rubbing his hands together.
“I’ve seen enough to arrest him right now,” he said, in the most vulgar Greek imaginable. “I can have him on a cross by nightfall, if you like.”
“I think we’ll just wait a bit,” Caleb answered dryly, wondering if the man was really fool enough to contemplate arresting a man w
hile he was being hailed by the mob as king of the Jews. “There’s plenty of time.”
43
Jerusalem was less a city than a miracle. God ruled the whole earth, and His presence was everywhere, rendering the meanest patch of wasteland holy. But Jerusalem was the most holy place where a man could draw breath, and the Temple was God’s home. When God first spoke to Moses, on Mount Sinai, He told him to take off his sandals, for the place where he stood was holy ground. Thus, Joshua always removed his sandals and walked barefoot when he entered Jerusalem, for here he was in the presence of the living God.
In Jerusalem one felt the nearness of God as one felt the sunshine. God warmed the heart and illuminated the mind. Joshua could not be in Jerusalem without experiencing a joy he could hardly describe. It was incomprehensible to him that anyone could enter the city without feeling God’s closeness. It was as real as the experience of the senses. How could anyone feel envy or anger, or break the Law or remain an unbeliever, when under the very eyes of God? It seemed impossible.
Yet all these things happened. The city belonged to God but was inhabited by men, and men—most, in Joshua’s experience—were blinded by sin. Perhaps that was the nature of sin, to be a kind of blindness. An inability to see the obvious.
On the morning of his first day in Jerusalem, Joshua joined the crowds awaiting immersion in one of the many ritual baths surrounding the Temple Mount. The Passover meal must be eaten in purity, and the process of purification would take seven days.
As he stood near the immersion pool gate with a handful of his disciples, waiting for the sun to dry his clothes, all he could really see of the Temple was a long stretch of wall beyond the Antonia Fortress, where the Roman garrison was quartered. Along the top of the wall, soldiers were standing guard.
“Look at them,” Simon said, with a bitterness unusual for him. “How the Romans mock us. I do not understand why the high priest tolerates it.”
Joshua could only shake his head.
“He tolerates it because he holds his office at the pleasure of the Roman prefect. He tolerates it because he has no choice.”
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