“Who arrested him?”
“Soldiers.”
“What sort of soldiers? Romans or Temple guards?”
“I don’t know. Just soldiers.”
Yes, of course. Why should the distinction even occur to him? The Romans did not occupy Galilee.
“You have seen the soldiers who stand guard on the Temple roof? Were they wearing helmets like those?”
“Yes, some of them. But not all.”
“And they let the rest of you go?”
“Yes. Except for Matthias and Judah. They arrested them too.”
All at once Simon looked very tired, as if he would slump to the floor.
“Come upstairs,” Noah told him. “You can spend the night here. It’s probably not safe for you to return to your own quarters. Have you had anything to eat?”
“I couldn’t.”
“Well then, a cup of wine to settle your nerves. Perhaps two cups.”
When he had seen to Simon, Noah told Deborah what had happened.
“What will you do?” she asked. “What can you do?”
“Try to find Joshua. Then perhaps I can buy him out of this.” He smiled wanly. “I don’t have much hope, but at least I can try. I’ll talk to Baruch and see how much coin he has in the house.”
Deborah put her arms around him, pressing her cheek against his chest.
“Come back to me,” she said, her voice hardly above a whisper. “Just come back to me.”
Five minutes later, Noah was out on the street, heading for the Antonia Fortress. If the Romans had Joshua, they would be holding him there.
Baruch lived in a prosperous quarter, so all the houses were dark, with their doors barred. Respectable people were asleep—particularly tonight, the last night before the Passover. Tomorrow would be full of preparations, and then, at sundown, the feast itself would begin.
It occurred to Noah, simply as a random thought, how disappointed Joshua would be if he missed the Passover. Of course, he would probably be dead by then. Caleb certainly planned to have him die a rebel’s death.
Because it never entered Noah’s mind that the Romans had acted on their own. Caleb had arranged all this. Its purpose was difficult to imagine, but the plot was clear.
Noah had been walking perhaps a quarter of an hour when suddenly he turned a corner and saw the fortress in front of him. The sight of it made him stop. It was a grim, forbidding structure, tall and narrow, its few windows high up and unreachable. The long south wall was flush with and overtopped the outer wall of the Temple compound.
The gate was heavily fortified, and perhaps for that reason it was felt unnecessary to mount much of a guard. There were only two soldiers outside, and at the slightest hint of trouble they could retreat into an impregnable outbuilding, which was probably connected somehow to the fortress itself. The soldiers were crouched around a small iron brazier, for it was an unseasonably cold night.
As soon as they saw Noah, they stood up.
“What do you want?” one asked, almost shouting.
“Only information.” Noah opened his hand, on the palm of which rested two silver coins. “Do you have a prisoner inside named Joshua bar Joseph? He was arrested tonight.”
The soldier took the coins and gave one to his comrade.
“We have many prisoners,” he said. “We don’t know their names.”
“Would it be possible to speak to someone who might know?”
“Not tonight. The garrison is locked down. During the festivals they don’t take any chances.”
“Perhaps in the morning?”
“You could talk to the duty officer.”
“I see. Then I am sorry to have disturbed you both.”
And to have wasted my money, Noah thought as he walked away, along the long outer wall of the Temple.
What to do now? Joshua might or might not be inside, but it was impossible to find out until the morning, by which time he might be already judged and condemned. The Romans were known for their efficiency in dispensing death sentences.
What to do now?
It was a question Noah had been pondering ever since he left Baruch’s house. For all that it was necessary to try, he had no real expectation of seeing Joshua or anyone else in the Antonia Fortress. Occupying armies are rarely given to such displays of hospitality.
So the problem had been, from the beginning, to find some way to breach the wall of silence. They would not listen to him, so much was certain. Noah was neither powerful nor rich. To the men who ruled in this little pocket of the vast Roman Empire, he did not exist.
With one possible exception.
The Lord Eleazar owed him, and now seemed a good time to try to collect.
That the First Minister was in Jerusalem for the Passover it had never occurred to him to doubt. He was a priest and a pious man, so where else would he be? The point was to find him.
It was after midnight when Noah reached the starting point of his search, the Tetrarch’s Jerusalem palace.
The guards, as guards do, at first tried to drive him away. But a modest bribe quickly had them calling Noah “Your Honor” and “My Lord” and very willing to be of help. No, the Lord Eleazar did not have rooms in the palace, but he did own a house close by, to which—for a small additional gratuity, since it involved a neglect of duty—one of their number would be happy to conduct him.
There were no guards in front of the Lord Eleazar’s door, so Noah had to pound on it in hopes of waking the porter. He was quite insistent, and after several minutes he was rewarded by hearing a click as a peephole opened, though which emerged the faint, sluggish light of an oil lamp.
“What do you want?” a voice asked. “It’s late. Everyone is asleep.” The voice was male and had taken on the gravelly quality of middle age.
“I wish to speak to your master.”
“I told you, he is asleep.”
“Then I will stand out here, beating on your door, until you wake him.”
“I will wake up a few of the servants instead, and they will beat you senseless.”
“I have a better idea. Look down at your feet.”
There was a space beneath the door, less than the width of one’s little finger, but it was enough to allow Noah to slide some silver coins through to the other side. He could hear them scraping against the stone as someone knelt to pick them up.
“Who shall I say you are? My lord will not be pleased to be awakened. He probably will refuse to see you.”
“Tell him it is Noah the ironsmith. He will not refuse.”
“Wait here.”
The peephole closed and Noah was once more in darkness.
A short time later the door opened.
“Follow me.”
The porter, made no less resentful by more money than he could have earned in a year, led Noah up a flight of stairs and through a series of hallways until they reached a small room containing only a desk, two chairs, a lamp stand, a shelf full of scrolls, and the Lord Eleazar, tall and thin as a pillar in a robe of blue silk that shimmered in the dancing light.
The Tetrarch’s First Minister did not quite manage a smile.
“It is always a pleasure to see you, Noah,” he said. “Although the hour suggests that this is not a social call.”
“No, my lord. My cousin Joshua has been arrested.”
The Lord Eleazar was not a man whose face betrayed much, but in that first moment Noah had the impression he was trying to decide not what such news might mean but how to receive it. Did he already know, or had he simply been expecting it?
Finally he raised his eyebrows slightly. No, he was not surprised.
“And this happened … when?”
“This evening, just after dark.”
Eleazar sat down in one of the two chairs and gestured for Noah to take the other. Then he turned to his servant.
“Jabez, bring us some water,” he said, and then directed his attention back to Noah. “Or would you prefer some wine?”
“No. Thank you. My lord.”
“Tell me everything you know.”
Noah described Joshua’s entrance into the city and what he had discovered about the colt. Then he related what he had been told by Simon about the arrest.
To all this Eleazar listened without discernible reaction.
“Caleb has a cousin who is a captain in the Temple guard,” Eleazar said finally. “It was probably he to whom the stable owner was referring. He is a scoundrel, but that seems to run in the family.”
He smiled, as if he had made a jest.
“Judah is also Caleb’s cousin,” he said. “Did you know that?”
“No, my lord.”
“Have you any idea what his role in this might be?”
“Both Judah and Matthias were arrested with Joshua. Everyone else was let go. Matthias’s arrest demands no explanation. Judah, I suspect, will be required to give evidence.”
“You are a perceptive man, Noah. No doubt you are correct.”
For a moment the Lord Eleazar sat very still, staring at the blank wall above Noah’s head. Then he lowered his gaze and smiled coldly.
“But I suspect you did not wake me up simply to report these interesting events. What is it you would have of me?”
“I don’t know.” Noah shrugged. His face perfectly conveyed his sense of helplessness. “I am only an ironsmith from Galilee. I can think of nothing I might do that stands any chance of saving my cousin’s life. But you are a powerful man, and Caleb is your servant. If you were to intervene…”
“I am a powerful man, as you say, but only in Galilee. This is Judea, where I am no more than another Jew under the heel of our Roman masters. As for Caleb, he has slipped beyond my control.”
“Perhaps you could speak to the Tetrarch.”
“The Tetrarch?” The First Minister allowed himself a spasm of bitter laughter. “The Tetrarch has a great fear of insurrection. Forget about the Tetrarch. You will receive no aid from him.”
“Then you could go to the Roman prefect.”
Noah was aware of a strain of hysteria in his voice. He could hear it, and he could see it in the way the Lord Eleazar looked at him in reproving silence. He struggled to calm himself, but he succeeded only imperfectly.
“Pilatus is worse than Antipas.”
“You could explain to him that Caleb has concocted this whole plot.”
“Pilatus will not believe me.”
“You can try!”
“Pilatus will not listen to me. There is nothing I can do to save your cousin.”
Suddenly Noah could endure no more. He rose out of his chair and stamped his foot against the floor in pure vexation. The anger boiled in him so that he no longer cared what he said.
“Remember, my lord, that Caleb is your creation,” he shouted. “You turned this monster loose on the world. I might also recall to you that you are a priest, a servant of God, and that God hates injustice. How can you tell me there is nothing you can do?”
Eleazar also stood up, as if he had been jerked from his seat. His face was white.
“You forget yourself, Noah! You are impertinent! You are…”
Word failed him, he was so choked with wrath. His fists were clenched and shaking, until he looked down at them and, by an act of will, forced his hands to open.
At the sight of them, wrath seemed to yield to astonishment. And then, abruptly, he sat down again.
“You are also right,” he went on, almost in sorrow. “I bear a responsibility here.”
For a moment the First Minister seemed to retreat inside himself. Noah stared at him in something like disbelief. Finally, not knowing what else to do, he himself sat down again.
“I have had no dealings with the prefect,” the First Minister began, his eyes fixed on Noah’s face. “His administration is unconnected with Galilee and, if we must deal with the Romans, it is through the provincial governor in Damascus. I know Pilatus only by reputation, and what I have heard is not encouraging.”
“Will you speak to him about Joshua?”
“Yes. But don’t expect very much.”
Eleazar dropped his gaze. The sight of Noah seemed to distress him.
“We had best be there early tomorrow. I will have the servants make up a bed for you here.”
47
An hour before dawn, the Lord Eleazar entered Noah’s room and found him awake, sitting in a chair, staring into the darkness.
“Did you sleep at all last night?” he asked.
“No.”
“Neither did I.”
Eleazar was carrying a tray that held bread and wine. He was a considerate master and had himself fetched these from the kitchen, letting his servants sleep. He set the tray down on a table.
“Eat. Even if you have no appetite. Today will be a hard day.”
So the ironsmith and the Tetrarch’s great minister sat sharing out bread and wine, as if such had been the habit of a lifetime.
“I want you to understand one thing,” Eleazar said finally. “I will need to see the prefect alone. He is a Roman knight, not a senator, and therefore all the more sensitive about his social position. He will take it as an insult if he is asked to receive you.”
“I will wait outside.”
“You will trust me with this?”
“Yes.”
“I have little hope.”
“Without your help, I would have none.”
* * *
The prefect’s palace was a few steps beyond the great stairway leading from the Temple. It had been built by Old Herod and, like the Antonia Fortress, which he also built, was grim and unwelcoming. Its windows were high up, and the stone walls could have defied an invading army—or an angry mob, which Herod doubtless feared even more.
The sun’s rim was just visible over the eastern horizon when they entered the courtyard, where a handful of supplicants were already hoping to be admitted to an audience.
There was a chamberlain, holding his staff of office and standing in front of the main door. His gaze swept disdainfully over the courtyard, seeming to dare anyone to approach him. But the Lord Eleazar was not intimidated by servants.
“I wish a few moments with the prefect,” he said, first in Latin and then, when he received no response, in Greek. “I am Eleazar bar Zadok, servant and First Minister to the Lord Herod Antipas, Tetrarch of Galilee and Perea.”
“The prefect is engaged. You will have to wait,” the chamberlain replied, and then he turned his eyes away, as if dismissing one more petitioner from existence.
“He is hearing criminal cases this morning?” Eleazar asked, refusing to notice the man’s impertinence. “I am in possession of evidence regarding one of them.”
“He is hearing criminal cases this morning. He will see no one until they are dispatched.”
“Nevertheless, I wish you to inform him of my presence.”
There was a gold coin pinched between Eleazar’s first finger and thumb. The chamberlain glanced down at it and then opened his hand slightly to receive it.
“I will inquire,” he said.
A few minutes later he returned.
“The prefect will see you,” he reported, as if it were a personal triumph, “but not until he has done justice for the morning.”
Eleazar returned to where Noah was waiting for him.
“He will see me,” he told him, “but after he has judged the case.”
“That is better than not at all.”
“Perhaps a little.”
* * *
Raetius understood how Roman justice worked. It might be different in Rome, but in the provinces there were only three parties to a trial: the judge, the accuser, and the accused. He personally had witnessed Joshua’s triumphal entry into the city, and the rogue’s follower, this fellow Judah, would testify the right way. Caleb, who was hard enough to be a Roman himself, had given instructions: “If he doesn’t confirm that Joshua bar Joseph claimed to be of the seed of David and therefore the rightful
king of the Jews, denounce him. Let him be crucified next to his master.” He had said it with his hand on Judah’s shoulder, just so there wouldn’t be any misunderstanding.
Fortunately there was a short list that morning—only Joshua and a couple of bandits. And the prefect wasn’t going to waste much time on bandits. The officer in charge had but to recount the circumstances of their arrest. “Crucify them.” That was the sentence, and they were taken out.
“Now, what’s this?” Pilatus asked, looking at Joshua the way a butcher looks at a lamb.
“A preacher, my lord,” Raetius answered. “Made a disturbance coming into the city. He claims he’s king of this lot. The mob believed him, and there was almost a riot.”
“Well, what about it?” Pilatus took a step toward Joshua and looked him square in the face. “Are you king of the Jews.”
“No. Nor have I ever claimed to be. God is my king.”
“He’s lying, my lord. Trying to save his skin. Here’s one of his followers, ready to tell the truth.” Raetius pushed Judah forward. You could almost feel sorry for Judah, he was so scared. “Tell his lordship, now. This one says he’s a king, right?”
There was a pause, a breathing space maybe, and then, very quietly, Judah said, “Yes.”
“I’m not sure his lordship heard you. Say it again.”
“Yes. Yes. He said he was of the seed of David.”
And then Joshua said something to him, in their tongue, and the poor fellow looked as if he might burst into tears.
“Is that the end of it?” Pilatus asked.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Then he’s guilty. Crucify him.” He turned to his secretary. “Is there any more business?”
“Yes, my lord. Someone wishes an audience. He’s Herod’s man. Probably best to see him.”
“One supposes so. Bring him to my study.”
The prefect turned back to Raetius. “You know what to do, centurion,” he said. “Do it.”
That was Roman justice. It worked well enough.
* * *
A servant came out through the palace door and whispered something to the chamberlain, who then caught the Lord Eleazar’s eye and, raising his hand, made a curt gesture summoning him forward.
The Ironsmith Page 41
