The Last Disciple

by Hank Hanegraaff

  “But you are obviously afraid of questions asked of you. Where did you get this information? The scroll?”

  “All right then. From a woman. A Jew. Who told me about this Jesus.” For a moment Vitas looked away from Ben-Aryeh.

  There, Ben-Aryeh thought. I’ve found it. The man’s weakness. He speaks of a woman and looks away because he does not want me to see into his soul and his need for her. Perhaps there was some sense to this man’s determination to remain unknown in Judea, when any other man of his rank would have come heralded and demanding banquets.

  Yes, Ben-Aryeh thought as silence hung between them. A woman.

  Yes. A man who only wants to learn how Florus mistreats the people of an occupied land does not read a scroll and decide he needs to get to Jerusalem on another matter so quickly that he will actually travel through the night alone.

  A woman. One whom Vitas had left Rome to find. The letter had held the seal of Bellator. Was she employed in the Bellator household? Was that how they met? In Rome when the Bellator family lived there?

  Against his will, Ben-Aryeh felt sympathy for the Roman. He wasn’t asking questions from the arrogance of a conqueror but because he truly wanted to know. And, if Ben-Aryeh had guessed correctly, a man who wanted to know for one of the purest and deepest motives. Love.

  “If you want to know about the Jews, I will tell you this,” Ben-Aryeh said more softly. He loved his own wife so deeply that if another man found that gift, he would never begrudge it, not even to a Roman. “Much as this Jesus of Nazareth was a blasphemer, learning about Him and His preposterous claims and the equally preposterous claims of His followers will tell you much of what you need to know about our people.”

  “Let me listen,” Vitas said.

  Ben-Aryeh gave the reins back to Vitas.

  Mounted his own donkey again.

  Rode beside the Roman.

  “You see,” Ben-Aryeh said, “although I will insist He was not the Messiah God promised us, we are waiting for one. But you need to know our history from the beginning to truly understand it. Are you sure you want to hear all of this?”

  Vitas nodded.

  “It’s a good thing we have a long journey ahead of us,” Ben-Aryeh said.

  “I will confess this is the very reason I invited you to join me,” Vitas said. “A man can only learn so much from books.”

  “Very well,” Ben-Aryeh answered. “First and foremost, you have to learn the nature of the relationship between God and man. We have sinned, beginning with Adam, and because of it, God barred us from the Tree of Life. He wants to create for us a new Jerusalem where we will be able to eat from that tree again. All of our Scripture points to the end of all times and that New Jerusalem.”

  “Adam?” Vitas said. “The Tree of Life?”

  Ben-Aryeh closed his eyes and swayed on the donkey’s back. “You know so little.”

  “Teach me,” Vitas said humbly. “We have time.”

  “In the beginning,” Ben-Aryeh said, as if he were addressing a boy in the synagogue, “God created the heavens and the earth. . . .”

  As Bernice and Maglorius entered the city, the surrounding crowd began to fan out. Bernice turned.

  Maglorius, as promised, was immediately behind her. Still protecting her.

  They separated themselves from the crowd, and he escorted her through a narrow side street, upward toward the palace.

  “Don’t you find it strange,” she said. “Florus and his army are already here. Yet only yesterday he was publicly insulted at the temple.”

  “I wondered if that would occur to you,” Maglorius said. “He had already assembled his army and begun to travel. Before the incident occurred.”

  “It was planned,” Queen Bernice said. “My spies have informed me of that.”

  She was angry with herself. Before this morning, she’d been content to remain a spectator to the battles between Florus and the Jews. Because her power and wealth came from Rome, it didn’t matter to her what information the spies brought about him. But now . . .

  “You of all people know that Lucius Bellator is definitely not a supporter of Florus,” Bernice told Maglorius. “My spies also tell me that Florus is looking for any excuse to set his soldiers loose. And if they are loose, who knows what might be deliberate yet appear as damage done in a riot out of control?”

  “You are suggesting that Florus might send soldiers into the upper city with orders to murder Bellator.”

  “I’m saying,” she said, “if you are in their employ as a bodyguard, then tomorrow do what you can to protect the Bellator family.”

  14 Av

  The Seventh Hour

  “Tell me, Roman, why do you hate the Jews?” Despite the wording of his question, Ben-Aryeh spoke to Vitas with a degree of friendliness and banter.

  After traveling through most of the night, stopping every hour to rest, and traveling through the morning at a constant pace, they had just passed through Givat Shaul, a town that overlooked the place where the road from Caesarea joined the road from Sebaste to continue the last three miles into Jerusalem.

  It was a relatively cool day, the afternoon was still pleasant, the green of the date trees an equally pleasant sight against the hills and sky. There had been no incidents with bandits, and with Jerusalem so near, Ben-Aryeh was far more relaxed than he had been at the beginning of the journey.

  “You accuse me of hating Jews?” Vitas asked mildly. “I find that interesting.”

  The manner of this Roman had also contributed to Ben-Aryeh’s relaxed state. Ben-Aryeh had observed over his life that the rigors of travel with another person added to whatever friction might have existed previously, observing too that since he usually found fault with another man’s traveling habits, the friction was inescapable.

  Vitas, on the other hand, was so relaxed and quiet and polite, such an intelligent man of debate, that Ben-Aryeh had been forced to admit to himself that the journey had actually been enjoyable.

  Except for the fact that the man was a Roman.

  Even that was less of a problem now. Ben-Aryeh knew the same intimacy of spending hour after hour of travel with a man who caused friction was also an intimacy that could bond men quickly if they were of the same mind and heart.

  “I don’t accuse you of hatred,” Ben-Aryeh said, “although I do reserve judgment on your motives for coming here to Judea. It is the Roman attitude in general that makes me curious.”

  Their conversations over the previous thirty-five miles had ranged wide and far with each hour, and it had become easier for Ben-Aryeh to talk to the man without getting angry or taking insult. So he was fully prepared for an honest answer, which Vitas provided.

  “It’s not hatred.” Vitas grinned. “More like contempt and anger.”

  “I feel much better. Remind me to abandon my life in Jerusalem for the welcome I would receive in Rome.”

  “Certainly,” Vitas said. “I sensed immediately upon meeting you that you were well suited for mixing among strangers and would enjoy immense popularity wherever you traveled.”

  “Humph.”

  “Your race has been conquered,” Vitas said in a more serious tone. “To the educated Roman—”

  “We have not been conquered.”

  “There,” Vitas still spoke mildly, “that explains it. Soldiers of the empire occupy your land. You pay taxes to Caesar, yet you act as if we don’t exist. To a Roman, when a country is subjugated, the people in it lose their right to their religion unless Rome grants it.”

  “Faith is between God and the people. It is outside of government laws or control.”

  “Not to Romans. Political life and religion are intertwined. We serve our gods for what they can give us.”

  “You try to bribe your gods,” Ben-Aryeh snorted. “I’ve heard of your prayers. ‘If you give me this,’ you say to a god, ‘I’ll give you that.’”

  “What are your temple sacrifices if not bribery?”

  Hours earlier, Ben-Ary
eh would have bristled at such a question. Now he understood that Vitas was inquiring strictly for the sake of new knowledge.

  “Our sacrifices,” Ben-Aryeh said, “are payment for our sins. They allow us to approach God, through an intermediary, the priest. You’ll remember I explained the relationship between God and man, beginning with creation.”

  “You did. And that’s something else that Romans can’t understand. Worship of something unseen without a visible symbol to represent it. It’s an utter rejection of every other religion in the world. Which leads me to another point. The stubborn, uncompromising attitude of Jews, with religious rites so exclusive to all others.”

  “Our God—”

  “And circumcision,” Vitas said. “We certainly don’t understand that.”

  “I told you about the covenant,” Ben-Aryeh began impatiently, then saw that Vitas was trying to hide a smile. “Humph,” Ben-Aryeh said again.

  “You Jews keep together and help each other at any cost. You remain a closed community to outsiders, even when you occupy the cities outside your land. I think it is part of human nature to be suspicious of a group like that.”

  “Have you any idea how often the Jews have been persecuted?” Ben-Aryeh asked. “From our point of view, it is a necessity to help each other and be wary of outsiders.”

  “Point conceded,” Vitas said. “I’ll keep that in mind as I move through Judea.”

  The road in front of them was not empty of travelers but sparse enough that a single figure approaching them was readily recognizable to Ben-Aryeh.

  It was Olithar. His assistant. Waiting ahead, just before a dip in the road. Holding the halter to an unsaddled donkey and a foal.

  The sight of the young man brought back to Ben-Aryeh the dread he had been trying to avoid the whole journey. Florus had brought his army here to the city. What horrors had happened? What message was so important that Olithar had come out to find him?

  Time with Vitas was now almost finished. Ben-Aryeh had been waiting as long as possible to ask his final question, wanting to establish as much rapport as he could. “Tell me, Roman,” Ben-Aryeh said softly, “truly. Why are you here?”

  Ben-Aryeh expected either an evasive answer or to find out more about the woman who he speculated had brought Vitas to Jerusalem. What he heard surprised him.

  “I’m tired of death,” Vitas said, equally softly.

  “Death comes to us all.”

  “I’m tired of killing. Especially of the killing caused by Rome.”

  Ben-Aryeh sensed this was not something he should interrupt, as if Vitas had wanted all along to speak of this.

  “I fought a campaign in Britannia,” Vitas said. His eyes were focused on a distant hill. “The Iceni revolted because of a bad governor and were slaughtered in that revolt. At the end of my campaign, I was involved in something that . . .”

  Vitas took a deep breath, paused so long that Ben-Aryeh wondered if he’d finished speaking. “On my return to Rome,” Vitas said, “I expected that I’d never have to see such killing ever again. In fact, I made sure of it by molding my political career toward the confines of the imperial palace.”

  Ben-Aryeh wondered what Vitas had nearly said about the end of the Iceni campaign and why he had changed the subject to Rome.

  Vitas gave Ben-Aryeh a wan smile. “Even in Rome, I could not escape more killing. As you might know, however, Nero has found a new group to persecute. The Christians. And so the killing continues. You ask me why I’m here. I can’t live in Rome any longer and continue to see it happen.”

  “And there happens to be a certain woman here in Judea?”

  Vitas smiled. Enough of an answer.

  Olithar saw that it was Ben-Aryeh and began to wave. He was a tall, skinny man with a sparse beard.

  “My assistant,” Ben-Aryeh explained, noticing that Olithar’s waving had drawn the attention of Vitas. “I’m not sure it will do you or me any good if we are seen together. Nor would Bernice want anyone to guess at the arrangements she had made between you and me.”

  “Stop then, on your donkey, as if it is giving you trouble,” Vitas said. “I’ll hurry forward and when I pass him, I’ll lower my head so he doesn’t see my face. You can join him and follow behind on your way to the city.”

  Ben-Aryeh nodded. To Olithar, it would seem as if he and Vitas had had only a few words on the road, not something unusual on a busy highway like this.

  “Before I go, let me tell you the truth, my friend,” Vitas said. “If I can return to Rome at a safer time and show Nero how a bad procurator is cutting into his tax revenue, Florus will be gone. And with him gone, perhaps you Jews won’t have a reason to die the way the Iceni did. That is why I am here.”

  Ben-Aryeh glimpsed something elusive in the Roman’s eyes. A sadness that had surfaced before the man could hide it completely. “There’s more, isn’t there?” Ben-Aryeh said, truly feeling compassion for the Roman.

  “Of course,” Vitas said, spurring his donkey forward and speaking over his shoulder as he left Ben-Aryeh behind. “Isn’t there always?”

  Queen Bernice ignored all the attention given to her and her five attendants as she walked through the Court of the Gentiles, past the livestock enclosures and money tables. She ignored the stares, the pointing, the whispering, the occasional catcall. She preferred traveling in the privacy of a litter and rarely walked in public so conspicuously, because she knew this was the treatment to expect.

  This morning, however, she needed to see the high priest, and the two messages she had sent to him had been ignored. Since he would not come to the palace, she had been forced to visit the Temple Mount, where her litter and the servants carrying it were not permitted entry.

  Inside the Court of Women she did not hesitate. She moved directly to the priests who were sorting through firewood for the altar. “Ananias,” she commanded. “I need to see him immediately.”

  There were four men at the stacks of wood. All four straightened, fully aware of who spoke to them.

  “You—” Bernice pointed at the shortest, a man with a mole on his left cheek, this the tiny blemish that defiled him and condemned him to menial labor in the priesthood—“tell him that Queen Bernice waits. And remind him that my brother has the power to remove and appoint high priests as frequently as he wants.”

  She hoped her unmistakable confidence that the priest would obey was enough to get him moving before he wondered why any priest should follow the commands of a person from outside the temple.

  Fortunately, her bluff worked.

  The priest shuffled forward, across the courtyard, up the steps, and into the Court of Israel, with the altar that guarded the Holy of Holies inside.

  Bernice retreated to the shade of the gallery along the outer wall of the Court of Women. Early in the morning, it was already hot.

  She expected that the indirect threat of removal from his office would force Ananias to meet with her. Although five years had passed—with a succession of high priests during that time—since Annas the Younger had made a political miscalculation and angered her brother Agrippa II, thereby losing his priestly office, all high priests were extremely conscious that the latest in the line of Herods would not hesitate to use the power granted to the royalty by Rome.

  This was proven when she saw Ananias—long flowing robe, long gray beard—hurrying to meet her.

  “This, Your Highness, is not the most convenient time,” Ananias said upon reaching her.

  They were out of earshot of anyone in the Court of Women, but the other priests watched them with intense curiosity.

  “Obviously,” she answered. “I’m certain it was so busy that you didn’t even have a chance to read either of the messages I had delivered to you already this morning.”

  She said it with haughtiness and scorn. This was not a moment for weakness or vulnerability. Ananias was not an ally, nor would he ever become one, for Ananias was simply a pawn of the wealthy Sadducees.

  After Annas t
he Younger had been banished from the high priesthood, effectively ending the long reign of power of his family, a consortium of the upper class had influenced Agrippa II to appoint whoever would serve them best. In the end, for all the courageous actions that a certain priest named Ben-Aryeh had taken to rid the temple of the Annas family, it had actually made the situation worse. As for Ben-Aryeh, he would never be a candidate, for he was too strong willed to serve that consortium of wealthy men.

  “I have no time for messages,” Ananias said. He was a tall, thin man with a full head of thick gray hair to match his beard, and the robes of the high priesthood gave him an intimidating appearance. “As you’ve surely heard, Florus and five hundred extra soldiers occupy Palace Antonia. Dealing with Florus is an extremely urgent matter.”

  “I’ve also heard that you and the chief priests did nothing to discourage the crowds from insulting him yesterday as his army approached the city.”

  Ananias snorted. “Seventeen talents taken from the temple treasury the day before that! How could anybody stop the crowds from reacting as they did?”

  “You say you have little time,” she said, “so I will speak with directness. It is no secret that you and the high priests before you have had a tradition of paying people to blend in with the crowds and incite them with your agenda. In short, the crowds behave as you direct. Or are you suggesting that the great priesthood truly has no power over the people?”

  Ananias smoothed his robes. “As you say, I have little time. Florus has summoned a delegation of leaders. I must go.”

  It was a bluff and she knew it. At this point, he would be very curious to find out what had been important enough for her to send two messages and then appear in person. So would the Sadducees whom he reported to.

  “That is why I am here,” Bernice said. “I am begging you to do exactly as he requests. Give him no reason to unleash the dogs of war.”

  “You are giving me political advice?”

  “It is not advice. It is a request. More than a request.”