Now that she had reached the main purpose of her meeting with him, she would show weakness. If that was what it took to let him know how much it mattered, she would swallow her pride. “If you wish,” she said, “I will get down on my knees and literally beg this of you.”
“This is not the imperious, arrogant Queen Bernice who has antagonized the priesthood for the last decade. The Queen Bernice whose immoral appetites have made her a laughingstock among good Jews.”
His words stabbed her. She deserved them.
“No,” she said, swallowing any attempt at defending herself. “It is not. Against Florus, we must set aside our differences.”
“Are you suggesting we actually battle Rome?”
“No. Any fight we will lose. And our people will be slaughtered.”
“Our people? Since when do the descendants of Herod care about the Jews, except as vassals to support the excesses of royalty?”
Bernice forgot to keep her pride in control and snapped without thinking, “The same argument can be made of the priesthood.”
“We serve God.”
“And the priests live very well doing it.”
“I believe our conversation is over,” Ananias said. As well he should. Now that he knew why she’d requested the meeting, he was certainly satisfied.
“Please. I am sorry. I was wrong to suggest what I did. And you were right. Until now, the excesses of royalty have done nothing except leech from our people. But the future does not have to be the past.”
Ananias appeared genuinely puzzled at her humility. “This new policy has official approval from Agrippa?”
Bernice said nothing.
“He is in Alexandria, congratulating the ruler there on having obtained the government from Nero. Am I correct?”
“He is in Alexandria.”
“A shrewd political move, of course. I am to believe then, that the man currying favor from our powerful neighbors is the same man who suddenly tells me through you to place the welfare of peasants above the welfare of royalty?”
“The peasants are without power. They depend on us for—”
“So, you don’t speak for your brother. And you come to me, the high priest, daring to tell me how to conduct my business with Florus.”
“Florus is looking for any excuse to set his soldiers loose.”
“That is obvious. But he must also be accountable to Rome for his actions. That will check any excesses beyond what he has already done.”
“You don’t understand. It is just as easy for him to blame the Jews for any riots as it is for the Jews to blame him. And who would Caesar believe? His actions then—whatever the excesses—are easily explained to Rome.”
“What I don’t understand is why you have this sudden concern. The Herods are powerless lapdogs of Caesar. Regardless of what happens with the rest of the nation’s difficulties with Florus, nothing will change about your life. You’ll still flit from palace to palace according to the season.” He paused and sneered. “Pampered and hedonistic.”
“Please,” Bernice said. “Whatever Florus requests, give it to him. If it is money, I will replace it for you.”
“He already has our money. Remember? Seventeen talents.”
“Please . . . ,” she repeated.
Ananias sighed. “Strangely enough, I feel compassion for your sudden interest in keeping peace. But there is nothing to fear. Florus is going to demand that we hand over the troublemakers who insulted him yesterday.”
“Will you do it then?”
His sigh became one of exasperation. “I will explain this to you the way I would explain it to a child. As simply as possible.”
“I will listen as a child.”
“The troublemakers Florus wants are the same people who, as you so indelicately put it, have been bribed by us to incite the crowds. If we hand them over, who would ever work for us again?”
“And you lose some of your power over the people . . .”
“Not power—” he smiled—“influence.”
“Let our people be more important than that. Just this once. Please.”
“Your concern is impressive. Truly. Unfathomable after all your years without but impressive.” Another smile, genuine. “Your fear is misplaced. This is the way it will happen. We will gather our leaders and chief priests and meet with Florus as he’s requested. He will demand an apology. We will give it to him in private. This way, our people know that publicly we have stood up to him. We keep our power. He keeps his. It’s part of a game that every procurator plays. It is a delicate dance that has been playing to the same music for the last hundred years. Nothing will change.”
Bernice thought of what her spies had delivered. “I believe you are wrong. I believe he is like no other procurator Rome has sent before. He wants war.”
Ananias frowned. “War would be convenient for him if he could start it somewhere in the provinces. But here, too many people of influence would be able to present to the governor of Syria any of the wrongs done by Florus. He dares not risk beginning a war here.”
“What if he believes that war will distract the governor and distract Rome from looking into his affairs in Jerusalem? Look how easily he was able to get all these extra soldiers into the heart of the city.”
“Perhaps, Your Highness, you should return to the way of life that you have been content to lead for so long until now. Your grasp of politics is too poor for you to try to meddle. Trust me, by late afternoon, Florus will be on his return to Caesarea with his army and the money that he stole from us. That’s all he wanted in the first place. As for us, we won’t really miss what he’s taken, because the temple treasury is far vaster than he can comprehend. And the people will again believe we fought him to a standstill. Everyone will be happy.” Ananias paused. “Anything else?”
Bernice bowed her head. She knew it was useless to spend more time trying to convince him.
“Good,” he said. “Trust my words. Nothing will go wrong.”
A growing population had forced development outside the city of Jerusalem, on a site yet to be enclosed by protective walls. Here, farthest away from the mansions of the upper city yet still within Jerusalem proper were the extensive leather operations, a thriving industry because of the thousands of sheep and cattle slaughtered for temple sacrifice. The leather industry had been placed there, not only because of the distance from the mansions but because prevailing winds blew the stench away from the city.
Yet within this quarter, not even the winds could totally disperse the heavy rotten-egg odors that came from all stages of leather production—from scraping the raw hides, to curing the leather in vats of tannin, to hanging them to dry. For those who lived in the quarter, the stench seeped into their hair and skin. Given its lack of walled protection and the continuous nauseating smell that hung over it, it had soon become the quarter to house the poorest of poor.
Here, Sophia was employed by an absentee owner of one of the largest leather warehouses. As an unmarried woman with no family, she had few other choices in employment.
She was draped in a sheep hide when Maglorius came into sight from behind the vats of tannin; she was glad for the excuse to set it down.
Although he’d never come to this quarter to visit, she smiled at his unexpected arrival.
Maglorius had become a good friend over the previous months. Daily, she thanked God for that friendship and how He had arranged for them to meet. Most surely it had not been coincidence. Maglorius was an ex-gladiator, and she was a freed slave, each born in different parts of the world. Yet, after the ship’s journey from Smyrna to Rome where they had first met, here he was in Jerusalem. And to think that they had literally bumped into each other in the crowded market. God worked in wonderful ways.
“Come with me,” Maglorius said without his usual welcoming smile. “Immediately.”
There were dozens of other workers around her, most of them older or maimed in some way; those who had the ability to work anywhere else
did not lower themselves to employment here.
“I cannot,” she said, gesturing around her. “I—”
Maglorius surprised her. He stepped forward quickly and took her elbow.
She winced. “What are you—”
“Listen to me,” he said in a low, confidential voice. “I have very little time. Come with me now.”
His actions had drawn the attention of others, who began whispering. Sophia was embarrassed. Maglorius was an attractive man and she was a single woman. The conclusions they would draw were quite natural.
“I’ll follow you to the street where we can talk,” she said in an equally low voice. “But you are hurting my arm.”
He eased the grip but did not entirely let go, and he guided her away from the vats and the other workers. When they reached the narrow street, he did not stop as she expected but continued to lead her toward the city.
“No,” she said and shook her arm loose. “What has come over you?”
“I will explain, but I have to get to the market. With you.”
“Not a single step until I hear more,” Sophia said. “You know how stubborn I am.”
“I do,” he said.
He picked her up and threw her over his right shoulder, her legs draped over his chest, her hair hanging straight down over her face, giving her a view of his sandaled heels and the packed dirt of the street.
She screamed.
Several nearby people glanced at them.
“Disobedient wife,” Maglorius yelled. “Sometimes one has no choice.”
The men nodded with understanding, and Maglorius marched ahead.
“Maglorius!” Sophia shouted. “Have you lost your mind?”
He ignored her.
She flailed her arms, and her hand hit the hilt of his sword. She grabbed it, pulled it loose in a swift move. “Stop,” she said, “or I’ll cut you open.”
That was effective.
He stopped, set her down, and with blinding swiftness, grabbed the wrist of her sword hand. She pulled but didn’t even move his arm.
“Florus is about to send soldiers through the city,” Maglorius said, his face set with determination. “They will have orders to kill any citizens in sight.”
“How do you know this?” By his unblinking stare, she knew he believed he was telling the truth. “Florus would never—”
“Yes, he would. Come with me. Now. Valeria is in the market and I must get her next.”
“But if that is true, these people here . . .”
Maglorius spun away from her. He stepped close to an old man who had been watching them through rheumy eyes. “Citizen,” he said, “go through this quarter and warn others to find a place to hide. Soldiers are on their way.”
The man’s eyes widened. He smacked his gums several times, then tottered off toward the men down the road who were loading a cart with finished hides.
Moments later, Maglorius was back with Sophia. “He may tell them; he may not,” he said. “I’ve been giving the same warning as often as possible on my way here, and most people laugh at me.”
“Soldiers . . . ,” Sophia said. “Not in Jerusalem.”
“That’s exactly what I’ve been told. But it is going to happen. Soon.”
When he took her arm, she did not protest. If something had happened that affected Maglorius in this way, she would be foolish not to listen.
“I need to make a confession to you,” Maglorius said as they walked up the slight incline toward the city walls. “If I don’t survive the next days, and if Vitas doesn’t make it into the city or find you, then—”
“Vitas!”
If daily she thanked God for her friendship with Maglorius, twice daily she asked her Father to watch over Vitas, even convinced as she was that when she’d refused to stay in Rome with him, she’d lost him forever.
“Walk faster,” Maglorius urged.
“Vitas?!”
He sighed. “It was not an accident that I met you in the market. I’d been searching for you. Myself. And through others.”
“Searching for me?”
“We have so little time. Interruptions make this more difficult.”
They reached the Ephraim Gate, with the temple towering above them. Three young men loitered at the gate, eyeing Sophia.
Maglorius moved toward them, and they watched him with insolence in their stances.
“Here’s your chance to be heroes,” Maglorius said. “When you hear the disturbance in the city, make sure the gate cannot be shut so people can flee into this quarter.”
All three laughed.
“At least wait nearby,” he said over his shoulder as he headed back to Sophia. “You’ll see.”
They laughed scornfully again. But, as Sophia noticed, they remained where they were. This was the effect Maglorius could have on people.
“Vitas?” Sophia asked. “You must tell me.”
“I’ve been in correspondence with Vitas. Under strict orders not to let you know of it. He asked me to find you and arrange for your continued safety.”
They were hurrying up the narrow street that would take them to the heart of the city. To the crowded marketplace.
“You are not my friend, then,” Sophia said slowly, trying to grasp this. She’d been in Jerusalem half a year. “Not a friend but a bodyguard.”
“Others have been your bodyguards. I have been your friend almost from the beginning.”
In anger, Sophia stopped walking. “Others? Spying on me?”
He turned to her. “Two weeks ago, that man who attacked you near dusk as you were on your way to a meeting of the followers. And the two others who stopped him.”
“They were spying on me?”
“For your protection,” Maglorius said. “As part of my pledge to Vitas. Please, we need to get to the market.”
“No.”
“Valeria is there. I can’t choose between the two of you. I can’t leave you behind and help her, or abandon her to be with you.”
At the anguish easy to read on his face, Sophia relented. But she was furious. “You are telling me that Vitas hired you to—”
“I owe Vitas a debt of gratitude. I would never work for a Roman. Ever.”
“You are employed in the Bellator household,” Sophia blurted out. Immediately she felt irritated with herself. Why was she arguing with Maglorius about something that trivial?
“No,” he said gently. “I’m there because of my son.”
That was as perplexing to Sophia as anything else he’d said. “You’re not married,” she began slowly. “You . . .” She stopped herself, suddenly comprehending.
“It’s changed,” Maglorius said quickly. “You should know that. I ended what was wrong and deceitful. Since you helped me become a believer.”
“So that’s not a pretense? The time you spend in worship with us? Your belief in the Resurrection?”
“I found you at the request of Vitas. Once I had arranged for your protection, I was under no obligation to spend time with you. I did it freely. In fact, I’m sure Vitas would have preferred that you not know of my presence in Jerusalem.”
Making it all the more difficult for Sophia to grasp was the urgency of pace that Maglorius forced upon them. She wanted time to sit down—alone—and absorb it all and reflect on what it meant.
Vitas? Coming to Jerusalem? Arranging for her protection?
Maglorius? With a son in the Bellator household? How did he know about Florus and the soldiers? What did he owe to Vitas?
She settled on one question first. “Vitas, when will he arrive in Jerusalem?”
“If a messenger found him in Caesarea before Florus did, and if Vitas went to Sebaste as Bernice requested . . .”
“Bernice? Queen Bernice? Why would—?”
“Judea is far from Rome,” Maglorius said impatiently. “Vitas offers her political favors there for her help here. It’s the way of the world.”
“And Vitas then will be here . . .”
�
�I expect his arrival in the next couple of days. He wanted to find you himself. But Florus and the army changed everything. Vitas may get here soon. Or later. I can’t say. As for you, once I get you to the royal palace, you’ll be safe. Vitas can find you there when he finally arrives.”
She was slowing down to try to comprehend this new information. In the royal palace?
He took her by the arm again. “Please,” he said, “don’t make me ask again. Hurry!”
When the brigands attacked from the gully in the dip of the road, it took Ben-Aryeh several seconds to comprehend the source of the screaming and motion. Part of the screaming came from Olithar, his assistant, who was already running from the road into the hills above it.
Ben-Aryeh saw four men, all brandishing curved swords, running forward from huge boulders that clung to the hillside above the highway.
Brigands!
Here, almost within the shadows of the walls of Jerusalem, it verged on preposterous that brigands had so boldly attacked.
Yet there was no denying it was actually happening.
Ben-Aryeh leaned forward on the donkey, clutching the beast’s neck. It brayed as he kicked it forward. He hoped to burst through the wall of brigands.
But failed. The donkey spun sideways, and Ben-Aryeh hit the ground hard and groaned from the pain of smashing his ribs into a round stone.
The brigands moved forward and gathered around him.
Ben-Aryeh stared upward as one of the men swung a club at his head.
The Eighth Hour
Vitas found himself outside the city again.
On the final stretch of the road to Jerusalem, from the top of the Mount of Olives, he had been awed at the magnificence of the temple, its golden burnished dome so bright with reflected sunlight that he’d been forced to look away.
From the temple, he had turned his gaze to the magnificent mansions beyond it, glimpsing the deep green foliage of the private gardens. And the walls of the city! Massive, perched on the edge of the sharply dropping cliffs. It truly seemed like a city that might house the God of Israel. Yes, he had thought, even with his anxiousness to get inside and begin searching for Sophia, Jerusalem truly was the eighth wonder of the world. He’d read about it, heard about it, but had not been able to remotely comprehend its glory until finally seeing it.
The Last Disciple Page 19
