Stone and Steel

by David Blixt

  “The Nazarenes will never join us,” observed Joshua.

  “If only to spite me,” added Ananus. He had executed the brother of the sect's founder.

  “If not,” said Yosef, “we must at least ensure they will not fight for the Zelotes.”

  Joshua added his voice, though in his usual sidelong manner. “We do require allies. Chanania the Miser has fled, and taken his riches with him. Secretary Liev's house is empty and collecting dust. I hear that the priests Herod and Zebulon, those who fled just after Beth Horon, have appeared at King Agrippa's court. The Nazarenes are fleeing as well, and the Essenes are saying this war has nothing to do with them. If we were to woo these disparate elements, the Zelotes must treat us with the respect we deserve.”

  It was unpalatable. Pharisees looked down on all the other sects as impractical, unrealistic, and uninterested in the world at hand – which was why politics was dominated by Pharisees. “What will this do, other than waste time?”

  “Besides diminishing the influence of the Zelotes, it may show King Agrippa that all Jews oppose his Roman masters. If he thinks his people are united, he may keep his army at home.”

  The practical answer won the day. Reluctantly, Ananus nodded. “And the last course?”

  “The Sanhedrin must create an army.”

  “What?!” roared Ananus at once. “Give in to their demands!?”

  “No, sir. Take his teeth. An army is inevitable. The question stands, will it belong to him, or to the Sanhedrin? If there is an official army, sanctioned by you, Eleazar's standard will attract few followers. Even in revolt, every Hebrew wants to be legal.”

  Cooling, Ananus frowned in thought. “Yes. Get in first. Put our own men in command.” He turned to Joshua. “Make the dispositions, that we may implement our plans at once.”

  “We should delay announcing the army,” added Yosef, “for at least a few days. Otherwise…”

  “Otherwise it appears that Eleazar won our debate. Yes, excellent. Thank you, Yosef.”

  This was a dismissal, and Yosef dutifully headed for the door. As he backed out, he saw the ghost of a wink from Joshua.

  Oh, is it possible that I'm on my way at last?

  XII

  EVEN UNDER the specter of war, the rituals of the White City continued unabated. The great shell horn called the Magrapha continued to summon the faithful to prayer. Men continued to lead their lambs to the great jagged altar, ritually sacrificing the best of their flock to the Lord. Y'eshua the Prophet continued to wander the city, calling out his creed: “Woe! Woe unto Jerusalem!” And on the night of the new moon, priests of the Sanhedrin took the testimony of three witnesses and sent out messengers to declare the new month, Shevat. It was halfway through the Roman month of January.

  At noon the next day, Judah sauntered back to the workshop wearing a smile and sucking skinned knuckles. Though he still did not sport a blue armband, he now frequented the Blue Hall – to hear the news, he told himself. But for a young man just turned eighteen, it was a heady thing to be hailed as a hero whenever he appeared among the Avengers of Israel.

  Opening the gate in the workshop wall, he was glad to see things getting along fine without him. The boys were working, Malachi's voice lifted in song to fill the time. The boy had powerful lungs to heave the hammer and keep his rhythm.

  Asher was still reacquainting himself with the business of masonry. Today he was leading two apprentices through the process of making new bricks: carving and pressing the straw-mixed clay, then sliding the bricks into the low oven. “Be careful!” he warned them. “My fingers still own scars from mishandling hot bricks.”

  Judah strolled in the yard, lowering his bleeding hand from his mouth. “Huh.”

  Asher glanced up at him. “What? I like teaching.”

  “It's not that. I'm not surprised you're a natural teacher. I just didn't know you ever paid attention in the first place!”

  “Knowing how and wanting to are entirely different.” Asher set aside his work. “So what happened?”

  “Was there a fight?” asked Chaim eagerly.

  “A disagreement.” Judah leapt up onto a stone block and sat comfortably. “The Romans are definitely coming. Two legions marching from Alexandria, and one more sailing to meet the Roman forces in Syria. The Kohen Gadol announced he's forming an army.”

  “Then why the fighting?” asked Malachi. “It's what they've been calling for.”

  “He didn't put a Zelote in command,” guessed Asher.

  “Exactly,” said Judah, laying a finger alongside his nose. “Though he hasn't named his generals, he's saying they'll all be men of the Sanhedrin. Anyone who's spoken at the Blue Hall is barred from command. The priests who announced it brought bodyguards because they knew it would turn into a brawl. And they were right,” he added cheerfully.

  “Whose side did you take?” Asher was genuinely curious.

  “I'm not entirely sure.” Judah grinned ruefully. “I punched Phannius, so I must've been on the side of the aristocracy.”

  Asher rolled his eyes. “Judah, you idiot…”

  Judah raised his hands defensively. “I think I hit a couple of priests, too!”

  “Oh, and that makes it better. Does it? They're not going to let her marry you if you keep hitting her brother!”

  Judah frowned. He didn't want to discuss it in front of the boy. “What does it matter? At least I feel better. Besides, the way they go on, it's an honour to be punched by me.”

  “Did anything get accomplished?”

  Judah shrugged. “Lots, and nothing.”

  “Where will the army meet the Romans?”

  For the first time Judah looked well and truly disgusted. “Everywhere! They don't mean to muster one great force to face the Romans on the field. Instead, they're sending their priest-generals out to defend each region separately. Ensuring Jerusalem will receive a siege.”

  “What?” asked Chaim. “How?”

  “The Romans will come here first,” explained Judah. “If nothing else, our lack of an army clinches it.”

  “I'm not so sure,” mused Asher. “Agamemnon's army saw Troy's unbreachable walls and turned to laying waste to the countryside for nine years.”

  Judah rolled his eyes. “This isn't poetry, Asher, it's real life!”

  “Your imitation of father is improving. But the military sense remains. It all depends on what kind of general the Romans send. Is it Corbulo?”

  “Ha! No, they've sent the Old Muleteer instead. Vespasianus the Plodder. Well, we knew Nero was mad.”

  “We shouldn't underestimate the Romans,” warned Asher.

  “And they shouldn't underestimate us!”

  “You sound just like Phannius! You don't really care as long as it's a good fight.”

  Judah blinked. “Is there anything wrong with that?”

  ♦ ◊ ♦

  YOSEF WAS SUMMONED at dawn to the Kohen Gadol's palace, only to cool his heels in the courtyard with a hundred other priests. At noon news of the announcement and the riots began to circulate among the small knots of waiting men, and they all began to wonder the same thing – if the army was to be led by priests, were they the potential generals? Eyeing each other, they waited with a mixture of hope and fear.

  “Do my old eyes deceive me, or has Yosef the Traveler returned to us?”

  Yosef turned to face his childhood teacher, Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai. Irascible and undoubtedly brilliant, he had never advanced far up the priestly ladder, being far too unwilling to suffer fools. Instead he had taken to teaching the Torah, adding lessons of his own that he interpreted from the stories in the ancient text.

  They embraced, and set to talking, with Yochanan quizzing Yosef to his doings these last several years in Rome. It was a pleasant diversion from the knife's-edge of waiting, and they chatted happily, Yochanan asking insightful questions and never afraid to tell Yosef when he'd been foolish.

  “Ah, I do miss students of worth,” sighed Yochanan. He had blear
y eyes, crusted and running, and he squinted through them determinedly. “These pupils today subscribe to the Sadducee ways – literal, literal! No interpretation but literal! Even if we all agree the Torah is perfect, we must still interpret its perfections! The Lord gave us minds for a reason, and reason is that reason! Anyone who mindlessly recites without applying the gift of the Lord, the mind, is a fool. I say a fool!” Several of the men the rabbi was decrying were standing nearby. “Yes, I mean you, Rabban Benjamin! You are just the sort of fool I mean! Yes, that's right, shy away! Hide your head in the sand – and I don't mean that thing on your neck! That's completely worthless! How do I know? Because you refuse to use it! A eunuch of the intellect! A gelding of the wrong head!”

  Yosef was laughing in spite of himself. “I've missed you!”

  Yochanan nodded. “Of course you have. No one challenges you young men anymore. Today there are lessons without learning, recitations without reason. Let there be light, I say, light! Light – just so! Does the Torah mean light, as we do, sun or fire? Or is it a light of the spirit? We count days by the sun, but for three days there was no sun – He hadn't created it! So what was a day? The Lord doesn't need to count as we do. Fools!”

  Yosef remembered hearing the very same arguments fifteen years before. Yochanan was a squabbler and quibbler by nature, but his undeniable brilliance made him impossible to dismiss entirely. He had even convinced a former Kohen Gadol from following the literal interpretation of the ritual sacrifice of the Red Heifer, in favour of a more symbolic sacrifice. Quite a feat, as that Kohen Gadol had happened to be a Sadducee, and the interpretation was therefore his own. But then, finding a Red Heifer was next to impossible.

  Yochanan maintained his monologue. “I had hoped Galilee would be better, but for a land that has produced so many Zelotes and fanatics, they are surprisingly godless in their daily lives. Perhaps it is proximity to the Temple that brings forth devotion. No wonder you fell into Roman ways when in Rome – the distance is enormous. I doubt any man so far removed could remain true to his faith.” He made a sputtering noise. “Not that we lack men of faith here. It's men of sense we lack. War? I ask you, war? Swords into plowshares! But Heaven forefend we actually embrace the teachings of the Torah! Even a meaning so plain that a literalist Sadducee like Benjamin there could see it. Yes, Benjamin, I'm speaking of you again! What will you do about it?” Again the sputtering noise, this time accompanied with a contemptuous wave of the hand. “And they let him teach. We're raising a crop of stunted minds. Wouldn't know how to reason if their lives depended on it. Which, as it happens, they do. You know, there was one I saw, oh, five years ago. He bore a brain and knew how to wield it like a sword. Almost as clever as you, Yosef, and much better mannered. He didn't laugh in his sleeve like you are now – don't think I don't see you. I remember he brought up the implicit acknowledgement of other gods in the Decalogue – saw it for himself! Because, of course, none of these fools were going to point it out to him. They'd rather pretend it didn't exist. But the Torah is perfect, remember! Perfect, Benjamin! So it's in there for a reason. But rather than engage in the debate, they scolded him and set the other boys to beat him. I had it half in mind to take him under my wing, but I was just off to Galilee and couldn't be bothered to take some poor mason's son with me.”

  That brought Yosef up short. “His name wouldn't happen to be Asher, would it?”

  The wizened rabbi craned around. “It is indeed.”

  “I met him,” said Yosef. It was on the tip of his tongue to add, at the Blue Hall. But the rabbi was as free with his tongue as many men were with drink. Any mention of the Blue Hall could well scuttle Yosef's chances at a decent office during the war. “He's kept up his reading, though mostly Greek, I think.”

  “Alas, and that's the way of it! We lose our best minds to foreign thoughts and foreign ways because we do not foster reason here at home! I tell you, boy, that I have half a mind – well, more than half, half and half again, which is three times as much as any of these—”

  They were interrupted by loud cursing through the main double doors that led into the Kohen Gadol's private rooms. Yosef expected to see Eleazar come storming out, but the man who emerged had a bristling beard and wild eyes. Indeed, he looked so feral that every man present took step back.

  “Have it your own way, Kohen Gadol! I'll go to Masada and take arms with some real patriots! But I'll be back, Ananus! Trust to it! I'll be back and you'll be in no position to stop me, because you'll be dead!”

  Yochanan turned to Yosef. “Who on earth is that?”

  “Simon bar Giora,” answered Yosef. Mindful not to betray his trips to the Blue Hall, he answered with general knowledge. “A minor priest from Acrabatane. He wanted command of an army. I guess Ananus removed him from his office instead. Fool – he's the most outspoken man in the Blue Hall – or so I've heard,” he added hastily.

  “Oh he's definitely a fool,” agreed Yochanan. “But at least he's brave.”

  Simon was not the only one so removed. Through the day Yosef saw many men called in, only to depart in anger or grief minutes later. Ananus was making sure of his priests in the rural areas, replacing hotheads with more reliable men.

  As Yochanan prattled on, Yosef wondered if that was why he was here, to be the loyal man sent into the field. Oh please, Lord, not Acrabatane. It was a region close to Idumea, and thus far from where the real fighting would be. Though it would put me in command of Jericho…

  ♦ ◊ ♦

  INSIDE THE PRIVATE CHAMBER, Ananus sipped his hot lemon water and reassembled his temper. “That was the last of them, and the worst. What now?”

  As usual, Joshua ben Gamala was there to assist him. “As you commanded, we have accelerated the refortification of Jerusalem's walls, and announced the formation of a national army, under the command of the priests of the Sanhedrin.”

  “Having announced it, I suppose we must create it.”

  “Indeed. In four months, five at most, the Romans will be upon us. We must make a good showing. Organized. Efficient. And if we are to recruit raw troops,” observed Joshua, “it would be well to offer them ready arms.”

  “I shall pry loose the arms taken at Beth Horon. The so-called 'Avengers of Israel' can hardly argue with the cause.”

  “And Masada?”

  Ananus' grave face became graver. At the same moment the Roman garrison had been ejected from Jerusalem, a band of Zelotes had stormed Herod's old fortress at Masada and executed all the Romans there. It had taken time for anyone to even learn of it, because the Zelote leaders gathered enough food, water, and weapons to last for years, then cut themselves off from the world. “Masada is closed to us at present. I've sent messengers, but the Zelotes who took it refuse to work with Jerusalem until we fully embrace their cause.”

  “We're preparing to battle the Romans,” huffed Joshua. “What more proof do they require?”

  “My removal from the leadership. By death, I believe, is their preferred method. I am too well known as a moderate, and am already being accused of accepting Roman bribes.” Shrugging, Ananus produced a piece of slate marked with chalk. “On to the issue of commanders. Naturally, I will take nominations from the Sanhedrin. But I prefer to have my choices already in place.”

  “I applaud your foresight,” said Joshua.

  Ananus half-smiled. “As always, I welcome your input.”

  Invited, Joshua held forth. “The key will be Galilee. Its defense is vital. It's our most fruitful land, but also the birthplace of these Zelotes. The man in charge will have his hands full with both the Romans and the 'am ha-arez – the unwashed masses. If the commander does not please them, they will be upon his neck like jackals. It requires a man of many parts – ambition, intelligence, compassion, and ruthlessness.”

  “I assume you have a name?”

  ♦ ◊ ♦

  RABBAN YOCHANAN HAD wandered off, bored. His ever-questing mind needed constant stimulation, and he'd been disgusted at Yosef's reticen
ce to speak his mind freely. But Yosef was trying to keep his own council.

  Still, as he sat waiting outside the High Priest's chamber, Yosef wished he had someone to talk to – really talk to. If only his old friend Nicanor had been about. School-mates and rivals, Nicanor had espoused the Nazarene cult later in life. One of many poor choices, it seemed, as Nicanor was said to have sided with King Agrippa and now served as a centurion in the Hebrew King's army – an army that soon would be marching alongside the Romans, not against them.

  Yet Nicanor was someone Yosef could confide in. A reasonable man, not a fanatic, despite his chosen faith.

  And what does that say about the rest of us? wondered Yosef. Yochanan is right, no one truly believes we can win – at least, no one rational. Still we plan for war. Are eager for it. Rome has heaped coals upon Judea's head. Is it any wonder our hair is on fire?

  He thought again of his conversation with the mason's son. It was the closest to a genuine discussion of ideas he'd had since returning from Rome. Perhaps I should seek him out…

  Joshua emerged from the Kohen Gadol's chamber. His eyes searched the crowd of men, whose numbers had thinned through the day. Yosef waited until he was beckoned, then hurried over.

  “Ah, Yosef. Excellent.” Joshua handed over two slate tablets covered in chalk. “The Kohen Gadol has made his dispositions for the army. They are to be copied out fair and distributed to our loyal supporters in the Sanhedrin.”

  Yosef felt his heart sink. I am reduced to copyist. “Very well.”