by David Blixt
Joshua's eyes twinkled. “Aren't you curious as to what he has decided?”
Stifling a sigh, Yosef braced himself. “Of course.”
“He has designated commanders for Idumea, Peraite, Jericho, and Perea.” He rattled off several names, all known to Yosef, his peers. His own name was nowhere among them. “For practicality, he has wisely combined the regions of Thamna, Lydda, Joppa, and Emmaus into a single command. He also put one man over both Gophnitica and Acrabatene.”
All this made surprisingly good sense. There were only two regions yet unnamed. “What about Galilee? And Samaria?”
“Samaria.” Joshua made a sour face. “They have not declared their intentions, but that is only because the Roman army is not yet here to protect them. No doubt they're still secretly kidnapping Judeans and selling them to be Roman slaves. No, we need send no general to Samaria.”
“And Galilee?”
“Ah, Galilee. Apart from Jerusalem itself, the most important of our lands. Which is why we require a commander we can trust.” From his belt, Joshua produced a roll of paper. “Yosef ben Matityahu, you are hereby charged to take immediate command over both Northern and Southern Galilee and guide its defense.”
“What? I —” The fleeting shock was replaced by exultation. Barely thirty years old, he was being given perhaps the most prestigious and demanding post of the war. Not merely a command, a great one. Live or die, he would be famous, and his children's children would speak of him with reverence.
“I wish I had more self-restraint,” admitted Joshua with a wicked grin. “I thought about letting you copy out those names, so that you could discover it for yourself. But I simply had to see your face.”
Crowing inside, Yosef feigned modesty. “I am as shocked as I am honoured.”
“Beware,” warned Joshua, becoming grave. “This honour is a double-edged sword. The goal, young Yosef, will be to raise a magnificent defense for one season, then negotiate terms. Do not let the Galileans goad you into all-out warfare. We must fight just hard enough to gain peace, and no more. That is why you have been chosen. As I told Ananus, you are uniquely suited. You are of David's house, yet you spent time in the wilderness, learning the Essene way. What was the name of that old hermit?”
“Bannus.” Yosef was at once transported back to his two years of self-starvation and ritual cleansing. Unlike the popular and worldly Pharisees or the vehemently traditional Sadducees, the Essenes adhered to the ancient rituals. At their most extreme they ate in silence, owned no private possessions, and considered it sacrilege to even evacuate their bowels on the Shabbat. At sixteen, such purity had appealed to Yosef – apart from that business with the shepherdess. For those two years he had felt closest to the Lord, blessed with visions and profound thoughts.
But Essenes took no part in government, no responsibility for the greater whole. They believed that everything was pre-ordained, that free will played no part in the Lord's design. Yosef had desired a role in the larger world. A role he now was to play.
Joshua continued listing Yosef's traits. “You know the Galilean ways, yet are no idealist – that's a compliment, by the way. You've been to Rome, so you know the enemy. The book you wrote on the Makkabi wars was quite popular among the Zelotes. And you have also attended meetings in the Blue Hall, so they know your face.”
Yosef's blood went cold. The cunning old wolf knows everything! “I went only to hear their words. Forewarned is forearmed.”
“If you had spoken, this appointment would not be possible – the Sanhedrin would disown you. As it is, your brother is marked as a fervent Zelote – no doubt your father wanting a foot in both camps. Your family has been very careful, my friend, walking on a gossamer strand over the Valley of Hinnom. See you do not fall in.” Joshua patted Yosef on the shoulder. “Go, make me proud. And tell your father all debts are paid. Or rather, now he is in my debt.”
Departing in a daze, Yosef was strangely resentful. The edge had been taken off his joy. The implication was that this was a favour to his father rather than due to Yosef himself. If I do well, my father and Joshua will claim the credit. I will be a hollow vessel for their success.
Unless I succeed beyond their wildest imaginings. Unless I do something no one believes we can. Unless I cover myself in glory and go down in history as one of the bravest, most cunning generals in history. David, Alexander, Makkabi, Caesar. Yosef.
Yosef suddenly recalled an unwelcome line from Virgil, the one that Asher had thrown at him: 'We are not all capable of everything.'
I'll prove both Asher and Virgil wrong. Priest, author, soldier, patriot, pragmatist. Now, general. Like the great Hyrcanus, I could be all those things, and more.
XIII
WITH THE ANNOUNCEMENT of a formal army, Asher's recovery advanced by leaps and bounds. He was up long before dawn each day, dragging Judah down to the enclosed yard to practice combat. Judah invited Levi to join them, and was surprised when the older man agreed. Levi claimed it was to keep his skills fresh. But really he had come to teach.
Most often the trio practiced with the Judean sword, a long forward-bent blade resembling a crooked finger. Unlike the Roman gladius, it was meant for slashing, not stabbing.
Yet Levi insisted they practice with the gladius as well. Not only that, but staves, spears, long-axes – anything they might find at hand in battle.
No matter the weapon, Levi's skill was uncanny. In single combat, he always ended the victor. Only when he faced both twins together did he occasionally lose.
Rising from the ground after a throw, Judah demanded. “Who taught you to fight?”
Levi smiled. “I learned at the hands of the best teacher – the enemy.” It was all he would say.
Judah and Levi were both natural fighters. But Asher had a surprising contribution to make. In Alexandria, he had studied the ancient books of fighting. With his excellent memory, he could recall every detail of the pictographs demonstrating this move or that. He recreated them in the yard, instructing Judah and Levi in the fighting styles of a half-dozen cultures, some of them forgotten.
“They couldn't have been that skilled,” observed Judah wryly, “if they don't exist anymore.”
In truth, Asher had expected his knowledge to make him a better fighter than his brother. But watching Judah fight was the difference between a drawing of a panther, and the thing itself. Asher was a journeyman soldier, workmanlike and solid. Judah was made for fighting, as was Levi. It took all Asher's attention to just hold his own.
Then one day, out of the blue, Levi informed the twins that this would be his last day of training with them.
“Found employment at last, eh?”
“Yes, actually. I was at the Blue Hall and heard an address by Asher's friend, the priest Yosef.” They had all heard of his elevation. “Thanks to Apollion the Spicer, the young general has hired me to be his personal bodyguard. You gave Apollion my name. I thank you.” Levi bowed his head.
Judah felt a warm glow – he'd repaid part of his debt. “His good fortune.”
Asher was focused on something else. “Is Yosef my friend?”
“He remembered you, at least. He told me to ask you about heresy and other gods in the Decalogue.”
Asher laughed and winced at once. How had Yosef heard about that?
Judah said, “Does that mean you're off to Galilee?”
“So it seems.”
“Don't tell Shalva. She'll never cook a good meal again.”
Judah meant it in jest. He knew that Levi rarely laughed, but still he was surprised by the angry flash in Levi's eyes. “She's better off without me. Now, come at me. Perhaps today is the day you win.”
It wasn't. By the time the sun was fully up the twins' arms and thighs were aching and they had new pink bruises to compliment the purpling and green old ones. They were both eager to continue, but it was time to start the day's work. The twins bade farewell to Levi, roused the apprentices, and went to work.
Asher was well e
nough now to do the larger chores, sharing the heavy lifting with his brother. Today they were shaping a new sturdy gate arch for Apollion's house in the Upper City. Already their work was being praised, and demands from the spicer's neighbours were giving them more work than they could cope with. For weeks now their only respite had been Shabbat, the day of rest, contemplation, and prayer. Though welcome, Asher could not help thinking the Romans were not resting every seven days.
They worked the huge stone, shaping it, honing it, drilling the grooves that would hold the gate posts. Meanwhile the apprentices were baking bricks and doing the fine detail work on the front of the arch. To entertain them, Malachi sang. His choice for the first song was the eighty-second psalm:
GOD standeth in the congregation of the mighty; He judgeth among the gods.
How long will ye judge unjustly, and accept the persons of the wicked? Selah.
Defend the poor and fatherless: do justice to the afflicted and needy.
Deliver the poor and needy: rid them out of the hand of the wicked.
They know not, neither will they understand; they walk on in darkness: all the foundations of the earth are out of course.
I have said, Ye are gods; and all of you are children of the most High.
But ye shall die like men, and fall like one of the princes.
Arise, O God, judge the earth: for Thou shalt inherit all nations.
Asher joined in the last few lines. He'd forgotten the trouble he'd gotten in for using this psalm to defend his interpretation of the First and Second Commandment. Levi mentioning it meant that it was still remembered among the priests and rabbis. In truth, he hadn't really cared about the argument. Oh, he had fought hard, to be sure. But not because he thought he was right. Rather, he had argued because the priests had been so sure he was wrong.
Judah was born to fight with swords. Asher's best weapons were words.
A knock at the gate revealed a messenger with a note. “It's for you,” Judah said, handing it across to his brother.
Asher undid the twist of grass binding the small papyrus roll. Reading, his brow furrowed. Judah asked, “Who's it from?”
“That priest. Yosef.”
Judah was surprised. “What does he want? To debate the exact number of your heresies?”
“Be serious, please.”
“Well?”
“He's inviting us to take the air on the Mount of Olives at dusk.”
“Both of us?” Asher nodded. Judah looked down at his sweaty, dust-covered arms and legs. “We'd best clean up, then.”
♦ ◊ ♦
CLIMBING THE THREE-PEAKED ridge along the city's eastern side, the twins reached a grove of spindly trees. The dry, acidic scent of olives filled their noses, soaked into their skin. This was a favourite spot of theirs, as boys – which made them quite common. It was a favoured spot for anyone who could make the climb.
The Mount of Olives was a stark place. Save for the thin trees and scrub brush, there was no decoration. This was deliberate, for no ornament could compete with the view. This promontory had been created by the Lord to look down on Jerusalem and the monuments raised to His glory. There below were David's tomb and Herod's palace, fittingly at opposite ends of Mount Moriah. Far off was the palace of Solomon, and closer stood the Roman tower called Antonia, awe-inspiring in its own right.
In the midst of it all, the glittering gold and white of the Temple. The setting sun reflected off the golden rooftops of the Sanctuary, blinding Judah.
Shielding his eyes, he saw Asher turn suddenly away. “The Panieum.”
“What?”
Swallowing, Asher took a breath. “It's – this place. I forgot. There's a place in Alexandria. Pan's Finger. A man-made spire, the only high place in the city. At least, the only one open to Jews. I used to go there and feel like I was home…”
Judah wondered if now was the moment that Asher would open up. He'd taken to thinking of Asher's untold tale as a poison, one that would only be cured if it was drawn out. And it looked like it was on the tip of his brother's tongue to tell the tale. But just then he heard the scuff of footsteps on the dusty path. So close…damn!
The silent priest Judah had seen repeatedly at the Blue Hall came up the path. He walked with purpose, chin held high. Yes, Yosef ben Matityahu was certainly proud of his new post. Arriving, he held out his arm. “Asher! Excellent!”
“Good evening, sir,” greeted Asher, shaking it. “Or should I call you General?”
“Yosef, please. This is not a formal meeting.” Turning to Judah, Yosef's mellifluous voice filled the air with warmth. “Judah ben Matthais. Good to see the Hero of Beth Horon is alive and well!”
Judah wasn't sure if he was expected to shake hands or bow. He inclined his head slightly. “General of Galilee. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” Yosef turned to look out at the view. “Ahh. You know, this is my favourite spot in the city. I wanted to see it one last time. One never knows what will happen in war.”
“I thought war brought opportunity,” said Asher. Judah detected a slight push to his brother's tone.
Yosef smiled. “Another word for opportunity is chance, and chance means risk. But naught ventured, naught had, yes?”
“So you don't believe in the Greek idea of Fate? That destiny is ordained?”
“That is the Essene way. But I believe in the Lord's Will, and that He gave us both reason and choice for a purpose.”
“I have found power in the mysteries of thought, exaltation in the chanting of the Muses; I have been versed in the reasonings of men; but Fate is stronger than anything I have known.”
Judah rolled his eyes. Asher was quoting some dead poet again. But the priest seemed absurdly pleased, replying in kind.
“The nobly born must nobly meet his Fate.” Yosef slapped his hands together in pleasure. “This! This is why I wanted to see you! Already I'm thinking clearer! I'd actually hoped to see you before now, but I've been unimaginably busy. I suppose you masons, too, are vigourously employed at the moment.”
He politely directed this question more to Judah than Asher, hoping to hear of the contract with Apollion. Judah's reply disappointed him. “True, we have work enough. But we would prefer our stones to be used to shore up Agrippa's Wall.” It rankled that their state-issued contracts were all for the inner walls, not the outermost. Begun by Herod's son, Agrippa's Wall had never been completed – fear of offending Claudius Caesar had permanently suspended the work. “It will be the first line of defense when the Romans come.”
“I understand,” said Yosef, rather condescendingly. “But we must make certain that the Temple and the holy sites are protected above all else.”
Shrugging, Judah did not waste breath pointing out the obvious flaw in that statement: reinforcing the outermost walls would render everything safe, including the Temple.
“How go the preparations?” asked Asher. “When do you leave for Galilee?”
“Tomorrow.” Suddenly Yosef turned from the view. “Come with me.”
Judah blinked. Asher said, “Excuse me?”
“To Galilee. I need you. Both of you. My plan is to fortify the largest cities and force the Romans to waste their resources taking them one by one. A pair of skilled masons advising me would be invaluable.”
Asher smiled. “Nor would it hurt if one of them was the man who took the Roman eagle.”
Yosef took it well, laughing mellifluously. “I'll accept any advantage, even if I must surround myself with reflected glory. It would also be good, my friend, to have someone learned to talk to among the rough-living Essenes.”
A great offer, though clearly meant more for Asher. The fact that Asher's twin happened to be a popular hero was just gilding. But Judah didn't begrudge being second to his brother. He was used to Asher being shown favouritism.
Yet, for all his desire to go out and fight the Romans again, something in this offer made his fingers itch. Premonition? Or was it the smooth way Yosef had asked, as if
it were spontaneous, when clearly he'd thought matters through. Yosef was not a man to act without thinking through every possible consequence.
Judah decided to push back, test the firmness. “We're not allowed. No mason may leave the city, by the Kohen Gadol's order.”
“Not to sound too impressive,” Yosef confided, “but I have the ear of the Kohen Gadol. A dispensation could be arranged.”
To Judah's surprise, Asher showed a similar reluctance. For weeks his twin had longed for nothing more than a chance to fight Romans. Now he said, “We'd be abandoning our city. Everyone says the Romans will come here.”
Yosef's smile became wry. His dark eyes twinkled. “You and I both know that everyone is wrong. But I can appreciate your devotion to our home.” He reached for a slate board at his belt and chalked a few words upon it. “Asher and Judah ben Matthais are in the service of General Yosef ben Matityahu, and have free passage to travel through Galilee,” he read aloud. “Whoever reads this is hereby required to give them aid on their journey. There.” He pressed the slate into Asher's hand. “If I am wrong and the Romans come here, then you must absolutely stay to defend our city. But they will come to Galilee first.”
“Agamemnon's stratagem,” Asher said.
“Exactly! And remember – in war, there is always opportunity. If a shepherd became a great soldier with the Lord's help, what might a mason achieve?” Yosef pressed Asher's shoulder. “Promise you will come.”
Asher could not promise for them both. He looked to Judah, who said, “If the Romans do not come to Jerusalem, we will come.”
♦ ◊ ♦
THEY DESCENDED THE Mount of Olives just as the chill entered the evening air. Though he still breathed hard, it was a mark of Asher's good recovery that he could keep pace with his brother.
“You surprised me,” said Judah. “I'd've thought you'd leap at the chance.”
Asher gave his brother a curious look. “I would have, but you seemed set against going.”
“What! I only said—”
