by Jamie Buxton
“Oh,” Flea said. “The man carrying the pitcher of water from the bridge. I saw him hanging around in the kitchens.”
“Making sure everything was going according to plan, for sure,” Jude said. “So, as well as looking out for Romans and trying to keep on the right side of the Temple Police, one of the most powerful men in the city is involved. Most likely he’ll have someone keeping an eye on me, but you’ll be able to sneak around.”
“Thanks.”
Jude ignored the sarcasm. “This supper they have planned for tomorrow—I need to find out where it is. If I know Shim, he’ll go there early to make sure everything’s as it should be. So in the morning, when Yesh and the others come to pick you up, stick to Shim. If he leaves the group, follow him. Make a note of where he goes and then come back to me. Remember, all I need to know is where this meal is going to be. As soon as you know, find me. I’ll be at your gang’s shelter or nearby.”
“All right.”
“Now go back inside and act normally. And if anyone asks after me, tell them I’ve probably passed out.”
Flea made his way back into the hall. He didn’t want to eat anything. He certainly didn’t want to drink anything. He wanted things to be back the way they had been, but most of all he wanted to sleep.
In the hall, Shim was sitting with Yusuf up on the dais, talking earnestly. On the floor of the hall Yesh was walking between couches, talking to people, making them laugh, Tauma following.
They all know what to do, Flea thought. This is what being an adult is all about. You plan. Things work. You move on.
Slaves moved between the couches, pouring more wine and bringing wet towels for people to mop their faces. Food was still arriving, though no one was paying much attention to it. Flea had never seen so much food in his life. The glut and the waste made him feel sick.
He sat and he watched and he waited. All around him, adult faces grew redder and redder and voices grew louder and louder. A chant started in the back of the hall.
“Live forever, live forever, we’ll live forever.”
People started banging tables, clapping hands, stamping feet. “Live forever. Live forever. Live forever.”
And in the middle of the room, Yesh; very much the center of attention, but somehow very alone.
ONE DAY TO GO
21
He was dreaming of empty streets, but this time the rats were everywhere, chattering under his feet, rushing through the houses on either side of the road, leaping across the alleyway over his head—stopping him from reaching the little courtyard he knew was home.
And now they could talk and knew his name: Flea, they chattered and squeaked. Fleafleafleafleaflea.
His eyes were stuck shut. Better in the dark, they said. Better, Fleafleafleaflea.
The dark was the crack in the pavement and Flea could see down it. There was another alleyway underneath, and streets under the streets and houses under the houses: an entire underground city, a dark copy, peopled by rats—soldier rats, priest rats, beggar rats.
“Flea, Flea, Flea.”
It’s not them calling, he thought, it’s someone real. But when he managed to force his eyes open there was silence, except for a tired echo in his mind of someone calling him home.
He was outside the gang’s shelter, wrapped in a cloth he’d taken from Yusuf’s house. The gang had been too drunk to get back here after they’d been invited to leave Yusuf’s palace and had collapsed in the nearest alleyway. At dawn they’d woken and struggled back to the shelter, and Flea had followed. He’d filled the water skin and sucked up to the others by offering drinks. If he was going to hang out with them again, he might as well try to get them to be civil.
One by one they crawled out of the shelter to sit in the alleyway, oblivious to the scandalized mutterings from their neighbor and her daughter. The worse for wear, they still managed to swap stories about the night before.
“Did you see me jump on the table?”
“And fall off!”
“And when you threw that beaker of wine over that man…”
“It was an accident.”
“Not what he thought.”
“But he thought it was funny in the end.”
“Do you think we’ll go back?”
“I’m up for it.”
“I know,” Flea said, in an unnatural voice. “Why don’t we all…”
He stopped. Do what? What was it Jude had told him to do? Save the gang and follow Shim? He couldn’t do both. Why couldn’t Jude have been clearer?
Little Big noticed him. “Oh look, it’s the wimp.”
“Yeah, where were you just when things started getting really good?”
Flea thought quickly. “Oh, I passed out. You know.”
“When?” Big asked.
“Don’t know. Too drunk to remember. Hah.”
“Was that before or after you followed your boyfriend out of the hall?” Big sneered. “Oh, Jude, Jude, where are you, Jude?” His snigger was echoed around the gang.
“What do you mean?” Flea tried to sound outraged but there was not enough force in his voice.
“I don’t like it here with all these big, rough men,” Big whined. “Listen, what are you even doing back here? We kicked you out of the gang, remember?”
“But Yesh … I just thought—”
“He just thought. Well, I just thought I might have to punish you. What did I say I’d do if you carried on hanging around?”
“I don’t know.”
“I said I’d shove you down the rat hole!”
“You can’t. You wouldn’t…”
The twins grabbed Flea’s arms and Little Big and Red each grabbed a leg and hung him over the rat hole at the end of the alleyway. They started chanting, “Sacrifice the Flea! Sacrifice the Flea! Sacrifice the Flea!”
Flipped upside down, Flea was helpless. He closed his eyes, clamped his mouth tight shut, and held his breath. This time, he wasn’t going to scream.
“Come on, rats!” Big shouted. “We’ve got breakfast for you!”
They bumped Flea up and down, jerking the breath from his lungs so he had to suck in the thick, musty, rat-stinking air. He could hear rustling, opened his eyes, and thought he could see the dark writhing of bodies and the glimmer of little yellow teeth. Forgetting his promise not to scream, he had just begun to bellow when someone shouted, “Put that child down!”
Flea turned his head and saw an upside-down Yesh floating in the street outside the alleyway. Flea was dropped. Big started to stammer an explanation, but Yesh cut him short.
“If you charming little thugs want to make yourselves useful, come with us now. If not, try to treat that poor creature how you’d like to be treated yourselves.”
Shocked because they had never heard Yesh speak angrily before, the gang trailed out of the alleyway and joined the slow river of men, women, and children jostling sluggishly as they tried to avoid makeshift stalls that blocked the street. Everyone seemed to be going in the direction of the Temple today, the last chance before the feast for people to pay their taxes and make a sacrifice.
Jude dropped back until he fell into step beside Flea.
“Well?” he said. “Are you all right?” Flea shook his head.
“Look, I know—”
“No, you don’t. You don’t know anything. They’re having a go at me for…”
“What?”
“You’re always hanging around me and they’re … saying things,” Flea said. “If you left me alone so I could just try to make things better…”
“Even though you’re earning good money?”
“Shh! They’ll steal it,” Flea whispered urgently.
“Nice friends.”
“You can talk,” Flea snapped back.
“I walked into that one,” Jude said. “Here. I bought you some dried fruit. Should help keep you going. You’ve got a busy day today, remember?”
It came to Flea at last. “I’ve got to stick to Shim, and if he
goes to a room, remember where it is and tell you.”
“Good. And as I thought, one of Yusuf’s people is trailing us. Think you can slip away without him noticing?”
Flea glanced behind and saw the water carrier he’d seen at the bridge and again in the kitchens.
“Easy,” he said. “What are you going to do?” Suddenly nervous about going it alone, feeling the weight of responsibility.
“Judas!” Yesh’s voice cut across the line of followers, sharp and commanding.
“Later,” Jude murmured. “The boss is in a real mood this morning. Hungover most likely, so keep your head down.” He called out, “Master?”
“Master. Master. Yohan calls me Lord,” Yeshua barked back. “Did you know that? Shim calls me Lord. Even Tauma calls me Lord. Only you call me Master. Any reason for that?”
Yesh stopped and beckoned Jude to join him. The followers parted to make two ranks that Jude had to walk between. Flea hurried to join him.
“You know me, Yesh,” Jude said quietly. He stood in front of Yesh, half a head taller but looking meek. “We go back a long way. I find it hard to change.”
“Yes. We noticed. But if you have stayed the same, do you really think I have?”
Jude flushed. “That’s not for me to say, Master.”
They were standing in the middle of the road, forming a solid plug. Above them, washing hung on lines across the alley. People had put benches outside their houses so they could sit and catch the morning sun. Two small fig trees, neatly clipped, stood in pots on either side of a front door. Yesh pointed to one of them. “So tell me, Judas: is a plant that doesn’t grow any use to man or beast?”
“I don’t know, Master.”
Two small red spots appeared on Yesh’s face. “Let me tell you this, then. A follower who doesn’t follow and a man who doesn’t change are like a fig tree that doesn’t grow.”
He grabbed one of the trees and lifted it, pot and all. Then he dropped it so the pot shattered and stamped on it until the trunk splintered. The followers huddled around to make a barrier between Yesh and the crowd. They looked wary.
“Do you understand now, Judas?” Yesh said. He was breathing heavily. “You’re about as much use to me as that tree, unless you change. You want to go back to the old days. We can’t. As soon as I was chosen, that was it. I moved on. Everyone moved on. That’s why we’re called a movement. But you, Judas, my oldest friend and my first follower, refuse to budge. Can’t you see how that might upset me? Can’t you see how at this moment, the last thing I want to do is waste my time splitting hairs with you? Can’t you? Can’t you?”
Flea did not dare move, even though Jude was gripping his shoulder so hard it hurt. He watched the clench of Jude’s jaw muscle and noticed a tic shiver the skin on his scarred cheek.
Jude took a breath and said, “Yes, Master. I see.”
Yesh turned away. “Mat, pay for that tree. The rest of you, pray for it.” A twisted smile. “Now come on. There’s still a lot to do.”
“Is that what you call keeping your head down?” Flea asked Jude. “It’s just that…”
“Enough! Listen, at the Temple there may be trouble, and remember what Shim said last night? They’ll be trying to use you as a sort of shield. It’s one thing to chuck us out of Temple Square; it’s quite another to hurt little children, especially if Yesh has the crowd on his side. Believe me, that’s one thing he’s good at.”
22
The wide steps that led up to the Temple’s southern doors were normally crowded. Today they were empty, the crowd kept back by a cordon of Temple guards. But the crush of people made room for Yesh as he led his followers and the Temple Boys toward it.
“Lord, they’re obviously expecting us,” Mat said. “We won’t be able to get into the Temple today. Should we discuss what to do next?”
Yesh did not pause. “Should the crowd see us run away at the first sign of trouble? I think we can do better than that.” He put his head down and walked through the crush, curious faces all around. The unspoken question hung in the air: What’s he going to do now?
Then, as they approached the cordon guarding the steps, something very unexpected happened. The Imps moved back to let them through. Nodding thanks to the left and right, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Yeshua began to lead them up.
“Lord,” Mat said, “they’re not letting anyone in after us. I told you—”
“Have faith, brother,” Yesh said. He climbed very slowly up the steps. Flea turned so his back was to the Temple gates. Below him, behind the cordon of soldiers, were upturned faces and hope rising like a vapor.
“Lord, the people—your people—want to hear you speak,” Mat said. “You can’t be seen to enter the Temple while they’ve been shut out.”
Yesh stopped midstep, turned, and looked down. His face was like a stone in a stream, all smooth ridges and dips. The murmur from the crowd dropped, rose, then dropped again. Tension grew in the silence like water swelling a skin.
With the Temple walls rearing up behind and the great expanse of marble steps so bare, Flea felt trapped and exposed. He found himself counting and wishing. One, two, three … He’s got to say something. Four, five, six … Please say something. Seven, eight, nine … Don’t do anything stupid. Ten, eleven, twelve … The Imps will do something … Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen … The Imps are turning now … Nineteen, twen—
“How wonderful to see you all! Thank you so much! I never expected a crowd like this!”
Yesh’s words were a lovely surprise, like a splash of warm water when you were braced for cold.
“And thank you to the soldiers for doing such a splendid job today. I want you all to thank them too!”
Like a magician, he raised his arms and turned to the left and to the right. A huge roar. Everyone liked to laugh at the Romans, but you never got the chance. And here was Yesh actually thanking them …
“And a hand for the Temple,” Yesh continued. “I’ve said harsh things about it in the past: it was too big, too expensive, too just about everything. I’ve said that if I had my way, I’d pull it down brick by brick and not leave a single stone standing. But do you know, I think I’ve changed my mind. If it wasn’t for these fine, impressive steps, how could I see you all? And how could you all see a short-arse like me?”
More laughter and a smatter of applause. He’s got the crowd now, Flea thought, and when someone called out, “Give us some magic, mate!” and Yesh called back, “Sorry, I’m into talking today,” there was a murmur but it wasn’t an angry noise. People were curious. People wanted to know what was going to happen next.
“But thank you for raising the subject, friend, because that’s partly what I wanted to say. The time for tricks is over. The time for magic is over. Some of you have said I perform miracles and I’m afraid the time for that is over too. Well, maybe there’s time for one more … we’ll have to see. The thing is, I’ve got so much to say and I think time may be running out so I’m going to talk, and if you stay, my friends, I’ll take it as a sign that you want to hear more.”
And then Yesh was off. The followers and the Temple Boys began to sit down around him. Yohan, the youngest member of the movement, sat on one side of him and Yak, Yesh’s brother, on the other. Flea leaned back, his elbow on the step behind, and let the words wash over him.
“You don’t have to put up with the way things are. No one should and no one needs to. There’s a better way—my way—and if you only give me a tiny bit of faith, a scrap of belief, I can change you so that you can change anything you want. Want to move a mountain…?”
“All right then,” a voice called out. “How do we do that?”
“Well, maybe not a real mountain—but last night, this gang of young hooligans were the guests of the richest man in the city. If that’s possible, anything is!”
The same heckler: “Can you get me an invitation?”
“Don’t push your luck, friend.” Yesh smiled, then his voice
changed. “It would be fantastic if we could just hold this idea in our heads forever and hope it came about. It would be wonderful, but it would be a dream. Time is made of moments and some moments are special. A special moment can move past you like a leaf in the wind and, if you don’t grasp it, it’s gone forever, and the opportunity’s lost. And a moment like this is coming, my friends. I know it and feel it. You know it and feel it. And if you want this to happen, if you want better times, if you want change, you have to be prepared. This is all I ask of you. Let me grasp the moment, let me take the hour, but you must be prepared. You know the prophecies. You know the stories. You know the signs!”
The crowd was restless now, pressing up against the guards, and as they shuffled backward Flea noticed Shim slipping away to one side. Jude had moved down to try to calm people and reason with the guards, who were scared now and had drawn their weapons. He’d be too busy to talk. Flea knew he had to act, and so, making himself small, he set off after Shim.
23
Shim walked quickly, but he was a tall man and so was easy to keep in view.
The streets grew less crowded, as if everyone had drained into the Lower City. In a broad street that ran straight as an arrow to the city walls, Flea watched as Shim stopped at a simple square building next to an inn. He climbed up rickety stairs to the upper story and went in through a wooden door covered in flaking blue paint.
Flea ran to the building and hid under the wooden steps. The door was open a crack. He could hear voices.
“So that’s fixed now?” Shim sounded tense and businesslike.
The voice that answered was wheedling but sharp. “Oh yes, sir. A meal for thirteen, meat to be provided, this evening. Could the master tell me why he is arranging his holy feast a day early?”
“You can mind your own business,” Shim snapped. “You’re being paid, aren’t you?”
“Handsomely, yes, by the agent of Yusuf of Ramathain. You are fortunate indeed to have such powerful friends. Of course I had to charge for the whole week because—”
