The Jesus Germ

by Brett Williams

  Romanis!

  Simon removed the hilt from his sack, slid the blade off his back, connected them with a soft click and leant the sword against the chair.

  Footsteps echoed through the infirmary. Simon darted behind a curtain into a tiny recess that framed a window to the courtyard.

  A girl’s voice roused Romanis from his sleep.

  ‘I have food for you, Romanis.’

  It did not excite him. The perfume of the servant girl fulfilled him more than the smell of fresh fruit. Her slight frame was clothed in a green robe, tied at the waist with a white cord. She balanced a platter on her palm. Romanis opened his eyes, battling phantom pains where his hands and lower limbs once were. She scooped a spoonful of diced apple, raising it to Romanis’ mouth. He could barely palate a few mouthfuls of the sweet fruit. His stomach ached, and at the shake of his head the girl withdrew.

  A bead of sweat rolled off Romanis’ temple. Lifting his arms onto the side rests he spotted the sword against the chair. He clamped it between his wrists, lifting it across his knees.

  He stared at the familiar weapon that sparkled like new. Wide awake he yelled for the servant girl who reappeared in front of him with her head bowed.

  ‘Who put the sword against my chair?’

  ‘I saw no one. It appeared when I last brought you food.’

  Romanis lifted the sword on his forearms.

  ‘Hide it and tell no one,’ he said, nodding in the direction of a tall clay jar.

  She stood the sword inside.

  Romanis called for the stretcher bearers who hoisted his frail frame from the chair and bore him to his quarters. The servant girl glanced at the jar as a breeze came through the archway, disturbing the curtain shielding Simon. He held his breath until she left, the monkey bounding quietly behind her.

  5

  The boat pointed toward Tiberius with a tight sail. Makab took the rudder, staring into the darkness, occasionally examining the stars to check his bearings. Jeremiah sat in the bow, feeling for the rock at the bottom of his quiver. Makab was anxious to be rid of him.

  They sailed in silence throughout the night.

  Behind the boat came the orange flush of dawn. They approached a wide coastal vista where Tiberius was waking under a haze of cooking fires. Jeremiah stood holding the mast, directing Makab to a small jetty. The boat steered alongside and the sail fell limp.

  Jeremiah leapt onto the jetty and from inside his cloak produced a small leather pouch, tossing it down to Makab who snatched it with lightning speed.

  Jeremiah strode away onto the grey sandy shore.

  Makab placed the pouch in his lap, feverishly pulling apart the knot at its neck. Inside, shone a dazzling nest of coloured stones. He stared at them longingly, his dreamy gaze interrupted by a shout from above.

  ‘What business do you have you here?’

  A rough looking man with a hairy face scowled at Makab who snapped his hand shut and swung his arm behind his back.

  ‘I have just delivered fish,’ Makab said.

  ‘That is unusual, since the fish are always unloaded down the beach. This is Herod’s private jetty,’ the man said.

  ‘I am new to these parts, from a village at the northern end of the sea. A boat from our fleet broke its rudder and was blown south. We lost contact with it during the night and thought it best to offload our catch here before it rotted in the sun.’ Makab’s wild concoction was unconvincing.

  ‘Where are your crew?’ the man said.

  ‘My uncle was the only other, and he put himself aboard the stricken vessel to help fix it,’ Makab said.

  ‘Whatever your circumstances you cannot remain here.’

  Makab needed no further encouragement. He pushed the stern of his boat away from the jetty as a light breeze puffed out the sail.

  He hoped the gems would appease his uncle, and thought of sneaking two or three for himself. Ahmed would never know.

  6

  Through the window, Simon saw a dozen bandaged soldiers scatter across the bright courtyard and settle on stone benches in the shade of the portico.

  There were other ways out of the palace, but first he must infiltrate Herod’s quarters. Strangely, the large toe on his left foot throbbed painfully, usually numbed with leprosy. Dismissing the discomfort, he parted the curtain and made for the infirmary where a row of white vestments hung on a wall. He slipped one over his ragged cloak then with head bowed, he continued toward the royal chamber.

  Jeremiah walked down a short road near the palace toward a modest brick dwelling. He knocked on its door that immediately swung open. A small grey-haired woman with a wide smile rushed forward to hug him. She gazed into his rugged face and saw his eyes were leaden with fatigue. She led him to a chair and brought goat’s milk and unleavened bread. Four months had passed since they’d met and they talked long into the afternoon. Jeremiah made no mention of the slaves or the illfated hunt for Lipik. He told the woman of his planned meeting with Herod, certain the king would sanction his return to Tiberius. It pleased her no end.

  With the sun low in the sky, the woman followed Jeremiah to the doorway and stood him at arm’s length.

  ‘See you soon,’ she said.

  ‘When next I can, mother,’ he said and left for the palace.

  Jeremiah passed through the grand gate, crossing a bricked terrace to marble stairs rising into the shade of a massive arch. Beyond, flanked by statues of Caesar, arose a cavernous hall. Jeremiah walked its length and up more steps to where a soldier guarded a door.

  ‘I wish to see Herod,’ Jeremiah said.

  ‘Herod is resting,’ the soldier said.

  ‘I have important news,’ Jeremiah said.

  The soldier left him. Jeremiah waited, admiring the hall’s wonderful architecture.

  The soldier soon returned.

  ‘Herod will see you in his chamber. He warned there must good reason or you risk terrible consequences. Do you still wish to speak with him?’

  Jeremiah’s pulse sped. The prize was too great for even Herod to resist.

  ‘Take me to him,’ he said.

  The soldier led Jeremiah along a narrow-arched hallway into an ante chamber.

  ‘Enter,’ called a voice from beyond a pair of bronze doors.

  During his tenure in the palace, Simon discovered the mystery of the statues whereby Herod came and went from his chamber in complete secrecy. In the statue of Thor, behind Herod’s bed, a false panel led to a dark tunnel linking the palace library.

  Sitting quietly, obscured by a shelf of parchments, Simon had seen Herod appear in the library from a wall recess hidden behind a voluptuous statue of Venus.

  Now Jeremiah entered Herod’s chamber as Simon reached the library. Herod lay on a sofa amongst bright silk cushions, eating grapes.

  Simon slipped behind the statue of Venus.

  Jeremiah stood quietly, staring at the marble floor while Herod got off the sofa and approached him.

  ‘Why do you disturb me?’ Herod said.

  Jeremiah focused on Herod’s chest.

  He recounted the escape, pursuit and death of Lipik and the unfortunate drowning of the slaves but said nothing of the rock or the journey across the Sea of Tiberius.

  Herod’s demeanour soured. ‘The relevance of your tale escapes me. Do you have the gems from the river?’

  ‘They are at the slave camp,’ Jeremiah said. ‘They will arrive in a few days’ time and there are high quality pieces amongst them.’

  Herod boiled. ‘What now?’

  ‘I also wish to resume service in Tiberius. My mother lives near the palace and my brother is a centurion with the elite palace guard.’

  A furious Herod shouted for the soldiers.

  ‘Wait!’ Jeremiah said.

  As the soldiers opened the doors to the chamber, Jeremiah yelled in desperation. ‘I have something for you beyond belief.’

  Herod’s rage escalated. ‘Do not waste my time.’

  ‘You will be more
than satisfied, but it is for your eyes only.’

  Herod tempestuously waved the soldiers from the room as Jeremiah slipped the quiver of arrows off his shoulder and pulled out the rock, holding it in his palm for the king to ogle.

  ‘Who else has seen it?’ Herod said.

  ‘Only the dead slave,’ Jeremiah said.

  ‘Where did you find it?’

  ‘After the crocodile took the slave I saw it near the river’s edge.’

  The rock soaked up the candlelight and dispersed rainbows around the walls.

  ‘It seems a fair exchange.’ Jeremiah said.

  Herod nodded. Caught in the rock’s spell he picked it off Jeremiah’s palm and closed his fist around it.

  Simon heard voices as he crawled noiselessly from the statue of Thor to behind the royal bed.

  ‘What is your name?’ Herod said.

  ‘Jeremiah.’

  ‘Jeremiah, you will sort the gems brought from the mines and the river, reporting to me every other day.’

  Jeremiah thanked him, meeting his gaze for the first time.

  Simon watched Herod place the rock on a pedestal as Jeremiah turned to leave. In a moment where time appeared to slow, Herod picked up a sword lying near the sofa, took four giant strides and with a powerful slash, lopped off Jeremiah’s head, laughing as it toppled face first onto the marble floor.

  Jeremiah took two ungainly steps then collapsed. Blood sprang from his neck and Herod surveyed the expanding pool with delight. He leant his sword against a wall and seized a handful of Jeremiah’s hair, holding up the severed head with its startled gaze and flattened nose. After a macabre pause, he placed the head in the soldier’s own right palm so its milky eyes stared lifelessly at the colourful reliefs on the ceiling.

  Simon watched in horror, doubting he would have intervened given the chance. Herod would surely have killed him as well.

  Herod sat on his sofa, finished eating a bunch of purple grapes, then slipped off his sandals and gathered an armful of linen sheets to mop the blood and wrap Jeremiah’s body. He dragged the corpse to the bathroom, along with its head, hoisting them into a bath filled with water.

  Herod pulled a plug to drain the bloodied bath, uncorked a pipe in the wall, washed Jeremiah’s head under a stream of water and stood it on a table. Stripped naked, he climbed into the bath to cut away Jeremiah’s clothing with a knife then sponged the body and massaged the open neck to purge it of blood. Finally, he heaved Jeremiah onto the floor where he landed with a slippery smack.

  For all his sadistic tendencies, Herod fastidiously cleaned away every spot of blood, returning to his sofa in a clean robe to savour more wine from a silver chalice.

  He stared at the incredible rock perched on the pedestal.

  Herod opened the bronze doors and instructed the soldiers. ‘Assemble a hunting detail to leave at sunrise tomorrow. Ready the dogs and horses at the arena gates and load provisions for a three-week expedition. Prepare the chariots.’

  Simon listened, knowing Herod despised hunting and even if pressed would never entertain such a prolonged venture into the desert.

  He crawled back inside the statue of Thor and left Venus’ shadow in the library, unseen.

  Herod unlocked a large ivory chest and lifted Jeremiah’s body in, folding legs and arms to fit. He shut the eyelids on the severed head, stuffing it next to the corpse with Jeremiah’s torn clothing and the soiled linen. He relocked the chest and slipped the key into the hem of his robe. Fading sun filtered through the skylight and Herod reflected all was as it should be.

  The courtyard emptied of convalescing soldiers and Simon returned to the dungeon. Climbing from the well, the tingling in his feet verging on pain, he trudged down the alley to Joshua’s house.

  As the last sunrays lit the stone wall, Simon parted the blue curtain to find Joshua waiting in a chair.

  ‘Back in Herod’s fold I see.’

  Simon looked baffled.

  ‘Attired in the manner of the royal court,’ Joshua said.

  Simon was still dressed in the physician’s robe.

  Joshua sipped his wine. ‘Follow me, Simon.’

  He led him around the cooling kiln to a table on which sat a cloth covered shape.

  Simon removed the cloth and held up the entombed cube topped with the spider, momentarily lost in its beauty, recalling the dire warning trapped at its core.

  He turned to Joshua. ‘My good friend, I am indebted to you.’

  ‘Forever suspended in mystery,’ Joshua said.

  ‘It is perfect, Joshua.’

  ‘Happy to help,’ Joshua said, admiring his own work.

  ‘I have nothing to pay you with for now.’

  ‘I will accept nothing in return.’

  ‘We will see. I ask one last favour.’

  ‘Anything,’ Joshua said.

  ‘I require a horse for a long journey,’ Simon said.

  Joshua was tempted to pry further.

  ‘I have a well-watered horse resting in the barn behind the house. A strong stallion, blessed with speed and endurance, the best performed horse at last season’s chariot races with six victories in the palace arena. In spring, he will service the mares but I am happy for you to run him into condition leading up to the festival.’

  Simon hesitated. ‘Perhaps another horse would do. What if he went lame, or even worse?’

  ‘He will fulfil your needs, whatever they may be,’ Joshua said.

  ‘Your generosity is boundless, Joshua,’ Simon said, trying to suppress his excitement.

  ‘When do you wish to take the horse?’ Joshua said.

  ‘I must leave at dawn.’

  ‘Come meet him. His name is Mars, a true warrior,’ Joshua said.

  Behind the house was a stone barn with straw in the front. Inside, stood a statuesque horse, finely muscled, pure sable. It pounded a hoof into the ground, nudging Simon playfully in the shoulder with its nose.

  ‘He has new shoes and a comfortable saddle. Tomorrow I will rise early to ready him,’ Joshua said.

  Simon wished he had a sweet treat to offer the horse. He stroked its flank as Mars bowed into the grain trough.

  ‘You will stay the night, Simon. Let us eat.’

  On a table, Joshua spread figs, cheese, olives, boiled duck eggs and a loaf of bread from the cooling kiln. They ate heartily and drank their fill of wine, but not enough to loosen Simon’s tongue. They talked late into the evening until Simon could no longer stay awake. Joshua showed him to a sparse room with a bed of sheep skins. Still in his physicians’ robe, Simon sank into a deep sleep that even the repetitive cry of a red-eyed owl could not penetrate.

  7

  Herod did not sleep, excited by the prospect of his journey. As the hunting party assembled at dawn, he summoned two soldiers, instructing them to load the ivory chest onto his personal chariot. They ignored the putrid air pervading the chamber, for the king would not be challenged.

  Herod placed the giant diamond in a giraffe-skin bag with the key to the chest. He dispensed with his royal attire to appear ready for hunting. In a soft pouch of rhinoceros’ scrotum, he put a handful of gold coins bearing Caesar’s image and attached it to his belt.

  When the sky lightened, Herod left his chamber. He commanded the soldiers on guard to let no one enter in his absence then he marched through the palace halls to the gladiatorial arena.

  Its eastern end was a hive of activity. Eleven carts stacked with wooden cages, headed four carts laden with food, hunting weapons and tools. The horses, restless and keen to run, were rigged to the chariots.

  Near the arena gate stood a grey stallion with Herod’s white and gold chariot in tow. On its floor sat the ivory chest. Several of the hunting dogs sniffed at it until Herod sent them scampering with a handful of gravel.

  He summoned the commander of the hunt and spoke to him in hushed tones. The soldiers boarded the carts and chariots while the dogs yapped atop the mountain of supplies.

  Herod leapt aboard h
is chariot, leading the procession slowly from the arena through the abandoned streets onto the plain. Soon after, the yellow flag was withdrawn from the pole above the palace and replaced with the first red rays of the sun.

  Joshua woke Simon. Mars was lying in the hay when they entered the barn. Simon fitted the saddle and Joshua helped him mount up and adjust the stirrups.

  ‘Thank you again, Joshua.’

  ‘Good luck in whatever you seek, Simon. See you at the second full moon. Mars won’t let you down, I promise.’

  Simon took the reins and walked Mars onto the road. Suddenly he turned to Joshua, voice raised in alarm.

  ‘The cube!’

  Joshua hastened inside, wrapped the cube in a square of lamb’s wool and gave it to Simon who left to circumnavigate the palace and wait near the arena gate.

  Simon and Mars hid behind the fish markets to watch Herod lead the hunting party out of the arena. In the middle of the plain, one chariot peeled away, headed toward the mountains.

  Simon wound Mars to a gallop across the plain before slowing at the bottom of the ranges and treading carefully up the difficult slopes. The wheel ruts from Herod’s unwieldy chariot led Simon like a star in the night, and by the time the sun set, both men had crossed the mountainous spine onto level ground out the other side.

  Shortly past dawn, Herod ran his chariot alongside a deep ravine. He took the key from the giraffe-skin bag, unlocked the chest and tipped it onto its side. Jeremiah’s rotting head rolled out first, marbled shades of green and purple. Herod kicked it off the cliff into the void, watching in amusement as it bounced off rocks, sending brain matter over the dry river bed below.

  Jeremiah’s body was in a hideous state. Herod rocked the chest and the slimy corpse plopped out onto the ground, curled up, stiff and unyielding. He pushed it into the ravine and it came to rest near its battered head.