“Aswad Khashab?” Loukas said, “Well, Aswad Khashab, what shall it be? You will tell us the truth, drink the potion and tell us the truth, or travel with these men into the wilderness?” The man’s eyes darted from Gamaliel to Loukas to his captors. “I must tell you, Aswad Khashab, if that is your name, that if you insist on telling lies, the potion will cause you difficulties later in the day.”
“I will tell the truth. The man—”
“No, no, drink up.” Before Khashab could protest, Loukas had forced the vial to his lips and forced its contents down his throat. “Now you may speak.”
Khashab babbled something about a wool merchant who had money to pay mercenaries to fight against the King of Bithynia. Gamaliel did not believe any of it. Also, he realized that the two “assassins” Loukas had recruited would soon be missed at the wine shop and would want to be gone.
“Very well Khashab, you may go, but rest assured that if your information proves to be false…” he left the threat unsaid. The men released their captive who instantly raced away.
Loukas paid the captors who smiled, thanked him, and walked away to their shop.
“You know he lied about everything.”
“Bithynia does not have a king, I know—hasn’t for many years, and he will pay for that bit of mendacity.”
“Pay? How?”
“The potion I poured down his throat is a powerful purgative. His bowels will be reminding him of his perfidy for the rest of the day and well into the night.”
Chapter XII
Gamaliel watched in silence as the man scurried away though the crowded street. He puckered his lips and exhaled. The sound that emerged turned heads and produced a few scowls He did not intend it to signify disgust, as some must have thought, but consternation. Loukas turned to him.
“What do you think? Shall we see our friend again or are we done with Aswad Khashab?”
“He did not strike me as a subtle man. Oh, we will see him again but not right away, and not because of your medication. He will need to find some subterfuge so that we will not know him. You should be ashamed of yourself, by the way.”
“Oh, I am.”
“Yes. Well, he is a liar and a bad one. King of Bithynia…do you believe that? Travelers come to our city and see us as different in important ways and assume the difference must be because we are stupid.”
“You are too harsh. This one believed we wouldn’t know our history or geography. He has reason to believe that way you know. Israelites are considered the most parochial people in the Empire, Rabban. You, in fact, sometimes seem typically insular and then you surprise me with the breadth of your knowledge.”
“I will take that as a compliment, I think, but surely everyone knows there has been no king in that part of Anatolia in a century.”
“Everyone except our tracker. And you say we have not seen the last of him.”
“No, he will report back to his employer that he has been found out and will be replaced by another for a while and this one will lay low, but rest assured he will surface again. The next one in will be better, but he will be out there somewhere. At least I think so, don’t you?”
“Yes, except it would have been nice to know what he was after. We should have pressed him harder.”
“Loukas, neither you, nor I, nor our erstwhile ‘assassins’ have the stomach for the sort of violence needed to extract information from him. Now, if you really did have a truth-telling potion in that sack of yours, it might have ended differently.”
“Ali bin Selah would have had something of the sort. He seems to have a potion or powder for everything.”
“I am concerned about your friend, Loukas.”
“Ali? Why? He left the city and will be well on his way home by now.”
“Are you sure of that? I ask because too many coincidences seem to be piling up since yesterday morning, when the body appeared in the Temple. Here’s a man whose identity has been removed by terrible burns. Burns, you tell me, inflicted after death. At the same time your friend from far away Parthia or, as he prefers, Assyria, just happens to appear on your doorstep in time to share an opinion about the dead man’s last moments. He, in turn, is being followed by another man who may or may not be from the same area, Bithynia notwithstanding. This man loses track of Ali and then decides to follow you. Oh my, and then there is the business of the cord and…it is too much, you see?”
“I do not see the connection between Ali, this man we just interrogated, and your murder, Rabban. Why do you think they are connected?”
“You tested my Latin earlier. My turn to test yours. It is an example of lex parsimoniae.”
“You’ve lost me, what?”
“Lex parsimoniae, the notion that the simplest answer is to be preferred in solving a puzzle. At the very least, it should be sought. Simplicity in all things. One of the Greeks you so admire must have said that sometime or another. At any rate, it may not seem so now, but my sense of the thing is that all these strands will eventually weave together and then we will know all.”
“It is too much for me, my friend. I will return to my home, consult with my patients, and when I have time, I will inspect your dead man again. I will not, however, entertain the notion that Ali bin Selah is in any way connected to the dead man in the Temple.”
“I hope you are right. Well, goodbye, then. I will call on you later and you can tell me what, if anything, the dead man has revealed to you. My students will be wondering what has become of me.”
Loukas stepped away and then turned. “I can find no reports of someone missing, important or otherwise.”
“Keep trying.”
Gamaliel walked across the broad stone pavement of the temple mount toward the upper entrances to the Hulda Gates. They would take him out into the city closer to his home than any of the other five exits he knew about. The wind shifted and again, as the day before, his nose was assaulted by the stench, Holy notwithstanding, of the smoke rising from the altar area. He stopped in his tracks.
Smoke. Incense. He veered sharply to his right and went searching for Jacob ben Aschi. He found him seated as usual near the vestry.
“Jacob, greetings in the Name.”
“Ah, Rabban, you are back…and so soon. I am glad, I have been thinking about your question and have had another thought, but you first, what can an old man tell you this time?”
“How is the Holy of Holies cleaned, Jacob?”
“Cleaned? What makes you think it needs cleaning? Oh, because of the dead man. He might have left something, you think?”
“It is a thought. He may have brought something in with him, and assuming he entered on his own, it might still be in there.”
“You should ask,” the old man said, his rheumy eyes focused in the distance somewhere to Gamaliel’s right. “I was going to tell you this very thing. You can climb into the observation tower, but with only the dim light of the slit windows, it is difficult to see much of anything in the Holy of Holies. A body you can see, but without the candelabra lit, it is impossible to know what lies on the floor.”
“Then how does one know when or if the area needs cleaning? I know Ha Shem could manage it if He wished, but I believe He’d prefer leaving it to the kohanim.”
“Yes, probably so. To answer your question, there is a long pole with a hook attached to it. Like a very large shepherd’s crook, you see. One slips it under the Veil and moves it about. If there is anything on the floor that does not belong there, it will collect it, you could say, and the person holding the pole will pull it free.”
“That strikes me as rather inefficient.”
The old man shrugged. “If the Holy of Holies is untidy and the Lord doesn’t complain, why should we?”
“Still, I would like to have the surface of the room searched with that marvelous pole.”
“Ask Daniel. He is the senior kohen with this group. He can arrange it.”
Gamaliel thanked Jacob and went in search of Daniel. The senior priest greeted Gamaliel and listened to his request. Convinced that further defilement might still remain behind the veil, he put two of his people to work scraping the floor. The veil muffled any sounds the device might make so they had to wait until it was pulled through to discover if it had captured anything. The first pass produced a shred of the Veil. Daniel guessed the inner layer must be rotting and there would be more fabric forthcoming. He was correct. Each pass brought more scraps of dusty material to light. On the fourth pass a bronze bowl caked with what might be dried blood came out with the cloth.
“What is this?” Gamaliel bent to retrieve it.
“It is the bowl the high priest uses to carry the blood of the sacrifice when he enters on Yom Kippur.”
“This bowl? Are you sure?”
Daniel inspected the bowl. “I am not sure. It looks like what I have been told he carries, but I have never worked on the day, so I couldn’t say for sure. It is the same type and style. I do know that.”
The hook produced another item on its last pass.
“And this is?” Gamaliel asked.
“Incense pot, I believe. The high priest must fill the room with burning incense when he enters. It is to obscure his view of The Presence while he pours the blood on the stone. One must never look at the Presence.”
“So I’ve been told. Then one might assume that finding these items in the area indicates the dead man entered believing he was the high priest and was performing the Yom Kippur ritual?”
“It would seem so.”
“Yes, it would…seem so, that is. Thank you, Daniel. You have been very helpful.”
Chapter XIII
Seek the simple answer. Gamaliel had said that to Loukas and he believed it. But what do you do when faced with two simple but conflicting solutions? Loukas insisted his evidence pointed to a man murdered elsewhere and inserted into the Holy of Holies. Until this moment, Gamaliel had agreed. The discovery of the bowl and incense pot clouded this theory. The notion that a man, out of his mind perhaps and who, in the grip of the idea of himself as the high priest, had entered the Temple expecting to perform the Yom Kippur ritual, now acquired a new life. Without the bowl and incense, Loukas’ theory won, hands down. To affirm it now meant conceding that the killer introduced the two atonement symbols into the Holy of Holies to convince the doubters otherwise, and to divert questions to the contrary. That, in turn, assumed a killer with a level of premeditation beyond anything Gamaliel would willingly accept. The situation made less sense every time he looked at it.
He made his way home with the two items under his arm and was startled to see his students, disciples some would say, waiting patiently for his return. How long had they been standing there? He greeted them, invited then to come in, and sat at his table.
“Here is a problem for you to solve,” he said. “It is not, strictly speaking, one associated with interpreting Torah. By now you have all heard of the blasphemy in the Temple. I will tell you the facts as we currently understand them and then pose a question.”
Gamaliel placed the bowl and pot on the table and laid out the two theories about the dead man currently in circulation. He omitted the parts about Ali bin Selah and the man who’d followed them. That part of the story, if indeed it was a part, added complexity. He wanted to keep it as straightforward as possible. He wanted to hear reasoned responses to the obvious. The obscure he would deal with in his own time.
“Now you tell me what happened and why.”
The five men looked first at Gamaliel and then at one another. Some composed their faces into expressions into serious contemplation. One only smiled as if to say, you already know, so I won’t embarrass myself by suggesting an answer that might make me seem stupid. Gamaliel did not hold out much hope for him. He was the son of a very influential Sanhedrin member. A political favor, no more. The fifth student, Saul, opened a scroll. Saul raised his head and stared at Gamaliel for a moment.
“We read in the Kings scroll,” Saul read,
Solomon turned out Abiathar from being priest of the Lord. He did so because he desired the Lord’s Word to be fulfilled concerning the house of Eli in Shiloh. When Joab heard the news, he fled into the Tabernacle because he had turned on Adonijah, but not on Absalom. Joab went into the Tabernacle and grabbed the horns of the altar seeking sanctuary. When Solomon was told what Joab had done, he sent Benaiah and told him, ‘Go, fall upon Joab.’ Benaiah went to the Tabernacle and said, ‘The king says you are to come out.’ Joab replied, ‘No, I will as soon die here.’ When Benaiah told this to the king, he said, ‘Then do as he requests and fall upon him. When you do, you remove from me and from my father’s house the blood of the innocents that Joab shed.
Saul rolled the scroll up and fixed his gaze on Gamaliel.
“I see, and what I am to make of this, Saul? Are you suggesting that the dead man was somehow acting out Joab’s murder in the Tabernacle? Why would he do that?”
“I am suggesting, Teacher, that we are in a time in our history in which the past and the future seem to be merging and the Nation is in great danger of losing its identity. We see the Temple built by an apostate king who nurtured an unacceptable relationship with our oppressors as Joab did to the enemies of Solomon. I think it is possible Elohim has sent this madman to the Temple posing as the high priest to alert us to the decay in the Nation and to warn us to mend our ways and return to the strict obedience of the Law.”
“That is a unique take on the thing, prophetic even. I will think on it and thank you. Are there any other suggestions?”
The student who’d previously seemed content to let the exercise pass without comment turned to Saul.
“Why did not the Lord strike Joab and then Benaiah down when they entered the Holy of Holies as he did Uzza when he touched the Ark?”
“An excellent question, but one for another day,” Gamaliel said. Perhaps there was hope for this boy after all.
The remaining students knew better than to attempt to top Saul who, they all agreed, stood out as the brightest. “Well then, I will dismiss you today with this assignment…meditate on Saul’s words and on the problem I have set you and bring me an exegesis when next we meet.”
The men filed out and Gamaliel went in search of his lunch.
He spent his midday meal mulling Saul’s recitation from the Kings scroll. Saul, he knew, was a bright student with prospects. He had an offer to join the staff of the high priest. Gamaliel did not know if he had accepted, but it would be a signal honor if he had. At the same time he also knew that this young man from Tarsus had a gloomy and rigid world view. He complained about the lack of discipline in the enforcement of the Law. Saul, he decided, might be an inspired student of the Law, but, until the day came when he was brought to his knees by something larger than himself, he would always be a study in contradictions.
Yet the words from the other student, the slow one, nagged at Gamaliel and he couldn’t say why. Why did not the Lord strike Joab and then Benaiah down when they entered the Holy of Holies as he did Uzza? he’d asked. Indeed, why not? One must conclude that Ha Shem did not always accede to our need for a consistent deity. That line of thought, he realized could only lead him into areas forbidden to the faithful. Still…
At about the eleventh hour Gamaliel made his way back to the temple mount and the guard’s assembly point. He needed to speak with the night captain. If the guards were involved, it would be those assigned to the night watch. Zach ben Azar’el turned out to be a burly, red-faced block of a man and, if Gamaliel guessed right, given to bullying and bluster. He could be difficult if he decided to protect his men rather than risk an inquiry. The captain stood at the entrance of the guards’ headquarters barking orders to his shift. He
glanced skyward to check the position of the sun and then at the peak of the Pinnacle. A shofar would sound, the changing of the guard would soon commence, and it wasn’t clear to Gamaliel whether he had a full company.
“Where are Ezra and Hadar?” he shouted. “Gomer, where is your brother and his shadow?”
The man Gamaliel took to be Gomer started to say something and then looked toward the Hulda entryway as if he could will someone through it or, failing that, flee through it himself. He seemed more than worried—fearful. The wind shifted and the last wisps of smoke from the Temple fires drifted toward them.
“Pardon me, you are Zach ben Azar’el?”
Zach spun on his heel and seemed prepared to snap at Gamaliel. He stopped when he recognized the robes Gamaliel wore as belonging to someone of importance. Whether he recognized the man wearing them was less clear.
“Who asks?” he blurted, and then, apparently thinking his tone might have been interpreted as rude, added, “Sir?”
The man called Gomer stepped forward and started to speak.
“Not now, Gomer,” Zach snapped.
“But—”
“I am the rabban of the Sanhedrin,” Gamaliel said in his most officious voice. Best put this man in his place quickly. He would need him cowed if he hoped to squeeze information from him. “And I need you to answer a few questions.”
“Sir…” Gomer shifted his weight from one foot to the other and held his hand in the air.
Zach silenced him with a raised fist and turned his attention back to Gamaliel. He tried, but failed, to appear humble. Gamaliel read in his eyes that little if any cooperation would be forthcoming and even that would be grudging unless he leaned on him.
“Rabban, what is it you want from me?” Zach managed to keep the edge from his voice but still managed to sound rude.
Gamaliel took a deep breath and made a mental note to speak to Zach’s superiors sometime in the future. “You are aware of the desecration here in the Temple two nights ago. I would like you to tell me how such a thing could have happened with your guards posted and in place.”
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