Holy Smoke

by Frederick Ramsay

  The guard glowered at Gamaliel for an instant and then lowered his eyes and studied the laces of his sandals instead. He looked up and exhaled. It was the sound of a man betrayed.

  “You heard me ask about Ezra and Hadar? It’s possible they might have been bribed. They are absent, as you can see. I suppose they heard they had been exposed and are hiding or have fled. I only hope they received enough money to last a lifetime because they will never work in this city again, and if I find them, they will be flogged within a hand span of their lives.”

  “But they are not here?”

  “No, they are not. Gomer may know. Where is your brother, man? The rabban of the Sanhedrin wishes to speak to them.”

  “I was trying to tell you. He is missing. No one knows what has happened to Ezra and no one knows where Hadar is either.”

  Chapter XIV

  Hadar and his partner in crime, Ezra, were missing. No surprise there. It is an axiom, Gamaliel thought, borrowing the term from Loukas’ Greek, that those who abet criminals in the hope of gaining something for nothing must be stupid to begin with. Of course the two men were missing—missing and no doubt lying dead somewhere in the wilderness or in a drainage ditch covered with two days worth of daily waste. Gamaliel shook his head.

  “Captain, in as much as these men were in your charge and were on duty during the time the desecration took place, I will hold you responsible for finding them, or what is left of them, and once that is done, for tracking down who they met, talked to, or received money from.”

  “Sir, I have no experience doing the sort of thing you ask of me.”

  Gamaliel waved him off. “And I expect to report to the Sanhedrin that you have performed this duty with alacrity and determination. They will not look favorably on your continuance in your present position if they feel you have been derelict in this duty. You do understand that?”

  “Sir, I…Yes, sir, I understand.”

  “Fine. I expect you to call on me by this hour tomorrow and report your progress.”

  “Sir, as I said, I have no experience, I—”

  “No? Well, neither had I until very recently, but it will come to you, I promise. You might start by querying your guards. It is unlikely that only those two men were approached. At the very least, it’s likely that one of those still on duty will have information that will take you to the next place, or produce a name, several even.”

  Gamaliel left the guardsman standing in the doorway mumbling. He did not look happy. Well and good. As the captain of the night guard cohort, he had responsibilities beyond merely posting men. A major scandal had occurred on his watch. Of course he should be less than happy. Gamaliel hoped the threat to his livelihood and his future would guarantee action, movement—perhaps not as much as he would have liked, but something. Anything would be better than nothing. It came as no surprise that two guards had been bribed. That had always been a given. How else could anyone—alive or dead—have entered the Holy Place unless someone looked the other way? But at least he had names and felt sure that Zach would extract more information one way or the other. He did not envy the night guard cadre. Zach would have testimony from them even if it involved the application of physical pain.

  ***

  Evening settled on the city like a soft blanket. Gamaliel made it to Loukas’ house as the first star appeared in the eastern sky. Loukas had him wait in the courtyard while he finished seeing his last patient. Gamaliel used the time to mull over what he knew, what he suspected, and what he wished. The last took up most of the time. He thought there ought to be a pattern. A murder of this complexity usually involved other violence. A pair of missing guards, probably dead at the hand of their briber, for instance. Would there be more? Had the murderer adequately distanced himself from the deed to have become invisible, or would another corpse or two appear with their dead fingers pointing in his direction?

  Years before he had visited the sea shore after a violent storm. Ships had been sunk and their crews lost. Days passed and yet the bodies kept washing ashore. Gamaliel wondered if more bodies, figuratively speaking, would wash up on his beach before this was done, a depressing thought.

  “I am sorry to have kept you waiting, Rabban. My patients were slow in responding today. So what have you discovered since last we spoke?”

  Gamaliel filled him in on the problem of the missing guards and the items found in the Holy of Holies. “The items found there suggest either more than a corpse had been inserted in the space and a high level of premeditation went into the murder, or it was not a murder, irrespective of what the indicators say. As to the guards, I should have interviewed them the day all this happened. Since they were only reported missing today, I suspect they were alive then. If only I had not overslept. It is your fault, you know. If you hadn’t plied me with so much of the wine I admire, I would have been alert and available yesterday.”

  “With respect, Rabban, it does not become you to blame the wine or the wine’s provider for your failure. But if it will make you happier, I have a genuinely terrible wine among my stores which I promise you will not drink to excess, if at all. I will fetch it for you.”

  “That will not be necessary. I am not one for making jests, as you may have noticed, and you have just had proof of it.”

  “An admission gratefully received. I knew it was an attempt at humor, as was my answer. So, tell me, where were these missing guards posted on the night of the crime?”

  “I forgot to ask. How stupid of me. Of course, the bribes had to go to the men who could let someone or some people into the Holy Place.”

  “And?”

  “Those persons or person had to know the layout of the guard postings and…”

  “And…what were you about to say?”

  “Had to know about the cord on the ankle and have access to the bowl and incense pot, but not know that the cord policy had not yet been used and might never be.”

  “So we are looking for persons with a connection to the Temple and its practices but not completely familiar. A hanger-on of some sort or—”

  “A relative of someone working inside would do. If we could only determine which of the alternatives actually occurred—the person entered and died, or a dead man was brought into the Temple.”

  Loukas stared at the wall for what seemed a very long time.

  “Loukas, you have thought of something?”

  “I think you may be wasting time on that part of the problem. I believe you need to move past the details of the death for the moment and try something else. The man in the Holy of Holies was either alive or he was dead when he arrived, yes? To solve the puzzle you should accept both states and move on to the more important aspect, which is who he was.”

  “Wait, you’re saying I should accept that the man was both alive and dead? Loukas, that is an absurdity.”

  “Our masters would say reductio ad absurdum, but it is not absurd, it is a paradox, and you should embrace it. Your information as to which choice is correct is insufficient in either case. Meanwhile, he is most certainly dead now and time is flitting away. His killer and the trail to him grow more obscure. If, you accept he was alive, well then, you still do not have what you need to find out why he would, in effect, commit suicide. You will only find out which of the two states he enjoyed, that is dead or alive, when he entered the Temple, after you find out who he was and why he had to die.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Loukas placed a sack on the table in front of Gamaliel. “Very well, I place this sack on the table and I say that in this sack is an apple or a pomegranate. Until you open the sack, it is neither one nor the other and by indirection, both. To discover which, you must open the sack which in this case is a very simple act, and the fact of the sack being opened changes the nature of the problem, you see?”

  Gamaliel shook his head. “Louk
as, this is nonsense.”

  “No it is not. In the case of your intruder into the Holy of Holies, it is not easy at all. You cannot peel back the veil at the time of the act. Thus, you must move on from the endless speculation of which—alive or dead— and try to gather the information you need to pull the drawstring.”

  “I should assume the man was both alive and dead for the time being in the hope—”

  “Expectation.”

  “The expectation, then, that when I find out who the dead man was, I will know in which state he arrived and have my answer.”

  “Exactly.”

  Chapter XV

  Ali bin Selah did leave Jerusalem, as he said he would. He joined a caravan headed north to Damascus by way of Jericho. Ali had no intention of finishing the journey. A wide stretch of cleared land that bordered the Jordan River provided the caravan’s first stopover. Travelers hobbled their animals and made camp. Another caravan headed south to Jerusalem had arrived earlier. Space to set up a campsite posed a problem. Ali, however, had no difficulty.

  Dawud, his servant—more than a servant if truth be told—waited for him among the southbound travelers. No one noticed, there being so many people coming and going, that Dawud had been at the camp site for two days. Ali pitched his tent next to his and they shared a meal. After dark, Ali switched clothes with his servant-friend. An application of nut stain darkened his skin and his beard. He donned a pair of boots with a heel that made him taller. The next morning Ali would abandon his place in the northbound caravan and join the southbound. Dawud would wait a day and follow him. No would one notice or care. With an early morning start, the caravan was scheduled to be in Jerusalem by mid-morning. He need only avoid Loukas the Physician and his friend, the rabban. He felt certain the disguise would fool the rabban—they’d only met that one time and then only briefly— but Loukas would be another matter. He’d have to take his chances that the physician would not frequent the places he intended to visit. Either way, at whatever the cost, he had unfinished business to attend to and that included Dawud.

  Loyalty is a precious trait when it is present. When it is doubted, it becomes a liability.

  ***

  “But, Loukas, where do we begin? I can understand your suggestion to let the business at the Temple rest for the time being, but how on earth am I to discover the man’s identity? People go missing in this city all the time. Bandits abduct them, the Romans arrest them and they are never heard from again. This man could have been anybody, and you told me your inquiries led you nowhere.”

  “Rabban, this man was found dead in the Holy of Holies. He is no ordinary missing man. Consider the following: Obviously he is not the victim of Roman justice. They are a brutal race, but not an imaginative one. The notion of inserting someone in the Temple would not have occurred to them. No, they would simply crucify him in a very public place. He is not the victim of banditry, either. Brigands would simply murder their man and leave him to bleed to death in the wilderness or on the road. Either way, neither Romans or bandits would have left him in the Temple. In a ditch or in prison, yes, but not the Temple, not in the holiest place on earth. No, you must find a family, a friend, a business associate, who is wondering about one of their own. The mere fact that I have turned up nothing suggests that this missing person is involved with something they wish to keep hidden.”

  “Or, suppose this man is only a trader from Tarsus or Antioch and suppose he tells his family he will be away for a full cycle of the moon. Will they miss him yet? How long before they send someone to search for him? Another cycle? And suppose, just suppose, they believe he is in some other city—what then?”

  “Then? Then they will never know what happened. I am suggesting that the nature of this murder rules out a nonentity like that. Merchants and traders, if they are murdered, are found in public places more often than not. The very nature of this murder precludes the banal. ”

  “Which brings us back to the beginning point.”

  “Maybe this will help. I have studied our dead man in greater detail. Not as much as I would like but a bit more. I can tell you something about his dress, and his occupation.”

  “From inspecting the corpse, you can tell me what he did as a profession? I don’t believe it. No one can do that.”

  “Perhaps not, but I can try, with your help, of course.”

  “My help? I know nothing of men and their professions.”

  “Suppose I told you that this dead man has a callus in the middle of his palm, his right hand palm.”

  “A callus? Sorry, I have no idea. I don’t know what to do with that. Perhaps he threw a spear. Does one throw a spear with the palm of one’s hand?”

  “I rather think not.”

  “Very well, we have a man who presses on things with his hand. Sorry, no inspiration yet.”

  “No? Well, he was badly burned, as you know, but I did have a look at the lining of his nose.”

  “His nose? The lining of his nose will reveal secrets? What can a man’s nose tell you?”

  “There, you see? You take things for granted. You friend Jacob ben Aschi is blind, you tell me. Ask him if his nose doesn’t tell him a great deal.”

  “I see, yes. When we first talked he recognized the aroma of the burning sacrifices. He called it holy smoke.”

  “And?”

  “And he knew it was bulls that were being offered, not rams, not doves, not grain.”

  “There you see? No, the nose is a particularly sensitive area of a man’s anatomy.”

  “A woman’s as well if the popularity of perfume is reckoned.”

  “I meant both. Good, now you are beginning to understand. Did you ever notice that when rheum collects in your nose, your food is tasteless?”

  “Yes. So?”

  “Most of your taste is determined by your nose, not your tongue. Men who’ve lost some or all of their tongues will tell you they can still ‘taste,’ although it is different.”

  “Consider me properly educated on the wonders of a man’s tongue. Now tell me why being so is important, and then what any of this has to do with the dead man’s nose.”

  “Patience, my friend, patience. I told you I had occasion to inspect the man’s nasal lining. It suggested something to me.”

  “I cannot imagine what.”

  “Of course you can’t, but I can. His lining was inflamed—very red due to the blood vessels being enlarged.”

  “From the fire, of course.”

  “Not so quickly, wait. If he was struck down by holy fire, as some suggest he might have been, there would have been no opportunity for him to inhale and therefore no inflammation. But if he burned in the fire elsewhere, he would have.”

  “There, you see. Fire death somewhere else?”

  “It is one possibility, but the inflammation had no particles.”

  “No particles? Loukas, is that supposed to mean something to me?”

  “If he inhaled, he would have had particulate matter in his nose, you see?”

  “Do you think he was dead before he was burned?”

  “Precisely. If he was dead first, then once again, he could not have inhaled the smoke.”

  “So, why was his nose inflamed?”

  “He had frequent exposures to some irritant. There is no question it was of long standing, this inflammation.”

  Gamaliel shook his head, in frustration. “He has a callus…and had been in contact with something irritating. So?”

  “I was going to suggest a smith of some sort, you know a jeweler who has to push—”

  “Explain the nose redness, then.”

  “I can’t. He must routinely come into contact with strong odors or powders. I understand acids are used in preparing gold. And you know stone masons have inflamed noses.”

  “I didn�
��t know that. Acids…that’s a thought. What of his other hand? Did it also have a callus in the palm…anywhere? If he did, he might have been a tent maker. They regularly inhale the tannin used to cure the leather.”

  “You grasp of some things is amazing and then…Never mind. The other hand? Let me think. No, if anything it was remarkable because there were no marks or indicators on the palm.”

  “Good, then we rule out stone mason, who definitely would, and jewelers, because all the ones I know use acid very sparingly if at all, and he wasn’t a tent- or a sail-maker either.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “If he were either of those two, or something similar, his other hand would have complementary calluses on the thumb and forefinger from handling the rough cloth or leather. No, one clean hand and one rough…from pressing on a rounded…would you say rounded?”

  “Possibly, yes.”

  Gamaliel’s eyes sparkled. “He was an apothecary.”

  “He was?”

  “From the mortar and pestle. He holds one in his right hand and grinds away. Many of the powders you use are very irritating in their raw state, are they not?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “It is not much, but it is enough. I could be wrong, but tomorrow I will scour the city and find out if such a man is missing. Oh, and you must tell me more about this drug your friend Ali gave you—the one you said was made from poppy sap.”

  “It’s called hul gil. The joy plant.”

  “It is commonly used in medicine?”

  “Oh, yes. But I am not sure what Ali left me is the same thing. The pain relieving in this mixture is greatly enhanced.”

  “So it is not hul gil?”

  “I don’t think so. I will ask Ali the next time I see him.”

  “That could be months.”

  “Or never.”

  Chapter XVI