Holy Smoke

by Frederick Ramsay

  “Are they?”

  “No more so than eighty of a hundred others who sell here. One must always be careful when purchasing anything, Rabban.”

  “Thank you for that. So, you think we are done here?”

  “Yes. And Yehudah is signaling that he has something to tell us. We should go.”

  Chapter XXXIV

  Gamaliel, borne like royalty, or perhaps more like a successful courtesan, left the street in style, carried up by two burly guardsmen and followed by a meager but well set up entourage consisting of the captain of the guard, Loukas the Physician, and one other. Their exit from the herbalists was noted by a few and tracked carefully by one man in particular. When they had disposed of the chair and found a quiet spot where they could sit and have refreshment, Gamaliel called them to order much as he would his students.

  “Yehudah, you signaled that you had seen something important. Were we followed?”

  “No, Excellency, it’s not that. I suppose we might have been, but I saw no evidence of that. What caught my eye was a person I thought I recognized. Then I wasn’t sure. It seemed so unlikely. Can a person have a double—I mean of course he could have a twin—but is there another way that could be?”

  “Possibly. It is more likely the person who seemed to be someone else is that person after all. You thought you recognized someone and then doubted it was the person you thought it was for some reason. Am I close enough?”

  “Yes, you see, this person should not have been on the street, but there he was.”

  “Why shouldn’t he have been on the street?”

  “Well, I thought I saw one of the priests. This particular cohort of kohanim is still on duty, is it not? If so, he should be at the temple, not wandering the streets of the souk.”

  “But he was. Anything else?”

  “If he was a priest, and if he had permission to wander off from his assignment, why would he be dressed as merchant selling cheap trinkets?”

  “No, Yehudah, the question is why wouldn’t a man who wished to blend in to his surroundings become the very thing one would expect to see in a certain place? How better to hide in the souk than to be a part of the souk and…”

  Gamaliel stopped in mid sentence and stared off into space. His mouth dropped open and Loukas, aware of the numerous flies that buzzed about their table worried one would sail in.

  Finally Gamaliel’s jaw snapped shut and he stood.

  “My friends, I believe we have turned a corner. There is a long journey still ahead of us, but today we have made genuine progress. I must return home and study.”

  “And I must see to my patients. I have been away too long. My servant is new and will not know how to cope.” Loukas rose and dropped some coins on the table.

  “Loukas, how long has this new man of yours been employed?”

  “A few days.”

  “How did you come by him?”

  “When Ali heard of Draco’s condition, he left to pick up the medicine you saw, and he brought a young man back with him. He said he found him standing idle in the marketplace seeking employment. He said he had some skill, and so I brought him in. Ali thought it seemed a fortuitous coincidence.”

  “Loukas, send him away.”

  “What, dismiss the servant? How will I manage?”

  Gamaliel turned to Yehudah. “Would it be possible for you to loan one of your men to the physician for a few days? I will see to his pay, if necessary.”

  “Wait a moment, Rabban. I am perfectly capable of paying my help. Why must I dismiss the servant?”

  “Call it a hunch, a feeling, a prickling on the back of my neck, Loukas. Do this as a favor for me. If I am wrong, you can have your young man back later. I do not like…what did you say?…‘fortuitous coincidences.’”

  “Oren can be yours, Physician. He is a good man and has served in a household before he joined us.”

  “Can he use a sword?” Gamaliel asked.

  “Most excellently, sir.”

  “Use a sword? Gamaliel, what are you getting at?”

  “As I said, a prickling—”

  “At the back of your neck. It could be too much sun.”

  “You forget. I was in the curtained chair. No sun in there, just the heat from it.”

  “I still don’t understand, but I will go along. You will explain all this later, I assume.”

  “Of course, all in good time. It is a matter of perception. We see what we are accustomed to see. A rabbi is a rabbi. We don’t ask him to prove it to our satisfaction. We see a man appropriately dressed, teaching twelve or more men in the marketplace or up at Solomon’s Porch and we say, ‘there is a rabbi.’ Whether he is one or is not is never questioned. The same is true with priests, guards, men selling trinkets on the street, and servants, sad to say. Only when something seems amiss do we question our first impression. Yehudah saw a seller who seemed not to be what he pretended. I am convinced it is the clue, the first indication we need to grasp if we are to solve our problem. Go to your patients, my friend. Take Oren and send the boy away. Yehudah, will you see me home and tell me more about this seller of trinkets?”

  ***

  The seller of trinkets, as Yehudah had made him out to be, followed the entourage for a few streets. He had the feeling that the man who’d joined the party as it left the street had recognized him somehow. He allowed himself to get close enough to see who made up the group. He recognized Loukas, the physician, of course, but none of the others. The tall man who seemed to be in charge of the others, the one who he guessed had found him out, seemed familiar as well. Who or in what capacity he knew this person eluded him at the moment. He felt sure it would come to him later, but now he sensed that caution should be his mode.

  He guessed the passenger in the sedan must have been the rabban of the Sanhedrin. Why could he not avoid that man? Would this nation of ridiculously religious people be any the worse off if its meddling rabban were to die? He spun on his heel and melted into the crowd. The physician had to return to his home soon. He would wait for him there. Now there was no mistaking what those two men knew or would soon guess. He had already wasted too much time on this project. More goods and men were on the way to the city from the east and he needed to divert them, which was his way of internalizing the fact that the goods would be stolen and their bearers killed. He might try bribing these men, but past experience taught him that men who accepted bribes were likely to reverse their loyalty for a larger bribe. Either way, people who accepted bribes couldn’t be trusted. And, of course, there were always ninnies like the two night guards who, once fooled, had to be eliminated before they ran bawling to their overlords about what they had done and begging for forgiveness. Idiots. Luckily most of the coins he’d tempted them with were still on their person when he finally caught up with them. So, his investment in their willing stupidity had been small. And then there were the regulars to Hana and its predecessor, like his former accomplice who worked for hul gil and who also had to be held accountable. Those types were especially unreliable.

  But bribery would not remove the threat posed by the rabban of the Sanhedrin and his friend. Either he would have to eliminate them or they had to be sent up another blind alley. This time it had to succeed.

  Chapter XXXV

  Gamaliel had had a good day, that is, if unraveling the circumstances surrounding a death is the thing one enjoys. Notwithstanding doing so was never his desire, it had been a good day. At last he found a crack in a wall that had up until now had seemed impenetrable. It was all about appearances, and things not being what they seemed. He had a start, but what next? Did he have a reasonable suspect? Yes, he did. Was his suspect a certainty? Not really, not yet. Soon, maybe. The suspect had both means and opportunity. Did he have a motive? The answer to that question still eluded him, but he felt that hul gil would be at the cente
r somehow. But how, and more important, why? And what of this rift between the Egyptians and the Assyrians? Not Assyrians, Parthians. Did anybody call themselves Assyrians anymore? He’d had a conversation about that earlier. With whom? He needed to think about that. It was important somehow.

  As for hul gil, it could be purchased easily anywhere in the streets and most, if not all, healers prescribed it. So how did it become a substance over which men would fight and die?

  He’d set a task for his servant before his trip to the souk. He was to call on the one man in the city who Gamaliel knew would have the information he needed to answer that question.

  “Benyamin, where you successful in acquiring the scrolls I asked for?”

  The servant waved in the direction of a table set in the corner of the room. “Yes, but their keeper did not part with them easily. He only relented when I told him they were for you.”

  Gamaliel smiled, lifted the cracked and tattered sheaf, and inspected them with a critical eye. “I will guard them with my life.”

  “I told him as much.”

  “I will have my evening meal early and afterwards I want to be left completely alone. You understand? No visitors, no interruptions. None at all.”

  “Yes, Excellency, you wish to entertain no visitors.”

  Gamaliel made a trip to the mikvah, washed, said his prayer before the evening meal, and ate. Afterward, refreshed in body and spirit, he set about reading the scraps of papyrus and scrolls. It would require yet another extra measure of oil in his reading lamp for a long night with his nose pressed close to dusty sheets of papyrus.

  The cultivation of plants had never interested him before. Now he found it fascinating—at least one particular plant.

  ***

  Caiaphas, the high priest, found himself in a high dudgeon. In spite of his warnings, the rabban of the Sanhedrin remained adamant that the body found in the Temple was a murder victim. Even if true, no good could come from an investigation. The man was dead, the Nation would be served best if the reason for his death was what the general populace believed it to be—an irate deity had carried out the fate taught in every synagogue and shule in the Nation. Yet, Gamaliel kept banging on the gong of murder, not the acceptable alternative. In so doing, the rabban had upset palace officialdom in some way. He ignored warnings. But that wasn’t all.

  Gamaliel, who could waste time on that insignificant death, refused to pursue his official duties. His charge as rabban of the Sanhedrin made him the preserver and maintainer of Orthodoxy, yet he refused to rein in these itinerant rabbis who were confusing the people across the breadth and length of the land. It wasn’t just that one from Galilee, though he was the worst, but the whole phalanx of the misinformed and misguided. True, most of them would yield to the Temple Pharisees’ persistent questioning and give up. But a few remained. And Yeshua ben Josef in particular needed to be silenced.

  Gamaliel said that Yeshua from the Galilee had become an obsession for him. Had he? Caiaphas shook his head. Not at all. He had a duty! They both had a duty. Why was Gamaliel shirking his? The high priest paced the floor from one end to the other mumbling to himself and grinding one fist into the palm of the other hand. How could he maintain the position that rabbi Yeshua did no harm? People flocked to him, especially since the Baptizer had been killed by that weak king. Did the rabban even listen to him? Mustard seed, he’d said? Outrageous! Ha Shem did not choose them because His kingdom resembled mustard plants. What idiocy! The Kingdom is like the cedars of Lebanon…well, maybe not them. They were all harvested by now. The Temple then, yes the Temple, built to last forever, to stand against the ravages of time and conquerors, whoever they were and whenever they came. The Temple would endure forever. Mustard seed—bah!

  Having reassured himself of the permanence of the Nation and his position in it, he retreated to his bedchamber and settled in for the night. Outside, people moved about. Some with duties to perform or obligations that kept them out. Some others lurked in corners and shadows with less noble purposes in mind, and at least one with murder in his heart.

  But the high priest would sleep well.

  ***

  Trailing the physician offered no challenge. He felt cheated. He did not consider it a rational thought, but he did enjoy the game and his man refused to play. The physician either suspected no one to be on his trail in spite of his sure knowledge that he’d been followed earlier, or he had a child-like trust in the essential goodness of people. In either case, his tracker had no problems following him to his home. The presence of the other man caused some concern. If he lingered in Loukas’ company too long he could become an obstacle. Why were the two of them walking together? He watched as they paused and the physician seemed to peer into the other man’s eyes. So, this second man must be a patient. If so, there should be no problem. The physician would treat him and he would leave. Then, the physician’s servant would leave the gate unlatched. He would have an easy entry to the house. He could be in and out in no time at all.

  The two men disappeared into Loukas’ house and the tracker slipped into the deepening shadows across the street to wait. Soon, one more minor difficulty would be eliminated. Then he could find the others, remove them from his list, finish this business, and go home. Too bad about the physician, he didn’t deserve it, but with his death the rabban would be forced to shift his attention elsewhere. He waited. The door opened and the servant stepped through. He turned and, arms spread, seemed to be pleading with Loukas…why me? The physician only shrugged and said something the watcher could not make out. Disconsolate, the servant walked away.

  Loukas’ shadow met him in the street. “What has happened?”

  “I have been dismissed. He has brought another man in to take my place. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Dismissed? Did he give a reason?”

  “No, only that if I returned on the first day next week he might reconsider.”

  What could this mean? How could he have made a connection between this boy and…“Come with me. I have a room in an inn. You know Bethany? Good. You can stay with me and we will see what we can do for you in the morning.”

  The two set off through the Kidron Valley. Something less than an hour later the watcher arrived at the inn in Bethany—alone.

  Chapter XXXVI

  Gamaliel expected Loukas to join him early in the morning, about the third hour. It was nearly midday when he arrived. He did not look happy.

  “Trouble, Loukas? I thought you’d be here sooner.”

  “And well I might have been had I not taken your advice about my servant. Thanks to you, I spent the better part of the morning attending to an inquiry about that man’s death.”

  “That man? What man is dead, and why were you at the inquiry, and what has any of this to do with advice from me to sack your servant?”

  “What man? My servant, of course. You said I should send him away. I did. This morning someone stumbled over his corpse in the brush at the foot of the Mount of Olives. I put him out in the night, as you suggested, and some thief or brigand must have found him wandering about in the dark with no place to go and killed him—stabbed him with a knife.”

  “And I am to blame because you believe that if you had not taken my advice, or if I had not given it, he wouldn’t have been out in the dark and an easy mark for a killer.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “I will accept the responsibility for the man’s death, but I will also say that it is equally likely that had you not put him out as I suggested, you, not the boy, might have been the recipient of a mortal knife wound.”

  “I do not see how.”

  “No, I am sure you don’t. You will have to take it on faith for the nonce. Now, to proceed, I spent the night reading about the cultivation of plants. Are you aware of the intricacies attached to the art of plant cultivation? It is much more comp
lex than I ever imagined.”

  “What do I know of plant cultivation? I know you plant a seed or take a cutting and if it is watered and in good soil, it grows. What more is there?”

  “That, my friend, is not cultivation. That is merely sowing and reaping. Cultivation is the art of improving the plant or its fruit. You cull out the plants that do not bear good fruit, or seeds, in the case of grain, and keep only the best and heartiest. For flowers and spices you selectively breed the most beautiful and aromatic. In time you get a better return from your planting or you get a product closer to what you really want.”

  “I am impressed with your new-found expertise and I am sure cultivation of flowers and roots is critical to the health and welfare of the Nation. What has any of that to do with murder? We have the Temple man, the burnt storekeeper, Zach the guard, and now my servant, all dead and cold in their graves or soon will be. I realize you believe the first three are related, though there is no evidence to support it. Are you supposing my dead servant is also connected and if so, how do plants, flowers, seeds and their cultivation relate to any of them?”

  “You are still angry with me. I am sorry for the young man. I am persuaded that in the end you will see that I was right in my advice to send him away, and, indeed, the murders are related and cultivation of some plants…well, one in particular, is critical to our inquiries.”

  “How? That is like connecting the moon and the sun.”

  “If I understand your Greek astronomers correctly, not to mention the odd eastern astrologers who wander through from time to time, the sun and moon are most definitely connected…indirectly, perhaps, but connected. The linkage between the several murders is made through what I spent the night reading.”

  “The cultivation of plants? My servant, a stranger scorched and left in the Holy of Holies, a clerk of some sort in a shop on the Street of the Herbalists, and Zach the guard are connected by plant lore?”