“State your business or I’ll have my archers drop you where you stand.”
We grind to a halt, all panting for air. My muscles quiver as I tighten sweaty palms around the poles of the heavy litter that is becoming slippery in my hands. But my mouth is as dry as the Negev, and I can’t speak.
“I said, state your business!” the voice rings out again.
I swallow hard, then run my dry tongue over parched, cracked lips. “I am Ethan, General under the command of Eleazar ben Simon, here on official business.”
“Ethan? The Hasmonaean priest? Son of Reuben? Is that you?”
“It is.”
“You mean to tell me I was summoned to this wall just to witness the assent of that loutish braggart who stole Rebekah, niece of Abner the Pharisee, the Jewel of Jerusalem, right from under my nose?” The sternness has gone from the voice.
I squint up at the speck of a man atop the wall. He’s surrounded by a cluster of armed soldiers. In the fading light, and from this distance, I can’t see his face, but the voice I recognize. “Josiah?” At once my ears are filled with exploding laughter, and I know it’s my boyhood friend, a Zealot also, the one who pleaded with me to follow him to Masada two years ago after becoming sickened by all the infighting in Jerusalem.
“Josiah, send your men to help carry Joseph. He’s injured,” I say, not wanting to waste any more time on meaningless banter. And before long, a swarm of men descend upon us, taking the litter from me and Benjamin, while others help Aaron navigate the remaining harsh terrain.
When at last we gain entrance into the fortress, I’m ushered into the upper tier of the Northern Palace, the palace that once was Herod’s living quarters. And then I’m directed to a large, lavish room. I carry two sacks of silver, the size of small boulders, by their necks. Benjamin follows, carrying two others. Aaron is not with us for he’s gone to help tend Joseph.
It’s cool here, with thick stone walls covered in clean bright plaster and painted frescos. I’m no longer accustomed to such splendor or cleanliness. The rebels have not reduced this palace to ruins like those in Jerusalem did to Herod’s palace there. I feel strangely out of place as I track dirt across the gleaming black and white tiled floor to where Josiah stands on a columned semi-circular balcony. To one side, a simply dressed leathery-faced man of uncertain age sits on a long stone bench. I know him. He’s Eleazar ben Ya’ir, commander of Masada.
Josiah laughs when he sees us. “Have you crawled here all the way from Jerusalem? Never have I seen such dirty men! Or smelled riper ones, either.”
Benjamin and I extend our greetings, then Josiah begins the questioning while Eleazar remains silent on his bench. “What is this business you spoke of?” Josiah says, his face furrowed, his voice authoritative. Two years heading security in this wilderness outpost has made him more serious than I remember, though there’s still ample evidence of a more genial nature. “What is your mission?”
By way of answer, I plop my heavy sacks on the bench beside Eleazar. Benjamin does the same. Then I untie one, plunge in my hand, and pull out a fistful of coins. “For the rebellion. Eleazar ben Simon commissioned us to bring this to you. To fortify your defenses; to purchase arms and supplies.” When I open my palm to display the coins, a few fall from my hand and skitter across the floor.
Josiah’s eyebrows arch as he looks at the four large, bulging sacks, but he doesn’t move from his place by the column. “It’s a welcome gift. It will go far in filling our storehouses with food and weaponry. An easy matter too, for we have contacts in Damascus, and our men are expert in navigating the tunnels.”
I nod. I know the tunnels of which Josiah speaks. They snake the interior of the Judean hills, and were dug by merchants who used them for years; merchants who preferred to smuggle their goods in and out of the countryside rather than pay Roman taxes.
“I’m grateful to you and to Eleazar ben Simon,” Josiah says, folding his arms and leaning against the column. “We’ve heard how all the priests perished defending the altar. It’s a great loss. Eleazar ben Simon will be missed.”
“But it pleased him to know his last command would be fulfilled.”
“So . . . the rumors of Eleazar hiding the Temple treasure are true?” Josiah eyes me carefully.
“They are.”
“Then we can expect more contributions in the future?”
“I made a vow and hope to fulfill it. If you give me men to keep away the bandits that roam the area, we’ll go back to Hyrcania and retrieve what remains there.” Then I quickly tell him about Lamech.
“Done. You can have however many men you require, and I’ll personally command them. Only . . . when your vow is fulfilled I hope you and Rebekah and your sons will join us in the safety of our fortress. Many Jerusalem survivors have already come with their families.”
Josiah pushes himself off the column and finally bends over the stone bench to pick up one of the bags. He holds it for a second as if calculating its weight, then puts it down. “I see Abner isn’t with you.” He frowns as if suddenly understanding the obvious. “I grieve your loss. He was a dutiful son; a noble fighter for Israel. But in this war, we’ve all lost those we love. Still . . . I was greatly distressed about Esther.”
“Esther? What about Esther?”
Josiah is clearly surprised. “You didn’t know? I saw her myself, roped to the other captives.”
It’s as if sand clogs my throat. “Where . . .when?” I sputter.
“When my men and I disguised ourselves as nomads and journeyed to the outskirts of Titus’s siege walls trying to rescue those fleeing Jerusalem. We heard how bad it was, and that the end was near. Eleazar and I thought it worth the risk. We knew about the scarcity of food in the city. And we knew that many who managed to flee would die if left unaided.” Josiah shakes his head. “Even so, scores died on the way here; a cruel end after their brave efforts. We saw the Romans slaughter the old and infirm, men and woman alike, and the very young, leaving only those who could be auctioned as slaves or used in the arenas. Esther was among them.”
“Impossible.” My head reels. “She’s in Pella with Rebekah.”
“I tell you I saw her. I’ve known Esther all my life. It’s no mistake. It was her.”
Benjamin places his hand on my shoulder. “We’ll find her, Father.”
“Don’t torment yourselves with that thought,” Josiah says. “Thousands of women were taken. And they’ll be sold throughout the Empire.”
“But first they’ll either be sold to slavers along the way to Caesarea Maritima or made to board ships at the Caesarean port,” I say, setting my jaw. “Either way, they’ll travel the Via Maris, the Way of the Sea. And we’ll travel it with them.”
“Careful, Ethan, you’re speaking like a fool. When the Romans see you and your sons, they might just add you to their string of captives.” Josiah points to Benjamin. “And this strong, broad son of yours would make fine sport for them in the arena.”
“Not if we go as slavers ourselves.”
Josiah throws up his hands. “Most of the slavers are Greeks. You could never pass for a Greek.”
“Not a Greek; a Syrian from Damascus. No one would think it odd that a Syrian looks for slaves.”
Eleazar ben Ya’ir rises to his feet. “What you propose is folly, but I don’t fault you, nor will I try to dissuade you. Rather, let us make a bargain. Josiah will accompany you to Hyrcania, and from the gold and silver gained there, he’ll give you a tenth, to go and purchase your daughter, if possible, and as many other of our people that you can. And when you have, you may bring them here, to this refuge.”
My heart is elated. “A good bargain,” I say. “And as soon as Joseph is well, I’ll leave for Hyrcania.”
Eleazar frowns. “You can’t wait. Titus has razed Jerusalem, leaving only Herod’s three towers standing. Now that jackal, after resting his troops, will turn his attention on us, and we must be ready. Go—you and your sons, and bathe; not in the public bathhou
se but the private one in the Western Palace, and enjoy the cold plunge bath and the heat of the caldarium. I will send someone to scrape and oil your skin. Clean clothes will be brought, as well as food. Then eat and rest yourselves. At first light, you must go with Josiah.”
When I hesitate, Josiah puts his hand on my shoulder. “Do not fear. Joseph will be well cared for. We have no physician, but even now, a skilled midwife, who understands the healing arts, attends him.”
My heart is not in this. How can I go off digging for gold when my son lies so near death?
Seeing I’m still unmoved, Josiah leans closer and adds, “I make this pledge, a runner will be sent to bring you news if Joseph’s condition worsens. Now, will you go with me tomorrow?”
I should stay with my son. If he dies, I wish to hear his last words, to feel his hand in mine, to kiss him as a father should. But I’m a soldier, a man of war. What else can I say but, “yes.”
I’m kneeling beside Joseph’s bed. His skin is strangely lucent like the uncooked white of an egg. His chest moves in small, rapid jerks as he struggles to pull air into his lungs. He has been bathed from head to toe, and lies beneath a blanket, unclothed. His injured leg protrudes. The filthy packing has been removed, the wound bathed with wine. But oh, how it smells! The gash has become an ugly festering sore, oozing puss, and black in color. And the leg? Dead as the leopard whose hide we used for Joseph’s litter, for mortification has already set in. I know the leg must come off, but I try not to think about it now.
I’m told the midwife has not left his side, not even while Aaron and Benjamin and I slept. Even now she’s shuffling about in that quiet way of hers—small and hunched and wrinkled—brewing herbs that smell strangely like hyssop and vinegar.
We’re in the Western Palace. The administration wing, the service wing, the royal quarters, the storerooms, all have been converted into living quarters for the several hundred families billeted here. The remaining inhabitants of Masada are scattered throughout the threetiered Northern Palace, as well as the rooms inside the casement wall of the cliff face.
I feel Joseph’s burning brow. Already his clean wool blanket is damp with sweat. “Joseph. Your brothers and I are leaving for Hyrcania.”
Joseph’s lashes flutter, then his eyes open. His badly cracked lips are covered with the midwife’s salve. “I . . . wish . . . I was . . . going.” His voice is as thin as a moth’s wing.
“Don’t talk.” I touch my fingers lightly to his mouth. “I just wanted you to know we are going to finish the job.”
“But this time we’re bringing a sizable army,” Benjamin blurts, kneeling beside me. “Josiah is leading one hundred men. Lamech and his thugs won’t bother us this time.”
“And there will be plenty of hands to carry the treasure back to Masada,” Aaron adds, he too now crouches by the bed. “Before you know it, we’ll be here telling you all about the things we’ve found.”
“You’re in good hands,” I say, frowning at the midwife who’s waving at us, trying to get us to leave. “You’re in good hands,” I repeat, rising to my feet. But it’s not the midwife I’m referring to. It’s Hashem. For only His hand can snatch Joseph from the jaws of death now.
After I’ve directed some of Josiah’s men to bring up the rest of the silver coins from the chest in the well, my sons and I and a few other men dig in the cistern of the columned courtyard, the third location mentioned in the scrolls. We nearly missed it, since all but two of the columns are utterly destroyed, and even these are nearly covered with rubble. But it was Aaron who discovered the site after tripping over the edge of a column stump.
A deep layer of sediment covers the floor of the cistern. We dig, using the large, new shovels we’ve carried from Masada, and in no time expose the still partially plastered floor. In one section we uncover a trench running parallel to the joints between the wall and floor where quarter-round molding seals the two. Josiah’s rebels, using pickaxes and shovels, break through the hardened floor of the trench and before long, uncover a huge stone box, the size of an Egyptian sarcophagus, carved right into bedrock. The cover takes six men to lift, and no one is prepared for what lays inside. It’s filled to the top with disc-shaped gold and silver ingots, coins, gold bracelets and neck chains. Astonishment covers our faces. Only Josiah is calm, and displays his former good nature by looking down at the vast treasure and quipping, “Not bad for a day’s work.”
The following morning at first light, Benjamin finds an elaborate sepulcher, nearly intact, on a small hill southwest of the fortress, and at once I declare it to be the site of the second location described in the scrolls. The sepulcher is built like a room of stone above the ground, square in shape and having several steps that lead into another, smaller room, one hewn out of solid stone and lined with three stone benches to hold the dead, though I see no dead on them. Even so, my sons and I are reluctant to desecrate the tomb. Not Josiah. Without so much as a flick of an eyelash, he orders his men to enter it and lay their pickaxes to its base. I don’t think less of him. His concern is for the living. Does my reluctance show that mine is for those dead and dying . . . for my Abner and Joseph? Well . . . so be it.
After an hour of hacking and displacing dirt, part of the foundation gives way, making the stone chamber above, topple to one side, causing the dozen soldiers inside to scramble through the partial opening that remained. It takes another hour to clear the debris and shore up the leaning sepulcher before anyone can go back inside. But shortly afterward, we’re rewarded when one of the men spots a niche in the wall, partially uncovered by the previous collapse, and from which protrudes a large cedar chest. And when the heavy box is loosened, then pulled from its hiding place and opened, we see it is full of gold ingots. One hundred in all. Josiah had one of his men count them.
During this time a minor incident occurs. Of the hundred men Josiah brought to Hyrcania, only twenty are used as diggers, the rest are posted as sentries around the summit. And Josiah’s strategy pays off, for when two men try to breach the perimeter, his archers quickly make an end to them. Later when I investigate, I recognize the dead men as belonging to Lamech. Spies? To discover our activities? Was Lamech nearby? Who can say? But with such overwhelming strength on our side, I hardly consider the matter. I’m eager to conclude my business here and be off in search of Esther.
According to the copper scroll, there is one more treasure site in the Valley of Achor. I’ve not told Josiah this because my sons and I differ on the scroll’s translation. The hammered letters are difficult to read. Aaron and Benjamin, and even Joseph believe the scroll indicates we are to dig in the middle of “two buildings,” while I think it reads “two chambers.” It could take weeks, even months to explore all the possible sites, time we cannot spare if we hope to recover Esther. I’ve instructed my sons to remain silent, as well, but have promised them and myself we will return, and right this wrong.
So we use the remainder of the day to stuff bags with treasure, bags without number and small enough to be carried back to Masada by Josiah’s men tomorrow, though it is evident they will have to make many trips back and forth to carry it all. But four bags, larger and more bulbous than the rest, are set aside for me. I don’t take inventory of their contents. Is it exactly the tithe Eleazar promised? Or just Josiah fitting what he can into this number of bags and claiming it a tenth? It doesn’t matter. They hold a king’s ransom. Enough to buy thousands of slaves in the marketplace.
Now it’s nearing sunset, and my sons and I are just settling down for the meal of herb-cheese and raisins provided for us when one of the sentries shouts, “A runner comes!” and my heart stops. Joseph! He must have worsened!
I jump to my feet and dash to where the sentry stands peering northward at the shadowed path, and see a cloud of dust and a small figure sprinting towards us. He’s a speck, this runner, insignificant-looking amid the great expanse of the Judean wilderness. Behind him, mountains tower toward heaven, mountains almost white in the sunlight.
Surely, someone so inconsequential can bring no harm.
How difficult it is to wait! I would run to meet him but years of living the disciplined life of a soldier prevent me. My sons have gathered by my side. Josiah, too. We all wait, and silently watch the runner. Finally, the nameless man reaches the summit. His tunic is drawn between his legs and tied at the waist to enhance his speed. His sandaled feet are encrusted with blood and dirt. His sweat makes his skin glisten like an oiled wrestler.
“As ordered, I bring you news of a change.” The runner doesn’t look at me but speaks directly to Josiah. “Joseph, son of Ethan, has died of his wound.”
He speaks like I’m not even here! I suppose it’s an unfortunate occupation to be a messenger of bad news, but right now I could break his teeth or bloody his face. “Tell me . . . was he conscious before he died?” I say between tight lips. “Did he speak?”
The runner looks confused. Obviously this was not part of his duty, to commit to memory the words of a dying man. “I don’t know,” he finally says. “I only know the midwife said his blood was too poisoned, and she couldn’t save him.”
Josiah dismisses him, and at once my sons and I fall on each other’s necks and weep. The pain in my heart is unbearable. It’s as though a thousand daggers thrust and cut. It will kill me, this grief. Even with the arms of my sons around me, I cannot bear it. The daggers carve a hole, making my heart an empty basin that must be filled or I’ll die. And so I fill it with every morsel of rancor and enmity my mind can conjure. I’m a man who hates the world. A man filled with loathing and hostility; no longer my brother’s keeper. Oh, how my hand desires to shed blood! To see the blood of my enemies pooled at my feet.
“He was a fine man. A good son. A brave soldier.” I hear Josiah say.
“It would be better if the Romans had killed him,” I finally respond, almost in a croak. “There’s honor in that. It would ease the pain. But to be killed by one of our own people! How can I bear that, Josiah? It makes me want to slice the world into pieces.”
Rebekah's Treasure Page 17
