Temple Boys (9 page)

Across the courtyard, doors led up to an open archway that framed a man dressed in a long blue robe embroidered with gold stars. They shimmered and gleamed as he walked. A long beard spread over his broad chest, which sloped down to an even bigger belly. Very slowly he came down the stairs toward them and bowed to Yesh before kneeling to kiss the marble in front of his feet.

Yesh briefly laid his hand on the man's head. Yohan and Yak helped him to rise just as Mat bustled up to the Temple Boys.

“Stop gawking and listen!” he snapped. “That is Yusuf of Ramathain. He's just paid the Master the greatest possible honor and I'm not having the evening ruined by you lot. If you're going to eat with us, you've got to clean up. Come. Come!”

They followed him through a side door and down a long, vaulted passageway. At the end of it, heat and noise blasted from an open door. It was a huge kitchen where ovens the size of furnaces roared. A row of cooks chopped, stirred, and mixed. Plucked birds nestled in rows, ready for the oven, while meat sizzled on spits. The gang was hurried past bowls of fruit and sacks of spices, but Flea hung back. In a dark recess of the kitchen a man was standing alone, watching the activity. His eyes ranged over the Temple Boys, his head nodding as he counted them off. The face snagged on a memory. Flea had caught a glimpse of him before, and recently, too, but where?

“Come on, come on, stop staring.” Mat hustled Flea along, ushering him into a side room that smelled of scented oil and mold. The Temple Boys were looking around, apparently confused by the sight of a row of water basins.

“This is where you wash,” Mat said. “You have heard about washing? Soap, water, oil. Or do I need to get one of the slaves in to show you how it's done?”

“But why?” Big said.

“People wash before they eat,” Mat said.

“Really?”

“Trust me, you'll want to look your best when you find out who you'll be eating with.”

Big stepped up to a basin of water and the others followed. Soon Clump was prancing up and down in a parody of a fine lady, and Smash and Grab were having a water fight. Slaves brought more water. Another brought clean tunics. Mat fussed and grumbled, sent the boys back to clean their nails, gave a grudging nod if he thought they could pass, or told them that they were late and ruining everything, then sent them back to the basins.

At last, tingling, oiled, and stinking of flowers, the gang stood in front of Mat and he said, “I suppose that will have to do.”

Flea thought about the lambs being washed before they were sacrificed.

“Baaa,” he said, but no one heard, and he followed them down a long corridor that ended in a curtain that moved like water.

Behind the curtain, a monster with a hundred voices was roaring.

 

18

Mat pulled the curtain
aside and the gang was suddenly drenched in the din of drunken adults having fun. A thousand candle flames fluttered like a thousand butterflies. The heat was intense, like a blanket that smothered and prickled.

The Temple Boys found themselves in a huge room, on a raised platform set with couches where Yesh and his followers were relaxing. Below, on the floor of the great hall, more guests on more couches were staring up open-mouthed. Flea looked for Jude, who met his eye and gestured for him to wait. The rest of the gang stood stock-still, eyes wide.

Yusuf the Merchant noticed them, nodded to Mat, and then stood to address the crowd.

“My friends, I know all of you are curious to meet my nephew and I know many of you would rather I disowned him than welcome him into my house.” He raised a hand to quell a murmur of disagreement. “And I have to admit it was a bit of a shock when he sent young Yohan to me this morning to ask if I could set a few more places at this meal.

“‘Who's coming?' I asked. ‘The high priest and the treasurers?' Yohan shook his head. ‘The governor and his retinue?' Yohan shook his head. ‘Surely not the Emperor himself?' And this time Yohan answered, ‘The poorest, most miserable, most wretched children in the city.' And here they are—street kids from the foulest gutter. The lowest of the low. The dirtiest of the dirty before they scrubbed up, and definitely the hungriest of the hungry.

“Now, I don't know about magic, although I've seen Yeshua do things that you wouldn't credit, but I will say this: whether or not you believe that a cripple who's been given the strength to walk again should be allowed into the Temple, whether or not you believe my nephew can make people perfect, whether or not you think he's the Chosen One, bringing a gang of beggar boys to dinner in my palace is real magic. A proper miracle!”

Laughter echoed around the hall. Yusuf waited for it to die down and then held up a hand. “This wouldn't be the first time I've done something on gut instinct. I can afford this wonderful house because I've followed my instincts. I made it in this great city in spite of being a poor northern boy, and I'd like to think my extraordinary nephew can do the same—with a bit of help from his old uncle, of course. He's been called a trickster, a conjuror, a magician, a healer, and a lot more besides. But, for the record, he was the cleverest boy I ever saw, and he's by far the cleverest man.

“I wanted him to join my business, but his mother wanted him to become a preacher, and even though things haven't quite worked out the way she imagined, he is, quite simply, the best person I have ever met. He doesn't just teach, he lives what he teaches.” Yusuf dropped his voice. “But, friends, there is a message here for us all to think about. When Yesh talks about changing things, he means it, and this is your chance to be involved. Beggars sitting with the great and the good. That's change. I'm sure you can all think of some other changes you'd like to see.”

He paused and looked around the room, then spoke again in a brighter voice. “Now, I'm told these good lads go by the name of the Temple Boys, so before I sit down, I would ask you to raise your cups and bid them welcome. Gentlemen, the Temple Boys.”

And with that, all the men lying on couches got to their feet. Flea felt hands on his shoulders and allowed himself to be pushed forward. He looked left and right and saw the others do the same, saw the happiness shine through all the doubt and confusion, saw Clump lift his hands above his head, and he realized that this should be the high point of his life: the day he was plucked off the street and given supper in the house of the richest merchant in the city.

“The Temple Boys! The first shall be last and the last shall be first!” Yusuf called.

“The first shall be last and the last shall be first!”
every man in the room shouted back, and raised their golden goblets.

Mat pushed Flea toward a couch in the middle of the row. He stood by it nervously, then felt someone behind him. He turned and found himself looking up at Yeshua smiling at him. For the first time Flea noticed the laughter lines around his eyes. He had a gap between his front teeth and his beard had been trimmed and oiled so it gleamed.

“Flea,” he said. “Flea. There's something I want from you. Something very important.”

 

19

Misgivings flooded Flea's mind
and must have shown on his face, because Yeshua laughed again.

“I'm not going to eat you,” he said.

“I didn't—”

“But you're scared. No, not scared. Worried.”

“So?” Flea tried to stand tough but found it hard.

“Sit with me,” Yesh said.

“Why me? Why not get Halo or Crouch or any of the others?”

“Because you've been against me from the start and I want to know why. Is it that Jude caught you robbing us and you feel embarrassed? Come to think of it, you definitely should feel embarrassed.”

Flea flushed. “He told you that?”

“You answer my question,” Yesh said firmly.

“We were always going to rob you. That was the plan. I was the only one with the guts to try it.”

“Or the others realized they might get more out of being my friend.”

“Got enough friends,” Flea lied.

Yesh looked at him fondly. “You know, sometimes we push away what we most need just in case we're not going to get it. When we most need to be loved, we make ourselves unlovable.”

Flea snorted. “Do you think I'm that thick?”

Servants were placing copper bowls of warm water in front of everyone. The water smelled enticingly of lemon. Flea was thirsty and drank but then saw that all around, people were dipping their elegant fingers into the bowls, washing them, then waiting for servants to hand them spotlessly white linen cloths. He felt his face flush again, and then heard from behind him the sound of loud slurping.

Yesh, drinking deeply, met Flea's eyes from the bowl's rim and winked.

Flea turned away again. What was he supposed to feel? Grateful? Did Yesh really think he was such a pushover?

Food began to arrive, weird stuff that was both sweet and salty and unlike anything Flea had tasted before. While Yesh talked to his uncle, Flea took a sip of wine, found he liked it, and took another.

On the couch next to his, Yak was feeding Halo. Big was showing Tauma a few of his favorite wrestling moves, which involved throwing himself around on the floor, but no one seemed to mind. Jude was at the end of the row of couches. When Flea waved, his hand seemed far away and he became fascinated by the way he could wiggle his fingers. It all seemed quite funny.

More wine.

More astonishing pastries. More wine.

More meat: bird of some kind.

Flea grew hot and lay on the cool floor for a while. People laughed at him and he didn't care, except the noise got trapped in his head and suddenly it didn't matter that Jude had told him to keep his eyes and ears open. Instead, it became very important to leave the room because if he didn't he was going to be sick.

He staggered to his feet, blundered into a slave, found a passageway that seemed cooler than the great hall, and followed the coolness until he saw the outside. Bliss.

He heard a fountain. Even more bliss. He tripped but didn't care. The fountain was in the middle of a beautiful courtyard and fell into a raised pool. Flea weaved his way to it and dipped his head into the water. The shock was like being reborn. He came up gasping, then plunged his head down again, opened his eyes, blew silver bubbles, and watched them rise. Then he crawled around the side of the fountain and propped himself up against it so he could see the moon, which seemed to be drifting at some speed from left to right but somehow never disappeared. When it stopped zooming around he'd be ready to rejoin the party, he thought.

The voices started so suddenly Flea realized he must have dozed off.

He recognized Shim's voice first. “… all be dead before they turn twenty and you know it. Listen, Judas, and listen well. These brats are being given a part to play in something that's bigger than them and bigger than all of us. Pay them off if you want, pay them as much as you want, but tomorrow we need them. It's been decided. There's an undercurrent of … fear in the city. Of violence. If we're surrounded by children, it softens our image and reinforces our core message.”

Jude's voice was exasperated. “An undercurrent of fear? Yours, you mean. You want to use the kids to—”

“Enough!” Shim said. “We all agreed. None of us like it, but it has to be done if the prophecy is to come true. Think of it, man! The world is going to change forever and we—and your precious kids—are going to be at the heart of it. The very heart. You know what the Master would say. Be strong.”

“Except he wouldn't,” Jude said. “He stopped talking to me weeks ago.”

Shim's voice was clever and soft. “If he cuts you out it's because he knows you don't believe in him. It's like a slap in the face when he needs you most. You saw what he did in Bethany. You saw—”

“Bethany! Don't talk to me about that place! Where can it lead?”

“But that's the point! That's the test! You've got to come with us on the journey. You've got to rejoin him. We're doing it, Jude. We're going all the way. He's found the courage. We've found the courage. Question is, old friend, have you found the courage?”

“I'm not that brave,” Jude said.

“Then borrow his courage. Have faith. We're now in a world beyond choice. We're in the place to which every choice has led since the devil corrupted Eve in the Garden of Eden. This is where every road ends. This is the point of everything. And this is the end of everything. This is the plan.”

“So it can't make any difference what I do, can it?”

“It makes a difference to him. It matters more than I can say.”

A pause. A sigh. “All right, then,” Jude said. “So … what are we doing tomorrow?”

Shim laughed and wagged a finger. “Nice try, but I'm afraid I don't quite trust you yet. I'll tell you this: we're having our feast a day early.”

“Tomorrow night? You'll never get a room.”

“Friends in high places.” A pause. “Perhaps we should be getting back?”

“Give me a minute. I'll be in shortly. Feel a bit … you know.”

“Think over what I've said, yes? Good man.”

As Shim's footsteps slap-slapped their way back across the court, Flea sat very still, aware of the sound of his breathing.

Then Jude said, “It's all right. You can come out now, Flea. And don't pretend you're not there. I can see your dirty little foot.”

 

20

Flea stood up shakily.
His heart was thumping, but the edge of the fountain no longer moved and the flagstones stayed more or less level under his feet.

“So, what did you make of that?” Jude asked.

Flea swayed slightly.

“This isn't what I meant by keeping alert.” Jude sounded bleak, as if the night had drained the color from his voice.