The Greatest Gift (8 page)

Michael gazed at the Antonia Fortress, its tall and magnificent structure casting shadows of doom all around it. He rubbed his eyes and let them circle the vicinity.
How am I going to get her out of this forsaken place? I can’t walk in just to see if she’s even there. I need to formulate a plan, but how? There have to be seve
r
al hundred guards, all with armor and weapons.
He cringed, as the adrenaline faded from his body and the reality of the situation became all too clear – it made him feel ill.
I can’t do this alone. I need help. I’m not going to have much time to do this. I wish I had more money. I guess what I have had better be good enough. If not, I’ll have to find a weapon and take my chances.

Michael took out some silver and showed it to the two men standing several yards within the shadows of the Antonia Fortress. “I need help to get inside. Do you know a way past the guards?”

The men took several steps away from him and had a quick conference. They returned a few moments later.

“Why do you need to do this?”

“My daughter. She may be in there.”

The tall man shook his head. “Your daughter will not live for long.”

Michael glared. “My daughter is not going to die in there.” He clenched his fists and moved closer.

“Do not lose your temper,” the tall man said. “They will give you the sword.”

“Please help me. I can get more silver.”

The tall man turned to his friend. “Shalim, what to do?”

“Heber, it is too dangerous.”

“His daughter, Shalim. It is not a place for a woman. No woman should be held here.”

They again took a few steps away from Michael and whispered to each other.

“I do not have much time,” Michael said, glancing back at the prison. “I need help now.”

“We can help but we cannot join you. It is dangerous for us to even help you at all being who we are.”

“Fine,” Michael said, holding out the silver.

“We do not require silver to help a father find his daughter,” Shalim said. “Come with us, brother.”

Michael suddenly stopped. “Aharon is gone,” he mumbled, taking several paces in each direction looking for him. He squinted.
Where did he go? I have a plan now. A good one, and I think it might actually work, but I need him.

“Why are you waiting?” asked Heber. “Come with us.”  

Michael followed as they led him past several stands of food and approached the big temple. They washed themselves and went through a back entrance. The men led the way down a flight of stairs and into a long corridor.

“You will now need the silver,” said Heber, pointing to a lone guard standing by a gold-plated door.

Michael showed them five coins. “Is this enough?”

The men nodded.

“Wish me luck.”

“What is that?” Heber asked.

“Wish me good fortune.”

“We shall. We will wait here to be sure you are safe,” Shalim said. “Show the guard your silver. Hold it out in your hand and let him see it.”

Michael walked toward the guard, making sure the soldier could see the silver from a distance.

“Halt,” the guard shouted. He raised his spear chest high. “Do not take another step.” The guard jabbed his spear forward three times as he approached. “What is your business here?”

“My business is this,” Michael said, extending his hand full of silver.

“This interests me. Why do you need to take this path?”

“To see if my daughter is in the prison.”

“Why is she being held?”

Michael shook his head. “She was mistaken for another woman. We were just passing through town and got lost. She was arrested by the Romans but was with me at the time the incident took place. I need to get her home. She hit her head and is sick.”

The guard took the silver. “Do you know your way around the prison?”

“I do not.”

The guard opened a small door and pointed inside. “Put the armor and helmet on and act like a Roman soldier.”

“I shall,” said Michael, as he reached down and put the armor over his chest and helmet on his head.

“Be careful,” the guard said. “Do what the commanders say you must do, or you risk your life and the life of your daughter.”

The guard opened the gold-plated door and Michael stepped inside. As the door closed behind him, he saw a tall stairwell.
Act like a soldier. Don’t flinch or hesitate. Be decisive. Kill if necessary.
He took his helmet off for a brief moment to wipe some perspiration as he reached the top step. He composed himself to stop his heart from racing.
Now where?

Several voices echoed down the chamber as he saw a line of cells. He walked past the first. A bearded, dirty man reached through the bars and grabbed his neck. “You dirty, filthy Roman,” he hissed. “Where did you take my wife? Tell me or I will kill you.”

Michael jabbed the man with the back of his spear. “I do not know. Let me try to find out.”

The man fell to the back of the wall and spit at him. “I will track you down.”

A young man lay in the second cell. He had bruises on his back and a gash on the side of his face. “Are you okay?” Michael asked.

The young man didn’t move or answer. He was leaning sideways against the wall. Michael reached in and poked him with the back of his spear. “Sir, sir, are you hurt?” He pushed the man again with his weapon, surprised when he tipped over. His arms and legs were motionless.
Oh, Lord, he’s dead. Take a deep breath. Stay focused. Find Elizabeth and Leah.

He turned a corner and a group of Romans were chatting. “Well, what do we have here, someone from Pilate’s renegade?”

Michael tried to walk past them, but two soldiers blocked his path. “Are you a spy from Pilate? Checking up on us? The last one to be loyal to Pilate never made it back. Speak.”

“I am not Pilate’s soldier. I am here to make sure these rebels face their deaths for their crimes against the Roman Empire.”

“Let him go,” called out a man decked in brightly colored garbs.

“Yes sir,” the soldiers shouted.

“I need a few of you to help me move the prisoner. You,” he pointed to Michael. “And you.”

“Yes sir,” Michael said.

“Come with me, both of you. We have an important mission for you.”

The commander led them down a darkened hallway. Candles were melted down to their holdings. The resistance from the prisoners in the cells was silent. They lay beaten, listless. “This is an important prisoner for us. He must be protected until his trial. Many in the city are calling for his death. We had to hide him down here. His name is Paul. He is one of the followers of the rabbi.”

“The rabbi? Which one?” Michael asked.

“The one hung on the cross.”

Michael stood before the cell. Paul sat against the wall, his eyes closed and hands folded. The commander unlocked the gate and picked him up. “Here, take him,” the Roman said. “Bring him to the top of the fortress for his trial.”

Michael grabbed an arm, looked sideways and saw Elizabeth and Leah.
There they are!

The moonlight made an uninvited entrance into Hewitt’s bedroom. He shielded his eyes with two pillows. He sat and let the reality of the situation hit him first in the stomach and then in his head. He tried Veronica’s cell number three more times, but the calls went to her answering machine. Finding her old goodbye note, he crumbled it up without reading it and tossed it into the wastepaper basket.

He staggered to his feet and let his shirt hang out as he went into the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, he grabbed his toothbrush, held it up and dropped it into the sink. He smashed the neatly pushed up toothpaste tube with his hand, squirting its contents all over the sink and then tossed a bottle of hand soap against the wall.

The level of anger rose inch by inch in his body. He shook his head as he continued to build his case mentally against Pastor Dennis. With each thought, his anger was redirected.
Enough of this nonsense about people taking trips to Jerusalem. They’re all a bunch of wackos. No time for a shower.

He made a quick call to his office. “Is that his name? Robert Cantone. Yes. Thanks. I’ll be waiting.”

Hewitt tied his shoes and went downstairs. Sitting in front of his computer, he battered the keyboard in a furious fashion. “Whoa,” he said, sitting back.
Which one to choose?
He clicked on the first few links but came up with nothing.
How about this one?
“Well, there’s Robert Cantone’s picture. No wonder he’s in the hospital.” Hewitt read the local newspaper article entitled “Woman Dies After Giving Birth.”

“What?” he said as he stood up and stared at the screen. He printed a copy of the article and paced around the kitchen, confused thoughts swirling in his mind.
Why is the pastor visiting someone who killed his best friend’s wife? This is an odd way of showing loyalty to a friend. Yeah, he’s a pastor. I know. I know. But, this goes beyond being a pastor. Especially if they were close friends. Something is not adding up here.

Hewitt made another call to the office. “I have the info on Mr. Cantone. Let’s do some more background work on the pastor. You have his four-one-one. I have some visits I need to make in Northport. Some questions need to be asked. Call me on my cell. Thanks.”

Finally getting somewhere. Looks like it’s going through the pastor after all.
Hewitt looked at his cell phone and frowned. “Come on honey, at least return my calls.”

Elizabeth grabbed her head and groaned. She shook the chains back and forth. “Oh God, not again,” she said between short breaths.

“What is wrong?” asked Leah.

“My head. It feels like it is exploding again.” She wiped away the sweat running down her face.

“You look ill,” Leah said. “Your face. I can see through it. Oh my. Am I going crazy? My eyes are deceiving me. My mind is failing me.”

Elizabeth gazed at her. She got to her feet, waved her hands sideways and tried to walk. “Who are you?”

Leah shook her head. “Sit down. You are not well.”

“I do not understand. Who are you?” asked Elizabeth.

“Can you not see?” asked Leah.

Elizabeth shook her head. “No. Who are you? Who do you know?”

Leah stood and reached for Elizabeth. “Sit. Rest. I will call a guard. Do you need water?”

“Beth?” Elizabeth asked.

“What?” Leah moved closer to her.

“Bethia?”

Leah stepped back and fell to the ground.

“Bethia. What do you want?”

“Who are you talking to, Elizabeth?”

She didn’t answer. “I understand, Bethia.”

Leah watched Elizabeth gather her breath. “You said, Bethia,” she said.

“Yes,” Elizabeth said. She coughed several times, gasping for air.

“Bethia was my daughter.”

Elizabeth calmed down, taking short breaths and nodded.

“My Bethia was just a baby when she died. How could she talk to you?”

“Her soul spoke,” Elizabeth said.

“What did she say? What did she look like? Does she look like me? Like Yochanan?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “It is not like that.” She touched Leah’s hand. “I can feel the emotions.”

“What did you feel?” Leah asked, leaning over her.

“Joy. Bethia said joy will come to you.”

A rock struck Michael in the head, ricocheting off his metal helmet. Stunned, he fell to his knees.

“Fight the Romans,” yelled a man in the crowd. “Free the man of peace.”

The commander pointed to the rebel. “You will pay the price for striking a Roman soldier. Take him away.”

Michael watched several Romans surround and beat the man. His blood left a trail as they dragged him down the stairs.

“Bring the preacher here,” said the commander to Michael.

He got up and helped guide Paul out to the courtyard at the top of the Antonia Fortress. The crowd screamed and shouted opposing messages at him. “Death to the preacher,” some in the crowd yelled.

“Save him,” shouted others.

More rocks came hurtling toward them. Michael stood and faced Paul, taking a couple of rocks in his back. His armor shook from each strike. The mob became unruly, and more Roman soldiers pushed them farther away from the podium.

One dignitary stepped forward to the lip of the crowd and put his hand up. “This man should be given the right to speak.”

The crowd hushed and Paul spoke. “I am a humble man, like all of you,” he said, straining to speak over the buzz of the crowd. “I am only expressing what my heart tells me to say. What I say is, find a place in your heart for our Father’s kingdom.”

Several men in the audience stepped forward, throwing fruit and rocks. Michael moved in front of Paul again and was struck by pieces of watermelon.

“Nail him to a cross like his king,” yelled a man, wielding a sword.

“Where’s your king now?” another man shouted.

Paul’s words were lost in the chaos and noise. Michael drew his spear as a man took a few steps forward and threw a rock. It struck his chest armor, making him flinch.
Now, that hurt.

The commander gestured to him and the other guard. “Take him back to the cell. This crowd will kill him.”

Michael took Paul’s arm and followed the guard down the stairs. “I will handle this,” Michael said. “Go find some water. Refresh yourself.”

“Thank you,” the other guard said.

Michael lowered Paul down but didn’t clamp the chains around his arms. “Are you all right?”

“I am.”

He lowered Paul down and watched him sit.
My God. I’m here with one of the apostles. He doesn’t look like I thought he would. I wonder how old he is. I wonder if he realizes he’s going to die a violent death. Maybe he doesn’t have to die that way. Maybe this is the reason I’m here. Am I supposed to help him too? To help him live longer? Write more? Preach the word more?

He shook himself out of his thoughts.
No. Keep it simple. Re
s
cue Elizabeth and Leah, find a safe way to travel and get back.
“Rest, Paul,” he said. “Watch for my signal. I am here to take you out of this forsaken place.”

“Who are you?”

“Well, I am certainly not a Roman soldier, but your rabbi sent me to help you.”

“My rabbi?”

“Yes. I saw him by a small cave in a mountain. He gave me instructions to get you out of here safely.”

Paul got to his feet with some energy and looked to his left. “Can you see over there?”

“Where?”

Paul pointed.

“What’s wrong?” Michael asked, looking with him.

“The women.” He gestured to the cell.

Michael froze, dropped his spear and released his grip.

“My daughter! And Leah.”

Paul strained to turn his head. “Your daughter? You must go now. I believe the Romans took them to where I was.”

Michael raced a few steps, stopped and turned around. “Keep your hands behind you. I will tell them I have locked you up.”

Paul fell down and groaned, holding his head.

Michael watched for a brief moment.
I’m sorry, Lord. I’m d
o
ing the best I can. What you ask may not be possible. I want to help. Paul will have to wait.