The Last Disciple (28 page)

Ben-Aryeh nodded. To Olithar, it would seem as if he and Vitas had had only a few words on the road, not something unusual on a busy highway like this.

“Before I go, let me tell you the truth, my friend,” Vitas said. “If I can return to Rome at a safer time and show Nero how a bad procurator is cutting into his tax revenue, Florus will be gone. And with him gone, perhaps you Jews won’t have a reason to die the way the Iceni did. That is why I am here.”

Ben-Aryeh glimpsed something elusive in the Roman’s eyes. A sadness that had surfaced before the man could hide it completely. “There’s more, isn’t there?” Ben-Aryeh said, truly feeling compassion for the Roman.

“Of course,” Vitas said, spurring his donkey forward and speaking over his shoulder as he left Ben-Aryeh behind. “Isn’t there always?”

Queen Bernice ignored all the attention given to her and her five attendants as she walked through the Court of the Gentiles, past the livestock enclosures and money tables. She ignored the stares, the pointing, the whispering, the occasional catcall. She preferred traveling in the privacy of a litter and rarely walked in public so conspicuously, because she knew this was the treatment to expect.

This morning, however, she needed to see the high priest, and the two messages she had sent to him had been ignored. Since he would not come to the palace, she had been forced to visit the Temple Mount, where her litter and the servants carrying it were not permitted entry.

Inside the Court of Women she did not hesitate. She moved directly to the priests who were sorting through firewood for the altar. “Ananias,” she commanded. “I need to see him immediately.”

There were four men at the stacks of wood. All four straightened, fully aware of who spoke to them.

“You—” Bernice pointed at the shortest, a man with a mole on his left cheek, this the tiny blemish that defiled him and condemned him to menial labor in the priesthood—“tell him that Queen Bernice waits. And remind him that my brother has the power to remove and appoint high priests as frequently as he wants.”

She hoped her unmistakable confidence that the priest would obey was enough to get him moving before he wondered why any priest should follow the commands of a person from outside the temple.

Fortunately, her bluff worked.

The priest shuffled forward, across the courtyard, up the steps, and into the Court of Israel, with the altar that guarded the Holy of Holies inside.

Bernice retreated to the shade of the gallery along the outer wall of the Court of Women. Early in the morning, it was already hot.

She expected that the indirect threat of removal from his office would force Ananias to meet with her. Although five years had passed—with a succession of high priests during that time—since Annas the Younger had made a political miscalculation and angered her brother Agrippa II, thereby losing his priestly office, all high priests were extremely conscious that the latest in the line of Herods would not hesitate to use the power granted to the royalty by Rome.

This was proven when she saw Ananias—long flowing robe, long gray beard—hurrying to meet her.

“This, Your Highness, is not the most convenient time,” Ananias said upon reaching her.

They were out of earshot of anyone in the Court of Women, but the other priests watched them with intense curiosity.

“Obviously,” she answered. “I’m certain it was so busy that you didn’t even have a chance to read either of the messages I had delivered to you already this morning.”

She said it with haughtiness and scorn. This was not a moment for weakness or vulnerability. Ananias was not an ally, nor would he ever become one, for Ananias was simply a pawn of the wealthy Sadducees.

After Annas the Younger had been banished from the high priesthood, effectively ending the long reign of power of his family, a consortium of the upper class had influenced Agrippa II to appoint whoever would serve them best. In the end, for all the courageous actions that a certain priest named Ben-Aryeh had taken to rid the temple of the Annas family, it had actually made the situation worse. As for Ben-Aryeh, he would never be a candidate, for he was too strong willed to serve that consortium of wealthy men.

“I have no time for messages,” Ananias said. He was a tall, thin man with a full head of thick gray hair to match his beard, and the robes of the high priesthood gave him an intimidating appearance. “As you’ve surely heard, Florus and five hundred extra soldiers occupy Palace Antonia. Dealing with Florus is an extremely urgent matter.”

“I’ve also heard that you and the chief priests did nothing to discourage the crowds from insulting him yesterday as his army approached the city.”

Ananias snorted. “Seventeen talents taken from the temple treasury the day before that! How could anybody stop the crowds from reacting as they did?”

“You say you have little time,” she said, “so I will speak with directness. It is no secret that you and the high priests before you have had a tradition of paying people to blend in with the crowds and incite them with your agenda. In short, the crowds behave as you direct. Or are you suggesting that the great priesthood truly has no power over the people?”

Ananias smoothed his robes. “As you say, I have little time. Florus has summoned a delegation of leaders. I must go.”

It was a bluff and she knew it. At this point, he would be very curious to find out what had been important enough for her to send two messages and then appear in person. So would the Sadducees whom he reported to.

“That is why I am here,” Bernice said. “I am begging you to do exactly as he requests. Give him no reason to unleash the dogs of war.”

“You are giving me political advice?”

“It is not advice. It is a request. More than a request.”

Now that she had reached the main purpose of her meeting with him, she would show weakness. If that was what it took to let him know how much it mattered, she would swallow her pride. “If you wish,” she said, “I will get down on my knees and literally beg this of you.”

“This is not the imperious, arrogant Queen Bernice who has antagonized the priesthood for the last decade. The Queen Bernice whose immoral appetites have made her a laughingstock among good Jews.”

His words stabbed her. She deserved them.

“No,” she said, swallowing any attempt at defending herself. “It is not. Against Florus, we must set aside our differences.”

“Are you suggesting we actually battle Rome?”

“No. Any fight we will lose. And our people will be slaughtered.”

“
Our
people? Since when do the descendants of Herod care about the Jews, except as vassals to support the excesses of royalty?”

Bernice forgot to keep her pride in control and snapped without thinking, “The same argument can be made of the priesthood.”

“We serve God.”

“And the priests live very well doing it.”

“I believe our conversation is over,” Ananias said. As well he should. Now that he knew why she’d requested the meeting, he was certainly satisfied.

“Please. I am sorry. I was wrong to suggest what I did. And you were right. Until now, the excesses of royalty have done nothing except leech from our people. But the future does not have to be the past.”

Ananias appeared genuinely puzzled at her humility. “This new policy has official approval from Agrippa?”

Bernice said nothing.

“He is in Alexandria, congratulating the ruler there on having obtained the government from Nero. Am I correct?”

“He is in Alexandria.”

“A shrewd political move, of course. I am to believe then, that the man currying favor from our powerful neighbors is the same man who suddenly tells me through you to place the welfare of peasants above the welfare of royalty?”

“The peasants are without power. They depend on us for—”

“So, you don’t speak for your brother. And you come to me, the high priest, daring to tell me how to conduct my business with Florus.”

“Florus is looking for any excuse to set his soldiers loose.”

“That is obvious. But he must also be accountable to Rome for his actions. That will check any excesses beyond what he has already done.”

“You don’t understand. It is just as easy for him to blame the Jews for any riots as it is for the Jews to blame him. And who would Caesar believe? His actions then—whatever the excesses—are easily explained to Rome.”

“What I don’t understand is why you have this sudden concern. The Herods are powerless lapdogs of Caesar. Regardless of what happens with the rest of the nation’s difficulties with Florus, nothing will change about your life. You’ll still flit from palace to palace according to the season.” He paused and sneered. “Pampered and hedonistic.”

“Please,” Bernice said. “Whatever Florus requests, give it to him. If it is money, I will replace it for you.”

“He already has our money. Remember? Seventeen talents.”

“Please . . . ,” she repeated.

Ananias sighed. “Strangely enough, I feel compassion for your sudden interest in keeping peace. But there is nothing to fear. Florus is going to demand that we hand over the troublemakers who insulted him yesterday.”

“Will you do it then?”

His sigh became one of exasperation. “I will explain this to you the way I would explain it to a child. As simply as possible.”

“I will listen as a child.”

“The troublemakers Florus wants are the same people who, as you so indelicately put it, have been bribed by us to incite the crowds. If we hand them over, who would ever work for us again?”

“And you lose some of your power over the people . . .”

“Not power—” he smiled—“influence.”

“Let our people be more important than that. Just this once. Please.”

“Your concern is impressive. Truly. Unfathomable after all your years without but impressive.” Another smile, genuine. “Your fear is misplaced. This is the way it will happen. We will gather our leaders and chief priests and meet with Florus as he’s requested. He will demand an apology. We will give it to him in private. This way, our people know that publicly we have stood up to him. We keep our power. He keeps his. It’s part of a game that every procurator plays. It is a delicate dance that has been playing to the same music for the last hundred years. Nothing will change.”

Bernice thought of what her spies had delivered. “I believe you are wrong. I believe he is like no other procurator Rome has sent before. He wants war.”

Ananias frowned. “War would be convenient for him if he could start it somewhere in the provinces. But here, too many people of influence would be able to present to the governor of Syria any of the wrongs done by Florus. He dares not risk beginning a war here.”

“What if he believes that war will distract the governor and distract Rome from looking into his affairs in Jerusalem? Look how easily he was able to get all these extra soldiers into the heart of the city.”

“Perhaps, Your Highness, you should return to the way of life that you have been content to lead for so long until now. Your grasp of politics is too poor for you to try to meddle. Trust me, by late afternoon, Florus will be on his return to Caesarea with his army and the money that he stole from us. That’s all he wanted in the first place. As for us, we won’t really miss what he’s taken, because the temple treasury is far vaster than he can comprehend. And the people will again believe we fought him to a standstill. Everyone will be happy.” Ananias paused. “Anything else?”

Bernice bowed her head. She knew it was useless to spend more time trying to convince him.

“Good,” he said. “Trust my words. Nothing will go wrong.”

A growing population had forced development outside the city of Jerusalem, on a site yet to be enclosed by protective walls. Here, farthest away from the mansions of the upper city yet still within Jerusalem proper were the extensive leather operations, a thriving industry because of the thousands of sheep and cattle slaughtered for temple sacrifice. The leather industry had been placed there, not only because of the distance from the mansions but because prevailing winds blew the stench away from the city.

Yet within this quarter, not even the winds could totally disperse the heavy rotten-egg odors that came from all stages of leather production—from scraping the raw hides, to curing the leather in vats of tannin, to hanging them to dry. For those who lived in the quarter, the stench seeped into their hair and skin. Given its lack of walled protection and the continuous nauseating smell that hung over it, it had soon become the quarter to house the poorest of poor.