The Wolf and the Lamb (4 page)

Chapter VI

The boy told him his name was
Marius
. “After Mars, the god of war,” he’d announced. Gamaliel thought he did so somewhat too proudly. Romans and their love of conquest and violence, even when naming their slaves. Marius, Pilate said, would be his
dirige
.

“My what? Prefect, you know my Latin is spotty at best. What is this boy to me?”

“He is to be your guide. You may use him to send and receive messages. He will be, for the term of your investigation, your devoted servant.”

“I will need a great deal more than this boy to do what you expect of me.”

“At the moment, he will have to do.”

Gamaliel and his
dirige
left the room and headed out to the fresher air of the Temple Mount. At least he hoped so. Gamaliel had no idea how to find his way out and left to his own devices he believed he would be lost forever in the lower reaches of the Antonia Fortress, his bones to be found after decades of fruitless searching. Who would search? His bones would never be found. They two had not gone more than ten steps when a figure loomed up from the shadows. So sudden was its appearance that Gamaliel’s heart skipped a beat. The boy stumbled and dropped to one knee.

“Madam,” the boy stammered.

Ah, it seemed the figure was a woman. Gamaliel could not be sure in the dim light and with many layers of fabric swathing the figure. Ignoring the boy, the woman stepped up to Gamaliel.

“You are Gamaliel, the Rabban of the Sanhedrin?”

“I am.”

“I have heard of you.” She glanced nervously over her shoulder. “He must not know we have spoken.”

“Who must not know, the boy or the Prefect?”

“Cassia Drusus, who else?”

“My apologies, madam, but forgive me, you are—”

“I am Claudia Procula, wife to Pontius Pilate. Get up, boy. Rabban Gamaliel, I must speak with you but please, I…”

The boy stood but kept his eyes averted. Gamaliel shuffled his feet. “What is it you wish to tell me?”

This exchange made him uncomfortable. That he had been coerced into entering a pagan building was bad enough, but to speak to a pagan woman as well? He would have to think about all the transgressions now marked against his name when he spent time in his
mikvah
later that evening. This day seemed to be sliding downward at an ever-increasing pace. And it was still only the fifth hour.

“You must help him, rabbi. I have had a vision.”

“A vision?” Gamaliel was no stranger to visionaries. In his capacity of Rabban he’d had to judge the veracity of many of them. Most were blatant frauds. One or two seemed to be connected somehow with the spiritual world, but he did not know how or why. At one time or another he had consigned to be punished or exiled nearly all purveyors of omens. Most had then recanted and taken up less parlous lines of thievery. A few remained whose insights still nagged at him. The King’s companion, Menahem, for example, who’d shared his doomsday predictions of the Nation’s certain demise a few years ago and had thereby ruined the better part of an afternoon.

“I saw who murdered Aurelius.”

“You saw the murderer? Why did you not tell it to that person, what’s his name, Cassia Drusus? Then I would not be—”

“I only saw him in the vision, Holy Sir. Cassia does not concern himself with visions. He is—”

“A pragmatist. Aren’t you all? Very well then, tell me who killed your husband’s rival? Have I got that right—his rival?”

“Rival? I suppose so. The murderer was a
Tribunus cohortis
.”

“A Tribune? I was not aware one such existed in Judea at the moment, aside from your husband, and you are not accusing him, surely. Is this Tribune a part of the mission that recently arrived?”

“Not him, not one of them, no…it is not clear…wait.” The Prefect’s wife stood still, her eyes looking off into the distance. Or the future?

“The party has one such, but he is not the murderer. No, it is not one of them, but another.” She turned and disappeared into the shadows.

Gamaliel stared at the figure retreating into the darkness. “Well, my young
dirige
, what do you make of that?”

“They say she suffers from lunacy, Excellency.”

“Boy, for the absolute last time, I am not ‘your Excellency,’ and it appears as this day unfolds she has plenty of company among the crazed. Get me out of this place.”

***

Loukas practiced medicine in Jerusalem. It had taken him many years to find his way to the city of David. He’d spent his youth as a slave apprenticed to a Physician in Antioch. He’d come to Jerusalem, he said, to discover his Hebrew roots. Slaves were not permitted any religion other than their master’s. Loukas’ master had had none, which allowed Loukas to experience all. But it was not until he’d been freed and then inherited the medical practice that he seriously thought about anything remotely resembling the spiritual. Once begun, introspection led him to Judea, God’s promised land, and he’d never left.

Gamaliel found him relaxing in his back court.

“Loukas, greetings in the Name. You are keeping well?”

“And to you, also. As always, Rabban, this is a pleasant surprise. I was just thinking about you.”

“Good thoughts or bad?”

“In the case of the Sanhedrin’s preeminent rabbi, I imagine only good. Is this a social call, a call regarding the state of your health, or have you become entangled in another mess that requires my assistance?”

“I believe the latter. What were your thoughts?”

“As it happened, I was thinking that it had been a while since we were engaged in anything out of the ordinary and wondering how long it would be before you’d come calling with another problem. Now I know. Tell me what bit of intrigue has managed to entangle you this time—murder, international conspiracies, illicit sales of potions, wayward princesses…what?”

“I was summoned by his Excellency, the Prefect.”

Loukas waved him to a bench. “That can’t be good. What did that terrible man want from you this time?”

“I could use some wine, Loukas. Once my mind is at ease, I will tell you, but you will not be pleased.”

Loukas called for wine and some fruit and waited until his friend had settled. Gamaliel sighed—he found he did that a lot lately—and told Loukas of his predicament. When he finished, Loukas glared at him.

“He wants you to investigate the murder he is accused of committing. Have I got that right?”

“In a word, yes. You see my problem. How can I possibly do as he asks? I am a Jew. I speak practically no Latin, although they all speak Greek. None of his colleagues or his accusers will cooperate, in any event. The matter is to be adjudicated by their law, about which I know little or nothing. I am so limited that—”

“No. Rabban, excuse me for interrupting, but you are missing the main reason you cannot do this.”

“Yes, yes, I know. If I take on Pilate’s case, if I ally myself to him, so to speak, and even if I fail at it, I will be forever ostracized by my people—hated probably.”

“That, too, but you still don’t see.”

“I am sorry, then. What is it that I do not see? I would have thought I covered all the terrible possibilities I face.”

“No. Listen. You must ask yourself, what is the man playing at?”

“What is who playing at?”

“Pilate. Surely you do not believe he wants you to solve this murder, to exonerate him?”

“I don’t? Why do I not believe that? I am sorry, Loukas, I must be very dense this morning. I do not understand.”

“Drink some more wine and hear me out. Imagine you are Pontius Pilate. You are caught red-handed…that is what is meant by the phrase, isn’t it? His hands are covered with blood when he was arrested, yes? So, as the Prefect, what do you do? Do you call on some Hebrew official to set you free? Don’t be ridiculous. You are the Emperor’s legate to the Palestine, as they insist this land be called. Therefore, you will either…” Loukas raised his hand and ticked off each point on his fingers, “…post your legionnaires and seal yourself off from further accusations until you personally root out the criminal. Or, you will contact the best Roman adjudicator in the Empire to handle your case, and/or you will promptly draw your short sword and eliminate your accuser and then forget the whole sorry business. If I know our Prefect, the last of these would have been his choice. In any event, you would not call on the Rabban of the Sanhedrin to solve your problem. To do so makes no sense whatsoever. So, I repeat, what is he playing at?”

“I had not thought of it that way. And yet…Loukas, you have a logical mind and I do not. I am a person who studies the Law and always it is to be understood within the margins of the human condition. The Lord is merciful in this way. I must look at this call from the Prefect in precisely the same context. As you say, he might have done those other things, but the fact remains, he did not. There must be a reason for it that we cannot see and…let me finish…it may not be as subtle or conniving as you would make it out.”

“With respect, Gamaliel, I don’t believe you are that ingenuous. I must conclude you are being stubborn.”

“Perhaps you are right, but then I didn’t tell you the part about his wife.”

Chapter VII

When the door had closed behind Gamaliel and the boy, Pilate faced about and addressed someone sitting in a corner lost in the shadows. “Well, what do you make of him, Rufus?”

Rufus—for that was he, indeed, who had crouched in the dark throughout the meeting between Pilate and Gamaliel—stepped into the light. “Pilate, what in the name of all the gods are you doing? How can this Israelite bumpkin possibly help you?”

“Do not underestimate him. Whatever you may have been told about Hebrews, this one is not to be trifled with. I have witnessed him at work. Yes, he is typically stiff-necked. Certainly he is not like the Jews in Rome or Alexandria or the rest of the Empire who seem to have grasped the need to integrate their beliefs into society at large. Here, they take their peculiar religion seriously and undiluted. Nevertheless, I tell you, if he puts his mind to it, he will dig out the truth and will not care whose toes he treads on doing it.”

“But, surely—”

“And before you ask again, what other choice do I have?”

“What other choices? You are…well, you were the Prefect and as such, the commander of the legionnaires in this place. Why on earth didn’t you simply refuse to be intimidated by Cassia’s swaggering and send your troops to block him?”

“You travelled here separately from Cassia’s group, I believe.”

“Yes, you know I did. I sailed into Caesarea Maritima and traveled down to Jerusalem with you.”

“Indeed, then you will remember that the others entered the country through Joppa and marched up the hills from there. They arrived a day before we did. Therefore, you did not see who accompanied them.”

“How is that important?”

“It is important because they were accompanied by a partial cohort of legionnaires of their own who were formerly assigned to the peninsula. Not an Italian cohort, but close enough, men who had been recruited out of the Empire. A Tribune of stature commands them. Understand it was they who stood at Cassia’s back when he found me with Aurelius. They, not the local legionnaires, not my legionnaires, took me into custody. Furthermore, these same soldiers now secure the Fortress. I am not in any position to do anything. I have been outflanked. So, you see, I could not and I cannot force my will on anyone. You have another idea?”

“Send for a
zenam legisperitum
of your own choosing. Let him defend you, not this Hebrew.”

“Believe me, it was my first thought. Unfortunately, the closest lawyer with any stature, that is to say one with any chance of succeeding at what I suppose needs to be done, resides in Syrian Antioch. It would take at least two weeks and a very fast horse to get the message to him and for him to make his way here to Jerusalem. Too late for me. In a little over a week, these eager men plan to haul me off to Rome. Any other ideas?”

“Let me kill Cassia, then.”

“That is a tempting thought, but to do so would accomplish nothing. As I said, the power lies in Cassia’s hands and backed to the hilt by that annoying Tribune and his legionnaires. Did I mention that they, while not Italian, are battle-hardened and considerably fitter than the mercenaries assigned to me? I did. So, killing that little man will not alter the course of events. Alas, Rufus, they have me boxed in.”

“I did not know about those new soldiers. That is most unfortunate. Then it appears you are doomed.”

“No, it is not the end, not yet. They do not know about Gamaliel.”

“So, the funny little man in the dark robes and beard is all that is left to you? I am not encouraged.”

“You should be. He is clever and I will employ him for the nonce. If he fails, I will try something else, something more muscular.”

“An odd turn of speech, Pilate, but I understand the sense of it. So, you wish me to help this man?”

“Help him, but mostly watch him. He may not solve my problem, but in the process of trying, he may find us someone on whom we can lay the blame. Cassia and his friends are determined to bring me down, so we discover who killed Aurelius or someone we can convincingly accuse of killing him. Either needs to be a sure thing. They are not interested in my innocence. As you must have deduced by now, I am seriously short of supporters in this city.”

“Not just in this city, Pilate. I brought letters from the Senate with me which I was instructed to deliver to you on your arrival in Jerusalem.’

“Really? And what do they say?”

“In essence they are inquiring into the numerous complaints they have received from the Jewish officials over the last several years. The Emperor is not happy. The Senate is not happy that the Emperor is not happy. And unless they have assurances from you that you are properly penitent…well, in a nutshell, the possibility of your recall has been discussed. You do understand the probability that this old man, who you believe can save you, is very likely among those who signed the complaints to the Emperor.”

“I would be very surprised if he hadn’t. What did the whiners say?”

“In the authorities’ view, the behavior in question consisted of repeated and needless brutality and insensitivity directed at the Jews.”

“It’s about those standards I mounted around their Temple. I have removed them. The rest is nonsense.”

“If you say so. Nevertheless, you cannot afford a slipup like this murder thing now.”

“There will be no slipping, I assure you. Either way, you will provide me with a pair of ‘innocent’ ears.”

***

A young woman entered Loukas’ court bearing a fresh flagon of wine and some bread and cheese. Gamaliel admired her. Since his wife died, he had not noticed women generally but this young thing…well, there is beauty and then there are a few whose beauty transcends any norm. She had the olive skin which marked her as a woman of these parts and large sloe eyes that transformed her face into something beyond anything he’d ever seen.

He gestured toward the woman and asked, “You have replaced the poor dead Draco with this?”

“You approve?”

“Probably not. Having a young woman in your house with no other evidence of females in residence is a potential scandal, Loukas, not that you care.”

“It is a scandal for you, perhaps, but not for me. Your Law has no flexibility. You are rigid to the point of paralysis, Rabban. Many of us—Jews but significantly less petrified—have seen the need for broader interpretation of the limits of the Torah. I know that is a sore point for you, but if you were ever to travel outside the city, to Alexandria, or Rome even, you would discover many Jews who have accommodated to the mores of the pagans. Not all of their practices are evil and damning.”

“I am only too aware of this backsliding, Loukas. If you ask me, it is an excuse for slackness. And I will remind you that you do not reside in Alexandria or Rome. You live here, in Jerusalem, and here there is an expectation you will follow the rules as spelled out by the Lord.”

“I know that. I do not wish to upset you, but this woman, whom you assumed might be my mistress…don’t give me that injured look, that is what you thought and you know it…this woman, Sarai, is married to Yakob who is new to my service as well. I hired him. She was a benefit. He tells me he once served as a legionnaire, but I find that difficult to believe.”

“She is married. I see. My apologies. Why difficult to believe?”

“If he had, why does he no longer serve? Plus, where did he manage to find time to secure so beautiful a wife? I intended to ask but am afraid I will offend, and I do not want to lose their services. She is lovely to contemplate, is she not?”

“You are in dire need of a wife, Physician.”

“If you say so. At any rate, their story must remain a mystery, but their marital status should absolve me of any of your dark thoughts or condemnation. And shame on you, Gamaliel, for harboring old man’s thoughts.”

“I stand corrected and once again beg your pardon.”

“Apology accepted. You were going to tell me about the Prefect’s wife.”

“Ah, the wife, Procula. I had a glancing acquaintance with her before.”

“You know her?”

“I know of her. We have never met, but once, in another circumstance, she persuaded the Prefect to see me when it seemed unlikely he would. Some say she has visions, premonitions. Others believe her mad.”

“And you?”

“I have no opinion. She is a pagan and I can only assume that status must encourage visits from all sorts of misguided spirits.”

“Your extreme religious bias is duly noted. What did she say?”

“She said two things of interest. She said that I must help him, by which she meant her husband. And she said that she had seen the murder.”

“Well, that should make your task simple.”

“I wish. She saw the murder in a vision, so as appealing as that might be to some, it would never stand up as evidence enough to convict or exonerate anyone.”

“A vision? Did she say who, in this dreamscape, the murderer was?”

“My Latin is poor and her Greek barely better, but I thought she said a Tribune. I was unaware there was one such in the city and wondered if he had traveled to Jerusalem with the party of officials who seem intent on bringing Pilate down.”

“And?”

“And she said ‘not one of them,’ or words to that effect.”

“That isn’t much help. If not one of the party just recently arrived, who?”

“No idea, but it was a curious thing to say.”