The Wolf and the Lamb Read online

  “High Priest, with respect, I am too busy right now with a much more important affair of State to be bothered with this rabbi and charges of—”

  “Blasphemy, breech of the Law, violation of Shabbat. The list goes on.”

  “I see. Blasphemy. You’re sure about that, because the last time we spoke we disagreed on the meaning of the word when applied to this particular rabbi.”

  “You cannot stop me with another discourse on the Law, Rabban. You know what I mean and I am serious. This man is a threat to the Nation whether you will split hairs over some fine point or not. I will have him.”

  “Yes, yes, I see that you will. Also, I do not care one way or the other about the possibility that some obscure teacher from the north has crossed one of your sacerdotal lines. I will dispatch my student Saul to monitor what you do and he will keep me informed. If and when it comes to a trial, you may be assured I shall preside. Until that time, I will be otherwise occupied. Now I must be off.” Gamaliel and Loukas left an annoyed High Priest and headed for the Sheep Gate and Loukas’ home beyond.

  But first, Gamaliel turned to the boy. “Off with you, Marius. Report what you can to your master, and tell him I will join him at the fourth hour the day after tomorrow. I will expect him to have Priscus the Centurion available and also the legionnaires under his command.”

  “But Excellency, he told me to stay with you until I had—”

  “Something to report, yes, I know. Tell him you will do better the next time. Now go, be off.”

  “But tomorrow? Shouldn’t you be investigating or something tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow is Shabbat. I do not work on Shabbat. Tell him—fourth hour, two days.”

  Across from them, the toga-garbed man asked one of his attendants to identify who had just spoken to the pair of Jews. He was told that the man speaking to the Physician and Rabban was the Hebrew’s High Priest. The official smirked and shook his head in disgust. He indicated to his men that they were to return to the Fortress. Aside from the fact they were both legionnaires and strangers to the city, they could have been twins. They had the fair skin and golden hair one associates with people from places like Germania or Britannia, and the ice-blue eyes of men trained as killers. He turned and signaled to a rat-faced man standing twenty cubits away. That nondescript person drifted off in the wake of Gamaliel and Loukas. He had every reason to believe his appearance would not attract attention. It never had before. It had served as his best insurance against reprisals. He believed no one would notice him this time either. He was wrong. There were others following the Rabban’s progress away from the Temple. They would join in the procession toward the city’s northern gates.

  The rat-faced man would not return to his employer that day, or ever. His body, stabbed in several places and dumped in the Gehinnom Valley, would be found days later, presumably someone the Sicarii deemed a משתף פעולה. But this one, like a few before him, would go unremarked. Bodies of felons, victims of felons, and riff-raff generally were routinely deposited in the valley and added to the city’s accumulated trash and offal. Unless someone was interested in them enough to inquire as to their whereabouts, they would be carted off and buried in what would later come to be known as the Field of Blood.

  ***

  Loukas opened the gate to his courtyard and called for his servants. Gamaliel took his accustomed seat under the shade of a fig tree and grunted.

  “In the Temple you said you had an idea to share with me later. Is it later, yet?”

  “Perhaps.” Loukas turned to a young woman. “Sarai, fetch our guest some food. The Rabban will take his evening meal with us tonight. He will need water to wash and a place to pray after a bit.” He turned his attention to his other servant. “Yakob, I believe you were a legionnaire in the past. As such I assume you were trained in the art of assassinating the Empire’s enemies. I will not ask you if you ever did that, but I wish to know about technique.”

  “Sir?”

  “Sorry, I have not made myself clear. Very well, if you were sent to dispatch someone who did not know you were present, how would you do it?’

  “I do not understand. We attacked, shield and sword, lance or whatever other weapons we found at hand. A dozen years ago I served under Germanicus and once dropped one of Arminius’ troopers a with a tree limb.”

  “You miss my point. Let us say you are alone and your target is…I don’t know…this trooper who had been standing guard. Your side has an impending raid planned, and you wanted to remove him lest he cry out and the element of surprise dashed. What would you do?”

  “I see. In that case, I would wait until his attention wandered. Standing guard can be boring. When the time arrived, I would approach him from behind, grab his chin, and either slit his throat or stab him in the heart.”

  “Which?”

  “The preferred method would be to slit his throat. That would eliminate any possibility he could cry out.”

  “What circumstances would require you stab him instead?”

  “If you don’t trust your blade. Sometimes, after a battle, it may be dulled. If you have not had time to hone it on a stone first, then slitting a throat is not so easily done. If the dagger has lost its edge, it will at least have a pointed end. Then stabbing is the option.”

  “Show me. I am your target.”

  Yakob stepped behind Loukas and pretended to have a knife. He put his left hand under Loukas’ chin and pulled back. At the same time he bent his knees into the back of Loukas’ which caused them to buckle and Loukas to lurch backward off balance. Yakob drew his hand across the Physician’s throat.

  “There, you see Gamaliel. Our killer must have lain in wait for Aurelius. When his back was turned he performed this maneuver. The place was dimly lit, and there were footprints deeper in the corridor. I am guessing that the Prefect’s dagger was ceremonial rather than practical and so it would not have an edge. Thus, he stabs rather than slits Aurelius’ throat.”

  “And you came to this notion in the Temple?”

  “I watched the kohanim sacrificing a bull. They had to stand to one side or behind the animal to get at its throat. It came to me that such an approach would explain the lack of any evidence the dead man tried to defend himself. You saw how helpless I was just now.”

  “Man or woman?”

  “Oh, surely no woman could execute that strike. Could she, Yakob?”

  The servant shook his head. Sarai arrived with a flagon of new wine and some cakes.

  “I am no soldier, but I wonder…Sarai,” Gamaliel said, “let us pretend your husband there is your enemy. However, he does not know that. Also, pretend you carry a dagger up your sleeve. That is, you grasp it by the hilt but twist your hand so that the blade is next to your wrist. Yes. Like that. You smile and approach him…go ahead.” The woman stepped up to Yakob. “Now, you slide your left arm around his neck. Very seductive…good. Now you bring your right hand up along his chest…is he alarmed? No he is not. He is a man and he expects something of an amorous nature from you. He is smiling back. As your right hand rises, you unfurl the dagger and then, pah! You strike down. Sorry, Yakob, you are dead. There, you see, it could have been a woman, Loukas. I believe you are correct in assuming it was a man and the attack came from behind. However, that fact will not exonerate Pilate. Hypothesizing a woman as the killer might.”

  “It creates some doubt?” Loukas frowned and waved his servants away. “You are mad to take this assignment. Somewhere Holy Writ says, ‘the wolf will lie down with the lamb.’ There is no doubt which of you is the wolf and which the lamb. We are not at that peaceful place Isaiah envisioned and wolves are not known for their sense of fair play. In the end the wolf, I fear, will devour you.”

  “If I am to be devoured by the wolf, then it shall be so. I am set in my course and cannot turn back. Thank you for your offer of a meal, Loukas, but I will not linger. Tomorrow is Shabbat, and I prefer to be home when it begins.”

  Chapter XIII

&n
bsp; Gamaliel drained his wine cup and rose somewhat unsteadily from his bench. “Woof,” he said and steadied himself with his hand on the table.

  “Are you not well, Rabban?”

  “I am fine, Physician. You need not practice on me just yet. I suffer only from the effects brought on by a self-centered Roman official imposing on my time and conscience, compounded by the ravages of advancing age. I do not know which is more debilitating. My impression is it is the former.”

  “I will have Yakob accompany you.”

  “Yakob? Why would you think I need company on my way home? I said old age advances, not that it had arrived.”

  “I was not concerned about your supposed problems with aging. I know you too well to worry about that. My concern lies elsewhere. I am certain we were followed after we left the Temple Mount. I saw a man behind us when we cleared the Sheep Gate. If you are weakened, you will be vulnerable. Yakob soldiered for the Empire. Now he can protect one of its more illustrious residents.”

  “Your sarcasm is wasted on me and as regards lurkers in the street, you did see one. At first there were three, all armed, if the bulges under their tunics were what I suspect they were, but shortly afterwards two dropped off at the gate with a fourth man. I have no idea who that might have been, but I do not believe he had anything to do with the other three.”

  “You saw all that?”

  “I stopped to pluck a fig blossom, if you recall, and I looked back. Alas, it is a habit I acquired only recently—looking for people who might be following me. It is a very annoying and late addition to my here-to-for peaceable lifestyle, if you must know, and yes, I saw them, three armed men who, by the look of them, could have served with Yakob. I do not think they are after me. Not yet, anyway. I believe they are only curious as to why I spent so much time in the fort in the company of our Roman masters.”

  “Why would anyone care about that?”

  “The murder, as we discovered, is gossiped about everywhere. Curiosity is only natural, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I do not think that falls under the heading of idle gossip. I insist Yakob go with you.”

  “Very well, if it eases your mind. It would be useful for him to know where I live in the event you need to summon me or I you. I will take my leave until I see you on Yom Rishon.”

  ***

  As ordered, the boy, Marius, presented himself to Pilate who did not appear to be happy. Marius had nothing to report and feared the Prefect would be angry, even have him beaten.

  “Boy, what have you to tell me? What is the Rabban up to?”

  “We left here after you had your talk and went outside.”

  “Yes? And then?”

  “Well, that was pretty much all. The Hebrew and his friend talked about how stuffy it is in here, and then went into that Temple place of theirs. I was not allowed to go with them. There is a rule or something about people going inside who don’t believe the way they do. What do they do there? I mean—”

  “They sacrifice animals to their god and chant and, I don’t know, whatever people do in Temples. That sly old fox slipped into the Temple. He is on to you, boy. That was to be expected, but I had hoped he would ignore you because of your age and obvious stupidity. No luck with that. Pity. So, anything you hear from him will be what he wants me to hear. Did he leave a message?”

  “Yes, Excellency, he said he would be to see you the day after tomorrow. He had something else in mind for tomorrow.”

  “Something else? What else could he have to do that is more important than solving this murder?”

  “He said something that sounded like shbott. I don’t know what language he was speaking or what he meant.”

  “Shabbat, their holy day. I forgot. I will not be able to budge him for a full cycle. Curse their ridiculous god and its idiotic rules. Did he say anything else?”

  “He asked me to remind you he wished to speak to the Centurion and his men.”

  “Very well, boy. Go and eat your evening meal and quickly. I may have need of you later.”

  The boy scurried off, glad to be out of the presence of the man he, along with most of the rest of the servants, feared more than death itself.

  Pilate drummed his fingers on the table. It was still early in the game, but he’d hoped for something tangible from the Rabban by now—a hint, a pointer.

  “Rufus, you were there. What can you add to the boy’s useless report?”

  Rufus hitched around in his stool and grunted. “Only this. The Tribune who accompanied Cassia and Aurelius to Jerusalem was standing nearby and also seemed to be inordinately interested in the…what did you call him?”

  “The Rabban of the Sanhedrin.”

  “Him, yes. The Tribune had two of his legionnaires with him. What do you suppose he wanted?”

  “If I were he, I would first want to know what the Prefect was up to and then where the Rabban fit in. I am sure he has more than a passing interest in this business. Anything else I should know?”

  “I had the impression there were others in the plaza with eyes on your Rabban as well.”

  “Who?”

  “I can’t be sure. It was just a feeling.”

  “Did the Rabban see you?”

  “I don’t think so…no I’m certain he did not. From the Fortress he moved very quickly to his Temple and when he emerged sometime later, he engaged in a conversation with the man I was told was the High Priest, whatever that is.”

  “Whatever that is? Rufus, he is the link between Rome and Hebrew governance. Furthermore, make no mistake, it is an exceedingly delicate link. If this Tribune, who came here uninvited and who is interested in my plight is, in fact, lusting after my office, as I must now assume, he had better learn a lesson or those letters you carry in your baggage which are directed at my performance will look like poems by Ovid or Horace, or one of our other idle aristocrats by comparison.”

  “I love Publius Ovidius.”

  “You can afford to.”

  Pilate stood and paced. He did so when the course of events he followed did not move as he wished them to.

  “I have no time for the effete ramblings of the Empire’s elite. My life has been spent serving the Emperor. My thanks for ridding the Middle Sea of pirates and putting down one insurrection after another is assigning me to this position in a country that sits like a boil on the Empire’s backside. Perhaps I would have been better advised to take up poetry than soldiering, Rufus. Then I wouldn’t have to explain myself to critics sitting in comfort thousands of miles away and happily ignorant of the customs, the challenges, and the innate frustrations that come with overseeing our conquered people in general and these Israelites in particular.”

  “But it is an honorable office, Pilate. You know it is. Why else would anyone covet it?”

  “Point taken. Probably they do not yet realize it is a career ender. How could they know? It has an exalted title and produces decent revenue. Ambitious men are always on the hunt for those two commodities. It is only when you fulfill your fondest dream that you realize there is a reverse alchemy at work that often turns the gold for which you lusted into lead. The Tribune can have it if he wants it. Why can’t I be lolling in the sun on Capri with the Emperor and his whores instead of sweating like an over-worked horse in this godforsaken sand dune?”

  “You are bitter.”

  “You noticed. Never mind, ours is to serve, not to question. Since the Rabban will be absent for a whole day, we must do some investigating on our own. The Rabban wished to speak to Priscus. We can do that and his legionnaires as well. It might save time.”

  “What shall we ask them?”

  “Ask them? Various questions, I suppose. What would you suggest?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Gamaliel would not be at a loss. What would he want to know? What do I want to know?”

  “I am going to dine, Pilate. We can continue this tomorrow.”

  “Why did Priscus not show up at the meeting? That is what I would l
ike to know. If he’d been there…or might he have been the one who wielded the dagger? Now that is a line I believe the Rabban should explore.”

  SHABBAT

  Chapter XIV

  Gamaliel’s manservant, valet, and general do-all, Binyamin, had left him an ample supply of cold food for Shabbat and had taken off to honor the day in his own way. Gamaliel spent the morning in prayer and contemplation of the Psalms of Lament. They matched his mood as he thought of the consequences that could ensue from his involvement with the Prefect.

  Ha Shem, please deliver me. O Lord, hurry to my side!

  Put to shame and confusion those who would seek my life.

  Let them be turned back and dishonored who wish to hurt me.

  Let those who murmur, ‘Aha, Aha!’ turn back from their

  shame….

  Would his countrymen turn on him? He shuddered at the thought and tried to push it from his mind. Shabbat required that he not think about worldly things but concentrate on the Lord, on his blessings. It was one thing to be engaged in a project at the specific order of the authorities or to enlist their aid in resolving a problem that involved the good of the Nation. He had done that before, not always willingly, but with the understanding that the benefit was general and therefore justifiable, but try as he might, his mind refused to let go of the onerous task he’d agreed to take on. He had allowed himself to become the Prefect’s reluctant ally and champion…or was it the Prefect’s game piece? That was a thought for another day. Was he involved only in a complicated game played by Roman notables and one in which game pieces were brought into play and disposed of as circumstances dictated following some complex and undecipherable strategy—undecipherable to the pieces, anyway. He exhaled. Neither status sat well with him or with anyone else, except the Prefect. Whether he succeeded or failed, he would be the object of the Nation’s scorn or Rome’s retribution, possibly both.