Jerusalem's Hope (13 page)

Hesitating outside the massive wooden door, Emet smelled a delicious aroma: a pot of simmering stew. Whereas moments earlier he had been happy with a bit of bread the fresh assault on his senses made him hope that Zadok was both easily located and generous.

The arriving shepherds were tired men, burned dark brown by the sun. Coarse-featured, greasy, and smelly, they were also men of short sentences, as if spending much time amid the constant noise of their animals had reduced their ability to speak other than in clipped phrases.

Avel was in front. “Come on!” he urged, dragging Emet by the arm.

At the unexpected approach of three boys in matching robes, several of the herdsmen nudged their comrades in their ribs.

One burly fellow planted himself squarely across the boys' path before they could enter. “What d'ya want here?” he inquired. “Clear off. No beggars allowed.”

“Please, sir,” Avel said in a respectful manner he learned as a Jerusalem Sparrow, “we've come to see Zadok. We've brung a message for Zadok.”

“I'm Jehu, chief shepherd of milk goats. I'll take the message to himself,” he declared importantly.

“We were told to find Zadok,” Avel persisted.

“Zadok is it?” challenged their interrogator. “Tax collector sent you? Afraid to come himself ?”

This sally brought a gale of rough laughter from the shepherds. “Look 'ere! They're in uniform too!”

Emet, ready to turn and run, was proud of Avel for standing his ground. “No, sir,” Avel persisted. “No tax collector. We've come all the way from Galilee with a message for Zadok.”

Jehu bent down eye level with Avel. He sneered through blackened teeth. “And did the sender tell you Zadok bites the heads off little boys? Answer me that!”

Another herdsman, slimmer than Jehu, cautioned, “Enough, Jehu! If they know Zadok's name their message must be real. Else why would they come clear out here?”

From inside the ground-floor hall of the tower came the sound of dice rattling in a cup. This was followed by a clatter as the lots were cast on the paving stones.

“Jehu!” bellowed a voice from within. “You've drawn first watch! Get back up to the high field. There's been a jackal hanging about the draw. Stay sharp!”

“But I haven't et yet,” bawled Jehu in protest.

The noise of rattling spoons stopped, and the murmur of voices within was replaced by the menacing stomp of heavy feet coming toward the door.

Emet backed up into Ha-or Tov, and even Avel shrank away.

So did Jehu's companions.

The figure that appeared in the lighted doorway was massive, almost filling the full height of the entry. He was square except for a slight slope to his left shoulder. His white beard, parted in the middle, was braided into two cords tucked into the front of his robe. Likewise, his long white hair was plaited into a single thick cable.

But it was his face that drew Emet's attention. In place of his left eye was a patch that emphasized, rather than disguised, the cause of his loss. The cleft of a scar began at his hairline, passed beneath the scrap of black leather, and reemerged to continue down to his jaw. Someone had tried to cleave his head in two and nearly succeeded.

“Were y' arguing with me?” growled the one-eyed apparition.

“No, Zadok,” Jehu responded. “I . . . these boys . . . a message.”

“Get!” Zadok roared. The unfortunate Jehu disappeared toward the fields. Zadok turned his good eye toward the trio. “Triplets, is it? Same ewe? Or is your coat stole off the same drying line?”

Emet was disappointed. The kind Yeshua had sent them all this way to encounter such an ogre as this Zadok! They had not stolen their clothes! Why would he insult them in such a way? Emet considered saying this, but the appearance of Zadok made him forget that he had a voice.

Zadok growled, “What's this about a message?”

Visibly plucking up his courage, Avel advanced again. “Yeshua of Nazareth sent us to you.”

“Who?” Zadok demanded. “I don't know anyone in Nazareth. And I'm not taking on any more apprentices this season! Ten thousand lambs a day to move to Yerushalayim; ten thousand more being born! What was the Almighty thinking of when he put Passover in lambing time?” That this complaint was as old as Passover itself did not reduce the agreeing mutters from the herdsmen. “Hardly time enough for the lambing! None for suckling children.”

Emet was ready to agree and run away. If this was the one Yeshua had sent them to, he'd rather take his chances with bar Abba!

Avel was tongue-tied till Ha-or Tov poked him in the back. “Give him the message!”

“Sir,” Avel ventured quickly, before Zadok could roar again, “he said . . . Yeshua that is . . . he said to tell you . . . Immanu'el is coming.”

Zadok stopped and straightened his back so that he rose even taller. From Emet's point of view the man reared as high as the tower itself.

“Immanu'el?” he repeated, giving a thoughtful tug at his beard. His eye narrowed. “So. He said that, did he?”

“Yes, sir,” Avel replied. “He said it was the proof we needed.”

“Did he, now?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And three scrawny yearlings are messengers, are they?”

“He sent us. If that's what you mean.” Avel puffed out his chest defiantly.

“Have y' names and rank then, to come here with such a bold word?” Zadok's mouth twitched slightly in amusement.

“I've been called Avel. I was lately of the Company of Sparrows who carry torches through the streets of Yerushalayim.”

“Aye? A link boy, are y'? A beggar just the same.” Then Zadok inclined his head and glared at Ha-or Tov. “And what about yourself? Red hair like a torch. A link boy too, then?”

“No sir.” Ha-or Tov stepped forward bravely. “I'm Ha-or Tov. Lately blind beggar at the gates of El'azar of Bethany.”

“Blind, eh? An imposter, eh?”

“No, sir!” Ha-or Tov challenged.

“Well, then, Good Light. And have y' also got a message for me?” Zadok demanded.

Ha-or Tov considered the question. He stuck out his chin and stared openly at the patch and the scar. “When he comes, you'll see.”

Zadok raised the patch, revealing the sagging eyelid and empty socket. “Not likely.” The patch snapped back. His large face swiveled to take in Emet. “What about you, boy? Must I find a ewe to suckle y'? Or are y' weaned?”

Emet nodded, uncertain how to answer. “My sister left me with Avel so she could be a slave. But I'm too little to be a Sparrow. I'm Emet.”

“Well, then!” Zadok bellowed. “The Truth at last blown in with the wind. And what am I supposed to do with it?”

Emet's chin quivered. “The stew smells good.”

“So it does. Come with me, then,” Zadok said, scattering the listening shepherds with a sudden turn on his heel. There was a flurry of activity within the tower as Zadok shouted for a clay pot of stew and a jug of milk to be brought to him. Tucking the containers into a leather pouch slung round his neck, he strode out into the darkness without further comment. He walked up the path but did not look back to see if the boys were following.

At a single snap of Zadok's fingers, two dogs appeared out of nowhere. With pricked ears and pointed muzzles, they flanked the man one step behind him. As if the shepherd were not menacing enough, his wolf-like companions added another layer of apprehension to Emet's pounding heart.

Zadok's stride was so long and the pace he set so vigorous that Emet, Ha-or Tov, and Avel jogged to keep up. Nor did the flock master believe in wasting time with paths or gates. When a stone wall loomed across his chosen course, Zadok stepped over with scarcely any effort and no discernible loss of speed.

Boys and dogs were left to scramble after him as best they could. All the while the night was full of the rustle of sheep. Even their soft plaintive sounds struck Emet's ears as powerful when multiplied by tens of thousands.

Emet wanted to ask what this was about, where they were going, where this giant was leading them. But he had no extra breath for incon sequentials. And, anyway, Zadok's manner didn't encourage conversation.

As the evening deepened, so too did the slope become steeper and the earth underfoot more uneven. Leaving the pastures and pens behind, the group climbed toward the sheds and caves tucked under a limestone ridge.

By glancing over his shoulder, Emet glimpsed the Tower of Migdal Eder, like a candle flame glowing in the distance. How had they come this far already? How much farther were they going? His feet, already blistered and bloody from their trek, ached miserably. Every step made him grit his teeth. The boys were no longer in an arc close behind the dogs but were strung out in a line, with Avel in the lead, Ha-or Tov next, and Emet falling more and more to the rear.

Finally Emet slipped on a patch of gravel and fell. Although he jumped up as fast as he could, Zadok was nearly out of sight. When Emet tried to run to catch up, he limped with the burning pain in his right foot and cried out, “Wait!”

Zadok's form swung around. It seemed to Emet that the shepherd recrossed the intervening space in no more than three strides. Without speaking or warning, Zadok bent down and scooped Emet up. He tossed the boy over one shoulder like a wayward lamb.

Suddenly Emet was flying. It was like he'd been seized by an eagle and swung upward into the sky. With his head bobbing beside Zadok's braid of hair, the ground appeared very far away, and his two friends very short indeed.

As the climb stiffened, Emet heard Avel's breath come in gasps; Ha-or Tov made puffing sounds. Even the dogs lunged into each step to keep up with their master. But Zadok seemed unaffected by the climb.

Then, as abruptly as it began, Emet's flight was over. Lifted off Zadok's shoulder, he was deposited beneath an overhanging cliff halfway up the hillside. A horizontal strip of light streaked the bluff's face, identifying a low crevice that opened into a cavern.

“Lambing barn,” Zadok said as Avel and Ha-or Tov struggled up the last bit of incline to reach the level landing. He put Emet down. “Stay,” Zadok said, pointing a bony index finger downward.

The two dogs, revealed by the glow of lamplight to be alike in form but differing in color, sat immediately. The one with the reddish coat studied the hillside for potential threats, but the darkly mottled one never took his blue eyes off Zadok.

Emet wasn't sure if the command applied to boys as well as dogs. But when the shepherd ducked his head and entered the cramped fissure, Avel did also, followed an instant later by the others.

Once past the entry the ceiling height opened enough for Zadok to walk upright, but the space retained a hushed, almost reverent air. The grotto stretched quite far along the face of the cliff, but didn't extend too far back into it. Emet saw that most of the space was taken up with cramped pens, some containing ewes about ready to deliver and others with mothers and tiny, newly born offspring.

“Is this where you were taking us?” Avel asked. “Or are we going on somewhere else? I've never seen this many sheep. Are they yours? This is nicer than the quarry where the Sparrows live.”

The bubbling queries produced a ripple effect on the flock. Throughout the cavern ewes lifted their heads from munching hay or turned from nuzzling lambs to seek the source of the unknown voice.

Zadok raised his index finger again. But instead of pointing he held it in front of Avel's lips, silencing him.

The flickering oil lamps played tricks with shadows, exaggerating the cleft of the scar on Zadok's face, making him
more
frightening. Who would argue with him?

Zadok led them along the third row of pens. Unlike the dusty pastures and open paddocks where hundreds of sheep milled about, the air in this enclosure was sweet. The aisles between the stalls were swept, the straw in every enclosure freshly changed.

The flock master stopped about fifteen yards down the rank. In this particular stall was a single ewe, bulging so much at the sides that she appeared as broad from side-to-side as she was long from head-to-tail. Near her, kneeling in the straw, was a young man Emet guessed to be twenty years old from his size. Of the shepherds Emet had seen, this was the cleanest. His clothes were not dusty. Though he wore an apron from neck to knees, it was unspotted.

In a whisper so low that Emet had not imagined Zadok capable of it, the shepherd said, “How is she, Lev?”

Lev shook his head. “Nothing yet. More'n one in there, sure. Going to bust if she don't go soon.”

Lev's manner and speech convinced Emet he had been wrong about the man's age. He sounded much younger than he appeared.

“She'll go tonight,” Zadok said, peering at the ewe's flanks and belly for signs apparently discernible only to him. “Come get me if there's trouble. What about thirty-one?”

“I worked her good, like you showed me. Going back there next.”

“Stop and eat first,” Zadok said, setting down the clay pot of stew outside the pen.

Emet eyed the stew hungrily. So Zadok intended for Lev to eat it.

Zadok instructed Lev, “Keep using that goose grease on her bag and keep stripping the milk from the blocked teat.”

“Yes, sir,” Lev replied. “I won't forget.”

Emet saw Avel exchange a glance with Ha-or Tov and mouth the word “Half-wit.”

“Anything else?” Zadok queried.

“Old Girl looks to go tonight too,” Lev ventured.

Zadok agreed. “She's been down that road often enough to give lessons . . . be no trouble there, I warrant.” Then a thought appeared to strike Zadok and he fingered the corner of his eyepatch. “What about the black who was rejected by his mother?”