Jerusalem's Hope (20 page)

Marcus continued, “You Jews substitute the life of a lamb to pay for a man's transgressions. Civilized. Admirable. So . . . for the sin of our workmen we'll dock the pay of the stonemasons and the legionaries. And . . . six more lambs for the poor. Twelve lambs in all. Will thirty pieces of silver purchase atonement?”

The mason and the Samaritan scowled down at the floor. Zadok seemed satisfied, but he was not finished. “I also require your promise that your men will not steal Korban lambs again.”

“Agreed. Those who do so will be punished.” Then Marcus asked Zadok, “But my men have to be fed. There are other sheep in the flock. Those unworthy to be sacrificed to your God?”

Zadok turned the full force of his gaze on Marcus. Confusion flickered in the old man's eye an instant, as though he heard someone else speaking to him. He put a hand to his forehead and whispered, “You . . . Why are you here? The stonecutter has forgotten who he is. This Samaritan centurion sold his soul long ago. But you? Why defend them?”

“We're all Romans,” Marcus snapped irritably. Why did Zadok put him on the spot in front of Shomron and the stonemason? “The whole world is Rome, in case you hadn't noticed! The chief priests at your own Temple understand the realities of life. The Sanhedrin voted money for this aqueduct. Like it or not, it's a Jewish aqueduct. It will carry Jewish water to your Temple. I've made you a fair offer. We have to eat. What do you say?”

Zadok raised his face to gaze intently into Marcus' eyes. Fingers curled around the staff. “The settlement is fair. I'll go back now. We'll discuss which sheep we might sell off to you legally. In the morning bring the price. Temple coin. No Roman silver in the treasury of the Tower of the Flock. Come to Migdal Eder.”

E L

E
met, Ha-or Tov, and Avel filled waterskins in the trough beside the well. They had been cleaning stalls all day, and toting water into the stable for two hours. The work was far from finished. The sun of late afternoon was hot on Emet's back. He splashed cool liquid on his face, sighed, and gazed across the valley of the fold. Blocks of stone rose up and men, like ants, climbed the scaffolding.

The boy viewed the graceful stone arches of the watercourse with new understanding. It meant Rome was encroaching on the sacred pastures, the herdsmen said. One tower at a time Caesar was stamping his image on the face of Israel. A bad thing. A change in the way things had been since the time King David had herded sheep in this very place.

The sheep didn't seem to notice the intrusion, Emet thought. They peacefully cropped grass among the pylons, oblivious to the
tink, tink, tink
of stonecutters' hammers or bored soldiers in scarlet tunics.

Closer in, near the Tower of Migdal Eder, Emet could see the tall, powerful figure of Zadok among the lambs who were bound for Jerusalem at first light tomorrow. The old man passed slowly through the flock. One last time he checked the condition of the Paschal sacrifices. Any imperfect animal was cut from the herd by Red Dog and driven to the gate, where Jehu separated it from its brothers.

Avel said, “Look at the lambs. These are best of the lot, Lev told me. Reserved for the
cohanim
and Levites.”

Ha-or Tov added, “And when Zadok speaks, the sheep know his voice. Lev says in pitch-black night Zadok can call out and they'll come to him. There!” He pointed. “They lift their faces when he passes.”

Yes. That was true. Emet agreed. The old man touched heads, scratched ears, caressed muzzles one at a time. “He's saying good-bye. He raised them from babies, and now he's saying good-bye.”

“I suppose.” Avel frowned and turned away. It was clear he didn't like to think about good-byes. “He's a odd old bird,” he muttered.

“What about his scar?” Ha-or Tov wondered aloud.

Avel replied authoritatively, “Probably got it fighting bandits. Defending the herd.”

Ha-or Tov twirled his red locks thoughtfully. “Maybe. Ask Lev.”

Avel shook his head. “Not me. You do it.”

Ha-or Tov declined. “Not me. I'm half-scared of him. He's not as stupid as he looks. And he doesn't like questions.”

Both boys rounded on Emet. Avel remarked, “Lev's taken a liking to you, Emet. You're little. He thinks you're too young to have a brain. He wouldn't mind someone small asking him how Zadok's face got split open and his eye gouged out.”

“Not me,” Emet protested.

Avel threatened, “One word from me that you can't haul water without help, and it's the turnip patch.”

And thus it was decided that Emet would ask the questions the others were afraid to ask.

The trio hauled the watering skins back to the stable. While Ha-or Tov and Avel emptied the contents into individual troughs, Emet approached Lev, who was doctoring the umbilical stump of a tiny newborn with a mixture of wine and oil.

Emet, his expression somber, waited patiently as Lev crooned to his patient.

Avel and Ha-or Tov cast furtive glances his way, encouraging him to get on with it.

At last Lev glanced up and scowled. “Well? Does it want something? Or is it dumbfounded by the chore of fetching water?”

Emet shook his head from side to side. His heart was pounding. Avel motioned to him to speak. Emet couldn't form words around his curiosity.

“Speak up, stump!” ordered Lev impatiently.

“Zadok.” Emet managed.

“Yes. Yes. Yes. Zadok. What?”

Emet placed his hand over his eye, indicating the old man's eyepatch. “That.”

Lev set the baby down and drew himself up. In a surprisingly calm voice he replied, “Oh. That. Y' think I know, do y'?” he confided. “Every day since I was a wee boy like yourself wandering around this place I've wondered the same. My father, who was a lambing shepherd here before me, knew about it. But he wasn't telling. Then he died. There were times when I thought herself . . . Zadok's wife . . . might speak of it. But she flew away with her eyes full of sorrow. She touched his scar like it was a memory sometimes when she didn't know I saw. And they shared the sadness. So, I don't know. I wish I did. And the old ones who are still around won't talk about it.” Lev cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted to Avel and Ha-or Tov, “We're in the same boat, y' might say!” Lev snorted and laughed. “If y' find out, tell me. Else I'll grow old and die and go to the grave wondering what creature would dare be brave enough to strike a blow against Zadok, shepherd of the flock.”

Emet sat on the low barrier of his flock's stall and contemplated the little ones in his care. Three white and one black. The black male had made up for lost time. He was clearly larger, stronger, and more daring than his sisters . . . and all this in less than a day!

The hitherto unknown emotion of pride swelled in Emet's chest. These were his. What would he name them? The white triplets were identical in almost every respect. Sweet-faced and easy of disposition, they crowded around their surrogate mother like woolly sprouts on a bunch of cauliflower. How would he tell them apart?

Emet plucked at the threads of the handwoven robe supplied by Zadok until he managed to work loose the end of three strands of yarn. One yellow. One red. The last, blue. He tied a different color strand to each of the sisters.

He declared to the first, “Yellow is like the heart of a lily. You'll be Lily.” And to the second, “Red is the color of the roses on the trellis outside the rich man's house on the Street of the Cobblers. Sister always liked the roses. So you're Rose.” He attached the blue thread to the last of the three girls. “Blue.” He stuck his lip out in consideration of such an important decision. Emet gazed thoughtfully out at the patch of sky beyond the mouth of the lambing cave. It came to him, plain as anything. “Cornflower.”

And what should he name the curly black male who trotted boldly among his adoptive sisters? Emet wondered. He was the first at supper, the last to lie down to sleep. It was clear from the way he nibbled at Emet's shoe and tugged playfully at his cloak that this intrepid creature liked Emet.

Emet dubbed him the Bear.

For the fourth time in an hour Emet retied the fastenings of the white fleece cap beneath the black lamb's chin.

The most important task assigned to Emet was to keep the lamb-skin coats secured to the four babies in his care. Emet's fingers were clumsy. Not having had proper shoes, he had never learned to tie laces. He was afraid to admit this shortcoming since this was the one thing old Zadok assumed he was capable of. It was, he soon discovered, not as easy as it seemed at first.

Lambs, being like children, gamboled in the stall, nipped at one another, and jostled for position at Old Girl's udder. In these activities the strips of fleece on Lily, Rose, and Cornflower would slip sideways, become tangled, and be torn away. As for Bear, every time he butted against Old Girl for a squirt of milk, the cap would work loose and be trampled by tiny cloven hoofs before Emet could retrieve it.

Lev was no help when asked how the coverings might be better attached. “There's not enough of it to do it any other way!” he growled. “One hide! Four lambs! Old Girl's the only ewe who'd accept a shared fleece like this! See to it!”

And when Ha-or Tov, watching Emet's struggle, inquired why the things were still necessary Lev replied, “What! Are y' a total idiot?”

Lev clearly didn't like being questioned. Nor did he wholly approve of the intrusion of the three boys into his domain.

Emet remained silent the rest of the day. He turned the straw and fetched the required amount of grain, which he hand-fed to Old Girl as the babies nosed her flanks to find their meal.

As Emet, Avel, and Ha-or Tov were gulping down a morsel of flat bread, milk, and cheese, their break was interrupted. There was a ruckus in the pens. Old Girl began to bark and stamp her feet.

Lev sighed, stuffed his cheeks with the remaining bread, and in clear disgust rounded on Emet. “Now you've done it. Something's come loose. Don't y' know how to tie a proper knot?”

Avel and Ha-or Tov watched sympathetically as Lev clasped Emet by the arm and dragged him to Old Girl's pen. An altercation was in process between Old Girl and the black lamb, who was once again cap-less. Bear frantically attempted to dash in between his sisters as Old Girl whirled to face him, charging, threatening, and stamping a warning. Lily, Rose, and Cornflower huddled together, trembling, behind Old Girl's broad rear end.

Had Old Girl gone off? Emet wondered in astonishment at the rage in the aged ewe! She acted as though she had never seen Bear before! As if he were an interloper!

Lev snapped up the fallen scrap of fleece and scooped the terrified lamb into his arms. He bellowed at Emet, “You'll have to do better than this, stump!”

Tears of shame pushed at Emet's lids. His throat constricted. He had failed. Losing the covering of fleece had nearly resulted in injury to Bear.

Lev tugged the lamb's ears through the holes in the cap and secured the leather strap in a double knot. He held his handiwork out to Emet. “See here! That's the way you tie a knot!”

Emet's hands shook. He nodded in silent acknowledgment of his failure. And then, worse than anything, the shadow of Zadok fell across them.

The old shepherd glowered down like a thundercloud. He reached out to touch Bear, who was panting in terror and confusion. “What's this, Lev?”

“The runt let the fleece come off the black one,” Lev complained. “And, sir! Look at herself, will y'! Old Girl's in a fright. Her udder will shrivel. She'll go dry, and then we'll have a time keeping these alive. This boy's not old enough for the lambing barn. Can't even tie a knot.”

Zadok stooped till his face was level with Emet's. “Is that true, boy? About the tying?”

A tear escaped. Emet nodded. No, he did not know how to tie.

Zadok scooped up Emet's tear on his index finger and studied it. He held it to his lips as if to drink it. Then he almost smiled. Not quite, but nearly. “Then you shall learn.”