Authors: Brock Thoene
Jerusalem's Hope (27 page)
It was a near riot.
“Stop this!” Marcus bellowed. A stone whizzed past his helmet, striking Benjamin in the head.
From behind him Oren gave a cry of alarm and rushed forward.
Marcus tripped him, making the mason sprawl on his face.
Recognizing Jehu among the herdsmen, Marcus shouted, “Jehu, stop your men!”
A stonecutter charged toward the shepherds, wooden maul in one hand and the spike of a chisel in the other. Marcus leapt in front of him! The man raised his club to strike down Marcus.
Unwilling to kill if it could be avoided, Marcus reversed his blade and drove the hilt of his sword into the man's nose, felling him.
He then confronted three more aqueduct workmen with a flashing sweep of naked steel. “Back off!” he snarled.
From the other side Jehu barked, “Stop! Ephraim, drop that sling! Meshach, put down that rock!”
From his knees on the ground Oren called out, “Enough! Benjamin, Amos, stop!”
Bleeding from a cut over his eye, Benjamin struggled angrily to rise and continue in the fray. “But they started it, Father! The shepherds attacked us!”
“They've no cause to ruin the pasture!” retorted the shepherd Jehu. “This abomination is bad enough without deliberately spoiling the rest! We asked you to stop, to listen to reason.”
“And when they didn't, you attacked them with slings?” Marcus demanded.
Jehu and his men stared defiantly.
“Now listen, all of you!” Marcus roared. “I've given orders to organize the building material into a single location and to stake out one single road. Jehu, will this solve the problem?”
The shepherd grudgingly admitted that it would.
“Then you are bound to keep the peace. Oren,” Marcus said, turning toward the stonecutter, “see to it. There will be penalties for any willful destruction of pasture.”
“But my son!” Oren challenged, pointing to Benjamin's blood-smeared face.
“Enough!” Marcus concluded. “What's done is done. But whoever disturbs the peace again . . . or interferes with the building . . . will have me to answer to!”
The arrival of the hawker to reclaim his spavined donkey surprised Nakdimon. He had expected the fellow to vanish with his two-shekels deposit, which was far more than the worth of the beast.
Nakdimon was lost in study in his second-story library when he heard Zacharias arguing in the courtyard.
“No need to disturb my master. I'll fetch your donkey, sir, and receive from you the two-shekels deposit.”
The hawker was insistent. “No. I must speak to Reb Nakdimon myself. In person. Face-to-face, as it were. I've got intelligence he must hear from my mouth to his ears.”
“I'm acting steward of his household,” declared the Ethiopian. “I myself am most trusted to carry messages to my master. Tell me your business, and I will convey it to him.”
“What I have to say I'll not say to any but your master.” The hawker was adamant. “It's a matter of life and death what I have to say, and I'll not repeat it to anyone but himself. And here I'll stay until I see Nakdimon ben Gurion.”
Nakdimon laid down his stylus and went to the balcony. The hawker had stubbornly seated himself on the rim of the fountain. Crossing his arms, he acted immovable.
“You can't stay here.” Zacharias scowled. “You seem a dangerous sort. Get up, sir. Or I'll fetch the cook to help me remove you.”
“And what will he do if I won't go? Roast me for supper?”
“Stand and kindly wait outside the gate while I fetch your donkey!”
Nakdimon interrupted the confrontation. “Zacharias, I'll see to this. Retrieve this fellow's animal. I'll have a word with him myself.”
The hawker smirked.
Zacharias, with dignity, bowed and shuffled off to find the animal as Nakdimon descended the stairs.
“What is this?” Nakdimon demanded.
The hawker, more filthy than before, grinned obsequiously. “Ah, your honor! So it was truly you yourself who hired my little beast! And all this time I thought perhaps some villain had used your name and rank to get a better price from me.”
Nakdimon, frustrated at the disruption of his studies, frowned. “And I thought you would run off with my deposit and leave me with a creature who is on its last legs.”
“Who? I? Never!”
“Since we have proved ourselves to be honest men in a world of thieves and gougers, let's get on with the business at hand. You owe me two shekels, and I owe you one spavined donkey.” Nakdimon extended his hand to receive payment.
“But no, your honor!” The hawker evidently remembered the true reason he had taken a seat at the great man's fountain. “Truly the Almighty was guiding you to me as we bargained in the caravansary! You are most fortunate that it was I, myself, who loaned you my beast! Never was a man as blessed as you, sir!”
“No doubt you're the most honest of peddlers,” Nakdimon conceded. “But I have work to attend to, if you don't mind. . . .”
“But no! I've brought news to you, sir! News that may save your life and the lives of your wife and children. Perhaps news that will save the lives of the rulers of Israel if I am allowed to speak boldly.”
“Speak. Please,” Nakdimon said impatiently.
“It's this way, sir. You may wish to go before the council to tell what I tell you.”
“Tell me.”
“Sure. You're as good as any man on the council. And big enough you'll be harder to kill than the others too.”
“What do you mean?” Was this fellow simply prating on in hopes of reward? Nakdimon wondered. “Be short.”
“I'm not a tall man, so I will be short. But the news I have is big.”
“Then speak briefly or I'll call the cook, who is enormous, and together we'll throw you out as an intruder.”
“The cook again?”
“She's bigger than I am. Now. Out with it. Or out with you.”
The hawker sucked his blackened teeth and nodded, as if sobered by the thought of a woman bigger than Nakdimon ben Gurion.
“Well, sir, here it is. They mean to murder you.”
“Who?” Nakdimon eyed him with renewed interest.
“You. Yourself. Everyone of the Sanhedrin they can lay hold of. And wives and children as well.”
“I mean, who are these assassins?”
“Rebels.”
“Have they names?”
“Bar Abba, for one. This news is worth a coin or two, I'd say.”
Nakdimon grasped the hawker by his throat. “So you're an informer. You must be one of them, or how would you know such a thing?”
The hawker squealed. “No, sir! I swear it! I'm just what I seem to be!”
“A liar?”
“An honest hawker, sir!”
“You admit to being a cheat, then?”
“A man intent on doing a good deed.”
“Then do it. Quickly. Before I lose patience. Tell what you know and how you came to know it!” Nakdimon released his grip.
The man, gasping for breath, sat back and rubbed his throat. “Being a man in the trade I'm in, sir, I am here and there. There and here. In inns and among travelers in need. This is high season for my business, sir. I've been among the people as you would expect. And I came upon three members of bar Abba's army: Asher, Kittim, and bar Abba's captain, Dan the well-known murderer.”
“Where?”
“In the shade of an oak outside Sepphoris.”
“And?”
“They were talking politics with a Galilean fellow. Recruiting him to join them. And they tried to recruit me too.”
“It's a long way from politics to murder.”
“Shorter than you think. But the knives I sold them were long bladed. Knives from Persia. They thanked me and said such weapons were perfect for carving up the corrupt men who sat on the Council of the Sanhedrin. The curve of the blade would hook a fellow's intestines, they said, and pull them out a very small wound.” He frowned and rubbed his round belly. “I think they're serious.”
“Half the men in Galilee hate the rulers in Yerushalayim,” Nakdimon remarked. “Why would you think they'll carry through?”
“They say they'll be among you and you'll never see them until you stumble on your own guts. It gave me a start, I can tell you. I couldn't eat my noonday meal for thinking about it.”
“And how many are there?”
“From the sound of it, half of Galilee, like you said. I saw the three. And then the young fellow clapped hands with them in a bargain and also bought a knife. That makes four. But word on the street is that every fourth man may be one of them.”
“You made out well on the deal,” Nakdimon glowered.
“I'm a hawker, sir.”
“When will this plot be hatched, hawker?”
“They didn't say what moment. Only that they'll be watching the council chambers for the right time.”
“You know enough you might be one of them.”
“I'm no rebel.”
“You smell of death.”
The hawker sniffed his armpits. “Well, bathing costs money, sir. There's hardly a place to bathe between here and Sepphoris.”
This fellow was too dense to be dangerous, Nakdimon conceded. “What do you hope to get from me for this information?”
“To be honest, sir, two shekels. It seems fair enough.”
“Two shekels? High price for words. For that you'll have to repeat your story.”
“I'll tell it again.”
Zacharias entered the portico and bowed slightly. “The beast is ready to be taken away, sir.”
Nakdimon glared at the wretched man sitting by the fountain. “You'll come with me then. Three days from now. To the chambers of the Sanhedrin and tell them what you know.”
“Oh no, sir!” The hawker drew back in terror. “Didn't you hear what I've said to you? They'll be watching the council chambers. Waiting for you! They'll see me! They'll know I've come to tell you what I heard!” He dropped to his knees and groveled before Nakdimon.
“And then they'll pull your bowels out with the knives you've sold them, is that it?”
The man began to blubber. “Yes! Yes, sir! They'll kill me like one of those lambs. And me, just trying to do a good deed!”
This was no act. The hawker was genuinely terrified. His terror was the confirmation of the truth in his tale.
“All right, then.”
“Oh thank you! Thank you, sir!” The hawker began to kiss Nakdimon's feet.
Nakdimon pushed him away. “Enough. The high priest will want to hear what you have to say. Where are you staying?”
“Here and there. There and here. Among the people.”
“There's an inn beside Sheep's Gate. You'll stay there until I send for you.” Nakdimon snapped his fingers. “Zacharias, accompany our friend to Sheep's Gate Inn. Pay the proprietor to make him comfortable. To feed him three meals a day. To keep him locked safely in the room on the second story and tell no one he is there.”
Again the hawker fawned in gratitude, seemingly uncaring that he was being made a prisoner.
After the previous night's encounter with Asher, Emet stayed close to Migdal Eder. Though he told no one about the rebels, he was still frightened. It kept him inside the lambing barn, where he felt safer.
While sheltered inside the grotto Emet practiced tying. It wasn't perfected yet, but Bear's bonnet remained in place longer each time.
It was while renewing this exercise near evening that Emet overheard a conversation he wasn't intended to hear. In a vacant pen three rows back from the lamplit passage, the boy was shorter than the railing and almost invisible.
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