The Eighth Veil (11 page)

“Not a pagan? That is interesting. So, someone in the palace has butchered an Israelite?”

“A very strong image, but wholly an accurate one. I did not say she was an Israelite. Calling her one supposes she is local, or her parents were. I am not so sure of that, but Israelite or not, she is most probably Jewish. What of her? She must by now be…”

“I had some women come in and prepare her in your fashion as a precaution. She has been washed, anointed, and wrapped and is well enough as it happens. You see that semicircular stone set against the rear wall? It rolls to your right and behind it is a cave in the hill where I store things I wish to be protected from changes in temperature. She rests there. Is that sufficient to serve as a tomb for the time being?”

“I must stretch the Law a bit further, then, and accept that is does for now.”

“Good that is settled then. You ask about the murder. First I must tell you some news that I assume is connected to it. I had an uninvited visitor two nights ago.”

“An uninvited…? How so?”

“Someone climbed my wall over there.” He pointed to a spot on the wall where Gamaliel could see the plants at its base had been trampled.

“He entered the house, rummaged through my things.”

“What was taken?”

“Strangely, nothing. I do not have much in the way of valuables, but there were coins on the table, and they were not disturbed. I gather he sought something else and so I assumed whatever he was after must have somehow been related to the murder.”

“It is interesting that he came here, don’t you think? If your break-in relates to our dead girl, he had to know you had brought her here with some of the materials I found on the bottom of the bath. How would he know that, do you suppose?”

“Someone in the palace is not as reliable as one might hope. That palace, like all palaces, is filled morning to night with gossip and tittle-tattle. It would not take a genius to find me out. So you can confidently seek your murderer there.”

“You say nothing is missing?”

“Nothing that I can see. More importantly, he did not take the knife.”

“So, not the knife. That’s interesting.”

Loukas put the object in question on the table. “Isn’t it. Of course, he may not care one way or another if you identify it. I find that hard to believe, but if there were something else of greater importance among the girl’s things and he intended to leave town once he had it in his possession I imagine he would feel free to ignore this knife. It is a very fine piece of workmanship. Egyptian, I think.”

“Egyptian? I wondered at that. Was it, in fact, the murder weapon?”

“The girl’s throat was slashed, as I said, right to left, by an exceedingly sharp blade. This knife is a dress piece, usually worn for show, not for battle, and not terribly sharp. It may have been used. It may not. It is a noteworthy weapon, as you can see, and could be easily recognized. Why would a killer leave his knife at the scene in the first place and particularly one that could be identified so easily?”

“I take your point. And as your visitor ignored it, I must conclude it likely had no connection to the girl at all. Would he not have taken it, a valuable clue, if it were the weapon that killed the girl? Yet he didn’t. It lay in the bottom of the bath with the other things. What do you make of that?”

“I have nothing to offer beyond what I have already said, either the knife was not his, or in any case, he didn’t care if you had it.”

“I’m inclined to the former or that your intruder had some other purpose in breaking in. One not related to our dead girl. Did you get a look at your visitor?”

“Not I but Draco, my servant, did, but he has not much to offer. Cloudy night, everything in shades of gray. His eyesight is failing.”

“Too bad. This servant, I do not recognize him. He is new?”

“I found him begging in the streets a few months ago. As you can see, in his condition he is not likely to be taken on by anyone else. I offered him a place. He is grateful and therefore very loyal. He has a story.”

“Indeed?”

“As a child he was prepared, if you take my meaning, to be a catamite.”

“That would explain why I could not determine his gender.”

“Possibly, but there are other considerations. When he was in his eighth year or so, he is a little vague about that, he was sold to a wealthy merchant from Ephesus. By the time he was in his twenties, when he had matured and lost the beauty and freshness of youth, he was sold again to a local Arab who placed him in his harem
,
the women’s quarters to…well, you know what his duties must have been there.”

“I can but imagine.”

“He might still be there but for the disease that took him. When the malady you see had disfigured him so horribly took over, he was kicked to the street. When I found him he was nearly dead. His disease, combined with the fact he had no skills beyond those he was raised to perform, left him helpless in a harsh world, and particularly in an uncompromising city like Jerusalem.”

“A pitiful story. If I live to my promised three score and ten, I will never understand
saris
. Our Law will not permit the practice of castration even for animals. It is one aspect of your pagan culture which will doubtless forever separate us.”

“My pagan culture? You presume, Rabban.”

“Do I indeed? Perhaps I am mistaken. Well, at least Draco has you, Loukas. It must be a great comfort for someone with such a terrible past life and present condition to find himself in service at the home of a physician.”

“But only for a while, I fear. I have seen this disease before. It is progressive and always fatal. I can give him palliatives but I cannot alter its course. He will not be with me much longer.”

Gamaliel studied the physician for a moment pondering this complex unbeliever, if that was what he was. He had always assumed Loukas practiced some form of paganism as his Greek name suggested. He had to admit, however, there seemed to be no evidence of whatever it might be in his home or speech. Did not most pagans keep at least one stone image on the premises? He didn’t know, but guessed it must be so. Why else would the Lord have made such a point about graven images if not to point out the practice among the nonbelievers?

Loukas sat silently waiting for Gamaliel to continue.

“We must continue this at another time, Physician. The palace beckons me like the sirens of that epic Jason the Greeks so admire, but my Scylla and Charybdis are of the Prefect’s construction.”

The Rabban exhaled rather louder than decorum dictated, picked up the knife, secured it in his belt, and bid his host farewell. If he hurried, he would still have time to see Agon before confronting Menahem.

Chapter XIV

Chuzas sat by himself in the courtyard where he and Gamaliel had last spoken the previous evening. In point of fact, he had not yet informed Menahem of the Rabban’s request for an interview as he’d been requested. First, he needed to grapple with the problem of the knife. Anyone who knew the various personalities in the court would easily recognize it. Like no other of its kind, it stood out whenever Menahem wore it, which he always did on State occasions and frequently at other, less notable times. There could be no doubt that the knife Gamaliel found in the bath with the other trinkets belonged to Menahem. Therefore, that knowledge would soon be made known to Gamaliel.

Chuzas rubbed his eyes. He had difficulty sleeping since this murder business. It made his mind as muddy as the stream at the bottom of the Kidron Valley after a rain. He forced his mind back into focus. The knife was in the pool. The girl’s body was in the pool. The girl’s throat was slit. The Greeks would say a logical connection existed between those three facts. He scratched his ear and squinted at the sun which had just cleared the wall to the east. Chuzas had studied the Rabban enough over the past few days to conclude that he did not manage information as others might. Rabbis, or more accurately, Pharisees, it seemed, were not trained in the finer points of Aristotle’s disciplines, not that he, Chuzas, had made an exhaustive study of the Greek either. But the question he struggled with came to just this: Would the Rabban make the connection between the facts or would he, Chuzas, find it necessary to point Gamaliel in that direction?

But first he needed to make a decision about Menahem. What would the old man say to Gamaliel? He knew the girl better than anyone in the court. Why he had taken time to befriend this particular servant girl was anyone’s guess. If Menahem were younger, Chuzas could easily understand it. After all servant girls, particularly young pretty ones like this one, were always sought out by the men in the palace for their pleasure. Age rarely slowed them down. Many outside the palace argued that the girls were brought to court specifically for pleasure. But Menahem must be near his seventh decade. Usually, that many years would put him beyond suspicion. Only a very few lived that long—well, since Genesis anyway. Even fewer could contemplate undertaking a liaison of that sort. Of course, there were old men like Menahem who still lusted after young girls. Herod, the old king that would be, had been known to pursue young women almost until the day he died. Men’s desires did not always wane as their faculties did. He’d heard the girls sent to their rooms laughing at them after they returned from such encounters.

But Menahem, if not by virtue of his advanced age, then by his devotion to the Galilean’s teaching certainly would have dismissed any thought of such a tryst. The Galilean! One way or the other, Chuzas thought, he must pry Joanna from that man and his dangerous ideas. Her insistence the rabbi cured her of her delusions and erratic behavior could not be true. Other very fine, indeed notable rabbis had tried and failed. What could this carpenter rabbi have done that they could not? No, it was a trick. As Menahem must have planted these absurd ideas in her head, Menahem must be made to root them out.

He could no longer put it off. He would arrange for Menahem and Gamaliel to meet and he would watch through the lattice and hear everything. Gamaliel could not miss discovering the owner of the knife.

***

Agon had raised the shutters at his shop signaling the beginning of his work day when Gamaliel arrived. He greeted the Rabban and invited him in. It was barely past the second hour and there were few customers in the street in search of jewelry. The wealthy, his clients, would not bestir themselves much before the fifth hour and by the sixth, when the sun was at its zenith, they would disappear again until the streets cooled once more. He ushered Gamaliel into a back room and pulled out a stool for his guest.

“Were you successful?”

“As you will see, yes and no, Rabban. I completed the removal of the paste-like false pottery and copied the inscription for you. I should say inscriptions. I do not read but the small bit of Greek I need to conduct my business. For anything else I must go down the street to the scribe who writes and reads for me. Obviously I dared not employ his services for this project. I can’t be sure but I think I can see that the writing is in three languages.”

“Three? Let me see.”

Agon handed over a slip of papyrus that he’d evidently sanded clean and on to which he’d copied the figures exactly as he saw them. Gamaliel picked it up. As Agon’s reading skills were in fact limited he could not know where the words in the inscriptions began or where they ended. Consequently, all the letters were strung together and the words, where they could be made out, were out of order. Gamaliel, who could read, had little difficulty sorting them out after a quick inspection.

“The inscriptions are in Greek—you recognized that, I suppose—and repeated in Latin and Aramaic.” Gamaliel frowned in concentration. “Now, that is odd. Not in Hebrew. Why do you suppose that is? Why write in Aramaic and not Hebrew?”

Agon could only shrug.

“I think it may be important, but do not know why. Our late king never was an easy person to understand, my friend. Is that why you said yes and no? What about the second task. Were you able to replace the glazing or whatever it was? I do hope you managed. I can work as well if you haven’t but…”

“Yes and no? Here, see for yourself.” Agon dipped his hand into his apron pocket and produced a pendant which he dropped on the counter beside the papyrus.

“Ah, that is perfect. I am amazed. One could never tell the old false glaze has been removed and replaced. You are a
mitzvah
, Agon. This looks almost like real ceramic.”

Agon’s grin split his beard into unequal and unlovely halves. He reached into his pouch and withdrew the original gold piece and laid it next to the first one.

“What’s this?”

“Recall, I said yes and no. You should have asked me to explain. I tried for hours to figure out how the coating had been done and failed. I knew you wished the pendent restored. I tried but frankly, I have no idea how it could be reproduced. I have seen this thing on pieces from the east—beyond India even, but again, how it is done, I do not know. I could not do as you wished, so instead, I made you a copy.”

“I can’t tell them apart. This one looks like clay baked and glazed.”

“There is a reason it looks like ceramic. It is ceramic. I simply molded a pendant from clay, glazed and painted it and then fired it, a far simpler task than reproducing or repairing the covering on the original.”