The Eighth Veil (13 page)

“Yes, I see.” Gamaliel stared at the man as if to squeeze something more from him. Nothing emerged. “Well, if you can’t add anything more, and in light of your relationship to the king and your years, consider yourself under house arrest. I must consult with my expert on both the veracity of your story and the certainty this knife can be certified as the weapon used in the crime. In the meantime, you are not to leave the palace and will be in the company of a palace guard at all times.”

“As you say, Rabban. But I must tell you, you have not solved this mystery.”

“I have not?”

“You have not.” Menahem stood and strode from the room. He did not do so with the same confident aplomb he had on entering. Gamaliel didn’t blame him.

Chuzas popped up at his side as the door slammed shut behind Menahem.

“You are to be congratulated, Rabban. You are finished here. The king will be very disappointed in his friend. He might even ban him from the court, though I don’t see how the old man will survive if he does. Certainly he will be shamed and lose his place.”

“You are under the impression that the punishment to be meted out by the king for murder will be banishment or shaming?”

“But she was nothing more than a servant. Servants die all the time and in circumstances worse than these.” Chuzas seemed quite relaxed, even happy at the outcome. Strange.

“I hate to disappoint you, Steward, but we are not done here.”

“Not done? But—”

“You will attend me here tomorrow. By then I hope they will have found the Greek and I will be able to talk to him. In the meantime, I want a list of everyone who had access to Menahem’s quarters and who might possibly have taken his knife.”

“You don’t believe his story.”

“Don’t I? No, not at the moment, but as he would be tried for murder if he is guilty, I must be sure there is not the slightest doubt about it. The king will be eager to exonerate him, of course. However, if he is to be stoned or turned over to Pilate for crucifixion, we must be absolutely sure.”

“Crucifixion? Surely not. He is an old man and…I don’t understand.”

“No, that is true enough. You do not understand. Listen to me then, this crime was committed in the king’s palace during High Holy Days. The potential scandal surrounding the king and his family dictates he must be punished publicly and severely. It cannot be ignored, do you see? Flogging at the very least. A lashing of more than ten would likely kill him, so we must be absolutely certain of his involvement before we act. I do not want the blood of an innocent man on my hands.”

“But, all this for a mere servant girl?”

“Yes, even for a servant girl. A life is a life irrespective of station. It is what the Law teaches. You would be wise to remember that. Tomorrow morning, Steward, with the list as I asked.”

The usually florid Chuzas left the room looking, Gamaliel thought, rather paler than when he’d entered. He sat a moment rehearsing in his mind all that Menahem had said. An idea, a flicker of something…Important? Something had surfaced when the knife came up but it had slipped away from him. What had he missed? Something about the girl…something Menahem had said, or not said, yes that was it, not said. He had side-stepped on some important detail and Gamaliel had let it go when the knife…What was it?

***

Gamaliel did not sleep well that night. Normally he would read for an hour before seeking his bed. He’d a special lamp made for him by the potter. Instead of a single wick spout, he’d had the man create one with four. He learned from trial and error how much oil to place in the lamp so that all four wicks sputtered and went out in exactly one hour. He would then say his prayers and fall into bed. Normally he would drop off within moments, but not this night. Like naughty children, too many thoughts careened about in his brain bumping against each other, laughing at his attempts to corral them, robbing him of sleep. Images of Menahem, his best suspect, his only suspect, floated in and out among them.

Was he truly the one who’d slashed the girl’s throat in such a brutal manner? There was enough evidence to turn him over to Pilate. If he were to do so, the inquiry would come to an end and he could return to his old life. He would be free. So, why hesitate? Gamaliel was a righteous man and the motive that would have driven the old man to such a terrible deed eluded him. Why would an old man do such a thing? If he did it, why use such an obvious weapon? As he said, he wasn’t a stupid man. And there was the girl and her mysterious medallion. What more should he know about the girl? Would it be pertinent? Who was the man called Graecus and where had he disappeared to? And why? There were just too many whys.

The questions bedeviled him and he tossed and turned in his bed into the depths of the night and only then drifted off into a fitful sleep. In the morning he would tackle these questions, if he could stay awake long enough.

Yom Chamishi

Chapter XVII

Gamaliel had developed his daily routines over a lifetime. A restless night or not, he rose at dawn and settled in to his morning devotions. This day his time with the Lord was noticeably shorter than usual and if asked about it later he would probably admit he had no idea what he had said or thought beyond the prayers he intoned without thinking every day. He had his breakfast and then sat at his desk to compose a brief report for the Prefect. Whether Pilate would read it he did not know and secretly hoped he would not. He indicated that significant progress had been made and that he had a strong suspect but left deliberately vague any mention of who he might be. He felt no need to bring up Menahem as he was disinclined to settle guilt on the old man yet. His agitated night had convinced him he needed to dig more before serving up the old man to Pilate on a platter. He dispatched a messenger to the Antonia Fortress and left for the palace.

Chuzas and Barak waited for him in their usual place just outside the entrance to the bath. The water had been replaced and the fires relit. In a few hours the bath would be warm and inviting. He thought that if he were not the Rabban and not an observant Jew, and if he had not specifically instructed the king to cease and desist, he would be sorely tempted to shed his garments and luxuriate in that steaming water himself. A small part of his mind leafed through the laws governing the practice, searching for a loophole, an exception, so to speak, that would allow him to rebuild his own
mikvah
along the lines of this pool, without the frescos of course. Would a little heat be such a sin?

“Rabban.” Chuzas seemed eager to get on with it; he must have had difficulty sleeping as well. “I have notified the Guard. They await your orders to arrest Menahem. Shall I call them?”

“Excuse me—arrest Menahem? No, you are ahead of yourself, Steward. I am not prepared to arrest anyone just now. You were charged to produce a list of names for me first. Do you have it?”

“Yes, but I can see no purpose for it now. The knife, it is his, and the—”

“In good time. Menahem is not going anywhere and as I told you before, we must be absolutely sure of our man. Have you considered the possibility he may have had an accomplice, for example.?”

“But he might flee. An accomplice?”

“He is an old man. Would he have the strength to draw a knife across the throat of a struggling girl alone? And then, if he were to flee, where would he go? He is old. He has no friends in the city. He has lived most of his life as the companion to the king. What could he do?”

Chuzas did not look happy. It seemed he was at least as anxious for a return to normalcy as Gamaliel, more so, in fact. “A few more days, Steward, then we will tidy up this mess and you and I can resume our lives. Find me Graecus and also, I’ll have that list now.”

Chuzas handed over a wax tablet, the sort merchants use to calculate their sales. The list seemed unnaturally short.

“These are all who have access to the apartments occupied by the royal family and their retainers? What of the servants, the guards, yourself?”

“I didn’t think that you wanted all…I mean, weren’t you interested in the suspicious ones. Surely you do not suspect the king or the queen to have entered the man’s rooms and taken the knife. Sir, there is no point to this inquiry.”

“Whether you deem it useful or not, Steward, it is what you were charged to do. What you have just told me is that if the knife was in fact stolen as Menahem claims, practically anyone could have done it. That assumes, of course, he told us the truth. Leave me now, but stay where I can find you. I wish to have a word with Barak in private. And the Greek. Where is the Greek?”

A chastened and annoyed Chuzas scuttled into the palace.

“He did not like being chastised in front of me, Rabban. You will hear of it from the king, I think.”

“The steward’s chronic annoyance is of no interest to me, nor is the threat of another reprimand by the king. I am here, reluctantly, at the behest of the Prefect. I have his authority to do what I must to clear up this tragedy and I will do it. Now, what have your sources in the household to tell me?”

“Ah…the princess and her mother, the queen, are crowing. They do not like Menahem and are happy to hear he will soon be in disgrace. The steward, by the way, shares their feelings.”

“Why is that? Aside from the possibility that old man murdered the girl, he seems harmless enough. Now there is a statement some Greek tragedian could weave into a play, I think.”

“If you say so, sir. The problem for Chuzas is connected to his wife.”

“His wife? How so?”

“It is said she communicates with the Nazarene.”

“You mean the rabbi who is causing so much discomfort in the Temple?”

“I wouldn’t know about that, but as Menahem is also a follower, they say Chuzas believes his wife’s straying is due to his influence.”

“Ah ha, but is that likely?” Barak’s eyebrows waggled. “Very well, go on then, what else?”

“The queen and the princess are happy at his downfall because he was a supporter of the Prophet.”

“The Prophet?”

“Yes, John they call the Baptizer.”

“There are questions about his being a true prophet, Barak.”

“Are there? Everyone I know believed him to be. It is why so many flock to hear Menahem’s rabbi.”

“I take it that Menahem did not approve of the Baptizer’s fate.”

“He did not, and attempted to dissuade the king from beheading him, but the king had given his word, you see. I think he still broods over it even now.”

“The king broods, or Menahem?

“Both, but the king surely.”

“He thought the Baptizer was a prophet?”

“I do not know about that. I think he might have. He has not been the same since that day and his relationship with the queen is strained because of it. That is what the chamber attendants say.”

“And as to Menahem?”

“The king was very upset at what you have discovered. He sets great store by Menahem. He would have complained to the Prefect but since he heard that you hesitate arresting his friend, he is happy enough for the moment. His cup bearer tells me he offered Menahem the means to flee to the palace in Tiberias.”

“Did he indeed? And?”

“Oh yes he did, but Menahem refused. The cup bearer heard him say he had no intention of fleeing from a crime he did not commit.”

“What do the household think?”

“We find it hard to believe Menahem killed that girl. He was the only person of note to take any interest in her at all. She was different, you know, not like a servant, really. Her presence in the house has always been a mystery to us.”

“Just how was she different?”

“In every way, I should say. I know that sounds like I’m avoiding your question, but I know no other way to put it. She spoke like a person of high station, you know? Most servants, men or women, speak the language of the streets. This girl sounded as much a princess as our Salome.”

“Did she? How else was she different?”

“Well for one thing, she could read. I caught sight of her one day in the garden. She had a letter or something very much like one in her hand and she was reading it. When she finished she began to cry.”

“Crying, you say. Do you know why?”

“I can only suppose it had something to do with what she read in her letter.”

“And her name was Alexandra?”

“Was it? We called her Cappo. I don’t know why. I think she must have told us that when she came. Everyone called her Cappo.”

“And yet Menahem insists her name was Alexandra. Strange. You have monitored the guards’ search for the Greek? Have they had any success?”

“I do not think so. Their search has been confined to the west end of the palace. I don’t know and it’s not my place to say, but if I were looking for someone in the palace, I would be poking around in the basements. They are like a warren or those caves men used to live in, and there are all sorts of places to hide. Also there is food to eat, wine to drink, and under the right circumstances, it could be very comfortable, particularly if one had an accomplice.”

“You think that’s possible?” Barak shrugged his shoulders and held his hands away from his sides, palms up. “See if you can find out for me, old man. Someone will know if he does. Where is his servant, he must have traveled with at least one. Where is he?”