The Ironsmith (50 page)

Here and there people began to shout. At first Noah couldn't make out the words, but gradually, as the shouting grew, he heard “anointed one” and “Son of David.”

Soon, many in the crowd of pilgrims took up the cry. Joshua, riding in the middle of the road, clearly visible to everyone, looked around him with astonishment.

People surged forward to touch him. Some wept. Joshua bar Joseph, the carpenter from Nazareth, was suddenly their hero. Israel had found her deliverer. “Anointed one!
Anointed one! Son of David!
”

It was a scene of madness, a riot of joy. The colt was on the verge of panic, and Joshua had so much to do to keep it from bolting that he hardly seemed to notice the swirling chaos around him.

Noah happened to glance at Matthias, who was standing beside him, and saw that tears were streaming down his face.

“They love him,” he said, his voice choked with emotion. “He is their king.”

Deborah held her husband's arm tight. “What does it mean?” she asked him.

“I fear this may be the beginning of a tragedy.”

*   *   *

The Roman centurion Gaius Raetius, who was watching from the top of the wall near the north gate, had a different impression.

“It's more comic than a play by Plautus,” he said, laughing and slapping his knee. “You Jews are a queer lot.”

Caleb and his cousin Gideon exchanged a glance. The centurion was from Germania, a place of bogs and dark forests where the inhabitants worshipped trees. He was tall and broad, with a broken nose, scars on his face, and long, straw-colored hair that stank of rancid butter. And he thought the Jews were “a queer lot.”

Standing a little to one side was the priest Meshach, whom Gideon had persuaded to come. He seemed determined to ignore the Roman's presence. His attention was fixed on the man riding the colt.

“Don't worry,” Gideon whispered. “Gaius will report what he's paid to report.”

Caleb nodded but, like the priest, he seemed wholly absorbed in the spectacle below him.

“It's odd, since for weeks he's been at the center of my plans, but this is the first time I've ever even seen this Joshua bar Joseph.” He shook his head. “Somehow I had expected him to be taller.”

“He
is
tall. It's just hard to judge from this height.”

“The colt was a good thought,” Caleb said, turning to Gideon and smiling his approval. “It increases his visibility and somehow makes him seem more like a king in the making.”

“Has he ever claimed Davidic descent?”

“No, not that I am aware of. But what difference does it make?”

Gideon could not help but wonder what made his cousin so eager to destroy this village preacher. Of course, it hardly mattered. Self-styled peasant prophets were as common as finches—one more or less would not make any difference.

“Well, in any case, we'll need someone to stand before Pilatus and
say
the fellow has claimed it,” Gideon said, complacently. “The forms of the law have to be observed, although I don't suppose anyone, least of all Pilatus, will care whether it's true or not.”

“Never fear. There will be a witness.”

Gaius Raetius turned to them, grinning and rubbing his hands together.

“I've seen enough to arrest him right now,” he said, in the most vulgar Greek imaginable. “I can have him on a cross by nightfall, if you like.”

“I think we'll just wait a bit,” Caleb answered dryly, wondering if the man was really fool enough to contemplate arresting a man while he was being hailed by the mob as king of the Jews. “There's plenty of time.”

 

43

Jerusalem was less a city than a miracle. God ruled the whole earth, and His presence was everywhere, rendering the meanest patch of wasteland holy. But Jerusalem was the most holy place where a man could draw breath, and the Temple was God's home. When God first spoke to Moses, on Mount Sinai, He told him to take off his sandals, for the place where he stood was holy ground. Thus, Joshua always removed his sandals and walked barefoot when he entered Jerusalem, for here he was in the presence of the living God.

In Jerusalem one felt the nearness of God as one felt the sunshine. God warmed the heart and illuminated the mind. Joshua could not be in Jerusalem without experiencing a joy he could hardly describe. It was incomprehensible to him that anyone could enter the city without feeling God's closeness. It was as real as the experience of the senses. How could anyone feel envy or anger, or break the Law or remain an unbeliever, when under the very eyes of God? It seemed impossible.

Yet all these things happened. The city belonged to God but was inhabited by men, and men—most, in Joshua's experience—were blinded by sin. Perhaps that was the nature of sin, to be a kind of blindness. An inability to see the obvious.

On the morning of his first day in Jerusalem, Joshua joined the crowds awaiting immersion in one of the many ritual baths surrounding the Temple Mount. The Passover meal must be eaten in purity, and the process of purification would take seven days.

As he stood near the immersion pool gate with a handful of his disciples, waiting for the sun to dry his clothes, all he could really see of the Temple was a long stretch of wall beyond the Antonia Fortress, where the Roman garrison was quartered. Along the top of the wall, soldiers were standing guard.

“Look at them,” Simon said, with a bitterness unusual for him. “How the Romans mock us. I do not understand why the high priest tolerates it.”

Joshua could only shake his head.

“He tolerates it because he holds his office at the pleasure of the Roman prefect. He tolerates it because he has no choice.”

Suddenly he laughed.

“Probably those soldiers will be privileged to be the first to witness the coming of the Kingdom. Think how surprised they will be to hear the trumpet blast and see the messenger of God's judgment descending from the clouds.”

“Will it be soon, Master?”

“Soon, Matthias. Soon enough. I am filled with hope that this Passover will see great changes. But the time is known only to the Father.”

All the while they spoke, their steps carried them further from the fortress, which they all would have preferred to ignore, and in an arc along the outer wall. The Temple was a vast structure, best appreciated at a distance.

All at once Joshua stopped, crossed his arms over his chest, and smiled. There, over the heads of the crowd, he could see the thing whole. Over the inner wall he could even see the upper half of the Holy of Holies.

“Old Herod was a black-hearted rogue, but this one thing he did right. It took him thirty years, but he came as close as a man can to building a house worthy of the living God.”

For a long while he stood there, letting the sight of it delight his heart. Then, as if something important had just occurred to him, he glanced about.

“Where is Judah?” he asked impatiently. “He was supposed to meet us here, and he is late.”

“Here I am.”

They heard his voice before they saw him, and then he emerged through the crowd. He smiled uncertainly, like someone unsure of his welcome.

Where had he been? It was the inevitable question, if only because he seemed not himself. Under any circumstances, Judah always appeared ill at ease and out of place, but that was ascribable to the social chasm between a son of the Levites and a crowd of Galilean workmen—Judah always tried a little too earnestly to forget that he wasn't a peasant. But today he looked unwell. His eyes had an unnatural glitter and his temples appeared hollowed out.

“Are you ill?” Joshua asked him, staring into his face. “Did you eat something that didn't agree with you?”

“No. I'm fine.”

“Then, did you find us a place to sleep?”

“Yes. An upper room near the fuller's tower. We can have it for the week for two silver shekels.”

“And where did you get the two silver shekels?”

“I borrowed them. A friend loaned them to me.” He glanced about, as if to judge how the explanation was accepted. “I still have friends in Jerusalem.”

Joshua threw his arm across Judah's shoulders.

“Very well then. Have you immersed yourself?”

“Yes. Yesterday.”

“Good. Then we can go look at this upper room.”

*   *   *

Beyond the eastern wall was a ridge covered with olive trees, and at its base a patch of wilderness called Gethsemane, an old word for “olive press.” There may have been an olive press there once, but now it was deserted, given over to wildflowers and ancient trees. The place had a certain beauty and, though only a ten minute walk from the Temple gate, was very peaceful and quiet. Joshua had discovered it when he was still a boy, and he liked to go there to pray.

The next day was the Sabbath, and he spent most of it there, alone with his thoughts and with God. When he returned after sundown he was told that his cousin Noah had been looking for him.

“I will see him tomorrow, near the Temple,” he said.

The next morning the final rite of purification took place. Joshua stood with a crowd of pilgrims as a priest sprinkled them with water mixed with the ashes of a red heifer. The following day they would enter the Temple to offer sacrifice for their sins.

He was still wiping the water from his beard when Noah turned up.

“Come away with me,” he said. “I need to talk to you.”

“Then you can buy me breakfast,” Joshua replied cheerfully.

Just beyond the main Temple stairway they found a stall, where Noah bought two cups of beer, along with lentils wrapped in flat bread. The beer was weak and the lentils had been left in the pot too long, but one couldn't expect better in Jerusalem during a festival.

They sat in a doorway and ate.

“I have been making inquiries,” Noah said, staring down into his cup. “I found the owner of your colt. After an exchange of silver, he told me it had been rented for the day by a man with whom he regularly does business and whom he knows to be an officer in the Temple guard. He would not give me his name.”

“Someone had to provide the colt,” Joshua answered. “Why not someone from the Temple?”

“Because the Temple guards are supposed to maintain order, and yet this one procures you a colt so that you may ride into the city.”

“It was kind of him.”

“It was part of a performance, in which you were the principal actor. You mount the colt, and almost immediately you are hailed, ‘Anointed one. Son of David.'”

“I have never claimed to be either—well, at least not since we were boys.”

“Does it matter what you have claimed? It is enough that you have been made to
appear
to claim these titles. How do you think the Romans will interpret all this?”

Joshua had by this time finished eating. He wiped his hands on his tunic and looked about him as if trying to remember where he was.

“The Romans? What have they to do with it?”

Noah could only shake his head.

“The Romans, for better or worse, are our masters. They don't like it when the mob becomes excited, and they particularly don't like it when someone claims to be king of the Jews. You don't even have to claim it—it's enough if the mob claims it for you. Did you know that Caleb is in Jerusalem?”

“It's the Passover, Noah. Everyone is in Jerusalem.”

“I've looked into it. Caleb hasn't been here in years.”

Now it was Joshua's turn to shake his head.

“You amaze me,” he said, as if he meant it. “How did you find all this out?”

“I am told I have a talent for bad news.”

“Apparently. And you think Caleb is behind all this?”

“Who else would go to the trouble? In Galilee you are safe because you cannot be arrested without the Tetrarch's approval, but in Judea you are under Roman authority, and the Romans are very sensitive about anything or anyone who might cause a riot during the festivals. I believe Caleb is working to convince the Romans that you are a threat. I don't pretend to understand his motives, but he means to have you killed.”

Joshua grew very quiet as, apparently, he tried to absorb the idea that he was the object of a murder conspiracy, and Noah took advantage of the interval to get up and have their cups refilled. It was very bad beer, but it was at least something.

He sat down again and put the cup in Joshua's hand. Joshua looked at it for a moment and then drank it off.

“What do you think I should do?” he asked.

“Leave the city as quietly and as quickly as possible. Once you are beyond the city gates, the Romans will lose interest. Go back to Galilee, where you will be safe.”

“We have had this conversation before. I can't run away.” Joshua made a despairing gesture with his hands. “If it was your object to frighten me, then you have succeeded, but I can't run away.”

“If you stay, you may be dead before the end of the week. The Romans will not tolerate a threat to their authority.”

As if with a single impulse, the two men turned their heads to look into each other's faces. Then, quite suddenly, Joshua began to laugh.

“What of God's authority?” The laughter died away. “What of God's authority, Noah? We are in Jerusalem, within sight of the Holy of Holies, where on the Day of Atonement the high priest stands in the very presence of God. What is the authority of Caesar compared to that? I cannot leave. God demands my presence in this place, at this time. I have no choice.”

“That is what I was afraid you would say.”

“Yes, well … You tried.”

“Yes.”

For a long time the two of them sat together in the doorway, their arms across each other's shoulders, silently saying farewell.

*   *   *

That afternoon Joshua was in the Temple courtyard, preaching to the crowd.