To the Death (14 page)

“Not true”, Berenice snapped, her face flushed with anger. “I have read the transcript of that trial many times. Your kind had him killed because he threatened their grip on the people.. He told men that he had not come to change the law but to fulfil it”. She slammed her fist onto the table. “Jesus told men”, she continued, “that they should pray directly to God; that they needed no priest to mediate between them and God. That God didn't require blood sacrifices. The priesthood, even the Temple, were made redundant. The Covenant God gave Abraham was with
all peoples and nations
, not just Jews”.

Agrippa was amazed. He had never guessed that his sister had such strong feelings over the issue of Jesus.

Angry at the exchange between his sister and Ananias, he said coldly “Leave us. We need to consult with our officers”.

Mortified at having allowed herself to incur her brother's anger, Berenice murmured “Yes my Lord” and backed out of the room.

Agrippa turned back to the maps. “Philip, send men to the pilgrim camps on the northern side of the city. Buy camels, clothing and trade goods. We will disguise one hundred of our men as merchants to send them across the dessert to Caesarea”.

Philip nodded “Yes my Lord, I will lead them myself ”.

“No”, replied the King. “It is too dangerous. The caravan will be attacked by bandits. Terrorist groups are roaming the countryside. Their chances of getting through are slim. I need you to lead the main body of our force which, because of its size, may escape attack, but will be slower. The bogus caravan will travel light and fast. Make certain you buy only the best beasts and pick good men, who will be well armed”.

“Yes my Lord - and when do they leave?”

“Get the Caravan equipped and on its way within twenty four hours. Don't argue about costs. Spend whatever it takes to buy the best animals available. We will follow within forty eight hours. But be prepared to move at a moment's notice. We may not have the luxury of choice. Much depends on Menahem's next move”.

“And Eleazar's”. This bitter comment was from Ananias. “The zealots are not natural allies of the Sicarii. Sooner rather than later there will be a falling out. Only one of them will survive”.

“God help the people”, murmured Philip. “A faction fight within the city will be a bloody affair. The people will be caught in the middle, many will die”.

Before either the King or the High Priest could reply an officer entered the room and saluted. “Sir, a man is at the gate asking for our protection. He claims to be Hezekiah, brother of the High Priest”.

Ananias clapped his hands and said “Hezekiah. I thought he was dead. Your Majesty, I beg you admit him, for if this man is truly my brother, I will rejoice for he is dear to me”.

Agrippa thought for a moment and then said “We will go to the walls. If the High Priest identifies this man as his brother we will admit him”.

The dishevelled figure who was eventually admitted told of his escape from the nationalists; a nightmare journey, neck deep in liquid filth through the city sewers. Many were still down there hiding, too terrified to come out, having nowhere to go, while above ground the rebel forces, completely out of control, were attacking the city's population.

Civilians were being butchered wholesale, their possessions stolen. The families of wealthy citizens were being subjected to the most brutal tortures. “Nothing”, Hezekiah concluded bitterly, “the Romans had ever inflicted on those condemned to death in the arena was worse than what the Jews were doing to each other”.

“You have much to talk about with your brother”, Agrippa said sympathetically. “I will leave you. In the meantime quarters will be prepared for you. You have our protection for as long as you need it”.

Hezekiah prostrated himself before the King, uttering his heartfelt thanks. The events of the last few days had been hideous. Their memory would trouble his sleep for the rest of his days. Left alone the two men embraced. Ananias spoke first. “The sacred scrolls. We must get the sacred scrolls. They are the key to controlling the office of the High Priest of all Israel in the future”.

Hezekiah sighed at his brother's ambitions. Ananias had survived attempted assassinations, a critical populace, intrigue within the priesthood, plotting within the Sanhedrin. But, Hezekiah thought, he is right. If this family was to return to the office of High Priest of all Israel, it must have something to bargain with. The nation was in turmoil. The Temple itself stood at the eye of the storm. The future was unreadable. The sacred scrolls were forever. When the killing stopped and the survivors raise their heads from the dust, they would surely follow the keeper of the sacred scrolls.

“How can we secure them?” asked Hezekiah wearily. “The nationalists are everywhere. Menahem has taken the Temple and controls it. No services are held.” He paused and swallowed, tears rolled down his face. In a voice breaking with emotion he continued “The everlasting fire has gone out. The altar is cold. No sacrifices are made. Its ashes blow in the wind. Surely God has forsaken us”. He concluded sadly, “What is happening to us now is a just punishment. The Lord has turned his face from us”. Weeping, he ended “Perhaps James the Just was right”.

“Never”, screamed Ananias, who leapt forward and seized Hezekiah by the beard. “To deny the covenant of Moses is blasphemy. Be careful brother, for I will not hesitate to denounce you”.

Hezekiah pulled himself free and angrily pushed Ananias away. “And Paul of Tarsus? Will you send messages to Caesar denouncing him because he spread a new covenant, one that is made between the one God and all mankind?”

Ananias hurled himself across the room and grappled with Hezekiah. A slave posted at the door, hearing the commotion, ran to report it not daring to interfere. A somewhat bemused Darius who had retired to his quarters was brought to separate the struggling men. “If you have differences to settle, may I suggest you do so outside. May I also suggest that swords are more efficient than fists and are certainly more dignified?”

Both men, badly out of condition, were gasping for breath. They ignored Darius. Ananias glared at Hezekiah. “I want to know one thing before I disown you. Are you faithful to the God of your fathers? That we are His chosen people? That His covenant is with the Jews and the Jews alone?”

There was a long silence before Hezekiah finally answered sombrely. “I don't know. I have prayed to God for an answer, but have received none. I only know we, His people, have sinned. What is happening to His Holy City, to His Temple, is a judgement on us. I will help you to save the scrolls. After that I intend going into the desert to be alone with God to ask for forgiveness”.

Darius turned Ananias and said gruffly “Will you accept this?” Ananias nodded briefly and stormed out of the room.

Darius said to Hezekiah not unkindly “Enough for today. Take a bath, get some rest. There are enough enemies and to spare outside these walls. You don't need any inside!”

It was still dark when Ananias and Hezekiah, dressed in the nondescript clothes of ordinary citizens, slipped out of the Palace. Agrippa had been against their leaving but couldn't argue against an attempt, no matter how foolhardy, to retrieve the sacred scrolls.

In a window high above the street a Sicarii, one of a team posted to watch the palace twenty four hours a day, spotted the two men as they eased themselves through a side door leading into the street. “Two men have sneaked out of the palace”.

His companion, a small thin man with a broken nose said “Right. I will report to Judah” - Judah being the leader of the group using the building as an observation post.

Ananias and Hezekiah had reached the steps leading to the court of the Gentiles when they were suddenly surrounded. A band of Sicarii had been lying in wait for them. Resistance was as useless as their protestations. Their hands were tied behind their backs without a word being spoken and they were marched unceremoniously through the dark streets.

The light of the new day was seeping steadily across the rooftops as they arrived at a particularly fine house in the Upper City. Ananias noted bitterly that it was not too far away from his own property that had been burnt and looted.

The brothers were frogmarched through the villa's splendid main hall and bundled into a small windowless room. Sitting on the bare stone floor, they contemplated their fate, Hezekiah being the first to speak. “You realise we have fallen into the hands of the Sicarii?” Further conversation was cut short by the return of their captors, led by a bad tempered man with a hare lip carrying a club. Without a word being spoken they were pushed and prodded along a series of corridors, ending up outside the double doors of the main chamber. Hare lip dragged the door open while his companions shoved them through. With sinking hearts the two men realised that the well-armed men in the room were there as bodyguards to Menahem who, hunched over a parchment, ignored the two priests, continuing to speak quietly to the men closest to him.

Ananias whispered to Hezekiah, “It is just possible they will do a deal”.

Hezekiah replied “I agree. Their brand of nationalism is centred on self-interest”.

Menahem looked up, nodded, and the brothers were prodded forward. Menahem didn't speak; instead he studied his two captives with intense interest.

Ananias licked his lips. He found the pale eyes disturbing. Hezekiah couldn't read them. He was beginning to be afraid.

Menahem smiled but there was no warmth in it. “Well well, Ananias and his arse licking brother. Couldn't keep away from the old place hey? Well you're just in time - in time for a Coronation. Maybe we should let you perform it before we kill you”.

Ananias couldn't believe his ears. Coronation? Whose he thought? Menahem, guessing what was passing through the bewildered priest's mind, said “Mine you old fart.
Mine
. It's about time the Jews had a king to rule them, instead of having to touch their forelocks to the fucking Romans and then crawl on their knees to you”.

Ananias glared at the Sicarii war lord and turned his gaze onto the other men, silent but interested parties to the unfolding drama. “Repent whilst there is still time. In abusing me you abuse God. All of you”, he bellowed, “are out of your minds. Not only have you declared war on Rome, you have declared war on your God. The first will surely kill you. The second will deny you His presence for all eternity”.

Menahem stood up laughing putting a hand on the shoulder next to him. “He hasn't lost his touch has he, the old wind bag. Always good with words, but refuses to exercise that silver tongue for his new King. What about his brother then? Perhaps he would like the job he spurns. Maybe we should make him the High Priest of all Israel”. This last drew a few ribald comments. Menahem walked slowly across the room, his eyes fixed on Ananias. “You are too quick, priest, to dismiss my claim to the throne of David and are not in a position to threaten me. When you are dead another will not only crown me, he will proclaim me to the people Defender of the Faith, appointed by God to deliver his chosen people from slavery, while you will be remembered as a collaborator, the betrayer of the chosen people who delivered them to their enemies the Romans”.

“I serve God”, shouted Ananias. “Even now it's not too late to lay down your arms. I will intercede this very day to the commander of the Antonia and plead your case. This act of repentance will restore you to the favour of your God, who forgives the truly repentant sinner”.

Menahem spun on his heel to face the high priest. “The Zealots are scheduled to launch an all-out attack on the Antonia at sun rise, which I guess is just about now. Why don't we take you and your brother up to the roof and find you both a comfortable seat from where you can watch Eleazar lead the attack”.

Ananias dropped to his knees, head bowed, howling with rage, while Hezekiah hurled abuse at the laughing Menahem, who signalled to one of the men and whispered in to his ear. The man nodded and turned to his companion. “Bring them to the roof, then fetch timber and organise a carpenter and his tools”.

The brothers were dragged, angry and protesting, to the roof. The man to whom Menahem had whispered instructions, was a goat herder turned full time rebel. “Hold them fast”, he grunted. In his hands he held a pair of shears used for clipping wool from the backs of his former charges. “The chief ”, he leered, “doesn't want either of you beauties to miss anything - not by so much as a blink of an eye”. He nodded to the men holding Ananias, who flung him to the ground. One of them imprisoned the priest's head between his knees, while with great delicacy the goatherd clipped Ananias' eyelids away.

On seeing what had befallen his helpless brother, Hezekiah had screwed his eyes tight shut, but the goatherd knew his trade. A leather thong was fastened over Hezekiah's head and around his jaws. An assistant then firmly pinched the victim's nose and held it. After a minute or two, his face purple, heels drumming on the ground, the suffocating Hezekiah's eye lids fluttered. The goatherd caught each one in turn on a metal pin. Then, after indicating to the man holding the victim's nose to release him, he cut both eyelids away.

While this was being done the carpenter had arrived with his tools. Other men carried baulks of timber and some poles. “Strip them”. Within seconds both men were naked. Within minutes the carpenter had roughly dressed and pointed two of the poles. These were fixed securely to the roof parapet looking towards the Antonia. The sun had not yet risen, but there was light enough to make out the troops patrolling the walls.