The Betrayal

  At the top of the stairs, they stepped out onto the paved Temple grounds and Barnabas took a few moments to catch his breath.

  The sound of Cyrus’ footsteps coming up behind him had a feline quality, soft and deliberate, as though stalking an unsuspecting bird.

  “Where do we go from here?” Cyrus murmured.

  Barnabas turned. “The Western Wall. It has a good view. Follow me.”

  FORTY ~ FOUR

  Loukas crouched in a shadowed alleyway, gazing up at the Temple Mount and the three people high above who clustered at the edge of the massive retaining wall. In the moonlight, they appeared as black silhouettes. What perfect targets they made for a good archer. It surprised him that Atinius would make such a careless error.

  “What are they doing?” Elicius asked from two paces away, where he and Alexander—their gray heads shimmering in the silver light—held the reins of their horses.

  Loukas answered, “Just standing there.”

  “They seem to be looking out at the city,” Alexander said. “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “The Temple Mount makes a perfect trap. Perhaps we should go up after them?”

  Loukas slowly shook his head. He couldn’t afford any extravagant motions. Despite their shadowed location, he wasn’t certain that they were totally concealed from Atinius’ view. “No.”

  “Why not?” Elicius challenged. “It would be easy to corner them up there.”

  Alexander added. “We could force them to tell us what they know.”

  It amazed him that Pappas Athanasios had relied upon and trusted men like Elicius and Alexander. Did Loukas truly have to explain that it was wiser and less time-consuming to let the prey lead them to the “monstrous thing”? Perhaps in their youth these old men had been great soldiers of the Faith, but if so, age had simply dulled their wits.

  Or did Pappas Athanasios foist them off on me with the expectation that they’d fail? Perhaps he wants them dead as much as I do.

  Loukas said, “Stop asking me ridiculous questions. I don’t have the time to keep answering them.”

  Elicius’ eyes narrowed in anger. The old man was accustomed to giving orders, not receiving them. Having to obey Loukas clearly irked him.

  “Do you have a plan? I don’t think that’s a ridiculous question.”

  Softly, Loukas replied, “We wait for them to move, then we follow from a respectable distance. That’s the plan. Do you understand?”

  “Of course I understand.”

  “And you, Alexander? Do you understand?”

  The old man gave him a hateful glare. But nodded.

  FORTY ~ FIVE

  Cyrus’ sword belt jangled as he walked forward, calling, “Brother Barnabas, it’s not a good idea to stand at the wall. You’re clearly visible from below. If someone wishes—”

  “I won’t be long, Cyrus. Please give me just a few more moments.”

  Cyrus stood behind his three friends, watching as they gathered around the papyrus that Barnabas had spread out on the stone wall.

  He clenched his jaw, worried.

  Cyrus knew—as perhaps none of them did—that they had almost certainly been followed. The man who’d fled the fight at Libni’s cave would have reported to his superiors. There weren’t that many roads to watch, and three priests and a striking red-haired woman on two horses would be easily spotted. That no one had tried to ambush them on the road meant Meridias and his agents knew where they were headed. Perhaps they had decided it was smarter to allow Barnabas to find the Pearl and simply take it.

  Not only that, Cyrus could feel eyes upon them, watching them.

  He looked back at Barnabas. From up here, they had a clear view of the city that sprawled over the hills in every direction, and Barnabas seemed to be comparing the papyrus to Jerusalem.

  Cyrus once again scanned the Temple Mount with its massive toppled stones, then his eyes drifted to the street far below that ran due east-west. So bright was the moonlight that he could trace the patterns in the flagstones, see the rosette designs that decorated the doors of houses, and discern even the shadows of fallen palm fronds. There were many people outside, some sitting in their gardens, others walking the streets. In the distance, Upper Market Street gleamed brilliantly silver in contrast to the gaping black hole of the excavation.

  The Temple to Aphrodite was half torn down, its foundations about to be devoured by the pit. He wondered what they were looking for. The site of the crucifixion? Perhaps the tomb of Iesous?

  Kalay said something soft to Barnabas that he couldn’t hear, and tapped the map. Though she’d braided her long red hair, the wind had pried several tendrils loose and draped them in damp ringlets across her forehead and cheeks. She looked achingly beautiful.

  Perhaps, when this was all over—No. Not even then.

  He’d made his choice years ago. He’d given his sacred vows, promised his soul to his Lord. But as he watched her, he felt a desperate longing growing inside him. No matter what he tried to tell himself, his attraction for this woman was turning to love. And he seemed incapable of stopping the metamorphosis.

  When she glanced up and noticed his gaze, she gave him a small smile, and a discouraging shake of the head, as though she’d understood his heart at once.

  He spread his feet and forced himself to watch the city.

  Finally Barnabas called, “Cyrus, could you come and examine this?”

  He walked forward and looked at the papyrus held down by Barnabas’ dirty fingers. “What am I looking for?”

  “Anything. Libni thinks the cross symbol at the bottom of the papyrus may designate roads. Do you see any resemblance between the symbol and the roads visible in front of us?”

  Cyrus bent to examine the symbol. Despite the moonlight, it wasn’t easy to see. The smoky scent of Barnabas’ clothing mingled with the unmistakable odors of unwashed bodies and horse sweat. Oddly, he found them comforting, for it reminded him of long-ago military camps, of battles won and the smiles of long-lost friends.

  Cyrus gazed northward. “The V at the top of the symbol is similar to the branching of Upper and Lower Market streets at the Damascus Gate. After that … there are too many hills and houses to be able to see the streets … even from up here.”

  “Yes, but Lower Market Street,” Kalay said with her finger hovering over the long right arm of the symbol, “really does look like it matches this part of the symbol.”

  “And the far north-south line, though we can’t trace it out fully, seems to match Upper Market Street,” Barnabas said.

  “Well”—Cyrus made an airy gesture with his hand—“then I think the street below us, that runs east-west, may match the crossbar of the symbol.”

  Zarathan’s stomach growled loudly. Irritably, he said, “Oh, this is ludicrous. Watch, I can play the game, too. Do you see the small crosses on the map? I’m sure they match those crude stone walls you can see over there, and over there, and over there. And if the long right arm on the papyrus is Lower Market Street, it runs right down into that valley to the south. So who wants to go with me and see if we find buried treasure?” He made a deep-throated sound of disgust. “This is all just useless. You can make anything out of the crosses. We should leave and go beg for—”

  Barnabas’ sharp gasp silenced everyone.

  With trembling hands, he lifted the papyrus and his fingertip touched the small crosses on the papyrus one by one before pointing in turn toward the stone walls Zarathan had indicated. After several moments, a tiny, pitiful cry escaped his throat. “Blessed God …”

  “What is it?” Cyrus asked. “What do you see?”

  Tears streamed down Barnabas’ face as he stared unblinking at Jerusalem.

  “Brother!” Zarathan said. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just being frivolous.”

  Kalay pulled the map from Barnabas’ hands and repeated his actions, glancing down at the small crosses, then up to the distant stone walls. It seemed an eternity bef
ore she said, “When I came here as a child, I remember those stone walls enclosed Roman camps.” She extended her arm to point out each one. “To the south was the Temple Mount camp. To the southwest, the Mount Zion camp, and due west was the Palace camp. Why would someone hundreds of years ago have used crosses to mark Roman camps?”

  Though absolutely silent, Barnabas was sobbing uncontrollably.

  Cyrus took the papyrus from Kalay’s hand. He, too, had made a pilgrimage here when those stone walls had been filled with Roman soldiers. He remembered the colorful flags flying over the gates and the—

  It hit him like a blunt beam in the stomach. Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe.

  He straightened. As full understanding dawned, it seemed to hollow out his insides, leaving behind a black, empty husk that throbbed.

  “Do you see it?” Barnabas wept the words, and turned to look up at Cyrus with tear-drenched cheeks.

  “Oh, yes,” he whispered. “They’re not crosses.”

  Surprised, Zarathan frowned. “They’re not? Then what are they?”

  Cyrus’ gaze fixed on the road that led south into the night-silvered Kidron valley, and quietly answered, “Roman numerals. Tens. For the Tenth Legion. We’re standing in the middle of the map.”

  FORTY ~ SIX

  NISAN THE 18TH, MIDNIGHT

  I expected to see a city in the grips of rioting with half the buildings on fire, or perhaps the aftermath of forced suppression with precious belongings strewn, dead bodies lining the streets, and Roman legions crawling all over.

  But an eerie quiet possesses Yerushalaim.

  The city looks iron gray in the cold grip of night. We trot our horses through the endless wheat and barley fields that encircle the north side of the city and head east toward Bet Ani.

  “It’s too quiet,” Titus whispers from where he rides to my right.

  “I know.”

  “Perhaps the praefectus ordered a curfew.”

  “Perhaps, but if so, where are the soldiers to enforce it? I count barely a handful of men standing guard in front of the gate east of the Temple Mount.”

  Titus swivels on his horse to look and frowns. “Where are the other soldiers?”

  “Somewhere else.”

  “Master … listen. There are no babies crying, no dogs barking. Not even any drunken laughter. It’s as though …”

  He doesn’t finish, and I don’t have the courage to do it for him.

  It’s as though the world has died.

  We ride on into the queer leaden light that swaths the fields and the trees that grow on the west side of the Mount of Olives. Was it so long ago that I found Yeshua at the foot of the Mount after he had thrown the merchants from the Temple porches?

  Wrenching sadness knots my belly. I inhale the faint green fragrance of recently sprouted wheat. I desperately wish I could go back … .

  “What if Maryam isn’t there, Master?”

  “Her family will know where she is.”

  “She was the Rab’s constant companion. She may have been arrested.”

  “If she was arrested by the Council, they just questioned her and let her go. If she was questioned by the praefectus’ skilled interrogators, she told them everything … and you and I are both as good as dead.”

  Titus shifts on his horse and looks straight ahead again, paying attention to the road.

  “Titus, if we don’t find her tonight, I promise we’ll ride on. We’ll get as far away from here as we can.”

  We turn down the street where Maryam’s family has lived for generations. Our horses’ hooves slip and skid on the cobblestones as we make our way down the row of flat-topped houses and alongside the beautiful gardens filled with fig and date trees. No lamps burn in any of the houses. It is a strange, unearthly sight.

  “Stay here,” I order and give my reins to Titus to hold. “Be ready to run.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  I sprint up the steps to her father’s door and knock, lightly at first, then, when no one comes, harder.

  Voices hiss inside, asking questions. A single lamp is lit. Through the windows, I see its wavering light moving.

  A man opens the door a slit and peers out. When recognition dawns, he flings the door wide open. “Yosef Haramati!” Lazaros, Maryam’s brother, cries. “Come in. Quickly!”

  I step inside and he closes the door.

  “They’re looking for you. Do you know that? Everyone is looking for you. The Council, the praefectus, the multitudes—”

  “Yes, yes, I know,” I say. “Forgive me for endangering your family by coming here, but I must speak with Maryam. Is she here?”

  The scent of fresh-baked bread fills the house. It is a large, lovely place, with gorgeous rugs on the floors and many scrolls on shelves. It is too dark to see much else. The small lamp flame is barely enough to allow me to clearly see Lazaros’ round face. He is tall and thin, with brown hair and a beard. His dark eyes are wide, as though he’s just suffered a fright.

  “No, she’s not here, she …” Lazaros stops as though stunned. “You haven’t heard?”

  “Heard what?”

  He stares at me dumbly for several heartbeats. “The Rab … he’s risen.”

  “Risen?”

  Excitedly, he says, “Yes! This morning Maryam and the other women went to the tomb and found it empty! The Rab was gone. It’s a miracle!” Tears blur his eyes. His voice grows soft and reverent. “Just as the prophecies foretold, elder! He rose and ascended to sit at the right hand of God.”

  I stammer, “L-Lazaros, what happened this morning when people could first leave their homes? Did the Zealots—”

  “Oh, elder, it was terrifying. The Zealots had gathered five thousand strong to remove the body of Gestas from the cross. He’d died some time over the holy days, no one knows when. The Zealots were angry, stamping around whipping up hatred, accusing Rome of murdering three sons of Yisrael—”

  “What of Pilatos? What did he do?”

  “He dispatched three Roman legions to surround the Zealots. I heard that they had orders to slaughter everyone—man, woman, and child—at the slightest provocation. You could feel the fear in the air. But …” He paused and turned glowing eyes on Yosef.

  “But?”

  “Before dawn, right after she’d visited the tomb, Maryam ordered the women to run in different directions proclaiming the startling news. She herself went to the disciples. Kepha … Kepha told her he didn’t believe her.116 But she didn’t stop, she ran to the Zealots. In less than three hours, Maryam and the other women had told everyone that the Rab had risen. I swear the story spread like wildfire.”

  “And the Zealots?”

  “It was like a flood, a human flood. Thousands of the Zealots ran to your home to see the tomb. Every person wanted to touch the cast-off burial cloths. I think the entire city of Yerushalaim is empty tonight because people are still camped all over the hills around your house, waiting their turns.”

  I am thinking only, Gamliel … thank you, God, for Gamliel.

  “One other thing, elder,” Lazaros says.

  “Yes?”

  “There was a man dressed in white in the tomb. He told Maryam that the Rab had given him a message to deliver. He said that the Rab would meet his disciples and Kepha in the Galil.”

  “His disciples and Kepha? Meaning Kepha is no longer one of his disciples?”

  Lazaros shrugs uncertainly. “I don’t know, the man didn’t—”

  “Do you have any idea where Maryam might be? I must speak with her.”

  Lazaros gestures lamely. “Elder, we haven’t seen Maryam since before the crucifixions. She sent Yoanna to tell us about the miracle. But I did hear a rumor that someone had seen her in the Kidron valley just after sunset. I don’t know why she would be down there when she could come home, but—”

  “Thank you,” I say and bow. My heart has begun to thunder. “I’ll be on my way now. The less time I spend here, the safer you and your family will be.” I turn a
nd swiftly walk for the door.

  Lazaros rushes ahead to pull it open for me. “Elder, please be careful. If the crowds recognize you, the soldiers—”

  “Yes, I know. I will.”

  Without a good-bye, I step out the door and run for my horse. Titus, probably fearing we’ve been discovered, kicks our horses around and holds my reins out for me to grab.

  I take them, mount my horse, and we ride away down the street at a gallop.

  “What’s wrong?” Titus asks. “Was Maryam there?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “But I think I know where she is.”

  FORTY ~ SEVEN

  The wind picked up the instant they stepped outside the Dung Gate. Zarathan grimaced as another gust whipped his long robe into snapping folds and hurled a trough full of gravel at his eyes. He squinted in defense.

  Three paces ahead of him, Cyrus and Barnabas led the horses down the steep trail, apparently unaffected by the gale. He didn’t know where Kalay was, probably out in front of the horses or he’d be able to see her.

  He started walking again.

  In the moonlight, the slope seemed to be littered with massive misshapen beasts, though when he walked up to them they turned out to be limestone outcrops. He sidestepped another one, and plodded onward with his head down.

  For over two hours, they’d been examining one squat, ugly tomb after another, and found nothing interesting.

  The horses stopped ahead of him, and Cyrus said, “This path is too steep to take our horses down. We’ll have to go the rest of the way on foot.”

  Barnabas stared at the deep, moonlit gorge, then turned to look back at the Dung Gate, tracing out a straight line like the one shown on the papyrus. “Yes, you’re right. We don’t have the luxury of going around or we may lose our bearings. Let’s find a rock or bush to tie our horses to.”

  Zarathan walked forward and gazed down into the gorge. In the bottom, a narrow, winding path led south into the Kidron valley.

  As Cyrus and Barnabas hunted for a good place to tie the horses, Zarathan stood in the background with his arms folded, moping.