‘This is very Greek in its style,’ Pantera said.
Yusaf gave a wide, open smile that made the most of his long face. He wore a cap to cover his baldness and, because it was of velvet that matched his coat, it did not seem untoward, or pretentious or unworldly.
He said, ‘I find it sets my foreign visitors at ease. And there is, perhaps, less chance of our being overheard as we speak. In Jerusalem, you understand, one is never certain …’
‘Not only Jerusalem,’ Pantera said.
They stood around the pool, three men looking in at the silvery fish, and soon there came a knock at the door in a particular rhythm. The steward opened it to a round-faced man whom Pantera did not recognize.
Menachem arrived before the door shut, but from the
other direction, so that he and the other man met on the threshold. There was a moment’s silent conflict before Menachem took a half-pace back and let the stranger enter ahead of him.
He walked with purpose, this newcomer, but not arrogance. He was older than either Menachem or Yusaf and stockier than both. His mild gaze hid an unmild mind. Pantera caught his eye and was held a moment and let go. He thought he had been recognized.
At a nod from Yusaf, the steward vanished into the interior, from where the scent of cooking fires still permeated. Yusaf himself served the wine and stood on the threshold of the courtyard garden.
‘Gideon ben Hiliel, allow me to introduce Sebastos Pantera, Appius Mergus and Estaph of Parthia, all three in the service of their emperor.’ Not
our
emperor. ‘Gentlemen, for the avoidance of doubt, Gideon leads the Peace Party in Jerusalem; Menachem ben Yehuda ben Yehuda, grandson to the Galilean, who so discomfited Rome, leads its opposite, the War Party.’ Yusaf gave to each leader a small, formal nod of his head. ‘You are both welcome under my roof. Here no man has ascendancy; here, our god is paramount. You have both come knowing that, and prepared to talk. Menachem, your cousin Eleazir is not with you. Did he not receive my message?’
‘He received it. He did not agree with its contents.’ Menachem had found the second of two places in the courtyard where the lamplight did not reach. Pantera was already standing in the first.
To Pantera, as if he were the one who had asked, Menachem said, ‘My cousin Eleazir is a grandson of the Galilean just as I am. He believes war with Rome is inevitable, and that it should begin sooner rather than later. He will not attend any meeting with those who argue for peace.’
Pantera said, ‘If you die, will he become leader of the War Party?’
‘He will. I do not, of course, intend to die, but if I do there
will be war with Rome within days, whether the men are armed and ready or not.’
‘Then they will all die,’ Gideon said, flatly. ‘And bring catastrophe on our heads.’
‘Of course. Which is why we shall be brief. I would not leave Eleazir long alone.’ Menachem lifted his deep-set eyes to his left. ‘If ben Hiliel would speak, I will hear him.’
Gideon ben Hiliel spoke with the gravelled voice of the learned, so that the others fell naturally still, the better to listen.
‘We are here at the behest of Pantera, the emperor’s man.’ He gave a measure to the name that sounded at once honourable and faintly distasteful. ‘He asserts, I believe, new reasons why conflict with Rome is unthinkable at the present moment. Before we go further, I would hear him speak.’
They waited. At Yusaf’s nod, Pantera stepped out of his shadow into the half-moon of lamplight that held the south edge of the garden pool. Water lilies kissed the edge by his feet.
‘You have no weapons,’ he said. ‘You have men, but they have sticks and stones and knives and nothing more. Menachem’s grandfather, the Galilean, began his campaign by assaulting the armoury at Sepphoris, and was able to arm his zealots for a generation, while—’
‘While’, said Gideon, ‘the women and children of Sepphoris were sold into slavery and the men and boys were crucified. Ten thousand died so that the Galilean could wage his war. We forget that at our peril.’ His gaze was on Menachem. The words had the worn feel of an argument chewed over so long that neither side truly hears it.
Menachem gave a small shrug. ‘We know the capacity of Rome for vengeance,’ he said. ‘We do not forget. You know our state.’ He tipped his head towards Pantera. ‘So now we know your spies are good, and you have the wisdom to understand what they tell you. What can you tell us that is new?’
‘A man has come. His name is Saulos and he holds in his hands both the soul of King Agrippa and the courage of Governor Florus. He, too, is a spy. He, too, knows your state: everyone
does from the imperial palace to the far borders of Damascus. The difference is that Saulos wishes the destruction of Jerusalem. He will do whatever he can to achieve it and the best way by far would be to foment a revolt in which untrained men armed only with sticks and stones hurl themselves on trained and armoured legionaries. You might win a battle. You probably would. You could not win a war.’
‘This is true,’ said Gideon. ‘Every Sabbath, I preach this. I teach what the scriptures say, that—’
‘We know it without hearing you preach.’ To Pantera, Menachem said, ‘This spy, is he sent by Nero?’
‘No, although he will pretend that he is.’
‘What will he do to provoke us?’
‘That I don’t know, only that it is his stated intent and that he has already—’ A knock came at the door, a new rhythm; they had thought themselves secret. Menachem spun, his knife out. Pantera leapt the pond; they reached the door together.
Pantera flung it open, stepping back, wide, his knife ready … and then not ready.
On the far side stood Hypatia, simple in a slave’s garb. ‘You said you would be at Yusaf’s house.’ Her startling gaze shifted to Menachem. She held up her hands, palms out. ‘I bring words, not weapons and certainly not guards. May I come in?’
At Menachem’s half-nod, they stepped back, together. Pantera sketched a bow. ‘Gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to Hypatia of Alexandria, Chosen of Isis. She is a guest under his majesty’s roof. She comes, I think, with news of our enemy, Saulos.’
‘I do.’ She was tired, she was dirty, she smelled of rosewater and dust and the smoke of the evening cooking fires, but she was still Hypatia; beautiful, brittle, bright-spun, terrifying in her self-assurance, in the unhidden shine of her intellect. As she stepped fully into the room, it was impossible for any man to look elsewhere.
Wordless, Yusaf brought her a beaker and poured for her. She came to stand under the largest of the lamps and tilted the
beaker a little, until the flickering lights of the candlestick met and merged on the wine’s velvet surface.
Pantera joined her in the light. ‘What is it that Saulos plans?’
‘He has a message he claims came from Nero that orders Florus to seize the temple gold: fifteen talents of wealth which is kept in gold bullion in the temple precinct. They are to ship it to Rome to pay for the rebuilding works after the fire.’
Silence met that, broken, at length, by Mergus, who had remained on guard by the door. ‘No one will believe that Nero would command such a thing.’
‘Of course they will.’ Menachem was caustic. ‘We are two months’ journey from Rome. All anyone here knows of Nero is that he kicked his wife to death and has taken a gelded boy to bed in her place. They’ll believe anything they’re told unless someone with credibility can name it a lie.’
‘In which case,’ said Gideon, ‘there will be riots the like of which Jerusalem has never seen. I can preach calm and restraint against some things, but against a defilement of the Temple …’ He ran out of words. His eyes closed against the horror of it.
Hypatia said, ‘Florus has been told to deal with any insurrection using all necessary force. According to Saulos, the Hebrews are used to crucifixion.’
‘Saulos actually said that?’ Gideon was solid now, a thick-set trunk in the midst of the courtyard. It was easier than it had been to imagine him preaching restraint to the fiery people of Jerusalem. ‘When does he plan this defilement?’
‘Tomorrow.’
They fell silent, each man staring at the others, waiting.
‘It would seem,’ said Yusaf, at last, ‘that the only escape from calamity is for someone to denounce Saulos as the traitor he is. Someone with credible proof that he is lying. Someone, perhaps, who bears the emperor’s ring.’ He was looking at Pantera.
‘Does he?’ asked Menachem. ‘Do you?’
‘Yes,’ said Pantera.
‘No!’ Mergus exploded forward. ‘Saulos knows him. Sebastos, you can’t do this. He’ll have you crucified before you open your mouth.’
‘He can’t do that if I’ve gone to him as the emperor’s emissary,’ Pantera said. ‘It’s not legal to crucify a Roman citizen.’ He turned to Hypatia. ‘Is Yusaf right?’
Hypatia had been watching the pond; now she lifted her head. The dark light in her eyes was deep as the Nile, wide as the night sky. The last time Pantera had seen her like that, she was the Oracle in the Temple of Truth, and barely human.
‘He might be,’ she said. ‘But you risk death if you do as he says.’
Pantera shivered. Everyone saw it. ‘Have you seen this?’
‘I have dreamed it. As has Kleopatra. This is the start of an unknown time. Our dreams have many different endings, but in very few of them are you entirely safe.’
‘Is anyone safe?’
‘Not if you fail, no.’
She was holding something back, he could feel it sliding through the air between them. He caught her arm. ‘Tell me what you know.’
‘There’s nothing else I can say. Nothing is clear, except that there are times when the world turns on a single act and this is one of them. If you succeed, if you expose Saulos as a traitor, and have him arrested, it is possible we might live. If you fail, then those of us with you will die. Everyone in this room and most of those in the city outside will die with us. There are no half-measures.’
‘And Jerusalem?’ Gideon asked, soft-voiced. ‘If we are all dead, where stands Jerusalem?’
Hypatia made a short, hard gesture. ‘Jerusalem will be lost, no two stones left one atop the other. It will cease to exist and Saulos will rebuild it in his own image.’ She turned her gaze on Pantera. ‘When you were in Alexandria, what did the Oracle tell you to do?’
‘You don’t know?’
‘Truly, I don’t. It speaks through me, not to me. But what was said then matters now.’
Pantera closed his eyes, remembering. ‘I was told to find the truth, always.’
‘Then do so. Think. Is it right to do this? If it is, how may it be done safely? On your answer hang all of our lives.’
He did not close his eyes this time; he did not have to. The glassy water of the pond became his window and through it he saw Mergus, bound, surrounded by living fire, and in his ears rang his own voice:
I will not let it happen
.
Out of nowhere, he remembered his father as he had last seen him, pacing the length of a garden, guarding the tomb therein, and the corpse that lay in it. Except there had been no corpse, and he had not guarded against those who came to take away the living man, brought down early from his cross.
His father had lived for honour and dignity and obedience to his superiors and yet he had thrown all of those away that night to help a zealot and a pregnant woman steal the Galilean to safety. The Galilean, who was known in Jerusalem as Yehuda, and was loved for all he had done. Yehuda, who was grandfather to Menachem, and father to Hannah. Yehuda, whom, against all reason, Saulos had named the Messiah.
Nothing simple. Nothing ever as it seemed. From deep in the fish-stirred pool, his father said,
Some things matter more than the smallness of our lives
.
‘What must I do?’ Pantera asked.
What can you do?
his father said, and was not his father alone, but a young god, beautiful in his youth and vigour, with a Phrygian cap and a great bull’s blood on his hands, who demanded truth from those who chose to follow him.
Pantera opened his eyes. Hypatia stood between him and the pool with her hands on top of his and her gaze level.
She said, ‘What?’
He took a steadying breath. ‘At dawn, I will meet the High Priest on the temple steps in front of all the people of Jerusalem.
I will dress as befits my station and I will show him the royal ring that I bear. With him as my witness, I will tell the city of Jerusalem what Saulos plans to do, how he plans war with Rome, which will destroy them. Governor Florus will come; he will have to if the multitudes are there. When he hears the truth, he will side with us and Saulos will fall. This is not certain, but it is possible. I have to try.’
SAULOS’ VISITOR CAME
so deep in the night that the stars barely gave him light to find his way.
Iksahra was asleep in the stables when she heard a shoulder brush along the oak fence that separated the beast garden from the city. She was there to care for a sick horse, or so she had told Polyphemos. In truth, she was tired of the old air in Herod’s palace and of the scurry of nervous slaves that filled it night and day. Sleep came more easily among the beasts, who welcomed her presence and didn’t make signs behind their backs to ward off evil every time she passed them by.
And so she slept in the straw, lightly, as a hunter sleeps, with the cheetah at her side, and when she heard footsteps outside the big cat rose with her and together they tracked the maybe-intruder by sound as he scuffed along the dust on the far side of the fence towards the palace.
She couldn’t unlock the gate without being seen and the fence was too high to climb, but the gods smiled and the interloper stopped at the end of the fence where flamelight from the palace torches spilled bright across the ground, sending a solitary shadow sliding under the fence.
The stranger had picked his time well; by Iksahra’s estimate,
he had a quarter-hour to do what he needed before the guards who made their circuits of the palace were likely to return. She watched his shadow shift and shift and then stop beneath Saulos’ chamber.
It took a cool mind and a careful arm to throw a pebble up four storeys and hit the shutters that covered Saulos’ window. Iksahra was impressed by the stranger’s accuracy. Time after time after time – five in all – he threw his pebbles and hit the centre of his target.