Read The Betrayal Online

Authors: Kathleen O'Neal Gear

The Betrayal (12 page)

A dusty radiance filled the morning air, turning the sky into a shimmering blanket of pure amber.
Zarathan knelt beside the small fire, watching the fish skins turn brown and peel. Watching fish was much easier than watching Kalay cook. The woman had skewered the fish on sticks of driftwood, then stuck them in the sand and leaned them over the small blaze. At his age, the strangest things caused overpowering lust. As she moved about adding twigs to the fire, wisps of her long red hair danced around her tanned face. He occasionally caught glimpses of her breasts as she leaned down to turn the fish so they wouldn't burn. It was agonizing.
Cyrus and Barnabas sat ten paces away, talking quietly. He only caught pieces of what they were saying, but the expression on Cyrus' face was dire.
“What are they talking about?” Kalay asked, jerking her head in Cyrus and Barnabas' direction.
To say her eyes were blue would have been like describing the most magnificent amber as yellow—words could not convey the sparkling unearthly depth and richness.
“Something about the city of Leontopolis.”
“So that's our final destination?”
“I don't know, but Barnabas says he knows a man, an old hermit, who lives in a cave a few days' hard ride north of the city, on the coast.”
“Are we going to the hermit's cave?”
Annoyed, Zarathan replied, “Does it look like I've been included in the planning? I'm guessing, just like you are.”
Kalay propped her hands on her hips and her full lips quirked. “Zarathan, did it ever occur to you the cat comment might have been inspired by that yowling tone of voice you so often affect?”
His cheeks reddened. “You are so infuriating! You prove beyond question that Saint Petros was right. Women are not worthy of life.”
“Did he say that?”
“Yes. In the now forbidden Gospel of Thomas. It's one of my favorite books.”
“I see why.”
She bent down to turn the fish again, and he squeezed his eyes closed until he heard her straighten up. When he opened one eye to peek at her, she glared at him.
His stomach growled, loudly, and knotted up.
Kalay said, “You're not eating this morning, are you?”
“Of course, I'm eating. Why?”
“Well, it's none of my concern, of course, but yesterday afternoon I heard some of the monks say that you and Cyrus had been ordered to fast for three days, because of a broken pot, or some such.”
Zarathan could feel the blood drain from his face. He felt faint. “Surely, Brother Barnabas isn't going to—”
“You can ask him. Here he comes.” She extended a hand.
He swiveled around and saw his brothers walking toward the fire. Cyrus' white robe was filthy and blood-spattered from rolling around the oratory floor. Then their time on the river had added to the patina. It contrasted sharply with the pure white of Barnabas' robe.
Zarathan tried to interpret his brothers' expressions: Both men had a tightness about their eyes, and mouths.
Kalay pulled the four sticks with the roasted fish from the sand and began handing them out. Zarathan eagerly took his and bit into it before anyone could tell him otherwise. Then he winced in horror when Barnabas and Cyrus got on their knees and bowed their heads.
Barnabas softly murmured the Creed established by Hippolytus in the year 215: “Do you believe in God the Father all-governing? Do you believe
in Iesous Christos, the Son of God, who was begotten by the Holy Spirit from the Virgin Miriam? Who was crucified under Pontios Pilatos, and died, and was buried, and rose on the third day living from the dead, and ascended into the heavens, and sat down on the right hand of the Father, and will come to judge the living and the dead? Do you believe in the Holy Spirit, in the holy church, and in the resurrection of the body?”
Cyrus reverently whispered, “I do.”
Around a mouthful of fish, Zarathan slurred, “I do.”
Kalay said, “What a lot of twaddle that was,” and bit into her fish.
While she chewed, the brothers stared at her.
Cyrus rose, walked around the fire, and handed his fish to Zarathan. “You need this more than I do, brother. Please, take it.”
Zarathan took the stick and propped it across his lap. “Thank you, brother.”
Zarathan wondered if Cyrus was still keeping his fast, or if giving away the fish was his “one single act of mercy” for the day. Both, perhaps. In either case, Zarathan's squealing belly was grateful.
Barnabas ate his fish distractedly, his faraway gaze fixed on the flickering fire.
“You don't really believe all that drivel, do you?” Kalay asked between bites.
“Of course, we believe it,” Zarathan snapped. “What a silly question. Do you think we'd say the words if we didn't—”
Almost inaudibly, Barnabas said, “Mostly, yes, except for the part about the resurrection and, of course, he was a
mamzer.

Kalay's eyes flew wide and Cyrus froze as though he'd just been slapped.
The word seemed to tremble in the desert-scented air, inviting swift and terrible divine retribution.
Zarathan swallowed and asked, “What's a
mamzer
?”
Kalay answered, “It's Hebrew for bas—”
Cyrus interrupted, “The Aramaic term, which is similar, refers to an illegitimate child.”
Zarathan's gaze went from one person to the next, trying to fathom what they were talking about. No one seemed to want to tell him. “Who's an illegitimate child?”
Barnabas, who seemed totally oblivious to the shocked faces, took another bite of his fish, and replied, “Our Lord, Iesous.”
Zarathan blurted, “That's blasphemy!”
Cyrus and Kalay sat in stunned silence, their eyes riveted on the old man.
Barnabas chewed his fish and swallowed. Distractedly, he said, “Didn't you ever notice that in the earliest Christian documents, he's never referred to as the ‘son of a virgin'?”
“He isn't?” Zarathan tried to recall.
“No.” Barnabas shook his head. “Outside of the gospels, we have records that tell us Iesous' father was a man named Pantera. Our Lord is often referred to as
Yeshua ben Pantera,
that is, ‘Iesous, son of Pantera,' though there are variations on the man's name. Sometimes it's ‘Panthera,' or ‘Pan-tiri, ' ‘Pandora,' or even ‘Pandera.'”
57
In an awestruck voice, Cyrus said, “Pantera.”
And Zarathan remembered the passage Cyrus had read to him from Papias' book. It had mentioned the “son of Pantera,” and something about ‘a headless demon.' His gaze was involuntarily drawn to the gazelle leather bag that Barnabas kept beside him at all times. He had the uncomfortable feeling that voices whispered inside that bag, just beyond his range of hearing.
Cyrus asked, “Where is this information about Pantera recorded, brother?”
“Oh, in many documents, both Roman and Hebrew. The scandal was well known at the time our Lord walked Palestine. One of the earliest rabbinic references dates to around the year seventy, or forty years after our Lord's death, which is also when the earliest gospel, the Gospel of Markos, was being written—and you will notice that Markos does not mention the name of Iesous' father at all.”
Zarathan narrowed an eye. Surely it had just been a simple omission on Markos' part.
Cyrus leaned closer, his gaze fixed on Barnabas. “What does the rabbinic document say?”
“It's a story about a rabbi, Eliezer, who was arrested and charged as being a Christian because he had listened to an heretical teaching ‘in the name of Yeshua ben Pantera,' which violated the rabbinic ordinance
prohibiting any intercourse with heretics. We have the record because his case was submitted to the Roman governor.”
“What happened to Eliezer? And what was the teaching of our Lord that he had listened to?”
Barnabas peeled off some of the fish skin and ate it. Zarathan couldn't take his gaze from the old monk's wrinkled face. He appeared totally unconcerned, as though he'd known and thought about these facts for most of his life, and therefore found nothing heretical about them. They were just facts.
He's lost his mind! It's the stress … or the lack of food!
Zarathan had to make a conscious effort to close his gaping mouth.
Barnabas continued. “Eliezer was pardoned and released, but the issue for which he was arrested apparently regarded a question about whether one who cuts tattoos on his body during the Sabbath is guilty of violating the law prohibiting work on the holy day. Rabbi Eliezer declared him guilty.”
Zarathan wrinkled his nose. “Our Lord cut tattoos on his body on the holy day?”
“Well, we don't know for certain, but the story of Rabbi Eliezer goes on to say that our Lord ‘brought magic marks from Egypt in the scratches on his body,' so he apparently carried such marks on his flesh.” He lifted a finger to emphasize his point. “And let us not forget that the book of Galatians says Saint Paul bore ‘the marks of Iesous,' probably the same spells our Lord carried.”
Angrily, Zarathan said, “That's the only reference? A Jewish source about cutting marks on the body? This is absurd!”
“No, no, there are others. One dates to around the year 100. It's about Rabbi Elazar ben Dama, who was bitten by a snake. A man named Yakob, from Galilaian, came to cure him in the name of
Yeshua ben Pantera
. Then, a century later, a similar incident occurred in Galilaian where the son of a well-known rabbi was healed by a magician who cured him in the name of
Yeshua ben Pandera.
Those are the only three references I know from rabbinic literature, but there are other sources—”
Cyrus said, “I would appreciate it if we could return to the subject of our Lord's father. Who was he?”
“His father was God!” Zarathan's heart had risen into his throat where it was beating hard enough to half-choke him. He fought to swallow the lump.
Barnabas blinked, took another bite of his fish, and seemed to be shifting his thoughts back to the original topic. As the dawn light changed, his gray hair picked up a tinge of pink. “My best guess is that he was a Sidonian archer named Tiberius Julius Abdes Pantera.”
“He was a
Roman
archer?” Cyrus asked, as though that small detail had bridged the centuries, allowing him to connect with the long-dead Tiberius Pantera, and Zarathan remembered the stories told around the monastery that Cyrus, too, had been a Roman archer.
58
Zarathan tugged at his collar, trying to get more air.
“Yes,” Barnabas replied. “We know from Roman records that he was serving in Palestine at the time of our Lord's birth. He was transferred out of Palestine in the year six, when our Lord would have been twelve.”
“Twelve?” Cyrus whispered. “You mean … the Missing Years? Did our Lord travel with his father to his new post?”
Barnabas tilted his head and his gray beard flashed in the gleam. “To my knowledge, there are no records to either support or reject that notion. But, I suppose it's possible.” In a soft, sympathetic voice, he continued. “It would have been a blessing for Yeshua, given the torment he must have suffered as a child because he was a
mamzer.

This isn't happening.
Cold sweat had broken out on Zarathan's skin. He shifted uncomfortably and noticed that Kalay was watching him with an amused look on her face.
She moved to curl her legs around her hips and propped a hand on the sand. Her thin tan dress conformed to the curves of her body like a second skin. The sensual position barely seeped through Zarathan's general horror.

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