Authors: Kathleen O'Neal Gear

The Betrayal (23 page)

BOOK: The Betrayal

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Yeshua smiles sadly and whispers, “If I asked you the same question, you would not answer me, and no matter what I say, you will not believe me, or let me go.” He extends his hands helplessly. “From now on this Ben Adam will sit at the right hand of the power of God.”

“He refuses to deny it! He makes no attempt to recant!” Hanan cries, and waves his skinny elderly arms.

In a ringing voice, Gamliel says, “Calling himself the âson of Adam' is a clear repudiation of any claims to being the Annointed One! In the holy books the term
Ben Adam,
literally âson of man,' is the common way God addresses ordinary human beings.”
⁸⁸

Hanan, upset, stutters, “He c-claims he is going to sit at the r-right hand of God! What else could he
â”

“I assume he is merely making a reference to Psalms one hundred ten, verse one. He is saying that he will not fight; he will wait at God's side until God makes his enemies his footstool.”

I lift my hand, and Kaiaphas says, “Yes?”

In a loud voice I call out, “Councilors, please! However mistaken this man's teachings may be, he has broken no law and his persistent and unfailing dependence upon God attest to his piety and devotion. Surely we all see that. He has committed no crime â¦ certainly not treason against Rome! When we are forced to send him to Pilatos in the morning, one of us must accompany him to relay the Council's judgments.”

The timbre in the room changes. Many men agree with me. The few who do not, scowl in my direction.

Kaiaphas says, “I assume the Council may call upon you to carry out that duty if it so decides.”

“It can, High Priest.” My legs have started to shake. I sit down.

Yeshua turns and gives me a faint, grateful smile, and I long to weep.

“Then let us next discuss the arguments that have been put forth,” Kaiaphas calls. “Yosef and Gamliel, you are both, of course, correct, but so are Yohanan and Shimon. Yehoshua ben Pantera may be a holy man inspired by God, but if he does not openly proclaim that he is
not
the
mashiah,
Pilatos will assume he claims the title, even if covertly. If at all possible, we must bring ben Pantera to reason. He must recant.” Again, Kaiaphas asks, “Yehoshua ben Pantera, are you one of the âsons of oil,' the promised Annointed One?”

Yeshua lifts his head, gazes around the chamber at each Councilor, then returns his eyes to Kaiaphas and replies, “You say that I am, but I tell you now that you
will
see the Ben Adam coming in the clouds of heaven.”
⁸⁹

“He dares to quote the passage in Daniel about the
mashiah
!” Hanan cries. “There is no longer any possibility of saving him!” As a sign of his utter despair he takes hold of his robe and rips it.

A hush falls over the chamber. Every man stares at Yeshua as though struck mute by his words.

Kaiaphas straightens, peers out at the gathering, and says, “If ben Pantera will not openly deny that he is the
mashiah
â¦ we may all be doomed.”

Shimon stands up. “Please, High Priest. Ben Pantera may be doomed, but we can still save ourselves. If there is a revolt, we must suppress it before the Romans do. How does this Council plan to accomplish that?”

Several men stand at once and begin calling out in loud voices: Shimon wants to organize the general populace to put down the revolt; Hanan says the Temple police will be enough; Yohanan says we should work with the Zealots to make certain it doesn't happen in the first place â¦ .

In the chaos, Gamliel suddenly straightens and his brows draw together over his hooked nose, as though he's just thought of something.

“What is it?” I ask.

The elderly scholar leans toward me and softly says, “I may know how to prevent the violence.”

“How?”

“Speak with me later, outside the Council. If we do this, it must not be seen as a conciliar decision.”

I stare at him. “Do you mean you want me to take the blame if it goes poorly?”

“You have sympathies for his movement. Everyone knows it. If you agree to do this, they
will
arrest you to protect the Council.”

As a hollow sensation begins to expand in my chest, I sit back on the bench, and try to imagine what he could possibly be considering. I know only that it might leave me in prison.

Gamliel gives me one last look, rises, and quietly walks across the chamber. Few people seem to notice when he walks out the door and disappears.

My heart is racing. I long to stay, to see what conclusions the Council arrives at, perhaps to speak with Yeshua, but I rise, shoulder through the throng, and unobtrusively follow Gamliel.

TWENTY ~ SEVEN

As they rode over the last hill, the dark moonlit ocean came into view, and Zarathan heaved a sigh of relief. Seagulls squealed and soared on the cool sea breezes.

“How far now?” he asked.

Barnabas pulled up on the reins and came to a stop. “I'm not certain. None of this looks familiar.”

“But we're about the right distance from Agrippias, aren't we?”

“Yes, but I don't see the pillar of rock and two humps of stone that the man spoke of, do you?”

Zarathan scanned the terrain. The outlines of the hills were clearly visible. Unfortunately, the vista resembled a vast plain of camelbacks dissected by rocky wadis. The line of white surf divided the worlds of land and water. Wave-washed beach gleamed in the evening light, but off to the east, behind the sullen line of cliffs, ridge after rocky ridge, each limned by crescent dunes, marched off into infinity.

“Perhaps we should camp on the beach and look in the morning when it's light,” Barnabas suggested.

“Yes, good idea,” Zarathan agreed. “If nothing else, we can dig clams and eat them raw.”

Cyrus and Kalay rode up beside them. Cyrus had his curly black hair tucked behind his ears, which made his bearded face seem all the more
hard and dangerous. He said, “Camping on the beach in the open makes me uneasy. Let's search for a better place.”

Barnabas nodded. “Very well. You lead, Cyrus.”

Cyrus kicked his horse into a slow walk and Barnabas and Zarathan plodded up the trail behind.

Occasional farmers and fishermen passed them, going home to Agrippias after a long day of labor. Some made the sign against evil in the dusk as they hurried by.

Zarathan didn't know what to make of it. “Why do they do that?”

“They are simple, uneducated people, Zarathan. Perhaps they believe that three monks in filthy robes are apostates.”

“Three monks in filthy robes, traveling with a woman,” he said in a low voice. “That's our problem.”

Barnabas didn't respond, but surely he knew that Kalay's presence didn't help matters. What would a decent woman be doing traveling with three monks in good standing? The more Zarathan thought about it, they did resemble a band of outcasts, even brigands. If he'd had the strength, he would have scowled at her, for all the good it would have done. She'd probably just give him another of her licentious winks, and then he'd be suffering in more than just his belly.

“It's chilly tonight.” Barnabas shivered, and let out a shaky breath.

Zarathan frowned. It was a cool night, but not that cool. For days, they'd been sleeping out beneath the stars in just their thin robes. Had a chill settled in the old man's bones? It wouldn't be surprising. Every time he'd awakened in the past few days, he'd seen Cyrus standing guard and Barnabas kneeling in prayer. The only one who seemed to sleep truly well was Kalay, but then she had her long black cape to comfort her.

“Why did that man at the village call Libni âOld Scary'?” Zarathan asked.

“Very holy people are always scary, Zarathan. The light of God shines from their eyes like fiery pokers. Ordinary people find it unsettling,” Barnabas replied, looking at the empty ocean. The water stretched westward, flowing to the edges of the earth, and the monsters that inhabited the eternal depths.

“I've always thought hermits were an odd lot,” Zarathan said. “I can't imagine living most or all of my life without other people close by. What's Libni like?”

Barnabas turned and, in the blue-gray darkness, Zarathan saw the old monk's gray brows pull down. He stared at the seagulls for a long time, before he whispered, “When I knew him he was a laughing youth, always tripping over his own feet, but very studious and devoted to the words of our Lord. Of course, that was before the murder of his wife.”

“His wife was murdered?”

Zarathan's voice had risen and attracted Cyrus' attention. He slowed his horse to ride alongside them. “Whose wife was murdered?”

“Libni's,” Barnabas said. “It was an ugly crime. He was never the same after that. At least, that's what I heard. I left Caesarea right after it happened.”

Kalay asked, “Did they ever catch the murderer?”

“Oh, yes. We found him. He'd fled to the church and was hiding there.”

They rode past a wave-smoothed boulder and out onto a plain of glimmering seashells that crunched beneath their horses' hooves. Far ahead, a wall of starlit cliffs glowed.

Fascinated, Zarathan said, “What did you do?”

“I and the other library assistants surrounded the church. We whispered our prayers into the stones, begging God to reveal him to us. Then we fashioned talismans with the sign of the dove and the lamb, and carried them before us into the dark nave. He laughed at us, threw things. We captured him in the bell tower. From there, he was dragged to his death.”

“You killed him?” Zarathan blurted, astonished. “You killed a man?”

“No, I didn't,” Barnabas said softly. “Libni did. He dragged him out of the church and beat him to death with his bare hands. Though we tried, there was nothing we could do to stop him.”

Zarathan exchanged a grave look with Cyrus, but before either of them could speak, Kalay commented with her usual aplomb, “He sounds like my sort. I like him already.”

Zarathan looked at her as if she were a half-wit, but the she-demon didn't seem to notice.

A breath of wind blew in off the ocean, whispered across the sand at the level of the horses' hooves, and brought the watery scents of fish and seaweed.

“Brothers, do you see that?” Cyrus asked and pointed. “There. Is that the pillar?”

Zarathan leaned sideways to peer around Barnabas. Standing between two humps of rock, the pillar resembled a finger lifted in warning.

“I've seen that before,” Kalay mused. “Men usually greet me that way.”

Zarathan cringed in shocked humiliation. “You are so vile! They're just rocks!”

She nonchalantly lifted a shoulder. “A rock by any other nameâ”

Barnabas called, “Look! Perhaps those are Libni's caves!”

As they rode closer to the black holes that pocked the surface of the cliffs, Zarathan kept shooting disgruntled glances at Kalay, but she was ignoring him. It was infuriating.

Cyrus said, “There must be hundreds of them. How will we find Libni's?”

“We'll search every one, if necessary.”

“But that could take forever, and we're almost certainly being followed. If we don't find him quickly, shouldn't we just move on?” When Barnabas didn't answer, Zarathan turned to Cyrus. “Brother, surely you see the wisdom of losing ourselves in a city where it's more difficult to track us?”

Cyrus was examining the rimrock and the tumbled boulders that clustered at the base of the cliffs. Without so much as glancing at Zarathan, he said, “We can hide in a cave as easily as a city. If, as Barnabas believes, Libni can help us understand the papyrus, it's worth the risk.”

“Zarathan, our brothers died because of it,” Barnabas said with reverence. “We owe it to them to find out why.”

As they rode closer to the cliff, a tiny thread of light glinted in one of the caves, then vanished as though it had never been.

Cyrus said, “Did youâ”

“I saw it,” Barnabas answered, and kicked the horse into a shambling trot. “Let's find out.”

BOOK: The Betrayal

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