Authors: Kathleen O'Neal Gear
The Betrayal (5 page)
The Roman stalked from the library with a pale and devastated Abba Pachomius trailing a few steps behind. “Pappas Meridias, please wait.”
“You have another monastery just upriver, Abba. When I have finished here, I'll meet you there. Then we'll discuss the situation in greater detail.” Meridias had his chin up and wore an arrogant expression.
“Yes, Pappas Meridias,” Pachomius obediently agreed. “I'll be waiting. There is much we need to clarify before we ask our monks to ⦔
They rounded a corner and their voices dropped too low to hear.
“So, he's a bishop,” Cyrus said.
Pappas,
Greek for “father,” referred to bishops.
Greek for “father,” referred to bishops.
Cyrus quietly said, “Come on. We're supposed to be in the crypt translating a book.”
Cyrus turned right and headed down the corridor. Light streamed
through the high windows and illuminated the magnificent vault above them.
through the high windows and illuminated the magnificent vault above them.
Zarathan whispered, “Translating a book we've been ordered to burn. If anyone finds out, we'll be executed.”
He studied Cyrus from the corner of his eye. Jairus Claudius Atinius? Why would a bishop from Rome call him by name? If the man had not known Cyrus personally, then someone must have described Cyrus in great detail for the Roman to have recognized him ⦠if indeed he really had recognized him.
Just before they exited into the sunlit garden where palms swayed in the late afternoon breeze, Cyrus stopped and turned. “Zarathan, I suppose it is impossible for you to forget the Roman name you just heard.”
With hurt pride, he straightened and answered, “I can keep a secret.”
The lines at the corners of Cyrus' eyes deepened. He gave Zarathan a short, relieved nod. “I would take that as a great favor, brother.”
Mahanayim
Â
Â
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NISAN THE 15TH, THE YEAR 3771
Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the earthy scent of the coming storm was heavy on the breeze that swept the dark mountain. Already rain had begun to spot the wool of Yosef's cloak, and catch like jewels in the golden threads that stitched the fabric.
As they guided their horses up the steep trail toward the pass, starlight glimmered from the leaves of the olive trees and cast uncertain shadows across the rocky slopes.
Yosef studied the darkness, and found himself listening intently for the sound of soldiers, for reins clinking, or a sword being drawn from a scabbard, perhaps spears cutting the air. It would not be long before their crime was discovered, and centurions were sent to hunt them down. He did not know how much time they had. To his servant, riding ahead of him, he called, “You are a Samaritan, Titus. When will we reach the mountaintop?”
Titus, twenty-five years old, with gray eyes and curly brown hair, had the stony expression of a brave man awaiting his own execution. He replied, “We should reach the tor by the fifth or sixth hour of night, Master.”
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“Good. I will be glad when our task is finished. You know the place we are seeking?”
“Yes, Master. I grew up here. I know it well.”
Yosef hesitated a moment, then more softly asked, “And, as well, you remember what we must do if we fail here?”
“I do, Master, though I pray that is not required of us.”
“As I do, Titus.”
The third man among them had a face like a scavenger bird's, narrow and beaked, with alert brown eyes. He wore a long white robe. His name was Mattias, though he'd asked Yosef never to say it aloud in publicâa precaution in case they were caught. He walked two paces behind, leading the packhorse. The poor animal struggled up the trail with its head down, as though the linen-wrapped burden strapped over its back was almost too heavy to bear.
“Do you think they are already after us?” Titus asked.
Yosef reined his horse around a rock before responding, “Probably not. The Law forbids our people from leaving their houses for another two days. That's when they'll know and notify the praefectus. I pray Petronius makes a good excuse.”
Petronius, a centurion of some reputation, would still have a hard time explaining his failure.
In the rear, young Mattias said, “He will tell them he fell asleep.”
A tremor shook Yosef. The past few days had been terrifying. The whispers and secrecy had drained his strength. He drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “I hope not. No one will believe him. They'll kill him for it.”
“No, they won't,” Mattias responded. “The two who stood guard with him will support his story. Our bribes were enough to buy them each a kingdom of their own.”
Titus cast an unkind glance at the youth, and said, “I thought the Dawn Bathers had forsaken worldly wealth. Where would you get such a ransom?”
The Dawn Bathers, so called because of their custom of taking a ritual bath each morning, were also known as the Essenes. The name of the sect came from a lost sacred artifact, the oracle, or
essen,
a breastplate worn by ancient high priests. Twelve stones, each inscribed with the name of a tribe, in four rows, gleamed on the
essen,
and the Lord God had always signaled
victory in battle by sending his power flowing into the stones and causing them to shine brilliantly enough to light the soldiers' way. According to lore, the
essen
had ceased to shine two centuries ago. After God had abandoned the sacred artifact, it had disappeared, or perhaps been cast aside in the desert by frustrated men.
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Yosef had heard rumors that the Dawn Bathers kept it hidden deep in a cave near Qumran, where it was guarded by giant fanged beasts with wings.
essen,
a breastplate worn by ancient high priests. Twelve stones, each inscribed with the name of a tribe, in four rows, gleamed on the
essen,
and the Lord God had always signaled
victory in battle by sending his power flowing into the stones and causing them to shine brilliantly enough to light the soldiers' way. According to lore, the
essen
had ceased to shine two centuries ago. After God had abandoned the sacred artifact, it had disappeared, or perhaps been cast aside in the desert by frustrated men.
18
Yosef had heard rumors that the Dawn Bathers kept it hidden deep in a cave near Qumran, where it was guarded by giant fanged beasts with wings.
Mattias said, “We have ways of acquiring necessary funds.”
Titus waved a disparaging hand. “Forgive my impudence, Master, but I don't know why you listen to these people. They are sinners of the worst sort. I wouldn't let them tie my sandals, let aloneâ”
“Silence!” The surly tone of Titus' voice had obviously rankled Mattias. “Do not forget that I was there when Yeshua first began studying with Yohanan Baptistes at Qumran. I was there at his arrest! I was his last chosen apostle! My brothers will meet Maryam at the tomb in the morning, give her the sacred artifact, and tell her we have executed her plan. My community has taken great risks, and thereby earned certain rightsâthe least of which is your courtesy.”
Titus' stiff neck eased and he looked away.
Taking it for contrition, Mattias continued in a milder voice. “There are many people who share our beliefs, but who are not members of our community. A few are wealthyâthough I fear we may have asked too much this time. I think some of them emptied their homes to fill this last request. If any of their servants speak of it, word may get around ⦠and then we will all be lost.”
Titus glanced at Yosef as though waiting for a response.
Yosef finally said, “You, too, have earned certain rights, Titus. Especially the right to be impudent. Go ahead and say what you wished to.”
Titus had been Yosef's faithful servant for more than ten years. It had been Titus and Maryam who had performed the most difficult tasks. They had accepted the ceremonial uncleanness associated with touching the dead, and done it without complaint, so that Yosef might cleanse himself of the impurity before the holy days and thereby salvage his political and religious careers. Little did they know that Yosef had already surrendered both. This night he would flee Palestine forever, before the Romans could accuse him of the role he'd played.
Everything that he had ever wanted or loved was here. For days and nights his head had been drumming with the agony of loss, ready to split. Now all he felt was a gut-wrenching loneliness.
Titus shoved brown curls away from his eyes and said, “The man was a criminal, Master. You should not have allowed the Dawn Bathers to talk you into this insanity. The body should have been released to his relatives, as is customary.”
“His relatives.” Mattias spat in disgust.
Titus shifted on his horse to glare back at the man.
Yosef patiently explained, “His relatives did not want the body, Titus. They thought him mad. They cast him aside many years ago. There was no one else. If I had not pleaded for the right to give him an honorable burial, his body would have been left out for days to be devoured by jackals and vultures. I could not have borne it.”
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“Nevertheless, I do not understand why you place yourself in such peril. If they discoverâ”
“These are the Last Times, the last hours,” the young man in white interrupted. “The Kingdom of God is almost upon us. We must all accept the utmost peril.”
Titus acted as though he had not heard. He continued. “Master, this is exactly what the Romans feared. If they discover what you've doneâ”
“They will discover it, Titus. You may be sure of that,” Yosef said in a tired voice. “And as to why ⦠I believed him.”
For several moments, Titus remained silent, riding along with his brow furrowed. Then he murmured, “I did not suspect that.”
Yosef smiled sadly. He had surprised even himself in that regard. Over the past year, his longing for the Kingdom had become a physical ache, a torment that no worldly comfort could ease. “You mean because I am a member of the supreme Council of Seventy-one?
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I think even the great teacher, Naqdimon, believed, though he never said so.”
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I think even the great teacher, Naqdimon, believed, though he never said so.”
With each breath of wind, the fragrances of myrrh and aloe rose from the Pearl, wrapped in a linen shroud and bound to the packhorse. The perfumes were so powerful, they seemed to surround and penetrate him like the Holy Spirit herself. Naqdimon had provided the lavish spicesâsurely the act of a believer, if not a discipleâand then Maryam alone had carefully, secretly, bound the Pearl in its linen disguise.
As they climbed higher, Mount Ebal, to the north, seemed to rise with them. Yosef looked down into the valley that lay between mounts Ebal and Gerizim. Oil lamps glittered in many homes, making the valley resemble a gigantic overturned jewel box. A few lamps even glowed amid the tumbled stones of the ancient ruined city of Shekem.
They rounded a bend in the trail and the olive trees vanished, giving way to a forest of tall pines, where the air grew cool and crisp.
Yosef drew his fringed cloak more tightly about his shoulders. In the star gleam, the golden threads woven into the fine linen fabric, dyed with costly indigo, shimmered. The cloak was a symbol of wealth and status, a sign of the high position he'd held in the council. Tonight, when all was said and done, he would give it to one more deserving, along with anything else that might identify him. He looked down at his empty first finger, where that morning there had been a large golden ring bearing the pomegranate design of his family. It had belonged to his great-grandfather. All his life, Yosef had used that ring to make an imprint on wax that acted as a legal seal for letters and documents. He had cherished it. Now, it encircled the finger of a dead man. A small gift, no bigger than a mustard seed in the grand scheme of things, but it had been the best he could offer.
He rubbed his aching eyes and lifted his gaze to the craggy tor of Mount Gerizim. As the night deepened, it appeared to be a huge black tooth embedded in the deep blue belly of the sky. Clouds clung to the western slope, trailing streamers of rain. Before the third hour of night they'd be in the middle of the downpour.
“Do you believe it, Titus?” he asked softly. “Do you believe what Maryam said about this mountain?”
Titus' gaze drifted over the rain clouds, assessing the storm, and finally came to rest on the crag. “This mountain has always been known among my people as the
tabbur ha'ares,
âcenter of the land,' the one place where heaven meets earth. Moshe is said to have buried the Ark of the Covenant there on the highest peak.” He pointed.
tabbur ha'ares,
âcenter of the land,' the one place where heaven meets earth. Moshe is said to have buried the Ark of the Covenant there on the highest peak.” He pointed.
“I caution silence,” Mattias, who led the packhorse, hissed. “It is dangerous to even speak of these things. What if Praefectus Pontios Pilatos
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were to hear of this? He would send his troops to ravage the mountain to find and destroy the tabernacle, then he would kill anyone caught worshipping there!”
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were to hear of this? He would send his troops to ravage the mountain to find and destroy the tabernacle, then he would kill anyone caught worshipping there!”
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Titus clenched his jaw, clearly on the verge of an unpleasant tirade. He had, after all, merely been answering Yosef's question.
“Dangerous or not,” Yosef said, “Maryam believes the Samaritan tradition. So I, too, believe it.”
The image of her tear-filled eyes and beautiful face surrounded by its halo of black hair reared in his mind.
“Yosef, please, I beg you. The savior himself must be saved ⦔
“Yosef, please, I beg you. The savior himself must be saved ⦔
Not an easy task for Yosef or anyone else. Nothing in the holy books had ever prepared them for a messiah who could suffer such a fate. The way he'd died had been scandalous, a sign of extreme shame, proving to the world that he was not the Annointed One, that, in fact, he had been cursed by God.
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A curious pain began around Yosef's heart, like a stab wound that would not stop bleeding. He bent forward and stroked his horse's mane. The horse, Lightning, tossed his head as though upset by Yosef's trembling hand.
Yosef patted the horse and whispered, “It's all right, Lightning. We are well. Do not be afraid,” and he wondered if perhaps he was not speaking as much to himself.
Titus gestured to the boulders that lined the trail ahead. “When we round that outcrop, we must leave the trail and head into the trees. There is a hidden game trail through the pines; it is more difficult, but ultimately faster.”
“Very well,” Yosef agreed.
Passing the rocks, they turned into the trees, and rode along the dark, twisting trail for another two hours, until the falling rain turned the world into black sackcloth. The horses began to slip in the mud, which forced them to slow their pace. Though Yosef had long ago drawn his cloak over his head, it did little to protect him from the deluge. Water sheeted from his face, making it difficult to see, except when flashes of lightning penetrated the gloom.
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