The Last Sacrifice (27 page)

Quintus and Malka had reached a crowd of people already at the temple gate.

The eerie silence that had fallen on the Temple after the five blasts of the trumpet had long since been replaced by the noise of thousands of men and women and children pushing forward to escape.

Yet the crowd did not move.

Quintus could not see over the people in front of them. Malka kept reassuring herself that she had a grip on his arm by leaning over and calling his name.

“We can’t move,” he said.

A woman in front of them turned. “The gate is closed. After the men left, someone closed the gate.”

“All of the gates!” another said. “I’ve heard all of the gates are closed.”

Pressure began to build behind them as more people crowded forward.

Quintus shoved angrily back. “We can’t go anywhere,” he shouted. “Stop pushing.”

A scream came from the front of the crowd, and a sense of panic moved like a wave among the people.

Quintus kept pushing back at the people behind him. “Leave us alone!”

“Someone is pushing us,” a voice answered, desperate.

More screams from near the gates. Then came a voice, clear, ringing above the tumult.

“People! People!”

It frustrated Quintus that he was so trapped. He could not see any farther than the backs and chests of the crowd squeezing him and Malka. He could not identify the voice, but it must have belonged to some kind of authority, because the crowd immediately became silent and expectant.

“People! You’ve seen the men leave the Temple, armed with sicae. Remember this day! Today is the day we throw off the chains of oppression!”

“Who is it?” Quintus asked Malka.

“Shhh,” came a voice from beside him. “It’s one of the temple priests.”

“We have shut the gates to protect you from the battle that is about to take place in the city!” the voice said with confidence. “No one will be allowed to enter or leave until the Zealots have defeated the soldiers.”

“How long?” someone from the crowd shouted.

“Find a place to rest and wait,” the temple priest replied. “You will be supplied with food and water.”

“How long?” Angry mutters joined in.

“How long?” The priest’s voice had lost no confidence. “By nightfall, we will be free!”

The pressure behind Quintus and Malka began to ease, and excited chatter swept through the crowd:

“The Sicarii smuggled in knives with the wood.”

“They’ll never defeat the soldiers.”

“Did you see how many thousands of men went out to fight?”

“Nightfall. What happens if the battle is lost?”

One woman’s sharp question to another haunted Quintus the most. “They’ve shut the gates to protect us. But what if the Zealots are defeated? Then we are trapped in here like sheep for sacrifice.”

The Third Hour

A dozen members of the royal troops guarded the city gate at the base of the Tower of Hippicus. Their duty was to check the loads of camels and the contents of carts for weapons. The bottleneck resulted in the usual mayhem of a crowd of irritated men standing impatiently in the hot sun, while travelers on foot without merchandise moved past them into the city.

Maglorius had fashioned a makeshift awning from a blanket to shade Amaris as they waited for the arrival of Valeria and Quintus. He stood to the side, alert for anything unusual that would suggest danger, unperturbed by the grunts of camels, the braying of donkeys, and the curses of stock drivers.

Nearby were Falco and Joseph Ben-Matthias, and behind them, standing guard over donkeys loaded with provisions, were Jachin and the thugs Jachin had hired for the journey.

Falco had been complaining constantly at the delay, and again and again Joseph had assured him the boy and girl would arrive.

Then a young man came running through the gates from the city. He scanned the crowd and, at the sight of Joseph, changed direction and dashed toward him.

Although Maglorius doubted the boy was a threat, habit made him move closer.

Joseph put up a hand to stop Maglorius. “My servant.”

Falco immediately snapped at Joseph, “After all my efforts to sneak away from the soldiers, you’ve made it public where we intended to meet the boy and girl?”

Joseph was frowning. “During this time of crisis, I keep my wife informed of where I go. This cannot be good news.”

The boy stopped directly in front of Joseph and gasped for breath before speaking. “A message was sent to your house from Eleazar. A warning.”

“Warning! Warning!” Falco interrupted shrilly. “What kind of warning?”

“Find your breath and speak calmly,” Joseph said to the boy.

The boy took a few more gasps. “The Zealots have begun an assault on the line of siege. Eleazar says he is repaying your efforts to help the priests in Rome. He wants you to have time to make sure your family is gathered in your house. He is sending rebels as guards to keep it safe from attack but cannot promise anyone outside will remain unharmed.”

“Attack!” Falco said. “What kind of attack?”

“Keep your voice down,” Joseph said sharply. “Do you want to cause panic here?”

The boy looked at Joseph. “Sicarii. Hundreds from the countryside let in for the festival.” He gulped in more air. “As I left the house, I heard fighting in the lower city.”

Joseph shook his head. “The truce is broken. May God have mercy on us.”

“I never should have left the soldiers,” Falco said. “Take me somewhere safe.”

Joseph turned to Maglorius. “It might be a matter of minutes before the gate is closed and hours or days before it’s opened again. Waiting out here won’t do the children any good if they are stuck inside.”

“We leave now,” Falco said. “We’ve got donkeys and provisions. We’ll stay at an inn in a nearby town until the danger has passed, then come back for the boy and girl.”

Maglorius reached across and squeezed Falco’s shoulder. “The children will not be left behind.”

“I think we move inside on foot,” Joseph said. “We leave the donkeys out here with one of the men, and we wait inside the wall for the children. If they get here before the gates are closed, you can take the children with Falco as planned.”

“If the gates are closed?” asked Maglorius.

“I’m not waiting until the gates are closed,” said Falco. “Who knows how close the rebels will be by then? Take me immediately to your house.”

“Someone needs to stay at the gate until the children get here,” Maglorius said to Joseph. “You go to your wife. Take Amaris with you. If the children get to the gate after it’s closed, I bring them to you. If they make it before the gate is closed, I’ll take them to the next town and wait with them for Amaris and Falco.”

“I wait here,” Joseph said. “The boy will be looking for me. He’s never seen you before. I should be safe. If rebels get too close, the soldiers will let me into the tower.”

Maglorius thought, then nodded. “Leave only one of Jachin’s men with the donkeys. Give me the others as protection for Amaris and Falco.”

“Yes, yes,” Falco said. “Let’s go. Now. Quickly.”

Valeria moved cautiously up a twisting street, stepping over bodies of dead soldiers and rebels.

Her original destination had been the gate north of the Tower of Hippicus, where Joseph had promised to meet after the call of three trumpets marked midday.

Valeria had fallen asleep the night before believing that her plan to get there with Quintus was simple and safe. She’d intended to get her brother a few hours beforehand, leave the city in the southeast corner through the gate near Siloam Pool, traverse the hill outside the city, and get to the gate by coming into the city from the west side.

Turmoil and chaos, of course, had destroyed that plan.

She’d decided the best way to protect Quintus was by helping the rebels, so she had sprinted from post to post, delivering the message from the temple priests. She’d barely stayed ahead of the fighting and, after reaching the most southerly post along the line of the siege, had looked for a way to cross into the upper city. Instead of going around the city, she had no choice but to move through it. Valeria intended to find Joseph Ben-Matthias and arrange for a different time and place to meet. She would look for him at his house first, then at the gate. After that, she’d return to get Quintus from the Temple.

Breaching the upper city had been easy. With the help of the waves of hundreds upon hundreds of fanatical Sicarii, the rebels had been so successful in routing royal troops and Roman soldiers that the entire line had been broken.

What had frustrated Valeria, however, was the time it had taken for the battle to move upward. She’d been unable to proceed until the fighting finished, and the soldiers of the upper city had fought hard before finally succumbing and retreating.

Valeria was frantic with her sense of urgency. For all she knew, Joseph and his promised escort had abandoned the wait for her. Still, even now, with the street ahead of her cleared of battle, she knew that running was too dangerous.

Shrieks and screams of continued battle came from all directions. Around any corner she might run into a pitched fight or get trapped between rebels moving in on soldiers.

She was grateful for her familiarity with the upper city. At least she wouldn’t get lost and could take the most direct line toward Herod’s Palace, which was just south of the tower.

Shouting and cheering ahead alerted her to possible danger at the next turn. She glanced around, wondering if she should take an alley away from it. She decided against it; the alleys were too narrow.

From behind came the sound of feet pounding the cobblestones.

A group of rebels!

She had no choice now but to race forward, hoping there were more rebels ahead, not soldiers.

When she rounded the corner, she saw that she had no reason to fear for her own safety. Hundreds of men were massed at the base of a wall, cheering on other men with a battering ram, who were on the point of breaking through the gates.

Valeria recognized the building immediately. It was one of the most famous residences in the upper city and belonged to the high priest of the Jews.

She moved in behind the crowd, intent on passing by without drawing attention to herself.

Again, her fears were needless. Every eye in the crowd was on the gates, which shattered as she neared.

Men poured through, some of them with torches.

“Burn it,” they shouted. “Burn it to the ground!”

Valeria began to run again, leaving the riot behind.

First the house of Joseph,
she told herself.
Then the gate.
She had to find him if she and Quintus had any chance of escaping with Falco.

This
can’t be happening,
Boaz thought.

Unable to visit lower-city merchants, he’d gone to the archives to see if he could find any other contracts of debt placed by Simeon Ben-Aryeh. He’d been inside for hours; when screams and shouts had penetrated his concentration, he’d assumed it was simply part of the ongoing standoff between the upper city and lower city.

Now?

After a fruitless search for anything that would help him take the house of Ben-Aryeh without replicating the contracts that Maglorius had already burned, Boaz had consoled himself by returning to the shelves that held the scrolls of all debts owed to him. He did this once a week anyway, spending an enjoyable hour in the archives as he opened each and scanned the contents with smug satisfaction.

Yet he’d only made it halfway through all his scrolls when his pleasure had been interrupted when peasants armed with swords had flooded the archives, scattering scrolls in all directions.

How had this happened? Where were the soldiers? Surely the high priest had given orders to protect this building over all others. Without records of debts of contract, the entire economic system of upper city Jerusalem would be destroyed.

“Out! Out!” shouted some of the peasants.

Other men, the keepers of the records, needed no more encouragement. They fled immediately.

Boaz grabbed an armful of the contracts showing debts outstanding to him and held them to his chest like he would cradle a child.

“Out! Out!”

Boaz hobbled forward, trying to make it past several peasants who were trying to push down a shelf. The pain of his throbbing broken toe handicapped him from going faster.

“What’s this?” one of the peasants shouted.

Boaz didn’t answer and tried to flee. One of his scrolls fell, and he made the mistake of stopping to grab it.

A rough hand pulled him sideways.

Boaz yelped.

Another peasant tried to take the scrolls from him.

Boaz clutched tighter.

The first peasant shrugged, then pulled a knife from his tunic and ran it through the center of the scrolls, plunging the blade into the abdomen of Boaz.

He sank to his knees, again disbelieving the events.

“Leave him,” the first peasant barked. “The torches have arrived.”

As quickly as the keepers of the records had fled, so too did the rebels.

Boaz tilted and collapsed on his side. Blood soaked his scrolls, but he refused to let go of them.

Moments later, the first tendrils of smoke reached him. He closed his eyes and waited for the fire.