Messiah: The First Judgement (Chronicles of Brothers) (25 page)

‘To cut short the days of the Nazarene.’

A great and terrible roar erupted across the Great Chamber as the great satanic generals of hell stood to their feet, followed by the thousand stooped hooded Darkened Councils, and the Necromancer Kings.

Lucifer lifted his hand. Instantly silence fell. They bowed as one, and sat.

Marduk walked forward.

‘On behalf of our Emperor, Satan, I call upon mighty Philosopher and King of the Western Region of Hell – Chief Elder of the Underlords – Gaap.’

A stooped, hooded figure limped to the front of the assembly. Slowly, he removed the cowled hood from his head. His ravaged face was plastered with large pox-like indentations, his thin scholar’s hands covered with strawberry birthmarks. He lifted his eyes to Lucifer’s revealing colourless irises. His eyebrows and eyelashes were absent.

‘I pledge my allegiance, O great Master, Satan,’ he crooned, ‘My archivists have studied the codices – it is evident – that after passing the contest at Mount Quarnel...’

Gaap brought his head nearer to Lucifer’s.

‘Each day that He remains on the planet earth – your Excellency – He becomes a greater threat to your role as Emperor ... and
our
reign in the affairs of Men.’

An evil smile played on his thin colourless lips. ‘We must cut His time short.’

The Great Doors of the Chamber flung open. Grand Duke Focalar stood in the entrance, hell’s fearsome Great Duke and Lucifer’s finest general, a ferocious demon with the face of an angel and the wings of a griffin. He strode up the Great Chamber aisle and bowed before Lucifer, stooping to kiss the great damson ring of Satan.

‘I return from Earth, my Emperor.’ Focalar glowered at him from under his huge knitted eyebrows. ‘Your kingdom has been pillaged.’ Lucifer frowned.

Focalar paced, his hand clasping his sword. ‘I was summoned too late. An entire legion banished ... threatened with the Abyss by one of the Race of Men!’

‘To the
Abyss
?’Charsoc questioned. ‘None of the Race of Men has the power to banish the fallen to the Abyss...’ He stopped short, catching sight of Lucifer’s face.

‘Except the Nazarene!’ Lucifer spat.

‘The Nazarene relented, sire,’ Focalar growled. ‘The disembodied spirits entered a herd of pigs. They drowned.’

‘How many are lost?’ Lucifer’s voice was barely audible.

Focalar hesitated, then lowered his eyes to the floor.

‘An entire legion, Your Worship. One consummate in defiling those of the Race of Men.’

Lucifer stood and walked slowly to the Great Windows, staring out at the Lava plains.

‘What next?’ he muttered. ‘He will mobilize grand armies against me ... plot my annihilation ... He invades my kingdom. Where will this end?’

He turned, surveying the Councils, then gestured to a hooded figure dressed in pale garments who sat hunched on Charsoc’s left.

‘His Excellency calls Nisroc the ancient. Keeper of hell and death.’ Marduk proclaimed.

Nisroc rose from the assembly and bowed deeply in reverence.

‘Relay to your Emperor, O Nisroc, the legalities of Eternal Law.’

Nisroc spoke from under his silken hood, his voice spun like silk.

‘The legalities that are in enforcement regarding the Race of Men as pertaining to Eternal Law prevent those who are fallen spirits from directly taking the life of one of the Race of Men, your Excellency.’

Lucifer nodded. ‘Of this I am aware, O Nisroc the Prudent.’

The ancient Necromancer nodded.

‘We, the fallen, are bound by Eternal Law. Only one from the Race of Men can extinguish the life of one of the Race of Men.’

Nisroc bowed in reverence and sat.

Charsoc drew his head near to Lucifer’s.

‘We must find one of the Race of Men who will do our bidding. Who will heed our voice, the voice of the fallen.’

Zilith, governor of the demonic scholars, stood.

‘Your majesty, in compliance with your instructions, my demonic scholars have been examining the way of the Nazarene and those that surround Him. The religious powers in Jerusalem seek power. He threatens their authority. The masses desert them and instead follow the Nazarene’s compelling oratories.’

Zilith stroked his faustian beard. ‘He has few friends in high places.’

‘And many enemies, your Majesty.’ Darsoc of the Grey Magi stood. ‘The one who leads they call Caiaphas is weak and ambitious,’ he hissed. ‘My magi seek him out.’

Lucifer paced up and down. ‘We need to strike where he is vulnerable...’

‘Your Excellency,’ Dracul, ruler of the iniquitous Warlock Kings of the West stood, then bowed, ‘we have found a willing and fervent disciple in he whom they call Judas. One of the twelve. He is vain and politically ambitious...’ Dracul’s cat-like eyes glittered with malice from under his black hood. ‘With a weakness for gold...’

‘Each day that the Nazarene lives is a threat to my kingdom.’ Lucifer raised his sceptre high. ‘Release your evil magi. Fill Iscariot’s dreams with disturbance. Highlight every weakness. Stir up those around Caiaphas. We cut his time short!’

Chapter Twenty-three

Subterfuge

Jotapa sat at her dressing table in her royal quarters. Her maidservant, Ghaliya, braided her long, dark tresses with deft birdlike movements of her fingers.

‘Ghaliya...’ Jotapa paused, then lowered her voice. ‘You have another letter from your cousin?’

Ghaliya nodded, walked towards the door, and closed it quietly, then took out a folded missive from her apron pouch. Jotapa frowned inquiringly. Ghaliya nodded, her eyes aflame.

‘It is news of
Him
!’ Jotapa grabbed it eagerly. She clutched Ghaliya’s hand as she devoured the contents of the missive. ‘They say he is a king,’ she murmured, ‘...a king of the Jews. You
must
tell me, Ghaliya. Tell me everything. I must know!’

Ghaliya deftly wove fresh orchids and gardenias through Jotapa’s hair as she spoke. ‘The stories that circulate – they are...’ Ghaliya held her hand to her mouth.

Jotapa nodded impatiently. ‘Yes, yes, go on!’

Ghaliya lowered her voice. ‘They say that blind eyes see,’ she whispered, ‘...that the lame walk..’

Jotapa covered her mouth in ecstasy.

‘That even the dead are raised!’

‘He is not of this world – He has a strange powerful magic – I knew it was so!’ She hesitated. ‘And the bold holy man ... he is still admonishing my husband?’

‘He condemns your husband’s marriage to Herodias as unlawful. A sin against yourself and against God. After the wedding, Herod had him seized. He is imprisoned in Macherus.’

‘Imprisoned!’ Jotapa’s eyes widened in horror. ‘This Baptist – he is a follower of this Jesus, also?’

Ghaliya nodded. She lowered her voice and put her mouth to Jotapa’s ear. ‘I heard it said in the palace kitchen that our Jesus of Nazareth called your husband, Herod Antipas...’ Ghaliya giggled. Jotapa raised her eyebrows. ‘...a
fox
!’

‘The Hebrew is a man of discernment!’ Jotapa laughed out loud. Her expression grew distant. ‘I wonder if He realized he is my husband.’

She swung around and placed her head close to Ghaliya’s.

‘And what of these followers?’ She hesitated. ‘Those who use the sign?’

‘They are
everywhere
, in every station – even Herod Antipas’s house steward in the royal palace is a follower.’

‘That sombre Chuza?’ Jotapa shook her head in disbelief.

Ghaliya nodded vehemently. ‘His wife, Joanna ... she travels everywhere with Jesus and ministers to Him out of her own funds.’

‘Chuza holds tightly to his purse – he would never allow it!’

‘He is transformed, princess,’ answered Ghaliya. ‘He is now the most tolerant of husbands...’ She stopped in mid sentence and bowed her head.

Jotapa looked at her quizzically. ‘Go on, Ghaliya.’ She clasped her hand. ‘It is safe.’

Ghaliya wiped the corners of her eyes with her apron.

‘...since the Hebrew healed his son,’ she whispered.

Jotapa shook her head in wonder. ‘He healed his son...’ she repeated slowly, rising to her feet.

She glided over the marble floors, through the open balcony doors onto the ornate portico, staring out for a long time towards the west wing, deep in contemplation. Slowly, she turned to Ghalilya who was hovering by the doors. ‘If the Hebrew can heal Joanna’s son...’ She looked at Ghaliya, an inspired gleam in her eyes, then lowered her voice.

‘...He can heal Zahi!’

Ghaliya stared at her in shock.

‘But ... your Majesty...’

She turned her palm upwards to Ghaliyia, pointing to the tiny scar.

‘We have to take him to Him. We will go to Jerusalem!’

Ghaliya started. ‘But, Your Majesty, your former husband, Herod Antipas – if he discovers you...’

Jotapa swept away her protestations with a wave of her hand. ‘Herod stays at Macherus and in Tiberias at Galilee. Jerusalem is far from his thoughts; of this I am assured.’ Her face flushed with excitement. She strode back into her chambers, her face lit with exhilaration. ‘We will take Zahi to Him, Ghalilya. He will be healed; I know it!’

Ghalilya stared at Jotapa open-mouthed.

‘Call Ayeshe, that he may make preparations. Duza will assist us in the subterfuge. My father does not visit Zahi in his chambers – he will not know of his absence. I will tell the king that I go to look after his interests in the incense and spice trade in Jerusalem. I am in charge of much of his household – it is a believable request. Tell your cousin we make haste for Jerusalem. Let her alert Joanna of our coming. It is the Jews’ Passover feast – we shall not be recognized in the crowd. We go to Jerusalem – that we may find the Hebrew.’

Chapter Twenty-four

The Veil

‘The Wort Seers of Diabolos have seen a portent.’ Marduk said. ‘A veil.’ He passed the missive to Charsoc who held it gingerly with his gloved hand and carefully opened it. A thin black wisp of hemlock snaked upward. Charsoc scanned the page.

‘Tell me about this veil.’

‘It is a veil of the Race of Men of the Hebrews,’ Marduk replied. ‘It hangs in Jerusalem in what is termed the Most Holy Place. In their temple.’

‘The veil’s purpose?’ Charsoc’s tone was sharp.

‘As is common knowledge to the fallen, since our Emperor’s supreme triumph in the East of Eden, the Race of Men have been cut off from direct access to Yehovah’s presence.’

Charsoc waved Marduk on impatiently.

‘Due to their fallen estate, the slightest direct contact with the power and light emanating from Yehovah will kill those of the Race of Men instantly. The veil that hangs in the Most Holy Place acts as their protection on the rare occasion when Yehovah would choose to visit their High Priest. The veil serves as a reminder that the Race of Men’s iniquities render them unfit for the presence of Yehovah.’

‘So...’ Charsoc fingered the missive, deep in contemplation, ‘the veil acts as a divide between the Race of Men and Yehovah’s presence. It holds no sorceries of its own.’

‘It holds no sorceries.’

Charsoc folded the missive.

‘Dispatch our scouts to investigate it. I will inform our Emperor.’

* * *

Herod Antipas lay back on a soft mountain of vermillion and oyster satin cushions, staring up, half-intoxicated, at the scantily clad young Ethiopian girl who slavishly plucked grapes and placed them on his tongue. A second girl, whose skin was pale as milk, sliced a pomegranate and laid the slices sensuously across his chest. His jewelled crown lay awry on his head, and his hair was dishevelled. The juices from grapes and fruits dripped from his mouth onto the expensive embroidered napkins draped across his chest.

His gaze fell to the hundreds of elegant pot-bellied Roman senators and Galilean nobles sitting at his lavish tables weighed down with the finest meats and fowl and delicacies from all around the Galilean provinces. He watched, satisfied, as his finest generals drank goblets of the finest wines, while a hundred courtiers flanked the great hall, serving the guests’ every whim.

A score of voluptuous dancing women, procured from every corner of the Roman Empire, whirled sensuously across the wide marbled floors. Herod lay back, eyeing Herodias, who sat like an Egyptian cat, erect and arrogant.

‘Your birthday,’ she purred, ‘is an occasion to be remembered by all. It should be the spectacle of Galilee, of Palestine ... of Rome...’

‘Administrators, rich landowners, civic leaders and my army commanders – why, Herodias, you have excelled yourself, my dove.’

Herod brought her small delicate painted fingernails to his rouged lips and kissed them.

‘Ah, but, my Antipas, the best is yet to come.’

The entire hall suddenly quieted as the lanterns were dimmed and the music changed from its throbbing, incessant rhythm to one slower and more sensual. Then from a dais came a slim, lithe form, her pale alabaster skin shining through the seven veils of sheer pale rose voile swathed around her sensuous form – so sheer that Herod’s eyes stayed riveted to her as she swayed rhythmically in time to the music.