The Betrayal (35 page)
Authors: Kathleen O'Neal Gear
Barnabas guided his horse beneath the massive gray stone arch of the Damascus Gate. Despite his exhaustion and fear, he felt Jerusalem's influence as powerfully now as he had when he'd first visited here thirty years ago. The air was cool and still between the tumbled walls, and a divine loneliness seemed to seep from the very earth itself, as though the city grieved a loss that human beings would never be able to comprehend. Even in the growing darkness, he could make out the ruins on the Temple Mount and the dust rising from the massive excavation they'd noticed as they'd ridden in. The slight breeze had stretched the haze over the city like a gauzy burial shroud, accentuating the smell of ancient destruction.
Cyrus straightened. He raised an arm to point. “Is that the Square of the Column?”
“Yes,” Barnabas replied.
As they rode forward, lamps glittered to life behind the small windows. People passed, most dressed in white robes. The smells of evening fires, burning oil, old urine, and cooking food carried on the air.
Barnabas reined his horse to a stop at the base of the Square of the Column. Tall and round, it stood in the middle of a central plaza where the streets branched. Upper Market Street ran off to his right and Lower Market Street to his left.
For a time, Barnabas just stared at the column. He was vaguely aware
that Cyrus had tilted his head back to stare up at the square cap on top of the column.
that Cyrus had tilted his head back to stare up at the square cap on top of the column.
Yes, this is the place.
If a man studied it carefully, he could see the symbol of the
tekton
. He had only to turn it into a two-dimensional figure. Cut that square base in half and it appeared to be an inverted
V
tented over a circle: the round column.
If a man studied it carefully, he could see the symbol of the
tekton
. He had only to turn it into a two-dimensional figure. Cut that square base in half and it appeared to be an inverted
V
tented over a circle: the round column.
Kalay asked, “Which street are we taking?”
“Lower Market Street. We're heading for the Temple Mount. There are a number of pools and fountains there.”
Barnabas' horse lifted its nose, sniffed the air, and let out a low whinny, as though scenting other horses, or perhaps a barn with fresh hay. The poor animals were hungry after the past two days when they'd only been able to nibble grass along the road.
As they plodded up the flagstoned street, the painfully sweet strains of reed pipes rose and fell, eddying on the wind. Someone was baking bread, and the smell of boiling spelt sent a quiver through Barnabas' empty stomach.
They passed four monks in brown robes walking back toward the gate. Their hoods were up, so Barnabas never saw their faces, but the monk who walked in front called, “May the Lord's peace be with you.”
“And with you, brothers,” Barnabas, Cyrus, and Zarathan answered in unison.
They'd ridden by what appeared to be a monastery being constructed north of the Damascus Gate. Perhaps that's the place these monks were headed.
Flat-topped homes crowded together on both sides of the road, their shared gardens adorned by palm and fig trees that swayed in the night breeze.
Several people were still out, walking up and down the street. Barnabas and his friends received quick glances, but little more.
As they continued south, the majesty of the Temple Mount became apparent. The stone retaining walls that supported the Temple platform were still mostly intact and stood eight to ten times the height of a man.
“I've always thought it must have been unbelievable before the revolt in the year 66,” Cyrus said in awe.
“It was.” Kalay gazed up at the top of the Western Wall and the few
stars visible beyond. “The Temple was covered with gold. You could see it shining, like a beacon, from a half day's walk away.”
stars visible beyond. “The Temple was covered with gold. You could see it shining, like a beacon, from a half day's walk away.”
“Yes, it was one of the great wonders of the world, and the house where God's presence resided,” Barnabas added. In his mind he could see the massive arches and endless rows of columns, the vaulted ceilings, underground passageways, and ingenious aqueductsâall the things he'd seen or read about. “I suspect no other building in the world has heard as many prayers, or seen as many pilgrimages. Or, perhaps, witnessed as much suffering.”
As they neared the Beautiful Gate, Barnabas said, “There's a pool just inside where we can water our horses.”
“Yes,” Kalay said. “I remember that from when I was here before.”
“As do I.” Cyrus led his horse through the gate and stopped, his eyes warily on the empty street behind them, as if expecting to see furtive movement. Kalay slid off and winced.
“You may dismount, brother,” Barnabas said, aware that Zarathan was staring unabashedly at Kalay as she arched her tired back and her dress pulled tight across her chest.
Zarathan jumped down and stood awkwardly, his gaze darting from one shadow to the next, trying to look in any direction that wasn't toward Kalay. “What are we doing here? Why couldn't we have asked for food and lodging at the monastery outside the city? That's what that was, wasn't it? A monastery?”
“I wasn't sure, brother. I thought it better not to take chances.”
Barnabas dismounted, took the reins, and led his horse to the rocked-in pool. Their horse was sucking up water as fast as it could, long swallows running up its neck like mice. Barnabas sat wearily on the edge of the pool while his horse drank, and heaved a heavy sigh. He could feel every muscle in his body. His bones might have been stone, so heavy did they feel.
Have I ever been this fatigued?
Narrow streets radiated off from this plaza, but to the east a broad stone staircase led up to the top of the Temple Mount. The last time he was here, the ruins were little more than massive piles of stones too big to be carted off. Over the centuries, everything that could be taken and sold had been. But not the largest stones. They remained as mute testaments to the extraordinary engineers who'd cut and laid them.
“We're going up to the ruins of the Temple?” Kalay asked between dipping handfuls of water and drinking them.
“Yes.”
She dried her fingers on her dirty tan dress. “Why?”
Hesitantly, he answered, “I need to test one of Libni's hypotheses, but please don't ask me to explain it. It's far-fetched.”
Kalay exchanged a concerned glance with Cyrus, who said, “I'm willing to help you test whatever you wish, brother; but let us be quick about it. This place stinks of a trap.”
Zarathan eagerly added, “For once, I agree. I think the only safe place is the monastery just outside the city. We should go back there and ask for lodging and food.”
“You're an imbecile. That monastery is about as safe as your monastery in Egypt was,” Kalay said.
Zarathan glowered at her. “You have a poison tongue. Do you know that?”
“At least mine is still in my head. I'm afraid yours is going to end up ripped out of your mouth by one of Meridias' fanatical followers and left lying on a table.”
The full moon edged above the Mount and sent a pale flood over the sky. The horses temporarily stopped drinking to look up, then lowered their heads again.
“Why would someone torture me?” Zarathan asked. “I don't know anything.”
“The problem is they don't know you're completely ignorant. They probably think you've read a papyrus or two. Even
the
papyrus. And once they find out you have read it they have ways to make sure you never tell anyone about it.” She stuck out her tongue and made a sawing motion with her finger.
the
papyrus. And once they find out you have read it they have ways to make sure you never tell anyone about it.” She stuck out her tongue and made a sawing motion with her finger.
Zarathan winced and drew back.
Barnabas rose and tugged his horse toward the hitching rail that abutted one of the dark walls near the Beautiful Gate. “Brother,” Barnabas said to Zarathan as he tied his horse to it. “Could you help me lift the book bags down?”
“Why?” Zarathan demanded as though greatly aggrieved by the request. “You're not planning on hauling those around with us all night, are
you? Why don't we leave them here? I'll be happy to stay with the horses and guard them.”
you? Why don't we leave them here? I'll be happy to stay with the horses and guard them.”
Cyrus said, “No. We stay together.” He tied his horse to the rail, and shouldered past Zarathan to get to Barnabas. Together, they lifted the precious bags off, and gently rested them on the ground.
“But I want to stay with the horses!” Zarathan pleaded with such persistence that Barnabas wondered if he might be planning on taking one and riding back to the monastery in search of food.
Cyrus ominously said, “It's too dangerous, brother. This is Jerusalem. From now on, we should never be out of each other's sight.”
Zarathan's face twisted into a pout. “But where are we going to sleep? I'm tired!”
As Barnabas separated the two bags, untying them to make them easier to carry, he said, “We'll decide after we've finished our task on the Temple Mount.”
Kalay started off in that direction, and Cyrus said, “Brothers, go ahead of me. I'll bring up the rear.”
“Thank you, Cyrus.”
Barnabas and Zarathan each picked up a book bag and marched after Kalay. As they climbed the stairs, Zarathan started making small, tormented sounds, as though the weight of the bag was far too much for him to carryâor at least for him to carry on an empty stomach. Barnabas decided not to ask; he knew the answer.
At the top of the stairs, they stepped out onto the paved Temple grounds and Barnabas took a few moments to catch his breath.
The sound of Cyrus' footsteps coming up behind him had a feline quality, soft and deliberate, as though stalking an unsuspecting bird.
“Where do we go from here?” Cyrus murmured.
Barnabas turned. “The Western Wall. It has a good view. Follow me.”
Loukas crouched in a shadowed alleyway, gazing up at the Temple Mount and the three people high above who clustered at the edge of the massive retaining wall. In the moonlight, they appeared as black silhouettes. What perfect targets they made for a good archer. It surprised him that Atinius would make such a careless error.
“What are they doing?” Elicius asked from two paces away, where he and Alexanderâtheir gray heads shimmering in the silver lightâheld the reins of their horses.
Loukas answered, “Just standing there.”
“They seem to be looking out at the city,” Alexander said. “Why?”
“I don't know.”
“The Temple Mount makes a perfect trap. Perhaps we should go up after them?”
Loukas slowly shook his head. He couldn't afford any extravagant motions. Despite their shadowed location, he wasn't certain that they were totally concealed from Atinius' view. “No.”
“Why not?” Elicius challenged. “It would be easy to corner them up there.”
Alexander added. “We could force them to tell us what they know.”
It amazed him that Pappas Athanasios had relied upon and trusted men like Elicius and Alexander. Did Loukas truly have to explain that it
was wiser and less time-consuming to let the prey lead them to the “monstrous thing”? Perhaps in their youth these old men had been great soldiers of the Faith, but if so, age had simply dulled their wits.
was wiser and less time-consuming to let the prey lead them to the “monstrous thing”? Perhaps in their youth these old men had been great soldiers of the Faith, but if so, age had simply dulled their wits.
Or did Pappas Athanasios foist them off on me with the expectation that they'd fail? Perhaps he wants them dead as much as I do.
Loukas said, “Stop asking me ridiculous questions. I don't have the time to keep answering them.”
Elicius' eyes narrowed in anger. The old man was accustomed to giving orders, not receiving them. Having to obey Loukas clearly irked him.
“Do you have a plan? I don't think that's a ridiculous question.”
Softly, Loukas replied, “We wait for them to move, then we follow from a respectable distance. That's the plan. Do you understand?”
“Of course I understand.”
“And you, Alexander? Do you understand?”
The old man gave him a hateful glare. But nodded.
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