The Last Disciple (21 page)

“I will make my own arrangements to travel. I prefer solitude to your company.”

Vitas smiled. “I detect an insult there.”

“Roman, don’t get me started. Furthermore, we would have nothing to talk about. And lastly, I wouldn’t want anyone seeing me with a Roman.”

“Of course,” Vitas said, amused.

“Listen to me, Roman.” Ben-Aryeh pointed the tip of his staff at the sun. “You cannot make it to Jerusalem by nightfall. And I have no intention of staying at an inn with you.”

“There’s a full moon. I understand the road is clearly marked. I’ll travel through the night.”

“A full moon gives just as much light for brigands as it does for travelers,” Ben-Aryeh countered.

“Why such concern if you’ll be traveling without me?”

“A dead Roman will only cause more trouble for the Jews, especially one of your political stature.”

“What did Bernice tell you about me?” Vitas asked.

“It’s of no consequence.”

Because now Ben-Aryeh was engaged enough to be looking at Vitas, Vitas raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“Whatever she tells me,” Ben-Aryeh replied to his unspoken question, “I refuse to believe.”

“Because she has a history of lying,” Vitas asked, “or simply a history of lying to you?”

“Roman, you’re a fool if you traveled all this way alone, without knowing whether you can trust her.”

“I don’t need to trust her. As you said, it’s in her interest to keep Rome happy. She’ll help me as needed.”

“As needed. Am I to understand you want more than what you have represented to her?”

The old man was playing him, and Vitas enjoyed it. “What has she told you about that?”

Back full circle.

“It’s of no consequence,” Ben-Aryeh answered.

“Of course,” Vitas said, “because you don’t believe her. Nor, apparently, do you believe me.”

“You are a Roman. Of wealth and political power. Why should you care what Florus does to the Jews?”

“She told you that, then. That I am here to investigate his methods of governing.”

Ben-Aryeh grunted an unintelligible reply.

“If you don’t believe her
or
me, then why are you here to help me?” Vitas enjoyed, too, the chance to be direct in return. In Rome, a wise man spoke obliquely. The commitment of directness could prove to be fatal if Nero chose to dislike what was said, whereas subtlety always left room for negotiation later about what had actually been said.

Ben-Aryeh shrugged. “What did Bernice tell you about me?”

“It’s of no consequence.”

“Roman, you may find yourself amusing, but I don’t.”

“Well, then,” Vitas said with a smile, “at least I’ve provided you another reason to travel alone.”

“If you kill me,” Annas gasped from his helpless position in the gully, “Florus will crucify you.”

The mention of Florus was like a slap across the bandit leader’s face. He squinted. Sounded less certain when he spoke. He gestured frantically at the man who held Annas on the ground to step aside. The leader helped Annas to his feet.

Annas tried to hide his relief.

“What do you know of Florus?” the bandit asked.

“That he gave you orders to wait here in ambush for an old Jew,” Annas said.

“And if he did?”

“I am here to confirm for Florus that you have obeyed his orders and are waiting.”

“We are here, aren’t we?” the leader said. The others drifted away in boredom. Annas obviously was not prey. Or danger. “Tell him that.”

“I will,” Annas said, very glad that the mention of Florus had brought such immediate deference. “Repeat for me the instructions.”

The leader shrugged. “Today or tomorrow or the day after, a young man coming from Jerusalem will pass by this spot on the road. We will know him because he will be leading a donkey and a foal, each without saddlebags. He will carry a walking staff and set it by the three piles of stones to let us know he is the one we expect. We are to let him pass by. On his way back to Jerusalem, he will be accompanied by an old man, and will ensure for us that no other travelers are near them. And then . . .”

The leader tilted his head and stared at Annas. “Has Florus changed his mind about what we are to do then?”

“No.” Annas smiled. “Do what you do best.”

Matthias pulled Queen Bernice’s hair, tilting her head backward. Her throat was exposed, the way a lamb’s throat is bared at the altar.

“I . . . I . . .” Bernice was accustomed to sending servants running in terror. Now she could not even find her voice.

“Try it again,” Matthias said, knife still beneath her chin. “Hold the stone in front of you. As long as it remains in the air, I will let you live. When it drops, I slit your throat.”

“Please . . . ,” she croaked.

He pushed the point of the knife harder. “Do as I say!”

Bernice lifted the stone again. It now felt like one of the massive rocks of the temple wall.

Immediately her hands wavered.

But her life depended on holding the stone high!

She found new strength. A low groan escaped her as she strained to hold her arms up. Yet against her will, they began to sag downward.

“This is a cruel torture, is it not?” Matthias whispered, pulling her hair even tighter and caressing her throat with the knife’s blade. “You know that eventually you won’t be able to hold the stone. Yet you are so desperate for life that you strain to keep it aloft for just one more breath.”

He was right. Her every thought was consumed with the stone, with finding the energy to stave off death. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Her groan grew louder.

How much longer could she hold the small stone in front of her?

Then she decided. If she was going to die at the hands of this calm madman, she would ensure his death with hers. Her last strength would be to yell for her guards.

The stone fell downward as her arms collapsed.

She opened her mouth to scream.

Yet he was faster. He clamped a calloused palm across her mouth and cut her short. “Yes,” he said. “Now you are dead.”

With his hand over her mouth, he pulled her head into his chest. He touched the full length of the blade against the cartilage of her throat.

She was totally helpless.

In the moments before dying, her head against his ribs, she heard the beat of his heart. She smelled his odor and clothing, not entirely unpleasant. She saw the blue of the sky through the window. Tasted the copper of fear. And wondered why death and oblivion suddenly seemed simple.

Yet the blade was not drawn against the softness of her skin.

“I do not want you dead,” Matthias told her. Without warning, he pushed her away. Unharmed. “Say nothing to draw the guards or truly I will kill you before they arrive.”

Her own heart thumped so loudly that she expected the noise alone would draw the palace guards. “What is this brutal game you play?” She was angry. Confused. Relieved.

“For you, it is only a game. Because you still live.” He closed his eyes. “I want you to imagine my small household. Unadorned and simple. Yet filled with love. My wife. A four-year-old daughter. A two-year-old son.”

Matthias looked at her. Through her. As if he were peering into her soul. “Have you ever picked up a sleeping child to move him?”

Bernice shook her head.

“It is a wonderful thing. The child is so full of trust that he remains asleep. You rise with the child in your arms, and the child’s arms wrap around your neck. Trust and love. Worth far more than this palace. That is what I had.”

Matthias sat down beside her, as if he could no longer bear the weight of his own burden. He slumped, arms around his knees. His voice was muffled. “That day, John of Gischala and his ten men captured me and my family. He gave me the stone you held. Gave me instructions to hold it in front of me. Promised that as long as I could keep it aloft, my daughter would remain alive.”

Matthias lifted his head. Tears streamed into his beard. “I held that stone out in front of me and begged for the life of my child. She had never seen me afraid, and my fear brought her to a panic. I only had eyes for her, my little girl. She tried to rush forward so I could hold her and comfort her as I had always done. The brigands held her back. I stood there, knowing she would live for only as long as I could keep the stone aloft. When one arm grew weak, I clutched it with the other. When both arms lost strength and the stone fell . . .”

In his grief, he could not speak. He fought for composure.

“Remember, Queen of the Jews,” he finally said, “how badly you wanted to keep your own life when you believed I would kill you if you set the stone down. Know this. A parent would gladly give his life a hundred times over to save his child. Badly as you wanted to live, infinitely more was I desperate to keep them from killing my girl. Yet, when my arms collapsed, in front of my eyes they drew the knife across my little daughter’s throat. Her blood spilled at my feet, even as she gasped to me for help until she could no longer gasp.”

Matthias lifted his eyes to Bernice. “Can you comprehend my pain? Then? Now?”

She nodded. Horror and grief filled her for what the man had endured.

“My son,” Matthias said. “First they allowed my arms to rest. Then they placed the stone in my hand again. Told me he would remain alive for as long as I could hold the stone in front of me. You will never understand the agony in my muscles as I fought and fought to keep my arms from betraying me and my son’s life.”

His voice became ice. “You know the inevitable. His blood joined the blood of my daughter. Then my wife’s blood added to theirs. On the ground where we had played and sang songs. Then, most cruelly, they set me free to live with the memory of how I failed my family. Of how their eyes met mine as the brigands reached to open their throats. They wanted me alive so others would learn of what happens to those who oppose them.”

Bernice took in a breath. Realized she had not taken one in far too long.

“That, my queen, is why I am here. Because of what you have allowed to happen to your people.”

“I . . . I . . .”

“Make whatever excuses you want. If you are blind to what Florus is doing, you are blind by choice. While you live in luxury in the palaces across the land, all the sons and daughters of Abraham cry out for help. I accuse you of ignoring the plight of your people. That is why I am here.”

“Did Ben-Aryeh send you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. If any person in Jerusalem could have found a way to get this man into her private chamber, it would have been Ben-Aryeh. “If it was him, tell him I am sorry. That I will now honor the agreement we made two years ago. Tell him I will send a man out against the Christians to prove their claims about the Nazarene false. Tell him I will—”

“No one sent me,” he said savagely. “I am here because of the memory of how I watched my family die. I am here because Florus is on his way to Jerusalem and I want you to meet him. Find a way to force the Romans to free us Jews from the injustice. You are queen. You have that power.”

Just as quickly, Matthias lost his anger. Broke to his sorrow and bowed his head. Without wiping the tears from his face, he struggled to his feet. Overlooked the city. Spoke facing away from her.

“I am a Jew. God hears my cries. But He cannot take away my grief. If He allowed suicide within His laws, I would have ended my life that day. I have nothing to live for. Worse, living is what hurts me most. Who am I without my wife and children? Who am I with the knowledge of how and why they died? I don’t want life but cannot end it myself. Yet I long for death.”

“Whatever you want,” Bernice said, “I will get for you. You will face no punishment for bringing me this story as you did. I will seek vengeance, justice. Your home will be returned. Your village compensated. This John of Gischala will die.”

“What I want from you is a promise,” Matthias said. “A promise that you finally accept your queen’s duty to help your people. We have all suffered too long. Abused by the Romans. Ignored by our leaders. Help us. Ensure that Florus punishes the brigands instead of encourages them.”

“You have that promise.” Yes, Florus was on his way to Jerusalem. With an army. But she guessed he was appearing in force as part of the politics of ruling Judea. She would extend a dinner invitation to him. Cajole him. Threaten him. Do what it took to help her people.