The Eighth Veil (12 page)
“That is even better. Now I do not have to worry about it being stolen. I can keep the original in a safe place and dangle the copy if needed.” He paused and narrowed his eyes. “Yes this is perfect. I could set a trap with it.”
“A trap? To catch what?”
“A thief, perhaps.”
“What does the writing say, Rabban?”
Gamaliel reread the inscriptions again, compared them to the papyrus to be sure Agon had copied them faithfully, and shook his head. “Do you know the symbolism of the lion’s head in the center?”
“Is for a king I think. Is it a King David’s pendant?”
“No, not King David, a later king, much later, but just as important to many. No, I will not tell you today, old friend. You will be safer knowing only what you do already, trust me. And be warned, if someone comes asking questions, you must do two things. First, erase any memories you have of this object and what you have seen, and second, in the event they do not believe you about the first, make sure they know you cannot read. The knowledge this pendant carries is, for now, a dangerous thing to possess, I promise you.”
“You will tell me later?”
“When it is safe to do so, yes. But it may be a while yet. We will have to wait and see. Secrets, Agon, secrets in the wrong hands can bring down a kingdom. Unless you are the one plotting to bring them down, it is best not to know any.” Gamaliel added the fake pendant to the pouch with the knife and the coins and stood. “I must leave you now or I shall be late. This business gets more interesting even as it becomes more dangerous. I will see to it you receive a substantial reward for your work this day.”
He left the shop. He needed to hurry to keep his appointment with Menahem. As he turned into the street that led uphill toward the palace, he caught in the corner of his eye Agon’s next customer entering his shop. The identity of the person did not immediately register but he was certain he had seen him before and the name would come to him later.
Chuzas waited at the entrance to the room set aside for the interviews. He looked agitated.
“Am I late? Have I kept Menahem waiting?”
“No, your Eminence, it is he who is delayed. An unfortunate conflict in schedules.”
Gamaliel wondered about that. Whose schedule? Chuzas’ or more of the royals who might or might not be lurking behind the latticework? Was it Menahem’s, or some other, as yet unannounced, party? It was a question with no answer, but it gnawed at him anyway.
“Very well, we shall wait. Steward, you have heard all of the interviews thus far. Have you formed an opinion on the matter?”
“An opinion? It is not my place.”
“No, of course not, yet you heard the king, the queen, and the princess each in turn deny any knowledge of the events occurring before this tragedy, and any substantial knowledge of the girl, and yet you also heard the earlier testimony of the servants and players which contradicted them. Why do you suppose they were so loath to own up to some of it? A scintilla perhaps?”
Chuzas jaw dropped. He stammered something Gamaliel could not make out. One of the royal family must indeed hover somewhere behind the lattice. Good. It is always best to know the breadth of one’s adversaries, which in this case, he regretted, included at least one wearer of the purple.
“Sorry, Chuzas, I missed what you were saying.”
“I only said that…if their Highnesses denied knowledge of the events, it must be so. It is the others who must be mistaken.”
“You think? Extraordinary. Ah, this must be Menahem at last.”
A tall man, old but not stooped as many of the elderly are, strode into the room. His manner and carriage were almost regal. If anyone who did not know the king by sight and were required to pick him out of a crowd in which this man also stood, he or she would undoubtedly select Menahem over Antipas. Impressive. He sat easily and gazed unblinking at Gamaliel.
“You are Menahem, companion to the king.”
“And you are Gamaliel, Rabban to the Sanhedrin.”
“So we know each other.”
“Yes, it would seem so.”
“As a point of reference, can you tell me how you came to be here?”
“Here? The king and his entourage always travel from Tiberias to Jerusalem on High Holy days. They did this time and so, here I am.”
“You misunderstand me. I am aware that the king prefers the relative laxity of his new city on the Sea of Galilee to the holiness of David’s. No, what I am asking is, how you came to be in the king’s entourage in the first place?”
“With respect, Rabban, is your knowing that pertinent to your investigation?”
“Let’s just say it might be. Indulge me in this. There are aspects of the situation, I find, that appear to transcend a simple murder of a servant girl.” Gamaliel thought he saw a shadow cross the old man’s face. “You know something of these matters I believe.”
“If you believe I know more of these matters than I let on, you are mistaken, Rabban,”
“Perhaps, but I think not. Very well, we will return to this line later. What can you tell me about the dead girl?”
“Why would you think I knew anything about her?”
“Menahem, I have trained myself to read people like some men read books. I turn your pages, scroll through your content, and I see things. You are an interesting read, if I may say so. I cannot quite make you out, but something is there. You know of this girl, of that I am certain, not merely guessing.”
“Do you indeed?”
Menahem’s gaze shifted away from Gamaliel. He turned his head and stared at a spot on the far wall, probably contemplating who sat behind it listening. Gamaliel started. He had seen that profile before, and very recently, but where? Menahem twisted back and nodded.
“You have read me correctly. I know something of the victim. She did not have many friends and seemed so lost and unhappy, I took pity on her. It is an old man’s prerogative. We have so little else to offer, you see. Most servant girls are here because they have been sold into service, have been acquired from a grateful petitioner, or simply taken from the streets and offered a better life. Many would argue that point, but there it is. They are resigned to their fate and most make the best of it. This girl was different. She came to us when the king married the present queen. How she came to be in the queen’s household is a mystery that the child either could not, or would not confide. But clearly she did not belong, or so I thought.”
“I see.” Did he? What was it about this stately old man than puzzled him? “Tell me this, then, did the girl have a name. Everyone I’ve asked thus far denies knowing her or maintains her name was Cappo, which seems unlikely”
“Why unlikely? It is the sort of name a servant would have.”
“It struck me as odd. That is all. She did not fit my notion of a palace servant, but how would I know, you might ask. Well, for one, the facts of her murder suggest she was not, but I will let that pass for now. Can you help me?”
“You have a difficult puzzle to unravel, Rabban,”
“I do and I could use some help.”
“Her name was Alexandra.”
“An odd name for a Jewish servant girl, isn’t it?”
“Perhaps. I thought at first she might have come from Egypt. That would have explained the name. But then, Antipas’ grandmother, once removed, you could say, was also named Alexandra so, who knows?”
“But you liked Egypt. Did she come from there?”
“No. She said she didn’t, but she refused to confide where she did come from.”
“Beside the name, was there anything else to suggest Egypt?”
The old man hesitated and looked hard at Gamaliel. “Are you reading me again, Rabban?”
“I am. Sorry, it is what I do. Tell me about Egypt.”
“Why would you suppose I know anything about that country?”
“No reason, really. But you were hesitant to talk about your early life, how you came to be the king’s companion. I thought I made a connection. Tell me if I’m wrong.”
Menahem allowed a ghost of a smile to cross his face. It disappeared quickly “I came to the king, not this one, but his father first. He had conquered Nabataea and its capital, Petra. I was traveling through there when he found me. He brought me to this land and placed me in his household.”
“Placed you. Forgive me, but you are obviously older than our king, yet you are described as his companion. Am I missing something?”
“You are aware of the late king’s obsession with plots against him, I am sure. Anyone living in the land will know of it. The king, then, also worried about his sons. Two he had executed for their involvement in a plot to overthrow him.”
“Yes, Alexander and Aristobulus.”
“Just so. I was seventeen when he brought me into his house. Antipas was but ten. The king wished to protect him. My duty was to provide that protection as his constant companion.”
“Protect him from assassination?”
“From that, certainly, but more importantly, from those who might seduce him into becoming part of a plot like the one that ended in his half brothers’ deaths. King Herod could be cruel, and often acted unbalanced, but killing his offspring went down hard with him. He did not want to repeat that act again if he could help it.”
This was a side of the man Gamaliel had never considered. Unbalanced? He’d put that down as an understatement.
“So, you were in Petra and the king found you there. You were traveling through or…?”
“I had been traveling, yes. I needed a place, he offered me one. That is all there is to it.”
“I see.” Clearly no more of the old man’s past would be forthcoming and as so much time had passed since he’d arrived at court—nearly fifty years—it would be a waste of time to pursue it any further. Still, it would be nice to know. He placed the reproduced pendant on the table.
“That is the girl’s.”
“You know it then?”
“Yes. She wore it always. It hung about her neck on a leather thong. How did you come by it?”
“I found it in the bath with this.” He reached into his belt and pulled out the knife which he laid on the table beside the pendant.
“In all your moving about the court, have you ever seen this rather wonderful knife?”
“Yes, of course I have. It is mine.”
Menahem confesses. The knife is his! Gamaliel sat back in his chair and waited for what must come next. Could it really be this easy? He felt a flicker of hope. If this is where it ends, he thought, he’d soon be back with his scrolls, his books, and his students. He thought he heard a gasp from somewhere behind the intricately worked wall. Chuzas? Or one of the royal family?
“Where did you find it? I have searched and searched since it went missing.” Menahem’s eyes were without guile.
Gamaliel extended the knife toward the old man who reached out his right hand to take it. Gamaliel pulled it back.
“I found it in the bath with the pendant and a thong which still had a knot where it had been secured, but cut through further along its length. There were other items in the bath as well on the day after the girl was found in it with her throat slit. I supposed this knife did the slitting.”
Menahem sat back. He slumped as if the wind had been knocked from him. If he didn’t know better, Gamaliel would have said the old man shrank a half cubit in stature before his eyes.
“That will make me your primary suspect, I believe.”
“Indeed, my only suspect. Have you anything to say to me?”
“What is there to say? I was not at the baths that night. I did not murder the girl. What possible reason would I have to do so?”
“Why would you kill an innocent girl? I can think of several reasons. She resisted your advances. You grew angry and something inside of you snapped and in a rage, you drew your knife and killed her.”
“I never attend the revelries at the bath. You may ask anyone.”
“This would have occurred after the revelries, as you call them, were over. Later, perhaps you went to the baths because you heard she was there and…” Gamaliel raised his eyebrows marginally.
“But I did not.”
“Then you must explain how your knife—this knife—ended up in the baths where a servant girl, a child almost, had her throat cut and—” Gamaliel stopped. And what else? Menahem was an old man, seventyish. Had he the capacity or the strength to do to the girl what had been done?
“That knife has been in my possession for over fifty years, Rabban. I have worn it as ceremonial weapon at occasions many times. Everyone in this palace and hundreds of others know it, recognize it, and have commented on it. If I did as you say, kill the girl, what sort of fool would I be to use this knife, and even if I were to do so, would I be such a fool as to leave such an obvious thing behind?”
“An old fool, Menahem. Can you explain how it came to be at the scene? If not you then who?”
“I will say this and no more. That knife went missing the morning
after
the girl was found. As you can see, I am neither strong nor vital. Vital, do you follow my meaning? I do not know if that has a bearing, but you should know it.”