The Galilean Secret: A Novel (26 page)

Jesus peered in the direction of the stream and listened closely. “Someone is calling my name.” He led her over the dirt and stone of the dry riverbed’s terraced sides.

She recognized Peter’s voice. When they neared the stream, she saw Peter, James and John leading several of the other disciples toward them. Peter said, “Lord, where have you been? We were worried about you.”

“I needed to speak with him before we enter Jerusalem,” Mary said.

“And I needed to speak with her.” The firmness of Jesus’ voice turned every eye toward him. “Mary Magdalene understands me as no one else. I have explained my teachings to her, and she can show you the way to inner healing and to preaching the gospel with power.”

Mary caught the shock and confusion on Peter’s face, but before he could respond, Jesus began moving back toward camp.

“I have taught her about love,” Jesus said. “If she teaches others, her wisdom will live for ages.” Jesus slipped an arm through hers. “When she shares her insights, it will be impossible to ignore her.”

As they walked, Mary felt awed by his confidence in her and prayed she wouldn’t disappoint him. He stared straight ahead as if focusing on some distant horizon that only he could see. Could he really be the Messiah? If so, she knew that what lay ahead in Jerusalem would determine his future—and the future of the nation. She prayed that Judas Iscariot wouldn’t carry out his threat.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

THIS WAS THE PERFECT OPPORTUNITY TO STEAL THE MONEY, JUDAS THOUGHT. With Mary Magdalene withdrawing from him, he hoped that having money would make him more desirable and finance his rise to power.

He pulled the flap of the tent closed, loosened the drawstring on the leather moneybag and lay the coins on the grassy earth. Some of the disciples had gone to find Jesus; others were talking around the fire. He had to act quickly so that no one would miss him. This could be his last chance before they reached Jerusalem in the morning.

He grinned when he thought of how easy it had been to trick the other disciples. He had convinced them that his experience in the silver trade qualified him for the treasurer’s job. And they were naïve enough to fall for it.

By the light of a torch stuck into the ground, he divided the denarii from the half shekels that would be used to pay the Temple tax. Organizing the coins in stacks of ten, he counted twenty-four denarii and twenty-two half shekels. Since Jesus and his disciples would stay with Mary, Martha and Lazarus in Bethany, their needs would be minimal. Ten denarii would be enough for food and other necessities. He could keep fourteen denarii along with the ten he had held back from paying the Zealots to protect Jesus.

He began to sort the coins, the tent stuffy with the odor of his sweat. Some of the coins he placed in the leather moneybag and others in his personal travel bag. He loved the feel of money. It was nearly as sweet to him as the feel of a woman’s nakedness. But he had to admit that he craved Mary Magdalene’s body more than money, and he was convinced that being rich and powerful would help him to attain it.

His head began to throb as he remembered how his plan to impress her had failed. How she had been frightened by his humiliating the soldiers. He hadn’t anticipated the severity of her response. But no woman had ever resisted him for long. Mary Magdalene would be his; she just needed the right incentive.

Judas envisioned how she would finally surrender to him. Grief-stricken over the death of Jesus, she would realize that she needed a man, and with his newfound money, Judas would be the one to whom she would turn.

He removed from his travel bag the towel that the women had given him. As he placed the coins in the bottom of the bag, he decided that he needed to go to Pilate to warn him of the threat the outspoken Nazarene posed. This would ensure Jesus’ death. Caiaphas would be equally enraged by the Nazarene’s attempt to cleanse the Temple and would also want him dead. Perhaps the governor or the high priest would be willing to pay for information about where to find this troublemaker.

At the sound of footsteps Judas quickly returned the towel to his bag and pretended to be counting the remaining coins. Someone entered the tent.

Gabriel ben Zebulun.

Startled, Judas narrowed his eyes. “Why didn’t you announce yourself? I thought you were a thief.”

Gabriel held up his hands in a gesture of contrition. “I need to speak with you.”

“We have already settled our business. What do you want?”

Gabriel shifted his weight, appearing uncomfortable. “I come as a friend of Mary Magdalene. She tells me that something she said upset you.”

Judas kept pretending to count the money. The last thing he wanted was Dismas’ little brother prying into his affairs. “Did you come here to spy on me?”

Gabriel knelt beside him. “No, I came because I’m concerned about you. My feelings for the woman called Judith of Jerusalem, who was with my brother at Qumran, were similar to yours for Mary Magdalene. I think I can help you.”

The mention of Judith sent a shiver through Judas. Judith was the only woman besides Mary Magdalene who had rejected him, and he was still angry. Judas picked up a few of the denarii and stuffed them into the moneybag. “
You
are going to help
me
?” he said with disdain.

Gabriel raised the torch and held it closer to the coins. “Most men don’t like admitting they need help. But now that I am on the path to knowing what true happiness is, I can tell when another man is hurting.”

Judas scooped up the rest of the coins and threw them into the moneybag. They hit the bottom with a clank, as if to emphasize Judas’ annoyance. Perhaps if he played on Gabriel’s interest in Judith, Judas could get him to leave. “I didn’t tell you everything I know about Judith and Dismas,” Judas said, taking the torch from Gabriel and peering at him through the thick darkness. “They’re probably hiding with the Zealots in Zedekiah’s Cave in Jerusalem.”

Gabriel drew back but decided not to let Judas change the subject. “When they first ran away, I was crushed, but I have grown since then. It all began with the conversations I had with a Pharisee called Nicodemus ben Gorion.”

When Gabriel explained what he had learned, Judas laughed and stood up. “I’ve listened to the Nazarene’s teachings. How can he possibly know about men and women and sex?” Judas opened the flap of the tent and stepped outside with the torch. “Jesus could have Mary Magdalene as a wife or lover. Instead he ignores her.”

Gabriel followed and put a hand on Judas’ shoulder to stop him. “Jesus could marry her, as you say, but he remains celibate to follow another calling. His wisdom powers his ministry of compassion, the same wisdom that can help you to heal after experiencing rejection.”

Judas couldn’t remember any man fixing him with a stare as intense as Gabriel’s. In the light from the flickering torch, Judas saw fierce passion in the young man’s eyes. The night was quiet and smelled faintly of weeds and grass. The moon and stars brightened the path to the spring across the floodplain. Judas headed toward it. “I’ve been following Jesus for more than a month, and I’ve never heard him speak of this wisdom.”

“That’s because it’s still a secret.” Gabriel kept pace and spoke resolutely. “What we yearn to find through women exists inside us. In other words, the passion you feel for Mary Magdalene contains an illusion. You see her as the perfect woman, the fulfillment of your dreams, but she’s only human, with flaws and annoying habits like anyone else.”

Judas wondered how much Mary Magdalene had told this man. How did Gabriel know about the passion he felt for her? Part of him wanted to end this conversation, to lash out. Another part was fascinated by what Gabriel was saying. Fascination won. “So, what do you know about love that I don’t?”

“I know that when a man marries a woman—no matter how beautiful—he quickly discovers her faults and stops seeing her as divine. Whatever is attracting you to Mary Magdalene now may become an annoyance later.” Gabriel moved closer to Judas and kept his voice low. “Sexual attraction is not just about the woman; it’s about the forces inside you. What you see in Mary Magdalene is a reflection of the female image of God in your soul. You need to stop looking for this image in her and find it in yourself. This is the way to take back your power as a man and feel whole again.”

Judas pushed Gabriel away and continued toward the spring, troubled by his words. What self-respecting man would talk of a female image of God? Judas shook his head. Didn’t Gabriel know that God was male and so was a man’s soul? He threw up a hand in frustration. “What you’re saying is offensive to me.”

Gabriel caught up. “When I first heard these teachings, I responded in the same way. Most men do. They struggle to find the wellspring of happiness, but it eludes them. That’s why they place impossible expectations on women, and if a woman rejects them, they’re devastated. Even if she gives herself to them, they become disillusioned and downcast over time, because no woman can fully satisfy a man’s yearning for the inner female.”

The more Judas heard of Gabriel’s explanation of love, the less he understood it. With each step toward the spring, he was losing more patience with Gabriel. He quickened his pace. “If a woman doesn’t satisfy you, you haven’t found the right woman; that’s all.”

“The problem is often not with the woman; it’s with the man’s lack of awareness.” When Gabriel reached the spring, he scooped some water into a hand, drank it and then continued, “Once a man embraces the feminine side of himself, he finds a great secret of happiness. This experience of deep communion frees him to really love. Now his love isn’t based on the woman’s appearance but on the completeness of the man’s soul. It flows from his joy in being fully alive.”

Judas splashed water on his face, brooding over these strange ideas. If Gabriel didn’t recognize Mary Magdalene’s incomparable beauty, he was blind. In the presence of such a goddess, what man cares how he feels inside? He only cares about making love to her. Gabriel’s words were absurd. Judas grabbed him by the arm and spun him around. “You’re talking nonsense.” Judas’ blood was flowing now. He shoved Gabriel. “You say you want to help me? Well I don’t need your kind of help. My plan for our people and for Mary Magdalene is my secret of happiness.”

Judas watched the expression of youthful enthusiasm on Gabriel’s face fade to dark concern. Judas didn’t care. Only a fool would say that a man has a feminine soul. The thought was ludicrous. How dare Gabriel insult him like this. Anger poured from Judas as he grabbed Gabriel by the throat. “Keep your stupid ideas to yourself!” Judas tightened his grip, choking him. “Do you understand me? Never speak of these ideas again!”

Gabriel dug his fingers into Judas’ wrists, gasping for breath and straining to break his grip. Finally Gabriel managed to throw him off, but Judas ran at him and shoved him into the water, making Gabriel splash to regain his footing. Judas walked away and spoke angrily over a shoulder. “What I said to Mary Magdalene, I’ll also say to you: If she chooses Jesus over me, they will both be sorry.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

LIKE EVERY TRUE ZEALOT, DISMAS LIVED TO KILL OR BE KILLED FOR HIS CAUSE. He entered the Temple in Jerusalem ready for either, but praying that the latter would not be his fate. The morning sunshine in the expansive courtyard, beyond which the Gentiles could not pass, seemed to be reaching out and inviting him into a new future. He strode south, toward the long cloistered portico called the Royal Stoa, his heart yearning for that coming time of peace.

A time that could only be attained through armed rebellion.

He looked west, toward two stories of dignified colonnades, the marble pillars sheathed in gold. Several thousand pilgrims swarmed the Temple grounds; he had lost Barabbas and Gestas among them. Not wanting to raise suspicions, he dared not look back to see if Mattathias, Simeon and the more than twenty other Zealots were following.

He headed for the moneychangers’ tables within the southern cloister. Barabbas and Gestas had arranged with Judas Iscariot to begin the assault there, and to join forces with Jesus of Nazareth and his crowd of supporters. Together they would drive out the moneychangers, and when Caiaphas and his police intervened, the Zealots would assassinate them and flee.

Dismas stared straight ahead, hoping to spot Barabbas and Gestas in the crowd. The bleating and bellowing of tethered cattle, sheep and goats rang in his ears, nearly drowning out the squawking of the caged doves and pigeons. Even at this early hour, the Temple reeked of burning meat, the result of the morning sacrifices known as the
tamid
. The burnished steel of the dagger concealed beneath his belt reassured Dismas with each step. Any doubts about the uprising at this time were dangerous. To question the righteousness of the cause—even for a moment—would be to sow the seeds of defeat. The Zealots would battle the Romans to the death. To think otherwise would be to consign oneself to slavery.

Yet as Dismas moved stealthily toward the moneychangers’ booths, he wondered for a moment if he had made a mistake by not convincing Judith to stay with him. The memory of Zedekiah’s Cave, of their painful parting, haunted him.

Now his mind turned to the letter from Jesus of Nazareth.
Concentrate
, Dismas told himself. The letter spoke of a love that could change lives, even the world. Jesus claimed that the Spirit of the Lord was upon him, because the Lord had anointed him to bring good news to the poor. Jesus believed that God had sent him to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free and to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.

Could this be true? Would the meek, not the powerful, inherit the earth? Did the kingdom of God belong to the merciful and the humble in spirit, not the mighty and the proud?

Jesus’ teachings condemning violence haunted Dismas. He lived by the dagger and was willing to die by it. Could there be a better way?

Had Jesus really come to save the world, as he claimed? And would his teachings on peacemaking, justice for the oppressed and reconciliation between enemies bring this salvation sooner than the use of arms?

Enough,
Dismas said to himself.
This letter is dangerous. Tempting me to let down my guard. To rely on something other than my own strength. I will not. A man must stand up for what is right and fight for it. Violently, if necessary.

“Get your Temple coins here! Exchange your dirty Roman money for the purest Tyrian silver!” The cries of the moneychangers interrupted his thoughts.

“Don’t settle for goats or pigeons! Buy an unblemished lamb here!” A stocky man shouted the words, pointing toward a large pen of bleating lambs. He fixed Dismas with an imploring gaze. “May I get you one, sir?”

Before Dismas could decline the offer, a wiry moneychanger with darting eyes accosted him. “Right this way, my friend.” The man gestured toward three large stone tables. They were piled high with coins and tended by busy vendors. “We will be glad to help you,” the man said as the vendors served long lines of customers. “Our rates are the best in Jerusalem.”

Dismas shook his head and backed away, offended by the barnyard stench and shrill chaos of the Temple’s Great Court. Once a sacred space where Pharisees gathered to discuss and debate the law, the Court had been defiled. The marketplace atmosphere, the clanging of the bronze and silver coins into metal containers, the endless haggling of the merchants, the noise and dung of the animals . . . it was all an offense to God. Caiaphas allowed it. He was to blame!

I am ready to strike, but where are Barabbas and Gestas? Where are Judas Iscariot and Jesus of Nazareth?
A muscle twitched in Dismas’ neck; his breath became short. He stole a glance at the guards atop the Antonia Fortress. Dressed in full regalia, there were at least twenty of them. He felt like a gladiator on the eve of battle. So much could go wrong, most of it beyond his control. The Zealots would need to act with speed and precision or face the wrath of the Roman legions. He knew what that meant. . . . His mouth went dry, his knees ready to buckle. He swallowed hard to fight the terror that tightened his stomach into a fist. He must not give in to it. He had to fight valiantly.

For his future.

For the future of the nation.

For the love and honor of Yahweh.

A ruckus erupted near the entrance to the cloistered portico. A tall, lanky young man stood nose to nose with several red-faced moneychangers. Dismas approached. The young man swept a hand over a table, sending dozens of coins flying. The moneychangers cursed him and rushed to retrieve the coins.

This man must be Jesus of Nazareth.
Dismas moved closer, while maintaining a safe distance. As much as he hated Judas Iscariot, he was grateful that Judas had supported the cleansing and got Jesus to the Temple. But where was the crowd? The Nazarene had only a handful of friends with him. Dismas cursed under his breath. Judas had promised more than he could deliver. Between the Zealots and Jesus and his followers, there were only about thirty men, and they had never drilled as a unit. Dismas didn’t know what kind of fighters these Galileans were or how they planned to proceed, but he couldn’t worry about that now. By striking against the moneychangers, the Nazarene had become an ally: Dismas could see that he was brave and strong. Hopefully his friends were fierce fighters and would help the Zealots finish what he had begun.

When Dismas spotted Barabbas and Gestas approaching the Nazarene, he put a hand on his dagger, ready to join the fray. Jesus untethered the cows and goats and opened the stalls of the lambs, creating a minor stampede. Two of the pigeon sellers tried to restrain him, but he threw them aside and opened several of their cages. “Police!” they yelled. “Help! Arrest this madman!”

Jesus ignored their protests, shoved the sellers aside and heaved over moneychangers’ tables. One after another, he sent the tables tumbling to the stone pavement. Hundreds of coins clanged and pinged on the ground, echoing his fervent cries. “It is written, ‘My house shall be called a house of prayer,’ but you are making it a den of robbers. Get out! Leave this sacred Court and never come back!”

Out of the corner of an eye, Dismas saw Barabbas and Gestas threatening several moneychangers with their daggers. The two Zealots joined in knocking over the tables, one after another, creating panic and outrage up and down the money-changing plaza. “Get out, you thieves and robbers!” Barabbas shouted. “You have desecrated God’s holy Temple!”

This was Dismas’ agreed-upon cue. He charged forward and waved Mattathias, Simeon and the others on. They cast the moneychangers aside, upended table after table, and freed animals from their cages and stalls. Soon Caiaphas came running, surrounded by the Temple police, their swords drawn. Dismas had prepared for this moment for years. Blood rushed to his head; his rage made him feel stronger than ten men.

Barabbas and Gestas first moved toward Caiaphas, with Dismas close behind. A hefty man with a bushy red beard cried out, “Jesus, look! These men are armed!” When the Nazarene saw the daggers, he stopped turning over tables and began to back away, as did his friends. Dismas caught a glimpse of Judas Iscariot and waved a frantic hand. “Judas, where are you going? We need all of you and the Nazarene to fight with us!”

Judas ignored him and turned to leave with the others, heading toward the eastern gate and the Mount of Olives. Dismas was furious. The surprise written on the faces of Jesus and his friends suggested that they hadn’t expected the onslaught. What had Judas told them? That the cleansing would be peaceful? That the Zealots would turn over a few tables and flee? Or had he told them nothing at all? Perhaps Judas was using the situation for another purpose, for some personal benefit. Dismas chided himself for trusting a man who was a proven liar. And hadn’t he read in the letter that the Nazarene opposed violence?

Now Dismas had to fight even harder. A poker-faced guard was stabbing at Barabbas with his sword. The thrust missed and left the guard off balance. Barabbas swung hard, drove his dagger into the guard’s stomach, withdrew it and tossed him aside. Outraged at the murder, several of the Temple police attacked Barabbas.

Dismas joined Gestas in defending him. Under assault, Dismas lunged at a guard, but the blow grazed the man’s breastplate and twisted the dagger out of Dismas’ hand. Now all he had were his fists. The police came at him; he stepped back. Without a weapon, he would not last long. Barabbas and Gestas fought valiantly, dagger against sword, as did the others. Dismas parried blow after blow but lost ground fast.

The moneychangers and merchants shouted for the Romans to stop the riot. Caiaphas’ bodyguards encircled Barabbas, and he killed another of them, stabbing him in the throat. As the guard fell, more than a hundred soldiers swept down from the Antonia Fortress, and many of the Zealots fled. The dozen rebels who remained fought valiantly, but the soldiers used their javelins to push them back, gaining the advantage with superior weapons and numbers.

Two soldiers surprised Dismas from behind and wrestled him to the ground. They drove his face into the pavement and shackled his hands and feet; blood clouded his vision. He wondered if the Nazarene hadn’t made the better choice. Perhaps violence does beget violence. Dismas stood up and saw that Barabbas and Gestas were receiving similar treatment.

“You are all under arrest!” a brawny tribune yelled.

Caiaphas looked on, smirking.

As the soldiers led the Zealots away, the cries of the moneychangers rang in Dismas’ ears: “Murderers! May they crucify you for your crimes!”