‘It was a rehearsal then?’
The Master seemed taken aback, as if a weakness in his strategy had been revealed. ‘No, no. Not a rehearsal. What must come to pass will be unique, quite unique. It’s just that people may be that much more… receptive.’
Judas was suddenly angry. ‘What you are telling me I think I want no part of.’
The Master jumped to his feet and stood before him, his greater height blocking out the sun, making Judas gaze into a shadow where only the white anger of the eyes was discernible. His voice trembled. ‘Do you think I want it? To give up this life, my friends, Mary, to continue to work for the common good even? The difference between us, Judas, is that I have no choice.’
‘It’s all determined?’
‘And always has been – at least since my immersion by John in the river. Before then, when I preached around Galilee, and got to know the scriptures, it was coming together. Fragments seemed to have meaning but didn’t quite make sense. But that moment with John, that’s when it became clear.’
‘And you weren’t afraid?’
‘Terrified. Then and now. Not so much of the outcome – I’ve lived with that for so long – but in being given the option, slender as it is, to withdraw. That’s the temptation. I’m ashamed to admit that the thought crosses my mind even as we speak. Contrary to what some would have you believe, I’m still human.’
Judas rose slowly to his feet and stepped out of the shade. The Master followed, for the first time revealing the extent of his ravaged face.
‘Master, am I right in thinking that your question to me is whether I can accept this outcome?’
‘My friend, yes. And in accepting it, and pursuing what I believe is in your mind, help ensure that my mission is fulfilled.’
Judas looked into the Master’s eyes. He saw there fear – not of humiliation or suffering or death, but of failure in the eyes of his God. And when he thought about it the reason was not difficult to see. They had been to the Temple for three days now. In spite of the Master’s belligerency, sometimes violence even, which he knew was out of character and forced, here they were, openly returning to Bethany, without – or so it seemed – significant threat to their safety. One could see how the Temple elders might be thinking. If Passover came and went and nothing happened, what danger then would there be, with this Jesus a spent force? This was why, for the Master, events desperately needed to take a different course.’
Without a word Judas walked away, amongst the olives, shuffling his feet in the dust in agitation. He looked at the city, with its temple bathed in golden light. He saw that its destiny was this man’s destiny, bigger than anything he could understand, in the hands of an intellect greater than his own, deriving from a source that he could comprehend only in terms he could not define. And in it all he saw only his own smallness and insignificance. Whatever his fate, it would not matter to anyone except this man standing by his stone seat in the leafy shade, waiting for his answer. Slowly Judas returned. ‘I will consider it,’ he said.
They said no more to one another as, master and servant, they trudged to the top of the hill. They sniffed the dry, clean air and saw the arid yellow of the desert fall away towards the Jordan River and the salt sea. In this vast wilderness, so beloved of the Master, ideas could grow unfettered and dreams turn into deeds.
In the days that followed Judas realised he had emerged from the encounter without guilt. If anything, he had become a more willing party to the Master’s great, unbelievable scheme. It was as if the Master had said, ‘You and I are in this together. If your role is not what you would choose, it is in the service of my greater need. What you suffer – the hate and condemnation you will bring upon yourself – will be recognised by others only as what it seems. The truth will be known only to me – and to the Father – and that must suffice for you.’
Judas watched the two Pharisees descend the street towards the Temple. Their words seemed to flutter like moths in the lamp-lit street. Faith in God – or faith in a man whose faith in God was so absolute that it permitted only blind acceptance or absolute denial? He raised himself from the cold stone. Even now there was choice. Not to go back to the room, of course – that was impossible – but simply to go home, to his lodgings in Bethany across the hill of olives, to take supper with Mary and Martha and wait for them all to return.
But what, then, of that return? He saw in his mind the Master’s scorn and rage, because a path that had been determined – had been planned meticulously all these months – had come to nothing and was unsalvageable. For a moment he glimpsed relief, too, in those imagined burning eyes, that turned immediately to hatred because temptation might not now be overcome. The poisoned cup would indeed have been taken away.
But still Judas could not do it. His grip tightened on the purse in his pocket so that the coins crunched within. He walked down past the fine houses of the rich and influential to the one where he knew he must go. But he walked on, skirting the Temple until he reached a point high above the valley gate. There he positioned himself so that he could see who might come and go before it was closed for the night.
It was not difficult to recognise them. They emerged with heavy tread, in single file, as they always did when their thoughts were too profound for speech. He looked at the figure at their head, and saw in his bearing a man with no future other than that of his own choosing, enmeshed in his own dreams and fantasies. And he, Judas, had to decide: were those aspirations – and Judas now realised what they portended – more important than leaving the Master a shell? What artist, he asked himself, would wish to be blinded, or craftsman become an amputee?
As the twelve bobbing heads descended into the darkness of the Kidron Valley Judas saw his own future in these same terms. There would be ridicule and hate, perhaps even to an extent he could not bear. Yet, what was the alternative?
Time was not material. They would wait in the garden. He knew they would wait as long as it took. He had to fulfil his role because, had it not been needed, they would surely have opted to find safety.
Two men with destinies: that was all there was to it.
Judas took the purse from his pocket, tossed it into the air and caught it with a snap of the wrist. The course was clear because he realised at last he was no longer a party to the decision.
A light rain began to fall as he set off back into the higher quarters of the city.
Outside the house of the High Priest he waited for many minutes in the darkness and freshening wind. Not until his tears had ceased to flow did he enter.
JUDAS THOMAS
The door inched open, then a fraction more. Thomas caught sight of a woman’s eye before her head turned from him and the door opened fully. Not a word was said as he followed the cloaked figure up the stairs to a landing, then into a tiny apparently windowless room with floor to ceiling sackcloth drapes at the rear. The sparse furnishings included a table, two chairs and a stand bearing a number of parchment rolls and codices.
Reading at the table was Thomas’ brother, James, leader of the Nazirite community in Jerusalem. The unkempt figure in a brown cloth tunic rose to greet him, the frowns at his forehead transforming as if by magic into an expression of delight. The woman said, ‘Your visitor, Father,’ bowed slightly and left the room. It seemed to Thomas that all the while she had deliberately avoided looking at him.
‘Brother Judas Thomas!’
‘Brother James!’ Lowering his voice and keeping a straight face, Thomas said, ‘Was that a fraternal or an ecclesiastical greeting?’