They led, we followed, only today we were not protected by our horses, not held to wide, open streets where murder might conceivably be harder, but drawn into the dark winding alleys that stooped down into the deep heart of this city where the priests never went, and the small markets became smaller and smaller and finally stopped.
On the edge of a slope, with the wall not far away, we turned left and then left again and came to a halt at a door. Nicodemus rapped a particular rhythm and then stood back as the door opened, sending us alone into a house whose interior was quite at odds with its modest location and appearance.
Inside was not modest by anyone’s standards, but not ostentatious either. In the best Greek tradition the wealth of its owner was evident in the subtlety of its restraint: the marble on the floor, the nine-branched candlesticks in silver, the wall hanging of velvet in deep midnight blue, the oak and cedar table, inlaid here and there with subtle cuts of ivory and ebony, the carp pool, and the pad of well-trained Hebrew slaves.
The master stepped smartly forward. ‘Gentlemen, welcome.’ His voice was smooth, soft, unthreatening. ‘I apologize for the way you were brought here, but these days I’m afraid we must proceed with the utmost care. Even now, when we are winning all our wars, there are men who would betray us to Rome. You are the leader, I am told?’
He passed the velvet hanging and came to stand at a certain place where the water light of the pool met candlelight from the many-branching candlesticks, and both met fine sunlight filtering in from the ceiling.
Harlequin shades played across his face and I could not see him clearly, only enough to say that he was of middling height, with a beard that grew far more fulsomely than did the hair of his head, that his nose was the most prominent part of his face, and that his eyes hugged his soul tight beneath brows black as drawn charcoal. He looked tense and trying to hide it.
Pantera, by contrast, looked more slack-lipped and disreputable than ever.
The master smiled pleasantly enough. ‘I am Yusaf ben Matthias, elder of the sanhedrin of Jerusalem. You are…?’
He was looking at me. Startled, I said, ‘Demalion of Macedon. My father was a horse-trader of great repute in our land. I, who am unworthy of his name, nevertheless do my best to honour it. We have brought a dozen mares of good breeding and one in foal to-’
‘Yes, yes. I have heard.’ Ben Matthias held up his hands. ‘They are fast as the wind and will go all day without rest. But you come also straight from Antioch. You will forgive me if I have little use for your mares, but my master Eleazir, who is king here now…’ his restless gaze settled on Pantera a moment, so that their eyes met in passing, ‘is interested in what you know. We will recompense you for your time here if you will but talk to me about all you saw of Rome’s preparations for war.’
At the mention of money, gold flashed between his fingers: a sun-spark in the dark folds of his velvet gown. Pantera leaned in towards it and Yusaf ben Matthias swept his arm back, towards his table.
‘Sit! Please, do sit!’ He smiled again, and it was no more real than the first time, with no less tension about his mouth. ‘I shall call for food and drink and you can tell me all you know.’
I spoke for most of the time, with irregular interjections from Pantera that wandered far off the point but appeared to be telling ben Matthias things he found interesting, plus the occasional grunt from Horgias when a name came up that he evidently recognized with his paltry Greek.
In between these, I told the story we had arranged, which was not all we knew, but close enough to ensure that other spies who brought their own tales would concur with all we said. All of it had been cleared with Vespasian before we left. He had been enthusiastically helpful. The more they know, the more they will fear us. Tell them all you can. Within reason, of course.
So we told again of the gathering legions, of the auxiliaries, of the rumours of the new commander, the second son of a tax farmer who had fought with astonishing success against the terrifying warriors of Britain; the governor who was soincorruptible that he made no money out of his governorship in Africa; the man who had offended Nero so greatly that he was lucky to be alive.
‘If he was any good, he would be dead by now,’ Horgias said in his barely comprehensible Thracian Greek, and we, astonished, spun to look at him. Encouraged, he went on, ‘Nero kills all the men who are good enough to oppose him.’
His accent was so thick that ben Matthias stared at him for a good dozen heartbeats before he broke into a hesitant smile.
‘Indeed. Nero does our work for us. We should send him gold in gratitude. Perhaps one day we shall do so. When we are our own nation again, under the protection of the King of Kings.’
We were merchants. We cared nothing for Vologases or Parthia. You could have fallen asleep, lulled by our boredom. ‘Does he buy horses?’ Pantera asked.
‘I’m sure he will do.’ Yusaf stood, clasping his hands to himself, as if warding off cold in the midst of a warm spring day. ‘I will ask his envoy when next I am called to meet him; soon, I think. In the meantime, you should return to your lodgings and see to your mares. I fear no one will come buying now; the time for trade is the first hour after dawn, and it is already beyond noon. In the morning, men will come to you. You might like to watch the parade of the Eagle again at dawn. There is always something new to be learned and Jerusalem is a place of constant change, particularly now, when we have your news of the forces ranged against us and the man who leads them. In the meantime, the day is yours and you have earned your gold.’
The coin spun, flashing. Pantera caught it, leering, and tested it openly with his teeth. Ben Matthias’ smile grew fixed and his eyes offended. ‘My best wishes in your endeavour,’ he said. ‘If we are fortunate, we may never meet again.’
We left the house alone; Nicodemus’ gang had gone and nobody came with us. As Pantera led the way, it became clear that he had not memorized the route as we came but knew it already in all its twisting, winding complexity.
‘How do you-’ I had sidestepped to avoid a dead chicken on the road and bumped into Pantera, so that my voice carried nowhere but his ears and his barely carried to mine.
‘We can’t talk now. We’re being followed. Yusaf is a man of great courage. That’s all you need to know.’ He cursed at me fiercely and pushed me away and I pushed back and tried to get the gold coin off him and he fought back again until Horgias came between us to keep us apart, and like that, wrangling, we returned to the inn of the Cedar Tree, there to spend the day tending to our horses, eating our meals, and arguing hotly over how to spend our unexpected windfall in full view of anyone who cared to watch.
We never saw who they were, but we all three felt their presence.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Another day, another dawn, another blurred wakening to a pinch on my toe; another scurry under a peach sky to the temple, there to wait and watch while men wearing a country’s ransom in gold and too-big jewels paraded themselves before the crowds.
There is always something new to be learned. So had said Yusaf ben Matthias, and Pantera said that he was a trusted agent, and so I watched, wondering what that new thing might be, awaiting the fall of a hand on my shoulder.
There was a moment when Horgias flinched and I thought he had fallen to a zealot knife, but he was whole, still gazing up at the Eagle, and before I had time to speak to him a large man with blacksmith’s shoulders and old, linear scorch marks on both arms wormed his way to my side.
‘You sell mares?’ he asked.