The Tongues of Men or Angels

Ten Days before the Crucifixion

Mariamme’s eyes drop demurely when she sees Saul. But he catches the flush on her cheek. It casts a sharp, scarlet shadow beneath her cheekbone, accentuates her fine-bred features. A tiny scar on her upper lip, vestige of some baby tumble, no doubt, for post-blossoming she does nothing so ungraceful that could create such an injury. Her wrists are as slight as cyclamen stalks, drooping gently in the sun. But her eyes — it is those eyes that draw Saul in. Like the twin gates of the Temple, they beckon, but they bar those who are not purified; those without permission. A girl such as Mariamme cannot even be approached without the consent of her father. So Saul must find the perfect moment, when he is certain he has demonstrated his worth. Saul is in no doubt that Mariamme loves him. But, then, Saul is not really a man of doubt at all.

She nods in a slight bow and Saul returns it. Then she hurries off, small feet pattering, little ghost rabbits on the mosaic. She finds it uncomfortable to be near me, Saul thinks, so great is her love. But soon they will be united. Soon he will ask her father. They are separated by station now, but her father must be aware that great things are destined for Saul.

Many men would feel nervous and cowed, on their way to see the high priest; not Saul. He strides the corridor on feet of confidence. His legs are a little bowed, but only, he thinks, in the way Roman cavalry equites’ often are. Now in his thirtieth year, Saul’s hair is beginning to thin and recede, but surely this serves to show the world his fine brow. His forehead is broad and strong-boned. And fronts above expressive features, his face can transmit charm or anger into the watcher, a useful skill for a guard. Or not a guard, but a chief of guards, a captain of the Temple Guards. The police of the high priest. The bulwark against blasphemy and disorder. The guardians of the Holy City. If they do not carry out their duties flawlessly, then the Romans will take over entirely and Jerusalem will be lost. The Pharisees can debate fine points of faith in street-corner assemblies; the Zealots can die pointlessly, flailing against the unconquerable might of Rome; the people can flock to every fool who calls himself a messiah; but it is Saul who is at the sword-point of preserving Judaism. If revolt occurs, then Roman boots will again soil the Holy of Holies and the crucified will spike the hills like porcupine quills. Two thousand men were nailed at once, when Jerusalem last rebelled against Rome. What joy did the learning of the Pharisees bring then? To be a Temple Guard is surely a grander path.

‘I don’t want any fuck-ups this year,’ the high priest says. ‘It damages my position when the streets stink of disorder.’

Actually, technically Annas no longer has a ‘position’: he is not really the high priest at all. He was deposed by the previous Roman prefect for having too many people executed, an overindulgence the Romans reserve for themselves. But in Jewish law the high priesthood is for life, so Annas is still called high priest and still feels able to command the guard. Legally his son-in-law Kayafa is in charge, but he looks to Annas for instruction so often that Annas almost rules in his stead. Saul has every hope that he, too, will soon count Annas as father-in-law and wield some power in his name.

Annas has a noble head. If he were Roman he would doubtless have busts of himself scattered about his mansion. But such things do not do with the Jews, who disdain as blasphemy all depictions of man and beast. Saul can make out in the high priest’s face the shadows of his youngest daughter. Dark eyes, a little downturn at the edge of the mouth, perhaps even the same gentle curve to the chin, though that is hard to tell beneath Annas’s grey-splashed beard. His robes are made of fine linen, with perhaps just a little less purple than Saul would choose if they were his own. And one day such robes will be his own, of that there is no doubt. Saul has always felt a powerful sense of his own destiny.

Not that he could ever become high priest, of course. The priests can only come from the tribe of Levi and the high priest is chosen by the Roman prefect — generally on the basis of a considerable bribe — from among those few aristocratic Sadducee families who claim to trace their lineage to Aaron. Though Saul has confident hopes for a link by marriage to Annas’s daughter, he still would not be eligible for the priestly class. But there are many alter native roles in the upper echelons of Jerusalem’s rule for which Saul considers himself eminently well qualified.

The other guard captains summoned do not hold themselves with Saul’s bearing, he notes not for the first time. One of them sucks at a locust-green plant stalk, as Annas gives his orders. None of them have shown much attention to their appearance. Temple Guards are obliged to supply their own uniform: short grey tunics, which do not show the dirt and the blood. Most have secured something passable as cheaply as possible. Saul has spent all he could afford to make his own stand out: it is made from a well-woven cloth and has a simple black pattern sewn around the hems of its short sleeves. He even bought a leather breastplate, though he could not afford one with a back section; the absence leaves him feeling curiously far more vulnerable from behind than he ever felt before he acquired the armour. Now he is ill at ease when anyone stands to his rear, as if all of Jerusalem hopes to slide in a blade like a Sicarii — the nationalist assassins, named for the cacheable curved daggers they favour. All the guard captains are Jews, but most, like Saul, are from the diaspora. They speak Aramaic with varying degrees of accomplishment, but often break into street Greek when they are together. None has acquired Hebrew learning, as Saul has, though coming to Hebrew late in life made its study arduous even for him.

So many of the guards are from Greek-founded cities because most Judaeans prefer not to enforce the will of the governing class, seen as repressing their own people, as being in cahoots with the Romans. The simpletons cannot see that they are in fact being protected from the Romans, that Jerusalem can only retain some right to rule herself if she is seen to do as Rome wants.

Saul has been called a collaborator and a traitor, a stooge and worse, out in the city. Now he carries a short, dark-wood club — of the type fullers use to pound the wool — to deal with those insults, and alongside it, a sword, reserved for more serious challenges. It’s a good sword: Roman. Found, so the seller said, after the razing of Tzippori. Perhaps it has cut the throats of Israelite rebels in its time, but now it serves in the hand of Saul. Serves in the high and holy name of Annas, Kayafa and the priesthood. This is a noble calling. Saul should feel no shame for abandoning his Pharisee scholarship.