Thieves in the Temple

CHAPTER ONE

The Babylonian New Year Festival

Day Five - Morning

It was barely dawn, the sky in the east bright, although the sun was still below the horizon. Despite the early hour, the major streets of the city of Babylon were busy with worshippers and celebrants. The Babylonian crowds pushed and shoved their way west along the wide thoroughfare of Marduk Street toward the Esagila: the massive temple complex dominating the eastern end of Marduk Street, and almost as imposing as the royal palace to the north.

It was the fifth day of the Babylonian New Year Festival, the first day after the priests completed their private rituals with the gods. The first day, the rest of the city's inhabitants could take part in the festivities.

Spring was early that year and the heat of the previous day still radiated from the walls; three or four times a man's height that bordered the street. Decorating the walls, mosaics of wild animals growled and snarled down at the crowds as they fled the representations of Babylonian nobles engaged in hunting them down.

Even with the pushing and shoving, the mood of the crowd was good natured, festive and in a holiday mood. It would be another six or seven days before many of them had to return to the regular toil of their daily work.

On this fifth day of the Babylonian New Year Festival, ritual dictated King Nebuchadnezzar return from the city of Borsippa by barge with the sacred image of the god Nabu, Marduk's son in his possession. The priests and their acolytes had begun the ritual cleansing of Nabu's shrine within the Esagila long before dawn. Although it would be well into the afternoon before the king arrived, the crowd was eager to be there early so they could be inside the Temple precincts and watch the first of the public ceremonies.

While the crowd drifted like the gentle meandering flow of the nearby Euphrates river, one man eased and weaved his way through the throng with a purpose. His long tunic was the same naturally faded white as the sheep who'd given its coat to make the cloth. It contrasted with the colorful dyed linen tunics and woolen over-tunics worn by the revelers who had dressed carefully in their best clothes. The warm morning had encouraged most of them to leave off their traditional short cloak, but none of the men had discarded the carefully wound turbans that covered their heads.

The man's dark face showed no emotion as he stepped to one side, allowing a laughing family to go past, turning to protect his right side, and the bundle he carried in the crook of his right arm. His brown eyes were clear and alert as he watched the father and oldest son pause beside him. The son's dark eyes studied the man, noticing the pointed shape of the man's beard in contrast to their own beards, trimmed square, like the blade of a shovel.

Ahum, the son said. Foreigner.

One woman in the group heard the boy. She turned and looked back at them, then said something in a sharp tone, the fragrance of her cypress oil perfume hanging in the air. The men shrugged, nodding at the man and rejoining their families.

He watched them for a moment, then resumed his journey, turning north onto Sin Street and then right into the smaller side streets of the Old City. It was quieter here, there were fewer people, and the high walls of the houses reduced the crowd noise to a low buzzing like bees hunting for nectar.

There were no Temples on these streets, but shallow niches carved into the mud-brick house walls held shrines dedicated to the various gods of the Babylonian pantheon. He ignored them, lengthening his stride and making turns into successive streets with the confidence of a man knowing where he was going, and eager to get there.

He made one last right turn onto a street that ended against the imposing height of the Inner City wall. The wall was thirty paces thick and nearly nine-hundred courses of bricks high. The man had been proud of the city walls of his native Jerusalem, but acknowledged the feat of the Babylonians, not only to build walls this tall, but wide enough to drive chariots along.

He paused at the first house on the right where the door was open. An elderly man stood in the doorway, leaning on a cane. His thin wispy beard carried a heavy dusting of gray and silver streaks. As the younger man approached him, the old man straightened, a smile brightening his lined features. He kept his left hand on the cane and reached his right to grip the other man's hand.

It's good to see you, Jacob. I'll follow you inside.

And good to see you, Solly, Jacob said, releasing the man's hand and stepping past him into the interior. He was in a small covered hallway with a niche to the right. There was a mud-brick bench built into the wall and a narrow shelf with an unlit clay lamp. Solly's wool cloak lay folded neatly across the bench.

Two more steps and Jacob came out into the extensive enclosed courtyard maybe forty paces long and twenty or more wide. The sandy colored mud-brick walls rose on all sides and the second floor balconies looked down into the still shadowed courtyard where the air remained pleasantly cool.

There were two men, two women, and three children standing together in a loose group. They turned to watch as he approached, and Jacob felt his breath catch as the younger of the two women lifted her head and her brown eyes met his. Miriam, a cousin to Esther, the other woman in the group. The two men were Esther's husband, Isaac, and his brother Amos.

Jacob hadn't expected Miriam to be here. The previous afternoon, a woman in the Outer City had requested Miriam's help while her daughter gave birth. Miriam wasn't a healer or mid-wife by training, but during the desert trek that brought thousands of Judeans into Exile, she'd learned about herbs for aches and illnesses and pregnancies. As the widow of a priest, people trusted her.

Seeing Miriam there, the rich black hair falling around her face, and cascading down across her shoulders, Jacob felt the surge of emotion he always felt when he saw her. They were betrothed, although no date was set for their marriage. It was one of several matters he needed to discuss with Isaac.

Miriam.

She was nothing like his wife. Nothing like the girl who'd cursed the marriage their parents had arranged, or the woman who cursed him again as she lay dying when the healers could not stop the bleeding while the shriveled, bloodied body of their still-born son rested on her chest.

Miriam was the first woman Jacob had looked at, or cared about, in the seven years he'd been a widower. Maybe the first woman he'd ever really cared for. The thought disturbed him.

I'm sorry to be late, he said, coming back to the present, and returning Miriam's smile. The Festival crowds are the worst I've seen in the four years we've been Exiled from Jerusalem.

The oldest man, Isaac, smiled sympathetically. A few minutes here or there are of no concern, Jacob. Welcome again to my home and thank you for joining us to say Shema. His voice was deep and rich coming from deep inside his large body. A body that caused his long tunic to strain across the chest and stomach. He nodded toward the other man: slimmer and slightly shorter but clearly his brother. Amos was out earlier and said you'd have a problem with the crowds. Are we ready?

Jacob nodded and shook out the woolen ivory-colored prayer shawl nestled in the crook of his right arm. He felt the stab of pain in his right arm as he swung the ivory shawl over his shoulders, the legacy of a wound gained fighting the Babylonians one night on the Mount of Olives. Jacob adjusted the shawl so the white tassels hung free from the blue fringe cord.

Isaac stepped forward and looked Jacob over, checking how the shawl lay on Jacob's shoulders. Nodding approval, Isaac checked his brother, and then the three boys, all less than ten summers old, each of whom fidgeted as their father made necessary adjustments. Satisfied, Isaac nodded and his look became serious as he turned away. Isaac moved to the front of the family group, cleared his throat with a loud cough, and swung his arms out and up until his outstretched fingers pointed toward the sky.

Jacob had seen this flamboyance in Isaac's actions many times. It always seemed wrong to him. It reminded him of the Temple priests in Jerusalem. The men who spoke and preached of righteousness and commitment to the covenant, but lived very different lives.

Something made Jacob look up, and he caught Miriam looking at him. She'd told him about her life as the daughter, and wife of a priest. There was a sad look in her dark eyes that told him she felt the same way about Isaac's celebration of the morning ritual.

Jacob inclined his head slightly toward her and joined the rest of Isaac's family in the first words of Shema, even though the words echoed dry and hollow in his head, and he no longer felt the gift of life and energy the words had once given him: Praised are you, Lord our Yahweh, King of the universe, creating light and fashioning darkness, ordaining the order of all creation.

CHAPTER TWO

The Babylonian New Year Festival

Day Five - Morning

Rock of Israel, rise to Israel's defense. Fulfill Your promise to deliver Judah and Israel. Our Redeemer is the Holy One of Israel, Adonai tzeva'ot is His name. Praised are You, Redeemer of the people Israel.

There was a moment of silence, even more intense after Isaac's deep booming voice made the words of the final blessing reverberate from the mud bricks around the courtyard.

The three boys chattered in high-pitched voices and tugged at the shawls on their shoulders, untangling their arms and tossing them toward Esther. They clustered around her, begging in high plaintive voices to be allowed to eat.

Esther gathered the shawls, and with a sigh of acquiescence, gestured at the two Babylonian servants hovering in the kitchen's doorway. The two women came forward carefully, avoiding the children, and carrying yellow-glazed platters of dates, melons, and barley bread.

Jacob let the chatter wash over him, hoping it would fill the empty feeling in his head and heart. Once Shema had been the morning ritual that filled him with energy for the coming day. Now it was a litany of seemingly meaningless words he could recite without thought or contemplation. Was he spending too much time with the Babylonians, and being influenced them, as many other Exiles accused him? He didn't think so, but what other explanation was there for how the ceremony failed to move him anymore? Jacob shook his head, and lifted the shawl from his own shoulders, careful to protect the patches of wear that threatened to tear the shawl into a series of ragged woolen fragments.

When he looked up, Miriam was standing before him, her rich brown eyes studying the garment in his hands.

That shawl gets more ragged every time I see you wear it, Jacob. The tassels are pulling away, and I can't allow my future husband to look poorly dressed during Shema.

There was a gentle teasing tone to her voice, and despite his mood, Jacob couldn't keep the smile from his face.

I've had this shawl since before the siege of Jerusalem, he said. I suppose I should replace it, but it's maybe the last connection I have with our life in Judah and the freedom that went with it. I can't let it go that easily.

Nor should you, she agreed. I can repair it, if you'd like. I promise you won't be able to see the mending.

In the fresh morning light flooding into the courtyard, Jacob could see the firm lines of her cheeks and jaw, and the fine lines crinkling the smooth olive skin around her mouth and eyes. It was a face that had seen much, and he knew she'd only told him a small part of it. It was a strong face as well, determined and backed by a strong will.

Jacob suspected she was going to be a handful after they were married, and he welcomed the challenge. He appeared to consider her offer for a moment longer, then handed her the garment.

As Miriam took the shawl, their hands touched, and hidden by the folds of wool, Jacob twisted his palm and squeezed her fingers.

Her eyes darted to one side for a moment as her brown cheeks darkened slightly with a flush, before she realized their hands were hidden from view. She gripped his hand in return, then stepped away, taking the shawl with her.

I'll keep it somewhere safe and work on it later. It will be ready for you in the morning. Now eat before Isaac spoils your appetite, she said, a sympathetic smile brightening her face.

He's worried, Jacob replied with a smile of his own, appreciating her concern. I expect it's the trading caravan to Jerusalem. It's one of the largest he's ever attempted and every step we move forward there's another block or impediment. It takes time, but I believe we'll get everything resolved.

I hope so, because then he might allow us to set a date.

She turned away, and Jacob watched the cascade of black hair swing across both sides of her back as she walked toward the doorway into the living quarters of the house.

When she disappeared inside, Jacob turned his attention to the breakfast platters and selected a flat slice of barley bread, added dates and a piece of melon carved in the arc of a new moon. He placed a date in his mouth, letting the sweet, gritty flavor explode in his mouth. It wasn't the grapes and olives he preferred and had grown up with in Jerusalem, but it was sustenance.

I'm trying to think of a way to store olives so we can bring them back from Jerusalem, Isaac said, coming up beside Jacob.

Isaac reached out his hand, and his short, stubby fingers selected a handful of dates. He squeezed one between his fingers until juices began oozing from the slit where the stone had been removed.

Olive oil would be good as well, Jacob agreed. I can't get used to the taste of the sesame oil the Babylonians use for cooking. It changes the flavor of anything you cook, vegetables or meat.

I don't know there's a profit in bringing olive oil from Judah, but a few jars for our own use wouldn't go amiss, Isaac agreed, pushing another date into his mouth, and talking as he chewed. What's this I hear about another delay? The caravan was supposed to leave before the start of the New Year Festival. Is your caravan master, Eli not ready?

Readier than all of us, Jacob said. Unfortunately, like us, he's Judean and we need special permission for him to leave the city and travel to Judah. I'm working to have Arioch give his permission, but he's one of the senior priests at the Temple of Marduk and has substantial responsibilities during the New Year Festival. He's a little distracted at the moment.

A curse on Nidintu, Isaac said in a level voice. His little escapade of revenge against Bel Ibni has put us all at risk. Do you have any idea what it's costing us to store the linens and other goods we have ready?

Jacob nodded slowly as he chewed a piece of the melon. He had a substantial part of his own wealth linked to the caravan. He knew the storage costs to