The Spear: A Novel

Louis de Wohl

• Publisher: Hauraki Publishing
• Year: 2016
• ISBN:
  9781787202030
• Topic: Theology & Religion
• Subtopic: Religion

This panoramic novel of the last days of Christ ranges from the palaces of imperial Rome to the strife-torn hills of Judea—where the conflict of love and betrayal, revenge and redemption, reaches a mighty climax in the drama of the Crucifixion. For this is the full story of the world's most dramatic execution, as it affected one of its least-known participants—the man who hurled his spear into Christ on the Cross.Among his many successful historical novels, Louis de Wohl considered The Spear the magnum opus of his literary career."Exceptionally powerful...an excellent piece of work!"—Chicago Sun-Times"A brilliant and panoramic picture of the events and personalities surrounding the Crucifixion."—Catholic Messenger"This novel tells from a new and fascinating angle the age-old story of the men and women who were sublimely affected by knowing the Messiah, Jesus Christ...It is a magnificent novel."—Boston Herald"Told with the clarity and vitality one has come to expect from Louis de Wohl, and holds the reader's interest all the way through...Richly drawn, against a background of mighty drama."—Cincinnati Enquirer

BOOK TWO

I

Boz bar Sebulun gave one last long look at his lovely garden. Palms and tamarisks filtered the sunlight to moderate and agree-able warmth, and the last roses were fully blown all around his favorite spot near the little pond, where he liked to doze in tranquillity and to calculate the likely profits of the next caravan he was sending to Egypt or Persia.

The comfortable house in the country was the result of a number of such caravans, and he hated the idea of leaving it, if only temporarily, to return to Jerusalem.

He turned away with a shrug, opened the entrance door, and crossed the hall. As he entered his study, he frowned. His desk was in disarray, covered with papers. Lists of what he had to take with him, lists of what remained here, the complete inventory—he had to check everything. Servants were empty-headed and unreliable nowadays, and honesty was rarer than rubies.

It would be better to take all really valuable things with him, the beautiful carpets from Susa, woven by masters of the craft, and the vases, although anything might happen to them on donkey back. And the little collection of rare, gems and the silver.

A journey meant nothing but discomfort and disorder.

But the Feast of the Tabernacles was imminent, and it must not be said that Boz bar Sebulun was lax in the fulfillment of his duty, not even at his age of three score and ten and a little over. He had a good name in Israel; he was related to the one who was wearing the holy vestments this year. His life must be exemplary.

He had told his wife so, severely, when she suggested that he should stay here and rest. Naomi liked life in the country herself, so maybe she only pretended to be worried about his health. Such was the nature of women, even of a woman not yet fifteen. They were all alike, always thinking of themselves. Leah had been no different. Perhaps he should not have married again, not at his age. Cousin Serubabel had practically said so, but then Serubabel was his closest relative and had reasons for not wanting him to marry again.

Boz sighed. He sighed again, when a servant announced that Zadoc bar Tubal had arrived and wished to see him. So inopportune, with all the preparations for the journey going on. Surely Zadoc also would go up to the city for the feast; they could meet there, if meet they must.

The servant shrugged, with an uncouth movement. “He says it is important.”

What would be important to the mind of Zadoc? Most men were fools and spent their time on foolish things. Oh, well, let him come in since he is here. One never knows, even a fool might bring good, though it was not likely. They did not have a high regard for Zadoc at the Temple. They spoke of him as they did about one who has not yet lost all his money but may do so at any moment. An impulsive man, headstrong and not easily persuaded to see reason. As he entered the room Boz saw that he looked very much as he had two years ago: curly black hair and quick, black eyes that wanted to take in everything at once, too quick in his movements and no dignity. He was young, of course, going on forty. Now where was Naomi—

“Peace be with you, Boz bar Sebulun.”

“And with you, Zadoc bar Tubal.”

And Naomi came at long last to greet the guest, and Zadoc smiled at her and accepted the goblet of honey wine and the cake, and there was some empty talk as there is when a woman is present. Perhaps it would be better if she stayed on.

Boz had always been able to feel whether a man came with something good and useful or not, and it had helped him greatly in making his fortune. Thus he had felt strongly that Simeon bar Judah was not the man one should have as a partner, and he said no to his offer though most men would have kissed their fingers and regarded themselves as very lucky. But he had had that feeling and had said no, and Simeon bar Judah took Aaron of Migdal as his partner instead, and two years later he had ruined Aaron, ruined him completely. There were many other occasions when his feelings had proved right. Of course Zadoc was not such an important figure; some might think that Boz was being kind in receiving him at all, but whatever he wanted it was not likely to be a good thing, he could feel that.

“I thought I would meet you here, before you went up to the city,” said Zadoc, flashing his white teeth. Anybody could have white teeth at that age; wait till you are seventy.

“We are leaving tomorrow morning. This is our last day here.”

“Yes, I calculated the time it would take you, and I said to myself, he is not going to leave before he has to, not when he has such a beautiful house in the country, but he will also not strain himself, and he cannot travel on the sabbath, so when will he leave? Tomorrow. So here I am.”

“Surely you, too, are going to Jerusalem?”

“Certainly, certainly. But it is easier to talk here. I thought you might perhaps prefer our discussion to remain entirely between ourselves. You know how it is in Jerusalem. People gossip—now why did Zadoc bar Tubal go and see Boz bar Sebulun, what is going on between them...”

“I receive many people in Jerusalem,” said Boz stiffly. But he knew that Zadoc was right. “Naomi, my child, you had better go and see that these fools do not forget everything. Servants nowadays, Zadoc, if you leave it to them, they will pack the stones of a house and leave behind the master’s cloak and shoes.” The young girl who was his wife had not lifted her eyes. The long lashes lay on her cheeks like small, blue-black fans. Face and hands emerging from the many folds of her wide, blue dress were the color of old ivory. She bowed to her husband, bowed to the guest, and left.

Zadoc waited until the door had closed behind her. Then he sat down.

Boz, facing him, gave him no encouragement.

“You are a very fortunate man, Boz bar Sebulun, a very fortunate man indeed, one to whom God has given out of the fullness of his riches...”

He was bankrupt after all; he wanted to borrow money. Sooner or later it was bound to happen. He was that kind of a man, always headstrong and impulsive, never heeding the advice of the experienced.

“...you have a lovely home in the country. You have a great house in the city, good enough for the High Priest himself. Your caravans are doing good trade with Persia, with Bactria, with Egypt and the provinces of Minor Asia...”

“Son of Tubal, if you have come to make an inventory of my possessions...”

“Bear with me, I beg of you.” The younger man seemed in no way intimidated. There was even the shadow of a mocking smile on the full lips, bursting like ripe fruit through the curly black beard. “I have enumerated some of your possessions—only a few, as you know—which have made you the pride of some and the envy of many.”

Perhaps he did not want to borrow money; perhaps he knew something or thought he knew something that he could use to exert pressure. A little blackmail? But what could he know? There was little now he could fasten on. You should have come twenty years ago, you fool, at the time when certain government contracts...

“You are a rich man, Boz bar Sebulun,” Zadoc went on, “and if there is anything certain in this world of ours it is that a rich man wishes to keep his riches, however much he may complain that the supervising of his estate is a burden to him and how much easier life is for those who have fewer responsibilities.” “First you count my possessions; now you tell me what I think and feel. Son of Tubal, I have many things to do before I leave here and...”

“By the vestments of the High Priest,” said Zadoc, “if you were to do business to the tune of a million shekels it would be less important for you than to listen to what I have to say.”

Boz blinked uneasily. It was wrong of Zadoc to pronounce so weighty an oath. But after that he could scarcely have in mind either borrowing money or blackmail.

“The time is coming,” said Zadoc, “when Israel will shake off the yoke of the oppressor.”

“Oh, no,” exclaimed Boz in disgust. “Oh, no, no, no. Not that again. I’ve heard too much of that foolishness in my life.” “Foolishness?” Zadoc looked outraged. “The freedom of your people...”

“You are not altogether mad, son of Tubal; you have eyes in your head—and you are no longer a boy of twenty who thinks he can conquer the world because his blood is fermenting in his veins. Freedom! Freedom for what, son of Tubal? You want to get rid of the Roman occupation, perhaps? You want to fight the legions of Caesar, son of Tubal? You have come to me, perhaps, to ask me to give you the money for your helmet, shield, and sword?”

“The Caesar,” said Zadoc, unruffled, “is a very old man—much older than you are, Boz bar Sebulun, so old that he has withdrawn from the business of the state and gone to some island to enjoy his last years in peace. The man who rules in his place is not likely to risk everything on a war in a far country.”

“Even if that were true, there are troops in this country.”

“Not even two full legions, and most of them stationed in Caesarea. We are—their movements are being watched constantly.” “By whom?”

“By those who are working for the freedom of Israel. By the Freedom Party.”

Boz laughed contemptuously. “I knew it. The Freedom Party. Little bands of robbers, holding up caravans, looting, stealing, and all under the pretext of setting the country free.”

“They have done a great deal of damage to Rome.”

“They have done a great deal of damage to me, and to every other merchant in Judaea. They are a great nuisance to the country. Bands like the one led by Ephraim bar Saul or by the son of Abbas—Galilean bands more often than not, from the most backward places, disturbers of the peace. Are they the men who are to drive the legions out of Judaea? Does it tickle Bar Saul or Bar Abbas to match himself against the generalship of the procurator?”

Zadoc nodded calmly. “I have heard these views before. They always come from those who are living in p...