Christ the Lord - Anne Rice [19]
Louder came the cries of agreement.
Menachim, James' eldest, rose to his feet. “I say we march on Caesarea, all of us, that we go in a body, demanding that the Governor take the ensigns out of the city.”
Jason's eyes blazed and he drew Menachim towards him.
“I forbid you to go!” James shouted, and other men his age cried out with equal force, attempting to stop the young men who seemed on the verge of running out of the assembly.
My uncle Cleopas stood up. He bellowed: “Silence, you mad rabble.”
He took a stand beside the elders.
“What do any of you know?” he said, pointing his finger at Menachim and Shabi and Jason and a host of others as he turned this way and that. “Tell me, what do you know of the Roman legions marching down into this land from Syria? What in your miserable little lifetimes have you seen of this? You hotheaded children!” He glared at Jason.
Then he climbed up on the bench, not even reaching for a hand to help him, and he forced Jason to the side, and nearly toppled him.
Cleopas was no elder. He was not as old as the youngest of the elders, who was, in fact, his brother-in-law Joseph. But Cleopas had a full head of gray hair framing his vigorous face, and he had a powerful voice with the timbre of youth and the authority of a teacher.
“Answer me,” Cleopas demanded. “How many times, Menachim bar James, have you seen Roman soldiers in Galilee? Well, who has seen them, you, you . . . you?”
“Tell them,” declared the Rabbi to Cleopas, “because they don't know. And those who do know apparently cannot remember.”
The younger men went into a rage, shouting that they knew full well what they meant to do, or what they had to do, and began trying to outdo one another in volume.
Cleopas raised his voice louder than I'd ever heard it. He gave them all a taste of the oratory we were used to under our own roof.
“You don't think this Sejanus, whom you so detest,” he declared, “will not move to stop riots in Judea? The man doesn't want riots. He wants power, and he wants it in Rome, and he wants no noise from the eastern Empire. I say let him have his power. The Jews have long been back in Rome. The Jews are at peace in every city of the world from Rome to Babylon. And what do you know of how this peace was forged, you who would run headlong into the Roman guard at Caesarea?”
“We know we are Jews, that's what we know,” declared Menachim. James wanted to strike him, but held back.
Across the way, my mother shut her eyes and bowed her head. Avigail stared wide eyed at Jason, who stood with his arms folded as if he were the judge of the matter, eyeing the small gathering of the elders coldly.
“What history are you going to tell us?” Jason demanded, looking at Cleopas as the two stood side by side. “Are you going to tell us that we had decades of peace under Augustus? We know that. Are you going to tell us we've had peace under Tiberius? We know that. Are you going to tell us the Romans tolerate our laws? We know that. But we know the ensigns, the ensigns with the figure of Tiberius, are in the Holy City now and that they've been there since morning. And we know that the High Priest Joseph Caiaphas has not had them removed. Nor has Herod Antipas. Why? Why have they not been removed? I'll tell you why. Force is the only voice this new Governor, Pontius Pilate, will understand. He was sent here by a brutal man, and he is in league with a brutal man, and who among us did not know that this could happen!”
The cry that went up was deafening. The building was beating with it like a great drum. Even the women were inflamed. Avigail huddled close to my mother, staring at Jason with amazement. Even Silent Hannah, her eyes still dull with pain, regarded him with vague wonder.
“Silence!” cried Cleopas. He roared the word again and stamped on the bench until the noise died down. “That is not so, what you say, and what is it to us, what the man is? We are not brutal men.” He beat on his breast with both hands. “Force is not our language! It may be the language of