I had to know all that others knew.

I went to the road now that led down to the Temple. Joseph Caiaphas was on his way down with several members of his close family, and he nodded to me and smiled.

I fell in behind him.

He looked back once or twice, calling me by name, which surprised me, and motioned for me to come up beside his party, and I did do it but still kept a little behind. After all, I was very dusty from the camp, and he was in his usual fine linen, and so were those with him who must have been priests as well.

But I was doing what Cleopas had told me to do. I was going with someone. I was not alone.

When we reached the Temple Mount, I slipped away.

The crowds in the Court of the Gentiles were loose and free, and for the first time I could really see the great size of the Temple, and the scale of the adornments. It was just as Cleopas had said.

But it was not this that I wanted to see.

I went to Solomon’s Portico to hear the Teachers.

There were many there, some with larger crowds than others. But I was looking for a very old man, a man who was frail with years as well as white hair.

Finally I came upon the very oldest, a man who was gaunt, with deep glowing eyes, and no hair on the top of his head beneath his shawl, but gray hair flowing down over his ears. He was well dressed and he had his blue threads sewn in his tassels. He had a fair crowd of young boys around him, some much older than me.

I watched him and I listened to him.

He threw out questions to the eager boys. He looked carefully into the face of each boy who answered him. He had a quick laugh that was friendly and kind; but there was a sharp authority in him. He said what he had to say. There were no wasted words with him. And his voice had the quickness of a young man.

His questions were questions our own Rabbis might have asked us. I came in close and I gave back answers. He was pleased with my answers. He gestured for me to come closer. The boys made room for me to sit at his feet. I didn’t even think about James. I offered answer after answer to the questions. Rabbi Berekhaiah had trained me well. And soon, the Rabbi passed me over with a smile, to let the other boys have a turn instead of me.

When the horn was blown for the evening sacrifice, we stopped to say the prayers.

Then came the moment for which I’d been waiting, and I hadn’t even known I was waiting for it. My heart was beating fast. The boys went their way into the rooms where they slept, or to their homes in Jerusalem. And the Rabbi was making his way into the library in the Temple, and I followed him, along with one or two of the other boys.

The library was very big, bigger than that of Philo, and full of scrolls. There were scribes at work there, at tables, copying, with their heads bent, and they rose out of respect for the old man.

But the Rabbi passed through these rooms into his own place of study, and he let us come with him, one of the other boys talking to him, questioning him on the Law.

I heard all this, but it didn’t go deep into my mind. I had but one purpose.

At last I stood alone before the Rabbi. He had taken his seat at the desk, and a cup of wine had been brought to him. The lamps were lighted, and all around him were the scrolls. The scents of the room were of the parchment, the papyrus, and the burning oil. If my heart had not been pounding in my chest, I would have loved this place.

“What is it you want of me?” he asked. “You’ve waited a long time for this. Say what it is.”

I waited for a moment, but no thought came to me, no design. I matched his words with my own.

“Eight years ago, a child was born in Bethlehem. Angels sang to shepherds when he was born. The angels called him Christ the Lord. Days after that three men from the East came, Persian magi who offered him gifts. They claimed a star had led them to this child.”

“Yes?” he said. “I know this tale.”

“What happened to this child?”

“Why must you know this? Why do you care about this at all?”

“I beg you to tell me. I can’t think of anything but this night or day. I can’t eat or drink until I find out about this child.”

He thought about this. He took a drink of his wine.

“I’ll tell you,” he said. “So that you may put it out of your mind and be done with it. And study as you should.”

“Yes,” I said.

“These magi, as you call them, these wise men, they came to Jerusalem. They came to Herod’s palace just south of Bethlehem. They claimed to have been following a star. They said they had seen signs in the Heavens that told of the birth of a new King.” He stopped for a moment, then went on. “These were men of wealth, richly dressed, with a caravan and servants, advisors to their rulers. They had gifts to present to this child. But now close to Jerusalem, the star hovered over a vast collection of settlements. They could find no one place where the child might be. Herod had received these men, pretended that he wanted to know who this King might be himself.” He smiled a bitter smile. He took another drink of his wine.

I waited.

“He called us together, the elders, the scribes, those who knew the Scriptures as to where the true King of Israel would be born. The Christ. He was full of pretense as he always was in such matters, putting on quite the show for these magi, begging that we tell him what the Scriptures foretold.”

He shook his head. And he looked away, his eyes moving up the walls and then slowly back to me.

“We told him Bethlehem would be the birthplace of the Messiah. It was the truth, no more than that. Would we had told him nothing at all. But we didn’t know then that a child had been born in Bethlehem surrounded by miraculous signs! We hadn’t heard the stories yet because the child was only a few days old. We didn’t know yet the talk of angels, or the virgin mother. All that we learned later, much later. We knew only the Scripture, and we thought these men from the East were Gentiles on a foolish quest, really. So we answered, not with cunning, but with the truth. As for Herod, we understood perfectly that the very last thing the man would ever want was to find the true King, the Christ.”

He bowed his head.

When he said nothing, I couldn’t bear it.

“Rabbi, what happened?” I asked.

“The magi went there. We learned that afterwards. They found the child. They presented their gifts. But they didn’t return to Herod as he’d asked of them. They went away, homeward, by some unknown road. And when Herod discovered this deception, he went into a rage. Early in the morning, while it was still dark, he sent the soldiers down from his fortress and while he watched from the parapet, they went through every house in Bethlehem and slaughtered every child under two years of age!”

I put my hands up. I felt the sob rise in my throat.

“They dragged the children from the arms of their mothers. They bashed their heads against the stones. They slit their throats. They killed them all. Not a single little one escaped.”

“No, this couldn’t have happened!” I cried out under my breath, the words almost strangled. “No, they didn’t do that!”

“Oh, but yes they did,” he said.

The sob in me rose higher and higher. I couldn’t move. I tried to cover my face but I couldn’t move.

I began to shake and to cry with all my body and my soul.

The Rabbi’s hands tightened on my shoulders.

“My son,” he said, “my son.”

But I couldn’t stop.

I couldn’t stop and I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t tell anyone! This had happened because of my birth! I began to scream. I screamed as I had that night when I saw Jericho burning and this horror that gripped me now was a thousand times that fear, a thousand times. I couldn’t stand upright.

People held me. The Rabbi spoke gentle words to me. But the words were lost in my terror.