Selected Detective
HOLY TEMPLE - JERUSALEM 70M

*Prolog*

A number of heads flew over the walls of the Temple at Iriingi hiss, dozens of them, like a bunch of stiff birds. Their eyes were open, their mouths gaping, their tendrils shaking violently against their necks. Some of them descended on Women's Square, pounding on black tiled stones with a sound like a rhythmic drum, causing parents and children to flee in fear. Others continued to fly past the Nicanor Gate into Israel Square, landing like heavy rain around the great Holocaust Altar. Several heads continued to fly across the walls and roof of the mishkan itself, the most sacred place in the center of the Temple complex, which seemed to whimper and resound under attack, as if it were physically ill.

“Busty!” as a child, with tears of fear in her sapphire-blue eyes.

“Roman dirty shit!” From a vantage point within the Temple fortress he stared at the group of gushing legions walking beneath him, with guns and bedels lit up in a barrage of furious gunfire. Their cries broke the silence of the night, mingled with the whirring of mangonel, the lashing of drums, the screams of those who were about to die, and defeated the other sounds of rhythmic and regular thumping, he said, so that for the boy the whole earth was like it was splitting slowly.

“God, be kind to me,” whispered, quoting the book of psalms.

“I am really depressed; my eyes are sore from pain, as well as my soul and body.” For six months the attack besieged the city, suffocating and depriving it of life. From their initial positions on Mount Scopus and Mount olive, the Roman legions, four of which were filled with thousands of foreign troops, had marched in, breaking through every line of defense, forcing the Jews to retreat and rush into the city center.

The dead were already innumerable, crushed as they tried to fight the assailants, or were crucified along the city walls as well as throughout the Kidron Valley, he said, where a bunch of vultures gather to cover the sunlight.

The smell of death was felt everywhere, a piercing and corrosive smell, which infiltrated the nostrils like fire. Nine days ago, the Antonia Fortress collapsed; six days after that the outer courtyard and colonnade in the Temple complex. Now all that remains is the fortified Inner Temple, with the city's population once boasting of crammed like fish in a barrel, whimpering, starving, descending by eating rats and skin, and drinking his own urine. As soon as they suffered, they fought back, frantically, hopelessly, raining stones and burning wood on the assailant, it sometimes attacked with such a sudden retreat that the Roman army withdrew from the field outside, only to draw them back, with a crushing defeat. Two of the boy's older brothers had been killed in the last attack, killed as they tried to topple the Roman assault machine. All he knew was that the pieces of their heads were among those who had now returned through the walls into the Temple.

“Vivat Titus! Vincent Rome! Vivat Titus!” The voice of the Roman troops broke out in a bursting sound, calling the name of their general, Titus, son of Emperor Vespasian. Throughout the battlefields, the defenders tried to retaliate by also confusing their leaders, John of Gischala and Simon Bargiora. The screams weakened as their mouths dried up. Their lungs weakened, and it was hard to muster up a spirit for men who, according to rumors, had made a deal with the Romans about their lives.

They remained like that for half a minute until slowly their voices disappeared.

The boy took out a pebble from his tunic pocket and started sucking on it, trying to forget how thirsty he was. David named the boy, Judah's son, the wine-maker. Before the great revolt, his family ran a vineyard on a hillside patio outside the city of Bethlehem. The pomegranate red wine produces the sweetest wine you have ever tasted, like the sunshine of spring, like a gentle breeze through the shade of a sour tree. In the summer, this boy helped harvest and trample grapes, laughing at the taste of the crushed fruit on his feet and how the juice made his feet blood red. Now the winery has been destroyed, the vineyard burned, the family killed, everything. It is a kara in this world. Twelve years of age, and has borne the deep sorrow that a human being five times his age should endure.

“They're coming again! Get ready! Prepare!”

Along the ramparts, screams and weeping broke back as a new wave of Roman foreign troops poured into the walls of the Temple, with climbing ladders over their heads, resulting in the fiery shadow of a gun eruption, they looked like dozens of giant centipedes running hastily across the field and a hail of rocks fell upon them, causing indecision moments before the sweep resumed.they reached the wall and straightened the stairs, causing hesitation, each of them was enforced by two men on the ground, while a dozen more used poles to gush them facing the battle arena. The group of soldiers began to mix with them, flocking at the side of the Temple like a wave of black ink.

The boy took out a stone that he had sucked and scooped the stone from his feet, put it in his leather sling bag and walked to the fort, looking for a suitable target, forget about the dart attacks that rippled from below. At his side was a woman, one of the many defending the wall, slumped, her chest was broken by a seruit-headed pilum. Blood flowed from his hands. The boy ignored him and continued to observe the rank of the enemies below. Finally, his eyes caught the Roman leader holding the shield, Apollinaris, of the Fifteenth Legion. He clenched his teeth and began to swing the rope over his head, with his eyes fixed firmly on his target. First, second, third.

Suddenly his arm was caught from behind. He looked and kicked with his feet.

“David! It´s me! eleazar. eleazar the gold craftsman!” A large tall bearded man stood behind him, with an iron hammer tucked in his belt and his head tied in bandages. This boy stopped struggling.

“Eleazar! I thought you were...”.

“Roman?” The man laughed, releasing his hand from the boy. “I'm not that nice, ‘kan?”

“I was just about to beat up the leader,” the boy reminded. “Easy shot actually. I should've hit that shithead's skull.”

The man laughed again, this time warmer. “I'm sure you can. Everyone knows David Bar-Judah is the best slingshot shooter on the mainland. But, there are many more important things now.” He looked around, then lowered his voice.

“Matthias calls you.”

“Matthias!” the boy's eyes grew bigger. “people who...” The boy closed the boy's mouth, and looked around. “Don't be hard!” whispered. “There are many things here that are confidential. Simon and John would definitely not be happy to know this was done without their knowledge.”

The boy's eyes flickered in confusion, unable to confirm what the man was talking about before him. This goldsmith man did not try to explain, only lowered his head to make sure his words were heard. He then removed his hand from the boy's mouth, grabbed him by the arm, led him to walk on the top of the tower and down the narrow stairs into the Women's Square. The stone floor they stepped on shook as Roman troops rained down on the attack that hit the Temple door with renewed force.

“Quick,” said. “This wall will not last much longer.”

They rushed across the field, avoiding the heads scattered on the stone floor, with arrows falling all around them. On the other hand, they climbed fifteen steps towards the Nicanor gate and crossed the second open space, where a group of cohenim were solemnly performing a sacrificial ceremony in front of the Holocaust Altar. Their robes splashed a black stain of soot. Their groaning speaks of all but eliminating the atrocities of war.

...Oh mygod,...

...You have rejected us,...

...Breaking our defenses;...

...You are angry;...

...Oh, restore us!...

...You've made this land shake you've destroyed it,...

...Fix damage,...

...Because he is shaking now!...

They crossed the field and climbed twelve steps to the mishkan foyer. Its huge front stood behind them like a cliff a hundred fathoms high and the vines made of pure gold stuck to its walls in awe-inspiringly. Here eleazar stopped, turned his head towards the boy and crouched down so that his second eye was equally high.

“This is the furthest place I can reach. only the cohenim and the Great Priestess can pass through this holy place.”

“And me?” The boy's voice was irregular.

“You're allowed. At this moment, under these extraordinary circumstances.

Matthias has said it. God will understand.” He put his hand on the boy's shoulder and rubbed it. “Not to be afraid, David.your heart is pure. You won't encounter any danger.” He looked into the boy's eyes, and then stood leading him towards the large door, with its silver twin pillars and embroidered curtain cloth made of red, blue and purple silk.

The boy looked back at Eleazar, a large figure that loomed against the background of the burning sky, then turned his head and, by the opening of the curtain, he, passing through a long, circular hall with shiny marble floors and high ceilings that seemed to disappear in the shadows. It's cold here, silent, with a fragrant antidote smelling in the air. The war seemed to die down and disappear, as if it only happened in another world.

“Shema Yisrael, adonai elohenu, adonai ehud,” whispered.

“Listen, oh Israel, He is our God, the one God!” He paused for a moment, amazed. Then, slowly he began to step towards the furthest side of the hall, with almost noiseless footsteps on the white marble. In front of him stood the sacred objects of the Temple of the table of serving, the golden altar for incense, the majestic seven-branched menorah on top of it draped in a shiny and bright silk veil, the entrance to debir, the, the Holy One of all the Saints, whom no man can enter except the Great Priestess herself. And it was only once, on the day of the Redemption of Sin.

“Welcome, David,” sounds a voice. “I've been waiting for you.” Matthias, the Great Priestess, stepped from the shadow to the left side of the boy. He was wearing a sky-blue robe, tied with a red and gold apron, a thin crown on his head, and on his chest was an ephod, a sacred badge, with twelve precious stones, and, each represents every tribe of Israel. His face was full of wrinkles, with a white beard.

“Finally we meet, Judah's son,” he said gently, coming up to the boy and looking at him.

His movements were accompanied by the soft clattering sound of dozens of small bells sewn into his robe.

“Eleazar, the goldsmith has told me a lot about you. Of all who defend some Holy Place, he said, you are the bravest. And the most trustworthy. Like David from the past coming back. That's what it says.” He looked at the boy, then took his hand, led him to walk to the end of the hall and stopped in front of the golden menorah, with its arched branches and intricately ornate stalks, which comes entirely from a single block of pure gold to the form created by the almighty himself. The boy looked up at the flashing lights.His eyes flashed like sparkling water in the sun, astonished.

“Very good, ‘kan?” said the old man while paying attention to the admiration that appeared on the boy's face, and embracing his shoulders. “None of the things on earth are more sacred to us, none is more valuable to us, because the rays of the Sacred Menorah are the rays of God Himself. If only he was missing from us..” He sighed and raised his hand, touching it to the badge embedded in his chest.

“Eleazar a good person,” he added, as if an afterthought. “Bezalel second.”

For some time they stood in silence, contemplating the glorious candle-place whose radiance was felt around them. Then, with a nod, the Great Priest turned his back so that he was now face to face with the boy.

“Today God has decided that His Holy Temple will collapse,” he said slowly, “same as it has ever happened before, at the beginning of today, Tish B’Av, more than 600 years ago, the, when Solomon's Palace was invaded by the Babylonians. The holy stone will be crushed into dust, the roof destroyed, our people brought into exile and scattered towards the four winds.” He retreated his body slightly, staring deeply into the eyes of the boy in front of him.

“There is one hope we have, David. A secret, a great secret, known only to a few of us. Now, at this time, you should also know.”

He bowed to the boy, lowered his voice and spoke quickly, as if he was worried that someone else would hear him, even if there were only the two of them in the room. the boy's eyes widened as he listened, his gaze shifted from the floor to the menorah and returned to the floor again, his shoulders trembling. As soon as the pastor finished saying, he straightened his body and stepped back.

“Look,” he said, with a faint smile on the corner of his pale lips, “even in defeat there will still be victory. Even in the darkness there remains light.” The boy said nothing. His face was tangled, caught between admiration and disbelief.

The priest grabbed her and rubbed her hair. “He has gone from this city, away from the Roman fence. Now he must leave this land, for our destruction is near and his salvation is no longer assured. It's all set. One thing remains and that is the so-called guard, who will pass this thing to its final destination, and wait there until a better time comes. For this task you have been appointed, David son of Judah. If only you would accept it. Will you accept this assignment?”

The boy felt his gaze being pulled towards the priest, as if being pulled by an invisible rope.The old man's eyes were gray, gray, with a strange translucent hypnotism behind it was like a cloud floating in the clear vast sky. He felt something heavy inside him, as well as light, as if he were flying.

“What should I do?” ask her with a raucous voice.

The old man looked at him, his eyes moving across the boy's face, scanning all the features as if they were words in a book. With a nod, he reached into his robe and took out a small parchment paper and gave it to the boy.

“This object will guide you,” he said. “Do as he says, and things will go well.” He touched the boy's face with both hands.

“Only you are now our hope, David the son of Judah.Only with you will the fire burn. Don't tell this secret to anyone. Take care of this your whole life. Deliver and continue this to your son, the son of your son, your next descendant, until the time comes to open it.” The boy looked at him.

“But when, teacher?” whispered. “How will I know the time has come?” The priest returned the boy's gaze for a while, stood straight and returned to the menorah, staring at the flickering lights, his eyes slowly closing as if he were entering the subconscious.

The silence around them grew quieter and more washed away; the gemstone on his badge seemed to be burning with light from within him.

“There are three signs to guide you,” he said gently. His voice suddenly felt distant, as if he was speaking from a height. “First, the youngest of the twelve will arrive and in his hands is an eagle; second, the son of Ishmael and the son of Isaac will be together as friends in the House of God; third, the, the lion and the shepherd will be one, and around his neck there is a lamp. By the time these three things arrive, that's the time.”

In front of them, the veil that enveloped the Saints of all Saints seemed to bubble up slightly, and the boy felt a gentle and gentle breeze coming down his face. A strange sound echoed in his ears. Her skin is itchy. There was a strange, pungent and stuffy smell, like Time itself, had it been described as having an odor. It only lasted a moment, and suddenly, surprisingly, it was, there was the sound of a powerful explosion and the impact from outside, followed by the screams of thousands of voices in fear and despair.The priest's eyes twitched, opened.

“It's done,” said. “Repeat the signs I just said.”

The boy repeated it again with disordered words. The old man asked him to repeat it again and again until he said it perfectly. The sound of battle now rushes into the sanctuary like a flood of screams of pain, the clattering of weapons, the sound of crashing ruins. Mathias hastily crosses the field, looks at the entrance, then returns again in haste.

“They've passed Nicanor Gate!” his screeches. “You can't go back through there. Come on, help me!” Stepping forward, the old man grabbed the stalk of menorah and began to pull and push it on the floor. The boy helped him, then together they moved him a meter to the left side, releasing a square piece of marble with two handles embedded in it. The priest held the handle, slid the marble sliver to reveal a dark cave-like space inside which was a narrow stone staircase coiled down into the darkness.

“This temple has many secret paths,” he said, as he grabbed the boy's arm and carried him to the mouth of the hole, “and this is the most secret of all. Come down, then follow the hallway. Do not turn left or right. It will take you far out of town, southward, beyond the Roman fence.”

“How about...”.

“There's no time! Go then! You are now the focus of our hope. I call you Shomer ha-or. Use this name. Guard him. Find pride in it. Continue on to your descendants. God will take care of you. And also decided for you.”

He thrust his body forward, kissed the boy on both cheeks, then placed his hand on the boy's head, pushing him down. He pushed the marble piece back to cover the hole and grabbed the menorah, sliding it on the floor, making a loud noise. He only had time to return it to its original position until it was shrieked from the end of the hall, and the sound of the tip of the sword clashing.Eleazar the goldsmith retreated through the entrance, and, with one arm hanging limp on his side, the tip bleeding, the other hand clasping his hammer which he swung blindly at the legion ranks coming after him. For a moment he tried to hold them in place. Then, with a loud echoing voice, they burst out. He was overwhelmed, then retreated and fell on the floor where his limbs were crushed and his body trampled.

“Yahweh!” his yell. “Yahweh!” The Great Priestess watched him, his face expressionless and then turned away, carrying a handful of incense and placing it on the container on the golden altar table. Smell vapor soared in the air. Behind him he could hear the Romans approaching, their large soled shoes galloping on the floor, the sound of their weapons echoing around the walls.

“God has become like an enemy,” whispered, repeating the words of the Prophet Jeremiah. “He has corrupted Israel; he has corrupted his palace, his power is collapsing!” The Roman soldiers were now right behind him. He closed his eyes. There was the sound of laughter, and the soft whirring of sword sounds clashed in the air. For a moment it seemed as if silence was fixated; then the sword was lowered, unsheathed between the shoulders of the Great Priestess and all over her body. He pulled forward and fell to his knees.

“In Babylon, let everything rest!” he coughed, blood bubbles coming out from the corner of his lips. “In Babylon, at home Abner.” And with him he fell at the foot of the great menorah, dead.

The legions flapped his corpse, shouldered the treasures of the Temple on their shoulders and carried them from the holy place.

“Vicerunt Rome! Victi ludaei! Vivat Titus!” shout them. "Rome has conquered! The Jews defeated. live Titus!”