The Eighth Veil by Frederick Ramsay

Priest announced his presence. He’d brought with him only a small entourage. Hoping, Gamaliel supposed, that it would draw less attention and at the same time provide fewer witnesses to what could be an embarrassment to him at the hands of the Rabban.
    “Rabban, greetings in the Name.”
    Gamaliel stood and bowed. “High Priest, I greet you equally. I regret I could not attend you as you requested but, as I believe you have been told, the Prefect had enlisted me in this affair and I could not refuse. Be assured, this employment is not of my choosing or liking.”
    “Of course, I understand. The Prefect can be very insistent.”
    “And the task important, at least he believes it to be. I am of a different mind but —”
    Caiaphas waved off these last remarks and signaled Gamaliel to resume his seat presumably to consider how best to convince this man of the danger the rabble surrounding the troublemaker from Nazareth posed.
    Gamaliel settled in to hear the High Priest out. He knew what would be forthcoming and why the High Priest thought it so important. He would listen with half an ear and the same time could be used to think through the events of the last two days and try to make some sense of them. The steward had been far too eager to inspect and identify the odd bits and pieces he’d removed from the pool. He wished he knew why. Barak’s telling of the events he assumed to be the most accurate because he had the least to hide. Thus, every account from the others he’d heard should be measured against that of Barak. The royals, he admitted to himself, would not tell the truth. It was their nature to dissemble if they felt threatened and often they did so simply out of habit. Certainly the Prefect’s interest in the events would be taken as a threat to them, so they would position themselves carefully.
    Often, he thought, the truth could only be found in the spaces between the words, not in the words themselves, like the mortar between bricks. If anything useful would come from their accounts, it must be pried loose from the discontinuities in their stories. Still he would need to query them and then search the interstices and crevices.
    Caiaphas droned on. “You see our position?” he’d said and seemed to be waiting for a response. Gamaliel did, indeed, appreciate the High Priest’s position and thanked the Lord he did not share it, or ever would. The High Priest lived in a constant fear of being deposed—by the emperor or by the Lord. Perhaps by both and perhaps justifiably. No one of his acquaintance would be upset if he were. So in the case of this annoying rabbi, what should he say to Caiaphas? What could he say? Like a stubborn captain of a ship, Caiaphas had set his course and neither threat of storms nor becalming would persuade him to alter it.
    “I believe, High Priest, that your best course, our best course, is to do nothing. If this man is a fraud, as you and I both believe, he will eventually blow away like sand in the desert.”
    Caiaphas scowled. Clearly this was not the message he wished to hear.
    “Hear me out, High Priest. If he is what he claims to be, then you cannot stop him no matter what you or I will do, nor should you. Moreover, if his movement takes hold, we will have our hands full trying to catch up, will we not? My advice is, stay calm and wait. And in all events, ignore him. It is a maxim that the opposite of love is not hate. The opposite of both is indifference. If you wish to destroy an idea, ignore it. Attacking it will only draw more attention to the subject and have the reverse effect to the one you envision. Reportedly, this man is barely educated, mildly to extremely heretical, but no threat to you or the Nation at the moment that I can see. I admit I have not heard him myself and am relying on students and friends to guide me here. But, having said that, I urge you do not give him gravitas by persecuting him. No good can come of it. Trust the Lord to manage the