The Eighth Veil by Frederick Ramsay Page A

heresies, his followers, and his lack of depth. My students track him almost every day. I will let you know if and when he crosses the line.”
    Caiaphas did not seem pleased. His face turned bright red as if he’d spent too many hours in the sun.
    “This will not do, Rabban. I must have this matter settled.”
    “I cannot see why, High Priest. The man has done nothing more or less than a handful of others have done before him. You can see the results of those claims. How is this one any different from, say, Judas of the Galilee, who at least fought and eliminated a small contingent of Roman soldiers before he ended up on a cross?”
    Caiaphas sputtered and stood. “I am not done with this, Rabban. I need someone to pursue this. As you are not willing, perhaps the Temple requires a stronger Rabban.”
    “Perhaps it does. The Sanhedrin can always choose to replace me and it can do so at anytime. Since you are determined to see this through, I would suggest that you might put young Jabez or Ehud on it. They are both extremely clever and able. I am certain one or the other will find a solution to your problem.”
    “Jabez ben Ratzon has red hair. People like that are unreliable and I do not trust him.”
    Gamaliel let this non sequitur pass. What a man’s hair color had to do with anything he could not imagine. Caiaphas rose, obviously ill pleased, made his farewell and huffed from the atrium. The poor man, he thought, has too much on his mind, and his problems so many and varied and all compounded further by the fact he is an unreconstructed Sadducee. Not that being a Sadducee presented a problem in and of itself. There were days, indeed most days, when Gamaliel’s own position might fairly be described as that of a Sadducee. He would deny it of course, but he knew the value of integration with gentile society. There was a line that separated Greek practice and Judaism as delivered in scripture that needed to be observed. That line should not be crossed and Caiaphas, of late, often crossed it. Centuries had passed and yet Alexander’s Hellenism continued to color the culture and divide the Nation. Ironically, for the most part most people did not know how they thought about it personally, but they knew what they wanted their High Priest to think.
    Gamaliel watched his colleague and sometime nemesis leave the court. He sat down on the bench once again and turned his thoughts back to the problem at hand: how to question the royals. Could he truly expect any hope of hearing anything of value from them?

Chapter VIII
    The king’s steward arranged the interviews with the royal family to begin with the Princess Salome. In spite of Gamaliel’s objections, the king had insisted that Chuzas also sit in on each interview. Furthermore, he required an hour to elapse between each interview. The ploy was as transparent as the wrappings on one or two of the resident concubines that Gamaliel had interviewed the previous day; he could object but even the threat implicit in Pilate’s ring did not provide him with the means to forestall it. The interviews were to proceed as the king insisted or they would not take place at all. Gamaliel agreed, but made a mental note to describe this process to Pilate if, and he assumed when, the investigation sputtered to the unsatisfactory conclusion he expected.
    A private room had been set aside for his meetings. Gamaliel noted sourly that the walls were paneled with latticework painted a dark red. He felt sure that behind some part, perhaps all of it, someone could, and undoubtedly would, sit and eavesdrop on what transpired and they could do so easily and anonymously. Not for the first time he wondered what the purpose of this exercise was: certainly not justice for the girl. To avoid a scandal? In this palace with this king? A ridiculous thought, surely.
    This day’s work, he decided would not offer up much in the way of useful information. Clearly all the interviewees would be briefed by the