Late Summer 70 A.D. – Jerusalem – The Tunnel

The situation that Judas found himself in was desperate. A sense of foreboding pervaded the city. The population was in a melancholy stupor. From the tiny houses of the Old City, to the grandest rooms in the Temple, the lugubrious feeling was palpable. It was exacerbated by the pestilential stench that cloaked the streets.

There had been no fresh food for weeks now. And limited supplies of water. Corpses of the poorest citizens littered the streets. Even the wealthy inhabitants of the Upper City and Temple wore pinched, drawn expressions. The preacher didn’t need much to sustain him, but at his age, the lack of food was a drain on his health. He felt that the end was near.

The previous evening he had heard a tale from one of the pilgrims that convinced him this was the case. The story was of a woman called Mary from Bethezub, who had become besieged with the rest of them, together with her young son. She had come on pilgrimage, but was from a wealthy family.

The Jerusalem guards, had sold food to her at extortionate prices, until all her riches had been exhausted. Driven by unaccustomed hunger, she had gone mad one day. Taking her infant son, who was still being breastfed, she killed him, sliced him up and roasted him on the fire. She ate half and covered the rest with a cloth.

The guards, when they next came to visit her, smelt the cooked meat and demanded to know the source of the food. Once she took the cloth off, they guessed the true horror of her revolting secret, and recoiled from the house, gagging. The story was all round the city and was contributing to the pervading mood of desperation.

On the Thursday morning Judas decided on one last attempt to talk to the scholars. With a great effort, he carefully picked up the small earthenware pot and made his way to the Temple Mount. Climbing the stairs once more, he was spotted by the priest to whom he had repeatedly appealed. The white-cloaked man let out a resigned sigh at his approach. The priest was about to launch into his usual rejection speech, when events took a different course.

Over the wall, both men heard a loud whoosh, and turning, saw a host of what looked like flaming comets filling the sky. The missiles shot over the wall and landed in a scattered pattern, covering the courtyard. A cursory glance told Judas that they were arrows, attached to straw that had been set alight. There was an abundance of flammable material where they landed, and within seconds the whole place was ablaze. Screams pierced the air.

“Fire! Fire! Quick run, save yourselves!”

Everyone was racing to leave the Gentiles Court and head into the Inner Temple. The priest readied himself to run. But he caught sight of the face of Judas who had been trying for an audience for so long. The expression on his face was confusion rather than fear. He looked lost and alone. The priest shouted to him.

“Old man, this is no place for you. Come, we must get out of here. Follow me directly!”

He bustled away. The old preacher, with his pot still grasped leech like in his hands, duly stumbled after him. As they reached the gate out of the court, the two religious men could hear terrible screams filling the air behind them. They heralded the arrival of Titus’ well-trained legions, inside the Temple itself. Time was clearly of the essence. The two men hurried through the Court of the Women and the Court of the Men, and up the stairs into the Temple proper.

The priest, with Judas still in tow, eventually reached the sanctum of the Inner Temple. The Jewish priests were standing, clustered around a trapdoor in the floor. A constant stream of people were throwing themselves through, desperate to find the safety of the tunnel system beneath.

“Quick! To the tunnels!”

The preacher thrust the old man towards the opening in the floor.

“But….”

This was no time for procrastination and a quick hard shove in his back, propelled the old man forward. He found himself carried along through the gap by the press of the despairing crowd. Stumbling down a set of steps that had been crudely fashioned into the rock, he emerged into a cramped low tunnel.

The sloping space was crammed with people, all intent on getting down the narrow corridor and out into the comparative safety of the city streets. They were trying anything to get away from the brutal charge of the Roman attackers. Judas found that he was crushed into an alcove in the tunnel side.

He was sweating heavily. His clothes were drenched and his eyes stinging and watering. But the vase was still firmly held. Bony fingers clasped shut around the sides. The crowd passing his alcove had become a stampede. He wasn’t sure he could even get out into the stream of people. And he had a horrible sense, that if he did, his precious cargo would be smashed beneath the panicking feet.

Resting his back on the cave wall in despair, he felt his head start to sink back. Turning, a noticeable dent could be seen in the clay behind him. Placing the vase on the floor, he used his fingers to claw at the dirt. Within minutes he had created a hole that was of sufficient size to take his pot.

Picking it up, he placed the container gently in the recess and quickly covered it with the excavated dirt. He used the cloth of his sleeve to smooth over the hiding place. It was still fairly obvious, even to an untrained eye that something was buried in the wall. But it would have to do.

Task completed, Judas stood up and shook himself down. He took a deep breath and plunged into the torrent of fleeing citizens. Almost immediately, he lost his footing and sank beneath the crowd. His body was crushed mercilessly beneath the feet of the thundering herd. As his life slipped away, his spirit returned to the light.