The Third Day

“You ever use one of those things?” he asked.

I laughed. At one point in my career, I had spent six months in England, assigned to a squad whose commander led an enthusiastic Roman-era reenactment crew — fighting Caesar’s landing every other weekend.

“Only enough to be a danger to myself and innocent bystanders,” I replied. “What about you?”

He shook his head. “It wasn’t part of the curriculum at Parris Island.”

This surprised me; I never took him for a Marine.

“Lance Corporal Robert Lavon — retired,” he said. “In return for a few years with Uncle Sam’s Misguided Children, the GI Bill paid for most of my college education.”

“See any action?”

He chuckled. “The closest I got was as an embassy guard in Beijing. I had orders to check everyone and everything going into the building; and you know how these politicians on fact-finding junkets can be when they forget their ID.”

I laughed, imagining Senator Blowhard turning red in the face with the do-you-know-who-I- am routine. Half of his own constituents probably wouldn’t recognize him. Why should some Jarhead on the other side of the world?

“And you?” he asked.

“Oh, a little bit; here and there,” I replied.

Chapter 20

Before he could inquire further, we crested another low hill and for the first time, we could see over the outer wall and into the grand panorama of the Temple complex. Once again, we gave our best impressions of gawking hicks from the back of beyond, and once again, Decius had to call out for us to catch up.

We had arrived at just the right time of day. The tan meleke glowed almost white in the early afternoon sun, a spectacle enhanced by the rays sparkling from the gold trim along the top.

“Wow,” said Bergfeld. “It’s magnificent.”

The others responded in the same way.

Markowitz, though, said nothing. He just stood there, mumbling something I didn’t understand, over and over.

Decius called out again, and I had to gently prod Ray forward, and even then, his eyes never strayed from the building. Roman engineers had paved this part of the road, too, so I had the additional task of keeping him from tripping over the curb.

“Just think,” said Bryson, “you’re the first Jew to see this in two thousand years.”

Markowitz didn’t reply. He just continued to stare at the Temple and kept on with his mumbling. Finally, he took a couple of steps over to Lavon and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Robert, where is the Western Wall? Can you show me what part of the Temple survived?”

The Jerusalem of Christ’s time consisted of two elevated areas separated by valley running along a north- south line through the center of town. Herod’s palace, including the three tall towers, dominated the western portion, which was known as the Upper City and served as the home of Jerusalem’s wealthy elite.

A long stone bridge, barely visible from where we walked, spanned the valley from the Upper City to the Temple Mount. Lavon pointed to it.

“In modern times, we call what’s left of that bridge Wilson’s Arch,” he said. “Now, look off to its right, to the southwestern corner of the Temple compound.”

Markowitz turned his eyes towards the top of the section Lavon had pointed out. “I can see it,” he said.

Lavon shook his head. “No, the upper part was torn down. The only thing that survived was the retaining wall underneath. That’s the Wailing Wall. The Romans destroyed everything else.”

Markowitz didn’t reply. He stared at the soldiers for a few minutes as he considered this, occasionally glancing back to the Temple.

“These Romans.” he finally said.

“These Romans are keeping us alive,” I reminded him.

“That’s right,” said Lavon. “Besides, by the time the revolt started, most of these guys were already dead, and those who weren’t were hobbling around with canes and looking for their teeth — or whatever old people did back then.”

We all laughed, and Markowitz smiled. I could see it was forced, but he didn’t want to raise a stink. None of us did, really.

That included the Romans.

I looked ahead and saw Publius whisper quietly to the standard bearer at his side. The soldier, sporting a wolf’s head over his helmet, walked back double-time to the wagon with the signum — the unit’s standard that displayed its numerous commendations for distinguished service. He took the standard off its pole and carefully, almost reverently, wrapped it in a thick red velvet blanket.

Afterward, the signifer removed his wolf skin and wrapped it with equal care in another red blanket. Then he squeezed himself into the wagon and squatted next to his parcels. One of his wounded colleagues moved over to give him room.

“What’s he doing?” asked Markowitz.

“Something smart,” said Lavon. “Publius knows it’s provocative, so he sent his standard bearer back to cover it up. As you know, the Second of the Ten Commandments forbids “graven images,” which the more traditional- minded segments of the population interpreted as any representation of a man or an animal.”

The two sides’ mutual incomprehension on this subject proved to be a fertile source of conflict from the beginning of the Roman occupation until the crushing of the final revolt. The possibility of miscalculation was enormous, even in the best of times.

Just to be sure of his interpretation, Lavon questioned Decius, and the Roman confirmed what he had suspected.

He didn’t seem to like it very much.

Chapter 21

When we reached a point about a quarter mile from the gate, a soldier on the tallest battlement blew a trumpet, and our trumpeter blew his acknowledgment in return.

Lavon, though, paid this activity little attention. His eyes remained riveted on the gate itself — a straightforward, practical structure conveying a sense of solidity and strength.

Massive stone blocks overlaid an arch resembling an upside down U. Two battlements, twice the height of the surrounding wall, flanked the gate itself. Both were well equipped with slits for archers and gaps through which defenders could rain heavy stones or boiling oil down upon their attackers from any direction.

“You seem surprised,” I said.

“It’s not quite what I expected,” he replied. “The Damascus gate still exists — in our world. I took a tour group through it only a month ago.”

“It looks like this?”

“Not at all. It’s smaller, and the stonework is much more elaborate.”

He paused for a moment and looked around.

“Of course, this one does serve a real defensive purpose. The Ottomans built the modern gate in 1542, long after gunpowder weapons had rendered stone fortifications obsolete. They could afford to be decorative.”

That made sense.

“You have one problem, though,” I said. “When we get back, how are you going to convince anyone that your