Temple Boys

‘Broke again,’ the magician said, dropping the pebble at his feet. Then he added, ‘Unless my young friends can help?’

He pointed to Crouch and Halo, who had managed to worm their way through to the front of the crowd. The two could not have made a bigger contrast: Crouch bent double like an old crow and Halo with his fair skin, big dark eyes and curly hair. Crouch frowned, then put a hand on Halo’s shoulder and pushed him gently forwards.

The magician shook the purse upside down, then held it out to Halo. The boy approached it cautiously, snatched it like a starving dog and shook it, then handed it back. While the crowd laughed and pointed good-naturedly, Flea saw the magician slip the purse to Jude, who had moved smoothly up behind him. When he saw the purse again in the magician’s hands, it looked different. The switch had been made.

‘Good,’ the magician said. ‘Now then, what do you think is in the purse?’

‘Nothing,’ the crowd shouted.

‘Nothing? Are you sure?’

‘YES!’

‘Child, what do you think?’

Halo looked up at him. ‘Nothing,’ he said in his high voice. ‘Otherwise I’d have nicked it.’

More laughter.

‘Would you like to look inside?’ The magician handed it back.

Crouch held the purse open while Halo put his small hand inside and his face lit up. To gasps and cheers he pulled out a beautiful, smooth, ivory egg.

‘Hand it back to me, friend.’

The magician closed his hands around the egg, blew on them, muttered a few words and then opened his arms wide. A spotlessly white dove exploded from his hands and flapped its way into the blue sky. The crowd cheered again, before falling silent as the magician stooped low by Crouch’s side and whispered in his ear.

Grinning, Crouch reached into the purse that he was still holding. With a great show he pulled out a gold coin and he held it up. More laughter and cheering all around, then the magician raised his hands for silence.

Flea nodded in appreciation. A decent trick, good enough to con a easy-going crowd in a holiday mood. But not good enough to con him.

The priest hadn’t finished, though.

‘Not so clever,’ he sneered. ‘Not so clever at all. That dove was dedicated to God and you let it free. And as if defiling the Temple with your filth wasn’t enough, that coin tells us all we need to know about people like you. A Roman coin. The currency of our conquerors. You come to the Temple, the beating heart of our religion, and the only coin you can produce has the hated Imperial stamp on it! What were people shouting at you? That you were the Master? Well, whose man are you, Yeshua? The people’s or the emperor’s?’

Rusty-haired Jude was watching the magician closely. Flea had made his way right next to him. He pressed up close and located exactly where the money bag was tied to Jude’s waistband. His light fingers began to work at the knot that held it.

The magician answered the priest for the first time. ‘You know the answer to that, my friend,’ he said in a rich, level voice.

‘But your coin’s got the emperor’s head on it!’ The priest sounded triumphant.

The magician took the coin back from Crouch and looked at it closely. ‘So it has,’ he said. ‘There’s the big man himself. Now, what do you think I should do with it?’

‘Shove it where the sun don’t shine!’ a heckler called out, and the magician laughed, a proper, warm laugh.

‘I’d love to, but let’s see what the priest has to say, because we all know how much the Temple loves its money!’

A huge roar of appreciation – excellent for Flea. The knot was loosening. The money bag was almost free.

The magician waited for quiet, then took a step towards the priest, and another, until he was right in front of him and had to look up, like a child.

‘You asked what had changed about me since I was last here, but I don’t think I really have changed that much. I think it’s this place that’s changed. You think that I’m somehow a lesser man for carrying an Imperial coin, but you deal with Roman money every day. Even worse, you try and make me insult the emperor while you live under his shadow all the time.’

He pointed to the parapet of the Roman Fortress that loomed over the northern walls of the Temple. It was bristling with Imperial soldiers. He pointed to the roof of the portico from which more soldiers looked down, as they did every Feast day, ready to pounce at the first sign of trouble.

‘Even the high priest has to beg the Roman commander for his ceremonial robes, and at the end of every festival he has to give them back so the commander can lock them in his storeroom!’

The crowd began to mutter. No one liked to be reminded of the power the Romans held over them.

‘And you have the nerve to criticise me for using an Imperial coin?’ he continued. ‘The emperor can have his coin back, but what about the people? What about the coins in the Temple treasury? Coins poor farmers have sweated blood to earn and have starved themselves to bring here as taxes. Isn’t it enough that we pay taxes to feed the Imperial army? Do we have to pay for the Temple too? The Temple used to protect the people, but now it only protects itself. The Temple grows richer while the country grows poorer. The Temple clings on to Rome like a weak child hangs around a bully. This isn’t a temple. This is a market stall! Friends, if you want freedom, free yourselves from the Temple!’

With a practised countryman’s flick the magician threw the coin high in the air in the direction of the Fortress and started to walk to the southern colonnade, taking the crowd with him.

As he did so, Flea gave the string holding the money bag one last tug. But before he could grab it, Jude’s hand clamped down hard on his.

10

There was nothing he could do. Flea’s hand was round the purse; Jude’s hand was round his. He was stuck.

Caught.

Doomed.

‘Not bad, little thief, not bad. But not good enough,’ Jude whispered, looking down.

Flea looked at the crowd and saw how he was being left behind. He struggled, went limp, struggled again.

‘And stop worming around or I’ll turn you in. What do you think the punishment will be? Will they cut off an ear, or will they just stone you? Ever been to a stoning? They bury you up to your neck in the ground and –’

‘All right, all right!’ Flea said between gritted teeth.

‘Good. Now, we’re going to talk.’

‘Why? What do you want from me?’

A hard squeeze made him squeal.

‘Not your place to ask,’ Jude said, and Flea allowed himself to be dragged across to the low railing that separated the outer court from the inner. Only when they were there did Jude loosen his grip a little.

‘I’m curious,’ he said. ‘What on earth did you think you were doing?’

‘What do you care?’ Flea said.

He looked at the man with rust-coloured hair properly. He had a thin, horsey face with long teeth. There was a star-shaped scar in the middle of one cheek and he appeared to have lost most of his teeth on that side of his face.

‘About you? Nothing. But to be honest, I’d stick my head in boiling oil before I handed anyone over to the Temple Police, even my worst enemy.’

‘If you don’t let me go, I’ll be your worst enemy!’ Flea tried to kick him, but could not reach.

The grip tightened again.

‘All right, all right. I’m one of the Temple Boys,’ Flea said. ‘We’re a gang. The boys on the bridge you helped – they were Big and Snot. The one who’s all hunched over, that’s Crouch. The pretty one is Halo. I’m –’

‘You’re Flea.’

‘How did you know my name?’

‘Magic – what else? Actually, on the way here your friend Big was telling me about his gang: all your names and where you live. Apparently, all he has to do is snap his fingers and you’ll do anything he asks.’ Long-toothed smile. ‘Now, can I let you go so we can talk? All right? Good.’

Flea flexed his hand while Jude put the money bag safely inside his satchel.

Jude rubbed his face and it sounded like a rock scraping on gravel. ‘Bottom of the heap, are you?’

‘Yes,’ Flea said reluctantly.

‘Finding it hard?’

‘Suppose.’

‘I know all about that,’ Jude said. ‘Although my case is slightly different.’

Flea looked at him with interest.

‘You see, even though I’m the dogsbody, I’m actually the original member of Yesh’s gang,’ Jude continued. ‘Except because we’re grown-ups we don’t call it a gang, we call it a movement . And I’m not the fixer, I’m a facilitator . And we don’t go around doing tricks and talking to people, either. We’re reaching out, we’re engaging, we’re communicating . And worst of all, we have a plan to follow and a mission to fulfil. We’re showing people the way.’

‘So leave,’ Flea said.

‘Quit? That would be like giving up. Anyway, who’d look after Yesh?’

‘You don’t trust the others?’

‘I don’t trust him,’ Jude said.

‘So why should I care?’ Flea tried to growl. ‘Anyway, what do you want?’

Jude blinked, then laughed. ‘You’re a horrid little so-and-so. I was going to hire you for a day’s work – good wages too – but if you’re –’

‘How much?’ Flea said quickly. The thought of money snapped him out of his bad mood.

‘That got you interested. How much do you make in a typical day?’

‘A shekel,’ Flea lied.

‘Nice try. I know how these things work. I bet you have to pool it anyway, or pay off Big.’

‘Half a shekel.’

‘I’ll pay you half that,’ Jude said. ‘And feed you. And I promise not to tell anyone that I caught you red-handed trying to rob me –’

Jude broke off and looked over Flea’s head to the far distant southern end of the Temple. It was where the money changers took the visitors’ coins and exchanged them for Temple gold. You often got arguments there – the exchange rate was crippling and the actual cost of buying a dove or a lamb for sacrifice was high – but this was different.

‘Sounds like trouble,’ Flea said.

‘That’s what I’m worried about. They said they were planning something.’

‘Who? What?’

‘Yeshua. The others. I said it would make enough trouble just coming to the City, but no, he said he had to make a big statement and really show people what he was about.’

‘And what is he about? At first I thought he was a magician, but then . . .’ Flea protested.

‘That’s just what people call him when they want to put him down. Don’t you understand? He hasn’t come here to turn water into wine or pull eggs out of children’s ears, he’s come to . . . What’s going on now?’

Because the sound was growing even louder. Howls. Screams. And now fighting.

The magician’s words had obviously hit home with the crowd. The money changers and traders had never been popular. Now the crowd was taking out years of frustration on them. As Flea watched, a man clutching a moneybag broke free from the crush, but he was chased down and disappeared under a billowing sea of robes. Flea saw a trader trying to sneak towards the western gate with a wicker basket of white doves. He was spotted and started to sprint, holding his tunic up with one hand and the basket with the other. A small mob gave chase and surrounded him. A dove fluttered upwards, bloodstained and panicked, and just as it looked as if it might fly free a hand reached out and dragged it back.

The trumpet blast was harsh and shocking. Jude grabbed Flea. ‘The Temple Police! Will your gang have the sense to get out?’

‘The ones that can run will. But the others will be in big trouble – Clump and Crutches especially. They’re breaking the Laws of Perfection.’

‘And things will be even worse if the Imps wade in,’ Jude said. ‘He’s gone and done it this time. Look, get out now! I’ll find your friends and if I don’t see you later, see you tomorrow. Outside your shelter!’

And he was gone.

11

Flea huddled in the entrance to the shelter along with Big, Little Big, Crouch, Halo and Crutches. The woman who lived in the hovel opposite was shaking out a rug and her stuck-up daughter was airing the mattresses and giving them a good beating – they crammed their house full of out-of-towners for the Feast and lived off the rent for the rest of the year.

Dust flew. The daughter stared at them. Flea made faces at her, but it was pretty clear why she was interested. Big had a split lip, Little Big had a black eye and seemed groggy. Crutches had been knocked over and kicked. Crouch was curled up on his side, his hair still wet from spit and his tunic torn. There was no sign of Snot, the twins, Gaga, Clump, Hole-in-the-Head or Red.

Halo was sobbing loudly and when Big cuffed him, Flea exploded. ‘What are you doing? You should never have gone into the Temple. You were meant to rob the magician, not join up with him and his washed-up followers.’

‘Flea,’ Big said. ‘Shut up before I hang you upside down.’

Flea ignored the threat. ‘I thought we were meant never to trust anyone bigger than ourselves. We could have cleaned up. At least I had a go.’

‘Flea!’ Big’s tone became more urgent.

‘This is what happens when you suck up to adults . . . tramps! . . . . northerners! . . . con artists! show-offs . . .’

‘FLEA!’

‘WHAT?’ Flea screamed back. Everyone was laughing him, then looking past him, then at him and laughing some more. ‘WHAT, YOU BLOODY BASTARDS?’

‘Behind you, prat.’

He turned.

The missing gang members, the magician and his followers were filling the alleyway. Yeshua had his hands on Clump and Gaga’s shoulders, eyebrows raised. The others, with the rest of the Temple Boys, stood behind him.

Everyone seemed amused. To cover his confusion, Flea decided to carry on where he left off. ‘So? So they’re not dead? Big deal. We meet a magician and he doesn’t kill us. Great trick. It was a riot! Halo and Crouch could have got stoned to death for taking part in that stupid conjuring trick. People were saying they were witches. The rest of us could have got killed or trampled to death. We didn’t know where you were!’

‘You should have stuck with us,’ Red said. ‘It was fine.’

‘And what happens tomorrow if there’s a curfew? Or a lockdown? How do we beg? How do we eat? Does the magician know how to fix that?’

A short silence was followed by sniggers. Flea realised that he’d missed something.

‘Keep up, moron,’ Big said. ‘They’ve invited us to eat with them tomorrow night. It’s a big deal, a feast with wine and everything. And there’s no curfew, either. The Temple wouldn’t dare.’

‘No one told me!’

‘Do us a favour,’ Big said. ‘Don’t say another word.’

‘And do me a favour,’ Yeshua said. ‘Spend some time with us and get to know us a bit better. Will you, Flea? Please?’

Flea felt the force of the magician’s clever, intense eyes and looked away.

Yeshua said, ‘We’ve got a tough one here, friends. Going to have to do more than my usual tricks to get him interested.’

Flea looked for Jude, but he wasn’t there. ‘One day you’ll meet a real magician who’ll blast you off the face the earth with lightning bolts,’ he muttered.

‘Until then, you’ve just got me.’

‘We should have robbed you.’

‘You wouldn’t have got much.’

‘I mean after you’d collected from the crowd.’

‘We don’t do that.’ He smiled a steady, warm smile that somehow spread beyond Flea to take in the rest of the gang. ‘Now, can we join you? That looks like a fine shelter. Did you make it yourselves?’

And in no time at all, Yeshua and his followers were sitting down by the shelter as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Flea shook his head. All he felt was a profound suspicion. He had to admit that the magician had a sort of power – he couldn’t think of any other word – that could pull smiles out of a person like a butcher dragged the guts from an animal, but did it really make them happier? Did it change a thing?

When Clump asked Yeshua how he did the trick with the egg and the dove, Yeshua opened his eyes wide and said, ‘Trick? How dare you. Have none of you heard of magic?’

‘But can you . . .’ Clump’s voice tailed off.

The gang exchanged glances. They knew exactly what he wanted to ask. A month ago Clump had stolen the gang’s takings and bought a cure for his twisted foot from a travelling doctor. The foul-smelling ointment had done no good at all except earn him a black eye for nicking the money and a foot that reeked of camel dung and rancid lard, which was probably what the ointment was made of.

‘I know what you want,’ Yeshua said. ‘You want to know if I can cure people. The answer is yes, I can sometimes.’

Yeshua looked around the gang, meeting and holding their eyes. Once, twice he did it and then, without anyone uttering a word, Gaga stood and approached him as if he were on a string. Yeshua put his hands on Gaga’s head, looked upwards, muttered something, then bent down and whispered in Gaga’s ear. Gaga smiled uncertainly, cleared his throat, smiled shyly and said, ‘Thank you,’ in a little hoarse voice.

They were the first words any of the Temple Boys had ever heard Gaga speak. Everyone got up and made a fuss of him – slapping him on his back, asking him to say something else. Everyone apart from Flea, who felt sick in a way he could not understand.

He slouched to the end of the alleyway where the woman and her daughter were standing by their mattresses and staring at the gathering with undisguised curiosity.

The followers pooled their money and two of them went off with Big and Red to get some food. When they came back with bread, cheese and fresh vegetables, one of the followers produced a cloth and they spread the food out, then sat around it.

‘Flea, come and join us,’ Yeshua called.

Flea felt as if he were being torn apart, with half of him wanting to accept Yeshua’s invitation, but the other too proud. He went round the corner and sat down, hugging his knees with his back against the alley walls and the laughter of people having fun burning inside him. What was wrong with him? The man had just cured Gaga and even that didn’t impress him. There was just something about Yeshua, something that tried to draw you in. That was it! He wanted to draw you in, but to what?

‘What are you doing?’ a voice said. He looked up in surprise. The skinny girl who was always hanging around was standing in front of him. She was about Flea’s height, with gangly, skinny limbs. Her tunic was even shabbier than Flea’s. She had half a loaf of flatbread in one hand and an orange in the other.

‘What does it look like?’ Flea snapped.

‘It looks like you’re sulking,’ the girl replied. ‘Here, want some bread?’

Flea tried to wave her away.

‘What’s going on?’ she persisted. She pointed at the magician and said, ‘Who’s that man?’

‘Don’t you know? He’s only meant to be the Chosen One,’ Flea said.

‘Who chose him?’ the girl asked. Flea opened his mouth to answer, then realised he didn’t know. ‘If you ask me, he’s trouble,’ she went on. ‘I heard people talking about him. They said he’s come to the City to mess things up.’

‘How?’

A shrug.

‘Well, if you don’t know, there’s no reason to hang around, is there?’ Flea snarled.

‘No reason for you to, either,’ the skinny girl said calmly. ‘Why don’t you come with me? You could have some bread. I’ll even give you bit of orange.’

Flea’s mouth watered, but he said, ‘You think I need your food? Anyway, I’ve got to stay here. Someone has to look out for the gang.’

The girl gave him a level look that made him hate her. Then it was her turn to shrug.

‘See you, then,’ she said and walked slowly off. But she had given Flea an idea. If he found out more about Yeshua, maybe something that showed he was using them, then he would have something real to tell the gang.

When Yeshua and his followers finally got up to leave, Flea hid. When Big and Little Big came looking for him, his heart lifted – for a moment.

‘That’s it,’ Big said. ‘You’ve just proved you’re a total loser.’

‘Yeah,’ Little Big said. ‘Loser.’

‘What do you mean, loser ?’ Flea protested. ‘You’re the loser. Who’s hanging out with –’

‘Just shut it, Flea,’ Big said. ‘No one cares what you say. In fact, we’ve decided to kick you out.’

‘You what?’

‘We’re kicking you out of the Temple Boys. Not that you were ever in the gang. You just bored us into letting you stay.’

‘But I do stuff. I get the water. I –’

‘Yeah, you were useful, but now you’re not. You’re just annoying. We’re moving on and you’ve made it clear what you think.’

‘But I’m allowed to say –’

‘Shut up.’

‘ . . . to say . . .’

Big picked up a stone and tossed it from hand to hand.

‘ . . . what I think.’

The stone thumped hard into the middle of Flea’s chest and suddenly he was sitting down, feeling as if the air had been sucked from the world around him.

‘But –’ he managed to gasp.

‘Just get out.’

Big picked another stone and Flea staggered to his feet and out of the alley, folding his arms against the pain.

12

It was the worst night of Flea’s life. Worse than the night he left the glue maker (even though it had been snowing then), worse than the night he escaped from Mosh the Dosh’s house (he had picked a hole in the roof and scraped his back on a nail), worse than the night after the rats in the tomb had bitten his mouth and his lips had swollen up and he’d had feverish nightmares of giant rats, wearing grave-shrouds and dancing.

Why was it worse? Because everything was his fault. He had suggested they go and see and the magician. He had argued against them taking their chances in Temple Square. And he had refused to join the others when Yeshua had invited him to.

Twilight turned to night and the dark was cold. He walked up and down the street outside the alleyway, flapping his arms, then headed for the water fountain: sometimes a street seller would set up a charcoal brazier that you could huddle around. But the weather was too foul and no one was out. Once he thought he saw the skinny girl disappear around a corner in front of him and he ran to try and find her, but there was no one there. He was chasing shadows.

Wherever he went the cold wind found him. He settled down in the street close to the gang’s shelter, his back against the wall, hugging his knees.

two days to go

13

It wasn’t the cold that woke Flea but the pressure of a finger under his ear. In the end, he’d curled up on the woman-across-the-alleyway’s rubbish dump. The faint warmth of decomposition made it less frigid than hard earth and paving stones.

He opened his eyes. A very black sky, very bright stars and a man-shape blocking them.

‘Here. Too cold to be lying around.’

Flea recognised Jude’s voice. He started as something warm landed in his lap.

‘Don’t unwrap it! It’s a hot stone. You don’t do that in the City?’

‘D-do w-what?’ Flea had to clamp his teeth to stop them chattering.

‘Heat stones during the day and put them in your bed at night. Maybe it’s a northern thing. You have to be careful, though. Some stones explode when they get too hot. How does that feel?’

‘All r-right.’

In fact it felt wonderful. Wrapped in his hands, cradled against his belly, the stone felt like a small, personal sun.

‘How did you find me?’ he asked.

‘My keen sense of smell. That was a joke. I was going to roust you out of your shelter, but Shim, one of Yesh’s followers, said you didn’t join them, so I kept my eyes peeled. Anyway, if you’re warm enough, stand up. We’ve got a busy day.’