The Last Night of Jupiter

by Karen Goldrick

Detective Tony Jones walked carefully down the stairs. At first they’d seemed easy, thick slabs shaped from concrete. But as he followed them around the bend and into the shadows, the builders had obviously decided to simply cut them straight into the rock. They were uneven, and sloped downwards. He wished, when the call had come through, that someone had warned him to wear good walking shoes.

The sun had dipped down below the cover of the trees, and he hoped this interview wouldn’t take too long. There were no lights, he noticed, to show him the way back up. He soon left the noise of passing cars behind, and could hear only the odd crow flying overhead, and the occasional murmur of a boat passing in the river below. The stairs turned yet again, and* he had to take care not to trip on the roots of the redgums which now seemed to make up the supports for the clay cut steps. Eventually the gums gave way to mangroves and native oak, and the stairs petered out to a slope of uneven grass and rotten leaves.

The entrance to the Temple was well hidden. He’d almost walked right into the river before he noticed the path veer away to the right. He followed it past an old wooden boat shed until it cut back up the hill and finally stopped at a tall sandstone wall covered in ivy. The wooden gate was shut. Above it, carved from sandstone, was the two faced Janus,the Romanist God who saw all, looking both forward towards the stairs, and back into the Temple.

There was an old bell hanging overhead, with a rusted chain which probably hadn’t been pulled for a few years. To his left, a reluctant surrender to modern technology, was an electronic door bell. He pushed it once. From somewhere across the river came the sound of a single firecracker and a shout. It was the last night of the Jupiter feasting.

He’d waited almost long enough to think about pushing it again when the door opened. The young man who opened it neither smiled nor met his eyes, simply told him he was expected and walked off.

Detective Jones followed him across a short stone paved path, then through another low wooden door which lead into a long high sandstone building. It was cold inside, spring had yet to shake winter from the walls. To the left and the right two long passageways studded by more wooden doors, some open, other closed. In the middle, directly in front were the tall marble columns of the main Temple. Being a non-practising Romanist, he’d need special permission from the State Priestess if ever he needed to enter.

The young man had taken the passage to his left, and Tony hurried to catch up. He must be an Advocate, he thought, a trainee, but he was young even for that. In this day and age very few young people went in for formal religion. The Advocate had stopped about halfway along the passage before a closed door. Seven from the end. He knocked. Detective Jones heard no reply, but the young man opened the door anyway. Without entering himself, he nodded at the detective to enter, then stepped back into the passage an closed the door behind him.

Detective Jones found himself squinting in the fluorescent glare, and it was more than a few seconds before his eyes relaxed enough to make out the familiar Capitoline Triad on the far wall: Jupiter and Juno, with Minerva glaring out beneath them. He remembered a similar painting from days spent in Temple with his parents, sometime long long ago. There was a heavy oak desk in front of the painting, and at it sat the High Priest with the heavy gold chain and medallion of office around his neck. He ignored the Detective. Standing beside him was the Priestess and she, at least, acknowledged him with a nod.

“You are expected,” she said, each word slow and precise.

“Detective Tony Jones.”

“You are late, Detective Jones. We have been waiting.”

He suppressed a mild frustration. He’d come as soon after the call came through that he could. “Sorry,” he said.

There was one other seat in the room, a tool wooden backed chair on his side of the desk, but he decided to remain standing. For now. He unbuttoned his grey jacket, and removed a notebook and biro from his top pocket.

“So, how can I help, your Highness?”

“The High Priest shall be addressed as his Most Highness,” she said, as she crossed her arms over her ample bosom.

“Sorry again. Your Most Highness, how can I help?”

The High Priest didn’t reply. He sat, arms clasped on the desk in front of him, staring straight ahead. After a few minutes the Priestess spoke.

“His Most Highness wishes to discuss the incident in the lower temple.”

It had been two years since the gruesome find referred to as “the incident” in the lower temple. After a lengthy investigation it had been summed up as an outside job. A thief interrupted, with unfortunate consequences for the elderly advocate who’d disturbed him…or her. Nothing had been reported missing.

“I wasn’t involved with the investigation,” he said, adding ”Most Highness” in response to her glare.

Still the High priest said nothing. Didn’t move a muscle.

“There may be something we…neglected to mention,” the Priestess said.

Keeping his eyes on the high priest, the detective said: ”Neglected..do you mean withheld…or forgot to mention?”

“A small detail. We had our reasons.”

“Do you realise how serious this is?”

“As I said, Detective, we had our reasons.”

The detective looked from one to the other and managed a sigh which he hoped they’d missed. Finally he drew the seat back towards himself and sat down.

“Boo!”

The Detective jumped, the quickly recovered.

“It’s our turn to apologise, Detective Jones. His Most Highness likes his little jokes.”

Oh great, he thought.

“No problem, your…Most highness.” the Detective replied.”Ummm …we were saying?”

“Don’t say to much, Marjory,” the High Priest said.

“I’ll tell him what he needs to know, Most Highness, as we discussed.” She cleared her throat. “What I am about to say, detective, can go no further.”

“As the investigating Officer for the federal police you know I can’t-”

“Then we won’t do this, Marjorie.”

“We must, Most Highness. For the sake of the Temple.” She walked and stood behind the High Priest. “We can invoke the Sacred Triast. The Detective is a Romanist.”

“Non-practising, Your ….Most Highness. There are very few Practising Romanists on the force. There was no-one available as such short notice.”

“But you will abide by Temple Law.” she said.

He slowly replaced his notebook in his top pocket.

“We trust you carry no recording devices. There will be no record of this discussion.”

“I don’t use them, Most highness. Unreliable.”

They waited in silence for a few minutes, and the Detective waited with them.

“Tell him, Marjory,” mumbled the High priest, bowing his head down almost into his hands.

“Very well, Most Highness.” She inhaled through her nose, and lifted her head a little higher.”Something was taken, Detective.”

“On the night of the err Temple Incident, Most Highness?”

“Yes. From the Vault beneath the Alter.”

She closed her mouth as if that were all she intended to say.

“What was taken, your highness?”

“You shall address…”

“Sorry, I mean Most Highness.” He’d just have to get used to addressing him while speaking with the her.

She sighed out through her nose.”Papers, Detective.”

He waited for more.

“Letters. Stories. Old and falling apart. Probably barely legible.“

“How old do you think they were?”

“They were dated 1540G.”

“About 2000 years old then.”

“All lies. Marjory,” spat the High Priest into his hands.

“We believe, Detective, they were likely fraudulent. They came to the keeping of the High Priest of this temple about two hundred years ago. They were found by a (parishioner) travelling in the Middle East, and bequeathed here for safe keeping. They are probably of no consequence.”

“I see,” said the Detective. “So why kill for them?”

“Marjory—” began the High Priest, but the Priestess laid her hand on his shoulder and he stopped.

“The thief would not have known the significance of the letters,” she said.

“But, you said they had no significance your Highness…...Most Highness.”

She walked back around the desk until she stood opposite the detective, way too close.

“They are fraudulent, Detective. We have done our own, investigations. But they are nevertheless trouble. These are not good times for the Temple, The hold religion has on people is tenuous, habit at best. Not just here, but all over the world, and not just Romanist. Jews, Muslims, Hindu, all finding they no longer have need of their Gods, or God. ,”

“And what about the letters, Most Highness?’ The Detective turned away from the Priestess and addressed his question to the High priest, but again it was the Priestess who replied.

“The letters tell the story of a Jew, who was held by the Ruling Romans in Jerusalem for treason. He was crucified- hung up to die on a cross as was custom, and his body removed for burial. The letters state his body disappeared before the burial. Some Jews believed he was the Messiah- the one God – returned to life”

“Lies Marjorie. Fairy tales. Tell him,” said the High priest.

“As I said, we have done our own investigation. There was such a Jew, held prisoner, but he was released at the Jewish Passover. These letters are but a clever trick.”

“I see,” said the Detective. He looked up the the painting of the Capitoline Triad, and it seemed they all looked back at him. He felt uneasy, something was wrong. Uncomfortable. Like an itch that couldn’t be scratched. An itch he couldn’t even find.

“I still don’t understand, Most Highness. if these letters are fiction, then why do you care?” The Priestess walked back behind the High Priest.

“If word of these letters got out. In the media. Worldwide. If there was a hint, a possibility, that there was someone who might be called the Jewish Messiah. A single Deity. Might that not strengthen the case for the Jewish faith. And might that not weaken ours. The Temple cannot afford to lose those…few…who remain loyal believers.”

“All going,” said the High Priest.

“I see,” said the Detective, taking his seat again. “So..who knew about them?”

“They were of the Travid,” replied the High Priestess.

“So only the High priest knew”

“And the High priest proceeding him,. and the High Priestess before him.”

“And what of your Highness?” he addressed the Priestess, who

exchanged a glance with the High Priest

“I am the successor.”

“And that’s how it works, the Travid is shared with the successor?”

“On occasion,” she said. “When we must.”

The detective stood, and paced along the floor, his eyes watching his leather shoes so as not to see the painting on the wall. After a few laps he went and stood before the desk.

“May I ask the high Priest a question?”

“Of course, detective.”

“Which he has to answer.”

The Priestess paused, then nodded.

“All right Most Highness, why have you decided to tell me these things? And why now, two years later?”

“To finish it”

“But it isn’t finished, Most Highness. If there are more leads the investigation has to be reopened.”

“There will be no investigation, detective,’ said the Priestess. You will abide by Temple Law, and tell no-one.”

“Piffle! I haven’t been to Temple since I was in school. Why should I care
about Temple Law, and the supposed consequences of breaking it.”

“Nevertheless, you will abide by the Law, Detective,” she said.
The Detective stood and was about to reply when the picture on the wall again caught his eye. They looked at him, through him, and he felt a chill down his spine, a half forgotten memory of sitting in Temple with his parents, and feeling that the Gods could see through him. See his every misdemeanour.

Afterwards, he was never sure if the Gods implanted the seed in his head, or if it came along by itself. The seed of a thought, that reopening this particular investigation would be hard work, with not many leads. And he had enough on his plate. Then he wondered, briefly, whether this whole interview was just another of the High Priest’s little jokes.

He buttoned his jacket.”You’ve been wasting my time.” he said.

The High priestess pressed a button on the desk. He hadn’t noticed it before. More modern technology. After a few minutes the door opened, and the young Advocate stood there, holding a torch.

“It’s dark outside, Detective. Marcus will show you up the stairs.”

Without a word he followed the young man down the passage and through the two doors. As he walked away from the Temple, he felt the gaze of Janus in his back, and wondered what he would reveal, supposing he could talk. It was dark now, another wasted evening. He could hear the sound of fireworks and cheering from across the river, and wondered how many drunken revellers he’d have to avoid on the way home.

‘Don’t you celebrate the feast of Jupiter?” he asked Marcus.

“We have a gathering in the Temple at 9pm each night during the season,” he replied.

“No alcohol or parties then? How long have you been with the temple,” he asked.

“Four years,’ Marcus replied.

The detective shook his head. Far too young.”Why?”he asked.

“Dad wanted me to.”

“Son, I’ve got a boy your age, and he’d never do anything I asked unless it suited him.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence, and Marcus left him at the gate at the top of the stairs. There was a small pub across the road, overflowing with people who probably had no idea of the solemn and alcohol free gathering about to take place below. Who probably wouldn’t even care if the media started reporting the possibility of a Jewish messiah, unless it meant no more Jupiter parties.

But he doubted there’d ever be such a report.