He put his hand on her cheek. “Mara!”
Silas pulled her body closer. “It seems your charge can’t hold her wine.” He stepped back. “I’ll take the poor girl to a room to sleep it off.”
“No!” Shem’s heart pounded. He slid his arms under Mara and pulled. Silas did not release her. “No, give her to me.”
Silas arched a brow at Shem and pulled back. “I thought you wanted to be rid of her for a night?”
What could he say? Silas had him trapped like a mouse. “I do, of course, but she is ill. Believe me, it is not a pretty sight. It starts with this.” He shook her a little. “Then the fit comes on her.”
Silas’s grip loosened.
Shem grimaced. “And vomiting, sometimes worse.”
Silas let her go, disgust twisting his face.
Shem shifted her closer to his chest. “I know how to take care of her.” Was it really the wine? Or had the torturous journey been too much for her? How could he get her out of here like this—limp and unconscious?
“Berenice!” Silas roared. The old woman who had brought Mara to them scurried from the doorway. Her old face wrinkled in concern, and she ran her gnarled hand over Mara’s slack face.
“Take them to a room in the east hall.”
Shem bowed as well as he could. “Thank you, my host. I will see to her.”
“We will talk in the morning.” Silas turned back to his wine.
Shem nodded and hurried after the servant. We’ll be far away by then. As they rushed down the hallway, Shem held his breath and dipped his head close to hers. Her breathing was fast. Did her lashes flutter?
“Is he gone?” Mara whispered through barely moving lips.
She had been pretending? He let out his breath in a whoosh. Good girl! She had gotten them away from Silas and given him an excuse to leave as well. Now they just had to get out of the house without being seen.
“Shh,” Shem whispered. “Stay still.”
Berenice bustled in front of Shem, leading them through dimly lit rooms and glancing back with concern. She pointed through a doorway into a small bedchamber. Mara’s breath brushed against his neck, and her eyes stayed closed. He lowered her onto a thick, soft mattress. One bright lamp glowed on an ornate table.
Berenice hovered. Maybe the old woman could help them.
Shem fished a bronze coin from his belt. “I need her clothes and shoes.”
“The dress, we threw it in the fire.” She stepped back as if expecting a blow.
“Just bring what you can find.” He pressed the coin into her bony hand. “And Berenice? Please don’t tell anyone.” She patted Mara’s still shoulder and left the room.
“Mara,” he said, kneeling next to her. Was she really sick or was it all an act? “Talk to me. Are you really ill?”
Her eyes opened slowly, as if they were weighted with stones. “I don’t know . . . the wine and food. I’m so tired.” She closed her eyes again.
“Listen.” Shem shook her. This was no time to sleep.
She opened her eyes halfway.
“I have a bad feeling . . . We’re not safe here. We should leave now, Mara.”
“You leave.” She rolled away from him. “Then you can be rid of me.” She curled up in a ball, her back to him.
How could she believe that? Shem gripped her shoulder. “Mara, I said those things to protect you. I didn’t—Mara, we have to go. Now.” He rolled her back toward him.
“Leave me alone.”
“Mara, we don’t have time for this. We must leave. Remember Nava? Your mother needs you.”
“Yes, she needs me.” Mara’s head nodded as her eyes closed. “We must hurry.” Her body went limp, and her face relaxed.
What could he do? She was in no shape to travel. Would they have enough time if he let her sleep just a little while? He was weary as well. He stepped out into the hallway and checked up and down. The house was quiet. Perhaps they could afford to rest a bit. Surely Silas was passed out by now.
He slid down the wall outside the room and curled in a ball in front of the doorway. At least he could make sure that no one visited Mara while she slept. He’d just rest. Not sleep. Someone had to stay awake and keep them both from getting killed.
• • •
Mara’s eyes snapped open. Where was she? The room was dark. Heavy blankets pressed on her arms and legs, weighing her down as memories of the night filled her mind. Where was Shem? He had wanted to be rid of her. But he had also been worried; he had wanted them to leave. She bolted up and threw the blankets aside.
A creak and a jingle sounded through an open window high on the wall. Then, unmistakably, a horse blowing and stamping. She climbed up on the bed and straightened slowly to peer through the small square.
The moon gleamed low in the sky, but the courtyard was lit by more than its thin white glow. Torchlight fell on three men just dismounting from horses—Roman soldiers in full armor and plumed helmets, swords glinting at their sides. Silas stood at the door, beckoning them in, his words low and rushed. Where was Shem? The soldiers were not here by chance.
She stepped off the bed and felt her way to the door. How would she ever find him in this sprawling house? She stumbled over something big and firm that blocked the doorway.
It grunted.
The dark shape uncoiled at her feet and came at her. She didn’t think, just ran, veering around it. It grabbed at her, snagged her arm, and swung her around. A hand closed over her mouth. She went for its head, clawing desperately.
“What? Mara, stop it!” Shem hissed and pushed her back into the room. He lifted his hand from her mouth as she stopped struggling.
Relief made her legs weak. “Why . . . what were you doing there?”
“Making sure no one visited you.”
She didn’t want to think about that. She pointed to the window. “Shem, there are soldiers out there.”
They both climbed on the bed and peeked out the window. The soldiers were gone, but the steaming horses stood waiting.
Shem went back to the door and peered into the hallway. “This is bad,” he whispered. “We need to go. Now.” He picked up the bundle from the foot of the bed. “Take this.”
It was her cloak and new sandals, smaller than the pair Mechola had given her. How had those gotten here?
“Go through the window. I’ll be right behind you.”
She pushed the bundle through the window, watched it drop into the bushes below, and glanced back at Shem.
“Hurry,” he mouthed.
Mara hoisted herself up to the thick sill and pushed herself head first through the small window. She slid slowly down the outside wall until her upper body was free, then fell with a thud. Dull pain shot through her shoulders, and thorny branches scratched her bare arms. She patted the dark ground, found her bundle, and crawled behind the nearest bush.
She waited. A jackal howled in the distance, and the horses snorted and stamped. Her heart pounded in her chest. Any moment she would hear a shout of discovery.
Shem hit the ground beside her with a muffled grunt. He was up in an instant. He pointed at the arched entrance to the courtyard and ran toward it, hunched close to the ground. She followed, blood roaring in her ears. They passed under the arch and veered into the dark shadows of the high walls.
Shem crouched close to the wall, breathing hard. “Mara, listen. We’ll run through the vineyard. Keep low, and stay close to me. Head for the trees there.” He pointed to a dark mass of forest. “But Mara, if they come after us—if they catch me—keep running. It’s me they want, not you. Run to the water, and ask for a man named Ezekiel. He’s a friend. He’ll help you.”
Go on alone? “But I—”
He held up a hand. “Mara, I mean it. I won’t let them catch us both . . . they’ll give you to Silas, and I won’t be able to protect you.” He swallowed hard. “Promise me you’ll run.”
Why were they after him? And what was he planning to do, give himself up? For her? Whatever it wa
s, he didn’t look ready to answer her questions. Doors slammed, and feet hammered on the tiled surface of the courtyard. Deep voices shouted orders. She nodded. “I’ll run. I promise.” And if we make it to safety, you’ll tell me what this is about.
Chapter 27
Shem moved fast, listening to Mara breathe hard behind him. No pounding hooves sounded in the black night. If the soldiers had found them, would he have been able to give himself up and let Mara get away? Thank the Lord it hadn’t come to that.
He stopped in the darkness of a cedar grove. The carpet of needles was soft underfoot, and the scent brought back memories of Sychar. I never thought I’d wish to be in Sychar. Through the trees lay the road to Tiberius. “We will skirt the city and go to the water. From there we can look for Ezekiel. Pray that he is fishing today.”
That had been close. Too close. If Mara hadn’t woken him . . . Did Silas tell them his name? Would they send men to his home in Caesarea? His father would be able to protect the rest of the family—Ezra’s connections in Caesarea assured it—but Shem would never be able to go back to the city.
He felt only relief at that thought. This journey was the worst idea. If they could get away—if he could get Mara back to Sychar—Shem knew exactly what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. Not just to Zevulun and Alexandros. But for Mara. If he was honest with himself, he’d known for a long time.
They scrambled along the trees and bushes that flanked the road. The briny smell of the water grew stronger. As they came within sight of the gates of Tiberius, ramshackle warehouses replaced the trees. Shem crouched behind one, hoping they couldn’t be seen. He snuck a look around the corner at the empty road.
This would be dangerous. The soldiers must have finished searching the house by now. Would they try Tiberius or look for them to the north, on the road to Magdala? There was no way to know.
“We need to get down to the water,” he said when they’d both caught their breath. He needed another of Ezra’s connections to get them to Capernaum. That is, if their luck held and he could find Ezekiel before the Romans caught up with them.
Mara threw her cloak over the thin dress and buckled her sandals. Across the wide road, a narrow rocky beach harbored a scattering of fishing boats. The sun peeked over the distant mountains, and the pink sky reflected on the smooth water.
“Shem,” Mara whispered.
He didn’t look at her, didn’t want to see the questions that he knew would come. “Shem,” she said again, more insistently, reaching out to touch his arm. “What is going on?” she asked. “Why are they after you?”
He didn’t answer. What could he say?
The sound of pounding hooves startled them both. With no better place to hide, they pressed themselves close to the building. If the soldiers decided to go around the building, they would be found.
The clatter of hooves stopped near enough that they could hear the creak of the leather saddles.
“Longinus,” one soldier commanded, “check with the city gatekeepers. We’ll ride toward Magdala.”
Longinus? From Caesarea? It couldn’t be.
One set of hooves thundered toward the city walls, while the other two soldiers whirled their horses and bolted in the opposite direction.
Shem held his breath, then peeked around the building. The soldier disappeared inside the gate; the other two were already out of sight. “Now.” Shem grabbed Mara’s hand and hauled her toward the road. “He won’t be in there long. Now is our only chance.”
They sprinted to the water’s edge. Shem searched desperately for a boat—any boat that would take them away from shore. A fisherman mending a net on the narrow beach eyed them. Shem veered toward him. “Do you know of a man called Ezekiel, a fisherman, and his sons?” he asked.
The man worked at a knot. “Ay, I know him.”
“Is he here? This morning?” Shem looked over his shoulder at Mara and, beyond her, at the looming gate. They would be in full view if the soldier came out of the gate at this moment.
The man finished tying off a knot before breaking the line with his teeth. “He usually comes in about now.” He tipped his head down the beach.
Shem followed his gaze, and his heart jumped. A boat was rowing into the shallow water. He grabbed Mara and ran down the rocky shore.
“Stay here.” He planted Mara at the edge of the water and waded out to meet the boat. A huge, burly man crouched at the prow while three other men gathered nets into the flat-bottomed vessel. Shem hadn’t seen Ezekiel since last winter when he had made his annual trip to Caesarea to do business with Ezra, but there was no mistaking the big fisherman. He silently thanked his father for keeping his Samaritan heritage quiet. Ezekiel was a Jew, and a Jew wouldn’t lift a finger to save a Samaritan—even from the Romans.
The bearlike man looked twice at Shem. “Shem? Ezra’s boy?” At Shem’s nod, he jumped into the water and splashed toward him.
“Ezekiel.” Shem gripped the man’s massive shoulders. “Please. I need some help. Can you take us out in the boat? My companion and I?” He glanced back at the city gate, then at Mara standing on the beach, her arms wrapped around her body. It wasn’t fair to put them in danger, but he had no other choice. “I’m in trouble.”
Ezekiel looked at Mara, raising his bushy brows. “Get in, boy. Then tell us your story.”
• • •
Mara splashed through the shallows behind Shem, the cold water well above her knees when she reached the boat. Before Shem could help her up, huge hands lifted her. They stayed on her waist while she gained her balance in the rocking boat. But Ezekiel’s smile spread wide and fatherly on his bearded face. He wasn’t a bit like Silas. She felt like throwing her arms around him in thanksgiving.
But they weren’t out of danger yet. She glanced back at the city gate. No sign of the soldier, just a tanner’s cart going through the narrow opening to the city.
Two young men with bare, hairy legs and wild, curly hair stared at her with open mouths. They looked enough alike to be brothers, and an older version stood nearby, clearly their father. And these men were Jews. Did they know that they were helping Samaritans? Mara wrapped her cloak around her clinging dress as the father barked an order at the gawking young men. They jumped and went back to work on the nets.
Shem edged her past the fishermen to the back of the boat. “Sit here. I need to talk to them.”
She settled on a pile of wet netting that sparkled with fish scales and smelled of the water. Would these rough men really help them?
As the others made the boat ready to set out again, Shem put his head close to Ezekiel’s, talking quickly. The fisherman glanced at Mara while he answered, then to the gate. He clapped Shem on the back with a massive paw and went to work on the sail.
Shem climbed over the nets toward her. His mouth smiled, but his eyes were still worried. “Ezekiel will take us to Capernaum. And the other one, Zebedee”—he raised his chin toward the father—“he knows Jesus, and he knows where he is. You will see him this morning.”
Mara gasped. They had done it. They would see him. But what would she say? What would Jesus say? Her stomach twisted like the tangled nets at her feet.
As the fisherman readied the sail, a shout came from the shore. A Roman soldier barreled down the beach on horseback, coming straight toward them. His sword glinted in the sun as he turned his sorrel mount into the lapping waves, urging it toward the boat. Mara clutched at Shem’s arm and pointed.
Shem jerked to his feet.
The soldier was close, and the sail wasn’t even up. He’d be on them in a moment.
Shem called out to Ezekiel. “It’s me they’re after.” His hand went to the knife at his belt. “I’ll buy you some time to get away. Please, take care of her.” He grabbed the side of the boat, ready to jump into the water.
Mara grabbed his tunic and pulled. “Shem, no!” What was he thinking?
He leaned down and spoke in a harsh whisper. “I have to. I can’t let them arrest
everyone! I can’t let them take you.” He took her hand and pressed it to his cheek—so fast that she had only a quick impression of smooth, warm skin.
“Hold on there, lad,” shouted Ezekiel, working furiously to raise the sail. “Here in Galilee, we don’t give the Romans what they want if we can help it!”
The brothers whooped and took over the sail.
Zebedee picked up an oar and motioned for Shem to grab the other. “Go deeper. Now!” He stuck his oar in the water and pulled hard.
Shem fumbled with the other oar.
The soldier had almost reached the boat. He was close enough for Mara to see his angry blue eyes and the bright red hair curling below his helmet.
She couldn’t just sit there. He was almost on them.
Her hands found a cast net. She lurched to her feet, lifted it high, and threw it with all her strength.
It landed on the horse’s outstretched head. The horse reared and splashed, trying to toss off the clinging web. The sword flashed and dropped as the soldier tried to control his horse and not fall into the water.
The wind caught the sail, and the boat jerked into motion, sending Mara tumbling back onto the nets. The Roman gave what sounded like a curse and turned his struggling horse back to shore.
The wind rippled through the sail, and the water slapped at the prow as they skimmed over the waves. The five men stared at Mara, their mouths hanging open. Mara squirmed and twisted her hands in her lap. Why were they looking at her like that?
Then Zebedee began to laugh. “Hoho! What a woman you have brought with you, young man! If you aren’t already married to her, my boys could use a wife with her quick wits!” The other men joined in, the brothers eyeing her with extra appreciation.
Shem gave her a shaky smile. He heaved a sigh and turned to the other men. “I’m sorry that I brought this trouble on you.”
The big man shook his head, his grin flashed white against his beard. “This isn’t the first time we’ve had trouble with them soldiers. And it won’t be the last, either!” He clapped Shem on the back, almost knocking him from his seat. “We’ll get you to Capernaum, my boy. And your . . . ?” He raised his brows at Mara.
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