Poisoned Honey

by Beatrice Gormley

  “Good morning, sir,” said Matthew. “You’re so right. But if you’ll excuse me, I’d better get back to work.” He started to turn toward the gate.

  “There’s a simple way to stop the illegal traffic,” said the man on the donkey.

  Matthew turned back. He couldn’t be rude to an older man, but he was losing patience. “And what way is that, sir?”

  The man smiled in a kindly way. “Why, throw up a wall on either side of the gate to block the paths. The brush beyond the paths is so dense, they’ll have no choice but to stay on the highway.”

  Matthew considered, squinting past the paths. The brush did seem thicker away from the road. If walls would do the trick, then there’d be no need for thugs with heavy sticks. “How much would that cost?”

  The older man made a gesture to indicate how trivial the cost would be. “Just a rough wall is all you’d need. Five or six workmen could do the job in a day or so.” He proposed a price.

  Matthew exclaimed, “That’s six times the going rate for laborers!”

  “It includes labor and materials,” said the other man calmly. “Nothing but the finest basalt rocks. And of course, I guarantee the work. I’ll require only half the price now, and half when it’s finished to your satisfaction.”

  Matthew bargained for a few moments, but he was eager to come to an agreement. As soon as the money changed hands, the older man beckoned to his crew, who had appeared out of nowhere.

  For the rest of the day, the workmen rolled and piled rocks into two dark walls on either side of the tollgate. Matthew collected tolls as best he could, soothed by the sight of the stone wings rising quickly. By the end of the day, however, he’d rethought the price. “I don’t owe you anything for materials,” he told the contractor. He gave a short laugh. “You just used the rocks lying around on the ground.”

  “A bargain is a bargain,” said the contractor. “My men can take walls down as well as build them.”

  Matthew cursed silently, but he paid the remainder.

  For a few days, the walls worked fairly well to block the paths and funnel traffic into the tollgate. Then new paths appeared, swinging around the walls in wider arcs. At first, only a few hardy travelers on foot could force their way through the brush. But gradually the paths widened.

  Watching this happen, Matthew cursed himself for being such a gullible fool. Where was the contractor now who had “guaranteed” his work? Why had Matthew believed him about the brush being so impassable just beyond the old paths? Look, there: a fully loaded camel was squeezing through! Furthermore, now the detours were much farther from the tollgate, and therefore more trouble to guard. Matthew envisioned his father’s face, one cynical eyebrow raised as if to say, What did you expect?

  The next day, Matthew woke up before dawn and went down to the Capernaum docks. The first rays of sunlight flashed over the cliffs on the eastern shore of the lake, touching the sails of fishing boats returning from a night’s work. “How was your catch?” he called out to the fishermen as they neared the dock.

  “Lousy, to tell the truth,” a man in the nearest boat called back. He was stripped for work, wearing only a loincloth. The sinews stood out on his arms and back.

  “Then come and work for me,” said Matthew. “I’ll pay twice as much as you make on a good day. I need you and five others like you.”

  The men in the other boats heard him, and they hurried to tie up at the docks. “Count me in!” “Hire me, too, sir!” they shouted. Matthew was relieved to see that strongmen were just as easy to come by in Capernaum as in Magdala.

  Pulling on his tunic, the first fisherman jumped onto the dock. “What kind of work would this be, sir?” he asked Matthew.

  Matthew had gotten this far by pretending he was his hardened father, but suddenly he seemed to be himself again. “Some strongmen are needed up there,” he muttered, nodding in the direction of the highway.

  The fisherman’s eyebrows pulled together in a puzzled frown. “Some kind of building going on?”

  More fishermen joined the first one on the dock, their eager expressions turning suspicious. Matthew forced himself to say, “No. There’s a problem with toll evaders. No one has to actually hurt anyone,” he went on, talking faster and faster. “All you’d have to do is stand near the gate, carrying a stick-just look at them like you’d use it if they—”

  “It’s the cursed toll collector,” said a man in the back of the group. “He moved into the villa up the hill.”

  Matthew backed away from the dock, suddenly uneasy. He’d come alone.

  But the fishermen didn’t threaten him. Some of them spit in his direction, and some said, “Roman lover” or “filthy vermin.” Then they went about their business, lugging baskets of fish to the shore and spreading nets out to dry as if he weren’t there.

  Humiliated, Matthew was about to leave when he caught sight of a straggling fishing boat nearing the shore. “James!” he exclaimed. Could the man in the back of the boat really be his brother? He hadn’t seen James for two years. “James!” He waved his arms.

  The fishermen in the boat didn’t seem to hear him. Now Matthew doubted that it was James after all; the morning light glittered blindingly on the water around the boat. And why would Matthew want to see James, even if it was him? He left our family, Matthew reminded himself. Why should I care about him?

  Turning, Matthew walked quickly away from the shore. But he knew he was afraid that the man was James. What if James, too, shunned his brother the toll collector? That would be too painful to bear.

  That very day, Matthew visited Bethsaida-Julias, where his father’s contact lived, and brought back a team of tollgate guards. As soon as the travelers caught sight of these cold-eyed men with heavy sticks in their belts, they changed their minds about ducking the toll. Matthew imagined Alphaeus saying, Didn’t I tell you?

  On the second day, a caravan of merchants tried to go around the gate, perhaps thinking there were enough of them to brave the guards. But the moment the first camel was led off the highway, the guards jumped on the caravan with cudgels swinging. In a few swift, brutal moments, the camel stumbled, its left front leg broken, and the driver writhed on the ground beside it with a bleeding head.

  Matthew turned away, sickened, and noticed the beggars at the gate. They were watching. The beggars were maimed, crippled, deformed, and clothed in filthy rags—but they stared at the toll collector with pure contempt.

  Matthew started to call the guards off. Then he thought, Isn’t this what I hired them for? He went back to taking tolls.

  Clearly, the guards were accomplishing what he’d hoped, because there were no more toll-evasion incidents that day. Word of the new toll collector and his new policy must have traveled up and down the highway. Matthew avoided meeting the stares of the travelers, but he felt their hatred, like gravel flicking his skin.

  Matthew had to give the guards room and board in addition to their wages, but he decided it was just as well to have them on his grounds. He needed bodyguards to protect himself and his strongbox, as well as the valuable furnishings of his villa, from thieves.

  So Matthew’s new life fell into a routine. Every morning at dawn, he and the guards arrived at the tollgate with his brassbound collection chest. No one traveled at night, but caravans always got up at first light for a day of travel. Therefore, Matthew needed to be in place early to inspect baggage and take the tolls.

  With guards controlling the traffic, Matthew could do his job. That, like Alphaeus’s job at the Magdala harbor, was to check each merchant’s cargo and assess its value. He was staggered by the wealth in some caravans: eastern silks and spices from Damascus, or the precious purple dye of Tyre from the west. After collecting the standard percentage for the Roman Empire, he could demand whatever he wanted for himself.

  Matthew didn’t have any qualms about taking money from these prosperous merchants. He had a good sense of how large a surcharge they’d bear. As Alphaeus had always taught his sons, se
t it high enough so that they hate you, but not so outrageous that they actually try to make trouble.

  Matthew’s problems came with smaller traders, such as a lone potter with his donkey almost hidden under a burden of bowls and jars. “Sir,” he pleaded with Matthew, “if I pay what you ask, I can’t make a profit from selling my pottery. Sir, I have five young children and an old, sick father at home. How will I feed them if you don’t have pity on me?”

  As Matthew hesitated, the traveler next in line spoke up. “That’s a good story,” he jeered. “Or is it five old, sick children and a young father at home?”

  Matthew remembered Alphaeus’s words: If they think you might let them get away with paying less, or paying late, they’ll give you all kinds of trouble. Everyone within earshot was listening for his answer—the potter, the travelers behind him, the hired guards. This was no time to be weak.

  “Pay up,” Matthew barked. He kept his eyes on the coins dropping into his hand, but he saw the man’s shoulders sag as he led his donkey through the gate.

  EIGHT

  LIKE QUEEN ESTHER

  Although Alexandros had refused to take my vision of Miryam seriously, I chose to believe that he’d granted me the forty days I’d asked for. In any case, I hoped it would take him at least forty days to arrange a betrothal.

  I wasn’t sure how to go about seeking a sign from heaven, but I had the impression that praying and fasting might help me recognize it. So I kept a regular time for prayer. I fasted during the day, eating sparingly only before dawn and after sunset.

  But it wasn’t easy to stay alert for a special sign. There was so much coming and going in the compound, and I didn’t want to ask Imma or Safta or Chloe to do my share of the chores. When I sought out a quiet corner for prayer, my grandmother and sister tried not to disturb me. But my mother made it clear that she thought I was behaving in an odd and rather selfish way.

  Alexandros seemed very busy at the sardine-packing works—too busy, I assumed, to arrange a new marriage for me. I went to talk to him one evening, thinking he was alone on the roof. I intended to ask his permission to visit my aunt in Arbel for a month of peace.

  As I reached the top of the stairs, I realized that Imma and Uncle Reuben were with Alexandros. Pausing in the shadows, I listened to a whispered argument. I couldn’t make out what they were discussing, but my name was mentioned over and over.

  The next day, my mother took me aside. I had a bad feeling even before she spoke, and I burst out, “They haven’t chosen a husband for me already, have they? Alexandros might at least have honored my request for more time!”

  Imma frowned and folded her arms, as if to say she was not to blame. “I did remind them that you had some idea of waiting to discern something. But the men judged that it would seem ungrateful not to accept such a good offer at once.”

  Distressed at the idea of having to drop my search for a sign, it took me a moment to sense that there was more bad news. I stared at my mother. “Who is it?” She hesitated, and I exclaimed, “Not Eleazar bar Yohannes!”

  “It was a very good offer,” she said.

  “No!” I exclaimed. “How could Uncle Reuben …? How could Alexandros …?” They knew I’d asked Abba to refuse the old man’s offer the first time. “Doesn’t my brother care how I feel?”

  My mother didn’t answer my questions. “Mariamne,” she said, “I had my heart set on Nicolaos for you; that was such a happy match. But that’s water under the bridge. Now your father’s gone, Nicolaos is gone, and everything’s different.”

  “I know it’s different! It’s dreadful. Why do they want to make it even worse for me?”

  “Hush, Mariamne!” Imma’s eyes flashed. “It’s time you grew up. Life isn’t all honey cakes and jasmine for any of us. Think, for a moment, what the fever did to the rest of us, not just you.” She spoke faster and faster, her words pouring out. “Think about Alexandros: young as he is, he has to take on the burden of being the man of the family. Think about Uncle Reuben: he’s lost not only his brother but also his business partner. Our business isn’t doing well—many of the workers caught the fever, and several of them died. On top of that, the household taxes will be due soon!” She paused, then added in a low tone, “And I … I am … a widow.”

  My mother hardly ever cried, but now tears shone in her eyes. I was shocked and ashamed. “I’m sorry, Imma.”

  “True, this new marriage isn’t what you expected,” she went on, blotting her tears quickly with her sleeve. “But your uncle and your brother are using their best judgment. Eleazar is a respected member of the synagogue. And your brother agreed to provide you with a generous bride-gift; I insisted on that.”

  “A generous bride-gift?” Forgetting about being unselfish, I snorted. How would a bride-gift make up for being married to an old man?

  “Try to think about what’s best for the whole family.” My mother’s tone turned stern again. “After you’re betrothed to Eleazar, you see, Eleazar will sell only our sardines. He’s the supplier for Herod Antipas’s palace in Tiberias, as well as for Herod’s troops.”

  “Sardines,” I repeated.

  My mother ignored that remark. “You’re not the only one who needs to marry, you know. Chloe will be of age in a year or so, and she’ll have no chance for a good match if our business fails. And even more important, your brother needs to marry well.”

  Ah yes, I thought. Alexandros, even more important.

  “If you’re betrothed to Eleazar,” Imma explained, “then Eleazar’s cousin Thomas—Thomas the Elder; you’ve seen him in the synagogue—will allow Alexandros to marry his daughter Sarah. That’ll be an excellent connection for our family. Of course, the girl’s only twelve, but they can be betrothed now, and we’ll have her come to live with us until she’s of age.”

  As my mother talked, I realized that there was something much more at stake than whether I liked Alexandros’s choice of a husband for me. “Imma, all this doesn’t matter. What I really need is time to seek a sign—to meditate on the meaning of the prophet Miryam’s words to me.”

  Imma sighed and pressed her lips together. “Back to what you imagined in the mikvah? Don’t you see it’s time to give up on that?” She put her hands on my shoulders, looking into my eyes. I was surprised to realize that we were now the same height. “You must do your part, Mari! I’m afraid your father-may he rest in peace, the good man—indulged you.”

  “My father was a righteous man!” I retorted. “He would not force me to marry against my will.” Desperately I wished for Miryam to appear to my mother, right then. Why didn’t the prophet help me if she expected me to follow such a hard path? I exclaimed, “I will not do it. Hang a millstone around my neck and throw me into the lake if you like—I will not marry Eleazar bar Yohannes.”

  “Selfish, selfish daughter!” My mother tightened her grip on my shoulders, as if to shake me. Then, throwing up her hands, she walked away.

  Imma must have told Chloe what I’d said, because a little while later my sister came and sat down beside me. “I don’t blame you, Mari,” she said. “It would be better for the whole family to starve than for you to marry unwillingly.”

  I glanced sideways at her. Was she being sarcastic? No, my sister didn’t know how to be sarcastic. “No one is going to starve,” I said uncomfortably. Did Chloe realize that her own marriage depended on mine? If she did, she didn’t mention it.

  At least my grandmother would understand my point of view, I thought, even if she had no influence over my uncle and brother. I went to Safta and told her about meeting Miryam in the mikvah. I thought it would bring my vision back afresh, but to my dismay, it now sounded to my ears like something I’d made up.

  Safta listened with a wondering smile. “What a marvelous story, my dear! I must remember that one. I never thought of meeting Miryam in the mikvah, but yes—it makes perfect sense.”

  “But what about the mission Miryam spoke of?” I pleaded. “Shouldn’t I try to understand wh
at she meant?”

  “Oh yes … let’s think about this together,” agreed my grandmother. “A ‘steep, rocky way,’ Miryam said to you? Requiring ‘great courage’? Do you know what that reminds me of, Mari dear? It makes me think of the story of Queen Esther.”

  By the end of the day, I felt confused and miserable. As I lighted the lamps, Alexandros appeared at my side. Of course, Imma had told him my answer, too, and he wouldn’t be as sympathetic as Chloe or Safta. I returned his greeting, but I kept my eyes on the lamp wicks.

  “Mari,” said Alexandros. “I don’t know what to do.” His tone of voice was reasonable, and I turned to look at him. “When Abba was dying,” he went on, “he told me to take care of the family. And I promised him, as was my duty. But now I can’t fulfill my promise.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “Abba left you the sardine business. Aren’t there still sardines in the lake, and people waiting to eat them?”

  Alexandros shook his head. “That’s not the point. Abba left us … in debt. He didn’t even tell Uncle Reuben how much he was borrowing. If you’d married Nicolaos, his family would have paid what we owed. But now, just to pay Herod’s taxes, we’ll have to sell this house that our grandfather built. We’ll have to move into rooms above the packinghouse.”

  This was a shocking thought. “Poor Safta!” I exclaimed. Our grandmother loved her well-made stone house. She had ornamented it with fine pillows and hangings that she’d woven and stitched, and she kept the house fragrant with sweet herbs. I shrank from the thought of her in the ugly, smelly packinghouse.

  Besides, how could she bear the shame? It had broken her heart to see her favorite son die. To know that he hadn’t provided for her after all would kill her. “No … that mustn’t happen.”