by David Blixt
“—we weren't allowed! You were looking for a way not to —”
“No, I was just pointing out—”
“So now you want to go? Should I go tell Yosef we're leaving with him?”
That brought Judah up short. He had misgivings. But he'd also given his word. “We'll do exactly what we said. We'll wait and see where the Romans strike. If they come here, we'll fight them here. If they go to Galilee, then so will we.”
XIV
THERE WAS ONE part to Judah's daily routine that he did not share with his brother. An hour after noon each day, while everyone was still logy from dinner, he would slip out the small door in the gate and stroll up to one of the markets, a different one each day. Sometimes he would go to Baker's Circle, or the Hill of the Vines. On the third day after Shabbat he would invariably head to the Valley of the Cheesemongers, between the Upper and Lower Cities, where goats bleated and generations of experience went into each block or wheel of cheese. Not only was there cheese to be had, but all sorts of spices, cakes, and delicacies. The next day he would visit the markets near the Fish Gate, and the day after that, the Abattoir, where fresh meat was properly prepared.
He was not shopping. He and Asher could not normally afford such fare, nor would their stomachs have known what to do if they tried it. No, Judah came to keep company with Deborah. This was the only time they could be together, and in the crowd they were never alone. So he talked to her, and listened to her talk, and carried things for her, and whenever someone tried to make her a poor offer, he got stern with them until they made a better one.
She had been briefly mad at him for punching her brother. But most days she was cheerful – perhaps too cheerful. She was not a naturally chatty person, but she always made an effort while with him to engage him in conversation. It seemed to Judah that the latest refusal had blighted her nearly as much as it had him.
The day after his encounter with Yosef at the Mount of Olives, Judah met Deborah in the Bazaar of the Clothiers. Following her from stall to stall, he told her all that had happened. She listened until he was finished, but for once she did not immediately reply. Instead she busied herself with some cloth she clearly had no intention of buying. Finally, still running her fingers over the rough silk, she said, “So – if the Romans go to Galilee…”
“Asher and I will go to meet them.” He thought that she'd be proud, and was curious to see her frown and bite her lower lip.
“But you don't think they'll go there.”
“No. But Asher and the priest seem certain, and they know the Romans far better than I do.” Though he'd met his share of Romans living here in Judea, they had mostly been merchants. High-handed and arrogant, but they had valued his father's product and so treated him with a measure of respect. “We'll see.”
“So wherever they are,” Deborah said slowly, “you'll be fighting them.”
“Absolutely. Wherever they are.”
She thanked the merchant for letting her view the cloth, then set off to another stall. “You took the eagle. Some would say you have done enough already.”
“More would say that my taking the eagle made the Romans want revenge. Not to fight now would be cowardly. And irresponsible.”
“So, not you at all,” she said with a ghost of a smile. Then the frown returned.
“What?” He had that bottomless feeling in his chest that he'd made some mistake.
She seemed to be weighing something. “We should have run when we had the chance.”
Judah felt an invisible hand reach into his chest and squeeze. “Run,” he repeated dully.
“Yes. The moment you came back, we should have run.” She sighed. “But your father had just died, and you'd never have known Asher was alive… Staying was right,” she said, more to herself than him. “It was the right thing.”
Judah was stunned. She'd never suggested, never even hinted, that running off was a possibility. “You never—”
“No, I didn't. Because I knew you wouldn't. You'd never do anything underhanded, behind anyone's back. You're made of honest stone, not clay. You can't be molded. You are what you are.”
It sounded like an insult. “I would have run, if you'd just said…”
She turned to look him in the face. “And what then? When the thrill had worn off, and we needed money, and food, and a home? You would have lamented the choice. Not being with me, maybe, but the way we'd done it. Because you're a good man, Judah. The best of men.” She dropped her gaze. “I don't know what you want with me.”
People were turning to look at them. The last thing Deborah needed right now was for word to snake back to her mother that she'd been seen with him in public. Judah guided her off behind a stall that fronted on a walled garden with polished turquoise tiles leading up to the door. A tree stood overhead, sheltering them from the sun.
He put his hands on her shoulders. “Now, what are you talking about? You don't know what I want with you? You're mad. I don't know what you'd want with me! Asher's the smart one. I'm good with my hands, is all. That's it for me. I don't know how to talk, or recite poetry, or ride, or any of the things a decent man should. I don't have even a drop of noble blood in me. No surprise your mother hates me – to her I'm an upstart, a nobody that could never deserve you.” He was angry, and bowed his head to hide the welling in his eyes. Her eyes were entirely clear, and he felt foolish. “Maybe she's right.”
She clasped her hands up to his face. “O, Judah! It's not your birth! Don't you see?” She let out a bitter laugh. “No, of course you don't. You think there has to be something wrong with you. Judah, she hates you because you are so clearly a better man than the one she married. Better than her sons. She can't bear to imagine her children might be happier than she was.”
Judah was truly aghast. “You're joking.”
For the first time he glimpsed a sourness, a pain deep within her. “I promise, if she thought you'd beat me, she'd have us wed inside a week.”
“You don't mean that.” In answer she stared at him, her expression hard like he had never seen. When she just continued to stare, he began to feel a little panicked. “What?”
“Judah, why do you want to marry me?”
It was a naked question, and he felt naked answering it. “Because I love you.”
It was the first time he'd said so. Perhaps he expected too much, but he was disappointed when she didn't melt or kiss him or any of the things women in poems did. If anything, her look became harder.
“But why? You don't really know me. Not the real me. You never see me when I'm not with you.”
“That doesn't make sense.” He tried to laugh. “Of course I don't!”
Deborah shook her head sharply. “I'm not joking. With you–with you, Judah, I'm the woman I want to be. I actually like myself when I'm with you. But thanks to my mother, I'm almost never with you. When you're not here, I'm back to being my mother's daughter. I don't –” Her voice almost vanished. “I don't have a good heart.” Her head dropped down, hiding her teardrop face behind a veil of raven hair.
Judah's mouth hung open. “Deborah, I've seen you–you are the kindest person on this earth. You tended my father while he lay dying. You make children laugh everywhere you go. People love you because of your kindness. So do I.”
“It's not real.”
“What do you mean, not real?”
“It's all an act. A show. An effort. I'm so afraid, Judah. So afraid that, deep down, I'm just – just like her.” She bit her bottom lip, stopping herself from saying any more. She certainly looked like her mother in that moment, her face full of bitterness and dashed hopes. The tears in her eyes were angry, and Judah feared the anger was for him.
He had to say something, anything to make it better. “It seems to me that… that we are what we do.” That sounded all right. He kept talking, elaborating. “If you're kind to people, that's who you are. It doesn't matter what you think you feel…”
Her head snapped up and she stared at him with what seemed loathin
g. He reached out a hand, but she knocked it away and fled past him, into the crowded street. Judah stood in utter confusion as Deborah disappeared into the marketplace.
The next day, when they should have seen each other at the Shabbat dinner, Phannius and Euodias arrived at the home of Ezekiel ben Shimri without her. “She's ill,” said Euodias smugly when he'd politely asked after her.
And when he went to the Baker's Circle two days later, she was not there. She had changed her routine.
♦ ◊ ♦
TWO WEEKS LATER, Judah and Asher were again engaged in their pre-dawn sparring, throwing different-sized spears at a straw target across the yard. Asher tried to joke, but Judah was grimly determined, and had been for a fortnight. As he no longer went out after the midday meal, Asher guessed what had happened. But he didn't ask. Instead he attempted to compete with his brother's skill, give him a challenge the way Levi had.
Throwing, he winced. There was still a pulling sensation in his side from his healed wound, and he still lost breath too quickly. Asher hoped that by the time the summer campaigning season began he would be fully well again. Well enough to fight. So long as the Romans wait for better weather…
Just as he was thinking it he heard a sound. The sun was just cresting in the east, and outside the yard voices were raised. Horns were being blown, and people were running in the streets.
“What is it?”
“Only one thing it can be.” Judah looked grimly satisfied. “The Romans.”
♦ ◊ ♦
THE WHOLE CITY of Jerusalem awoke to behold a great cloud of dust in the distance. Breathless people raced to walls, towers, precipices, any place of great height to behold the sight of an army on the march.
The rising sun reflected off the polished helmets, shields, breastplates, greaves, and torques of thousands upon thousands of soldiers marching smartly up the road parallel to the city. Around them rode the cavalry, while behind them came miles of baggage, accompanied by hordes of engineers, servants, and slaves. Ahead of them all came the eagles, shining gold wings catching the sun and dazzling the eye.
Panic embraced the city. Women tore their hair, men beat their breasts, and little children hid. The Romans were here far sooner than anyone had expected, and up the road from Aegypt, not down from Syria.
“Woe! Woe unto Jerusalem!” cried Y'eshua the Prophet, and was beaten until he could no longer form words. But there were many men whose thoughts echoed his doleful refrain.
♦ ◊ ♦
JUDAH AND ASHER RAN to the western-most part of Agrippa's wall and raced to the top of a tower, shoving their way through the heaving pack of bodies. Judah was shouting, “How many! How many!”
“Who can tell?” answered someone.
“The eagles! How many eagles?” cried Asher. Each cohort had a standard raised tall, but a legion only had one eagle. “Count the eagles!”
They all squinted. A sharp-eyed boy perched on his father's shoulders said, “I see two.”
“Truly?” said Judah. “Look hard, now.”
The boy did, and as the sun rose higher several others joined his count. Two eagles.
Judah laughed, rubbing his thumbs against his forefingers. “Now we're in it! Two legions. Two!”
“Why are you so pleased?” demanded a horrified stranger.
“It's not enough! Three and they might have done it. But two? Impossible! They can't take this city with twelve thousand soldiers.”
“Judah,” said Asher.
“What?”
“They're not getting any closer.”
At first it seemed a trick of the eye. But when the marching column reached level with the city, the people began to wonder and hope. All day they stood, watching, as the rigid rows of eight men abreast marched past. Too far for attacking, too far to fear an attack. Just far enough to watch in horrified awe.
Finally, around midday, the tail end of the column disappeared into the northern horizon. At once the whole city fell about cheering, stamping, weeping with joy. Salvation! Jerusalem was not besieged!
In the Upper City, in the high towers of Herod's Palace, Ananus and Joshua watched the Romans pass them by, wondering grimly how long this reprieve would last.
But to the people, this was hope and glee, peacock bravado and weeping relief. In exultant delight, the citizens of Jerusalem convinced themselves they had won a great victory.
Judah and Asher were not at the heart of the celebrations. They were back in their rooms, already packing. Folding his few spare tunics in a neat bundle, Judah was saying, “They'll probably make a point of marching through Beth Horon. Might be through it already. So if we head northeast to Jericho, we'll miss them entirely. Then we can follow the River Jordan due north until we reach Mount Tabor, right on Galilee's doorstep—”
“Judah,” said Asher. He had stopped packing. His eyes were on the doorway behind them.
Judah turned. Deborah was framed in the door, just outside it. He gazed at her, angry and relieved and hopeful and resentful all at once. He was torn between a desire to be cold and aloof and also wanting to take her in his arms. As he was eighteen years old, aloof won. “Should you be here?”
“No. But I couldn't be anywhere else. Hello, Asher.”
“Hello, Deborah. Good to see you. He's really missed you.”
Shooting Asher a warning look, Judah said pointedly, “I take it you're feeling better.”
“No. Worse.” She glanced at the small satchel containing his clothes, and the sword and sling laid out on the low bed. “So – you're going.”
“I said I would.” Judah carefully folded a spare tunic around his good sandals. Unlike Romans, Jews did not swear oaths, or have elaborate systems for the keeping of promises. Once given, one's word was inviolable. “Besides, Asher's going to fight, and someone has to be there to make certain he doesn't start spouting blood instead of poetry.”
“I'm standing right here,” said Asher.
“I know it.” Judah had turned his back on Deborah again, and was hating himself for the way he was behaving, even as he continued to be churlish. He just couldn't help himself.
Asher pulled a face. “Fine. I'll walk over to Phannius and see if he can take in the apprentices while we're away. Then I'll have a talk with Shalva.” To Deborah he said, “I won't tell Phannius you're here. Unless you want me to,” he added.
She shook her head. “Judah's not that clever. No one would believe it of him anyway.”
“Or of you, Deborah.” Asher patted her arm as he disappeared through the door.
“What was that?” asked Judah.
Deborah's smile was wan. “Nothing.” She bit her lip for a moment, then said, “Were you going to say goodbye?”
“I thought we had.”
She entered the room, her hands folded before her. “Judah, I'm sorry.”
“For what?” He asked it as if it didn't matter, as if he couldn't care less, as if his heart wasn't racing.
“For being foolish. For pushing you away. For – not being who I like being.”
She was trying, dammit. Judah felt himself thaw, and hated the awkwardness that accompanied it. When he was angry with her, he knew what to say. “That's – it's fine. I like who you are. Whoever you're being. I like being with you.”
She was half a head shorter than he, and their eyes were not far apart. “If I said take me with you, would you?”
He frowned. “Of course not. Take you to where the Romans will be pillaging and…” He was about to say raping. “…and enslaving? Absolutely not, no.”
“I know. Sometimes I wish you were not so good a man. But if you were anything other than what you are, I would not love you.”
It was the first time she had said it. He felt a shudder through him, and he wondered how he was still standing. Certainly all the strength had gone out of his arms, and his heart was like a hammer beating at the stone cage of his ribs.
She barely had to lean forward to kiss him. It was not a kiss of passion, o
r longing, or lust. It was the gentlest of touches, where they breathed into one another, eyes closed, lips barely parted. When it was over she didn't pull away, but turned her head and buried it in his shoulder. He put his arms about her and felt whole for the first time in two weeks. Perhaps the first time ever.
She pressed her face into his neck. “Don't die.”
“I won't.”
Part Two
Fortifications
XV
PTOLMAIS, SYRIA
2 MARCH, 67 AD
THE ROMAN ARMY passing Jerusalem was under the command of Titus, who was sorely tempted to disobey his father and besiege the great city at once. Only military discipline restrained him – that, and the knowledge that if he failed, his career was finished.
Still, he looked longingly at those distant walls. The largest fortified city Rome had ever faced – what a military coup to take it!
But instead Titus dutifully marched his two legions up the Judean coast. He passed Caesaeria Maritima, the Roman capitol of Judea, finally reaching Ptolmais, just inside the border to Syria. Here he saw an oversized camp bristling with activity, with soldiers of all hues and armours. He recognized the Syrian ensigns, but had to ask to identify the standards of Commagne and Armenia.
Proudly among them, at their very heart, was the standard of the Fifteenth Legion, sent ahead months before by ship. A scarlet flag hung below the Fifteenth's blazon, indicating the general was in residence. Titus was proud his father had disdained the comfortable nearby city and instead billeted with his men. It was the mark of a good commander. But then Vespasian had never been a man in need of comforts.
It was raining, one of those chill and harsh coastal rains that had plagued them through the whole journey. Leaving his armies a mile away, Titus entered the camp under a heavy cloak, riding up the camp's via Principalis to the praetorium. Identifying himself, he was ushered quickly within. He was still shaking the rain off his sagum cloak when he encountered his brother-in-law, Cerialis Rufus. “Titus!? Well met! We didn't expect you before May!”