The Damascus Way

by Janette Oke

  Alban was about to rejoin that perhaps it was because Jacob continued as always in his headstrong way, refusing to ask. Jacob wanted to tell God. But as Alban opened his mouth, he glanced over. Jacob’s features were taut with barely repressed anger. His shoulders were hunched in the manner of a warrior ready to strike. He looked ten years beyond his age.

  Alban took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The lad whom he had loved and cared for as a son was becoming his own man, for better or worse. Alban said simply, “According to the tradition of your people, you became a man when you reached the age of thirteen.”

  Jacob snorted. “And now you’re going to tell me I should obey my elders, yes?”

  “No, Jacob. I admit I would like to say that, but I won’t.” Alban pointed to the Roman road they had just traveled, running straight and true until it disappeared between the first of the low-lying hills. “Beyond those first hills lies the valley of Tiberias, overlooked by Herod’s castle. Then the Sea of Galilee, then the Parthian hordes.”

  “I know all that. You’ve taught me such lessons for years beyond count.”

  “Hear me out. Is that so much to ask?” Alban took Jacob’s shoulders and turned him to face southwest. “There lies Samaria, filled with bandits and Zealots. All of them stalking caravans just like ours, waiting for a chance to strike. Beyond are the Arabian desert princes, whose generals would like nothing better than to capture a rich caravan, then claim it was lost in the empty wastelands. To the north is Lebanon, where once-proud Phoenicians have turned to piracy and plunder.”

  Alban saw him squint into the distance, as though searching for what he could not see. And was satisfied that at least Jacob listened carefully now. “What I am trying to tell you is this: If you stay with our work, sooner or later you will be forced to kill another man. Can you live with this stain upon your soul?”

  “You do.” Jacob did not look at him.

  “I know no other life, Jacob. I have trained with sword and bow and spear since childhood. I fight to defend, to wound. But no longer will I kill.” He paused and looked at Jacob until he turned his head. “But, Jacob, I cannot train you in such a manner and hope you will remain alive.”

  Jacob studied him now with an intensity that left Alban hard-pressed to meet the younger man’s gaze. “I have done the same as you up to now.”

  “Perhaps you could indeed continue this as well. But there is great risk in this approach. Especially for one who has not yet gone through the fire of combat and emerged bloodied but not unto death.”

  Jacob nodded slowly. “I understand.”

  Alban felt hope surge. He repeated the words that had started their recent argument. “In the past nine months, three of my caravans were attacked by bandits. We saved all three from pillage. As a reward, Jamal has offered this trading center in Samaria to me.”

  “I hear you,” said Jacob, impatience coloring his voice. “But you do not wish to run it yourself. Why do you think I – ”

  “Jamal made it clear I was to find someone else to actually manage the stall. He wishes me with the caravans.”

  It was a move worthy of Jamal, the shrewdest caravan merchant Alban had ever known. Jamal explained he had taken over a market stall some years ago from a widow. Her departed husband, a friend of Jamal, had left her not just alone but owing a great deal of money. Along with other items, he said, Jamal had accepted the stall in payment, clearing the woman’s household of all debts, and also leaving her with enough silver to support her for years.

  Jamal sent a series of underlings to run the enterprise for him. He was convinced, though, that these servants all were robbing him. Alban thought Jamal was probably right. The shop stood at the juncture of the four busiest roads in all Judea. Yet it had not made a profit in years. So the trader offered the whole thing as a gift to Alban, his loyal guard captain, one who deserved this kind of reward for a job well done. Though, in truth, they both knew it cost Jamal nothing except the chance to relieve himself of future headaches.

  Alban paused, realizing he had been speaking his thoughts aloud. Jacob remained silent, walking alongside and directing most of his attention to the plains stretching out beyond the camp’s perimeter. Now and then, however, he glanced at Alban. Showing a hunter’s patience. Alban said, “Forgive me. I must be more weary than I realized.”

  “You do not look well.”

  “My chest burns,” Alban admitted.

  “Go and rest. I can handle the first watch.”

  “I know you can.” Alban coughed and hunched over his chest, feeling like the action drained his body of breath and energy. Jacob’s hand slipped underneath his arm, and the young man supported him easily. Alban straightened slowly, once again reminded that the concerned companion was a lad no longer.

  Jacob said, “Sleep the night through. I will take responsibility for setting the watches.”

  Alban started to turn away, then stopped and asked once more, “You are certain you do not want to take hold of this opportunity in Samaria?”

  “I can think of almost nothing,” Jacob replied, “that I want less.”

  “Then what is it, please tell, that you do want?”

  Jacob turned his face toward the setting sun. “That I wish I knew.”

  CHAPTER

  THREE

  Jerusalem

  Abigail hurried down the side passage, one hand clutching her wrap tightly against her chin, the other gripping the front of her robe. She had debated about bringing the produce basket in case she needed to deflect any questions about what she was doing out alone. But the wind was treating the street like a funnel, howling and tearing through the space. The sky overhead was dark like the hour after sunset, though it was scarcely midafternoon. A few other people scuttled past her, their heads bowed against the gale, and Abigail passed unchallenged.

  She skirted around the city’s southeastern plaza, the one which held the Freedmen’s Synagogue. Though five years had past, Abigail still avoided the synagogue where her beloved Stephen had been plucked away by a mob and brought before the Sanhedrin. By now there was an additional reason for holding to side lanes, as the square had become a gathering point for those who hunted down followers of the Way.

  As she approached the Essene Gate, Abigail spotted four women bearing jars of oil along with baskets covered with damp cloths to keep out the dust. She assumed they also were headed for the caravan sites beyond the city boundaries, and fell into step just behind them. Two Roman guards huddled against the interior wall, sheltering against the wind. The women were given no more than a glance.

  In the plains beyond the city gates, the unfettered wind nearly stopped their forward progress. Abigail tried to be heard over the bluster, asking the nearest woman where she might find Jamal’s caravan. Then she heard someone shout, and a shape emerged from a nook in the outer wall. “Hello, sister!” he called as he ran over to her.

  “Jacob!” It remained an astonishment to have to reach up in order to embrace her brother. Though she had seen him only four months previously, still he seemed to have grown another hands-breadth. Within her embrace, Jacob’s shoulders felt as solid as the wall’s stones. “When did you arrive?”

  “Three evenings back.”

  “But why – ?” Abigail refrained from further questions as he drew her toward a nearby tent. It was one of those foreign affairs, with double walls and more square than the familiar Judean shelters. The exterior canopy was pinned at an angle, like a sail, while the interior wall was formed of thick carpet matching that underfoot. The dual cloth walls were so effective that once the door flap fell into place, the tent’s oil lamps burned with scarcely a flicker. With the wind’s howl now muffled, Abigail no longer needed to raise her voice. “I am so glad to see you, my brother, but why did you not come to see me instead of sending a message?”

  “We are being watched.”

  Abigail stared at this brooding stranger who resembled her brother. She had seen vestiges of the man emerging the last f
ew times he had journeyed to Jerusalem. But some further change had come about since then. Something had jolted Jacob’s world so the lad she knew and loved was being overtaken by a man.

  She asked, “You are certain?”

  “They skulk about the caravan site. They carry clubs. When challenged by the guards, they challenge back. Like a Roman soldier might, or a Temple guard. Only these men are Judeans, and wear no robes of office.”

  “I know of whom you speak.” Abigail dropped her voice and felt a shiver through her body. “They use the Freedmen’s Synagogue as their meeting place.”

  “Where Stephen used to preach?” Jacob shook his head. “You must leave this city, my sister.”

  “We’ve had this discussion,” Abigail said with a sigh. “Many times. My place is here, Jacob.”

  She expected Jacob to argue with her. As had occurred the last time he had visited the city. And the time before that. In truth, the growing threat to believers had been subtle enough for her to ignore it most days. But she knew Jacob also could sense the mounting pressure, the growing risk. Abigail prepared herself for the ongoing dispute. She was not leaving the city where she had met and loved and wed and lost her man. And bore his child.

  Instead, Jacob merely said, “Forgive me, Abigail. I have not even asked if you might care for something to eat or drink.”

  The reserve evident in Jacob’s voice and stance left her unsure how to respond. She finally said, “Tea would be nice, if you have any.”

  “Of course.” He slipped through the curtains that divided the tent in half. Abigail thought she glimpsed another figure in the shadows, but was not certain. Jacob swiftly returned and handed her an earthen mug. “Some dates, perhaps?”

  “Thank you, brother, but I am not hungry.”

  “You are staying fed, then.”

  “Oh yes. We are more than well taken care of.”

  “I was worried. My man went first to the compound in the Old City and found it abandoned. It was only by chance I found a shopkeeper who is a follower and knew where you had gone.” He cocked his head. “Why do you smile?”

  “ ‘Your man,’ ” Abigail repeated with a chuckle. “How you have grown.”

  Jacob smiled briefly, and for an instant the little boy emerged once more. Then he turned somber again. “There is something you need to . . . to see.”

  His eyes seemed to darken further.

  “What is it, Jacob? Is it Alban?”

  Jacob drew back the dividing tapestry. “Come.”

  Jacob was aware his manner was unsettling to Abigail. He wished he could do something to bridge this distance between them. But the fact was that he felt beset by more than he could manage. When Abigail spotted the figure lying upon the pallet, she drew back. Jacob said, “Don’t fear, sister. It is indeed our Alban.”

  Her face creased in alarm, and her hand went to her mouth.

  Jacob shifted the oil lamp close over the man. Alban’s features were slick with fever-sweat. His cheeks were hollow, his half-closed eyes glittered in the lamplight. A slight smile curved his lips around the coarse murmur, “Hello, dear one.”

  Abigail knelt beside the bed. “What has happened, Alban?”

  “I assure you, it looks far worse than – ” The words were interrupted with a cough that shook his entire frame.

  Jacob caught him in what had become a practiced manner, holding him and fitting the mug of cold tea to his lips. “The tea is sweetened with honey,” he told Abigail quietly. “It eases his throat.”

  Alban drank, nodded, and allowed Jacob to lay him back on the pillow. “I grow so very tired of honey,” he murmured.

  “How long have you been like this?” Her voice sounded as horrified as her expression.

  Jacob answered for his guardian. “He was not feeling well when we left Tiberias. Every day on the road, it worsened. And since we arrived here. Twelve days in all.”

  She asked Alban, “Are you eating?”

  Jacob again replied for him. “Not nearly enough.”

  “Jacob is doing his best to fatten me up, never fear.”

  “We are to leave tomorrow,” Jacob told Abigail. “The caravan master has held off, hoping for his guard captain to recover. But we carry fresh supplies for Caesarea. We can tarry here no longer.”

  “You must not travel,” Abigail said quickly, looking again at Alban’s pain-wracked face.

  The man seemed ready to argue, but Jacob settled a hand upon his shoulder. The silent admonition was enough. Alban asked Abigail, “Will I not be too much of a strain upon you and the followers?”

  “How can you even ask such a thing?”

  “These are not the best of times, and – ”

  “I cannot understand why you waited this long to ask for our help.”

  Jacob explained, “He wanted to continue with the caravan.”

  Abigail swept her hand the length of Alban’s sleeping pallet. “That is utterly out of the question.”

  “And,” Jacob went on, “we were both fearful of the watchers.”

  He saw the concern tighten her features and felt the same response in his gut. To name the threat was to give it strength, reality.

  Still, Abigail merely asked, “Where are they now?”

  “Gone,” Jacob replied. “Since the wind heightened this afternoon.”

  “Then we must make haste.” Abigail addressed her words to Jacob as she looked at the supine form. “Are there those who can help carry him?”

  “Too dangerous.” Jacob had spent many dark hours thinking this through. “We need to move him without anyone knowing who has left.”

  “But you just said the watchers were gone.”

  “Even so, we do not know if they have allies in the camp.” Jacob disliked troubling his sister more than she already was. But she needed to understand the risks. “The watchers did not patrol the entire caravan site. They were intent on finding a specific – ”

  “They . . . they were after you, Jacob?” Her head came around swiftly with the words.

  “I think they were not certain whom they sought. If they wanted Alban or myself, they needed only to come asking by name.”

  Alban said weakly, “Which is a reason you should not become involved, Abigail. I should not have suggested – ”

  “I am already involved, Alban.” Her hands punctuated her statement as she added, “I have been involved since the day you rescued my brother.”

  Alban’s only response was the feverish gleam in his eyes, the hoarse sound of each drawn breath.

  Jacob told them, “I have a plan.”

  When Jacob emerged from the tent, the sky was the color of pewter, a sullen grey lanced with fragments of afternoon light. Jacob crossed to the nearest corral, where six donkeys huddled together, facing away from the storm’s wind. Jacob shouldered his way among them and pulled upon the ropes of the two youngest beasts. One donkey brayed a single protest, then fell into step.

  Jacob drew blankets and saddles from the packs. The donkey to his right swiveled about so as to watch him. The beast’s eyes, surrounded by white circles, had a mildly astonished look. Its sides shivered in the chill, but it did not resist.

  As Jacob took two cloths from his belt and lashed them across the donkeys’ eyes, a voice said, “You are leaving, then.”

  Jacob turned to face Latif, a Judean drover from the outskirts of Damascus. He was a quiet, steady hand upon the road, and gentle with his camels. He was also a follower of the Way. Jacob had learned this in a manner that was customary in these dark days. One quiet word murmured to a sunlit dawn had passed from Latif to Jacob, something that might have been ignored except for the fact that Jacob knew what to listen for. In the ensuing days, they had taken cautious measure of one another and were becoming friends. Jacob replied, “Alban is no better. I need to take him to safety.”

  Even robed as he was against the chill, Latif was a small man, though his slight frame held astonishing strength. “Safety is not a word I would choose for our people,
especially not in Jerusalem.”

  “Just the same, he will be better off here than with us on the road to Caesarea.”

  Latif reached across and rubbed the donkey’s nose. The beast whickered softly at the man’s familiar scent. “Do not hurry back. Stay with them the night. It is dangerous traveling the streets after dark, and I will stand guard in your place.”

  Jacob nodded. “It would be good to spend some hours with our friends.”

  “Tell Alban I shall continue to pray for his recovery.” Latif stroked between the donkey’s ears. “Can I speak to you in absolute confidence?”

  “Of course.”

  “These are uncertain times. I am in need of . . . of a friend.”

  Jacob noted the man’s tight glances, cast in every direction. The hand that stroked the beast’s muzzle trembled.

  Latif went on, his voice just above a whisper, “I serve our community in a most secret way.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I am a courier. We risk our lives to keep the followers in contact with each other. The further our clan spreads from Jerusalem, the more vital our work becomes.”

  Jacob shifted closer, though no one was nearby. In fact, the entire caravan site appeared empty. The tents that filled the encampment were bowed on their windward side like earthbound sails. The ropes hummed a constant whine. The camels knelt and calmly chewed their cud. Even the wells, which normally were centers of bustling activity, were vacant.

  Jacob said, “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I fear the Temple’s henchmen are after me. Why else have they been lurking about, watching us like vultures?”

  “There could be any number of reasons.”

  Despite the chill, Latif’s features were beaded with sweat. Jacob could smell the man’s fear. “They know a courier is here, and they hope to flush me out. I sense it in my gut.”

  Jacob doubted the man was correct. But it was clear enough that nothing he said would lessen the man’s anxiety. “What would you have me do?”