by Janette Oke
They all began talking at once. The rock walls echoed so that no single voice could be heard. Jamal simply sat in his chair, his gaze flickering from one face to another.
Finally Helena managed to make herself heard. “He is here!”
“Of course! It must be him!” Julia said quickly.
Jacob raised his hands for calm, his face showing both shock and concern. “One at a time, please! Mistress, you say Saul is here? In Tiberias?”
“Tell them, Julia. Tell them what you saw.”
Julia looked around the circle. “Yesterday evening I went to the caravanserai . . . to greet the camels.” She paused to look at her father and added, “Though it was getting dark, a caravan arrived. I overheard its master say they were from Perea – you know, east of the Jordan. He said he had a guest with him, an important Pharisee from Jerusalem. This Temple priest had refused to travel through Samaria. That man is now looking for a caravan traveling on to Damascus.”
Jamal gave a harrumph, then waved his daughter on. Julia said, “I also heard the caravan’s master say after the priest and his guards – he called them Temple guards – had moved away that the priest had a seal from the Sanhedrin and important business in Damascus. He also said he was glad to see the last of the man.”
Jacob’s gut clenched. “It can only be the man the elder told me about in Joppa.”
Julia turned back to her father and took a step toward him. “Will you . . . will he be traveling with our caravan?”
Jamal rubbed his beard. “If he learns we are going that way, I can do little else than allow it. The Sanhedrin carries a lot of power. To refuse would be costly indeed.”
Jacob said, “You are going to Damascus?”
Jamal gave a single nod, then sat silent for a moment. “Yes, I was planning to leave today, and I also hoped you would return in time to join me. I do wonder, though . . .”
When Jamal did not finish his thought, Alban said, “I would not usually say the word miracle when speaking of Saul of Tarsus. But I know of nothing else that suits this moment.”
The group stared at Alban, no doubt as perplexed as Jacob.
Alban said, “This man who strikes terror in the hearts of every follower who hears his name would be under the watchful eyes of your guards, and – ”
“And what?” But Jamal’s voice lacked its normal timbre, though no one dared respond. “What will you do?” His fist pounded the table. “If this is indeed Saul of Tarsus, and he learns a follower – or who knows how many others there might be? – is among the caravan’s people, he will put you in chains. I too know of this man. His name has spread throughout the region. I do not need to be a follower to fear his wrath.”
Jacob said, “I could ride on ahead – ”
“Do so, and you will never reach the city. The Damascus Road has become the bandits’ main site for attack. Not to speak of the Zealots you just barely escaped.” He tapped the fingers of one hand upon the table.
Helena said softly, “Jamal, sire . . .”
“I am thinking.”
“Yes, and think of . . . think about your . . . your family in Damascus,” Helena said with a catch in her voice. “They too are followers. What if Saul . . .”
Jamal might have nodded. Or it could have been a shudder through the massive frame.
“They must be warned – protected from this man,” Julia urged.
“We have prayed for a sign,” Helena told him.
Jamal said, “It is true, what you are saying? You would not wish harm to come upon my family?”
Helena walked around the long table and stood near Jamal’s chair. “Sire, you said it yourself. They are your family. And even though I do not know them, they are my family as well. They – with me and Julia and many others – are now part of God’s family. I want their safety, for their sake as well as yours.”
This time, Jacob was certain a shudder wracked the merchant’s body. “You are a good woman,” he said hoarsely. “Better than I deserve.”
Helena knelt beside his chair, and Jamal stared down at the top of her head. The two remained thus, with the chamber’s only sounds the torches hissing. Helena lifted her head and said, “This is a sign, Jamal, greater than you or me or all of us together. Greater even than my fervent prayers concerning our daughter’s betrothal.”
Jacob felt a great fist clutch his chest. He could not breathe. Julia? Betrothed?
Helena said, “Sire, the fact that the Pharisee is here at this very time and travels to the same city is a sign.”
Jamal nodded once. “I do not deny the truth of your words.” His voice was a husky rumble.
Helena stood to her feet. “Sire, forgive my boldness, but it is the truth of Jesus that cannot be denied.” She waited through a long moment, then said, “Will you pray with me?”
Jacob felt a surge rush through him, a force that came from somewhere beyond himself. He heard himself say, “Pray with us.” Alban put a hand on his shoulder, nodding his agreement.
Jamal’s voice sounded hollow. “I will think upon all you have said.” He rose to his feet.
Jacob sought Julia’s gaze, then turned back toward Jamal. He said, “And we shall pray for you to know what should be done, sire.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FIVE
The Damascus Road
Jacob’s previous experience guarding caravans on many Roman-built roads had taught him an appreciation for their design and construction – mostly running straight as arrows, constructed by planners determined to tame nature’s hills and borders. They were built for the armies that invaded, conquered, and then protected Roman boundaries. Besides expanding the empire’s reach, the roads helped to promote trade as well as collect the taxes that trade produced. Broad enough to carry two chariots abreast, they were bordered by flat expanses where foot soldiers could march for days on end. The Damascus way fit the physical description, but these days the military strength was mostly a myth.
To the south, the Damascus Road connected with Jerusalem and Perea and on to Egypt and Alexandria. On the military maps Alban had shown him, Jacob had seen the lines running straight and true, dissecting lands and covering a lifetime of distances. These maps suggested an unstoppable force, so great it could subdue the wildest lands. And in many ways this was true. Didn’t Rome boast of conquering the whole world? But Rome’s grip upon the east had steadily weakened. The Damascus Road had become a single strip of Roman rule through a lawless and dangerous land.
It skirted the southern tip of the sea of Galilee. Tiberias was the first major trading community and point of safety within Judea’s boundaries. It lay some fifteen miles north of the sea’s southern border. All caravans entering or leaving Judea used Tiberias as a final resting point. Here in the shade of Herod’s brooding castle was a last chance at safety.
Jamal did not say why he chose to make the journey to Damascus. But Jamal had arranged that room be made for himself and the women, and of course the caravan master quickly had obliged.
Jacob now stood at a distance and observed the household scurrying to prepare while Jamal continued to insist that there be no delay. Everything was accomplished in impossible haste – the guards gathered, the mounts selected, the clothes and provisions packed and loaded. Less than four hours after the first order had been given, the caravan set off.
Alban traveled with them as far as the village of Philoteria, a small village resting at the Galilee’s southern tip. With Jamal’s permission Alban intended to travel back to Capernaum to rejoin his family for a much needed time of rest and recuperation before resuming his duties as chief guard.
In safer times, the journey from Tiberias to Damascus might require six days. Jamal intended to make it in three – or four at the most. He was not concerned with how hard his caravan master might have to push the beasts or how the travelers might suffer. Jamal wanted them to arrive safely, outpacing any trackers and thus thwarting any plans to gather a force large enough to attack. It was a good plan,
as Alban said several times.
But the plan’s soundness did not keep Alban from worrying, Jacob soon discovered. For once, however, it was neither the bandits nor the road that occupied Alban’s mind.
“I do not like the presence of these Temple guards,” he muttered. He and Jacob watched them ride some distance ahead. They had formed a circle around their leader and several other priests accompanying the group.
“Nor does Jamal. But there is nothing any of us can do about them.” Jacob had been officially assigned as guard of the women, partly, he was sure, because Jamal had hidden the frankincense in with Helena’s and Julia’s personal belongings. Jacob and Alban rode on the east side of the road, far enough away not to eat the caravan’s dust. Jamal rode just ahead of them alongside his daughter, who had insisted on her own mount. Helena had the comfort of a very small horse-drawn conveyance, with Zoe to see to her needs.
Since they had left Jamal’s private room, Jacob had not had further occasion to speak with Julia. Even so, Jacob felt her presence up ahead of them. But she is betrothed. The thought brought another pang to his chest.
Alban squinted into the distance, studying the cluster of black-robed priests and their guards. “Tell me what the elder of Joppa said.”
“I already told you everything I know.”
“Tell me again.”
In truth, Jacob did not mind the repetition. He liked the way his own thoughts were clarified by speaking with Alban. What was more, he relished how the two of them were together again. This time they rode and spoke as equals.
He decided Alban must have been thinking along the same lines, for when Jacob finished relating once more the details of his contact with the Joppa synagogue elder, Alban took a moment to look at him, then said, “Jacob, it was wrong of me to insist that you take over the stall in Samaria.”
“No, Alban, you weren’t wrong. Not at all.”
“Are we to argue about this as well?” His guardian flashed a rare smile, and Jacob returned it, though somewhat ruefully.
“You weren’t wrong,” Jacob repeated, shaking his head. “If I had not resisted, prompting you to more fervent prayer for me, who knows whether you would have thought of this for Abigail.”
“You speak the truth. Another instance of this new Jacob.” He reached over and playfully cuffed the back of Jacob’s head.
They rode in silence for a time before Jacob said, “There is more that came from our disagreement. I was forced to think. And pray. And ask questions about . . .”
“Questions about yourself and your direction and your future. Very difficult but most important.”
“Much of what you said was true. Is true. I am selfish. I am strong willed. Sometimes I try to bend God’s will to what I want, rather than bow to what he desires for me. I still yearn for adventure. I live for the open road. I want to see new places and experience new things. I wish . . .” He stopped, took a hard breath. And confessed, “I truly don’t know what I really want. I only hope I have the strength to ask and listen for the Lord’s voice, even when I am gripped by my own desires. Especially then.” His eyes sought out the feminine form riding ahead, and he resolutely looked away.
Alban reached over and gripped his arm. “Jacob, we now are talking man to man. I must admit it is an experience new to me. I cannot say that young scamp with the dirt-streaked face will not be missed, though, the one who used to hide under my bed when he was in trouble.”
“There are many times when I still feel like that little boy.”
“We all have those times.” Alban released his hold and sat straighter in the saddle. “Being an adult does not mean we have all the answers, nor will all our faults and weaknesses be resolved. A man, first of all, knows himself and learns the need for honesty. Even when it is painful.”
The village of Philoteria did not possess a true caravanserai. The lake at this end was shallow and held few fish. There was no natural port. Most of the produce the ramshackle market sold came from Tiberias.
The Damascus Road stretched out straight and solid in the day’s final light. From Philoteria the road ran north by northeast, weaving through the southern Golan before entering a broad desert plain. As Jamal’s guards stoked the central fire and prepared a meal for the merchant and his family, Alban drew their course with his dagger and spoke of his own experiences upon the road. Jamal had of course traveled the road many times. But the merchant was not discussing geography with his guard captain. He was discussing risks.
Alban told of the attack when he, a Roman centurion, had rescued the young Jacob from a band of Parthian marauders. He spoke with warmth and pride as he told of Jacob’s childhood, being raised in a Roman garrison. Jacob had been surrounded by gruff soldiers who adopted the lad as their own. Alban then recounted the attack on a caravan that he and the Capernaum garrison had foiled, describing in some detail the tactics the bandits had used – riding a small troop in from one direction, driving the caravan toward the hills where a larger band waited to pounce. But Alban had made allies of the Judean shepherds, who led them across the Golan heights and revealed the caves where the bandits hid. Alban’s troops had surprised them from above their hideout and had captured the bandits’ chief.
Even though he had witnessed the event those many years before, Jacob listened with a new appreciation for his guardian and friend.
As they started their meal, the sun’s final rays touched the caravanserai. The tall Pharisee and the other priests had walked away from the rest and faced south and west toward Jerusalem. With the leather pouches, the phylacteries, bound to their foreheads and wrists, they covered their heads with striped shawls and began their prayer ritual. They swayed back and forth, and a low droning chant drifted over the distance.
Jamal used a chicken bone to point at the devout-looking group. “You do not join them?”
“No, sire. I do not,” Alban said.
“But they are members of your clan, yes?”
Jacob knew the merchant was testing, probing. It was Jamal’s way of searching out weakness, even among his closest allies. Alban knew this also, and replied without heat, “The Judeans within the Temple power structure, the Sanhedrin, view the followers as their enemies. Thus the persecution we have told you about.”
“Are they correct?”
“No, sire. They are not.”
“But these are not unintelligent people. The Sanhedrin are many things – power hungry, quarrelsome, vindictive, ready to take offense at any slight. But not dull, not uninformed.”
Alban took his time responding. “Our Lord took them to task, sire.”
“You speak of this Jesus.”
“I do.”
“The one who was raised from the dead.”
“That is correct.”
“You believe this? You accept this as fact?”
“My last duty as centurion was to investigate this very occurrence for Pontius Pilate.”
“You knew the consul?”
“As well as any soldier who served under him.”
“What was the man like?”
“A harsh man, burdened by his responsibilities. But fair in his dealings with me.”
Jamal gnawed the last bits of meat from the bone and cast it aside. “And what did you discover?”
“That Jesus did indeed die upon the cross. And was buried.” Alban’s eyes burned more fiercely than the fire. “Three days later, he came out of the tomb. He appeared to his disciples and to many others besides. He taught them further, and he directed what they were to do. Forty days later, he rose into the heavens and rejoined the Father above.”
Jamal studied his trusted guard captain for a time, then pointed to the swaying, praying men and said, “We should kill them.”
Jacob tensed and heard Julia’s gasp across the fire pit from them. Alban, however, showed no reaction whatsoever. He simply sat and watched the merchant.
Jamal went on, “This caravan rides with sixteen guards. All are trusted men of my household. W
e wait until the caravan enters the empty reaches beyond the Golan.”
Alban said quietly, “That is why you wanted me to come, is it not? Because I have been a Roman warrior. Because I know the ways of war.”
Jamal picked up the bone again and tossed it into the fire. “The desert has swallowed many men. Only the desert knows why or when or where.”
“The Lord Jesus is a man of peace and mercy, sire. I cannot serve him and do such a deed.”
Jamal’s features turned hard as stone. He leaned forward, his face revealing a savage core. “And I in turn cannot worship a god who does not protect his own.”
“You are not seeking God’s protection, but the sword’s,” Alban replied calmly. “And Jesus is not a god. He is the God, the Messiah, the Chosen One.”
Jamal’s mouth moved, but no sound came out. Julia met Jacob’s gaze over the fire, her eyes wide with surprise. Normally such a direct confrontation would have given rise to fury. Now the man seemed to gnaw upon Alban’s words as he had the chicken bone.
Alban said, “If you wish to see our Lord at work, you must wait and watch – ”
“That Pharisee threatens my wife and children,” Jamal said hoarsely.
“Sire, the way of the sword does not bring peace.”
“Your answer, then, is to wait.” He almost spat out the word.
Julia spoke for the first time that night. “And pray, Father. Pray and believe with all our might.”
Jamal turned to his daughter, the traditional shawl draped over her head, as was proper in public. “You,” he said, his tone softening. “You surprise me most of all. You travel at your mother’s prompting . . .”
When he did not finish, Julia said, “And seek God’s will.”
Jamal gave a single nod. “And you claim only peace.”
“To carry peace, yes. But I think something more as well. I did not know exactly why we had come until this very moment, Father.”