The Kingdom and the Crown

by Gerald N. Lund

  There was a quiet sob, and then her head dropped. “No, Lord.”

  He nodded slowly, then reached down and took her hand, lifting her to her feet. “Neither do I accuse you. Go your way—and sin no more.”

  IV

  Neither Miriam nor Livia spoke as they returned slowly back across the bridge to the Upper City. They walked in silence, completely caught up in their own thoughts. Not until they turned into the street that led to Miriam’s home did Livia speak. “My family was a follower of Diana, the huntress. The Greeks called her Artemis.”

  Miriam turned, surprised by the abruptness and unexpected nature of her words. “Oh?”

  “She was always my favorite among the gods because she was thought to be the goddess who took particular care over women—watching over them in childbirth, protecting their modesty and virtue. She herself was a virgin. In fact, when one of her fellow deities dared spy on her while she was bathing, she turned him into a stag, and the dogs ran him down and killed him.”

  Miriam watched her, not speaking, confused by this turn in the conversation.

  Livia sighed. “Since coming to live here with you and your father, I have found much in your religion that I like.”

  “Really?” Miriam was both surprised and pleased.

  Livia smiled faintly. “There is also much that is very puzzling.”

  “I understand. There are some things that still puzzle me.”

  They moved on, Miriam waiting for more, Livia seeming to be finished. As they approached the gate to their courtyard, Livia stopped.

  “What, Livia?” Miriam gently asked, sensing there was still more beneath the expressionless face.

  “I should like to be a follower of Jesus,” she said abruptly. “Do you think that would be permissible?”

  “Of a truth?” Miriam cried joyfully, wanting to throw her arms around her. “I too have decided I would like to become one of his disciples.”

  “But you are a Jew, and this would be permissible for you, would it not?”

  “Livia, what you believe and whom you choose to follow is your choice. You can do what you wish.”

  “I know but—” She stopped as the full impact of what Miriam had said hit her. “Truly?”

  “Of course,” she laughed, her eyes misting. “I am so happy that you feel as I do.”

  “I don’t understand all that he said,” she said hesitantly.

  “I didn’t understand everything he said either, but I know how it made me feel.”

  Livia’s eyes were large and filled with gravity. “I felt great joy when he did not turn away from that woman.”

  “Yes,” Miriam said, remembering Livia’s mother and wondering where she was now and what pitiable condition she might be in. “That was wonderful.”

  Livia nodded. “I shall be a follower of Jesus then,” she concluded. “I shall put away Diana and try to do whatever it is that he would ask of me.”

  Miriam felt her throat tighten as she looked at this woman she was coming to love so deeply. “That will be enough,” she said softly. “Remember his promise? If we do his will, we will come to know of the doctrine.”

  Chapter Notes

  The record states that Jesus returned to Jerusalem for a “feast of the Jews,” which is not specified (John 5:1). Since Pentecost occurred in late spring and early summer following Passover, the author took the liberty of supposing it was Pentecost. Jesus’ teachings about himself and the Father are found in that chapter and have been combined for purposes of the novel with events from John 7 and 8, when Jesus was in Jerusalem again several months later for the Feast of Tabernacles. The account of the woman taken in adultery is found in John 8:2–11.

  Adam Clarke notes that what the King James Version translates as “He that is without sin among you” (v. 7) uses a Greek word that actually seems to specify the same kind of sin, that is, adultery or fornication (Clarke, 3:576). Thus the author’s interpolation, “let him who is without this sin.”

  Chapter 21

  All lawlessness is like a two-edged sword; there is no healing for its wound.

  —Wisdom of Sirach 21:3

  I

  24 May, a.d. 30

  As Miriam and Livia approached the heavy wooden gate that gave entrance into the palatial courtyard of her father’s house, the door swung open and Levi stepped out. At the sight of her, his eyes lit up with relief. “There you are, Mistress Miriam. I was just coming to find you.”

  Miriam’s face fell. “Has the meeting started already?”

  The steward shook his head. “No. The men have arrived, but your father isn’t home yet. I was going now to find you and him and let you both know.”

  Miriam was relieved that they had made it in time. Her father had little patience for waiting when he was ready to transact business. She was glad that she was not the cause of any delay. “Where are they now? How many are there?”

  “Just two,” he said. “I asked them to wait in the courtyard.”

  Just two? She had gotten the idea that there would be more. “All right, Levi. I’ll invite them in and let them wait in the study until you find Father.”

  “They’re from the Galilee,” he said, as if that might change her mind.

  She smiled. Levi was a third-generation Jerusalemite. Like most others in the city, he viewed with pity anyone with the bad fortune to be born elsewhere. But also like most Judeans, he looked on Galileans with special distaste.

  “It will be all right,” Miriam said. “We’ll be sure the silver candlesticks are locked in their case. Go and find Father.”

  Livia hid a smile behind her hand as Levi frowned. He sensed Miriam was tweaking his nose a little and didn’t understand why. He gave a curt nod and trotted away.

  When Miriam pushed the gate to the courtyard open, the hinges creaked softly. A man standing in the shadows by the fountain turned. As Miriam and Livia stepped inside, he lifted a hand and came forward.

  Miriam stopped, shocked as she recognized who it was. “Yehuda?”

  “Shalom, Miriam,” he boomed. “And peace be to you, Livia.”

  Caught completely off her guard, Miriam didn’t even return his greeting. “The meeting is with you?” Livia was staring as well.

  He laughed. “A shock for us also.”

  As he said that, another figure came out from behind a tree. Miriam felt her heart jump a little. It was Simeon, looking at the two of them with a sardonic smile. “Shalom.”

  Flustered to realize that her face was suddenly hot, Miriam lowered her eyes. “Shalom, Simeon. Shalom, Yehuda.”

  Livia was still staring at them, unable to believe her eyes. Yehuda laughed at her look. “You act as though you are seeing a charging bear, Livia.”

  “I—” Now her face flushed, and she had to look down as well. “I am pleased to see you both, but like Miriam, I too am greatly surprised.”

  “Surprised seems like an inadequate word,” Simeon said, still smiling. He came forward into the full sunlight. The sand-colored eyes were teasing. “But didn’t you know—the Javelin is famous for striking from an ambush because he loves the element of surprise.”

  “It’s you my father is meeting with?” Miriam said again, still reeling.

  They both nodded. Then Simeon looked down. “And how are your feet by now?”

  Miriam looked down too. “That ointment is the most wonderful thing I have ever known. I was walking on them again in three days.”

  “Now we walk everywhere we go in the city and never take the litter,” Livia said to Yehuda. “Miriam says that never again will she have to be so embarrassed.”

  Miriam shot her such a look that Simeon laughed aloud. “What is there to be embarrassed about? We are the ones who walked you all that way without considering your needs.”

  Miriam laughed, recovering now. This was the pleasant Simeon she had caught a glimpse of once or twice. There was no hint of the man who could fling words at you like a dagger. “Yes, you did. The least you could have done that
morning as we started out was warn us it would be thirty miles before we stopped.”

  “Simeon is not known for worrying about the feet of those who follow him,” Yehuda growled.

  “How is Daniel? And Shana?” Miriam asked, turning to the older of the two of them.

  “Very good, thank you,” Yehuda answered. “Daniel wanted to come, but your father specified that it should be only Simeon and me.” And then he gave her an odd look. “And Shana has some pleasant news. She is betrothed.”

  “Really,” Miriam exclaimed. “Wonderful. To whom?”

  There was a moment’s hesitation, then Simeon raised one hand. “Shana and I were betrothed about six weeks ago.”

  “Oh?” Miriam caught herself, realizing that she was staring at him. She dropped her eyes. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.”

  Now she smiled fully. “I saw how she looked at you that night in Beth Neelah.” She turned to Yehuda. “She must be very happy.”

  “Aye,” he said. “I have tried to warn her about making a life with such an ogre as this one, but she will not listen.”

  Simeon ignored him. “And I, I will have to grow accustomed to having such a bear for a brother-in-law.”

  As they all laughed, Simeon sobered. “My mother sends greetings to you, Miriam of Jerusalem. She said you two had a most interesting talk when you were last together.”

  Miriam was flabbergasted at that. “We did,” she stammered. “I—I found your mother to be a woman of remarkable grace and courage.”

  “She is that,” he said gravely.

  Realizing that if she stood there any longer the fact that she was greatly flustered by the unexpectedness of all this would start to show, Miriam gestured toward the house. “Our steward has gone for my father. Come in and you can freshen up and rest until he arrives. I shall gather my writing materials.”

  Simeon had started forward, but now he stopped. “You are to be at the meeting too?”

  “Yes,” she retorted, a little bite to her voice. “I keep records for my father. I remember now that you find the idea of a woman in such meetings a little disconcerting.”

  He instantly realized his mistake. “It’s not that. It’s just that your father said this meeting was to be held in utmost secrecy.”

  Miriam was instantly sorry she had bristled so easily. “He did? He said nothing of that to me.”

  Yehuda was looking back and forth between the two of them, sensing the sudden tension. “Did your father specifically ask that you be there?” he asked.

  She nodded, her mind working rapidly. At the time she thought it was unusual. Normally her father had her keep an informal record only of the Council meetings held in Solomon’s Porches.

  “Then he must have a purpose. Why don’t we wait and see what your father says?”

  “Of course,” Miriam said. She started away, moving toward the house. As they reached the door, she opened it and motioned for Livia to enter. Then Simeon and Yehuda followed. As they moved into the coolness of the entryway, Simeon turned and looked at her, his eyes appraising her openly. She tried to meet his gaze but could not. “What?” she finally asked.

  But he spoke to Livia. “You do not seem much like a servant any longer,” he said gently.

  Livia’s eyes widened a little, remembering the sharp interchange between Simeon and Miriam at the springs of Ein Harod. “I told you,” she said. “Miriam has never made me feel like a servant.”

  Yehuda shook his head. “That may be true, but Simeon is right. Something has changed between the two of you.”

  Miriam’s head came up. “Your words were sharp but well aimed that day,” she said softly to Simeon. “I am happy to say that Livia and I are—” She stopped, suddenly embarrassed to say it openly in front of Livia. They both sensed that things had changed, but they had not talked at length about it. “Livia is the dearest friend I have.”

  “More than that,” Livia whispered. “Miriam is the sister I never had.”

  “Then,” Simeon responded, “if my words were in any way responsible for what Yehuda and I clearly see between you now, then I am no longer sorry for what I said that day.”

  Miriam couldn’t help it. She just shook her head. “You know what is most interesting about you, Simeon the Javelin?”

  He was caught by surprise at that. “What?”

  “It is difficult to tell when you offer praise and when you are launching another barb that will sting the flesh.”

  Yehuda roared. “Oh, yes, Miriam. Exactly so!”

  Simeon shot him a withering look, then looked at Miriam. “The woman whose bow and barbs are as keen as the finest of any bowman I know should not be too quick to judge another.”

  II

  “I have asked Miriam to make a record of this proceeding,” Mordechai ben Uzziel said. He was speaking to his two guests, but Miriam understood he was giving her an explanation as well. “When we are finished, you shall read what she has recorded, and if you agree that it is an accurate record, it shall be sealed and given to a trusted associate for safekeeping.”

  Neither Simeon nor Yehuda changed expression, but Miriam could tell that they found this to be highly unusual.

  “Once you hear what I have to say,” her father went on, “you will understand. I act now without the voice of the Council. They know nothing of this, and it is my sincere hope that they never shall. However, should the need ever arise, I would like a record to substantiate that I neither acted hastily nor in a desire to profit personally from what I am going to tell you.”

  “We have no problem with Miriam recording what takes place,” Simeon said.

  She shot him a quick look, but his eyes never left her father’s. “It goes without saying that we are here to listen. Our being here implies no agreement beforehand.”

  Mordechai waved a hand, dismissing that as obvious.

  “Then speak on,” Yehuda said. “You have not only our attention but our curiosity as well.”

  Her father leaned back. “Needless to say, Miriam and I both owe the two of you and your little band a great debt for what you did that morning in Samaria.”

  “A great debt,” Miriam murmured.

  Simeon nodded but said nothing.

  “There is also another debt that is waiting to be paid,” Mordechai said, scowling deeply.

  Yehuda leaned forward. Simeon, oddly enough, leaned back, as though relaxing. But Miriam saw that his eyes were bright and alert, though they were not filled with trust. This reference to what had happened several weeks before was not what he had expected.

  “In a few weeks a Roman column will leave Damascus. Have you heard of this?”

  The two men exchanged glances, then Simeon shook his head.

  “You will. There is a plan afoot to have the Zealot bands unite to attack this column.”

  “What Zealot bands?” Yehuda demanded.

  “I have heard only one name mentioned,” Mordechai said smoothly. “Is there a Gehazi among your leadership?”

  Simeon hesitated. The names of the various members of the Zealot leadership were not a closely held secret, but neither were they bandied about lightly.

  “It doesn’t matter,” the Sadducee said, seeing the look on his face.

  Simeon decided there was no harm in confirming what Mordechai already seemed to know. “Yes, Gehazi of Sepphoris is looked upon as one to whom the rest of us are willing to listen.”

  “Well, Gehazi will likely soon call you together and tell you much of what I am telling you now. The Romans are currently gathering a large collection of arms in Damascus. These are destined for Pontius Pilate and the garrison at Caesarea. When I say a large collection, we are talking a thousand of the finest Macedonian bows, twenty thousand arrows, javelins, swords, even a battering ram or two, and some catapults. It seems that Pilate fears the possibility of a Jewish uprising.”

  Miriam saw the astonishment on the face of the two Galileans, and the sudden eagerness as well. A thousand bows, and t
he arrows to fill them? Now there was a prize to tempt any rebel group. What she couldn’t believe was that her father was telling them this.

  “The Romans will also be bringing down gold and silver to help finance Pilate’s aqueduct project. They say it could be as much as ten talents.”

  Simeon whistled softly as his mind calculated quickly. The Roman denarius was the wage for a day laborer for one day. It took a hundred denarii to make a mina and sixty minas to make one talent. Thus, with one talent one could hire six thousand workers for a day! Ten talents was a major fortune. “Go on,” was all he said. There was interest, but there was also considerable caution as well.

  “All of this will be guarded by a full cohort,” Mordechai said. “Perhaps more.”

  “A cohort!” Yehuda exclaimed. That could be up to six hundred men, and they would be heavily armed and very wary. That was not good.

  “I think that only a fool would attempt to attack the Romans and take what they carry, but then, as you know, in my opinion you Zealots are famous for being fools.”

  To Miriam’s surprise Simeon laughed easily. “Please, no flattery, Mordechai. It always turns Yehuda’s head.”

  Her father went on, ignoring the sarcasm. “It is no secret that you and I disagree vigorously on what actions should be taken to deal with the situation in our country.”

  “Indeed we do,” Simeon drawled. “So why would you bring us here to tell us this?”

  “In the first place, none of this is my doing, nor is the situation in my hands. I have only learned about it by accident. When we came north to try to meet with your Zealot council, we hoped to sign an agreement that you would not provoke the Romans at this time.”

  “I know why you came north,” Simeon said, his voice taking on an edge now. “That still doesn’t answer the question.”

  Miriam’s father held out his hands, examining his perfectly manicured fingernails for a moment. “I have had information come into my hands that the Zealots will be approached with knowledge of this Roman column in hopes that they will join in a partnership to attack it.”