But Eliab’s hand shot out and grabbed Ya’abin’s hand. “What if it’s poisoned?”
For a long few seconds, Ya’abin stared at his lieutenant; then, with a hoarse cry, he kicked at the spit, sending it collapsing into the fire. He kicked again, swearing and cursing wildly. Sparks shot skyward as a burning stick skittered away into the darkness.
II
Rome 19 March, a.d. 31
It was the first time since Marcus’s return to Rome that Miriam had gone more than one day without seeing him. The last they had been together was at the chariot races at the Circus Maximus two days before. Since his return from Judea, he had come to dinner once with her and her father. They had been out to the Didius family villa twice, once for a midday meal and once for the birthday celebration of Marcus’s father. They had gone on several long walks, talking philosophy, religion, politics, and a wide range of other topics. More than once these had ended up in amiable though vigorous verbal jousts. Both agreed that neither of them could be declared a clear winner. But yesterday Marcus had not appeared, and there had been no word. When she casually asked her father if he knew where Marcus was, he had simply shrugged.
She had waited for an hour this morning before deciding that he wasn’t coming this day either. So she and Livia went to the market to do Livia’s shopping. Miriam and her father had been furnished three household slaves to care for their needs, but Miriam refused to make any direct requests of them. And Livia, of course, had none to help her. Mordechai also gave Miriam a generous living allowance, which she shared liberally with Livia. If Mordechai knew about it, which he probably did, he never spoke of it.
The two of them had come back and washed each other’s hair in a large porcelain pot. Now they sat around as it dried, brushing it out as they idly chatted.
“So,” Livia asked. “Have you said anything more about us going back with Marcus?”
Miriam shook her head. “When I brought it up that first night after Marcus returned, Father just exploded. I—” She blew out her breath. “I’ve never seen him quite like this, Livia. It almost frightens me.”
“Then don’t mention it again. It’s better that we don’t go back until something else happens with Ya’abin, so just let it go for now.”
“That is what I have decided too. But I want to go back, Livia. I want to go to Capernaum and see Jesus again, and listen to him teach. I want to sit around with Anna and Mary Magdalene and Deborah and Rachel. I want to go for walks along the seashore with Leah and talk about nothing.”
Livia laughed lightly. “About nothing? I thought you said that you and Leah talked about Simeon the last time you did that.”
Miriam ducked her head. “Livia!”
“Well, isn’t that what you told me?”
“We talked about many things.” She looked away, clearly flustered.
Livia laughed as she reached up and began brushing her long hair again. Miriam turned to watch. The afternoon sun was coming through the window; it made Livia’s hair look like spun gold.
“Your hair is beautiful after it’s been washed.”
“Thank you.”
“Remember how Esther loved it? Jesus even said you were making her covetous.”
The light blue eyes softened as Livia nodded. “I remember. I wish we could see Esther and Boaz again.”
Miriam murmured her assent and began brushing her own hair once more. It was quiet for several minutes; then Livia spoke. “Are you thinking about Simeon?” she teased.
“Livia of Alexandria! What has gotten into you today?”
“Well,” Livia said. “You had that faraway look in your eyes. I was just wondering.”
To her surprise, Miriam didn’t fight back. Instead a touch of color rose in her cheeks. “Actually, I was thinking about Shana.”
“Shana?”
“Yes, Yehuda’s sister. Surely you haven’t forgotten who Shana is?”
“Of course not. But why were you thinking about her?” Then, as Miriam looked away, Livia put her brush down and reached out to touch Miriam’s arm. “That’s over.”
“How can you say that? Yes, Daniel’s dead, but Simeon saved Yehuda from prison. Yehuda has obviously forgiven him, so Shana probably has too. Wouldn’t you?”
“If Simeon and Shana were betrothed again, Deborah would have said something in her letter. She gave us all the other news about the family.”
Miriam just shook her head.
“She would. You know she would.”
“It wouldn’t happen fast. Maybe it’s not been formalized yet, but—I’ll make a wager with you,” Miriam said. “I’ll give you ten denarii if the next letter doesn’t tell us they’re betrothed.”
Livia laughed aloud.
“What? You know I’m right.”
“No, Simeon’s right. You like Rome far too much. Now you are even wagering as though you were a spectator in the Circus Maximus.”
Miriam laughed, coming out of her mood. “What can I say to that?” She set the brush aside and began piling her hair atop her head in a style that was popular with many of the young women in the city. “Well, let’s talk about you now,” she said after a moment. “I saw you daydreaming the other day. Were you thinking of Yehuda?”
One of the things that Miriam loved about Livia was that she blushed at the tiniest embarrassment. There was absolutely no way that she could ever hide her true feelings. Now she went a deep scarlet.
“Remember that night you danced with him and the other villagers? When we go back to Capernaum, I’ll bet you could slip up to Beth Neelah and do that again.”
“Stop it,” Livia said, shaking her brush at her.
Miriam laughed in delight. “So the tables are turned. But I don’t hear a denial. Let’s hear a denial, young woman. Tell me that you are—”
A knock on the door interrupted her. Both turned in surprise. The only company Livia ever received was Miriam. She stood. “Maybe your father is looking for you,” she whispered.
But it wasn’t Mordechai. It was Marcus. “Oh!” Livia stared for a moment before recovering. “Good afternoon, Tribune Didius.”
He smiled. “Hello, Livia, and how long will it be before you call me Marcus as Miriam does?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Mordechai told me that Miriam might—” He stopped as Miriam stepped forward where he could see her.
“Hello, Marcus.”
“Good afternoon, Miriam,” he answered, giving a slight bow, something he had not done before, Livia noted.
“We were just finishing,” Livia said, stepping back.
“No,” Marcus said quickly. “Actually I was hoping I could catch you both. I have some news.” He was frowning.
Livia felt her heart sink. “About Drusus?”
He nodded. “May I come in?”
“What is it, Marcus?” Miriam asked with great concern. Then, remembering her manners, she invited him to sit down on the padded bench where she and Livia had been sitting moments before. Marcus took his seat and they both sat on stools facing him.
“I’ve spent the last two days with a man by the name of Valerius,” he began without further preamble. He looked at Miriam. “This is the man about whom I spoke with you before.”
“The slave hunter?”
“Yes.”
“Has he found my brother?” Livia exclaimed.
Marcus took a deep breath, his face grave. “You have to understand some things about the situation, Livia.”
She sat back, her eyes lowering, not able to bear watching him as he spoke the words.
“First of all, there are an estimated one million people who now live in Rome. About seventy percent of those are slaves.”
Both women nodded. Neither piece of information was new to them. Typically you could tell a slave by how they dressed—simple white tunic, cloth sash to fasten it at the waist, inexpensive sandals. Some slave owners, fearing runaways, branded their slaves with their own mark. This was done either on their foreheads or on the palm of the right
hand, so that the scar could never be hidden. Every time Miriam went out into the city, she saw hundreds of men, women, and children who were instantly identifiable as slaves, no matter what manner of dress they wore.
“One of the great problems we are experiencing in Rome,” Marcus continued, “in these modern times, is a growing laxity about record keeping. With the empire expanding as it is, tens of thousands of people are being taken in war as slaves every year. Many are shipped to Rome and sold without proper documentation. There is no control.” He was clearly irritated by such shocking laxity. “After Julius Caesar conquered Gaul,” Marcus groused, “so many slaves flooded the markets that for a time you could buy a slave cheaper than you could purchase a donkey.”
Here in a single moment, Miriam thought, was her dilemma about this handsome Roman tribune. He could be charming, entertaining, and exciting, and then in one instant, he would toss off a comment that left her cold. Imagine! Not caring enough about one’s property. Shoddy records. Flooding the market with the refuse of war. Shocking. Unconscionable.
The night of Marcus’s father’s birthday gala, the conversation had turned to slavery. The men began discussing this “sorry state of affairs” in the slave trade. If the ratio of slave to freemen got too high, it could spell disaster. Even though it had occurred more than a hundred years ago, the slave rebellion led by Spartacus still sent tremors of fear through every slave owner in the empire. Miriam had finally excused herself from dinner that night on some pretext or another, fearing she would be physically ill.
“Valerius thought he had identified where your brother was.”
Miriam pulled herself back to the conversation. “He said before that Drusus had been sold to a patrician family either in the city or nearby.”
“Yes. That’s what we’ve been doing these past two days, trying to locate the owners. With me leaving Rome soon, I was getting worried about time running out.”
Just then they heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs outside the door. Marcus looked up, then stood. “Oh, good. That will be Valerius now. I thought you might wish to hear his report personally.”
Miriam and Livia stood quickly, both taken aback by this development. The slave hunter was actually here?
Marcus strode to the door. He paused for a moment, then threw it open with a flourish. Without a word, he stepped back, revealing the person who stood there.
Livia gasped. This was not a grizzled older man, as both she and Miriam had expected, but a young boy of about seventeen or eighteen. He was slender of build, almost frail. His skin was pale, with only a touch of color from the sun. He was clad in a simple white tunic, fastened at the waist with a cloth sash. His feet were shod in plain, leather sandals.
But that was not what caught and held Miriam’s eyes. His hair was a golden blonde, only a shade darker than Livia’s. The eyes were the same pale blue.
“Drusus?” Livia cried in a hoarse whisper.
“Livia?” The boy fell back a step, obviously dazed.
Livia’s step faltered. “Drusus, is it you?”
He gave a strangled cry, and then the boy rushed forward and fell into Livia’s arms.
Miriam turned to Marcus, her eyes as wide as catapult stones. “You found him?”
He nodded gravely. “Just about an hour ago.” He reached out and took Miriam’s hand. “Come. I think these two need some time alone.”
III
21 March, a.d. 31
Mordechai opened the door and motioned Marcus inside the spacious apartment. “Thank you for coming. I know you are leaving for Ostia in the morning, so I appreciate you taking time to come by.”
“Actually, I had a matter I wanted to discuss with you as well.”
“Oh?”
They moved into the main sitting room, and Mordechai motioned Marcus to a chair. Instead, Marcus moved to the doors and closed them. “Do you mind?”
Mordechai gave him a brief, quizzical look, but then he shook his head. “Miriam is still over with Livia and her brother. I’ve told the slaves to leave us alone. But if you wish.”
He only nodded and sat down. Mordechai took a chair facing him. “That was a good thing you did, finding the boy,” Mordechai said. “Livia is still half in a daze. It’s been about six years since they were separated.”
Marcus shrugged. “I should have done something about it sooner. That lout Valerius promised me he’d keep working on it after I returned to Caesarea, but he didn’t.”
“I would like to know what it cost you to free the boy,” Mordechai said. “We don’t expect you to cover that.”
There was a dismissive wave of the hand, and Mordechai nodded. He would have done exactly the same had the situation been reversed. “Thank you. Miriam was almost as touched as Livia.”
“Yes,” Marcus answered with a smile. “These past few days with her have made me even more reluctant to leave.”
Mordechai reached for a leather pouch on a table beside him. He opened it and retrieved two sheets of papyrus. Marcus saw that they were covered with writing. Mordechai folded each one carefully, took a stick of wax and held it over the candle flame. Once the wax softened, he pressed it against the fold of the first letter, then quickly stamped it with his signet ring. He repeated it with the second sheet.
Only then did he look up. “I have written a long letter to Pilate. Also one to the Sanhedrin. Could I impose upon you to include these in the pouch you are taking back with you?”
“Of course.”
“The one for the Great Sanhedrin is actually for Caiaphas, the high priest. Once you are in Caesarea, I would appreciate it if you could find a trusted messenger and see that it is delivered directly into his hand for me.”
“As I told you the other day, Pilate has asked that I go to Jerusalem upon my return so that I can get a direct report on the campaign against Ya’abin. I’ll probably go there within a day or two of my arrival. I shall see to the delivery myself.”
Mordechai tried not to show surprise. Mail between the various provinces of the empire was frequently carried by soldiers and other government officials, but Mordechai was a Jew. Despite the positive relationship he and Marcus had, the Roman could easily have seen the request as impertinent on Mordechai’s part. To offer to hand deliver the letter to Jerusalem was especially surprising.
“That would be more than I could rightly expect,” Mordechai said smoothly. He leaned forward and handed the letters to Marcus.
“Is anything wrong?”
“Oh, more troublesome than wrong.”
“Anything I can help with when I get there?”
“It’s this Jesus of Nazareth.”
“The preacher?”
“Yes. I received a letter two days ago from Caiaphas. The popularity of Jesus grows every day. He challenges the traditional ways of thinking and has the Pharisees in a dither.”
“That’s not all bad, is it?” Marcus smiled.
There was an answering laugh. “No. Caiaphas said that Azariah—he’s the chief of the Pharisees in Jerusalem—is so upset he has even approached Caiaphas about perhaps uniting with the Sadducees in an effort to deal with the problem.”
“And that bothers you? It seems like a united front would be desirable.”
“In one way, but . . . ” His stroked his beard thoughtfully. “The differences between the Pharisees and us Sadducees run very deep. If Azariah is asking for our help, and if Caiaphas is seriously considering a collaboration, that says more about Jesus than anything else could.”
Marcus wanted to smile. He had spent almost a year and a half in Judea now, so he knew of the squabbles and the bickering between the various sects. He found it all quite boring, but he was required to maintain an interest because Rome always kept a close eye on the local governments.
“So you have some religious charismatic challenging your traditions,” he said, ready to dismiss this and get on to his item. “It will go away. They always do.”
Mordechai shot him a quick look,
clearly irritated. “Two months ago, Jesus had a crowd of over five thousand people come to hear him.” He shook his head quickly. “No, not five thousand people, Marcus. Five thousand Galileans. Five thousand fanatics who will pick up a sword at the very mention of the name of Rome. Doesn’t that give you some pause for thought?”
Marcus whistled softly. “Five thousand!”
“Yes, that’s nearly a full legion. And it’s the same everywhere he goes.” There was a quick, shrewd look in Marcus’s direction. “If he were ever to call on his followers to rise up, Rome could have a serious problem. A very serious problem.”
Knowing that he had been mildly chastened, Marcus nodded nevertheless. “I shall look into it when I arrive.”
“This information about Jesus is one of the things I have taken the liberty to point out to Pilate.” He blew out his breath in frustration. “Curses on that Ya’abin. Of all the times to have to go into exile. It is not a good time to be away from the Council.”
Something in the way that he said it caught Marcus’s attention. “Are you changing your plans, Mordechai?”
“I’m aware that Ya’abin is still not contained, and that it is a real concern. But I am thinking of perhaps slipping back without letting anyone know. In fact, I’ve asked both the governor and Caiaphas to give the matter careful thought and to respond as quickly as possible.”
This was a significant piece of news. “Would you take Miriam too? I’m not sure that’s wise.”
Mordechai shook his head emphatically. “No, not until the danger is completely past. But I’m not sure I can wait that long. Things are developing too rapidly.”
Marcus waved the two letters at him. “I shall deliver these for you and send you my assessment of both Ya’abin and this Jesus within a month of my arrival.”
“That would be deeply appreciated. I need an objective view and not just what those old fools on the Council are telling me.”
Marcus waited a moment; then when it was clear that Mordechai had finished his business, he took a quick breath. “That brings me to the matter I would like to discuss with you.”
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