That was good. Samuel needed time for his new responsibilities as leader of a Zealot band. Not that there was much to lead yet, he thought with a frown. In the four and a half months since the disaster in Jerusalem, they had done little more than start a slow and painful rebuilding. It would take years to get back to full strength again. Beth Neelah had about a hundred families. Eight of those had lost men in the slaughter on the Temple Mount—almost one in ten. The bitterness, the passion, the commitment for revenge was there. It would just take time to recruit enough to the Band of Barak to become a real force again.
He felt a quick satisfaction as he thought of the name. They no longer called themselves the Band of Ha’keedohn, the Javelin, not since Simeon, whose title that was, had abandoned them. That new name was ironic, he thought. Small or not, weak or not, Samuel had told his men there had to be at least some retaliation so the Romans would know they had not worked their will with impunity.
In a daring raid, they had struck a Roman patrol one day in broad daylight. They killed three soldiers and captured a small box of gold and a cart filled with bows and a thousand or more arrows. When they heard that the Romans were saying they had been struck like lightning from a clear sky, Samuel knew they had their name. Lightning, in Hebrew, was barak.
“Samuel?”
Samuel turned and saw his wife at the door of their house. She had the baby, just two weeks old, in one arm but was waving with the other. “Samuel!”
He lifted a hand. “What is it?”
“Simeon and Miriam are here from Capernaum.”
Samuel frowned and set down his pruning knife. He broke into a trot toward the house. When he reached her, he asked, “Here?”
“No, they’re at Livia’s.” She was scowling deeply as she said it.
“All right. We should at least say hello.”
“I’ve got things to do,” she muttered.
“Shana,” Samuel said, chiding her gently, “you know I don’t agree with what Simeon has done either. I think this whole thing with Jesus is pure folly, and I still find it hard to believe the man I once followed has changed so much. But Simeon is no coward. He stood by Yehuda when the trouble broke out. He went into that prison at terrible risk to himself and brought Livia out.”
“And Yehuda died while he did so.”
He sighed. “If you had a chance to ask Yehuda, what would he say? Try to save me, and probably get killed in the process, or save my wife?”
Shana finally nodded. “I know, but . . .” She wasn’t sure what she wanted to add so didn’t finish. “Tell them the baby is not well, or that I’m still not getting around much.”
He cocked his head at her.
“I don’t want to see him,” she said stubbornly. “Or Miriam either.”
He sighed again. “All right. I won’t stay long.”
II
“How are you feeling, Livia?” Miriam asked.
Livia rested a hand on the roundness of her stomach. “Quite good, actually. Except when he kicks me hard enough that I can’t sleep.”
“It’s a boy?” Simeon teased. “You’re sure?”
“It has to be,” she said, pulling a face. “It’s like I’ve got a mule inside me.” She turned to Miriam. “And what of you? Any news you can share?”
Miriam blushed. “Not yet, but we’re hoping.”
“And it has to be a boy too, I suppose,” she said to Simeon.
“Not necessarily. If we could get an Esther or a little Miriam, I would be perfectly content.”
Miriam nodded. “If it is a girl, Simeon insists that she be named after me. I’m trying to convince him that, with Lilly’s baby, we already have two Miriams in the family. We don’t need three. I would like to call her after her grandmother.”
“That would thrill Deborah,” Livia answered.
“Yes, it would,” Simeon agreed, “so I’m not opposed to that.” Then he peered more closely at her, his eyes sobering. “How are you doing, Livia?”
She looked away, biting at her lower lip. “All right.” Then she added quietly, “The nights are the hardest. If we hadn’t been so happy, it . . .” She couldn’t finish and dropped her head.
Miriam reached out and squeezed her hand. “I know.” More than once in the previous four months, she had wondered what it would have been like if it had been Simeon who had been killed and herself left as a widow. Each time she had those thoughts, the pain was sharp enough to make her gasp.
“Any more word from Drusus?” Simeon asked.
Livia looked up, grateful for the change of subject. “I wrote him about everything that happened. He was deeply shocked. He says that when he finishes out this year of his apprenticeship, he’s coming here.”
“Really?” Miriam exclaimed. “To live?”
“That’s what he said.”
“Wonderful,” Miriam said. “That would be so good for you and for him.”
“Yes. I don’t know how he’ll take to the life of a vineyard keeper, but it would be good to have him with me.”
“Especially after the baby comes,” Miriam agreed.
“How has the village . . . ?” Simeon took a quick breath. “They don’t blame you for Yehuda’s death, do they?”
“No. Some still blame me for his decision to turn away from the sword, but no, I love it here. I’m happy. They treat me well.”
“They’d better,” Simeon growled.
Livia nodded slowly, then forced a smile. “Come. Enough of this. Tell me about the family. What about Leah? Has anything more happened with that young man and the betrothal?”
Simeon smiled back. “Yes, Leah and Jonathan will be betrothed after we return from Passover.”
“Wonderful. Is she happy?”
“We can’t get any work out of her,” Simeon said gruffly, “if that’s what you mean. She’s like a little bird. Flitting here and there all day long.”
“Well, I’m happy for her.”
Just then a knock sounded at the door. Livia started to stand, but Simeon jumped up and went to get it. It was Samuel. They shook hands, and he came in. Livia gave him a questioning look. He excused Shana, saying that the baby was fussy. They talked for several minutes about his new fatherhood, about the prospects for the grape crop this year, about things in the village. No further mention was made of Shana.
Finally, Simeon glanced briefly at Livia, then turned to face Samuel. “We had something we wanted to propose for Livia,” he said, “and would like to know what you think. It has implications for you as well, Samuel.”
Now Livia was curious. “What?”
Miriam answered for her husband. “We would like you to come to Jerusalem with us for Passover.”
Samuel immediately frowned. “Do you think that is wise?”
Simeon knew exactly what he meant. Not only would it take Livia back to the scene of the tragedy, but Samuel was apparently wondering if it might also put her in danger of being arrested again. “We have quietly been looking into things there,” Simeon said, choosing his words carefully, his eyes moving back and forth between Livia and Samuel. “It was exactly as we suspected. Livia’s arrest was nothing more than a way to bait the trap and draw in as many Zealots as possible. Unfortunately for the Romans, they opened Pandora’s box when they did so. They—”
“Pandora’s box?” Samuel said, looking puzzled.
Livia smiled and explained. “It’s a very old Greek myth,” she explained. “Pandora was the first woman. The gods endowed her with all of the graces and good gifts of femininity. They also gave her a box that contained all the evils of the world, knowing that with her curiosity she would be unable to resist seeing what was inside. When she gave in to her inquisitiveness and opened the box, evil was loosed into the world.”
“Oh.”
“And that’s what Marcus did that day—opened a box of trouble. Yes, he did great damage to the Zealots, probably setting back the movement ten years, but—”
“Not ten years,” Samuel growled. �
��One, maybe two.”
Simeon went on without responding. “But when he sent his soldiers into the inner courts of the temple, it changed everything. The Sanhedrin are still raging about that. We’ve learned from a good source that the garrison in the Antonia has been given very strict orders. No provocation of any kind.”
He looked at Livia. “Are you feeling well enough to travel? That’s the first question.”
“I feel fine. I’ve still got three more months before the baby comes. It’s just that . . .”
Simeon nodded, guessing what she was about to say. “We understand. It has to be hard to return to Jerusalem. On the other hand, Jesus has not been back to Capernaum since Sukkot, so our family plans to leave in a few days and meet him as soon as possible. That will give us a chance to spend a lot of time with him before the crowds swarm him during the feast days.”
“In fact,” Miriam added, “we stopped at Nazareth to visit with Mary. Her sons and their families are going up, but not until just in time for the feast. So she’ll be traveling with us too. She hasn’t seen Jesus since the Feast of Tabernacles either.”
Livia was pleased at the prospect. “It would be wonderful to be with her again,” she said.
“Who is Mary?” Samuel wondered.
“The mother of Jesus,” Miriam explained. “She is about the same age as Simeon’s mother, and a wonderful woman.”
Livia turned to Samuel wistfully. She didn’t relish going back onto the Temple Mount where Yehuda had been killed, but neither did she have a morbid fear of being there. And to see Jesus again. To be with him. And not just with him. To be in company with the women she had come to love—Miriam and Deborah and Leah, Mary the mother of Jesus, Mary Magdalene, Anna, and the other wives of the Twelve. In that moment, she realized how keenly her soul hungered for those associations. She didn’t need his permission, but she hoped for his approval.
Samuel saw all of that in her eyes. He waved a hand easily. “We have already finished pruning your vineyards. Go with them.” He turned to Miriam and Simeon. “Shana and I are not going to Passover this season. The baby is too tiny yet, and Shana is still not strong enough for a journey. We’ll watch things here for Livia.”
Actually, the more Samuel thought about it, the better he liked the idea. He worried about Livia. He had come to respect her deeply and admired her courage in all that had happened. She needed something like this. “I think it would be good for you.”
“Really?”
“Yes. It is a good idea.”
“Marvelous,” Miriam exclaimed. “Esther and Boaz will be so excited to see you again. As we left, Boaz said, ‘You tell my Livie I miss her.’”
“Oh,” Livia said softly, “I’ve missed them too.”
“Not all of the family are going up with us,” Simeon explained. “Lilly, as you know, is with child again, and, being older, she is having more difficulty this time. She’s sick quite a bit, so she and Ezra will be staying in Capernaum. She offered to keep Esther, Boaz, and little Amasa with them so Rachel and Ephraim can spend more time with Jesus and not have to worry about the children.”
“I see,” Livia said. Then she smiled. “I’ll bet Esther set up an objection to that idea.”
Miriam laughed softly. “At first, but Lilly told her she needs her to help with Amasa and little Miriam, and that made her feel better. She’s become quite the little mother. Rachel and Ephraim won’t leave early with us. They’ll stay and go up just in time for Passover.”
“Even Joseph has decided to stay,” Simeon said. “Ezra has promised to make him a new bow and teach him how to shoot if he’ll stay and help with the children.”
“But I’ll get to see them all before we leave?” Livia asked.
“Of course,” Simeon said. “We’ll be in Capernaum a couple of days, then leave after that.”
“Come,” Miriam said, standing up. “I’ll help you get some things together. We’ll leave first thing in the morning.”
“No,” Livia said, surprising them both. “Let’s go now. It’s only midday.”
Samuel hadn’t expected that either, but immediately nodded. “Don’t worry about closing up the house. I’ll see to that.” He started to move toward the door. “Shalom, Livia. Have a good journey.”
Simeon stood and went out with him. “Thank you, Samuel,” he said softly.
“For all that the village has gathered around her, it’s not the same,” he replied. “She still feels a bit like an outsider. It will be good for her to have a break.”
III
As they left the village, turning southeast on the road that led to Nazareth, Livia stopped and turned back. This was the same road they had come up on the first day she and Miriam had been brought here by Simeon and Yehuda. Her eyes suddenly burned and her lip started to tremble as the vivid imagery of that day sprang to her mind—Yehuda bragging shamelessly about the beauty of the village, Shana tearing pell-mell down the hill to greet them.
Miriam, sensing what was going through her mind, stepped over to her and slipped an arm around her waist. They stood quietly for almost a full minute, Simeon standing back, not wanting to intrude.
Livia finally turned to him. “If he were here,” she murmured, “you know what he would say to you for coming into the prison to get me?”
“I was only the instrument,” Simeon said somberly. “It was the Lord’s hand that delivered you.”
“I know.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was a sound of great pain. “I only wish Yehuda could have known,” she whispered. “It still haunts me that he died thinking I and our baby were in the hands of the Romans.”
“He knows now,” Miriam said, near tears herself. “He knows that you are all right and that he is going to have a child to carry on for him.”
“Yes,” she said softly.
Simeon suddenly looked at her in wonder. “Not only that,” he said. He stopped, not sure he should say it. But he couldn’t help it. “He knew.”
Livia’s eyes widened slightly. “Knew?”
Simeon nodded slowly. “Yes. I don’t know how, but he knew about you getting free. Before he died, he knew. I feel that very strongly.”
Her eyes filled with tears, for she also knew. “Thank you, Simeon.”
He stepped to her and took her in his arms. “You didn’t have a long time together, Livia, but it was so good that you had what time you did. You were the best thing that ever happened to him.”
Chapter 18
What lack I yet?
—Matthew 19:20
I
In the Jordan Valley, north of Jericho 15–17 March, a.d. 33
The group traveling from Capernaum had no problem finding Jesus and the Twelve. The whole countryside was ablaze with talk of the man from Nazareth. Virtually every traveler coming north on the highway that led up the Jordan Valley had seen him or heard of his whereabouts. As the group neared Jericho, there were almost constant reports that Jesus was east of the Jordan in Perea. When the travelers reached the site just north of the city where they had camped on their way to the Feast of Tabernacles, they stopped. Several of the brethren, including David and Simeon, left the main body the next morning, turned east, and crossed the river to see if they could find exactly where Jesus was.
The second night after their departure, they returned just before sundown. With them were Jesus, Peter, the rest of the apostles, and a small group of additional disciples.
II
17 March, a.d. 33
They sat around the fire in circles, two and three deep. There were a few children, but not nearly as many as when they had been there before. Like Deborah and David’s family, people sensed that things were not the same with Jesus now. They wanted time with him without having to worry about their families. There were a few younger children in the camp, but most of the children had come with their parents from Jericho and the surrounding villages.
Jesus was not there, so they talked quietly among themselves. After supper
was finished, Jesus had gone off by himself into the darkness, and Peter asked that he be given some time alone. The Master looked tired, and though many had come specifically to hear him, they honored the big fisherman’s request.
As they talked quietly, a man appeared out of the darkness and moved toward the fire. “Excuse me!” he called.
Everyone turned as a man entered the circle of firelight. “Pardon, but I am looking for the one they call Jesus of Nazareth.”
Miriam was surprised as she looked him up and down. Jesus was always drawing people to him. Usually they were of the poorer classes. Often they were sick or afflicted in one way or another. But this man was unlike most of those Miriam had seen in the crowds before. He was richly dressed. He wore a turban that flashed in the firelight. It was encrusted with jewels. His robe looked like it was of the finest linen and was heavily embroidered with gold. The sash he wore was fastened with what looked like a solid gold clasp. There was a flash of red, and Miriam saw that he wore an enormous ruby on one finger. There were several other rings as well, in addition to gold bracelets. She could scarcely believe it. She had grown up among wealthy people and did not remember seeing anything quite like this. The man was wearing enough wealth to feed a small village for several months.
Miriam thought of the night Marcus Didius had told her about the Latin word luxus, from which came the word “luxuries.” Luxus referred to a wild, uncontrolled profusion of growth, a garden gone totally to weed, a bush that had never been pruned. Here was visual evidence of that original meaning. The man was luxurious, wealth gone to seed.
Peter got to his feet. “This is the camp where Jesus is staying, but he is not here at the moment. Can we help you?”
It was hard to tell in the firelight whether the man’s expression was one of anxiety or annoyance. “Could you tell me where he is, please? I must speak with him.”
“I’m very sorry, but—”
“It’s all right, Peter. I am here.”
Every head jerked around as Jesus came walking toward them. He moved through the seated people until he stood next to his apostles. The ornately dressed man did the same, only from the other direction. They came face to face near the fire.
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