“Yes, of course. I know of him. My home is honored by the presence of a member of such a fine family. Please, come inside. It is much too cold out here. What brings you up here on such a bitter night?”
CHAPTER 71
Ancient Palestine (circa 30 CE)
Lucilius Germanicus sat at a table, fussing with the strap that secured his breastplate. Even without his armor he was an imposing figure. Middle aged, but all hard muscle and sinew, his gaze fierce, his manner fearless, he was the very embodiment of military power and Roman masculinity. Without the plumed bronze helmet, his wiry gray hair swirled around his head like the mane of a lion, livid battle scars marked his thick arms.
“Come in,” he said. “Do not be afraid.”
“I am not afraid,” Eliana replied proudly.
“Chanah tells me you want to talk to me. But first, answer me this. Does your father know you are here?”
“No, he does not.”
The centurion looked at the girl approvingly. “I like that. A girl who knows her own mind. A girl unafraid to talk to the terrible Roman. You must be a brave girl. I like that, too. What is it you want to say to me?”
“Here, let me do that.” Taking the leather and awl from the centurion’s hands, Eliana deftly punched the torn strap, stitching it with a length of leather cord. “Who is that beautiful lady?” she asked nonchalantly.
“Who? Chanah? She is the mistress of this house. One of Antipas’s women.”
“Is she a Jew?”
“A Jew? I do not know. How would I know that? Is this what you came here to talk to me about?”
“No, I came here to speak to you about Viktor. But before I tell you anything, I need to know your intentions. I need to know why you are looking for him.”
“I already explained that to your father. Were you not standing right there beside him? Septimus Salvo has died. The boy needs to be informed of this and other important matters. I do not know what the boy has been involved in, nor do I care. I am doing this strictly as a favor to his master. Septimus has been a good friend to me for many years. He always was kind and generous to me and my family. I am indebted to him. And now that I am in a position to help him, it is too late. That is my regret. I know he was close to this boy Viktor. And the boy should be told. I shall find him with or without your father’s help.”
“Viktor speaks of Septimus Salvo much the same as you do. I am sure he would want to know what has happened. That is why I came here. I believe Viktor has gone to Capernaum. He met a man on the road about ten days ago and they set out on foot for the Galilee.”
“Capernaum, you say? Tell me truthfully, girl. Is this man he travels with an insurrectionist? Is Viktor running with the Zealots?”
“I do not believe him to be a Zealot. Viktor told me the man is a religious acolyte. A follower of a rabbi from the Galilee.”
“I am in the process of inspecting the garrisons along the Jordan River Valley. I will continue up to Capernaum and seek him out. If he is there, I will tell him about Septimus. And then, what he does is his choosing.”
The centurion took the strap from the girl, fitted it on his breastplate, and tested the strength of the mend. “Very good. Thank you for the assistance. Sometimes these big fingers can be quite contrary. And thank you for the information. I imagine your father will not be pleased that you cooperated with…how did he put it…the slaughterer of the innocent…the enemy of reason.”
“When he calms down, he will understand. He is not as narrow-minded as you might assume. He is a tolerant man. He is just tired of all the conflict and all the bloodshed.”
“Him and I both,” the centurion pronounced wearily. “Thank you for your help. It is late. You should be getting along home now.”
The centurion turned his attention back to his armor, wiping the dust from his bronze shin guards. It was a job for his aides, but he was bored with their childishly chauvinistic company. The junior officers were all so insufferably young and vain and full of brazenly misguided opinions. Like him, they, too, loved Rome, but for all the wrong reasons. And he wasn’t in the mood for pointless chatter. In his current state of mind, it was best to spend the hours alone. Blatantly ignoring the plain-spoken Hebrew girl, Lucilius expected her to take the hint and depart. But she didn’t move. She sat watching him until he abandoned his task and looked up at her, his bushy eyebrows arched in irritation.
“There is something else,” Eliana said. “I have a request to make of you. I want to…”
“Come on, girl. Out with it.”
“I want to accompany you to Capernaum.”
“What? Accompany me to Capernaum? Out of the question. This is not a pleasure tour. I will be riding with a small patrol, moving fast. The Galilee is known as a breeding ground for radicals and insurrectionists. There still might be Zealots hiding out there in the hills. There is a danger of ambush. Besides, you are a girl. Do you think you can keep up with Roman cavalry officers?
“I have a good horse, and I can ride as well as any man. I have been traveling with my father since I was a child. I am no stranger to the road.”
“What will your people think of you traveling with us? Surely you realize what they will assume?”
“Yes, I do. I had a taste of that tonight. I care not what people might think.”
“And what about your father? He seems like a pretty tough character. It is highly unlikely he will agree to such an arrangement.”
“I will take care of my father.”
The centurion had to chuckle. “I have no doubt you can take care of yourself and your father. But why do you want to journey all the way to Capernaum? The days are hot, the backcountry is dangerous, and that little fishing village is rife with troublemakers. What is it you seek? What can be so important to a young girl like you?”
“Viktor is betrothed to me,” Eliana lied. “I want to make sure he follows through on his promise. I do not want him running off again without me. I aim to bring him back to Jericho.”
The centurion looked at Eliana with admiration, a crooked smile lighting up his face. “You truly are a strong-minded girl. I know not whether to envy Viktor or pity him. Still, I do not understand why everyone frets so much over that slave. He seems to me to be nothing more than a scamp. Yet Septimus Salvo called him son…the children in Caesarea worship him…and an exceptional young woman like you wants to make him her husband. Maybe there is more to this boy than I can see. I doubt it, but I might be wrong. All right, I will stop at your father’s house at first light. If you can get him to agree to it, you can come along. But I must have your father’s approval. I myself have a daughter about your age. She is a headstrong girl, not unlike you. She lives with her mother back in Rome. I must admit, I would never allow her to go off on such a journey with a band of strangers. Especially soldiers. But you Jews are a different sort of people. A self-proclaimed chosen people who dwell in a worthless desert. An enslaved people who look upon their conquerors with contempt. I do not claim to understand you. You are a people of extremes and contradictions. A people of too much talk and too little action. But I like you. You remind me of my Justina. If your father agrees to it, I will take you along. We shall find your Viktor.”
CHAPTER 72
Ancient Palestine (circa 30 CE)
Eliana took a sip of the spicy herbal tea. The cup was hot in her hands and the steaming brew suffused her with warmth, gradually purging the night chill from her body. Her mother sat expectantly on the bench beside her. Across the table, her father stood like a bristled rooster, arms folded stiffly across his chest, eyes pinched, brow furrowed, one sandal tapping out a furious cadence. As she raised the cup to her lips, her eyes roamed the room around her—the tables and the chairs and the carpets, the pegs where her mother hung the fire-blackened cooking pots. The fireplace with its broad stone hearth and the rough-hewn cedar mantle where her great-grandfather’s menorah stood. The adobe oven attached to the outer wall. The niches that held a multitude of smoky oil lam
ps. The jugs of olive oil and wine. The mortar and pestle. The ever-present aroma of garlic and onion and mint and thyme. Home. The place where she had been born. The place where she had grown from a child into a girl and from girl to woman. She knew every nook, crack, and cranny of that room. She knew it inside and out. She knew it with her eyes closed. And now as she gazed upon it afresh, how shabby it all looked compared to the palace on the hill. How dark and dry her parents looked compared to those people. It was like comparing raisins to grapes. She knew her family lived better than most people in Jericho, probably better than most Jews. But compared to those people up on the hill, they were little more than field hands. Things were not what they could be…not what they should be. Viktor had opened her eyes to that. That and so much more.
Viktor was so full of ideas, strange and wondrous ideas. And beautiful dreams. Like farms that are owned equally by everyone who works there, where children are nurtured and sheltered by the entire village. And leaders who are chosen by all the people, not just a privileged few. And taxes that are collected to help those in need, not just to line the purses of priests and kings and conquerors. And medicines that can cure most afflictions, even leprosy. And horseless chariots and machines that can soar faster than a falcon, and firelight without a fire. And girls who stand proudly alongside their brothers, fighting for Israel, a powerful Israel that defeats all its enemies. He could go on for hours, and many times he did so. All those dreams and ideas pouring out of him in a rush, like he could see it with his own two eyes. He was special, unlike anyone she had ever met. Fearless, strong, smart, loving, and so full of fantastic ideas. He was a treasure. She could not let him slip away.
“Eliana…Eliana dear, what are you thinking about? You seem so far away.”
“Oh nothing, Mother, just daydreaming.”
“Tell me about Herod’s palace. I have always wondered about it.”
“The house is beautiful, Mother. There are actually two buildings connected by a bridge across the wadi. They are made of white stone that seems to glow in the darkness. The rooms inside are tall and airy and sparkle with that same white stone. The floors are covered in colorful tiles and many of the walls are painted with scenes from the valley. Everything is so smooth and shiny. Everything seemed so…so…perfect.
“And the lady. Tell me how she was dressed.”
“Her dress was made of fine silk, the color of a ripe pomegranate. It shimmered like embers in the torchlight. She wore gold bracelets on her arms and jewels on her fingers. Her sandals had tiny bells on the straps that jingled when she walked. Her footsteps made music.”
Yehuda broke his smoldering silence. “Bells? Hah! Like those I tie on the goats so I can hear where they wander and what mischief they are getting into? What…is she a farm animal?”
“Hush, old man. What was the lady like?”
“She was very kind,” Eliana replied. “She said she knows who we are. She said she knows of Father, and you, too, Mother. She spoke softly, but very confidently. Her hair shone with oil and she smelled of myrrh and sandalwood. Her eyes were outlined in ebony and ochre. And her skin was like polished alabaster, so smooth and clear. She was beautiful…like a flower.
“Of course her skin is like alabaster,” Yehuda interjected. “She has never worked a day in her life. She has never labored under the heat of the sun. Her hands have never felt the washtub, her feet never touched a wine press. Eliana, my dear one, do not be impressed by such decadent wealth. Those people live in luxury off the sweat and blood of our people. They do not toil for their livelihood like our people do.”
“I know that, Father. I remembered what you told me. I expected the people up there to be evil beasts. As I walked along the road, I prayed to the Almighty to protect me from them. But they were not what I expected. Mostly, they were kind and considerate. The worst of the lot were the guards. The lady was most gracious.”
“Eliana, I warned you never to go up there, but you chose to disobey your father’s wishes. And now you tell me I am mistaken about what kind of people they are. People who turn their back on the Almighty. People who consort with the enemy. People who live in outrageous luxury while their countrymen starve. Are these people to be admired?”
“No, Father. Of course not. You are right. It is just that they were not what I expected them to be. That is all I am trying to say.”
“All right, all right already, enough about them. Let us finish our discussion. You know I cannot leave the orchards at this time of year to go traipsing across the Galilee with you. I have to stay here to protect our investment and our property. It is not just for me. It is for all of us. It is for your future. You are a strong and capable girl, Eliana. Someday this will all be yours. If we can find you a suitable husband, you will have a good life.”
“I have already found a suitable husband. That is why I am asking for your blessing to go after him.”
“Yes, yes, yes. As much as I want to deny it, I have to agree with you. Viktor is a fine boy…an exceptional boy. He could be an exceptional man and an exceptional husband with the right women to guide him. But he is not here. He has gone off once again, seeking who knows what. I fear he might be the wandering type…a roamer, a dreamer. A dreamer makes not a good husband.”
“Father, I know him better than you. He is so smart. He has such splendid ideas. Ideas so fantastic, they must come to him straight from the Almighty. He is strong and fearless…but he is caring and loving, too. He will be a great man. One day he will reach for the sky like a cedar. And I will be his roots. I prayed for such a man, and the Almighty has brought him to me. I cannot let him slip away. Did you not teach me that some things in life are worth fighting for? Viktor is worth fighting for.”
“And what if I refuse to give you my blessing?”
“Then I will have to go without it. I love you, Father. I love you more than anything. And I will leave with a heavy heart. But I must do what I must do. I will go.”
“In that case, my dear one, you have my blessing.”
Eliana jumped up, circled the table, and planted a kiss on Yehuda’s whiskered cheek. “Thank you, Father,” she sighed as she laid her head upon his shoulder. “I knew you would understand.”
“I understand only that you have your heart and your mind set on going after the boy. But as you know, I cannot accompany you at this time. Too many things around here require my attention. How do you propose to undertake this pursuit?”
“Lucilius Germanicus said I can travel with him if I have your approval. He is riding up the valley to the Galilee. In Capernaum he will seek Viktor out to inform him of his father’s death. Along the way, he promised to provide me with suitable quarters at the Roman outposts. When I get to Capernaum, I can stay with Uncle Gamal. If Viktor has moved on, I will come home immediately, I promise. Father, I have to do this.”
“Yes, I know that, my dear one. I raised an independent and capable girl, who is now an independent and capable woman. I have only myself to blame. But travelling with a Roman? With a Roman centurion? Eliana…dear Eliana…do you not realize what people are going to think of you? They will assume you are his concubine…or worse. They will never understand. They will not want to understand. They will despise you.”
“That is exactly what Lucilius Germanicus said.”
“He is correct. And what say you?”
“I care not what they think.”
“You may not, but I do. It is something we will surely have to deal with at a later time. It appears that things have quieted down. You should be safe with the Roman. He is a formidable warrior. I believe he will protect you. I detest the part he plays in our subjugation, but I respect who he is. He is an honorable man. You can always trust an honorable man, even if you detest his position. Septimus Salvo always spoke highly of him. And Septimus Salvo did not give his trust easily. You go ahead and seek out your Viktor. Take Yoshi with you. She is a strong woman and skilled in the saddle. She has served you since you were little and she will loo
k out for you. Heed her counsel. I will ask Josef to accompany you also. He is good with the sword. He will help to keep you from harm. Take the best horses, the black Arabians. Romans ride hard and I want you to keep up with them. When you find the boy, be proud. Do not grovel. Remember who you are. If he resists, turn your back on him and return to us at once. Do not waste another single breath on him. Ask Uncle Gamal to provide you with an escort. I will reimburse him. Remember, this is your home. Return to us. That is the one thing I ask of you. Return to us.”
“I will return, Father. I will return with Viktor.”
CHAPTER 73
Present-Day Israel
An annoying electronic warble jarred the old man out of a deep slumber. Raking a trembling hand across his face, he struggled to free himself from a dream that doggedly trailed him into the waking world. In the dream he was young and sturdy, standing atop a hill of rubble, looking down into an excavation. The day was bright and clear. A brisk wind tugged at his shirt, raising dust devils on the distant hillside. Below him lay the vestiges of a fourth-century synagogue. A tantalizing remnant of the architecture lay exposed. Two students worked at the far edge of the dig, carefully brushing away at the face of the cut, their features obscured by shadow. As he watched, their tools gradually revealed a beautiful seven-branched candelabrum. Exposed to the light after centuries of darkness, the intricately detailed menorah glowed as if wrought from solid gold. Liberated from a millennia of detritus, the relic rose from the gritty embankment and floated above the excavation, weightless as a cottonwood seed. Blazing in the sunlight, it cast a golden radiance upon the upraised smiles of the students. But they weren’t students. Somehow he knew this. They were older…familiar…strangely familiar. Could it be? Rachel? Dear Rachel. And Viktor! They turned toward him, beckoning. He shouted their names, waved his arms overjoyed. Rachel! Viktor! He ran to them, scrambling down into the excavation. Slipping and sliding, his legs tangling, he sprawled into the dig. Before he could regain his feet, a black shadow passed fleetingly across his face and a piercing alarm exploded in his ears. High overhead, the vapor trail of a rocket etched itself into the infinite blue sky. The ground beneath him pitched and shuddered. Unable to regain his footing, he clawed his way through the rubble-strewn excavation toward his wife and his son. But they had turned away, looking to where the golden menorah now lay shattered in the dust. Then in a heartbeat the menorah was gone. Rachel and Viktor were gone. The excavation, gone. All that remained was the incessant shriek of the air-raid siren.
The Emmanuel Project Page 24