The Stones of My Accusers

by Tracy Groot

  The soldier had arrived around noon yesterday with Joab. If Theron expected a joyous reunion between the lad and Jorah, he was disappointed. She who had spent anxious hours waiting for his return, who had raised a mighty stink for his release, received Joab with cool regard, saying, “I hope you’ve learned what folly it is to attack a Roman official,” and flounced off to tend to Cousin Thomas.

  Marina was off fetching Orion, and Joab left sometime before dawn. That left Theron to entertain the big Gentile. Theron did not like to entertain. He’d rather be working on a mosaic. Actually, that would be a much better place to wait for Orion and Marina. Why not? Was it rude to work while you were supposed to be entertaining? He could talk much better in there. At the moment, things were fidgety awkward. He finally came up with something to say.

  “What is your function in the army?”

  “I am drillmaster of the auxiliaries.”

  Was Theron supposed to be impressed? He didn’t know how the Roman army was set up. Drillmaster could be a very impressive rank. He settled on a cautious “Oh.”

  “I won’t be for long,” the man mused. “With Orion gone, ranks will change. I’ll make Optio of the Legion X Fretensis, second in command to the centurion.”

  “Is that good?”

  “For me, yes. I’ll draw more pay. Better pension. But I can’t think past what is happening to Orion.” He stopped in the middle of his pacing, looked for a place to sit, chose the bench on the other side of the kitchen table. A good comfortable distance from Theron. “How is it you know Orion?”

  “Marina picked him up in the marketplace a year or so ago. She does that, brings people home like strays. She saw Orion and knew he was lost.”

  “Lost?”

  “You know, lost.”

  The man still had a blank look.

  “He lost his way. Not in the marketplace—in life.” Maybe that’s why the fellow wasn’t centurion yet, he wasn’t too quick.

  The soldier leaned back and appraised Theron curiously. “And did you find him to be . . . lost?”

  “Sure. Marina has talent for that sort of thing. She can pick ’em out of a crowd. Never fails.”

  “How do you mean, ‘talent’?”

  It occurred to Theron he should offer his guest something. That went with entertaining. That’s what Marina would do. “You want some wine or something? You hungry?”

  “I’m fine, thank you. What about this talent of your wife’s . . . and what do you mean, Orion Galerinius was . . . lost?”

  Theron just prevented himself from rolling his eyes. How could he explain talent? How could he explain why he had a gift to make beauty with tiny little tesserae, and he had no gift to perceive a man lost or not? Marina did what she did, Theron did what he did. Trying to get him to explain was like making him explain a sunset. He scratched the back of his head, squinting hard for an answer.

  “Well . . . I don’t know what you believe about your gods. My God gives people treasures, special treasures we’re meant to share with others. He gave Marina a treasure of . . .” Theron shrugged. “I don’t know what you call it. I never had to put a name to it. She’s got keen insight on folks. She knew one day at the marketplace that the short smooth-faced toga-wearing young man had heart troubles. She got to talking with him, and invited him to the Sabbath meal. He’s been coming for a year now.”

  “He’s been coming here every Sabbath?” Cornelius said. “For a year?”

  Strangely, he didn’t look too pleased with that. He even looked alarmed.

  “Yes, a year,” Theron said defensively. “And he’s not lost anymore.”

  The Roman leaned on his knees, rubbing his hands together. “That won’t look good. That won’t look good at all. Don’t mention that anymore, to anyone. Understand?”

  Bewildered, Theron said, “What do you mean?”

  “Orion Galerinius Honoratus was Pilate’s First. Ordinarily it would do no harm, a Roman meeting with a Jewish family, but this is no ordinary province and Pilate is no ordinary prefect. He has strong anti-Jewish sentiment, and I know I state the obvious. But it should have been just as obvious to Orion, even a year ago, well before the Jesus of Nazareth incident. He should never have come here. Not once.”

  The Roman’s words came hard. Theron thought on them unhappily, feeling a measure of what was supposed to be Orion’s guilt. Orion had told them many times, half jokingly, half not, of the risk he took in being there. Theron had always laughed it off.

  “He used to tell us it was dangerous. I guess I didn’t take him seriously,” Theron said slowly. He couldn’t tell Marina this, it would break her heart. “I hope nothing we have done has harmed Orion.”

  “Orion’s actions were all his own.” A slight smile lifted the grim mouth. “Well, is he lost anymore?”

  “I don’t think so.” Theron raised his chin. “Marina doesn’t quit until it’s time to.”

  “There you have it. Maybe it was worth it.”

  They exchanged a long look, and Theron decided he liked this fellow.

  “I think maybe I would like to have you over for Sabbath meal sometime. If it isn’t too dangerous for you,” he added.

  The soldier grinned. “Because I am lost?”

  “I’ll leave that to Marina.” It was because Theron thought he’d enjoy his company, but of course he didn’t say it. Theron didn’t make friends often, and this was getting awkward. “Do you know Orion well?”

  “No. There was never any time. I would have liked to know him better. I think many do. The palace is full of regretful people right now.”

  “You know, I always got the feeling Orion didn’t think he had friends. Especially in the palace. Why is that?”

  Cornelius snorted. “Just his nature, I guess. There are more for him than against him.”

  Theron grunted. “Except for Pilate and Prometheus.”

  “Let me ask you something,” the soldier suddenly said. He rested his elbows on his knees again, rubbing his hands together. “How is it some of your Jewish number are taken to task for their infractions of your laws, but others are not?”

  Theron shrugged. “Sometimes it depends on the community. Sometimes it depends on if a person has subjected himself to synagogue and the religious officials. If he has, he is liable.”

  “Meaning?”

  “That I am safe.” Theron chuckled at himself, then regarded this soldier with a squint. “I am considered as the am ha-aretz rabble, the Jews of the Land. We subject ourselves to no one—well, except for the one with the biggest stick, in this case, Rome. The religious leaders pay no mind to us, and the am ha-aretz do not trouble themselves over much with the Law. They try and stick to the Ten Commandments, they pay the half-shekel temple tax, that’s about it. For many of them, being Jewish is an incident of birth. They just go with what they know.”

  “Is that how it is for you?”

  “It’s a little more than that.” Theron’s gaze drifted, and he nodded. “A little more than that.” He opened his mouth and closed it. Then he cleared his throat in a growl and looked sharply about before he said, “I’m thinking about reading Torah again.” He suddenly shook his finger at the Roman. “You say anything to Marina and I’ll—”

  He let the threat hang in the air, then warily continued. “Well. I’ve heard some of the lectures Jorah’s brother gave—her brother was Jesus of Nazareth—and I find—”

  “Her brother was the Nazarene? I heard him speak once.” The soldier shook his head. “Tell me Orion didn’t know this when he hired her for the walkway. Tell me he wasn’t that stupid.”

  “He didn’t know.” Theron’s lip came out. “I was the stupid one.”

  The door opened, and the two men started. Marina and Orion slipped in, and Theron and the soldier exchanged a relieved glance. Marina quickly closed the door, then looked to make sure the windows were shuttered.

  Of course they were shuttered—a great big Roman casting a shadow thrice Theron’s size? His form filled the entire
window; neighbors would have gathered just to see what the obstruction was.

  Cornelius gave a great sigh and dropped his head. He looked up at Orion and said, “You’re lucky.”

  “I’m in your debt. For all you have risked for me, I can never pay you back.”

  “You look terrible. Have you slept?”

  “Some.”

  The soldier reached behind him and took a heavy pouch from the table. He tossed it to Orion. “There is your Ostia fund. Minus the two passages I had to pay.”

  Orion hefted the shifting bag in his hand. “You knew I was saving for a place in Ostia?”

  “Everybody knew it.” Cornelius rose from the table. He pulled out his leather cuirass and fished down the front. He first handed a small packet to Orion. “The bristlebane.”

  Then he pulled out a crumpled packet of papers. “Sorry. They are not very fresh, they’ve been in there over a day. Your priest friend got them for me. Pilfered them from right under Prometheus’s nose.”

  “Janus Bifrons . . . ,” Orion said wonderingly, taking the papers.

  “He told me to tell you that you will be missed. We must go, Orion. I want to get there at muster of ships, it will be busier. More people around, more distractions.”

  Orion handed the papers to Theron. “Here. Get these back to your people.”

  Theron slowly took the sheaf and looked up at Orion, who was already asking Marina for the bag he had brought with his things. She went to fetch it while Orion and the soldier spoke together in low tones.

  They had been waiting for hours. Now suddenly things were going much too fast. Theron scowled at Orion. The skinny funny man. He looked at the papers in his hands and swallowed fiercely.

  “Have I told you how much I like the ribbon mosaic?” Orion said. “I think it’s your best work yet. I think that’s what they’ll remember you for. They’re going to put in better lighting, did I tell you that? Sconces will line the whole walkway, both sides. They’re on order.”

  Theron glared at the papers. He had thought they would help the stonemason. They were worthless, after all his efforts to get them. Orion was right again, and Theron felt a fool. He had only endangered his friend by trying to play at subversion. Endangered him by hosting Sabbath meals. He kept his scowl on the papers and said, “Where will you go?”

  “Wherever I can.”

  Theron nodded, biting his lip hard. Finally he said, “Send word.”

  “I will. Theron, I have a favor to ask.”

  He had not wanted to look at Orion’s eyes, wished he would just get out and go. He growled his throat clear. “I got no time for favors. I got a mosaic to do.” But, feeling miserable as a sick eel, he peered up at Orion.

  The skinny funny man, with that chopped-up Roman haircut. Looked as if he hadn’t slept in a week, and Orion was always prissy about appearances. Looked as if someone had rolled him down the street.

  “Look in on Rivkah now and then, will you, Theron? Have her over for Sabbath sometimes.”

  “Yes, okay. I got a mosaic to do.” He got up and went to the workroom without a backward glance.

  Marina brought the sack to Orion. He opened it and rummaged through it, then handed Marina a tiny, brightly enameled amphora. “That was my mother’s. I want you to have it.”

  Marina took it, clasped it tight in her fist and kissed her fist. “You’re breaking hearts all over Caesarea,” she said, eyes sparkling with tears. “That was Theron with a broken heart.”

  She nodded at Cornelius, who stood patiently, eyes averted, at the door. “So go, already. Be careful.” She embraced Orion, stood him back to look at him, then pushed him to the door. And he was gone.

  Theron, who was standing behind the workroom curtain, realized he was holding the papers. He shambled to the worktable, dropping them in a mortar bucket on the way.

  18

  DAWN HAD STOLEN in under a sky that hinted rain. The clouds would clear soon. Jorah was learning that coastal mornings were sometimes like this.

  Another merchant vessel had arrived at the harbor entrance. She watched the sailors, tiny from where she sat, climb the rope grid and haul up the sail. They lashed the sail to the long wooden beam they straddled. It must be a great height, looking down from the top of the mast. Worse to see moving water at the bottom. Jorah wondered if they were ever terrified to look down.

  The vessel cast its anchor and waited for a long time until a longboat rowed through the harbor and met it outside the huge, carved stone archway. Jorah would love to be on a boat that passed under there, to look up and see the stone that curved as gracefully as the bend of a daisy, all the way to the carved stone pillars on either side of the entrance.

  The merchant vessel was in the shape of a great wooden smile. With the square sail rolled up, the ship looked curiously empty, as though the smile had lost the rest of its face. The triangular piece of sail at the very top looked like a hat from here, until the sailors rolled it away. Now it was just a plain smile, sectioned by the mast and crossed by the beam. It looked like a floating Roman cross, hideous with the grin.

  Jorah settled her chin on her knees. Her arms were tight about her legs; she’d been in this position so long someone could pick her up and she’d stay this way. The sunburn on her cheeks and her nose and forehead stung with ocean salt spray. She had spent the entire day here yesterday after Joab returned. She went home to take care of Cousin Thomas and came back before dawn. She poked up the sleeve of her tunic; her forearm and hand were shades darker than the rest of her arm, tawny pink, glistening with sea mist.

  She watched men from the vessel fling lines to the men in the longboat.

  “I miss you,” she murmured. “I’ve missed you for a very long time.”

  Now and then she went back in her fancy to the time when everything was perfect. Not that she would have thought it perfect then.

  She and Devorah always argued fiercely. They got along much better after Devorah left for Bethany. Still, she remembered when she and Devorah and Mother would weed the terrace. She recalled one time when Mother was in a particularly light mood, and kept tossing her pulled weeds at Devorah and Jorah, pretending that she didn’t, acting as though the girls did it themselves. How Devorah and Jorah had laughed. She wondered if Devorah remembered.

  She remembered the certain place each sat around the kitchen table. Father and the boys ate first, then she and Mother and Devorah. Jorah remembered the backs of the boys. Father sat in a chair on the end, Jesus was first on the bench next to him. James’s place was next to Jesus, then Joses and Simon, with Judas in the chair on the end. Mother always liked the table against the wall, underneath the window. They only pulled it out when company came. She could see late sunlight coming in, burnishing the heads of her brothers. She could see her brothers eat, see them pass the bread basket.

  She remembered the day Simon rushed in to tell that Father had fallen at the well. Jorah was supposed to be fetching the water, but she was sick that day. Father had taken the jar, winking at her and telling her he’d decided to take up women’s work. He had paused at her bed and felt her forehead, worry furrowing his own. Then he gave her a smile and quick caress and was gone. Gone.

  Jesus’s place moved to the chair on the end.

  She remembered the day Jesus did not come back. She remembered seeing his place at the table empty. She didn’t know, then, it would be empty ever after.

  James’s place moved to the chair on the end.

  “I wonder if you missed me,” she whispered.

  She had a dance she did when she was little that made Jesus laugh. She’d twirl and give a hop, twirl and give a hop, and when she saw it delighted her oldest brother she’d do it time and again until the others groaned for her to stop. Jesus would still give her that crinkly smile, as if to make up for the others.

  A pebble sailed just over her head and dropped on the head covering she’d abandoned to the sand. She stared at the pebble, then looked over her shoulder. Joab stood a short distanc
e behind her.

  “I didn’t want to startle you,” he called over the breeze.

  “How did you know I was here?”

  “I decided you weren’t at the palace. I’m glad you didn’t make me go there.”

  He came and dropped beside her. Then he sat up straight and looked under his hand at the vessel under tow, gliding for the harbor entrance. “That mast is going to hit the arch.”

  “No, it won’t.”

  “Yes, it will, look—oh. No, it won’t.”

  The men in the longboat pulled at the oars. The merchant vessel glided slowly under the archway, the mast clearing it by only a few feet.

  “I watched one go in with a mast even taller than that one. Seemed like it would shear off, but it made it through.”

  “What happens when the mast is too tall?” Joab asked.

  “They sit at anchor outside the harbor.” She pointed at the northwest corner of the harbor. “The cargo gets ferried in the longboats. One left a little while ago.” She glanced at Joab, noticing the bruises on his face. Purple spread from the sides of his nose to under his eyes.

  “Have you been here long?” he asked, as she studied his nose, and his eyes, and his purple lips.

  “Since before dawn. I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Me either.”

  “What was it like, spending a night in jail?” she asked.

  “Stinky.”

  “I’m glad you’re out.”

  “Me too.”

  She looked at him a moment longer, then put her attention on the sea. “Rivkah knows.”

  “Marina told me.”

  “And now Theron and Marina know everything. I suppose there is no more ‘us.’ No more pretending.” She smiled a smile that felt older.

  “I wish I had been there with you,” he said, his face and voice dark. “It wasn’t right that you had to tell her on your own.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I—” He paused. “I don’t know. It just wasn’t right. I feel . . .”