by Tracy Groot
“They’ve stopped,” Avi announced and halted. “We make camp here.”
Joab unslung the pack and rubbed his shoulder wearily. Avi had not told him the plan yet, but that was okay. Avi was one of the trusted ones. Raziel trusted him. Jonathan of Gush Halav trusted him. Avi conferred in hushed tones with great leaders of the Zealot movement, and Joab tried hard to keep a proper and constant sense of respect for him. Trailing after this family worked into the plan.
Avi’s implacable gaze, a gaze Joab knew was for the apprentice alone, also worked into the plan. It did, somehow.
15
ANY OTHER GIRL he would have kissed by now. But he had never felt this way about any other girl.
What held him back from an attempt now was not the brothers—they didn’t scare him, he had dodged brothers before—but instead a crazy, odd notion indeed: What did the Torah have to say about it? Nathanael nearly laughed out loud. Well, it was a curious thought anyway. The Torah and the Prophets and the oral tradition seemed to have everything in it, from the way James talked. Why not advice on the timing of a first kiss? First kiss with the most beautiful, remarkable girl he had ever met.
He tilted his head considering. Most beautiful? Apples to apples, no. Zipporah was more beautiful. Zipporah was . . . He watched Jorah straighten from the small kettle that hung on a tripod over the campfire. Zipporah was a droopy-faced crone next to Jorah ben Joseph.
He sighed and dropped his gaze. Wouldn’t do to let Simon see him watching her. It was prudent to keep the peace. James, maybe he would not care, neither Judas. But Simon would stick him on a spit and roast him dry for even a wayward thought about his sister. He smiled ruefully at that; if Jorah were his sister, he’d do the same.
Nathanael settled back on his elbows and looked to where the sun had set. Even the colors in the sky made him feel content. Listening to the faint strains of music from the caravan ahead . . . camping on this roadside . . . watching Judas and James converse near the fire. Watching Simon tease Jorah . . . it was easy to see Simon was Jorah’s favorite brother, a much mystifying fact . . . Now if only Annika were here to tell a story to, to fuss at him for not eating enough . . . no, he had no right to wish for perfection. What he had this evening was enough to content him for a year. If he could top it off with a single kiss, he would call it the best day of his life.
He looked over his shoulder to the two travelers behind. They did the same as Simon—they stopped when the party ahead stopped, moved when it moved. It showed they were smart; wary, as they should be, and safe with the presence of strangers a comfortable distance apart. He wondered if the two had a party behind them, keeping the same equidistance. He wondered what it looked like from a cloud, to see a ripple effect when dawn came, to see the caravan farthest ahead on the road arise and lead a much-scattered march to Jerusalem.
A pity the two were only two. They would enjoy a larger company, like the one he traveled with. They would enjoy Jude’s occasional comments; he did not talk as much as Simon or James, but when he did he had something to say. Something to make Nathanael laugh or think. And the two strangers would side with him about Simon, that he was smug and full of himself. An easily offended whiner. Perhaps they would see, too, the way Simon looked at James when James did not notice, ready to spring to his aid or order him to the cart. Twice he had made James ride the cart when he thought his brother had walked long enough. And James, strangely, had complied without protest.
What would the strangers think of James? Nathanael watched him study Judas as Judas talked quietly with his hands. How would Nathanael himself perceive him, if he did not have Seek James plastered to his soul?
He stood and stretched, then let his arms drop as he glanced again at the strangers. He knew what it was to be on the outskirts, to be a small number looking on. He didn’t like people to be afraid. Maybe in the morning he would take them one of Annika’s spiced cakes. Maybe he could invite them to join their number, if the others were open to it. People should not be afraid, not when there was no reason to be.
Whistling the tune he had heard earlier, he trotted down the slope and went to the four-wheel cart. He pulled out his bedroll and the sack with his personal belongings. Maybe tonight Simon could show him what to do with the knot he had come to in the piece of sycamore he was carving. Simon’s deft fingers could make a knot look as though it was meant to be there. Nathanael shared Annika’s sentiment; why he wanted to be a scribe, with the astonishing gift he had, was purely baffling.
Nathanael noticed the lamb tethered on a long rope to the back of the cart. It was curled up in a short thicket of brush, legs tucked underneath, sleeping peacefully. He usually tried to ignore the lamb, uncomfortable with its fate. He glanced about at the others in camp, then rummaged in a bread sack and broke off a bit of honeycake. Glancing around again, he set it near the lamb’s nose, where it would find it when it woke.
Joab pulled his blanket over him and rolled into it. If the days were softened with spring, the nights were still bone cold. Avi was squatting at the small campfire. He had first watch. Joab closed his eyes but opened them after a moment.
Avi was considering the blade of his short knife. He thumbed the edge, then stuck it point down in the sand. While Avi stared hard into the flickering flames of the campfire, he turned the knife by the handle. The rotating blade caught the glint of the firelight.
He had finally told Joab the plan.
Not long after meeting with Jonathan of Gush Halav last week, Avi changed his mind about the Teacher. They all had had such hopes for him, Jonathan told Avi, but once Raziel walked away it was only a matter of time before the rest did too. Jonathan had all but forgotten Jesus and was well on to other plans. He told Avi he should do the same.
Avi came to the conclusion that the Teacher’s family was a worthless lot. They needed to be taught a lesson. They had to be made to see that Roman violence begat violence, that the Roman presence created nothing but misery for all. Ultimately, it would be a generous act. He was going out of his way to offer a lesson that he hoped would reach the ears of the Teacher—one last chance to get his attention. Perhaps this would be the event to turn the heart of the Teacher, and his powers, to the cause.
Once Avi and Joab arrived in Jerusalem, they would spread the heartbreaking news that Roman soldiers had not spared violence even on the family of the gentle one from Galilee. Jesus would hear and would rise in rage for revenge.
Joab felt confident again. He knew Avi had a plan, had it all under control. Joab closed his eyes against the flash of the slowly spinning knife and, after a moment, opened them again.
16
THE CHILL ON HER NOSE probably woke her, though she had been snugly warm in her thick wool blanket all night long. The sky showed a first hint of dawn, like an eyebrow raised.
Jude and James slept on either side of her, both of them scrolled securely in their blankets like tight rolls of carpet. Jude snored softly, and James slept openmouthed. She pushed herself up to watch them a moment; she did not often see her brothers asleep and found it rather charming. They were usually up before she was, despite the ideal in Solomon’s proverbs of women rising while it was still night. James had a little patch of dried spittle at a corner of his mouth, which was not charming at all, but the rest of his face was peaceful, his brow smoothed from the tension of the day.
She turned to look at Simon, who slept by the—but his bedroll at the campfire was empty. He was probably visiting the brush. She settled back down and laid her cheek on her arm to watch the sleeping form of Nathanael on the other side of the campfire. He slept on his stomach, his backside hiked in the air, his face pressed against his bedroll, mouth puckered from his pressed cheek. She giggled softly; he would never willingly allow an expression like that. It made him look like a little boy.
She had thought maybe he would kiss her last night; goodness knows, she had given him an opportunity. She had called him to the cart to ask him to help her find the money box, which he had
replaced after they bought a packet of roasted grain from a roadside merchant at Taanach. Of course, she only asked him after she was sure her brothers were planted about the campfire, entertaining themselves with one of their heated debates. They barely noticed when he got up in response to her call.
Nathanael actually thought she had wanted the box. Why would she want it at this time? He seemed a little distracted, as though he would rather be in on the debate. She even had the shamelessness to flip a bit of the tarp over the box when she spied it before he did.
“I know it’s around here somewhere,” he had muttered with a glance over at the three seated at the fire.
“What are you talking about over there?” she had asked, pointing to an opposite corner of the cart for him to search. Utterly shameless!
“The usual. Jude is making a great point right now. He said that if all Jews were really for the land, if that were the main of Judaism, why are so many dispersed abroad? More live outside of Israel than in it. A very good point. And I said, ‘If Judaism were only about the land, then why would God bother with things like the mezuzah?’ Got a nasty look from Simon on that one.”
Jorah had forgotten the box and looked at the three. Why did they always reserve such conversations for when she was doing things like washing dishes or making preparations for the morning meal?
“I asked James if they were less Jewish for not living in the land of Israel,” Nathanael had said with a self-pleased grin. “That did not make James very happy.”
“Do you enjoy not making him happy?”
The grin had vanished. “Of course not. Is that what you think?”
“I wonder sometimes.”
The two regarded each other until Jorah finally remembered why she had called him over, and looking into his eyes brought sudden shame. Her cheeks bloomed with heat, and she hoped the twilight concealed the color. Funny, once she realized she did not really want to lure him into a kiss, that she wanted it to be his idea, it suddenly seemed it was.
His face registered a subtle change; he had forgotten about the debate. The look made her suddenly notice the beat of her heart. Her eyes widened; he leaned closer . . . and who knows what would have happened had not Simon called at that moment.
“Jorah, could you bring the wineskin?”
Not sure if she was relieved or not, she called back, “I—yes, Simon. Coming.”
Now Jorah glanced at Simon’s empty bedroll. Was it only a coincidence Simon wanted the wine at that moment? His distaste for Nathanael was obvious.
Her gaze wandered back to—and Jorah’s breath caught. Nathanael had opened his eyes and was looking straight at her. The puckery look disappeared as he lifted his head and gave her a sleepy smile.
“Good morning,” he whispered.
“Good morning,” she whispered back.
Who knows what would have happened if Simon had not returned that moment.
Simon checked the rope that tethered the lamb, then dug his hand into the donkey’s bag of feed. He scattered a handful of the grain in front of the lamb, who nibbled up the feed with scrabbling black lips. Simon dusted off his hands and looked to the caravan ahead. They should have been moving by now. He sighed and lifted a corner of the canvas to tuck the feedbag into the cart. He pulled the canvas tight and cinched it.
“They have more people than we do,” Nathanael said when he heard Simon’s sigh. “They are not as mobile.”
Simon flicked him a look. The apprentice always had a comment handy. On his way to the remains of the campfire, Simon paused next to Nathanael as if to limber his arms with a morning stretch; it never hurt to remind the little woodenhead that Simon was the much bigger of the two.
James was packing the tallith, phylacteries, and tefillin in the willow basket. He passed the basket to Simon, who handed it to Nathanael. “Here, put that in the cart,” Simon ordered the lad. But if it would have prevented the boy’s next comments, Simon would have done it himself.
Nathanael looked into the basket as he slowly lifted a corner of the canvas tarp. “It makes you wonder if he loves us the way we are supposed to love him,” he mused out loud.
Simon turned to him. “Who?”
“God.”
From the front of the cart where she was checking the donkey’s bridle, Jorah lifted her head to look at Nathanael. Jude’s tinkering under the cart, where he lay on his back inspecting the axle, stopped—meaning he was all ears. And James got that rabbi look on his face, one of hopeful expectation, as he turned from smothering the campfire to regard the apprentice. Simon rolled his eyes.
Nathanael said, “Can you imagine being loved by God with all his heart, with all his soul, with all his—”
“Nathanael!” Simon said sharply.
The boy looked at him in surprise.
“That is enough,” Simon snapped. “Do not provoke the Lord your God. You are too free with your—observations.”
“What a fascinating thought,” James murmured as he tossed a handful of sand on the fire.
Nathanael gave Simon the closest thing to a glare. He hunched up his shoulders in that sullen habit of his and muttered, “I was only trying to imagine a way that God remembers us. Does he have a mezuzah in his doorway in heaven?” The look on the lad’s face went from sullen to almost wistful. “Does he wear things on his arms and forehead? We have constant reminders of our command to love him . . . but does he return the favor?”
Simon stared, momentarily speechless.
“Does he love us?” the boy said mostly to himself as he finally tucked the willow basket into the cart. “Turnabout is fair play, my mother always says.”
Simon wanted to remind him that his mother’s opinion did not count, owing to her profession, but oddly, he stopped himself.
Fortunately, the apprentice himself changed the subject. He looked behind him to the two travelers far in the distance. “I have been thinking . . . should we ask them to join us?”
They were at least half a mile back, barely visible near a rocky outcrop in the road. They, too, seemed to be waiting. They had camped at the same place Simon had nearly chosen. It was a pass through the trough of a cluster of hills, a cozy place, snug in the surrounding rock. There were no caves that Simon saw, but after careful inspection he did not like the feel of it; brigands could easily descend upon them in the night from the sharply sloping hills. Besides, the caravan kept moving. Only when they were half a mile beyond the pass did the caravan stop.
“We should have asked them already,” Jorah said, scratching the donkey’s muzzle as she followed Nathanael’s gaze. “They might feel safer, sleeping around more people.”
“I have had my belly full of entertaining strangers,” James muttered. “We have been doing it for three years.”
“Our obligation does not end,” Simon reluctantly reminded him. Was it not written that to entertain the stranger and alien found favor with God? Besides, not long ago Simon had been the stranger, thanks to Joses’ desire to get the full story on Jesus. “Jorah is right. We should speak with them.” He added, “We do not have to tell them who we are or where we are from. On this road, we are the same as they—just pilgrims on the road to Jerusalem.”
“I will go,” Nathanael said cheerfully, and pulled back the tarp to rummage in the bread sack.
“I will go with you,” Jude said from under the cart.
“He should go alone,” Simon said. “They will feel threatened if two approach.”
Nathanael held up one of Annika’s loaves. “One whiff of this, and they will know us for friends.” Whistling a tune from a psalm—and Simon was surprised he knew it—the apprentice started off for the two travelers.
Simon examined the rock. “No, Jorah. It is not gold.” She handed him another. “No.” And another. “No. Try again. Find us a fortune.”
Nathanael was taking his time. Not surprising, Simon figured, as chatty as that one was. He was probably regaling them with one of his braggart stories from Caesarea. Or one of his n
otions about God.
The caravan ahead was packing up. Simon frowned and threw a sour look behind him. Just like the boy to—Simon straightened as he gazed toward the pass. He squinted under his hand; he did not see Nathanael. He did not see anyone.
He sighed and dropped his hand. “James? The caravan is packing up. They will be rolling in half an hour. That apprentice of yours had better be back shortly or we will leave without him. He can catch up after he is done talking himself blue to anyone who will listen.”
Judas came out from under the cart, wiping his hands on his tunic, looking toward the pass. “I wonder where they are.”
“Perhaps asking a group behind them to join up with us too,” Jorah said, poking through the rocks on her palm. “Wouldn’t it be fun to have a group as large as the one ahead? Maybe they even have instruments.”
James had busied himself with a chunk of olivewood from the carving box. Finally, a chance to carve, and yet he had spent the last half hour trying to figure out what he wanted to do with it. He had removed the outer layer, taking his time in hope of inspiration, but so far none had come. He had himself a smooth, shapeless piece of wood. Simon would have had ten ideas and be half-finished with one of them by now. He tossed the piece back into the box.
“We can wait no longer,” Simon announced and rose from his squatting position. The caravan had left moments earlier. “He will have to catch up.”
James put the box into the back of the cart and pulled the tarp over it. He took up his walking stick. Judas joined him to look back. “Where could he be?” Jude murmured.
Simon took the donkey’s bridle and clicked his tongue. The cart lurched forward. They had busied themselves as much as they could, waited as long as they dared. Simon had checked everyone’s sandals, replacing some tacks and securing others. Jorah had picked a bouquet of flowers, a few of which she entwined, with giggles, into the donkey’s bridle. James and Jude had thrown stones at a boulder in the distance until Jude tired of it and went to tinker under the cart some more.