“Esther?”
“Yes, Uncle Simeon?” Her eyes were grave.
“What did Jesus say to you?”
“He said Esther doesn’t have to be babatized.”
“I know. But after that? What did he say when you asked if I could be baptized?”
She looked surprised. “Jesus said not to worry. You will be babatized in a little while.”
Chapter Notes
The people who were on the receiving end of Jesus’ various miracles are rarely identified in scriptures. Nor are we typically told where they were from. The blind, the lepers, the woman with the issue of blood—the Gospel writers give us only the briefest glimpse into their lives. The purpose of those writers was not to call attention to individuals but to testify of the mission and power of the Redeemer. But, on reflection, we know that they were real people. We know they must have had family and friends and employers and neighbors. Surely we can assume that their lives were profoundly changed by their momentary contact with the Savior and that those changes affected many others around them. Even though the names and other details are “fictional,” the author chose to supply them here as a reminder that while some things were not recorded, they were still reality.
The testimony of Jesus about the division that his teachings would bring to families and the need to take up one’s cross and follow him is found in Matthew 10:28, 34–39. To have that teaching occur during the time of a baptism, however, is not based on scripture.
Chapter 24
Do not trust the horse, Trojans. Whatever it is, I fear the Greeks, even when they bring gifts.
—Virgil, Aeneid, ii. 48
I
2 June, a.d. 30
They lay together in the near darkness, Miriam on her huge bed, Livia on a small couch pushed alongside it. The great house of Mordechai ben Uzziel was dark and silent. They had heard the last of the servants retiring more than an hour before, and there was no longer any light coming from Mordechai’s study at the bottom of the stairs. The only light in the house came from a quarter moon through the window. And still they talked, sleep nowhere close for either of them. Miriam had spent most of the day checking her father’s books and accounts, but after their supper, which welcomed in the Sabbath, her father had retired to his study to work. So Miriam and Livia had gone to their room and spent the evening together, reading and talking. Her father had no qualms about lighting a fire on the Sabbath, so they could have lit lamps, but they chose not to, letting the darkness gradually envelope them and leaving them only the choice of talking.
In the solitude and quietness, Miriam told Livia what Marcus had learned about her family from the slave hunter. They wept together then, arm in arm. After the tears for her mother and father, Livia brightened somewhat, encouraged by the news that her younger brother might still be found.
After a long silence, Miriam decided to share something else with Livia. Speaking slowly, she told her about her desire to adopt her as her sister. Now the tears were of a different kind. Livia buried her face in her hands and sobbed, deeply moved by Miriam’s love. Originally, Miriam had planned to tell of her father’s reaction so Livia would understand why they might have to wait for a time to begin the proceedings, but after seeing Livia’s joy she did not have the heart to do it. Miriam had already determined that she would move ahead swiftly and quietly, before her father learned about it. Once it was done, he would grumble a little, perhaps even throw one of his truly frightening furies, but then it would go away—especially if she said nothing more about the preacher from Nazareth. She understood now that it was Jesus who had set off her father’s rage, and Miriam had been foolish to use that moment to bring up the subject of Livia.
“Tell me what you are thinking.”
Miriam reached out and grasped Livia’s hand. “I was thinking about you being my sister,” she said happily. “I’ve always wished I had a sister.”
There was no response, and Miriam sensed a sudden change of mood. “What?”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Livia said slowly. “I cannot fully tell you what it means to me that you would say that, Miriam.”
“But?”
“But I don’t want you to do it.”
Miriam came up on one elbow. “Why?”
“Because your father won’t like it.”
“I . . . Why do you say that?”
“Because if I officially become your sister, then in some way that makes me eligible for part of your inheritance. Is that not right? That will greatly displease your father, and rightly so. I have no right to any part of what your family has.”
Miriam felt a sudden lump in her throat. What other servant would not be rubbing their hands together at this point and counting the possible benefits that might come?
“I already think of you as my sister,” Livia said, her voice soft with emotion. “I don’t need to be adopted to make it reality.”
“I know that,” Miriam responded, “but I want others to know you are not a servant any longer. I want to share what I have with you. I didn’t earn it either. How can I be so blessed and not share it with someone I love?”
“I want you to promise me that you won’t say anything about this to your father.”
“Livia, I—”
“Promise me.”
She sighed. “All right, I won’t.” One part of Miriam was relieved, though her relief was stained with guilt as well. This would solve the problem of having to confront her father again. It was better to let him think she had accepted his decision. And Livia was right. If Livia was officially adopted, that would have implications for her father’s will, whether Miriam waived them or not. And if they ever found Livia’s brother, her being adopted would only become more complicated.
To Miriam’s surprise, Livia stood. “Thank you, Miriam. Now I had better go to my own room.”
“But—”
“If one of the servants found me sleeping in your bedroom and not in the servants’ quarters, your father would be furious.”
“All right. Are you sure you want to come to synagogue with me tomorrow?”
“Yes. It feels good. I like to be there.” Livia reached out and touched Miriam’s shoulder briefly and then was gone.
II
A quarter of an hour later, Miriam was still seeking sleep. There was not the slightest heaviness in her eyes. With her concern about Livia settled for now, her thoughts turned to Jesus. She constantly inquired whether or not he had returned to Jerusalem, but the answer was always the same. No one had seen him or heard from him in the city. Rumors surfaced continually that he was in the Galilee, perhaps even in Capernaum. She thought about Simeon and his mother and wondered if they knew of Jesus or had gone to hear him.
If Jesus did come back to Jerusalem, what would she do? She sensed that the clash that had erupted between her and her father over Jesus was much deeper than mere irritation at her previous flirtations with religion. He had a deep disdain for anything pious, but something about the man from Nazareth had unleashed feelings much deeper than that in him, and it troubled her.
Her head turned as she heard a soft sound. She raised her head, listening intently. It sounded like the outer gate to the courtyard. Surprised, she got to her feet and padded silently to the window. Her bedroom window looked over that portion of the courtyard that held the greater part of the garden. From there she could also see the main entrance to their compound. In the light of the quarter moon, most of the area enclosed in the walls was dimly lit. She stood for a moment, peering into the darkness, wondering if she had imagined it. Then she leaned forward. There was a lighter patch in the outside wall. The gate was standing open.
That was puzzling. Had the wind blown it open? She shook her head. There was no wind at the moment, and her father left very strict instructions for the servants to secure the gate each night. Then a movement caught her eye. She stiffened, her heart suddenly pounding. A dark shape slipped through the gate, followed immediately by a second. Some
one was inside the courtyard now. Instinctively, she drew back, even though she knew that no one could see her in the darkness. Suddenly memories of the attack on their camp in Samaria rushed in upon her, and she felt herself go cold. Were they under attack again? Surely not here in the city. Then a voice spoke in the darkness below, and relief washed over her.
“Everyone is asleep. I think it’s best if we stay out here.”
Her body sagged, the tension easing away. It was her father’s voice. It was all right. He hadn’t gone to bed after all but was out on some business once again.
She put her hands on the windowsill and leaned way out, trying to identify his guest. The second figure was as tall but not as thick as her father’s rotund shape, but she could not tell who it was. She heard the murmur of another man’s voice, but not loud enough for her to tell who it was.
Then once again she stiffened, this time in pleased surprise as the voice spoke more loudly. “And how is your daughter?”
She almost cried out. It was the voice of Marcus Didius. So that was her father’s guest! He must have just arrived from Caesarea. That would explain the lateness of the hour. She frowned then. It would be strange if her father had invited him to stay the night. Mordechai would open himself for great criticism from some members of the Great Council if he actually let a Gentile sleep in his home. Then she remembered his first words. It’s best if we stay out here. Marcus had come as a visitor, not a guest.
Miriam whirled and walked swiftly to the large cabinet in which she kept her finest dresses. In a moment she had slipped off her sleeping robe in exchange for a long dress of Egyptian silk that was dyed a deep scarlet and set off her dark eyes and black hair to perfection. She chided herself a little for the rush of excitement she felt, knowing that the courtyard would be dark and Marcus would barely be able to tell the color she wore. But that didn’t change her mind, of course. She ran a brush through her hair quickly, picked up her slippers in her hand, then slipped out the door and moved quietly down the stairs so she would not awaken any of the rest of the household.
III
Mordechai led the way to an arched stone arbor behind the fountain, which was covered with grapevines. Two stone chairs stood beneath it. Here even the faint light of the moon disappeared into the shadows. They slipped into the deeper darkness, and both of them sat down. Mordechai looked around one more time. He didn’t like the idea of meeting here, but the message had been too urgent, and there was no time to make other arrangements. When they were settled, he looked at the tribune. “Pilate must be feeling some sense of urgency to send you out so late at night.”
“Actually,” Marcus said, ignoring the implied barb about the lateness of the hour, “I got here shortly after sundown, but the governor insisted I wait until the city was asleep before I came to see you.”
Mordechai grunted, accepting that. Yes, to have a Roman officer come to his house while it was still light would not have been wise at all. Things were coming to a critical stage now. He wished no attention at all at the moment.
“And how is the governor?” he asked.
“Filled with questions,” Marcus answered sardonically. “Filled with many questions. I am here to learn some answers.”
IV
Miriam came down the back stairs that led directly into the garden. Careful not to make any noise—Levi, the chief steward, had his room just down the hallway—Miriam let herself out, shutting the door quietly behind her. She stopped to listen, her eyes searching the darkness. Where had they gone? Wondering if her father had taken Marcus into the house after all, she stepped forward on the marble tiles. Then she heard the murmur of voices off to her left. They were just beyond the fountain, probably beneath the arbor.
Suddenly demure—it just would not do to come bursting in upon them—she slowed her step, her mind searching for a reasonable explanation as to why she was out walking in the garden at midnight. She smiled. It didn’t have to be convincing, just reasonable. She moved quietly forward, trying to catch the clear sound of their words so she could break in at a natural breaking point.
V
“Is everything in order?”
Marcus reached up and slipped off the hood of his robe. He had come without his uniform, but even then his instructions had been clear. No one was to know who was visiting the home of Mordechai ben Uzziel, leading member of the Great Council of Jerusalem. Now, even though the night air was cooling rapidly, he was still sweating from being covered during his swift walk through the city from the Antonia Fortress. He ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing it back. “Everything is in order. I leave in the morning for Damascus.”
VI
Miriam stopped short, disappointment coming as sharply as a blow. So Marcus had not come to have her fulfill her promise to show him more of her city. Her mouth pulled down in a pout. Though she had told herself a hundred times that the differences between her and this Roman officer were deep and profound, she still found the thought of being with him exciting and stimulating. How ironic that of all the men she knew, only two stirred any interest in her. One was betrothed and soon to be married. The other was from a world so far removed and so alien to her own that she could scarcely fantasize about it. She threw her shoulders back, petulant and irritated. She would march forward and confront her father, ask him why he had not given her any warning that Marcus was coming. But even as she started forward, what she heard next stopped her cold.
VII
Marcus leaned forward, peering at the wealthy Jew in the darkness. “Pilate and I found it interesting that the handwriting on that scroll you gave me was a woman’s.”
There was an answering chuckle. “I thought you might.”
“It was Miriam’s writing, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Is that wise? I thought this whole matter was of the utmost secrecy and that no one except the three or four of us could know.”
“Miriam knows only a fraction of the whole picture. I needed a way to convince a couple of the parties that I was sincere. The two in question know Miriam. They have confidence in her.”
“And how did you explain the fact that she was making a record of all this? That seems a little strange for a man as careful as you.”
“I told them that if what I was doing ever came forth, I needed a way to convince the Council that I was not undertaking this sharing of information for my own personal gain.”
“And they accepted that?”
He sounded somewhat irritated in his response. “They did. I don’t do things without carefully considering all the possibilities.” Then, “How soon will you start back for Caesarea after you reach Damascus?” Mordechai asked.
Marcus answered without hesitation. His instructions from Pilate were to fully brief their co-conspirator. “It will take us four days to reach Damascus. I’ll need one day to rest the men and get things in order. We’ll leave after that. By then the moon will be about half-full, and that’s important. Will that give you enough time to set things up as you need?”
“Yes. My party awaits only the signal that it is time.”
“It is time that the governor knows who this party is. He is quite insistent, in fact.”
Mordechai had expected nothing less. Now that the time had come, he knew Pilate wouldn’t play any more games with him.
“I should like to know how Pilate plans to spring the trap,” he finally said. “For that, I shall give you the name.”
Marcus felt a burst of irritation. Was this man bargaining with him like a common street hawker? But he had his instructions. “Fair enough. The plan is simple. Right now, two maniples of legionnaires have left Caesarea. Not even their commanders know the real reason for their movement. They have been told very plausible stories about their assignments. One is in the vicinity of Mount Carmel, supposedly to guard against a rumored attack on the new aqueduct there. The other is on the south side of the Joknean Pass, undergoing battle drills.
“The night I reach Cape
rnaum on my return trip, the two groups will receive orders to march under cover of darkness into the mountains on both sides of the Joknean Pass. They will muffle their swords and armor. The cavalry will be given cloth coverings for their horses’ hooves. They will stay off any roads and known paths. We have already had scouts out to find acceptable routes. If any person should happen to see them, he will be detained and held until the affair is brought to completion. The armies will make camp in the heavy forest on both sides of the pass, no later than an hour before dawn. There they shall wait in hiding—without fires, of course—through the entire next day. By the following night, when I enter the pass with the column of wagons, they will move in closer, no more than half an hour’s march from the place of ambush.”
Mordechai could tell that Marcus was enjoying this and suspected that this was, for the most part, his own plan. And it was brilliant. No wonder Pilate had confidence in him.
“On the same day that I leave Capernaum, the governor will also leave Caesarea with yet another maniple, supposedly bound for Antioch to greet the legate of Syria, who is coming down to Tyre.” Marcus smiled at that little subterfuge. The legate actually had no plans to travel anywhere that Marcus knew about. “Pilate’s group will reach the western entrance to the pass just as darkness falls. There they shall wait until the time is right.”
“So,” Mordechai said in open admiration, “you will have a great three-pronged pincer in place.”
“Exactly. My column will approach the Joknean Pass just as darkness falls. This will let the rebels think they can attack us under cover of darkness and yet still have the rest of the night to carry off the weapons. But in reality, we shall have a little ‘accident’—all very believable, I assure you—that will delay us for some hours just outside the entrance to the pass. The Zealots will be watching us very closely, allowing the two maniples to move into position without being noticed. By midnight everything will be in place.” He smiled thinly. “Wouldn’t want the rebels to slip away now, would we?”
“And what if any of these maniples is discovered by the rebels before the trap is sprung?”
Fishers of Men Page 49