Marcus shrugged. “That would spoil everything as far as getting the Zealots; but if that were to happen, I will simply change the route of march, go straight to Ptolemais, and bypass the Joknean altogether. Pilate will neither risk those arms nor ten talents of gold unless the chances of success are high.”
“Pilate is not thinking that he’ll try to send something besides the actual arms, is he? Such as straw or empty boxes? He promised he wouldn’t.”
“He seriously considered it,” Marcus admitted. “But we both agreed that there will be too many spies in Damascus. No, I’ll be bringing the real thing.”
“Good,” Mordechai said dryly. He had known all along that Pilate did not like the idea of having something go wrong and letting those huge quantities of munitions fall into Zealot hands.
He leaned forward. “When the Zealots first strike, that will be a critical time for you and your men. My man knows that he is to bring the fighting to a halt as quickly as possible, but if you surrender too easily, the others will suspect something is wrong. On the other hand, if you put up too much resistance, you are going to lose more men than is necessary.”
Marcus waved his hand impatiently. “Yes, yes, Pilate understands all of that. He has given me very strict instructions.”
Mordechai made a shrewd guess. “I think that Pilate is less concerned about losing a few men than he is about losing his weapons and the gold. Is that a fair statement?”
Marcus responded with a grunt but said nothing more. Wasn’t that the way of most politicians? What were a few lowly legionnaires to them?
Mordechai chuckled softly. “My daughter would never forgive me if something were to happen to you, Marcus.”
Marcus leaned forward until his face was close to the Sadducean. “I am not sure Pilate would ever forgive you if something happened to his lead tribune, Mordechai ben Uzziel.” Then he, too, laughed easily.
Mordechai felt a sudden cold wind touch his brow. He understood very well what had just been said. “Everything has been carefully planned,” he responded. “But this venture is not without risk, Tribune. I hope the governor remembers that.”
“We all understand that,” Marcus snapped, “and the governor is willing to take that risk if we can eliminate the Zealots once and for all. But everything had better go as planned up to the point of the actual battle. From there on, we’ll be responsible.”
“Excellent.”
“I have one question that still troubles me.”
“Which is?”
“How can you be sure the other Zealot leaders will agree to let your man be the one to escort us out of the canyon? Once we surrender our weapons, we will be very vulnerable.”
“There are two answers to that. First, since it is my man who brings the information to the Zealot council concerning the column, he can dictate the terms. He will insist that he be allowed to lead you away.”
“If I were a Zealot leader, I would be suspicious of that.”
“They would be if he were a Zealot, but he is not. This is what makes the whole thing work. He is a Judean. Though he would love to get his hands on those weapons, he can’t afford to burden himself with them. Getting them back to his home territory would leave him exposed and vulnerable.”
“A Judean?”
“Yes. So his plan will be as follows. He will take you and your men and half the gold, leaving the other half of the money and all the weapons to the Zealots. He will lead you out of the pass and turn you loose on the coastal plains to troop back to Caesarea with your whipped tails between your legs.” Mordechai was making this as clear as possible. What he had engineered was intricate and delicate and extremely dangerous. If anything was going to go wrong, it would likely be over this very question. “As to the second question, What’s to keep them from slaughtering you and your men once you surrender your weapons?”
“The thought had crossed my mind,” Marcus said, his voice droll.
“It will be a temptation. They hate you and all you stand for.”
“Really?” Marcus drawled.
“But they’re not ready for a full confrontation yet. A massacre would trigger the wrath of every legion that marches under Rome’s banner. They are too cunning to make that mistake.”
Marcus was satisfied. He had only one more area of questions. “And this man of yours? He obviously knows much more about the whole plan than the Zealots. Does he know about the trap we’ve set?”
There was a hoot of derision. “Of course not. Do you think I am a fool?”
“So why? Why is he willing to trust you?”
“Because he thinks I am the one who learned what you Romans are up to. Also, in addition to the ten thousand shekels I have already paid him, he thinks he will walk away with five talents of gold out of this.”
“That’s what is in it for him? What does he think is in this for you? Why would he put his life in your hands?”
“Simple. He is convinced that this will strike a terrible blow either to you Romans or to the Zealots. Either way, the Council wins, or so he thinks. Also, either way opens up the field for him if Rome and Galilee enter a full-scale war again.”
Marcus nodded. He could see he was not the only brilliant strategist here. “When he learns that you have betrayed him as well, you will have made a dangerous enemy.”
“How much danger can there be from a man hanging from a cross?” came the calm answer. Mordechai didn’t feel that he needed to add that he had made doubly sure that Moshe Ya’abin would not escape the clumsy hands of the Romans.
“And this man’s name?” Marcus asked, standing and preparing to leave.
“It is a name that will surprise you.”
“I am rarely surprised anymore.”
Mordechai hesitated, caution still making him nervous, but then he spoke. “His name is Moshe Ya’abin, the one they call the Judean Fox.”
For a long moment there was silence; then Marcus smiled. “You were right. You surprise me.”
“There are not many I would trust with this kind of treachery,” came the sarcastic reply. “But he has few equals in that department.”
“No wonder you want him crucified. I shall suggest to Pilate that you receive a special invitation.”
“You are most thoughtful, Marcus, but in actuality, I leave at dawn for a trip to Alexandria. I feel it would be wise if I were not in the city once things begin to unfold, to allay any suspicions.”
“Are you taking Miriam?” he asked. This was something he hadn’t expected.
“Oh, no. This will be for business reasons. Everything here must appear in order. I have already left her a letter.” He stood too, ready to be done with it. “I shall return in less than a fortnight. I trust there will be news of a terrible tragedy in the Galilee awaiting my return.”
“I trust there will,” Marcus said. Out of habit, he slapped his arm against his chest in salute, then spun around and walked swiftly out the gate. Mordechai followed along slowly after him, waiting until he was gone to secure the lock on the gate once again.
VIII
“Livia. Wake up!”
Livia gave a soft moan and pushed the hair back from her eyes. “Miriam?”
“Wake up, Livia. I have to go to the Galilee.”
That did it. She shot up to her knees. “The Galilee?”
“Yes! Immediately.”
“Are you mad? It’s the middle of the night.”
Miriam sat down beside her, gripping her shoulders. She quickly told her what had just happened. Livia’s eyes widened until they were like great circles in the faint light. “So that whole thing with Yehuda and Simeon was a trap?”
“Yes.” Miriam fought to keep her voice low. She was filled with horror and loathing. “My father planned it all, Livia. He used me. He’s using Simeon and Yehuda to destroy the Zealot movement.” She got to her feet again. “How could he do this? Simeon and Yehuda saved our lives. His life! I think even if he had gotten the money, Ya’abin wouldn’t have let us go.�
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She began pacing, greatly agitated. “They’ve set up a massacre, Livia. I can’t let that happen. Even if he is my father. We’ve got to warn them.”
“How?” Livia’s face had gone as pale as parchment. “You can’t go to the Galilee alone. It’s too dangerous.”
“I have no choice. They’ll be destroyed. Yehuda. Daniel. Shana. The Romans will wipe out entire villages, just as they did before. They’ll go after Simeon’s family.”
Suddenly she saw a solution. “I’ll make my own way. I can’t let Father know. You’ll have to say I went to see my cousin Lilly in Joppa or something. I can make it as far as Jericho tonight.”
Livia shuddered and leaped off the bed. “Ma’ale Adummim? You would go through there at night?” If she had been shocked before, now she was shaken to the core.
Miriam couldn’t meet her eyes. Actually she had already considered that, and it left her terribly frightened. Jerusalem sat astride the central highlands of Israel, perched on the ridge top at about twenty-six hundred feet above the level of the sea. Jericho was at the north end of Yam Ha’melach, the Sea of Salt, thirteen hundred feet below the level of the Great Sea. In a distance of no more than fifteen miles as the raven would fly, the road from Jerusalem to Jericho dropped almost four thousand feet. It was barren, desolate, and dangerous. It had originally been named Ma’ale Adummim, the Red Way, after several bands of brightly colored rocks along the road. But Ma’ale Adummim had taken on new meaning now. It was so frequented by highwaymen and bandits that it had literally become the Red Way, the Way of Blood.
Miriam looked away. “What choice do I have, Livia? They saved our lives.” She bit her lip. “I can’t believe my father is working with Moshe Ya’abin. Even if he is trying to destroy him. How could he do that?”
Livia was fully alert now. “We must have an escort. Even for two of us, it would be extremely dangerous.”
“We?” Miriam echoed. “You are not going.”
Livia’s eyes narrowed. “You are not the only one who owes a debt to Simeon and Yehuda.” Then a tight smile appeared briefly. “Besides, you are completely daft if you think you are going to leave me here to try to explain all this to your father when he returns.”
Then she was all business again. “There is a man in the marketplace. I have heard him speak of his sons who hire out as guards for those who can pay.”
Miriam’s heart gave a little leap. “Really?”
“Yes. I am sure it shall cost us—you!—dearly.”
“I don’t care. Offer them whatever it takes.”
“I shall go there at once, while you begin to pack.” She shook her finger at her. “But we are not leaving tonight. I will not let you do it, even if you have me beaten.”
There was a steel-hard determination in Livia’s eyes, and Miriam realized that she truly meant it. She suddenly wanted to cry.
“If we leave at first light, we can still make it as far as Beth Shean and—”
“No,” Miriam broke in. “We will not go by way of Jericho. With an escort, we’ll go through Samaria. It’s still dangerous, but it will save us many hours.” Finally she was thinking rationally. “If we wait until Father leaves in the morning, then we can go and be back before he even knows we have left.”
“What about Levi? What of the other servants?”
So much for thinking rationally, Miriam thought, her heart falling. She began to pace again, her hands plucking at the soft fabric of her dress. Then she stopped and whirled to face Livia. “No, this is not the way. Father will find out.” Her face paled. “He can never know, Livia. If he learns what I have done to him . . . ” She could only shake her head. Livia would not be the only orphan in this house.
“Then what?”
“Marcus said he leaves for Damascus in the morning and that it will take him four days to reach there. We can make it to Capernaum in two. That gives us some time to work things out more carefully.”
Livia nodded. She was greatly relieved to see that emotions were not the primary thing driving Miriam any longer.
“It is the Sabbath. If we suddenly try to leave in the morning, Levi will be very suspicious. But I have talked recently about going to see Lilly and her husband, Ezra, in Joppa. I’ll tell Levi I’ve decided to do that since Father is gone for a time. We could travel with a caravan—there are always some going to Joppa—so Levi doesn’t worry.”
“Joppa is a long way from the Galilee.” Joppa was directly northwest of Jerusalem on the coast of the Mediterranean Sea.
“Yes, but we could go from there up the Via Maris. That has so much traffic, we can hire a carriage and no one will notice. And Lilly will keep our secret.” Miriam’s face fell. “Especially if she knows what it will mean if Father ever learns that I have betrayed him.”
“Oh, Miriam! I am so sorry for all of this.”
She straightened and took a deep breath. “We must sleep. Tomorrow will be the longest day of my life. I don’t know if I can act natural.”
“Well,” Livia answered, her mind working swiftly now too, “we have no choice if we are to fool Levi.”
Miriam sighed wearily. “We have to make it look natural. We just have to.”
Chapter 25
Put up again thy sword into his place: for all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword.
—Matthew 26:52
I
2 June, a.d. 30
Simeon stopped in surprise halfway down the hallway that led into their summer kitchen, the room at the back of the house that got the most shade. It had been another night with little sleep. Sunrise would come in about half an hour, and the room was filled with a soft and diffused light. His parents sat close together in the semidarkness, and as he peered at them he saw that they were holding hands. He could hear the soft murmur of their voices. He stopped. He was barefoot and still in his night robe, and they had not heard him.
His face softened at the sight of them. His father’s hair and beard were only now showing the first signs of graying, whereas many other men of his age were completely gray. His mother’s hair, on the other hand, straight and full and pulled back and tied at the nape of her neck, was almost completely gray and had been for some time now. He had often wondered if that was the result of the bitterness of her early life and the burden of grief she had carried for so many years. One eyebrow lifted. Or had the gray hair come from worrying about her middle son, who prowled the hills and put his life at risk?
He almost turned and went back to his room. He didn’t want to talk about yesterday. He had spent most of the night trying to sort through his thoughts and had finally given up. At sundown Shabbat had begun. The beginning of the Sabbath day and the Shabbat meal together were traditionally a time of great joy in a Jewish home. The Sabbath was welcomed as if she were a visiting queen. Simeon felt a little stab of shame. His presence had certainly dampened that. He had been poor company and finally excused himself right after supper and went to his room. Nor had his guilt been helped when from his room he heard the sounds of laughter and celebration as the family rejoiced together once he was gone.
As he now stood in the predawn light, his mother looked up, somehow sensing that someone was there. Instantly her face was wreathed in a warm smile. “Simeon! Are you awake already?”
There was no choice now. He smiled back and walked into the room.
“Shabbat tov, Simeon. Good Sabbath, Son.” His father motioned for him to sit.
“Good Sabbath, Father.” He bent down and kissed his mother on the cheek. “Shabbat shalom, Mother.”
“Shabbat shalom,” his mother answered, searching his face. “Did you not sleep well?”
He shrugged diffidently. “All right.” He moved around the table and sat down. “No Uncle Aaron?” He was sure he knew the answer. Aaron had not appeared in time for supper, and Simeon was pretty sure he would have heard him had he come in later.
A shadow fell across his mother’s face as she shook her head slowly. “No. I did
n’t expect he would.” Then she forced a smile, obviously not wanting to talk about that further. “You didn’t eat much last night,” his mother noted. “Would you like me to get you something?” It would be cold, of course, for no fires would be lit on the Sabbath.
“No, no. I’m fine. I’ll wait for the rest of the family.” He took a quick breath, deciding that the sooner he got it over with, the better. He turned to his father. “I know this is a terribly busy time, Father, but I have to return to Beth Neelah. I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”
His mother’s countenance fell, but his father was not overly surprised. “So soon, Simeon?” his mother said. “You’ve barely been home.”
“I know, but there are things that must be done, and I have left too much for Yehuda and Daniel to worry about. I’ll probably leave after synagogue services.” He pulled a wry face. “Especially if Uncle Aaron is not here to lecture me about violating a Sabbath day’s journey.”
His father gave him a warning look as he saw his mother wince. Instantly contrite, Simeon reached across and touched her hand. “It will be all right. Aaron will get used to the idea of you being a disciple of Jesus. Just give him some time.”
She shook her head but said nothing.
“Simeon?”
He turned to his father.
David hesitated, his mouth showing lines of concern.
“What is it, Father?” He thought he knew. He thought he was going to talk to him about Jesus. He was wrong.
“I know you are trying to save us pain by not telling us what is going on, Simeon, but your mother and father are not as out of touch with things as you may think.”
He tried to hide his surprise but did not succeed. “What do you mean?” he managed.
“I know about the Romans in Damascus. That’s why you went to Jerusalem, isn’t it.”
Simeon could only gape at him.
“Oh, I don’t know the details. In fact, I’m guessing about some of it. Day before yesterday, Esau of Gaza brought down a caravan of spices from Damascus. He said there is word of a huge store of Roman arms going to be shipped to Caesarea shortly.” He shrugged. “Then yesterday word came down from Sepphoris. You forget that I sit on the council here. They’re calling for a meeting of all the Zealot leadership. They want me to come.”
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