He stopped. There was nothing more. He was spent, exhausted, totally drained. The only remaining plea came from his heart. “I beg of thee to hear my cries, O God, and give me peace.”
For a long time he stayed there, bent over the log in the silence of the forest, his eyes staring at the ground but not seeing. And then as his soul gradually quieted and the turmoil subsided, a voice came into his mind. It was not audible. At least he did not hear it with his ears. And yet he instantly recognized it. It was the voice of his father, David. Strangely, as the words came slowly and distinctly, burning into his mind as though etched with an iron drawn red-hot from the fire, Simeon realized that though his father had made reference to this scripture, he had not quoted it directly as it was being quoted to him now.
“And David said to Solomon, My son, as for me, it was in my mind to build an house unto the name of the Lord my God. But the word of the Lord came to me, saying, Thou hast shed blood abundantly, and hast made great wars. Thou shalt not build an house unto my name, because thou hast shed much blood upon the earth in my sight.”
Only after another long time did Simeon finally get to his feet. With heavy heart, he glanced up at the sky to get his bearings, then turned to the right and started for the direction of the road that would take him to Beth Neelah and then on to Sepphoris.
V
Simeon stopped, his hand raised before the door, drew in a deep breath, then knocked softly. Immediately he heard the scrape of a chair. A moment later the door opened, and Shana was framed in the light from the lamp behind her. Her eyes widened in surprise.
“Simeon?”
“Erev tov, Shana. Are Yehuda and Daniel back yet?”
She shook her head, clearly bewildered. “But I thought you were with them.”
“I was supposed to be. Something came up.” His mind was working swiftly. The sun had set almost three hours ago. Sepphoris was about two hours’ walk from Beth Neelah. “So they haven’t come back from the meeting yet?”
“No.” She leaned forward slightly, her large, dark eyes filled with anxiety. “Is everything all right, Simeon?”
He nodded absently. “Yes. The meeting probably went longer than they anticipated.”
She bobbed her head in a nod, causing her long, dark hair to dance in the light. “Perhaps. Is everything all right with you, Simeon?”
How did he answer that question? He forced a smile. “Yes. I’m just working some things out.” He turned his head and looked down the street of the village. “I’ll start down the road to Sepphoris and meet them.”
“Simeon? I—”
But he didn’t want to talk. Not yet. “I’m sure they’re fine,” he broke in. “We’ll be back in a little while.” Not waiting for a response, he turned and walked swiftly away. Just before he turned the corner into the main street of Beth Neelah, he looked back. Shana was still silhouetted against the lamplight in the doorway. He raised one hand and waved, then went on, not waiting to see if she waved back.
VI
With full dark upon the land, Simeon didn’t see the men until he was only thirty or forty paces away from them. When he saw there were two of them, he called out immediately. “Ho, Yehuda. Is that you?”
“Aye.”
Taking a quick breath, Simeon strode forward to meet them, dreading what he knew lay ahead. Daniel came forward quickly, moving out ahead of his brother. “Simeon. What happened to you?”
“I was delayed. It’s a long story.”
In the light of the half-moon he saw Yehuda give him a sharp look as he came up and joined them. Simeon rushed on. “Let’s keep walking. I’ll bet you’re tired and anxious to be home.”
The three of them fell in together, starting back the way Simeon had just come. “Did you come through the village?” Daniel said. “I hope Shana kept supper for us.”
“I saw Shana for a minute, but she didn’t say.”
“She’ll keep it,” Yehuda grunted. “She always does.”
“So,” Simeon said quickly, wanting to keep control of the conversation, “how did it go?”
“About as expected,” Yehuda answered.
“Ya’abin was there?”
“He was,” Daniel said. “In all his devilish smoothness.”
“Did he recognize you?” Simeon asked the older brother.
“Almost instantly,” Yehuda answered. “I pretended shock and outrage at seeing that this was the man with whom we were going into partnership. Gehazi finally had to intervene to keep us from coming to blows.”
“Good, good. It’s important that he doesn’t suspect that we know anything.”
“Right.” It was said with heavy sarcasm.
Simeon glanced at him quickly, then away again. “And is everything as Mordechai said it would be?”
“It looks like it.” Yehuda’s voice was cool.
“Any word on where the column is now?”
“They passed Capernaum sometime after midday.”
Simeon nodded. The commander in him had taken over, and he was assessing the information as it was shared with him. “Anything else?”
Yehuda started to shake his head, but Daniel answered first. “Ya’abin made quite the point about getting the soldiers to lay down their arms as quickly as possible so there isn’t a massacre. That didn’t set too well with the rest of the group.”
Simeon nodded. That too was as Mordechai had described it. “And Gehazi agreed?”
“Gehazi seems to accept whatever Ya’abin is telling him.”
“What’s wrong, Yehuda?”
He strode on, his head down, his shoulders hunched. “Something’s not right. Ya’abin seems pretty confident that once we jump the column, if we show enough firepower and offer them a safe withdrawal, they’ll lay down their arms and let his group lead them through the pass and let them go.”
“And you don’t agree?”
“I don’t know. You can say a lot of things about the Romans, but they’re not cowards.” He shook his head. “And yet, if they stand and fight, we could be there half the night.”
“Do they have a full cohort?”
“No, and that’s another surprise. The reports coming in say they have less than three hundred men.”
“And we have?”
“Over a thousand,” Daniel said, much more confident than his older brother. “When their commander sees that, even his knees will start to tremble. They’ll have to surrender or be massacred.”
The older man gave Daniel an incredulous look. “Romans don’t have to do anything, little brother.”
“What is it, Yehuda?” Simeon asked. Whatever was troubling him, it ran deep. “We’ve known all along this carried considerable risk. When the prize is that sweet, the risks become more acceptable.”
“Oh, so it’s we now, is it?”
Simeon slowed his step, looking away. So here it was at last. For a split second his mind considered and rejected half a dozen ways to deflect the question. But that wasn’t fair. He turned and looked up at the man who had stood by his side for more than three years now. “You’re right. It’s not we. I’m not coming tomorrow.”
“What?” Daniel cried.
But Yehuda only nodded, his face grim.
“I can’t. Now is not the time or the place to try to explain why. When this is all over, I’ll come back and tell you everything.”
“You can’t just leave us,” Daniel exclaimed, his voice going up a notch. “The men are depending on you. You’re the leader they trust.”
“The men have a leader every bit as good as me in Yehuda. He knows everything I know and more.” He looked fully at Yehuda now. “Under the circumstances, he will be better than I could be.”
Daniel threw up his arms, turning to his brother for help. But Yehuda said nothing for a time. They strode along in silence for almost a full minute; then Yehuda asked Simeon a simple question. “You are sure of this?”
“Yes. I’m sorry. I don’t have a choice.”
He gave a sca
thing look. “You always have a choice.”
“Not once you commit yourself to a certain path.”
He grunted and looked away. “Nazareth did it?”
Simeon nodded glumly. Then after a moment, he went on. “I’m going down to Capernaum tonight. I need to see my parents.” In a way it was like a burden had been lifted, though his heart was still torn with sorrow. “I’ll stop by and tell Shana, then go on from there.”
Yehuda was shaking his head before he even finished the sentence.
“What?”
“Shana knows very little about any of this—the meeting, yes, but not about tomorrow. Not about you and your questions. Not about Nazareth.”
“What is all this about Nazareth?” Daniel broke in.
Both men ignored the question. “You go on down to Capernaum,” Yehuda said, his voice completely cold now. “Sort things out. Then we’ll decide if Shana needs to know more than she does now.”
Simeon walked on, searching for something he could say to help Yehuda see, and knew that there was nothing. “I understand,” he said quietly. He stopped. Daniel stopped too, thinking there was more to be said, but Yehuda went on, and after a hesitant moment, Daniel ran quickly to catch up with him.
“May God be with you tomorrow, my friends,” Simeon called softly. “And may your hand be strong.”
Yehuda didn’t turn, but his voice floated back to him. “And God be with you, Ha’keedohn. May your heart find peace in the path you have chosen.”
Chapter Notes
The Messianic scriptures from the Old Testament that Simeon deals with in this chapter are Isaiah 7:14 and 9:6. The passage about King David is found in 1 Chronicles 22:7–8. The explanation for the original Hebrew in the Isaiah passages comes from Keil and Delitzsch, 7:216–21, and Fallows, 2:855.
Chapter 29
Nor is anything done upon earth apart from thee; save that which the wicked do, by their own folly. But thine is the skill to set even the crooked straight.
—Cleanthes, Fragment 537
I
8 June, a.d. 30
Miriam was first to hear Ezra’s sandals on the gravel, and she leaped to her feet. A moment later his dark shape appeared in the moonlight, striding toward them. Livia was up as well, coming to stand beside Miriam.
He was shaking his head before he even reached them.
“No?” Miriam cried.
“The gates are barred. The local Council has a guard there. No one is allowed entry into the city until morning.”
“They have to let us in,” she exclaimed. “I have money. Surely—”
“I tried that. The man nearly arrested me when I even suggested we would be willing to pay if he would let us through.”
Miriam fell back against the carriage, feeling the hope whoosh out of her like someone had just stepped on her stomach. All because of one small stone. She closed her eyes to stop the tears from springing forth. She was so tired. So close to emotional collapse.
As planned, they had left Ptolemais before sunup, turning east. Their progress had been a little slower than they had hoped—after three days on the road, the horse was getting tired—but they were moving along well. Then just at midday, as they passed over a particularly rough stretch of road, the horse had driven a sharp stone into his left front hoof. Ezra noticed the animal limping immediately and removed the rock, but the damage had been done. In another hour the horse could barely hobble, let alone pull the carriage. Finally Ezra had unhitched the animal, and the three of them walked back to the nearest village. By the time they had purchased a new animal and returned to the carriage, they had lost a full four hours. Now it was into the second watch, and the gates to Capernaum were shut.
“Come,” Ezra said gently. “You and Livia try to get some sleep in the carriage. We’ll be at the gate the moment it opens in the morning.”
Miriam looked away, fighting the great desire to throw herself onto the ground and just bawl.
“There’s one other thing,” Ezra said, smiling.
“What?”
“I asked the guards if they knew anything about a Roman column headed west.”
Miriam’s head came around slowly. “And?”
“They said a large company of soldiers coming from Damascus with thirty or forty wagons passed through this afternoon and are camped about five miles west of here.”
Miriam’s heart leaped within her. “Then we’re not too late?”
“No.”
Livia took her hands and squeezed them tightly. “I told you,” she said. “You need to listen to me more carefully.”
II
9 June, a.d. 30
Deborah looked up with a start at the sound of someone pounding hard on the outside gate. She was bent down over the small cooking fire, stirring ground wheat into boiling water. She straightened, cocking her head. Leah was at the table, grinding more grain on a flat piece of basalt stone. They were alone in the kitchen this morning since David had the servants helping at the warehouse, and they were sleeping there.
“Someone’s at the gate,” Deborah said in surprise. She glanced out the window. It was light now, but the sun was still half an hour from coming over the eastern hills.
“I’ll get it,” Leah said, setting the grinding stone aside.
As she stood, they heard footsteps coming rapidly down the stone stairs from the bedrooms upstairs. “I heard,” David said as he appeared. He was wrapping his sash around his tunic and pulling it tight. He hadn’t stopped to put on his sandals.
“Who do you suppose it could be this early?” Deborah asked.
“You stay here. I’ll see who it is.”
But Deborah didn’t stay. She wiped her hands on her dress and followed him to the main door of the house. When David stepped out into the courtyard, she stood where she could see through it to the gate.
“Who is it?” David called as he reached the heavy wooden panel. “Who’s there?”
“Ezra the sandalmaker. From Joppa. I’m looking for the house of David ben Joseph, merchant of Capernaum.”
David turned and shot Deborah a puzzled look, then began undoing the bar. They didn’t know any sandalmakers from Joppa. That was nearly a hundred miles from Capernaum. Deborah stepped forward a little farther, peering into the soft morning light. David finished removing the heavy bar, then opened the gate and stepped back. Immediately a man passed through the opening and began conversing with David in low tones. The light was not bright, but it was sufficient for Deborah to discern that she had never seen this man before.
Then a sharp gasp was torn from her throat. A second figure came through the gate. This time it was a woman, and she was standing so the morning light illuminated her face. “Are you David ben Joseph?” she asked, breaking in on the two men.
“Miriam?”
Deborah’s soft cry spun Miriam around. For a moment she didn’t see where the voice had come from. Then her eyes picked out the figure standing at the doorway to the large house. “Deborah!” She darted forward. “Oh, blessed be the Lord. We’ve found you.”
III
Deborah was numbed into silence. At first she had cried out in soft horror again and again as Miriam, the daughter of Mordechai ben Uzziel of Jerusalem, poured out her story. With each new revelation she felt as though a vice was squeezing down on her heart and lungs, making it more and more difficult to move or to breathe. Ezra and Livia sat back, content to let Miriam take the lead. Occasionally, as David pressed Miriam with questions, Livia would remind her mistress of this point or that which she had forgotten.
Finally it was over. Miriam’s eyes dropped. “I am so sorry,” she said, speaking to both of them.
“For what?” David cried. “You are not behind this.”
“But it is my father. And I was unwittingly a part of it. He used me to convince Simeon and Yehuda to agree to all of this.”
Finally Deborah found voice. “There is nothing to be sorry for. You have taken a terrible risk in order to warn us.”
Then her face softened. “Actually, it is Simeon and I who owe you an apology.”
Miriam’s face showed lines of fatigue, and there were dark circles beneath her eyes. Those words took her by surprise. “For what?”
“Back when we first met at Beth Neelah, I suggested that you lacked what we in the Galilee value most highly.”
“I remember. Thank you,” she murmured. Then again the pain was on her, and she swung around again to David. “You have no idea where Simeon is?”
David was as pale as the flour Leah had been grinding on the stone. He shook his head.
“He’s in Beth Neelah,” Leah said. “With Yehuda. Or at least, that’s where he was going a few days ago.”
A shadow passed across David’s face. “I’m afraid it’s already begun. We may be too late.”
Ezra stirred at that. “No.” He explained quickly what the guards had told him about the Roman encampment.
Hope sprang into David’s eyes. “Then perhaps—”
A noise brought them around. Young Joseph came into the kitchen, still in his nightshirt, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Deborah motioned for him to come to her. She took him and sat him down beside her, whispering for him not to interrupt.
“We have to assume,” David went on, speaking to Miriam, “that the Romans will leave this morning for the Joknean Pass. That’s about twenty-five miles from here, which means this whole thing is going to happen tonight. If we leave immediately, maybe we can get to Beth Neelah and try to find Simeon and Yehuda before they leave for—”
“Papa?”
Deborah turned and shook her head sternly at her youngest son. “Joseph, I told you. You must sit quietly now. Don’t interrupt.”
“But Mama, Simeon isn’t in Beth Neelah.”
Everyone turned in complete surprise. “He’s not?” David exclaimed.
“No, he’s upstairs in bed.”
David shot to his feet. “What?”
“He came in early this morning. I heard him go into his room, but he made me promise to let him sleep for awhile.”
Miriam was staring at Deborah. “But how? The gates to the city were locked.”
Fishers of Men Page 57