Fishers of Men

by Gerald N. Lund

  Ya’abin looked at his second-in-command for a long, searing moment, his eyes flickering ominously in the firelight. Ya’abin’s face was long, its narrowness accentuated by the pointed beard. On reduced rations, his face had become gaunt, the cheeks starting to hollow. It only added to the feeling of menace. “So run with the wind?” he sneered. “Is that what you’re saying, Eliab?”

  Eliab started to fumble. His leader had never been an easy man to please, but in these last few days he had become as one demented. “No, Moshe, I’m not saying we give up. Just maybe let some of the heat die down. You’re the most wanted man in Judea at the moment. You can get your revenge later. Right now we’ve got our hands full just surviving.”

  There was a soft hoot of disgust. “Why don’t you go back to that shepherd’s camp and see if they’ll let you sleep with the old women tonight.”

  Eliab blanched. “That’s not fair! I’ve always stood by you.”

  “Then stand by me now!” Ya’abin shouted. Around them several heads came up, startled by the explosion.

  Swallowing hard, Eliab nodded. “What do you want to do?”

  The man they called the Fox of the Desert sat back, rubbing his hands on his robe. “We’ll cross over the River Jordan into Moab. Hit some of the incense caravans moving up the King’s Highway. There is a lot of profit in incense.”

  Eliab was nodding even before he finished. It wasn’t the safest solution, but it was something. The Romans weren’t scouring the highlands of Moab on the east side of the Dead Sea.

  “What we need is two or three stunning successes so that men will beg to join us. Maybe we’ll hit some of the custom houses. We lost our chance for Roman gold the other night. Well, we’ll take it from somewhere else.”

  “I can see that,” Eliab said, not daring to challenge Ya’abin further.

  “Go through the men. Find out who has a contact in Jerusalem we can trust.”

  As quickly as his hopes had risen, they were dashed again. “Jerusalem?”

  “That snake Mordechai betrayed us, Eliab.” His voice was a soft hiss. “I have a score to settle with Ha’keedohn as well, but the Galilean will have to wait until we’re stronger. It was Mordechai who lured us into the trap. It was Mordechai who thought he could outfox the Fox. If word gets out that he made fools of us, then we are lost.” His voice rose sharply. “So get me someone who has contacts in Jerusalem.”

  Eliab fought back a sigh. “All right, Moshe.”

  The ferret face of the bandit twisted wickedly. “Where is the closest Roman patrol?”

  Eliab stared for a moment. “It is—” He bit his lower lip. “It is camped on a ridge about four miles north of here.”

  “Get the men up. We’ll hit them before dawn.” He grinned maliciously. “Let’s give the Roman dogs a memorable farewell before we head east.”

  “Moshe, you know they’ll be in a secure camp. That’s the Roman way.”

  “All the better,” he said with relish. “Pilate needs to know that Moshe Ya’abin has not been run to ground.”

  II

  Beth Neelah, in the Galilean highlands 22 June, a.d. 30

  The village of Beth Neelah was mostly in darkness as Simeon slipped through the narrow, dirt streets. If he saw movement ahead of him, he stopped, shrinking back into the shadows until the other person passed by.

  He hesitated momentarily as he passed the stone house that was the home of Yehuda and Daniel and Shana. Now only Shana would be there. A deep sadness overwhelmed him as he stared at the lamplight in the window. The image of Shana’s eyes—haunted, betrayed, filled with bitterness—would stay with him for a very long time. Finally, he moved on, not looking back.

  Near the northern edge of the village was an ample house set amid rows of grapevines. He stopped, listened for a moment, then moved silently through the opening in the rock wall. At the front door, he paused for a moment, took a quick breath, then softly knocked.

  From inside he heard a child’s voice, then the scraping of a chair or bench across the floor. A moment later, the door opened and a young woman of about Simeon’s age stood in the light. She looked up, then fell back a step, her eyes springing wide with surprise.

  “Erev tov, Judith.”

  “Simeon. I—” Now her eyes were wary, almost suspicious.

  “Is Issachar at home?”

  Her head turned involuntarily as Simeon heard the sound of movement behind her. If that sound hadn’t already given her away, Simeon wasn’t sure if she would have answered him truthfully or not. A figure stepped up behind her, not much taller than she was. His hair was full and his beard thick. “Erev tov, Simeon.”

  “Good evening, Issachar.” Issachar’s face was in shadow—the light was directly behind him and Simeon could not read the expression on the Zealot’s face. Shadow or not, there was no mistaking the coolness in both husband and wife. “May I speak with you?”

  The woman turned anxiously, but Issachar didn’t respond. “Of course,” he finally said. Then to her: “We won’t be long.” He stepped out, shutting the door behind him. As they moved down the row between the grapevines, Simeon saw a form at the window, watching them go. Finally they stopped, deep in the shadow of a large sycamore tree. Issachar was obviously not going to speak first.

  The temptation to try to explain it all—what had happened, how things had developed, and what went wrong—rose up in Simeon again, but he shook his head. “I have a question to ask you, Issachar. It is important that you answer honestly. Too many things now stand between us not to speak freely.”

  “I hold no grudge for what happened at the Joknean,” Issachar replied. “We know the risks—all of us—and go into battle prepared for the worst.”

  “But?” Simeon prompted, sensing there was more.

  “But Yehuda told us that once the night was over, he would explain to us why you were no longer leading us in battle. Unfortunately, Yehuda . . . ” He looked away.

  “Unfortunately,” Simeon finished for him, “Yehuda didn’t come back.”

  “Nor Daniel,” the man said softly.

  Simeon said nothing.

  After almost a full minute, Issachar looked squarely at him. “So there is no explanation from you, either?” His voice was filled with soft bitterness. “No reason why we risked our lives to save the very men we had come to kill?”

  “Perhaps someday we can sit down and I will explain everything. Tonight, I must speak of other things. Will you hear me out?”

  “I have always had the greatest admiration and respect for you as a man, Simeon, and for you as Ha’keedohn, my leader.” There was an implied, “until now,” but he didn’t say it. “I am listening.”

  “Thank you.” Simeon paused, deciding how best to start, then plunged. “Do you think you could convince the men to follow me one last time?”

  There was a long questioning look. “To kill Romans or to protect them?” he finally said.

  Simeon flinched at the barb, but only said, “To free Yehuda and the others.”

  He saw Issachar straighten and knew he had his full attention now. “How soon? They are to be executed in a few days.”

  “The execution has been postponed, perhaps even until September.”

  “You know that for certain?”

  “Yes. It comes from an unquestionable source.”

  “May the Lord be praised for his mercy.” Issachar savored the news for a moment; then, “Have you told this to Shana?”

  Simeon gave a brief shake of his head. “No. You may tell her as soon as we are through. But I would prefer that she doesn’t learn how you came by this knowledge.”

  “I’m sorry about the betrothal, Simeon,” Issachar said. His tone was considerably warmer now. “She is stricken beyond grief. Perhaps with time . . . ” He shrugged.

  Not answering that, Simeon went on. “Are there any in our band who speak Latin?”

  Issachar cocked his head. “Latin?” He thought a moment. “All of us know a few words, of course, b
ut Yehuda was the only one besides yourself who could converse at all.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It would be helpful, but it is not required.” He sighed. “I will need eight others besides myself who are willing to put themselves at great risk.”

  “Only eight?” Issachar was no fool. There were nearly two dozen in their band.

  Simeon spoke quickly, telling Issachar of his plan, of his trip to Damascus and of his return that very day with the equipment they needed. “We’ll take everyone to Caesarea, but only eight will actually go into the city with me. That constitutes two squads of four, or what the Romans call a quarternion. If we came with less, it would look suspicious. More puts too many at risk.”

  “And you plan to just walk right into the prison and . . . ” He couldn’t finish. The shock seemed to choke off his voice.

  “We could try it without the uniforms,” came the dry reply. “We could tell them we’re just looking around.”

  Issachar moved over to the tree and leaned heavily against it. “This is crazy, Simeon. It’s like sticking your head into the jaws of the crocodile, then slapping it across the face to see if it is paying attention.”

  Simeon laughed shortly. “I was thinking it’s more like stepping off a cliff without a rope, but I like your analogy better.” Then he too grew quite serious. “Yehuda, Samuel, and Barak face execution because I asked them to stand by me in keeping my oath to the Romans. Would you have me just wring my hands and hope the governor changes his mind?”

  “No, of course not, but—”

  “I know the risks, Issachar. I’ve thought of little else. But unless you see a way to raise a thousand men and lead a full-scale assault on Caesarea, I don’t see any other alternative. And we don’t have forever. The governor could change his mind at any time about when to execute them.”

  The wind sighed in the treetop above them as Issachar stared at the ground for a long time. Then at last his head came up again. “How soon?”

  “I came straight here from Damascus. I have to take the uniforms down to Capernaum, where I will hide them. Then I would like to make a trip to Caesarea on my own, to reconnoiter the Praetorium. We’ll also want a day or two to practice looking and acting like Romans. Say about two to three weeks.”

  “All right.” Issachar pushed away from the tree, looking out into the night. “I’ll tell the men.”

  “Will they do it?”

  “As I said, we all have great respect for you and normally would follow you anywhere.”

  “But?” Simeon pressed again, knowing there was nothing about this circumstance that was normal.

  “But I think the first thing you’d better do when you return is tell us everything. You owe us that.”

  “Yes, I do. And I will.” He straightened. “I’ll return a few days before the actual time so we can start training. We’ll talk then.” He reached out and grasped the other man’s hand. “Thank you, Issachar. Thank you for listening.”

  As Simeon started away, moving in the opposite direction from the house, Issachar called out softly. “Are you sure I can’t tell Shana you were here? If she knows you are trying to free Yehuda, it could change everything.”

  “Can it change the fact that Daniel is dead?” came the low reply. Then, without waiting for Issachar’s response, Simeon disappeared into the darkness.

  III

  Capernaum 24 June, a.d. 30

  Ephraim visibly jerked when Simeon stepped into view. He jumped to his feet, completely astonished. “How did you get here?”

  “How do I always get here?” Simeon said with a chuckle. “I came through the door.”

  “But—” Ephraim turned and looked at the main door to the warehouse, which was behind him. “I’ve been sitting right here all afternoon.”

  Simeon’s grin broadened. “The back door.”

  “Oh.” His face relaxed. “You and that back door. You’re the only one who ever uses it.”

  “That’s good,” Simeon said cheerfully. The back wall of their main warehouse butted up against the outer wall of Capernaum. There was a small metal door through the wall that few people knew was still operative.

  “Does Mother know you’re back?”

  He shook his head, looking around. “Are you the only one here?”

  “Yes. There was only a little left to do, so I told Father and Leah to go home, I’d finish up.”

  “Have you been out to hear Jesus?”

  “No,” Ephraim said. “The Master’s been teaching in Bethsaida and Chorazin the last couple of days. By the way, Mother asked Rachel and me and the children to come over for supper tonight.”

  “Great!” Simeon hesitated; then, much more serious, he asked, “Do you have a minute?”

  “Sure.” Ephraim sat down again, pointing to an empty stool.

  “No. There’s something I need to show you.”

  “Where?”

  “In the back corner of the warehouse.”

  IV

  For several long seconds, Ephraim just stared. Finally he turned back to look at his younger brother, deep alarm on his face. “What are these, Simeon?”

  “Roman uniforms.”

  “I know that,” he retorted. “Whose are they?”

  “Mine.”

  “Yours! What do you mean, yours?”

  “I need to leave them here for a few days, Ephraim. I don’t think anyone will notice them back here in the corner, but I couldn’t take a chance. I need you to make sure they remain undisturbed.”

  Ephraim was four years older than Simeon and had always been the solid one, the steady one, the one who loved working at the warehouse and keeping the books. He was most like their father in both temperament and spirit. That was why Simeon had decided that Ephraim would be the one he would tell—the only one he would tell. “Would you like to sit down?” he suggested.

  Ephraim shook his head, still staring at the crate of uniforms. “What are you doing, Simeon?”

  Simeon withdrew the folded parchment carefully from his tunic and held it out. Ephraim took it, examining the red wax that sealed the edge. It was stamped in the center with an official-looking seal. Finally, he looked up. “What is this?”

  “A letter.” Simeon decided the time for playing the innocent little boy was over. “The seal is that of Pontius Pilate.”

  Ephraim’s head came around slowly. “Pilate?” He looked at the stamps more closely. “What does it say?”

  “I’d let you read it,” Simeon said, “but obviously if we open it, that will spoil everything.” And so he told him. Simeon had drafted the original to give to the forger and had read this copy carefully twice before it was sealed. He could quote it almost word for word.

  As Simeon spoke, Ephraim groped his way to the nearest bale of wool and collapsed onto it.

  Simeon laughed softly. “I told you to sit down.”

  “You’re going to . . . ” He couldn’t finish it.

  “I am,” Simeon said simply. “You have to give me your word that you won’t tell Mother and Father. At least not until after it’s underway.”

  “You can’t, Simeon! This is insane!”

  “Can’t you think of another word? That one has already been taken. In fact, several times.”

  “What are you thinking?” Ephraim cried, not amused in any way. “Who is going to—”

  Simeon cut in smoothly. “I went to Beth Neelah night before last. My men are going with me.”

  “Did you tell them what you planned?”

  “I did.”

  “All of it?”

  “They know it all, and they’re still willing.”

  Ephraim set the parchment down, then dropped his head in his hands. “Oh, Simeon! Simeon! What have you done?”

  Simeon’s lips compressed into a tight line and his eyes hardened. “I’ve done something, Ephraim. Maybe it isn’t the best thing. Maybe it’s not insane. Maybe it’s just plain stupid. But I least I’ve done something. And it feels good.”

  V


  “Rachel, you stay here and visit for a time. Simeon and I will put the children to bed.”

  Simeon looked at his brother, raising an eyebrow. The evening meal had been cleared away and the family visited comfortably on the rooftop, enjoying the cool of the evening. Ephraim ignored the startled look.

  “Hooray!” Boaz shouted.

  “Are you sure?” Rachel said.

  “Yes.” Ephraim shot Simeon a glance that said, “Please!”

  “Uh, . . . sure,” Simeon said quickly. “That would be nice. I haven’t been able to see these two for a while.”

  Esther watched him, her expression unreadable. He smiled at her. “Is that all right with you, Esther?”

  “Will you tell me a story?”

  “Of course. What story would you like?”

  A tiny smile appeared. “Queen Esther.”

  Simeon reached out and brought her into his arms. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  Ephraim laughed. “But I told you that story last night, Esther.”

  “Uncle Simeon tells it better,” she said with a matter-of-fact tone of voice.

  That brought a burst of laughter from the family. Simeon put his hands on his hips, mimicking Esther’s favorite stance. “So there, Papa,” he said to Ephraim. “See what happens when you don’t add a little embellishment?”

  “I want a story! I want a story.” Boaz was hopping up and down.

  “Can I tell you a story?” Ephraim asked, pretending to be hurt.

  Boaz stopped, the two-year-old face screwing up, obviously torn. Then his shoulders slumped. “I guess.”

  “There you go,” Simeon said proudly. “There’s just no competing with their favorite uncle.”

  “I’ll come too,” Joseph said, getting to his feet.

  Ephraim swung around, a little too quickly. “No, Joseph.” He forced a smile. “That’s all right. We’ll be fine.”

  David had started to get up too, but at that he sank back down in his chair. “Not tonight, Son,” he said to Joseph. “We’ll stay here.”