Fishers of Men

by Gerald N. Lund

  Feeling her heart begin to race, Miriam took a moment before she answered. The difficult thing was trying to keep straight in her mind what she could safely say. Of course, Marcus knew that Miriam had met Simeon and Yehuda—her father had given Marcus the record she made when Mordechai had met with them to arrange the so-called trap. But as far as Marcus knew, Miriam didn’t know that he knew. She almost wanted to laugh. It was like trying to make your way through a labyrinth in the darkness. One wrong slip and she could put herself into deep jeopardy, along with Lilly, Livia, Ezra, and most importantly, Simeon and Yehuda.

  “But,” she said, feigning surprise, “don’t you remember our experience earlier this spring in Samaria?”

  “What experience?”

  “We were on our way to try to arrange a conference with the Zealots for the Great Sanhedrin. Moshe Ya’abin attacked our camp. My father’s chief steward had betrayed us. It was Simeon and Yehuda and their band that saved us that day.” A tiny tremor of horror rippled through her body, and that was not feigned. Any time she thought of that morning, when Ya’abin had grabbed her by the hair, she went completely cold. “We came here to Caesarea shortly thereafter. Remember? That was the first time I met you.”

  “Oh, yes, I do remember that now.”

  “Well, it was this Simeon and Yehuda of Beth Neelah and some of their men that rescued us and spared us from a terrible situation.”

  “But perhaps this is not the same man,” Marcus said, acting almost bored.

  So he was playing the same game as she was. She could see it in his eyes, calculating how much to say and how much to pretend innocence. “I know only what we heard in Capernaum,” she answered smoothly. “If it is the same man, I and my father would like to speak with you and the governor about possible clemency. We owe him and this Yehuda a great debt.”

  That clearly startled him. “I’m not sure that would be a wise thing to do, Miriam.”

  “Would you at least take me to see him tomorrow, so I can see if it is the same man?”

  He laughed shortly. “The dungeons are no place for a woman, let alone a lady of your grace and position.”

  “It would greatly relieve my mind, Marcus. If it is not him, then the matter is settled.”

  “I would not dare give permission for such a visit without Pilate’s consent. He would have my head if it displeased him.”

  “What are the charges against this Simeon?”

  “Treason. Rebellion. He was part of an attack on a Roman column.”

  She tried to look shocked. “Oh? Did he kill anyone?”

  Marcus watched her evenly. “We lost twenty-eight men that night.”

  Miriam wanted to shout at him. Simeon hadn’t killed those men—Moshe Ya’abin had. But she let none of that show on her face.

  “I understand your desire to repay a debt, Miriam, but I do not think it wise to bring this up with the governor. This particular prisoner has created serious problems for us, and the governor has strong feelings against him.”

  “Is it true that he brought in three talents of gold as a ransom for his men, which the governor seized, then took the man captive anyway?”

  Marcus actually jerked around at that question. “Where did you hear that?”

  She shrugged. “The same person who told us of the arrest. This David, Simeon’s father, is a prominent citizen and highly respected. If what the man said is true, the arrest will stir up great agitation in the countryside. They say Simeon is the famous Ha’keedohn, the Javelin. I don’t know if you knew that.”

  “Oh, we knew,” he murmured.

  Suddenly Miriam’s eyes fell on Marcus’s forearm. A six-inch streak of white was visible through the dark hair on his arm. Startled, she remembered Deborah’s story of that day last fall when the Romans came to collect taxes from David ben Joseph. Simeon had grabbed the Roman tribune and cut his arm badly. Miriam stared. She had never made the connection until this moment. It was Marcus who was there that day.

  “What?” Marcus said, noting her look.

  “I—I had never noticed that scar before.”

  He looked down, then dropped his arm. “A minor skirmish, quickly forgotten.”

  “So is it true?”

  “What?” He was still thinking about the day of his “minor skirmish.”

  “That Pilate took the gold and arrested the man too?”

  “Miriam, as a Roman officer, I am not at liberty to discuss any circumstances related to our garrison.” Then seeing the look of triumph flash across her eyes and knowing she had read it for exactly what it was—an admission that she was right—he went on blandly. “But I can tell you that most rumors have little basis in reality. They multiply like frogs in a swamp.”

  “Please let me see him, Marcus,” she said, completely contrite now. “That morning in Samaria, Moshe Ya’abin had me by the hair. He was dragging me back into my tent to—” She shook her head and closed her eyes. “If Simeon had come even two minutes later my life would have been ruined. I have to know if these are the same men who saved me that day.”

  “I’m sorry, Miriam. Only the governor can authorize that.” He smiled again, putting all of his considerable charm behind it. “When he returns, I will come with you when you talk with him. I will put your cause to Pilate with as much force as possible. Fair enough?”

  Miriam knew when she had lost. “Fair enough. Thank you, Marcus.” She sighed. “Now, you are right. I am very tired.” She looked around briefly. “Suddenly a hot bath and an early trip to bed sounds most wonderful.”

  He was clearly disappointed. “I would like to hear what you did in the Galilee. Your father said you were going to Gaulanitis. That is a place I have not yet visited. Are you sure you won’t have supper with me?”

  “Quite sure. I’m sorry, Marcus. I am very tired. Perhaps tomorrow.”

  He bowed low. “As you wish. I shall see that you are not disturbed.”

  Chapter 14

  Easy is the way down to the Underworld: by night and by day dark Dis’s door stands open; but to withdraw one’s steps and to make a way out to the upper air, that’s the task, that is the labour.

  —Virgil, Aeneid, vi. 128–31

  I

  Caesarea 15 July, a.d. 30

  There was a sharp knock on the door. Miriam looked up. She was combing out her hair with a sandalwood comb in front of a highly polished brass mirror. “Come in.”

  She moved sideways a little so she could see the reflection of the door in the mirror. Nothing happened. “Come in,” she called more loudly.

  There was a click; then the door opened. She saw only a dark shape standing in the doorway. She set the comb down and turned. Her mouth fell open and a cry exploded from her. “Papa!” She was up in an instant and flew across the room.

  He opened his arms and drew her in. “Good afternoon, Miriam,” he laughed, caught totally by surprise at her enthusiasm.

  “But Marcus said you weren’t going to be here until late tonight or tomorrow.”

  “Pilate finished his business in the city more quickly than he expected. And all of my affairs are in order now, so we came most of the way yesterday.”

  He stepped back, holding her at arm’s length. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course.”

  “Marcus said that you haven’t been eating much these last two days. You’re not sick?”

  “I’m fine, Papa. Really.”

  “Good.” His brow lowered. “I suppose Marcus told you about what’s been happening?”

  “About someone breaking into the house? Yes, he did.”

  “Yes, yes,” he said. “But it’s much more than that. Ya’abin grows more bold every day. He’s raiding the King’s Highway across the Jordan. He’s kidnapped three prominent citizens of Jerusalem in just the last two weeks. He is hitting Roman patrols at will and making them look like fools. The night before we left, word came in that he had killed six more legionnaires. Men are flocking to his band. The whole of Judea is trembling
with fear.”

  He exhaled slowly. “It is a very good thing we are out of Jerusalem, Miriam. I don’t know how soon they will run him to ground.”

  “Are you sure you are all right?”

  “I’m fine. We caught the intruders and put them in chains. In fact, Pilate brought them back with us. They’ll be interrogated, but Ya’abin’s too shrewd to send someone who could lead us back to him.”

  The word interrogated sent a chill through her. “Papa, I—”

  “Where’s Ezra? I want to thank him and Lilly. It was a wonderful idea to get you out of Jerusalem. It was such a relief to me to not have to worry about you.”

  “Ezra and Lilly left for Joppa yesterday morning. Ezra has been gone from his sandal shop for so long he wanted to get back as soon as possible.”

  “I shall see to it that his service is greatly rewarded.”

  “He won’t take anything, Papa. You know Ezra.”

  “I know. So I’ve arranged for some of the shopkeepers in Jerusalem to buy all of their sandals from him in the future.”

  Touched by his genuine gratitude, she laid a hand on his arm. “That’s wonderful, Papa. He and Lilly were very good to Livia and me.”

  “I know.” He took her hand. “Come, dinner is almost ready. Pilate has invited us to eat with him and Marcus.”

  Miriam pulled free and stepped back. “Papa, we have to talk first.”

  “It can wait until—”

  “No!”

  He was startled by the sharpness in her voice and felt a flush of irritation. She took a quick breath and plunged ahead.

  “Papa, they have arrested Simeon ben David of Capernaum. He’s here in the prison.”

  One eyebrow lifted suspiciously. “Yes, I know all about that. But how do you know?”

  “The word is out all over the Galilee. Everyone is talking about the ambush at the Joknean Pass.”

  He grunted something. That wasn’t too surprising.

  “Did Pilate tell you why he was so determined to catch Simeon?”

  “Of course. Simeon is the one who engineered the whole disaster there that night.”

  “Oh?” she said quietly. “I thought that was you, Papa.”

  He was momentarily startled; then his eyes narrowed. Miriam knew she was flirting with danger now. She could see that her father was tired from the journey, and when he was tired, his temper quickly shortened. But she pressed on.

  “They’re saying that one of the reasons Pilate was so anxious to catch Simeon is that he’s the only one who knows who betrayed the Romans. The governor wants to force that information out of Simeon.”

  “That’s true. Pilate is still in a rage over what happened there. We—” He caught himself. “He had the whole of the Zealot movement within his grasp, then lost it all.”

  “What difference does it make?” she asked. “So what if Pilate finds out who told Simeon? What can he do?”

  “Nail him to a cross,” Mordechai snapped.

  “And how will that change what happened that night?”

  He was looking at her in disbelief. “You know as well as I do that the Romans don’t take kindly to being made to look like fools. They will have their revenge. If they don’t, every ragtag band of rebels in the empire will think they can take them on.”

  “So why aren’t you afraid, Papa?” Miriam asked quietly.

  “What?”

  “Pilate is going to force Simeon to tell him who it was that betrayed the Roman column to the Zealots.”

  “Yes? So?”

  “Why doesn’t that worry you? You are the one who brought Simeon and Yehuda to our house and told them all about the arms and the gold. You are the one who brought Ya’abin in on this in the first place. You said it was an elaborate scheme to finally get your revenge on that old bandit, and that the Zealots would profit greatly from it. That’s what you told me, and that’s what you told Simeon and Yehuda. So why aren’t you afraid that it will be your name Simeon gives to them?”

  “I—” He clearly had not seen that one coming at all.

  Miriam turned and walked back to her dressing table. She sat down heavily, staring at him in the mirror. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what we heard in the Galilee. They are saying that the whole thing was a cleverly engineered trap, not to catch Moshe Ya’abin, but to destroy the whole Zealot movement. They’re saying that someone on the Great Council in Jerusalem was behind it. Then someone came and told Simeon what was really happening, and he and his father stepped in and changed the outcome. And they’re saying it was Simeon who actually stopped Ya’abin from annihilating the Roman column.”

  “You’ve been listening to too much gossip.”

  “Oh, really?” she retorted. “Well, if it isn’t true, then why is Pilate so determined to find out who helped Simeon?”

  “Because the Romans lost twenty-eight men that night. It was an embarrassing defeat. Pilate is seething.”

  Miriam saw that her father’s neck had turned red. She knew that sign. It was the first indicator of a towering rage. She had seen it only three or four times, and it had frightened her a great deal. But that was all right, because she was feeling a deep anger and outrage of her own. She gave a short, bitter laugh. “When Marcus told me that Pilate had gone to Jerusalem to get you, shouldn’t I have been worried? Was he going there to arrest you and drag you back in chains? But no. Marcus told me Pilate was providing you safe escort back from Jerusalem. Pilate has arranged for us to go to Rome. Pilate has invited us to dine with him. We are honored guests in his palace. Why is that? Why aren’t you a suspect in all this, Father? Why aren’t you worried that Simeon will be tortured and give them your name?”

  Mordechai’s eyes were flashing dangerously. “You have said enough, Miriam.”

  “No, I haven’t, Father. When you came back from Alexandria, why weren’t you more concerned that the whole thing at the pass had fallen apart?”

  “Not concerned? I was furious when I heard the news.”

  “Furious, yes. But worried sick about your own safety? No. Why, Father? Why did you come to Jerusalem with Marcus, the very man who should have been wanting to get his hands on you? And now, you’re not in the least concerned about them putting Simeon on the rack. Why is that, Papa? Could it be because Pilate already knows all about your part in this whole affair and that it doesn’t bother him at all?”

  Jaw tight, eyes suddenly cold, he said, “You are interfering in things that do not concern you, Miriam. I’m warning you. This ends now.”

  “You used me, Papa! You used me to convince Simeon and Yehuda that you really were trying to help them, to give the whole thing some legitimacy. Don’t tell me this doesn’t concern me.”

  He took a step forward, his face as dark as smoke from a furnace. But at that moment, there was a sharp knock on the door. “Master Mordechai?” It was the voice of the servant assigned to care for Pilate’s guests.

  He turned. “Yes.”

  “Dinner is served, sire. His Excellency requests the company of you and your daughter in the main dining room.”

  “We’ll be right there.”

  Miriam stood up and swept past him, then stopped at the door. “I won’t say anything of this to Marcus or the governor, Father, but I want you to intervene in Simeon’s behalf. Ask Pilate for a pardon.”

  “What? Are you mad?”

  “Simeon saved us!” she cried. “Have you forgotten that? He saved us from Moshe Ya’abin. Does that mean nothing to you?”

  “It is out of my hands, Miriam. Out of our hands. And I don’t want you—”

  But she flung open the door and stalked out before he could finish.

  II

  Miriam was surprisingly calm at the dinner table. Once again the governor or his wife had placed her beside Marcus, and she spoke easily with him about the upcoming visit to Rome. To her surprise, the confrontation with her father had not dampened her appetite. Since arriving at the governor’s palace, she had eaten only one meal, and that w
as yesterday at midday. Then she had started fasting again. In fact, that was the only full meal she had eaten in the four days since leaving the inn outside Nazareth where she and her fellow travelers had stayed. Her body felt it. After the clash with her father, she felt listless and drained. It was hard for her not to heap her plate and plunge in eagerly.

  The meal spread before them was dazzling. It was the height of the summer harvest in Israel now, and the governor of the province obviously had his pick of the best. The table before them almost groaned beneath the weight of the food. There were great platters of sliced melon, deep red and speckled with seeds. Piles of purple grapes were stationed about every five feet. There were trays of dates rolled in chopped almonds and honeyed flour, sliced cucumbers, quartered tomatoes, and mounds of olives. One bowl held nothing but halved pomegranates oozing their deep scarlet juice. There were several different varieties of squash. Dried figs, boiled quail eggs, loaves of bread, hand-buttered rolls, and wedges of cheese filled every available space. Pitchers of wine, kept cool in great jars in the cisterns beneath the palace, were strategically placed on the table.

  Though Miriam ate slowly and demurely, never had anything tasted so wonderful to her.

  “I’m glad to see you finally eating, Miriam,” Marcus said approvingly.

  “It’s wonderful,” she replied.

  They were semireclining on padded benches around the low, U-shaped table. Pilate and his wife sat at the head of the table. Her father sat to their right, the place of honor—another interesting indicator of what was going on here—and Miriam and Marcus were to their left. If there were other guests in the Praetorium at the moment, they had not been invited. Livia, as a servant, was of course not even given a second thought.

  “Marcus tells me that you have been somewhat ill,” Fortunata said. “It is a good sign if you have your appetite back.”

  Miriam turned to face the governor’s wife. “Oh no, not ill” she said lightly. “I am fine. It was just that traveling from the Galilee in this heat drained my appetite.”

  “I can understand that,” she answered. “I hate this accursed heat. I can hardly wait for the rains to come again.”