Fishers of Men

by Gerald N. Lund

  Simeon felt himself relax. So Sextus had said nothing to Marcus.

  Marcus continued: “Pilate has some concerns about the growing numbers of his followers, but we find his preaching quite harmless, almost quaint if you will. It is your own leaders who are alarmed about him, not Rome.” That was not completely true. The swelling numbers this preacher drew was something Marcus wanted to keep a close eye on.

  “They’re not my leaders,” Simeon said shortly.

  Marcus laughed with a cold humor. So he had pricked a tender spot here, he thought. He decided to push a little more while he had Simeon off-balance. “By the way, Azariah the Pharisee told me something the other day that was a little disturbing.”

  Yehuda pulled a face. “It would be a rare thing to have Azariah say something that wasn’t disturbing.”

  Marcus ignored him. Still looking at Simeon he asked, “Do you know if Miriam has any interest in this Jesus?”

  Simeon went completely cold. Fortunately, he had turned his head to watch a squad of soldiers moving past them, so Marcus couldn’t see his face. He turned back slowly, looking almost bored. “Miriam?”

  “Yes. Azariah claims she was in the crowd one day when Jesus refused to condemn some woman for a violation of your law. According to Azariah, Miriam seemed quite sympathetic to Jesus. Do you think that is possible?”

  Simeon’s mind was racing. He didn’t want to lie and yet . . . Then he had another thought. Did Sextus know that Miriam had been in Capernaum for the two weeks prior to her departure for Rome? Did he know of her interest in Jesus? If so, he obviously had not said anything to Marcus about that either.

  “How could it have been her?” he finally said, as if it was only of passing interest. “Have she and Mordechai returned from Rome?”

  “No, this was not a recent happening. It supposedly took place last summer before she left. Azariah swears it was her.”

  Simeon shrugged. “You’ve been here long enough to know how much it would please Azariah to find a way to embarrass Mordechai and the other Sadducees. I would be very careful about taking his word at face value.”

  “Don’t tell me how to run my affairs,” Marcus snapped. “I am well aware of what needs to happen.”

  Simeon laughed in open amusement. “You Romans! You’re like children playing in a darkened room. You see shadows and strike out at them, but you have no idea of what is real or where the actual danger lies.”

  Before Marcus could respond, Simeon went on. “We have to go. Our men are waiting for us near the Dung Gate.” He looked at Sextus. “We’ll send you a report on what’s happening at least once each week. Are the usual channels still in place?”

  “They are,” Sextus acknowledged.

  Simeon started to turn away, but Marcus fired one last shot. “Don’t dally too long, Ha’keedohn,” he called mockingly. “Pilate would still love to put you on the rack and learn the name of the person who betrayed us that night at the Joknean Pass.”

  Simeon gave him a warm, open smile. “Like I said,” he drawled, “children playing in the darkness.”

  Chapter Notes

  The Passover, along with the Seder meal, is still celebrated by Jews the world over more than three thousand years after Moses led the children of Israel out of Egypt. What is depicted here in this chapter is shortened considerably from the full celebration, which takes a complete evening.

  It is difficult to ascertain exactly how the Passover was celebrated at the time of Christ. There are two reasons for this. First, the traditions and rituals of the Jewish way of life were not written down and codified until many years after the destruction of the temple and the fall of Jerusalem in a.d. 70. How much changed between the time of Christ and when the Law was first systematically recorded about a.d. 200 is all but impossible to determine. In the second place, with the destruction of the temple and the cessation of the priestly sacrifices, the eating of the paschal lamb was no longer possible. That required several adjustments to the Seder meal. Today, it is traditional to place a roasted shank bone of a chicken on the seder plate to symbolize the sacrificial lambs of the past.

  The author drew heavily on a “Passover Haggadah,” or booklet outlining how the feast is celebrated in modern Judaism today (see Regelson, 1–64; see also Jacobs, 81–91). Haggadah means “telling” in Hebrew. However, knowing there were at least some differences at the time Christ was alive, I took the liberty of bringing in items from the biblical account (Exodus 12) that are additions or adjustments to the modern celebration. Thus the rituals described in this chapter are not a precise depiction of a modern Passover meal.

  There is an obvious time difference between Rome and Jerusalem, so having the two families celebrating Passover at the exact same time involves some artistic license.

  Chapter 23

  And a man’s foes shall be they of his own household.

  —Matthew 10:36

  I

  Caesarea 25 April, a.d. 31

  FOR THE EYES OF MORDECHAI BEN UZZIEL ONLY

  Greetings from Marcus Quadratus Didius, Tribune of the X Legion Fretensis. Salutations from myself and his excellency, Governor Pontius Pilatus.

  I write briefly to inform you about the situation here and suggest a course of action you may wish to follow, though I realize it is not my place to counsel you. The matter with Moshe Ya’abin is not yet settled, but I feel assured it will be soon, perhaps even by the time you receive this epistle. Even as I write, Ya’abin is on the defensive, and the governor and I concur that it would be safe for you to return to Judea, though you may have to stay in Caesarea for a time. This would be advantageous not only to you—you could see to your personal affairs here, which I know are a concern to you—but there are also other reasons that would benefit both your country and the government of Rome.

  The Great Council in Jerusalem grows more and more fractious and divided. Caiaphas functions well as high priest, with his father-in-law, Annas, pulling the strings behind the scenes, but your wise and steadying hand is sorely needed if we are to move forward in the directions we discussed before you left for Rome. The Zealot issue is still of great concern to us and needs resolution.

  More pressing, however, is our growing concern about this man named Jesus of Nazareth. At Passover, the throngs around him swelled almost daily. His name was on everyone’s lips. More and more there are rumors circulating about him claiming that he has miraculous powers. Some are even speaking of him as a Messiah. This causes the governor some anxiety. As you know, those leading rebellions against Rome in the past have often claimed to be your Messiah in order to convince the people to follow them. These rebellions were successfully put down, of course, but such outbreaks are always costly.

  At this point, we are staying directly out of the matter because it is still a local concern, but Pilate is not happy with how the Great Council here in Jerusalem is dealing with the challenge. Jesus moves about at will, and your colleagues are so intimidated by his popularity that they do not act in any unified or effective way. Direct intervention is needed to squelch this movement before it gathers greater momentum. Pilate has asked me to express to you that it would be to your advantage and to ours if you could return on the first available sailing. We trust that will meet with your desires as well, for we know that you are eager to return home.

  We realize that it is not our place to interfere in family matters, but Pilate asks that I at least suggest the following to you for your consideration. We feel it would not be wise to bring Miriam back with you at this time. Until Ya’abin is completely destroyed, there would be some risk to her. Also, and I hesitate to mention this at all, but there are some reports that Miriam may have come in contact with Jesus before you left Jerusalem and may even exhibit some sympathy for his cause. Your old nemesis, Azariah, reports that Miriam was present one day when Jesus was teaching and seemed intrigued with him. Do not construe that to mean that we think she is part of that movement, only that she may have some sympathy for it. For that reas
on too, it may be the wiser course to keep her in Rome until we are able to settle the situation here.

  Since returning, I have been kept totally occupied in Jerusalem with the festival and so have not had a chance to formalize a proposal concerning betrothal to your daughter. I hope to have something for you by the time you arrive. My wish, if it concurs with your desires, would be to have things in order here (both with Ya’abin and Jesus of Nazareth) in time for you and me to return to Rome for the festival of Saturnalia (held in late December) and finalize the arrangements for the marriage then. If Miriam wishes, she could then return to Caesarea with me as my wife, or stay in Rome with my family until my assignment here is completed.

  All of this, of course, assumes that this arrangement still meets with your approval. We can discuss this at length upon your return. May the gods speed your voyage. Your influence has been missed.

  Written by the hand of Marcus Quadratus Didius this 25th day of April, in the seven hundred and eighty-seventh year since the founding of Rome.

  Marcus set the quill pen down and blew on the last few lines. He carefully read through what he had written, then nodded in satisfaction. Using the candle and a stick of red wax, he sealed the letter, then called for one of the slaves. A ship was leaving for Rome later in the day, and his letter would be on it.

  II

  In the wilderness of Judea 18 May, a.d. 31

  Moshe Ya’abin’s men were tired. Earlier that day they had attacked what they thought was a small, isolated caravan moving north of Jericho. It had appeared to be an easy but lucrative afternoon. This part of the wilderness of Judea was desolate and bleak, and they badly needed a success. Ya’abin had created a problem for himself. His reputation had become so fearsome in the last several months that few travelers, other than those too poor to fear being robbed, came this way any longer. If they did, they waited at collecting points until they could form caravans too large and well-defended for the Desert Fox to jump. In the month since Passover, their successes had been few and their takings paltry. When word of this caravan reached them, it looked like something from earlier, better days and they swept in eagerly.

  Then, just as they were ripping into the packs on the camels, a shout went up. Half a mile away, coming out of one of the dozens of narrow washes that were characteristic of this part of the country, what looked to be a full century of legionnaires appeared. Ya’abin couldn’t believe it. It was as though they had sprung from the earth. Fortunately, only the officers were mounted, so Ya’abin had easily escaped. But he took nothing with him and they had ridden hard ever since.

  They were fools, these Romans, but they were dogged fools. He knew they would track him until dark, then start again in the morning at first light. So they rode on now, three full hours after darkness had fallen. His goal had been to reach and then cross an area where the soil gave way to huge expanses of hardpan or rocky areas where no tracks would show. They had crossed that area, and in less than a quarter of an hour they would reach a small spring and camp for the night.

  Ya’abin was tired. His body ached from a full twelve hours in the saddle. He was hungry. All of that combined to put him in a very foul mood. What should have been an evening of celebration had once again turned sour.

  “Ya’abin!”

  The voice echoed, bouncing off the steep hillsides.

  He reined in sharply, throwing up his hand. Instantly, he was off his horse and using it as a shield. Behind him he heard his men dismounting and scrambling for cover as well.

  The moon was high in the sky and nearly full again. The landscape was brightly illuminated wherever it shone, but in the canyon there were still deep patches of shadow. Ya’abin scanned the ridge top, then saw a single figure directly above him. He cursed softly. Eliab and Shaul, his second- and third-in-command, darted over to join him.

  “I thought you had scouts out,” Ya’abin hissed.

  “We do,” Eliab shot back. “We’ve got men out to the front and the rear.”

  “Well, where are they?”

  “Ya’abin! I know you can hear me.” The voice floated down to them clearly. “Stay where you are and no one will get hurt.”

  He grabbed Shaul and pulled him close. “Take ten men. Fall back. Keep to the shadows. Circle up and around him.” He nodded and started to move. “Be careful. He won’t be alone.”

  Then, even as Shaul scuttled away, Ya’abin stood, still keeping his horse between him and the figure above him. “Who are you? What do you want?”

  “It’s a mistake to try to send someone up here,” the voice answered, almost amiable now. “Stand as you are. I only wish to talk.”

  Ya’abin heard the soft whir of arrows. Suddenly there was a cry, and something crashed in the bushes behind them. Then another man screamed. Ya’abin dropped to the ground, breathing hard. He heard someone moaning and writhing on the ground.

  “Hold your men, or more will go down,” the voice called. “We already have your six scouts. You can’t afford to lose more.”

  He swung on Eliab. “How many scouts did you have out?”

  There was a quick flick of the tongue, and Ya’abin saw his captain was pale. “Six.”

  There was another cry, and the sound of a body thudding to earth. “Shaul!” Ya’abin screamed. “Stay where you are.” He looked around, assessing their position. Between the deep shadows, the few trees in the bottom of the draw, and dozens of rock outcroppings on the hillside, there were ample places for men to hide. They had walked right into an ambush.

  “What do you want?” he called again.

  “We want you to know what you’re up against. We want you to know that you’re finished. Your days are over.”

  Turning to Eliab, Ya’abin spoke in a low tone. “I know that voice.”

  “Who is it?”

  He shook his head, trying to place it.

  “You can’t win. We know where you are. We know how to find you.” There was an sarcastic laugh. “You need to pay your men more, Old Fox, for they are willing to tell us anything for a half-shekel or two.”

  Eliab shook his head as Ya’abin gave him a scathing look. “I don’t think so,” he said. But his voice didn’t ring with confidence. The last few weeks had been lean ones, and his men often slipped into the villages to find food and other things.

  “What do you want?” Ya’abin said again, the anger making him bolder.

  “We want you to surrender.”

  He laughed raucously. “Come on down and I’ll surrender.”

  “Do you think that Roman column this afternoon was just bad luck?” the voice went on, ignoring the challenge. “We told them where you would be. Unfortunately, you struck the caravan just a little too soon, or they would have had you.”

  “Then the road would be littered with Roman dead right now.”

  “The lion roars,” came the sardonic reply, “but it sounds more like the mew of a kitten.”

  Then he had it. Ya’abin stiffened visibly. “It’s Simeon ben David.”

  Eliab gaped at him, going instantly cold. He still woke up in a sweat remembering that night when someone had shaken him in his sleep and told him he was the Javelin. “But he’s dead!” he exclaimed.

  A rich laugh pealed out above them. “Yes. That’s right. I’ve come back from the dead, Ya’abin. I’m here to pay you for your treachery at the Joknean Pass.”

  Whatever else Moshe Ya’abin might be, he was not stupid. He had already come to the conclusion that Simeon had not been killed as reported. “I don’t believe in ghosts,” he shouted.

  “Nor do I,” came the reply. “Nor do I.”

  The figure on the ridge was suddenly no longer there. Ya’abin stepped out from behind his horse. “Simeon!”

  There was no answer.

  Ya’abin scanned the hillsides, looking for any shadow, any movement. There was nothing. Mind working furiously, he realized that he was still in an extremely vulnerable position. The bowmen who had dropped his men had not fired from the
ridge; that was too far above them. That meant they were nearby and that he was still very much exposed. Yet the Javelin was not cutting him down. Why not?

  He reached for his horse’s reins. “Pass the word, Eliab. Mount up. We’ll ride forward at a trot. Have the men stay close together.”

  He looked up one last time. “Simeon ben David! You can’t frighten me. It isn’t over.”

  From somewhere above him on the moonlit hillside he thought he heard a faint laugh. Other than that, there was nothing but silence.

  III

  Rome 22 May, a.d. 31

  Livia and Miriam were strolling leisurely along the Via Sacra. It had become their daily habit. Each afternoon after the midday meal and the two hours of rest that followed it, Miriam would leave the large apartment where she and her father lived and descend to the street. There she would meet Livia and Drusus and together they would set out.

  It was not a question of sightseeing any longer. After nine months in Rome, they were familiar with every building, every temple, every forum and plaza. It was their time to be alone, to be free to talk about Jesus or their longing to return home or whatever else was in their heart without fear of being overheard by the slaves or Miriam’s father or having to retreat to Livia’s apartment.

  As they approached the Rostra, Drusus raised one hand in farewell. “I’ll be back by suppertime.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Clodia wants to take me to see the Pantheon.”

  Livia started. “But that is a long ways from here. Do you think you can find your way back to our apartment block?”

  He looked at her in disgust. “I’m eighteen, Livia. And I’ve lived in Rome longer than you have.”

  She smiled and touched his hand. “Sorry.” But she was still somewhat nervous. “You have your papers in case you are stopped?”

  He patted his tunic. “I do.”

  With Miriam’s help, Drusus had shed the simple dress of a slave and wore a cotton tunic and well-crafted sandals, so he did not look like a slave any longer. Fortunately, he had never posed the threat of running away, and his master was not one of those who branded all of his slaves, so Drusus carried no overt marks of his former life. But a lifetime of slavery had bred in him an air of subservience. When someone of the upper classes passed, he would automatically step back, bowing his head so he didn’t have to meet their eyes. His behavior was almost as clear a mark as a brand in his forehead or in his hand. Twice he had been stopped and challenged by the city police, and Livia lived in mortal fear that he would be taken and she would lose him again.