Fishers of Men

by Gerald N. Lund

  Chapter 24

  Make haste slowly.

  —Suetonius, Augustus, 25

  I

  In the wilderness of Judea 23 May, a.d. 31

  Water in this part of Israel was not common, but a few springs could be found. The spring near Ya’abin’s hideout was not in a place that lent itself to an ambush, and that was why Ya’abin had chosen it. It was near the base of a long row of hills. To the east, the land was flat and they could see anyone coming a long distance away. Behind the spring, to the west, the hills rose gently; Ya’abin had seven of his men patrolling those hills so that no one could surprise him from that direction. In the meantime, even though it was a hot day and the men were anxious to drink and to water their horses, Ya’abin held them back until he was absolutely sure no one was waiting there.

  He knew that he was getting obsessive, but he would not be surprised again. More importantly, he wanted to find Simeon and his men. The morning after the confrontation in the canyon, they had ridden back to the site of the ambush and started tracking Simeon’s band. Unfortunately, he had used the same trick Ya’abin had. Ya’abin’s men were able to follow him easily—there were somewhere around fifteen to twenty-five horses, Eliab guessed—until they came to that same area where the rocky ground swallowed up any tracks.

  Since then Ya’abin had doubled the guards and had been much more careful about where he camped. The pressure was getting on his nerves, and his temper was short. More critically, it was wearing on his men. Several did not believe that this was an ordinary man who was after them, and their morale was in shambles. At the ambush they had lost nine more men—the six scouts who disappeared without a trace, plus one dead and two more wounded severely enough that they had been taken to Hebron and would likely not be seen again.

  Ya’abin realized that this was part of Simeon’s strategy. He was trying to whittle his enemy down to size. Unfortunately, it was working. Ya’abin was down to little more than sixty men—still a powerful force, but just over half of what there had been a few months before. But he knew what he was facing now.

  Up ahead, at the spring, Eliab was waving his arms, and Ya’abin came back to the present. About a mile farther on, the three forward scouts were waving a small flag, signaling that all was clear. He turned. Above him on the top of the hill, another man waved a similar flag. Ya’abin turned to Eliab. “All right. Let them drink. Ten at a time. First ones done get up on the ridge and relieve the others.”

  Eliab snapped out the commands and ten men dismounted. They led their horses forward. If Eliab had been paying closer attention to his men rather than watching the sentries to make sure nothing changed, he would have seen it sooner. The horses lowered their heads to the water, but then snorted and backed away. Terribly thirsty and tired of waiting, the men were not as careful. They threw themselves down and plunged their faces into the water, gulping deeply. Then their heads came up. There were cries of dismay. One man started to gag.

  Eliab and Ya’abin whirled. Now all ten men were up, faces contorted, bodies doubling over. Two suddenly began to retch. “The water!” one of them gasped. “It’s poisoned!”

  In three leaps, Ya’abin was to the spring. He dropped to one knee, sniffing. There was a faint odor, but he wasn’t sure what it was. He dipped a finger in the water, then touched it to his tongue. He recoiled as though someone had slapped his face.

  “What is it?” Eliab cried, coming to stand beside his leader. The noise of the ten men nearly drowned him out. All of them were twisted and bent. Several had fallen to their knees as violent spasms racked their bodies. The rest of Ya’abin’s men shrank back, staring in horror.

  “Not poison.” Ya’abin stared grimly down at the spring. “It’s spurge.”

  “Spurge!”

  “Yes. My grandmother used to grind up the roots of the plant and give it to us to make us vomit when we were sick. It’s a powerful emetic.” He kicked savagely at the ground, sending dirt flying into the water. And then he began to swear softly and bitterly, frequently bringing in the name of Simeon the Javelin.

  II

  Rome 24 May, a.d. 31

  “Arcadius?”

  “Yes, Mistress Miriam?” Their chief servant looked up, then gave her a faint smile. It struck her as odd that it seemed more sad than happy.

  “I can’t find my father.”

  “He left last night, Mistress Miriam.”

  “But—” She was suddenly bewildered. “He wasn’t supposed to sail until today.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “He didn’t even say good-bye?” she asked, a great sense of desolation sweeping over her. They had not spoken since she had told him about Jesus. He left early and ate alone when he returned. But she had thought he would at least say good-bye.

  “I’m sorry, Mistress Miriam.”

  She tried to think. “He told me that Livia and Drusus—”

  She stopped as he nodded. “They will be moved over this afternoon. Two of the servants are helping them pack their things right now.”

  She started to turn, still half-dazed. “Mistress Miriam?”

  She turned back. “Yes?”

  Arcadius sighed, and it was a sound of pain. “Your father asked that I inform you of several new circumstances.”

  That brought her out of her thoughts. “Such as?”

  He couldn’t meet her eyes. “Things will continue pretty much as before,” he said. “You are free to go anywhere in the city. The same is true of Livia and the lad, Drusus.”

  Miriam suddenly went very still. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

  “You are,” he answered. “Your escorts have been so instructed.”

  “Escorts?”

  “Your father has left instructions that you are to have escorts at all times when you go out.”

  She peered at him, shocked deeply. “I don’t understand.” But she did. It was like someone had just snuffed out a candle inside of her. “Are we under house arrest, Arcadius?”

  “That is a strong term, Mistress Miriam. The escorts’ instructions are that you are free to go anywhere and do anything you wish, within certain limitations.”

  “Limitations such as not leaving the city?” she said woodenly.

  “Except to visit the home of my master, Master Didius.”

  The breath went out of her in a long sound of despair.

  “There’s one other thing.” His voice was filled with compassion.

  Her head came up.

  “Your father said to tell you that you should not try to get access to your funds. Even the accounts in your name in Jerusalem have been frozen. There will be a comfortable living allowance, and I have been instructed to let Master Didius know if you have any special needs.”

  Miriam groped blindly for the nearest bench. She had not worried about how she would pay for passage back to Israel. With what she had taken and invested with her father’s help over the past two or three years, she personally was wealthier than many families in Jerusalem.

  “Your father said to tell you that he and Master Marcus Didius will return before Saturnalia. You can discuss these matters with him then.”

  She rubbed slowly at her eyes, trying to make her mind work again.

  Arcadius started to back away. “I’m sorry, Mistress Miriam. Those were my instructions.”

  “I understand, Arcadius. It’s not your fault.”

  “Thank you.”

  As he started down the hallway, she had another thought. “I will be writing some letters today, Arcadius. Would you find someone who could see to their delivery?”

  Arcadius stopped, not turning. His next words should have surprised her, but she was beyond that now. “I’m sorry, Mistress. The escorts have been strictly instructed. There will be no letters. Not coming in. Not going out.”

  III

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

  The eyes of the shepherd woman were wide with terror, but her husband’s were like flint, unbending, inscrutable. Ev
en as Shaul held a knife to the man’s throat, the shepherd showed no fear. Ya’abin walked around him, peering at the woman and her three children. The boy, about nine, was as defiant as his father. The two girls, both younger, had darted into the dark recesses of the black goatskin tent and had not shown their faces again.

  Ya’abin moved easily, almost lazily, as he eyed the man. Then with the swiftness of a cobra striking, he lunged and caught the little boy. He swung him around to face his father. Finally, Ya’abin saw that he had the man’s attention.

  “We know the man they call Simeon came this way,” he said, looking at the boy but speaking to his father. “We’ve been following their tracks all morning.” He moved forward a step, so the boy’s face was clearly visible to his father. “Now,” Ya’abin went on. “I’m not interested in hurting your son. Just tell me which way they went from here and we’ll be gone.”

  The woman babbled something in their Arabian dialect and finally the man lowered his eyes. “They took the wadi on the south.”

  “Wadi? What is that?”

  “Wadi is our Arabic name for a canyon or wash.”

  “How many and how long ago?”

  The man hesitated, but when Ya’abin tightened his grip on the little boy, he caved in. “About twenty. One hour ago, no more.”

  Ya’abin grunted and let the boy go. He darted to his mother, who gathered him in with a sob of relief. “That’s better. Any Romans around?”

  The man shook his head quickly.

  “We know where you are,” Ya’abin reminded him, his eyes going hard. “If you’re lying, we’ll be back. And this time, there won’t be anything left of the boy, or your wife, or your two little girls for you to worry about. Understand?”

  The man gave a quick nod, even though his eyes were filled with hate. “No, Romans,” the man said. “There was a small patrol three days ago, east of Hebron, but that is all.”

  Eliab looked at his chief. They already knew about that group. The man was telling the truth, at least to that degree.

  Ya’abin turned to his horse. It was as though the shepherd and his family no longer existed. “Mount up,” he called.

  IV

  It was not a surprise that the wandering shepherds had come to this part of the wilderness at this time of year. They were seven or eight miles east of the Dead Sea and a few miles south of Jerusalem. Here the wilderness began to rise toward the central highlands that ran up and down the center of the country. Here the spring rains were always more generous than down in the lowlands. The grass, though little more than ankle high, was thick and mixed with the dead remains of the wildflowers that burst out in the desert in profusion each spring. Even up on the sides of the canyon there was considerable foliage. In the wadi itself, the grass was thicker and mixed in with thick patches of thorn bushes and a few trees. Now that summer had come in full force, everything was dry and brown, but it still provided excellent forage for sheep and goats.

  Ya’abin’s horses were taking advantage of the forage as well, grazing contentedly a few dozen paces below where the band waited for further word from the scouting party.

  Ya’abin had about thirty men with him. They were scattered about beneath the trees just below the place where the wadi turned sharply to the north, narrowing rapidly. The turn was sharp enough that they could not be seen by anyone coming down the canyon until they rounded that bend. Ya’abin’s strategy was simple. Eliab had taken fifteen men and swung around to the south. Shaul took fifteen more and went north. They were not to engage Simeon’s men, but only let themselves be seen.

  In the last two weeks, Ya’abin had finally realized that Simeon was trying hard to avoid a direct confrontation. Stupid fellow. That narrowed one’s choices significantly. To the west, where the wadi finally petered out and joined the highlands, the terrain rose sharply. A man could negotiate those hills, but not on horseback. So the Javelin couldn’t go west, and he could not outrun his flankers. That left only one option if he wasn’t willing to stand and fight. He would have to drop back into the wadi and try to escape the way he had come an hour earlier. And that would bring him right into the arms of Moshe Ya’abin. Ya’abin was already savoring the various possibilities for extracting his revenge.

  “Moshe, look!”

  He turned. Instantly he saw what the man who had called out was seeing. Against the deep blue cloudless sky was a thin trail of smoke. His eyes followed in surprise as it rose higher and higher, then arched slowly and dropped toward them. Ya’abin’s jaw dropped, and he shot to his feet. It was a flaming arrow. Before he could react, he saw three more appear from behind the top of the hill, then four more. All of them arched gracefully, then dropped into the canyon about three hundred paces below them, not far from where the horses grazed. For a moment he stood and stared. The archers weren’t shooting at them. They weren’t even close.

  It was the horses that made him realize what was happening. Their heads came up and they turned to look down the canyon. There was a low nervous whinny from one of them; then they began to stamp the ground and shy back.

  Then Ya’abin saw it. All day long the sun had been heating the air along the shores of the Dead Sea. Down there the temperature was nearing a hundred degrees. In contrast, the spine of the central highlands was almost four thousand feet above the Dead Sea. It was fifteen or twenty degrees cooler there. The difference in temperature was sucking the hot air upward, as it did each afternoon. It wasn’t a strong wind yet, but it was stiff enough. The moment the flaming arrows struck the ground, the wind pushed the flames into the surrounding grass and brush. Billows of gray smoke were already beginning to rise.

  “Fire!” Ya’abin gasped. “Get the horses.” He grabbed his bow and sprinted away.

  They were too late. The smoke was already rolling up the wadi and had reached the animals. Heads high, eyes wild, the horses were no longer milling around. They had started up the canyon to escape the smoke. They were already nervous, eyes rolling as they smelled the fire. To suddenly have thirty screeching men descend on them was not the wisest thing to do. The animals bolted, lunging forward with great leaps to race past their masters.

  Moshe Ya’abin threw up his hands, jumping in front of his stallion. It reared up on its hind legs, pawing the air. He grabbed at the reins. He was quick enough, but not nearly strong enough. He screamed in pain as the full length of the leather straps pulled through his two hands, searing the flesh and leaving no skin behind. The animal came down, nearly knocking him over, then flashed past him and was gone.

  “Run!”

  He wasn’t sure who had shouted it, but all around him men forgot about the horses and started running up the slopes of the canyon. He saw that some hadn’t even bothered to grab their weapons.

  “Not that way you fools!” he bellowed. “Follow me.”

  A few didn’t hear him and continued on, but the rest stumbled to a stop and turned toward their commander. “Come on,” he yelled. “The flames aren’t that high.” To prove his point, he threw an arm across his face and started running down the canyon. The smoke was thick, but he could easily see where the flames were. He chose a place where the fire was only knee high, took a deep breath and leaped over it. He ran on for another few steps, stamping hard in the smoking grass. In seconds, he reached the spot where the burning arrows protruded from the ground and stepped onto grass that wasn’t burned.

  He bent over, choking and coughing and wiping at his eyes. “Come on!” he shouted again. “It’s all right. You can make it.”

  V

  Near Bethany 4 June, a.d. 31

  Simeon finished writing and set the quill pen down. He read quickly, then picked up the paper and blew on it. Yehuda, Barak, Samuel, and Issachar watched him in silence. Satisfied that the ink was dry, he folded it once and handed it to Issachar. “Make sure you wait for an answer.”

  “Sextus is going to want to send for the tribune,” Yehuda said. “That could take another week, especially if he brings in more forces.”<
br />
  Simeon shrugged. “Ya’abin will probably still be looking for his horses.” Then, smiling faintly at Issachar, he said again, “Wait for their answer.”

  Barak grinned. “One of the shepherd boys told me that Ya’abin has offered them one shekel for each horse they help them find.” The smile spread to his eyes. “The boy said his father wants to know how long you think that will take them to do that.”

  Simeon smiled too. These wandering people who lived a life of simplicity and freedom had turned out to be loyal allies. “Tell them I would be surprised if those horses could be found in less than three or four days.”

  Barak nodded and backed out of the simple tent.

  Samuel spoke up now. “Are you sure you want both me and Issachar to go? If Ya’abin finds you before we get back, you’re going to need every hand you’ve got.”

  “He’s not going to find us until we’re ready for him to find us,” Simeon said easily. “No, I need two of you to go—if something delays you, one of you can come back and let us know what’s going on.”

  Issachar put the letter inside his tunic. “Anything else?”

  Simeon shook his head. The two men went out, leaving Yehuda and Simeon alone. Yehuda moved over and took a rough, homemade stool the shepherd had let them borrow. “So,” he said, “the time has finally come.”

  “Yes.”

  “I owe you an apology.”

  Simeon’s eyes lifted. “For what?”

  “For thinking you were crazy. That you had no heart.”

  Simeon was pleased to see there was no begrudging in his friend’s eyes. “So you think it will work?” Simeon asked.

  “When I was little, my father had a saying that I still remember.”

  “What was that?”

  “‘Do not stoke a furnace for your foe that is so hot that it consumes you as well.’”