Fishers of Men

by Gerald N. Lund

  “I know.” She smiled, and this time it was full and genuine. “She knew you would. She always talked about Ezra coming, but it was you she expected.”

  “And then I acted like a complete dolt.”

  She laughed loudly, switching to Latin. “But you can always repent of that, can’t you?”

  Simeon glanced up and saw that the bald man was almost on them. He stood quickly, pretending nervousness. “Well, I must be going, Livia. This was a pleasant surprise to see you here.”

  “And for me as well.”

  Simeon looked sorrowful. “I am so sorry to hear that both of your parents are gone.”

  Livia only nodded, grateful to see the big man respond to that. They were talking about tragic things. That would explain Simeon’s gravity. She felt a load lift from her shoulders. Simeon was quick, very quick. It was going to be all right.

  Her guard stopped, close enough to hear, but his face relaxed somewhat. Simeon made as if to extend his hand toward her, then shot the guard a frightened look, and drew it back quickly. “Sorry,” he murmured.

  The man scowled at him, then turned to Livia. “I think your mistress is going to wonder why you are taking so long with the shopping.”

  Simeon was all formality now. “I’m off to Sicilia tomorrow. I’m in the wheat trade. If I am ever back in Rome, perhaps we could meet again.”

  “Perhaps,” Livia said. “Farewell, Diomedes. It was good to see you after so long a time.”

  He smiled at her words. “May good fortune watch over us both until we meet again.”

  Chapter 29

  Withhold not good from them to whom it is due, when it is in the power of thine hand to do it.

  —Proverbs 3:27

  I

  Rome 27 September, a.d. 31

  In the two hours Livia had been gone, Miriam’s mood had gone from anger to self-condemnation to desolation. The moment Livia returned from shopping, Miriam began to berate herself again.

  “I’m sorry for being such a fool, Livia. It was stupid of me to get angry.”

  Drusus glowered at Miriam from the far corner of the room, where he was once again sketching something on his slate. “I can’t believe you told him we don’t need any help. We can’t even walk down the street without our two shadows peering down our necks.”

  “That’s enough, Drusus.”

  “No,” Miriam said. “He’s right.” Then the anger flared again. “But he was so infuriating.”

  “From what you told me,” Livia suggested, “it sounds like Simeon was a little frustrated too.”

  “Are you taking his side in this?” Miriam demanded, rounding on her friend.

  “No. But when Simeon told you that Marcus had told him that you and he were betrothed, you didn’t say anything. Why shouldn’t Simeon suppose that was true? They’ve not heard anything from us since your first letter, which was almost eight months ago.” She hesitated, but decided some things needed to be said. “At that point, if you remember, even I was starting to wonder if you were falling in love with Marcus.”

  “I know,” she said, instantly desolate once again. “I should never have written to them about how much I liked Rome.”

  Livia sat on a stool facing Miriam. Now she leaned forward, very serious. “Miriam, I think that what Simeon did last night was wrong. He jumped to unwarranted conclusions; he questioned your integrity; he accused you falsely; and he didn’t take time to listen to you.” There was a fleeting smile. “And if I get a chance to see him, I will tell him all of that to his face.”

  “But?” Miriam said, looking up.

  She shrugged.

  “No,” Miriam said more forcefully, “I heard a ‘but’ in there. Go on, say it. I was too quick to react. I let my temper get the better of me. My pride was hurt and I lashed back at him without thinking.” Her eyes dropped again. “And now I’ve sent them away when we need help so desperately.”

  Livia leaned back a little. “I would have to agree with all of that except for your last statement. I don’t think you sent them away.”

  “He won’t come back, Livia. He asked me directly if I was going to marry Marcus, and I didn’t tell him no. If he thinks I’m getting married, there’s no reason for him and Ezra to stay.”

  “Tell me, Miriam,” Livia said gently. “What was it that Simeon did last night that hurt you the most?”

  A little surprised by the question, Miriam thought for a moment. “He said I had turned my back on Jesus and the covenants I had made with him.”

  “Is that the only thing?”

  She looked down at her hands, shaking her head. “He actually believed that I could ever marry Marcus.”

  “And why does that hurt so much?”

  “Because it’s not true!” she cried.

  “So he misjudged you.”

  “Yes!”

  “And that hurts. It makes you angry.”

  Miriam blew out her breath in frustration. “All right, Livia. What are you getting at?”

  “Do you really believe Simeon will just turn around and leave again?”

  That set her back a little. “Well, I—After what I said, yes, I guess I do. He was pretty angry too.”

  “And what if you are misjudging him? Then doesn’t he have the right to be hurt and angry as well?”

  For a long moment, Miriam searched the face of this woman who was now the closest friend she had in the world. “I really don’t like it when you are like that.”

  Livia’s eyebrows raised. “Like what?”

  “Absolutely right.”

  Drusus had set aside his sketching and was following the interchange very closely. “So you think they will be back?” he said eagerly.

  “I do,” Livia replied. Then she went on quickly. “But we can’t act differently in any way. We have to go on as though nothing has happened. We’ll go out every day as usual, but we can’t be peering into every face that approaches us or look in every doorway we pass to see if they might be there. Simeon and Ezra know we’re guarded now. That means they can’t simply walk in and invite us to leave with them.”

  “Maybe they’ll come down from the roof again.” Drusus’ eyes were shining with excitement. “We could all go out the same way. We could get past our escorts.”

  “Drusus,” Livia said, trying not to smile. “It could be many days before anything happens. So don’t be searching the rooftops every time we go out.”

  He looked disgusted. “I’m not a child anymore, Livia.”

  “You really think they’ll come?” Miriam asked softly.

  “I do. You still don’t understand what happened last night, do you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why do you think Simeon reacted the way he did?”

  “Because he’s a stubborn, hardheaded fool!”

  “A stubborn, hardheaded, jealous fool,” Livia corrected her.

  Miriam’s expression registered momentary astonishment.

  “But then, perhaps that is just as well, because he’s dealing with a stubborn, hardheaded woman.” Then Livia’s eyes softened. “A woman who wants very desperately for this man to understand that she could never consider marrying a man by the name of Marcus Quadratus Didius.”

  II

  30 September, a.d. 31

  They had returned to the Roman Forum; the crowds were thickening quickly. Drusus was a few steps ahead of them, carrying both slates beneath one arm. As they passed the Rostra, where the orators were already gathering, he dropped back. “Where do you want to study today?” he asked.

  Miriam shrugged. The cold days had gone again, and they were back in the pleasant fall weather for which Rome was renowned. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

  “Let’s go up on the Palatine Hill,” Livia suggested. “There’s that place you like up there. It’s usually quiet.”

  “Fine.”

  Drusus led out again as they threaded their way through the throngs. The return of good weather seemed to have brought everyone out on t
his day. They had come to conduct business with the government or worship the various gods or pontificate on philosophy and ethics or sell their wares or simply walk around gawking, dazzled by the splendor and opulence that lay at every hand.

  Miriam glanced back. Cain and Abel were there, close enough to remind them of their presence, but not enough to be too intrusive. For one wild moment, Miriam was tempted to break and run, dart into a side street, or duck into one of the temples, just to see what they would do. But she pushed the urge aside. She knew where the feeling came from. Three days had passed since Simeon had stepped out of her bedroom doorway. Nothing had happened in that time. Not even the slightest hint that he and Ezra were still in Rome. In spite of Livia’s warning, every time they were out Miriam’s eyes scanned the faces of the crowd. Each day that passed chipped away at her confidence. Livia had been so sure they were coming. Well, Livia just might be wrong. Her heart heavy, Miriam was once again turning her mind to how they might escape on their own.

  The bleakness she felt was even more of a prison than their constricted existence. Whether it was because she had withdrawn into herself, or because her former Roman friends were aware of the restrictions her father had set up, Miriam’s social interaction had fallen off to nothing in the last few months. The women who had once frequently visited no longer came. If she saw them on the streets, they were still cordial, but their friendship now seemed strained to Miriam.

  Each day, they rose in the morning, had breakfast together, and read for an hour or two; then they went out for half a day to study or walk or anything else that helped pass the time. Every third day, usually while they were out, Arcadius, the slave the Didius family had assigned to them, came in and thoroughly cleaned the apartment. When they returned late in the afternoon, they spent the rest of the day reading, talking or, for Miriam, writing her feelings on papyrus sheets so she would have a record of these dreary days. Any charm and excitement she felt for Rome had long since vanished. It had become a prison, a stockade, a tomb.

  She realized with a start that Livia was watching her curiously. She forced a smile. “I’m all right. Just wallowing in self-pity again.”

  They moved slowly along the Via Sacra, and the crowd thickened even more. As they passed by the temple of Divus Romulus, approaching the point where they would turn off for the Palatine Hill, one of the many street hawkers veered directly in front of them. He was an old man who carried a basket of candles in front of him. His tunic was filthy. His hands and face were smeared with dirt. Beneath a ragged hood, his hair was a rat’s nest of matted, greasy black. In the midst of the stubble of whiskers Miriam saw a dark gap where one tooth was missing. The only thing that seemed at all normal about him were the light brown eyes, which were both alert and intelligent.

  “Candles, m’lady?” he cried, stepping directly in front of her. A whiff of something that smelled suspiciously like dead dog assaulted her nostrils. Then she realized it was the odor of animal tallow used in candlemaking.

  “No, thank you.” She averted her eyes and stepped around him.

  “Excellent quality,” he cawed, falling in behind her. His voice was high and warbled, as though coming from a dried reed. Livia moved closer to Miriam to prevent him from pushing in between them.

  “No,” Miriam said, more firmly. “Not today.”

  “Not even for Hanukkah?” the man asked.

  Miriam stopped dead and turned. “Hanukkah?”

  A smile split the dirty lips, and she saw that what she thought was a missing tooth was actually only a blackened tooth. “Aye, m’lady. You know about Hanukkah then?”

  She did, but she was astounded to find someone in the Roman Forum who also knew of the holiday.

  Drusus moved closer to look in the basket. Wrinkling his nose at the smell of the man, he looked at Miriam. “What’s Ha—Hanna—?”

  “Hanukkah,” Livia answered. “It’s a Jewish holiday.”

  Miriam was still staring at the man in disbelief. There was something about him. . . . “It’s a holiday that celebrates our independence from Greek tyranny,” she explained to Drusus, still peering at the man.

  The man turned his head away to look at Drusus. “Aye,” he said in a rough voice, “and it requires candles to celebrate it.”

  They had stopped in the middle of the Sacred Way, and the crowds were swirling around them. Several people shot angry looks in their direction. “Get out of the way,” an older man in an expensive toga snarled at them. Another man pulling a small cart bumped roughly into Miriam and swore at her.

  “Perhaps we should move over there,” the vendor suggested, gesturing toward the side of the busy thoroughfare. He took her elbow and started forward.

  Miriam jerked her arm free. She had looked into his basket and had seen only cheap household candles. “These aren’t Hanukkah candles,” she said sharply, wanting to be done with him.

  “Aye, m’lady,” the man answered with another quick grin. His voice had suddenly lost its reedy, nasal quality. “But if you celebrate Hanukkah in Capernaum, that won’t be a problem, will it?”

  Miriam gasped, gaping at him. The man reached out and took her arm again, pulling her forward gently. “Don’t stop, Miriam!” he commanded, his voice low and urgent.

  “Simeon?”

  “Keep walking!” he hissed. “Your escorts are watching you.”

  “You came back!” Livia exclaimed.

  Still moving, keeping his head down, Simeon chuckled at Miriam’s expression. “I know this is asking a lot, but try to look natural. You too, Livia. You can’t let them suspect there’s anything unusual happening.” He squeezed Miriam’s arm gently. “I’m very sorry about the other night.”

  They reached the side of the nearest building, and Simeon lowered the basket to the ground. He knelt beside it, speaking quickly to the three of them. “Listen carefully. Do exactly what I say.”

  Miriam couldn’t have spoken if she wanted to. The shock was giving way to joy and immense relief, and she felt a little light-headed.

  “Move around in front of me, Miriam,” Simeon commanded. “Pretend you are examining my wares. Don’t look directly at the men, but tell me, are there only two men guarding you this morning?”

  “Yes.”

  Simeon picked up a candle and stood again, holding it up for Miriam to see. “Hold this up to the light and pretend to study it.” When she did so, he went on. “I know the bald man. Is the shorter man in the dark tunic the other guard?”

  “Yes,” she murmured. “Those are the two.”

  “Good.” Simeon half turned, lifted one hand, and scratched his nose. Miriam realized that it was a signal of some kind. Then he looked back at her. “Take a look at another,” he suggested, handing her a second candle.

  Tears sprang to her eyes as she obeyed. “You came back,” she whispered.

  “Yes, but if you could hold off punching me in the nose until we get this worked through, I would appreciate it.” He looked at Drusus. “This must be your brother, Livia. The resemblance is strong.”

  “Yes. This is Drusus.”

  Simeon smiled at the young man. “I’d shake hands, but now is not the time.” He turned back to Miriam. “Good. I’m glad you are all three together.” He became deadly serious. “Is there anything at your apartment that you absolutely cannot leave behind?”

  Miriam gave him a sharp look.

  “We can go back there if we must, but it will make it much more difficult if we do. It will be safer if we can leave from here right now.”

  “Now?” Livia said. “What about clothes and food and—?”

  “We have some money hidden there,” Miriam added.

  He brushed that aside. “We’ll take care of all that. Your two friends are starting to look suspicious. Think! Do you have to go back there?”

  Simeon picked up another of the candles and thrust it at Drusus as the three of them looked at each other. Miriam handed her candle back to Simeon and picked up another. “This is too much m
oney!” she exclaimed loudly. “And the quality is poor.” Then her voice dropped again as she looked at Livia and Drusus. “Can we, Livia? Can we just leave?”

  Livia turned to her brother, who was already bobbing his head. “There’s nothing there that matters to me,” he said.

  Livia looked at Miriam. “We can go easily. You’re the one with the most things.”

  That was true. Miriam and her father had brought numerous trunks filled with Miriam’s clothing, books, and the personal items needed for an extended stay. But instantly she knew that none of that mattered. She turned back to Simeon, her heart soaring. “Tell us what you want us to do.”

  Pleased, Simeon turned and again his hand came up and scratched at his nose. Even as he did, he spoke to the three of them. “Be ready. The moment I say go, we’re going to duck between those buildings. Just stay with me.”

  III

  Ezra started moving the moment he saw Simeon scratch his nose again. It was just in time. The two men he was following had started to drift slowly toward where Miriam and the others stood. He cut directly in front of them, then stopped, blocking their way. The bald man started to step around him, but Ezra confronted him, placing himself so that the man had to turn his head away from Miriam and the others to speak with him. “Excuse me, sir,” he said in halting, heavily accented Latin. “Where is the House of Vestal Virgins?”

  The man gave him a sharp look, then ignored him. He tried to thrust his way past Ezra but again found his way blocked. “I speak very poor Latin,” Ezra said apologetically. He withdrew a leather pouch and shook it. Coins rattled distinctly. “I wish to make donation to famous priestesses of Vesta—”

  “Ask someone else, fool!” the man snarled. He put an arm against Ezra’s chest, prepared to shove him aside. Suddenly his eyes narrowed. “Wait! Aren’t you the one who came to the apartment the other day?”

  Ezra was not as tall as the older guard, but he was solidly built and a lifetime of making sandals had left him with powerful arms. He grabbed the man by the wrist. “Help! Help!” he screamed. “This man steals my money!”

  Many in the crowd turned toward them. Common thieves were plentiful in Rome, and there was considerable resentment against them. Instantly people started moving in toward them, dark scowls on their faces. Ezra felt someone grab at his arm. He turned to see the man in the dark tunic. “We don’t want your money. Get out of here.”