Fishers of Men

by Gerald N. Lund

  At one point, he wondered if he could still feel any love for Miriam after all she had done to him. But the answer came almost instantly. She was still his daughter, his only child. In actuality, the proof of his love was his growing determination to do whatever was required to save her from herself. And this time he wouldn’t leave it in the hands of others.

  There was a soft knock on the door. Mordechai looked up. “Yes.”

  Levi opened the door, and a man stepped inside. “This is Gedaliah of Motzah,” Levi said. “The man you wanted.” Then he shut the door behind him, leaving the two men alone.

  Mordechai stood. “Did my servant tell you what it is I need?”

  “Something in the Galilee, he says, carried out with the greatest of discretion.”

  “The greatest.” Mordechai eyed the man carefully, taking his measure. “I need you to find out about a person. A woman. This could require you to be away from home for some time. Perhaps a month. Maybe more.”

  Gedaliah shrugged. “I am engaged in a project for another week. I could leave immediately thereafter. Would that be too late?”

  Mordechai continued to look him up and down for a long moment. “Haste in this matter will only work to our detriment.” He motioned to a chair. “Sit down.”

  Chapter Notes

  The information on the Great Sanhedrin in Jerusalem, including its organization and how it functioned under the Romans, is drawn from several sources (Hastings, pp. 827–28; Fallows, 3:1522–23; Buttrick, 4:214–18).

  Chapter 2

  My son, hear the instruction of thy father, and forsake not the law of thy mother: For they shall be an ornament of grace unto thy head, and chains about thy neck.

  —Proverbs 1:8–9

  I

  Capernaum 9 November, a.d. 31

  David ben Joseph, the leading merchant of Capernaum, closed the heavy books, sat back, and put his hands behind his head. “Done,” he said.

  Deborah nodded. “Good.” She paused. “And?” She had spent a lot of time entering and tallying various records, but the summary, the grand total of everything, her husband always did himself.

  He stood and went to her, putting an arm around her. “It was a good year. As Malachi the prophet promised, the Lord has opened the windows of heaven in our behalf.”

  “As always,” she said with an answering smile.

  “The three gold talents we gave Simeon to give to Pilate took a hefty bite from our profits, of course, but even considering that, we did well. Very well.”

  “Shall we pay our tithes tomorrow then?”

  “Yes. It shouldn’t take long to calculate them now.”

  “And what about something extra for Ephraim?”

  “Of course.” He looked out the door and into the warehouse. They couldn’t see Ephraim at the moment, but they could hear him in a far corner, helping unload casks filled with olives that had come in a few hours before.

  “Good. He has become as much a partner as a son, hasn’t he.”

  David nodded thoughtfully. “I could turn the whole thing over to him and not worry about it for a moment.”

  “And Leah?”

  His eyes instantly softened at the thought of his only daughter. “Yes, of course. We shall add generously to her dowry.” Pleasure filled his eyes. “She is so quick. Last week I showed her how to calculate the volume of olive oil in those huge clay jars. She asked one, maybe two questions, and then she had it.”

  “Life has been good to us, David.” She leaned her head against him. The best thing that had ever happened to her was standing right there beside her. How had she, the bitter, orphaned daughter of a Zealot leader, ever come to marry such a gentle, good, and prosperous man? Deborah’s father had been a leader in the rebellion that swept the Galilee thirty years before when the Romans tried to increase taxes. Her father, uncle, and several other family members had been caught and crucified. She, her mother, and her younger brother, Aaron, had fled to the hills. Before the winter was over, her mother had died of consumption. Left at fifteen to care for Aaron, Deborah had become a passionate supporter of the Zealot cause and a virulent enemy of all that was Roman. Then, less than a year later, David had somehow found her.

  She looked up at him. He had turned forty-seven in the spring, two years older than she was. Those years were starting to show. His beard, short and carefully trimmed, was dark, but there was now gray around his temples. At the corner of his blue eyes, the lines were obvious. Good, she thought. They matched her own.

  He looked down at her. “What are you thinking?”

  He was a full hand-span taller than she was. She touched his cheek with her hand and went up on tiptoe. “Thank you,” she whispered, and kissed him.

  He looked surprised.

  “Thank you for these last thirty years.”

  He smiled and kissed her back. “The best decision I ever made,” he said. “I was thinking about that the other—”

  A soft banging sound cut him off. They turned toward the door of the office. The sound had definitely come from the warehouse, but from somewhere in the back, not where Ephraim and his crew were working.

  David cocked his head slightly. “That almost sounded like someone was—”

  It came again, perhaps a little louder than before.

  “—knocking.” He gave Deborah a quick look, then started for the door. She followed him.

  “Did you hear that?” It was Ephraim. He was coming down the main aisle of the warehouse toward them.

  “It sounded like it came from the back door,” David said, turning in that direction.

  The back wall of their main warehouse in Capernaum butted up against the city wall. When the warehouse had been constructed, there had been a small, little-used gate through that wall. David had framed the opening and placed a heavy metal door in it, thinking they might have use for it from time to time. He might have saved himself the trouble. The door opened onto a footpath that was rarely used. In a year or two, undergrowth had covered that portion of the wall and all but obscured the gate. In fact, the only one who ever used it was . . .

  Deborah had passed him, having broken into a half-run. “Simeon!”

  Bam! Bam! Bam! This time the sound was loud, insistent.

  “Coming!” David shouted. He and Ephraim hurried to keep up with Deborah.

  Mother, father, and son came to a halt in front of the door, each a little breathless. David gave his wife one last quick look, then stepped forward and lifted the heavy bar. The metal hinges screeched softly in protest as he pulled the door open.

  It was late afternoon and, though in shadow from the undergrowth, the doorway was clearly illuminated. Deborah took one look, gave a squeal of joy, and launched herself through the doorway. “Simeon!”

  II

  “Leah! Leah!”

  The cry brought Leah up sharply. She, along with several other young women from the village, were at the edge of the sea doing the week’s washing. She stood as Joseph, her youngest brother who was eleven, came flying recklessly toward her.

  She felt a sudden jab of fear. “What?”

  He threw up his arms in a gesture of triumph. “Simeon’s back!” he shouted.

  She leaped to her feet. “Really? Does he have Miriam?”

  Joseph motioned vigorously for her to follow. “Of course. Come! Come quickly.”

  III

  In the small living quarters above the shop of Ezra the Sandalmaker, Lilly hummed softly to herself as she cleaned up after her simple midday meal. As she passed the small crib beside the table, she stopped, marveling once again at the miracle that lay before her. Little Miriam was asleep after nursing greedily half an hour before. She lay on her back, one hand across her chest, the other above her head, her long dark lashes softly touching her cheeks. Her chest rose and fell slightly as she breathed.

  Lilly’s eyes softened as she thought back to the day of her baptism, now almost a year and a half ago. Jesus had startled her when he gripped her hand in greet
ing. “I understand you are as Sarah and Hannah of old,” he said. Then with a soft smile he had added, “Eventually, both received the wish of their hearts.” Though her heart had leaped within her, she had not dared hope that he was telling her that her barrenness, like that of these two great women of old, would be taken away. But wonder of wonders, a few months later she began to sense a change in her body, a change she had never before experienced.

  She felt tears well up behind her eyelids at the memory of the moment when she knew what those changes meant. She bowed her head and closed her eyes, offering once again a brief but profound prayer of thanks.

  A noise brought her head up sharply. Her eyes flew open as she swung around. A narrow set of stairs at the back of the sandal shop provided access to their living quarters. Ezra had built a door at the bottom of those stairs to close them off from the shop. The leather hinges had a peculiar squeak to them whenever the door opened. It was her way of knowing when Ezra was on his way up.

  But Ezra was gone. The sandal shop had been closed for over two months.

  She heard the soft sound of sandals on stone. She could distinguish his step from every other. One hand flew to her mouth. “Ezra!” She reached the door just as it swung open.

  Ezra stepped inside, smiling tiredly. “Shalom, Lilly.”

  IV

  Ephraim, oldest son of David and Deborah, burst into the small courtyard at the front of his home. The gate slammed back against the wall with a sharp crack.

  His firstborn was seated on a step near the house, playing with a doll. Esther gave a low cry and jumped, startled. “Papa!” Then she gave him a stern look. “You frightened me!”

  Ephraim moved swiftly across to her. “I’m sorry, Esther. Where’s Mama?”

  Boaz stepped out of the shadows of an archway. “Mama is in garden, Papa.” Boaz was three now, and starting to talk quite clearly.

  “Has she got the baby with her?”

  Esther shook her head. “Amasa is asleep, Papa. Me and Boaz are listening for him.”

  Ephraim nodded, not surprised. Their son, born just two weeks before Lilly’s little girl, was barely over three months old. There were only two things Amasa cared about: eating and sleeping. If the first was taken care of, the second happened automatically. “Esther, I’ll get the baby. You go get Mama.” As she stood, he stepped to her and took her by the shoulders, bending down to look into her eyes. “Uncle Simeon’s home, Esther. They just got back.”

  The dark eyes widened, first with shock, then with exultation. “Really!” The doll slipped from her hands, totally forgotten.

  “Yes, and he has Miriam and Livia. They’re safe.”

  Boaz trotted over. “Livie?” he exclaimed.

  Ephraim laughed and swept him up in his arms. “Yes, Livia is here too. Come. Let’s go get Mama and the baby. We’re all going to meet at Grandma and Grandpa’s house.”

  V

  It was a joyous reunion that evening in the home of David ben Joseph. It was a clear night, but cool, with a brisk wind coming down off the Galilean highlands. It was cool enough that they met inside the house rather than staying out in the courtyard.

  Only the immediate family were there, along with Ezra and Lilly. There would be time later for inviting friends and neighbors to welcome the travelers home. The two new mothers, Rachel and Lilly, nursed their babies and put them to bed, making everyone promise not to start the story until they returned. Esther and Boaz, with the wonderful adaptability of children, had already accepted the fact that Simeon was back, and Miriam and Livia with him. Sensing an extended period of grown-up talk, they went to a back room where they could play quietly and not disturb the adults. They invited Joseph to join them, but he would have none of it. Simeon was a hero to his youngest brother, and there was obviously a tale of adventure to be told.

  They gave no thought to food. Not until everyone had heard the report. They placed the four travelers—Simeon, Ezra, Miriam, and Livia—in a row, then sat around them in a half circle.

  “All right,” David said, once everyone was settled, “start at the beginning. Tell us everything.”

  VI

  When the final detail of the journey had been completed and the final question asked, everyone finally seemed to relax.

  “There is no question but what the Lord went with you, Son,” Deborah said to Simeon. And then to Miriam: “We are so sorry that your father has taken such a harsh stance. I can’t believe he would make you a virtual prisoner in your own house.”

  Miriam just nodded. She couldn’t bring herself to talk about it further. It was far too painful.

  “I thought you’d have to fight with the guards,” Joseph said, clearly disappointed. He had been hoping for an account of swordplay, open battles, and daring escape. Dressing up as an old candle vendor hardly stirred his imagination.

  Simeon reached out, sensing that the disappointment in his youngest brother was real and not to be made light of. “Actually, Joseph, if we had attacked the guards something might have gone wrong, and we would have risked Miriam and Livia and Drusus getting free.”

  “You didn’t tell us how you found Drusus,” Leah said. “What happened?”

  “Well,” Miriam answered, “believe it or not, it was Marcus who found him and purchased his freedom. That was still when he thought he was going to marry me.” She blushed a little. “Of course, I knew nothing about all of that.”

  Simeon pulled a face at the thought of Marcus. “Jesus told us to love our enemies. I guess what Marcus did for Drusus makes that a little easier to do.”

  “But where is he then?” Leah persisted.

  Livia’s face fell. “As you may remember, I am originally from Macedonia. I—”

  “I thought you were from Alexandria,” Joseph butted in.

  She smiled. “I was in Egypt when Miriam’s father purchased me from the slave markets—that’s why everyone has called me Livia of Alexandria—but I grew up in Macedonia. Anyway, when we reached Athens, Drusus decided he wanted to stay. Being Greek, he felt like he had come home at last.” She sighed. “I tried to tell him how wonderful it would be down here, that he would grow to love it, but I couldn’t convince him.”

  “He’s known little else besides slavery,” Miriam added. “I tried to teach him some Aramaic so he could adjust to life here more quickly, but Athens was just too much for him to resist. There was a man at one of the inns where we stayed who was looking for an apprentice in the building trades. That was all it took. Drusus agreed immediately when the man made the offer.” She didn’t have to say how much that had hurt Livia. It showed on her face even now, several weeks after brother and sister had been forced to part again.

  Livia forced a wan smile and looked at Leah. “Actually, I was hoping he would come so that he could get to know you, Leah. He is so gentle in spirit and sensitive, just as you are. I think you would have become great friends. And, of course, I really wanted him to meet and come to know Jesus.”

  “Perhaps in the future,” Simeon said. “If the apprenticeship doesn’t work out, we told him to write and let us know.”

  The room fell silent, each person lost in private thought. A sense of gratitude rested on all of them. Finally, Deborah stirred. “I’ll bet you’re famished. When did you last eat?”

  Simeon quickly raised a hand. “Mother. There’s one more thing before we finish.”

  She settled back. “What is it?”

  “I—” He took a breath, glancing quickly at Miriam, who had gone very still. As he looked at her, he had to stop. At this moment, with her face radiant as she waited expectantly, she was more beautiful than he could ever remember. Her dark hair, still tousled from a day on the trail, now fell partway down her back. Her dark eyes shone with happiness. Her skin was bronzed by a month on the road. It made him a little dizzy to think how close he had come to losing her.

  He turned and looked at his mother. “Well, we have something to tell you and father.”

  Deborah leaned forward
. Her eyes flitted back and forth between her son and Miriam, seeing the looks passing between them.

  “Go on,” Ezra grinned, nudging Simeon. “You can do it.”

  Simeon stood and, to the surprise of his parents, Ephraim, and Leah, moved over to stand beside Miriam, laying a hand on her shoulder. She looked up, smiled, then took Simeon’s hand.

  Deborah’s eyes widened perceptibly. Leah drew in a quick breath, staring at them both. Rachel’s and Lilly’s eyes were riveted on them too. David leaned forward, as intent on the pair as was his wife. Joseph, sensing that he was missing something, looked puzzled.

  “Well,” Simeon continued, “after the terrible blunder I made with Miriam that first night in Rome, I knew I had to do something to show that I was truly sorry for being such a fool. I thought of every possibility, but—” He stopped again, smiling down at Miriam.

  “But he found the perfect way,” Miriam said, her eyes shining.

  Simeon drew his shoulders back, and he looked directly at his mother, then at his father. “I told Miriam that if she would forgive me, I would spend the rest of my life trying to make her happy.”

  Leah leaped to her feet, clapping her hands together. “You’re betrothed?”

  “Well,” Simeon drawled, barely suppressing a grin himself, “not formally, but Miriam agreed that if Mother and Father approved, that’s our next step.”

  “When?” Leah squealed.

  They looked at each other, but Simeon shook his head when Miriam indicated he should answer. “No, you tell them.”

  She gave a sigh of deep happiness. “Well, in Rome I met this foul-smelling old man trying to sell me some Hanukkah candles. I immediately fell in love with him, so we decided it would only be fitting if we were betrothed the day before Hanukkah begins.” Her face grew suddenly anxious. “If you don’t think that is too soon. That’s less than a month away.”

  “Too soon?” Deborah wanted to tip her head back and shout. “How could there be a more wonderful time for a betrothal than Hanukkah?”

  VII