Through the gates, out in the Court of the Gentiles, Yehuda saw people running everywhere.The flanking group of soldiers had moved to the south. He turned the other way. No one stood at the north gates. Here the battle had emptied the courtyard. There was no one in sight. Hobbling painfully, Yehuda made his way to the nearest opening and peered around the post. Still no one. He waited a moment, then looked again. Another man raced past him, weaponless and likewise bloodied. He bounded out the gates, taking the steps three at a time. Yehuda heard a sharp snapping sound, and an arrow bounced away, barely missing the running figure. The man ducked behind the Wall of Partition, then ran hard toward the west.
Yehuda looked up. The archers were still on the wall. That was bad. And then he stiffened, barely aware of the pain that shot through him. Four figures had suddenly appeared, coming out of the gate to the Antonia Fortress. They were running hard, headed for the columned porches. They were fifty, maybe seventy-five paces away, but they were in full sunlight, and he recognized them instantly. In the lead was David, sword up. Next came Ephraim. Then his breath caught. A sob of joy was torn from deep within him. Ephraim was holding Livia’s hand, helping her along. Her long blond hair bounced wildly as she ran. Simeon was right behind them. In a legionnaire’s uniform, of all things. How strange.
“Livia!” It was a hoarse cry, barely heard above the roar of battle. He leaned heavily against the post, closing his eyes. “Lord God of Hosts,” he whispered, “he did it. Simeon did it. Thank you.”
He considered stepping out and shouting at them, but the archers were still there. They were looking for stragglers in the battle and not straight down, and he didn’t want to call anyone’s attention to the escaping figures. As he watched, they disappeared into the shadows of the portico. He closed his eyes. They were clear. “Thank you,” he breathed again.
As he debated what to do next, suddenly Yehuda’s legs refused to obey him. He felt them buckle and tried to catch himself. His left hand left a bloody smear on the flawless marble post. It took him a moment to realize he was sitting, his back against the post. The world in front of his eyes was swimming, making him dizzy. He sat there for a moment, looking surprised, trying to figure out what had just happened.
Very slowly, he toppled sideways. He uttered one last soft moan of pain, and then he lay still.
Chapter Notes
There is an intriguing, little-noticed reference in Luke, which serves as the basis for the events in this chapter. Luke wrote: “There were present at that season some that told him [Jesus] of the Galileans, whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices” (Luke 13:1). No further detail is given by Luke.
The contemporary historian Josephus gives two accounts in his history of the Jewish people of major political blunders Pilate committed as governor of Judea, both of which were discussed earlier. The first was when he marched his soldiers into Jerusalem carrying the Roman standards. The second was when he tried to take money from the temple treasury to finance the building of an aqueduct (see notes for chapter 10).
Since neither of these seems to fit the description given by Luke, most scholars believe this is yet another incident, not included by Josephus. The fact that it was only Galileans who were killed suggests a more limited clash. The comment that Pilate mingled their blood with the sacrifices implies that somehow the Romans breached the soreg, or Wall of Partition, and entered the inner precincts of the temple where the altar of sacrifice was located. As governor, Pilate would get the credit (or blame) for whatever his soldiers did, whether he was present in Jerusalem or not.
Adam Clarke suggested that the incident mentioned by Luke probably happened during one of the festivals and somehow involved the Zealot movement, which was centered in the Galilee and was considered a threat by Rome. “The Galileans were the most seditious people in the land: they belonged properly to Herod’s jurisdiction; but, as they kept the great feasts at Jerusalem, they probably, by their tumultuous behavior at some one of them, gave Pilate . . . a pretext to fall upon and slay many of them” (Clarke, 3:446–47).
It was from this supposition that the author created the motive for the battle and the resulting ambush.
Chapter 16
The time cometh, that whosoever killeth you will think that he doeth God service.
—John 16:2
I
Jerusalem, Upper City 16 October, a.d. 32
Marcus Quadratus Didius sat on the bench, still covered by the dark robe that hid his uniform. He pushed back the hood and let it fall across his shoulders. He had kept that hood pulled tightly around his face on his journey from the Antonia Fortress. Though it was dark and late at night, the last thing he could afford was to have someone recognize who was visiting the home of Mordechai ben Uzziel.
Mordechai was raging, something that Marcus had fully expected, and so he simply hunkered down to let it pass.
“What were you thinking?” Mordechai demanded.
“I was thinking of saving my life and the lives of my men,” he said evenly.
Mordechai shuddered. “Your men went into the Court of the Women and the Court of Israel?”
“Yes!” he snapped. “Just be grateful none of the Galileans went into the temple proper, because I would have followed them.”
“You go too far, Marcus,” Mordechai whispered. “You don’t know what you have done.”
“I know that Gehazi of Sepphoris and Yohanan the Blind, along with two or three other major Zealot leaders, are dead. So is Yehuda of Beth Neelah. I know that I have Elihu of Gadara, Jonah of Chorazin, Jesus Barabbas, and twenty-three more Zealots in chains. We have decimated the Zealot forces. More than a hundred are dead.”
Marcus threw up his hands, thoroughly disgusted. “What? Did you think these men would just stand there and let us slap manacles on their hands when we came out after them?”
“The whole council is baying like a pack of wolves. It is an outrage. Far worse than anything else your stupid governor has done.”
Marcus’s head came up sharply. “He is still the governor,” he said tightly. “Watch yourself, Mordechai.”
The Sadducee slammed a fist against the marble table that he was standing behind. “You breached the soreg! You took men of war into the inner courts. Blood was shed. Human blood. Did you order that? Are you the one responsible?”
“I am.”
“The emperor himself has validated our right to keep our temple unpolluted. The penalty for crossing that line is death.”
Marcus stood slowly, his face feeling hot. “I lost eleven men in the Court of the Women alone. Three more in the Court of Israel. Twenty-two fell in the outer courts. I’d say you have your death penalty more than thirty times over.”
Mordechai barely heard him. “I’m told that you yourself went into the inner courts.”
“I did,” Marcus replied coldly. “Are you going to bring me before your council and condemn me to death?” Then he exploded. “My men were dying! It was your people who took the battle inside the temple. They were getting away. You expect me to honor some ridiculous invisible barrier and do nothing in those circumstances?”
Mordechai threw up his hands. “You could have called for us. Stayed outside the soreg. We would have brought them out to you.”
“Your council is a bunch of old brood hens,” Marcus retorted in disgust. “They couldn’t drive a cat out of the house, let alone five hundred Galileans from the temple.” Marcus was growing angrier with every word. “Our purpose was to go after the Zealots. We did that.”
Mordechai stopped his pacing, for the first time remembering that the man he had been railing at was the second most powerful man in the province. He blanched a little at the thought, but he was so incensed he couldn’t bring himself to calm down. “And what of Jesus? I am told he wasn’t even there.”
The tribune shook his head and sat down again. “I think he left the city. When word went out that we had arrested the Greek girl, things were immediately out of our hands. We h
ad to take whoever that brought in. It’s not like we could send for Jesus and say, ‘Would you mind coming up to the Temple Mount? We’re planning to kill some Galileans.’”
Mordechai snorted in disgust. “All of that, and we didn’t get the one man we were after.”
“You were after,” Marcus shot back. “As far as I’m concerned, we were successful. It will take years before the Zealots recover from this.”
“Successful?” Mordechai cried. “You made a blood bath in the temple. You didn’t tell me that was your plan.” He sat down heavily, his chest rising and falling.
Marcus didn’t say anything. Let the old fool rage. Pilate would be pleased. Marcus had accomplished what he had been ordered to do.
“I am facing the most intense battle in the council I have ever seen,” the Sadducee said, more subdued. “Our people are shocked more deeply than you can imagine. They are outraged. I personally am under severe criticism for moving the temple guards out to the gates. If it comes out that I did that at your request and helped you desecrate our temple, I’m finished, Marcus. It could topple our whole government.”
Marcus sighed, realizing that for all his anger, Mordechai was right. “No one is going to know.”
“The council is talking about drafting a letter to Caesar.”
Marcus straightened.
“I’ll try to deflect it, but I’ve never seen them this angry. They want to ask the emperor to remove Pilate.”
“That would not be a wise move,” Marcus said slowly.
“Really?” Mordechai shot back. “I’ll tell them that. I’m sure that will change their minds.”
Marcus got to his feet, his eyes like cold steel, his face hard. “I must go. There is still much to do before we start back to Caesarea.”
“Just like that?” Mordechai demanded. “Haven’t you forgotten something?”
Marcus looked away. He hadn’t forgotten it, but he had hoped Mordechai wouldn’t bring it up. He should have known better.
“There is one name you didn’t mention. Or did you feel it was not my affair?”
Marcus met the other’s challenging gaze. “Simeon ben David was the first man arrested. I took him myself.”
“So why didn’t I hear his name among the dead and the captured?”
So he had heard. He was hoping that word of Simeon’s escape would not get out for another day or two, long enough for Marcus to be gone. “I left him in bonds and went to take command of the battle. Somehow he overpowered his guard and escaped.”
“Just like that.” It was a sneer of absolute contempt.
Marcus’s lips were pressed into a tight line. “Yes, just like that. And he went into the prison and freed Livia.”
“You think I care about her?” Mordechai shouted. “You promised me Jesus. You promised me you would also take Simeon down in all of this.”
“I did take him. The man who allowed him to escape now lies in a cell, his back a bloody mass of flesh. Along with those who let Livia escape.”
“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”
Marcus stood again. He was done with this. “If you need a reason to worry, O wise and powerful member of the Great Sanhedrin, you’d better stop worrying about people finding out about why you transferred those guards. You’d better worry about your son-in-law finding out your part in all of this. Yehuda was Simeon’s best friend. His newly made widow is your daughter’s best friend.”
It gave him great satisfaction to see Mordechai’s face. Good. He had understood exactly what Marcus meant by that. “If a letter should be sent to Caesar,” he went on softly, “there will be a full investigation. You never know what might come out in a full investigation.” He felt like laughing aloud as Mordechai turned a chalky color. “Or who might come to know about it.”
He pulled the hood up and over his head. “Don’t bother seeing me out. I know the way.”
II
Outside Jerusalem, the Mount of Olives
As the first shovelful of dirt fell with a soft thump on the stiff form wrapped in linen, Livia cried out in intense pain. Simeon held out his arms, and Livia turned and buried her face against his chest. She sagged against him, her body wracked by one shudder after another as the men continued to shovel the dirt into the grave.
Shana had begun sobbing too. Samuel stood beside her. He put an arm around her shoulder, his eyes filled with pain. Leah, who was standing back with her parents, also moved up to comfort her friend. The left side of Samuel’s head was swathed in bandages, and there was an ugly red gash down his cheek.
Fortunately, Shana’s husband had fallen beneath the first wave of Romans. Seeing the blood, they had passed over him, in anxious pursuit of those still standing. When Samuel regained consciousness a few minutes later, the battle was raging inside the temple courts. Seeing the carnage all around him, he knew that there was nothing he could do. He hobbled away, passing out the Golden Gate to safety.
That was the only bright spot in a black day. Including Samuel and Yehuda, fifteen men from the village of Beth Neelah had answered Yehuda’s call for help. Eight, counting Yehuda, had not been as fortunate as Samuel. There would be a long period of mourning in the highlands of the Galilee.
As the men patted the rounded mound with their shovels, Livia bit back the tears. She stepped back and looked at Miriam and Simeon. “If only he could have known that I got away.” Her lip started to tremble, and she knew she couldn’t go further down that path. She forced a wan smile. “Who would have thought that he would be buried here on the Mount of Olives? Not him, certainly. Now he will come forth in the resurrection before I will.” (It was a common belief among the Jews that those privileged to have their final resting place on the Mount of Olives would be the first to come forth in the resurrection when the Messiah came.)
“No one deserves a place here more than Yehuda,” Miriam said. Simeon, still struggling with the knot in his own throat, could only nod.
“But he wanted to be buried at Beth Neelah,” she said. “He even showed me the spot on the hillside where his grave should be.” Her face crumpled. “Oh, Simeon,” she whispered, “what am I going to do?”
“You’re going to come live with us,” Miriam said. “When the baby comes, we’ll be there.”
“And we will always be there to support and help you,” Deborah said, coming forward to stand beside them.
To their surprise, Livia shook her head.
“Why not?” Miriam asked in surprise.
“Yehuda would want me to go back to the vineyard. It was his life.”
“But—” Simeon wasn’t really surprised to hear her resolve, but it still set him back. “Livia, I know how you feel, but the vineyard takes a man. You can’t possibly take care of it by yourself.”
“She has a man.”
They turned as Samuel stepped forward. “Livia belongs to Beth Neelah. We will take care of her.”
“Samuel—” Simeon started.
But the man whirled on him, eyes blazing. “That tribune knew full well Livia was a free woman. He knew it! But he didn’t care.”
“I know,” Simeon said quietly.
“No!” Samuel said fiercely. “You don’t know! You joined us yesterday, Simeon, and we are grateful for that. We are grateful that you were able to get Livia away from them. It was the old Simeon we used to know. But you are not one of us anymore. We did nothing wrong. This was all a ploy to draw our people into an ambush. And now a payment will be made.”
Shana came forward to stand beside her husband. She brushed the tears away with the back of her hand. “And they will pay,” she said bitterly. “They will pay dearly for what they have done. I have lost every single member of my family to those Roman pigs. My father, my mother, Daniel. And now Yehuda.”
“This is not the answer,” Simeon said.
She jerked away. “You’ve made your choice,” she said. “Don’t try to make ours.”
Livia started to shake her head, her face twisting. “I d
o not want to be part of revenge.”
“No one is asking you to,” Samuel said gently, “but you are one of us now. Beth Neelah is your home, and you will be safe there. You are right, Livia. This is what Yehuda would want you to do. Raise him a son who can take his father’s land and keep it in the family.”
She stood looking at him, her lips quivering, then finally nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. She turned to Miriam and Simeon. “I owe that to Yehuda.”
Chapter 17
Anyone can stop a man’s life, but no one his death; a thousand doors open on to it.
—Seneca, Phoenissae, 152
I
Beth Neelah, in the Upper Galilee 8 March, 33 a.d.
Samuel of Beth Neelah, like most of the men of his village, was a husbandman. He owned a sizeable vineyard, which had been in his family for five generations. His great-great-grandfather had purchased the land from a man who had used the hills as grazing land for his sheep. His great-grandfather, as a young lad, had cleared the land and piled the rocks into the walls that still separated his vineyards from the others of the village. Samuel’s grandfather had spent his whole life pruning and dunging the vines and turning the grapes into wine. It was during his lifetime that the Romans came and things began to change. Samuel’s father, and then Samuel himself, added a second occupation to that of husbandman. They took up the sword in the cause of the Zealots. Now Samuel had a son—the sixth generation. What lay in store for him? Would more than a hundred years of tradition carry on, or would the cause that inspired such passion in them change everything?
Five generations of stability, but no one could predict what the future held for the sixth.
Samuel was the oldest of two sons and three daughters borne and nurtured by his parents. He was twenty-eight years old. His sisters were all married and lived with their husbands—one in Nazareth, one in Sepphoris, and one still in Beth Neelah. His only brother, the youngest in the family, had married before Samuel; he and his wife and daughter lived in a small stone house just west of Samuel’s and helped him tend to the vineyard.
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