The Daggerman

by Glenn Starkey

  The noon day sun had reached its zenith in a cloudless sky. People crowded her narrow street, coming and going from the shops and markets, but shepherds taking their herds to sale only added to the congestion. Her home had once been far outside of Caesarea’s realm, yet with Herod the Great’s endless construction of pagan temples, an amphitheater, the massive hippodrome for chariot races, and opulent buildings to entertain the constant influx of Gentiles, her neighborhood now laid within the city’s boundaries. Those boundaries were always extending, though, as the need arose for more land to build Roman styled palatial estates.

  Herod loved the Romans, although, they treated him with inconsequence, merely as another conquered ruler of a conquered land. Jews thought him to be more Roman than Idumean the way he constantly catered to them and their hedonistic ways. He’d built Caesarea Maritima and its major port to honor Caesar Augustus and win favor by making the Mediterranean seaside community a playland for the Romans and other Gentiles—and he had succeeded. Foreigners came in droves by caravans and ships, and over half of the city’s population was believed to be Gentile. Yet with a detachment of legionnaires from Caesar’s Legio X Fretensis garrisoned in the city, the Romans’ love of slaves, wine shops and decadent parties their masters loved to host, also came a flourishing flesh trade. Though, mostly out of sight in alleys and particular business districts, brothels prospered by fulfilling Roman needs.

  Herod’s passion for exorbitant construction projects throughout his realm had added ‘The Great’ to his name. In Jerusalem he had built more palaces for himself, a sprawling hippodrome, and an amphitheater for gladiatorial contests which the Jews detested. But as a conciliatory gesture to his Jewish subjects, he was expanding Jerusalem’s second temple and sparing no expense in the project. The first holy temple, Solomon’s Temple, had been destroyed by the Babylonian general Nebuchadnezzar II five-hundred-ninety-one years earlier.

  “Elisha, come here, my dear,” Johanna called out, waving a hand to the girl of twelve walking across the dirt street.

  The short, slender youth ran to her, holding onto her shawl to keep it from slipping from her head. Her cute face beamed as she smiled, and her big, wide, light brown eyes shined like polished jewels. Elisha wrapped her arms about the grandmotherly woman, hugged her affectionately then stepped back.

  “Would you watch over Hanan while I go to the market? I shouldn’t be long. When I return, I’ll have you go bring us more goat’s milk from your father’s herd. Would a shekel for watching over the baby and the milk be enough for your help?” Johanna asked. Her eyebrows rose, head canting with innocence. Several days before, she had explained the baby’s presence to Elisha as the orphaned child of a family relation who had fallen upon misfortune.

  Nodding eagerly, the young girl entered Johanna’s home, removed the shawl from her head and took a seat by Hanan’s cradle. She rocked it slowly and cooed to the infant. He smiled at Elisha and her own warm smile grew.

  “I won’t be long, only enough to buy what Hanan and I need. After I return, we’ll get the goat’s milk and you can feed him if you wish.” The mid-wife was already wrapping her long scarf about her head and neck as she spoke. Brushing the front of her tunic and robe a last time, she paused at the door and glanced back at Hanan playfully squeezing Elisha’s finger.

  ***

  Little breeze flowed through the dusty, overcrowded market. The air was stifling and held a stench of musty bodies, animal manure, produce, and acrid textile dyes. Bleating sheep and a constant din of people’s chatter mingled with the merchants standing at their awning covered stalls, crying out for passersby to inspect their wares for the best prices in all of Caesarea. Shawl draped women with baskets in hand haggled with vendors over the outrageous food prices while slaves in all manners of dress squeezed melons and examined other produce to purchase the best for their Gentile masters. Children raced in play through the crowds, attempting to steal fruit where ever possible, and pick the pockets of the unsuspecting.

  “Tell me again, Akiba, why I should buy inferior dates and figs from you rather than the fresh ones at Simon’s stall down the street,” Johanna said, feigning dislike for the merchant’s produce on display.

  The leathery-faced Syrian, several years younger than Johanna, eyed her carefully as he leaned back, crossing muscled arms over a brawny chest. He raised a hand and slowly stroked his long, thick beard as he considered her words. His brows edged downward, almost forming a solid line across his forehead.

  “How can a woman of such beauty like you have such a viperous tongue? You know well that my fruits come from distant lands and I select only the best for patrons as yourself. May Ishtar grant you wisdom and compassion to allow me to serve you,” the Syrian said, a fragment of a smile breaking on his lips. He humbly bowed then rose with a roguish gleam in his eyes.

  Johanna smiled and lightly shook her head. “Oh, look who now has a serpent’s tongue. You invoke your goddess of love for reasons more than selling me fruit!” She laughed and winked at her friend. They’d had an on and off amorous relationship for years which suited them for neither wanted marriage, only to share an occasional night’s companionship upon soft blankets.

  The merchant watched as she carefully chose an assortment of fruits and set them aside to purchase.

  “I see that your appetite has increased—or has another man taken my place in your heart?” Akiba said, lightly laughing as he placed the fruits in her shoulder bag.

  Handing him a coin, her expression grew stolid, then she leaned forward.

  “I now have a baby to raise. A boy-child born only a few weeks ago...” Johanna felt relief at being able to talk to Akiba about Hanan. Her friend of many years would hold his tongue and safeguard her secrets as he always had. But after she finished telling him all, especially about Abaddon, instead of nodding his head in understanding, his face grew ashen and he nervously glanced about them.

  “Is the newborn the one Herod searches for? The child born under the star?” Akiba asked, visibly shaken.

  “Herod? King Herod? What would he want with the child?” Johanna asked in a whispering voice.

  “You haven’t heard about the massacre of the innocents in Bethlehem? It was only a few days ago when he sent soldiers to Bethlehem to slaughter every male child under the age of two. They were searching for a child born under the sign of the star that everyone saw in the heavens.”

  Covering her mouth with a hand, the mid-wife stood shocked at the news. Her eyes narrowed as if a harsh pain raced through her. At last she garnered the courage to speak.

  “How many were killed?”

  Akiba shrugged his shoulders and frowned. “There are people that say less than twenty, yet others speak of greater numbers. Soldiers ran them through with swords and left them to die in the streets. Someone overheard a soldier saying that Herod believed one may be the ‘King of the Jews’—marked by birth under a glorious star to replace him.”

  Johanna’s gaze drifted across the marketplace as she stood deep in thought. Then the star was a true ill omen? Abaddon had reeked of evil and his words of finding Hanan when the time was right had made no sense...but was the child destined to replace the king? Her thoughts rambled and grew more confusing. She glanced at Akiba and found him staring at her with a puzzled look upon his face.

  “Do you believe the soldiers will come here in search of the child?” she asked her old friend in a strained voice.

  The Syrian shook his head. “If they were, they would have already been here. I doubt if Herod would risk upsetting his Roman masters with such a spectacle of bloodshed because his butchers might mistakenly kill a child of the Gentiles.”

  Tightening her grip on her shoulder bag, she forced a smile. “I had better be getting home. I have much to think about concerning Hanan.”

  Akiba reached out and laid his right hand upon hers, squeezing lightly.

  “Keep the b
oy out of sight for another two weeks then if Herod’s soldiers do not arrive here in Caesarea, all may be well for him. The king may believe the child he sought is now among Bethlehem’s dead.”

  “Thank you,” she said in a gentle voice. “I trust your counsel.” A warm smile appeared on her lips as she turned to leave.

  “If I learn more, I can always come by your house late one night so we may talk.” Mischief painted the Syrian’s dark eyes.

  “My door is always open to you, but having the newborn there means you cannot stay. The way you snore in the early morning hours would only frighten him.” She smiled and waved goodbye.

  The Syrian watched her leave. He plucked a fig from his produce and held it ready to eat. “By Ishtar, she can bake my bread in her oven any day,” he whispered, grinning as he bit into the fruit.

  Chapter Three

  6 A.D.

  Nazareth, District of Galilee

  The setting sun painted the horizon with a fine orange, reddish tint leaving the dim light of dusk to spread gray and black shadows along Nazareth’s dirt roads and between houses. Josef stood in his open-sided carpenter’s shop, stretching his weary back from having remained bent over too long, sanding the roughhewn wood of a table, his latest project. He saw Miriam wave from the door of their stone walled home. Dinner was prepared. Acknowledging with a nod, he cleaned his work area.

  “Time to halt for the day, son. Your mother calls us to dinner.” He brushed sawdust from his robe. “Put your tools away. We must wash before we eat.”

  Josef started toward the large water bowls on a bench by their home’s front door. He glanced at Yeshua and watched his nine-year-old son lay a small maul and chisel in their kept locations on a shelf.

  The dark-haired, willowy boy dusted his tunic and raced after him to walk side by side to the washbowls. Shaking his sore right arm, Yeshua remained silent but Josef had seen the movement and laughed.

  “Swinging a maul and chiseling boards all day will build your strength. A sharp mind requires a strong body.” The father smiled. “To be a master carpenter requires full knowledge of wood and masonry so you may find employment wherever you travel when you are older.”

  “Will I ever be as good as you, Father?” the boy asked, tilting his head back to look up with wonder in his deep brown eyes.

  “No,” Josef replied kindly, his expression growing solemn. Ruffling his son’s thick hair, he grinned. “You will be better than I ever was.”

  Hearing their approach, Miriam walked out of the house and met them at the wash bowls.

  Josef lightly kissed her forehead, glanced at their son, and carried his gaze back to his wife. “Someone told me today that Antipas is rebuilding the town of Sepphoris, a few miles north of Nazareth. It’s to be his first capital since taking over the rulership from his father, Herod the Great. Tomorrow I will take Yeshua with me to see if they are hiring carpenters. I’m sure the wages are good, and the experience will benefit our son.”

  “You’ve done well for us all these years since we returned from Egypt,” she said, tenderly smiling as she touched her husband’s arm. “I remember how worried you were when Elohim’s messenger told you to bring us to Nazareth. You were so nervous about finding enough work here but now you have more than you can handle.”

  Reaching out, he gently patted his wife’s lightly bulging stomach and proudly smiled. “Yes, it’s difficult to forget those days. I’m still nervous about taking care of my family, especially since we will have more mouths to feed.”

  Turning to his mother, Yeshua grinned. “I think James would be a good name for my brother.”

  The sun had set and black blanketed the land. Only the oil lamps shining from within their home broke the night. Josef washed his face and hands then looked at his son.

  “And how did you come upon that name? Or know you will have a brother?”

  “I don’t know. I may have heard it while talking with my Father.” The boy spoke casually as he walked past them into their home.

  Josef remained still. He gazed at Miriam with sadness in his eyes. Josef knew he wasn’t Yeshua’s father by blood relation, yet he had always attempted to be a true father to the boy. But though Yeshua loved him as if he were, the boy called Elohim ‘my Father’ and Josef ‘father’ in a tone of voice that always left Josef with a sense of dejection.

  ***

  6 A.D.

  Caesarea Maritima, District of Samaria

  The two men sat among the upper classed patrons of the city beneath the wide scarlet blue and crimson awning of Aharon’s wine shop. They sipped fine Damascus wine from polished marble cups kept only for the more affluent and ate honey flavored figs while enjoying a reprieve from the broiling mid-afternoon sun. Though it was late spring, the oven heat of summer was already being felt.

  From their vantage point they watched Caesarea’s international cast of people walk by in all manners of dress and listened to the variety of languages spoken. The wine shop sat on the edge of the largest marketplace in the city. Like every day, Roman bureaucrats were among Aharon’s regulars, discussing their losses at the hippodrome’s chariot races and complaining about the lack of quality slaves to serve them.

  Micah ben Netzer leaned back in his chair and casually adjusted the folds of his dark blue robe. He was taller than most men, lean in frame with a deeper tan than normal from his extensive travels. Black, collar-length hair flowed back over his head and matched his well-trimmed beard and black pearl eyes. Mindlessly tracing the rim of his wine cup with a fingertip, he watched the sea of passersby, studying their mannerisms with amusement.

  At twenty-seven years of age he was known as one of the shrewdest and most wealthy merchants throughout the land, a station inherited from his father, a merchant with trade contracts in surrounding countries and across the Mediterranean Sea. But the inheritance hadn’t been a gift. Micah had labored many a long day at his father’s side since youth, learning the art of commerce and negotiations. Now, with his father in failing health and unable to travel, Micah ruled the family’s trading empire with the help of his father’s aide and bodyguard, Yosef ben Hagkol.

  They were an odd pairing in appearance, yet both had the cunning minds of wolves and eyes as sharp as eagles. While Micah’s handsome features and smooth-talking ways easily won over women’s hearts, Yosef’s barreled chest, shorter height, and bearded, rough face with thick, wild brows made women back away at first glance. But they were a worthy team and Yosef’s ten years of senior age provided mature counsel to the often overly ardent younger man.

  A bellowing belch made Micah turn. He glanced across two tables to see an obese Roman administrator dressed in stylish robes wipe his mouth with the back of a hand. Shaking his head in disdain, Micah turned to Yosef.

  “Have our people strayed so far from the Laws of Moses that Elohim punishes us by letting these dogs govern our lands? Their pagan ways and increasing taxation will be the ruin of our country if we do not take action,” Micah whispered, cold rage in his eyes. “I tell you, they are our enemy.”

  “Yet you go to their feasts, break bread with them, and mount their wives like a rutting ram. Is that the action you speak of?” Yosef’s right brow rose as he benignly grinned. He drank his wine and held the empty cup aloft for the shopkeeper’s servant girl to fill.

  “You well know why I go,” Micah said with a tinge of anger. He straightened in his chair. “If it were not for my gold and connections abroad, the Romans would have nothing to do with me. They believe they are using me to achieve their goals of political expansion and commerce for their emperor, all while I use them to gain knowledge of how to defeat them—and make a profit.”

  Micah paused when the servant approached to refill Yosef’s cup. No sooner had the girl left than the merchant renewed his talk.

  “I do not enter their homes because doing so would make me unclean. They hold their f
easts on wide patios out of doors, and I remain outside when they later enter the homes for what they call the evening’s entertainment,” he said, nodding in confirmation. “My discussions with them are about trade to further my father’s businesses...but laying with their wives—if you can call them wives because they care nothing about the sanctity of their marriages—affords me valuable information about the secret plans their husbands are making with Caesar to control us.”

  “And this valuable information you learn from them... How can we best use it against them? Go to the Sanhedrin? Only a fool trusts the Temple priests. They’ve grown as corrupt as the Gentiles, feeding off of our people by pocketing portions of their money offerings. And why do you think they want unblemished sheep? Because they take most of the sheep sacrifices home for their families to eat.” Yosef swung his hands through the air as he shook his head in contempt.

  “We strike them all—the Romans, the Sanhedrin, and any Jew who sympathizes with them.” Micah spoke with such a casual air that it made Yosef pause in his drinking. He waited for Yosef’s shock to pass then continued.

  “Surely, other than Judas of Gamala and his Zealots, we are not the only men troubled by this Roman occupation, their taxations, and the corruption within the priesthood. It was an insult to our people to be ruled by Herod the Great, an appointed ‘King of the Jews’, when he was only an Idumaean convert to Judaism with no Jewish blood in him! His sons are no better. The squabbles of Archelaus and Antipas made Caesar Augustus divide the kingdom. He gave the tetrarchy of Judea to Archelaus and Galilee to Antipas. But now that the Romans govern Judea, Archelaus has been pushed from power.” Micah paused to let his anger settle. He tapped a finger several times against the table and spoke again.