The Daggerman

by Glenn Starkey

  The light in the room had grown dim as the oil lamps burned down. Only the one by his desk still glowed bright. He gazed at the innocence of her comely face and the glistening in her dark eyes. The wavering flames of the lamps made the bluish streak in her raven-black hair faintly dance. He couldn’t help but notice the contour of her body, and where small mounds once had been, now full breasts filled her tunic. They had laid together many nights, yet never spoken of love or a future together. He knew that was his fault. She suspected what he was, what he did, yet never asked. They were content with their lives on the estate, away from the outside world of troubles. He knew neither of them wanted it to change and so they allowed each day to come and go. But it was about to change, and for that he felt ridden with guilt.

  “I’ll leave you alone. I only wanted to see if you were hungry before I went to bed.”

  He thanked her, but she stood a moment longer as if something weighed upon her mind. Waiting, he nodded to her, yet she remained silent and left.

  ***

  Only one oil lamp remained burning. He blew its flickering flame out and left his office. At his room he closed its door behind him, tossed his clothes aside and made his way through the dark to his mat. Ruth lay waiting for him.

  ***

  The last few hours had been filled with a passion she’d never known from Hanan. He’d been tender and loving yet within the blink of an eye, became a wild animal, devouring her as if it were their last night together. Little talk had passed between them. She sensed something was wrong, as if he were afraid to speak and let slip a secret. But she kept a secret as well, and each time she was about to share it, they became impassioned again.

  While Hanan slept, she stared at the ceiling. The faint light of dawn had begun to fill the room. She wondered if she should tell him before she returned to her room and David.

  No, I’ll tell him tomorrow that I am with child, she thought.

  ***

  Two hours after sunrise Hanan walked into the cooking room. Everyone had broken their fast and his plate of meat strips, assorted fruits, and a bowl of lentil soup sat on the table. They were all in the room, waiting, worried over the morose mood he’d been in last night. But they grew more concerned at the sight of him wearing traveling clothes and carrying a shoulder pouch and water bag.

  “Where is David?” he asked, glancing about as he set the water bag on the stone floor.

  “On the veranda reading,” Ruth replied. “He told us you wanted him to do his lessons while you were gone. Are you leaving us?”

  Laying his shoulder pouch on the table, he ate several pieces of meat and withdrew a folded document from the pouch. It was sealed and bore his name stamp. After eating a date, he looked at his servants.

  “I must go to Jericho. If I’m not back in thirty days, everyone must abandon this house. Our country is no longer safe. War is coming and it would be best for you to move to one of the Jewish colonies in Crete. If I return, we will all go together.”

  “Crete?” Ruth stood stunned.

  Elizabeth leaned forward on her cane, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide staring at Hanan. Her husband, Benjamin, blinked several times and reached out to steady himself on a chair.

  Once the shock wore off, all three showered Hanan with questions. He waited several seconds before raising a hand to silence them and kept his voice calm when he spoke.

  “I can’t explain everything. There are madmen presently planning to force the Romans into war. It may be this year, next year or ten years from now, but it’s coming. When it does, the Romans will have no mercy for any Jew, man, woman or child, throughout the country.” Hanan gazed at them and hoped his words would sink into their minds.

  “In my room, beneath the floor where my sleeping mat has been, is a stone that covers a hole. Move the stone and you will find forty bags of silver. Take one bag and split its coins amongst the men of the watchtowers. They’ve been loyal for many years and deserve it. As for the remainder of the money, take some silver to carry with you for expenses but disguise the rest in your personal belongings. Don’t let anyone know you have that much silver. There are men who will kill you for a single coin.”

  He paused, scanned their faces and continued. “Keep this document safe. When you leave here, go north to Tyre and buy passage to Crete. In Tyre find the Greek money-changer named Lycus. The man will help you find a ship. He deals only with wealthy clients and has kept my money in investments for years.” Hanan slid the sealed document across the table to Ruth. “Give him this. It’s written in Greek, but it says that half of my money goes to David ben Netzer and the other half to you, my wife. I know David isn’t my son, and we are not married, but tell Lycus we are. Elizabeth and Benjamin are to live with you until their end of days, so care for them as I always have. You are all my family, and no one is to want for anything.”

  Ruth covered her face with her hands and wept. Reaching out, Elizabeth rubbed Ruth’s shoulders as she tried to steady herself on the cane. Benjamin still sat in his chair, stunned and blinking his eyes.

  “David and I can’t go without you,” Ruth said, trying to talk as she cried. She rushed to him, pressing herself to his chest. “Crete is too far. You would never find us if you came later. We’ll go to Tyre. I’ll have this man Lycus find us a safe home. When you come he will know where we are.”

  The elderly couple nodded in unison. “Benjamin and I might be able to make it to Tyre, but we would surely die on such a long voyage to Crete. Let us go to Tyre as Ruth suggests,” Elizabeth said.

  Exasperated, Hanan rubbed a hand over his face as he stared at the floor. He needed them out of the country. If they thought the journey to Crete was too perilous for them, at least Tyre would be clear of the coming war to some degree. Jerusalem would be the main focus of the conflict.

  “Very well, go to Tyre. With the money Lycus is holding for me, it will buy your safety and allow you to live well.” Hanan pulled Ruth away from him to look into her eyes. “Promise me that David will be educated. Let Lycus safeguard the boy’s money. The Greek has a network of money-changers that will carry on his business even if he dies. Don’t worry. Micah and Yosef trusted him, and he has done well for me all of these years, so you may trust him.”

  Ruth tried to speak but her crying stopped her. She hugged him again and managed to speak. “Come with us now. We can all leave together.”

  Hanan lovingly held her head. “A man is making plans that will draw the wrath of the Roman empire down on everyone. I can’t let that happen.” He wrapped his arms about her and lightly squeezed. “As long as I know each of you are safe, I can do what is needed. When I return, we will be married.”

  She cried harder, shoulders shaking from her sobs. Hanan bent and kissed her cheek.

  “I’ve come to love you and David. Take care of him and tell him I said goodbye. One day he will be a fine man.”

  Ruth grabbed his neck with both of her hands and pulled his face to hers. She kissed him as if it would be the last time then slowly broke away. “May our God, Elohim, protect you and return you safely to us.”

  Hanan remained silent. He thought it best not to tell her that Elohim didn’t care what happened to him. Instead, he nodded, retrieved his shoulder pouch and water bag, and left.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Simcha stood leaning against the wall of the wine shop, glancing from one end of the street to the other. He saw Hanan and waited for his arrival before walking to a table. Uriah had seen Simcha waiting, believed Hanan would soon be along, and had wine and cups ready for them.

  “When does Menahem intend to strike En Gedi?”

  “If he has enough men, I’ve heard two or three weeks. It will be a nighttime strike to create the most confusion.”

  The Sicarii leader sat holding his wine cup as he stared at the table in thought. Simcha shifted in his chair, nervous at Hanan’s sile
nce. The big man raised his gaze.

  “Where is he staging his men for the attack?”

  “South of Cyprus on the west side of the Jordan River. He can sweep down to En Gedi, attack, and escape into the Judean mountains.”

  Hanan held a granite expression. “Is this information from your source?”

  Simcha nodded, then grinned. “She has experience at getting men to give up their deepest secrets.”

  Straightening in his chair, Hanan glanced about the street before returning his attention to his operative. He appeared at peace with his thoughts.

  “How many men do you want to take with you to Cyprus?” Simcha asked. “I can gather them and—.”

  “None.”

  Eyes widening, Simcha stared in disbelief. “Are you serious? You will be walking into the lion’s den, alone like Daniel. But at least Daniel had Elohim to protect him.”

  Hanan exhaled in a long breath. “I’ll have my Sica.” He smiled but the humor never reached his eyes. “Listen, there’s one more thing you must consider. Menahem’s informants will know you supplied me with information. He’ll be coming for you then probably the woman.”

  “I’ve thought about it and will be prepared. As for the woman, she knows the risks of selling information.”

  “Very well. Watch your back.” Hanan stood and stretched. He slipped the straps of his water bag and leather pouch onto his shoulders before pulling a bag of coins from within his robe. Gently setting it in front of Simcha, he looked at his operative.

  “You will hear of the outcome. If I am successful, we will meet in Jerusalem. You can buy the wine.”

  Laying a hand over the coin bag, Simcha gazed at Hanan and weakly smiled. “I look forward to it, master.” His voice came soft with a respectful tone.

  ***

  Following shepherd trails between mountains, dusty roads, rivers and dry creek beds, Hanan made good time in traveling the sixty miles to Jericho. After days of rugged terrain, he rested at a small inn to clear his mind of everything except his mission: kill Menahem. The plan was simple. Enter Menahem’s camp, engage him in conversation, then stab him. As for escape, that would be determined by how the rogue Sicarii men accepted Menahem’s assassination.

  The winding Jordan River flowed from north of the Sea of Galilee, through it and onward to the Dead Sea, wide in spots, narrow in others with depths ranging from knee height to over a man’s head. The river gave life to the land and its people along the meandering route and tributaries. From this Hanan knew that Menahem’s large encampment needed water and only the river could supply such volume. Walking parallel with the river, Hanan discovered the deep footprints of at least twenty water carriers burdened with heavy bags. He left his water bag, shoulder pouch and coin bag hidden in a brushy area and tracked the footprints inland to the camp. Alert for lookouts, he found concealment upon a hillside providing the best view of the assembled men. He rested through the day, waiting for nightfall but spent the hours memorizing the terrain for his escape.

  Two hours after dusk Hanan made his way down the hill and started toward the encampment. In the dim light of a half-moon the outlying guards didn’t see his approach until he called out and waved a hand. They startled, drew their captured Roman swords, and stood ready though their hands shook at the sight of the muscled man.

  “I am Hanan, leader of the Sicarii,” he said, halting mere feet from them. “I’m here to talk with my captain, Menahem.”

  The two guards were shabbily dressed in crème tunics and blemished, grimy robes. Their headdresses were little more than wide cloths spread over their heads and bound with thin ropes at the forehead and around. Hawk-nosed with beards that grew untamed, their skin wasn’t dark enough to be considered Egyptian. They held their swords ready but only in a defensive posture. A foul stench from their bodily odors permeated the air and when they escorted Hanan into camp, he tried not to breathe too deeply.

  Counting heads as he passed campfires, he stopped at a hundred. There was no need to count further. An equally large number of closely erected tents and men could be seen about the area from the light cast off their campfires.

  He has his manpower. There’s nothing holding him back now, Hanan thought.

  The guards stopped at the edge of a twenty-foot circle of men centered around a blazing fire pit. Hanan accepted them as being Menahem’s war council.

  Before the guards could announce the visitor, Menahem rose from the ground with an ashen face, mouth opening as his eyes widened. Hanan ben Netzer was the last person he expected to walk into his camp.

  Fifteen men sat about the circle with knives, swords and Roman spears laying across their laps. Raising their heads, they eyed the stranger with a mixture of curiosity, contempt, and barbarity. Hanan met their gazes with a granite stare. He knew them; not by name or person, but by the type of animals they were—bandits, rapists, thieves and murderers who were bought for a coin. He would never have chosen them to be Sicarii. They didn’t fight for a cause; only for wealth, bloodshed, and the gratification from brutality.

  “What do you want? To join our ranks?” Menahem threw his head back and cynically laughed yet remained on the opposite side of the campfire from Hanan.

  The rogue leader stood inches shorter than Hanan, stoutly framed with thick arms and legs. He appeared to have known hard labor in his lifetime but wasn’t as heavily muscled and defined as Hanan. Rough faced with bushy black eyebrows, long thick hair, and an unkempt beard, Menahem’s dark eyes displayed his insanity.

  Standing with fists on hips, Hanan let his gaze drift across the small army surrounding him. “I came to stop you from attacking En Gedi.”

  “You no longer give orders. They follow me now. We are the new Sicarii; men willing to take on the Roman dogs and drive them from our land.” Menahem let his robe slip off his arms and drop onto the dirt beside the campfire. He stood in his tunic and spread his arms wide. The scar on his left forearm could be seen in the light of the campfire’s flames.

  “En Gedi is filled with traitors,” he shouted. “We will make them examples of what happens when Jews choose Romans over their own people.”

  “Then go to your deaths with my blessings. Become worthless martyrs. But the legionnaires are waiting for you,” Hanan yelled to the men gathering from across the camp to stand near the circle and listen. He knew his words were lies, but worth the chance if he could change their minds.

  “Menahem’s own mouth let his plans slip out in Jerusalem for eavesdroppers to hear. How do you think I learned of En Gedi and where to find this camp? The Romans have spies too. Two cohorts have been dispatched from the Tenth Legion headquarters in Syria to put down your rebellion. They may decide to come here, but they will surely be waiting for you at En Gedi. You’ve seen legionnaires gut their enemies like sheep. Those of you that are not killed in battle will be crucified along the sides of roads for all to see.”

  Hanan glanced at the shock on the faces about him. His words had struck home. Heads shook as stunned men argued over deserting with their lives. They may have been courageous when Menahem said En Gedi would be a swift victory with women to rape and gold and silver to loot, but they lacked the nerve to confront sixteen-hundred well-armed and trained legionnaires from two cohorts.

  “Disband,” Hanan yelled. “Disband tonight or be slaughtered tomorrow.”

  Small groups hurriedly broke away, talking about the legionnaires as they left, but others remained to listen though confusion and fear painted their faces. About the circle several of Menahem’s steadfast followers rose to their feet, gazing at their rogue leader with doubt in their eyes.

  Among them a leathery faced man with yellowish eyes and cowling pulled over his bald head, scowled and displayed his rotted teeth.

  “Kill him, you idiot, before you lose all of your men! He’s lying. Can’t you tell?” the demon said in a growling, hissing voice. He moved
about the circle of men to Menahem, unseen by their eyes. “He’s lying!”

  The swaying flames of the campfire were no more than three feet high yet cast bright light throughout the circle. Hanan glanced at the surrounding thieves and cutthroats, smiling inwardly at seeing so many begin to leave. A furious bellow came. Hanan spun to find Menahem bursting through the flames, the blade of his short Roman sword reflecting firelight.

  Hanan shifted to the right, yet not enough. The sword scraped and sliced down his robe’s left sleeve leaving blood trails from two wounds. He flung the robe off, swirled and snapped it like a whip in Menahem’s face, releasing his hold as the sword sliced through the air and knocked part of the robe into the flames.

  The rogue leader swung in a wild horizontal strike and Hanan’s Sica swept below the sword and across Menahem’s stomach. A glistening crimson line appeared but Menahem had remained back enough for the blow to not be deadly. They moved about in an odd dance of death, cutting and stabbing one another wherever could be reached. Though Menahem was short and stoutly built, he moved with speed and agility. His sword’s length gave him an advantage over the Sica’s short blade, but his attack was undisciplined and Hanan used it to his advantage. Hanan swept the Sica diagonally, horizontally, then vertically, each time leaving long open gashes to bleed, yet never deep enough to be mortal wounds.

  Moving around the campfire, Hanan kicked Menahem’s robe toward the fire to keep from tripping over it. A portion of the robe caught fire, though not fully into the flames. Again, Hanan advanced, stabbing and slicing at Menahem’s side and left thigh. Cries of pain poured from the rogue leader then Hanan head-butted him, momentarily dazing him. It was the opportunity Hanan wanted. Ready to step in and drive the Sica’s blade deep into Menahem’s stomach, agony shot through Hanan’s back. Someone behind him had driven a sword into his lower right side.

  Hanan bawled like a wounded bull as the blade withdrew. He spun and slashed the face of a Menahem follower. Another man leaned forward and ran a sword deep into Hanan’s right shoulder. Reaching up, Hanan grabbed the sword and yanked the blade free. He readied to stab his attacker, but an unknown man standing near slit the attacker’s throat in defense of Hanan.