Redemption at the Eleventh Hour

by Andrew Crown

  These worries weighed heavily on his mind as the terrain became hillier the further away he got from the Sea of Galilee. The road followed the River Jordan on its meandering path southward. Dismas occasionally refilled his canteen in the cool river, never tarrying too long and always keeping an eye on the road.

  He couldn’t stop replaying the incident in his head. Should he have grabbed Bricius’ sword? A weapon would certainly be useful out on the road. But a Roman sword in non-Roman hands would raise plenty of suspicion. And unlike the ring, it would be a difficult thing to hide. He had taken the prudent course of action—the ring could be sold, and along with the other stolen money, he could sustain himself for a while once he got to Jerusalem.

  He also thought of Selig, his long-lost brother, whom he hoped to reach after his flight from the olive growers. He hadn’t thought of him much lately—meeting Leah had certainly distracted him—but some of his earliest memories were with Selig. He remembered standing on his brother’s back to get onto a small pony while he was learning to ride. Selig led the horse in small circle in a clearing near their house in Jerusalem. Dismas clung tightly around the animal’s neck.

  “Selig, I don’t want to fall.”

  “Don’t be silly, Dismas. We’re barely moving and you’re holding on tightly,” Selig assured him. Even though he was only five at the time and Selig was nine, Dismas thought his brother seemed so much more mature and confident.

  Around and around they went in circles, taking turns riding the pony until their mother found them and made them come back inside. As simple as it was, those improvised lessons are what taught Dismas how to ride.

  He smiled to himself as he continued down the road. He didn’t even know if his brother was still in Jerusalem or even alive, yet here he was, heading towards him once again. Would they recognize each other? Would Selig take him in, especially if he was a fugitive from the Romans? How would Dismas even find him? He set these concerns aside. He would revisit them once he reached the provincial capital of Judea.

  Back on the road in the waning sunlight, Dismas spotted a small homestead at the top of the next hill. The simple home had a wooden paddock alongside it where several donkeys brayed nosily. Their hee-haws echoed across the rocks and along the deserted road. A donkey was a poor substitute for a horse, but an upgrade over walking on his two sore feet. He would gain both speed and stamina with a beast under him.

  His instinct was to steal one of the animals and hurry on his way but then he remembered the Roman coins in his possession. The road to honest living would begin right here.

  It was almost completely dark except for a nearly full moon when Dismas finally reached the remote homestead.

  He knocked lightly so as not to alarm the residents. After a short pause, the wooden door creaked open and a man’s tan weathered face poked out, his brown eyes narrowed in suspicion at the stranger at his door late at night. The thin homesteader looked almost skeletal to Dismas in the evening moonlight.

  “Good sir,” Dismas began, “My apologies for disturbing you at this time of night. I would like to purchase one of your donkeys.”

  The man seemed to relax at the request and named his price. “Fifty denarii.”

  “Fifty denarii? I have urgent business to attend to but not urgent enough for that price.”

  “Forty, then.”

  “No.”

  “Thirty.”

  Dismas stood tall and said confidently, “I will give you twenty, for that is what I believe they are worth.”

  The man behind the door seemed to consider this and then held out his hand. Dismas placed the money in the worn palm.

  “Take one and go. Thank you.”

  The head slid back inside and the door slammed shut.

  Dismas hardly took time to reflect on this odd interaction and instead grabbed the nearest donkey. It was already bridled, which made leading it out of the paddock much easier. He closed the paddock gate and climbed on top of the animal’s bare back. The donkey gave a small shudder of resistance but then seemed to accept its new situation. Dismas sighed. He knew donkeys could be trouble and he was relieved that this one seemed more obedient than others. He glanced around to see if the strange man would reappear to check on him, but he never did. He evidently had his money and seemed to trust Dismas to take just the one donkey.

  With a kick of both his feet, the donkey sauntered southward. Dismas glanced behind him as he passed over the crest of the hill. The road was dark and quiet and soon the silhouette of the homestead and donkey paddock passed away into shadow.

  Dismas clutched the bridle tightly as he peered into the blackness ahead. Just this morning, he had been lying happily in Asher’s house looking forward to the day’s fishing and marrying Leah. Now he was a fugitive yet again. He prayed that the Romans would leave father and daughter alone. Dismas felt guilty for putting them in harm’s away. He was fairly confident, however, that the Romans had been too drunk and disoriented to identify the house. Thank goodness all the homes of the village were built so similar and relatively close together.

  Asher and Leah were of no value to the Romans if they ever were apprehended, especially if they blamed him for everything like he’d asked them to do. They would come after him instead, and Dismas vowed that they wouldn’t find him. Except if it was Bricius. If that ugly, bald Roman dared to show his face around Dismas, he would put a knife in his chest to finish the job.

  With these vengeful thoughts swimming in his head, Dismas pressed forward on the winding, rocky road as the moon became obscured behind some clouds. He proceeded in almost total blackness towards the great city.

  *

  The big white walls of Jerusalem were a welcome sight, like an oasis in the desert, for both Dismas and his weary mount. They marked the end of almost a week’s journey. For the past couple days, there had been a drastic uptick in travelers on the road, a sign that he was drawing near the city. There were merchants, craftsmen, men, women, the wealthy, and the poor. Even some small detachments of Roman soldiers passed by. Although they paid him no heed, Dismas still did his best to hide his face.

  He and the donkey passed through the large swinging gates of the city. Bored legionnaires watched from the road and the top of the wall as the ever-increasing multitude of people moved in and out of the gate like bees from a hive. As long as no one caused any trouble, their thoughts were exclusively on the drinks and women they would seek once they were relieved of duty for the day.

  Although he had been born in Jerusalem, Dismas had never seen such activity. The city had seemingly grown a lot since he was a boy, or his recollections were tainted by the imperceptions of his youth. The streets stretched far in every direction once he passed through the gates. Broad lanes and narrow alleys snaked through the city so that every conceivable nook and cranny was either occupied by a dwelling or storefront. He passed traders offering animals to sacrifice at the temple; not far from them, clanking and hissing noises sounded as a blacksmith hammered molten metal and cooled it in buckets of water, producing a mist of steam. The Pharisees, in ornate religious robes, walked in groups discussing religious subjects and the words of prophets from long ago. They were given the utmost respect and a wide berth, as the crowd usually parted to let them pass.

  The most important holiday for the Jews was fast approaching, contributing to the activity. In a little over a week, the feast of Passover would begin, marked by prayer, reflection, and special meals, as well as large, boisterous gatherings.

  As his donkey sauntered through the crowded streets, occasionally jostled by an impatient person trying to hurry up the road, it occurred to Dismas that finding his brother Selig seemed impossible. There were thousands of people in the streets, and they were so preoccupied with their own business that there was scarcely an opportunity to interrupt with a question. Furthermore, Roman soldiers marched in small formations everywhere and were posted on street corners. More legionnaires were arriving every day to help keep the peace in anticipa
tion of the holiday. Dismas involuntarily shuddered each time he walked past them.

  Moving through a mass of multi-leveled houses with the occasional glimpse of someone through the open windows, Dismas wasn’t even sure he would recognize his older brother after so much time had passed. He tried to picture him. A thin boy of about eighteen with long brown hair came into his mind. They hadn’t seen each other since Dismas, then fourteen, ran away after their parents died. He had asked Selig to go with him, but his brother had elected to stay in Jerusalem.

  “There is more work here,” Selig had said. “You don’t know what is outside the city. It’s much safer to stay.” What form exactly that work would take his brother never specified. He had become somewhat skilled at carpentry during his teenage years, but Dismas left before knowing if that was the trade Selig made his profession. His brother never tried to stop him from leaving, knowing that Dismas was old enough to seek his own fortune if he chose.

  Dismas, more stubborn than his practical older brother, had decided to try his luck beyond the city. It seemed stupid in retrospect, since Selig was the only family he had left. But there was something about the allure of adventure that called to Dismas and made him to want to leave the depressing shanty home where he had grown up. He had found, however, nothing but pain and despair as he bounced from job to job, eventually leading him to the awful olive growers near Thella. He had always been curious what happened to Selig. It would be interesting to see how he had fared…if Dismas could ever find him.

  Mostly, however, Dismas’ thoughts seem to lead him back to Leah as he guided the donkey underneath lines of drying clothes hanging from the homes. Her glowing face shone like a bright beacon in the recesses of his mind. He cursed his luck. He would give himself a few days to find Selig. If that proved fruitless, he would risk the wrath of the Romans and make his way back to the fishing village. He imagined the warm embrace of Leah’s arms and the kiss of her lips upon his. The pleasant thought made him smile. I will see her again, he swore to himself as his donkey rounded a narrow corner in the road. Soon.

  Chapter XVII

  It seemed the logical place for Dismas to start his search was the dilapidated house where he and Selig grew up. However, the sprawl of the city and the passage of time since his residency made the prospect of finding the place difficult. He tried street after street each time he saw a landmark that he thought jogged his memory. Each turn of the corner ended in disappointment. After a couple hours, he was tired, frustrated, and hungry.

  Dismas slid off his donkey in front of an unassuming two-story tavern made of wood. He rotated his torso to crack his back and shake out some of the stiffness. It was getting late and he was looking forward to some rest and food while he pondered his next move. He gave the rope around the animal’s back a strong tug and the donkey grudgingly moved towards the side of the building where the other mounts were tied up. Dismas couldn’t help but notice that he had the only donkey, while every other patron seemed to have a fine horse. A donkey was better than nothing at all, he reminded himself. After securing his mount and watching it begin to graze on some hay left out for the animals, Dismas made his way back to the front of the building and pushed open the door.

  The tavern was dimly lit by a fire on the far side of the cramped room and candles at long wooden tables shoved close together. The shouts and laughter of twenty or so men in various stages of inebriation filled the room as women, some of whom were partially undressed, moved between them. Some sat in the laps of customers while others led men up a narrow staircase. Dismas realized that he was in a house of ill-repute.

  He hadn’t any experience in such a place, but admittedly had been curious. Now, though, he was too tired and famished from his journey to care much for anything other than food and a place to sit down. He found a spot near the end of one of the tables and settled in. Soon a woman, completely clothed, came to offer him some wine and lamb. Dismas heartily accepted and in a few moments, he was voraciously consuming the food and the drink.

  “And how are ye today, friend?” A large man with big black beard slapped him on the back jovially with such enthusiasm that Dismas almost spit out his wine. “I’m the proprietor of this here establishment. I see we already got ye fixed up with some food and drink. If ye be looking for more…carnal pleasures, I’ve got the loveliest ladies in the city and six comfortable beds upstairs that can be yours for up to a half hour—although to be honest, most don’t need ‘em for that long!” He threw back his head and let out a loud laugh.

  Dismas glanced over at some of the women circulating among the customers. They were very beautiful, no doubt, but he focused back on the proprietor. “I just arrived in town looking for a man named Selig. He is my brother and I have not seen him for many years and am not sure where to find him.”

  The man scratched his beard. “Oh, I know no one by the name Selig, but there are plenty of people that come through here that I don’t know—Romans, Jews, Greeks, Arabs. I don’t ask questions, I only aim to serve their appetites.”

  The man moved on, leaving Dismas disappointed but not surprised. Finding his brother this way was next to impossible. He shook his head and wondered what he was even doing here.

  “Hello, man,” said another voice. Dismas glanced up from his lamb and saw a hunched figure at a small table nearby. The dim lighting of the tavern made distinguishing the man’s features difficult. He motioned for Dismas to join him, and Dismas brought what was left of his wine and meal over with him.

  “I overheard you talking to the proprietor. I wondered if you were looking for work since you’re new in town.”

  Dismas had an uneasy feeling about this man despite the seeming innocent inquiry. Now that he was seated right across from this stranger, he could discern more details. The man seemed to be about fifty and wore a light blue hood over his head. Most of his body was completely covered, but his brown face bore several scars, as if he had fought with his fists many times over the course of his life. His nose was almost flat, a sign that it had been broken repeatedly.

  Dismas wasn’t sure what to make of him and decided it would be prudent to be cautious. “I’m actually looking for a man named Selig.”

  “Yes, I heard. Your brother. Can’t say I know him either. Tough to find anyone in this town around Passover. Too many people. Too many Roman soldiers too. Oh well…Tell me, what’s your trade?” The man took a big swig from his cup and sat back. Dismas made a mental note to be more careful with his conversation. He wasn’t comfortable being overheard.

  “I’m a fisherman by trade but I’m not looking for work at the moment. Not for a few days anyway.”

  “After the Passover feast then? Very well.” The man smiled, revealing one missing top front tooth. “You know, you seem like an honest man. Let me ask you then—did you see many Roman legionnaires heading into town on your way in?”

  The man still made him nervous and Dismas was mindful to not tip his hand about his situation.

  “I try to ignore the Romans as much as possible.”

  “Ah,” said the stranger delighted. “Perhaps I’m sensing some contempt towards our occupiers?”

  “No,” said Dismas quickly. “I just…”

  The man cut him off. “No need. No need. You are among a friend. My name is Micah and you will be hard pressed to find someone who dislikes the Romans as much as myself. And you are?”

  “Dismas,” he said flatly. “Look, I don’t want to discuss the Romans. I wouldn’t want to say anything…improper.”

  The man pressed on eagerly. “Of course you don’t. Nothing good comes from talk. Idle tongues will land a man in a Roman dungeon. Action, as opposed to talk, is what is needed.”

  Dismas glanced around nervously. Who was this man? A Roman spy?

  “Ah, I’ve alarmed you! Please don’t be uneasy. I am here to help recruit Jews who are frustrated by the Romans—by their taxes, their disregard for our freedoms, their refusal to let us manage our own affairs. They give us the
false king Herod in Galilee and expect us to be content. It is a mockery to call this charade self-governance.” He struck Dismas as rather poetic for a common street thug.

  Now Micah glanced around and lowered his voice unnecessarily, since the room had grown quite loud with sounds of merriment and lust. “I am looking for strong men such as yourself. For a possible…” His voice dropped even lower to the point that Dismas could barely hear him. “…act of sedition.”

  Dismas’ eyes grew wide. He just met this man and yet he was being invited in on this plot. No, he would have no part in it.

  Yet...memories of Leah crying and that awful brute Bricius standing over her sent chills down his spine. For all he knew, the Romans had taken their frustrated aggression out on Leah and Asher while he fled. Yes, the rage was all coming back to him now. Caution was thrown aside in his fury. He hated the Romans, hated them with a passion. They had been the cause of all of the calamity in his life—his injuries and this self-imposed exile. The thought of killing Bricius, of sticking a blade through his bald, sun-speckled skull brought a primeval delight to his heart. Surely, he could listen and then decide if what Micah was proposing served his interest.

  With a detached calmness, Dismas asked, “What do you have in mind?”

  Micah gave a quick scan of the room like an animal looking to avoid a predator. “Let’s meet here tomorrow, same time. I can introduce you to the man who is organizing everything. I’ll let him know that you share our hatred of the Roman occupiers.”

  Dismas drained the last of his wine. “Very well. I’ll agree to a single meeting. What is this man’s name?”

  “Barabbas.”

  “I look forward to meeting this Barabbas tomorrow night.”

  Dismas watched the strange hooded figure disappear out the front door. Alone again, he let out a yawn. He knew he needed to find a place to lie down—alone, and for longer than a half hour—and he vaguely remembered passing an inn a block or so away.