Keepers of the Covenant

by Lynn Austin

  He stopped walking, and when she looked up at him, his cheeks had turned pink beneath his tanned skin and thick black beard. He cleared his throat. “Are . . . are you sure?”

  “No . . . not entirely. But it comes down to this: Will we ignore the natural discomfort we both feel and obey God’s Word, trusting that He knows best . . . or reject His law, and go our own way? I think it’s going to be difficult for both of us to obey Him . . . but if we don’t, I’ll always wonder if we missed out on something good He’d planned for us . . . such as a son to carry Jude’s name.”

  Ezra cleared his throat. “When?”

  “After the one-year anniversary. And the victory celebration.”

  “Good.” He started to smile, then seemed to change his mind, turning serious. “I’ll arrange the betrothal with the elders.” He started walking faster as if in a hurry to get away. Devorah halted, making him turn back for her.

  “Ezra. You just agreed we would share everything with each other, remember? Tell me what you really think about marrying me. Was there someone else you were hoping to marry instead?”

  He frowned, shaking his head. “No, I haven’t even had time to search for a wife.” He tugged his beard, looking uncomfortable, as if his clothes itched. “How do I feel about it? First of all, you need to understand that I find it hard to express my feelings. I’ve had little practice and no one to share them with. But you were a wonderful wife to Jude, and you’re a wonderful mother to his children. He told me you were a godly woman, very wise for one so young, and very devout. And so I think . . . I think once the awkwardness between us fades, along with the memories of the past . . . well, I believe we can find contentment together. You’re right in saying we can trust God’s goodness. And I’m glad you’ve agreed to marry me.” He finished with a shy smile, then hurried off.

  But alone at home in bed that night—the bed she’d shared with Jude—Devorah couldn’t help feeling she was being unfaithful to him. She tried to convince herself that marrying his brother was truly an act of love for Jude, the best thing she could do to preserve his memory. She could keep his name alive by giving him a son and heir. Devorah didn’t love Ezra and probably never would. She barely knew him. But she was so tired of being alone. She couldn’t live this way for the rest of her life. Her daughters needed a father, a second hand to hold on to when they walked. Right or wrong, she had made her decision. She would obey God.

  In the weeks that followed, Devorah rarely saw Ezra and didn’t have a chance to speak with him again. He was always on the move, always busy with other people, answering their questions, making decisions. She sat through the festivities at the house of assembly on the Thirteenth of Adar, trying to celebrate a victory that wasn’t a victory at all for her, and watched Ezra try to be a dozen places at once. His congregation continually depleted him as if plucking a tree of all its fruit.

  She listened to the story of Queen Esther, the story of a simple Jewish woman who changed the course of history for her people, and a thought occurred to Devorah for the first time. Obviously God wanted to provide for her and her children through this law. And He obviously wanted Jude to have a son to carry his name. But maybe God was just as concerned for Ezra, His servant, a man who surely needed a wife and helper to carry some of his burdens. Could God have specifically chosen Devorah, who knew more about the Torah than most women, to be that support for Ezra?

  A week after the victory celebration, Devorah’s family and friends gathered in her home for the ceremony. Ezra presented the marriage contract that the elders had drawn up and that he’d signed. He poured wine from a flask and offered Devorah the cup that would seal their betrothal. She forced back tears, remembering her betrothal to Jude. But she would do this; she would trust God and marry Jude’s brother.

  Devorah’s hand trembled as she accepted the cup and took a drink, committing her life and her future to Ezra.

  Chapter

  26

  CASIPHIA

  Please, Reuben,” his mother begged. “Please come with us tonight. Celebrate with us.” She stood by the door, dressed in her finest Sabbath clothes. Reuben’s two sisters danced with excitement, eager to leave, their hair elaborately braided for this special occasion. Even his baby brother, perched on Mama’s hip, looked scrubbed and happy. The community had spent weeks planning the festivities for the anniversary of the Thirteenth of Adar, but Reuben wanted nothing to do with it. He pushed Mama’s hand away when she tried to take his.

  “How can you expect me to celebrate Abba’s death?” he asked. “And why are you celebrating?”

  “It could have been all of us, Reuben. If the Almighty One hadn’t made a way for us to defend ourselves, we might all be dead. That’s what we’re remembering—the fact that we’re alive.”

  “Well, I don’t feel like celebrating. I’m going out. I want to be by myself.”

  “You already spend too much time by yourself. Yes, this is a sad day for us with many sad memories. But that’s why Uncle Hashabiah and everyone who loved your father want to be with us on this occasion.”

  “I just want to be alone.”

  Someone knocked at their door, and when Reuben opened it and saw his uncle, he turned around and walked straight out the back door and across the lane to the forge without a word of greeting. Everything in the smithy looked the same after one year. Though Reuben had loved working here with his father, he now hated his job as an apprentice, hated his new boss. He had no choice. Working here was the only way his family could remain in their home. It was a prison sentence to him.

  Tonight, while his community celebrated, Reuben would do the work he really enjoyed—stealing from the Babylonians. He no longer needed to steal. His family managed to live on the income his mother earned from the sale of the forge. Instead, Reuben stole for the thrill of it, the rush of excitement he felt each time he escaped with loot the Babylonians owed him. He was good at what he did. Many nights, the only thing he stole was wine, which he drank in secret by himself. Sometimes he stole food, too, and it had become a game for him to add it to the storage room a little at a time so his mother wouldn’t notice. He brought treats for his siblings—fresh dates, pistachios, apricots—telling them, “It’s our secret. Don’t show Mama, or I won’t bring you any more.” Sometimes he happened upon gold coins or something valuable, but not very often. He hid the gold, saving it to buy back his inheritance someday. At this rate, it would take years.

  The noise from the celebrations faded in the distance as Reuben left his Jewish community and walked through the dark streets of Casiphia. When he finally broke into the storeroom he’d chosen—after waiting in the dark for a very long time, after watching for the lights to go out inside, after waiting some more to make sure everyone was asleep—the contents disappointed him. The storeroom contained nothing special, just the usual grain and olives and oil. Even the wine tasted weak and bitter.

  As he hurried through the deserted streets afterward, heading home, he thought he heard footsteps behind him. Reuben turned to look over his shoulder, but before he could see who was following him, a dark, heavy shape rammed into him, nearly knocking him down. He recovered his balance and dropped his bag of loot so he could fight back, but three more shadows came from nowhere, surrounding him, jumping him. Reuben fought with all his strength, his heart racing in panic. He couldn’t see his attackers, but if they were the Persian authorities, they would throw him into prison—or worse, cut off his right hand for stealing. Maybe even execute him.

  He was no match for the four men. They easily overwhelmed him, knocking him to the ground, pushing his face into the dust, tying his hands together. One of them sat on Reuben’s back, forcing the air from his lungs, pinning him so he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. He felt the cold blade of a knife pressing against his throat, then a stinging burn as it slowly slit his flesh. Reuben closed his eyes, believing he was going to die.

  “You’d be wise to stop struggling,” a voice hissed in his ear. “You can�
�t win.”

  Reuben gave a grunt of defiance with what little air he could draw. “Let me go!”

  “Not too loud now, son. You wouldn’t want to attract the wrong attention with a bag of stolen loot by your side, would you?”

  “Take it, if that’s what you want.”

  “We want you, not this stuff. You’re going to come with us, understand? Don’t make a sound, and you won’t get hurt.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Sure, you have a choice. You can stay here, all tied up beside your bag of loot, for the guards to find.”

  They had tied the ropes so tightly they dug into his wrists. Someone slipped a burlap bag over his head. It smelled of rotting fruit. The men hauled Reuben to his feet and gave him a shove to start moving. They huddled around him as they walked, holding him upright as if hoping any observers would mistake them for drunkards. The bag over his head was only loose enough for Reuben to see his feet and the dark street beneath them. That was all. The ten minutes they walked seemed like hours. Fear made Reuben’s heart work so hard he worried it might burst. None of them spoke.

  At last Reuben heard the rush of the river nearby. The air smelled of fish and stagnant water. They slowed, and one of his captors pushed Reuben’s head down, forcing him to duck as they entered an airless enclosure. A heavy door thumped shut behind him. A bar slid into place. Then they pushed Reuben down onto the floor. He heard the four men talking amongst themselves, and Reuben could tell by the dullness of the sound, the closeness of the voices, that the room was very small. It smelled of sweat and unwashed bodies and mildew. If only they would untie his hands and let him fight them one at a time, he might be able to escape. But he couldn’t fight all of them at once.

  “What do you want?” he asked. “If you’re going to turn me in or kill me, just do it.”

  “Neither,” one of them replied, laughing. “We want you to join us. We’re in the same business you are. And you’re a very talented thief, you know.” The man’s accent was Babylonian.

  “We’ve been watching you,” a second man added. Another Babylonian. “You move as silently as a leopard. And you’re quick. You get in and out without a sound.”

  “But we’re good, too,” a third Babylonian said. “Have you ever seen us watching you or following you?” He poked Reuben’s arm, expecting an answer.

  “No. I haven’t seen you.” He wanted to reach up and wipe the sticky blood off his neck, but his hands were tied. Tightly. He could barely move, let alone twist them free. The cut on his neck burned and stung, irritated by the rough sack over his head.

  “You should be honored, son,” the first man said. “We’re inviting you to join our gang. What do you say?”

  Reuben hesitated. He was at their mercy. They might kill him if he refused. He longed to tell them just how much he hated Babylonians like them for killing his father, but maybe they didn’t know he was Jewish, dressed the way he was.

  “Or we could simply kill you right now,” a fourth voice said. “Are you ready to die, Jew?”

  Reuben stopped breathing. They knew. “I can’t die. I have a family to support.”

  “Oh, we know all about your family and your work as a blacksmith’s apprentice.”

  Reuben was glad his face was covered so they couldn’t see his fear. They knew about his mother. His siblings.

  “But we’re not in the business of simply pilfering food like you do,” the man continued, “or maybe a couple of gold coins if you get lucky. We have bigger goals: robbing ships and warehouses, stealing from caravans and merchants. We sell our goods and make a tidy profit.”

  Sweat broke out on Reuben’s forehead. The fibers from the bag clogged his nose and throat as he breathed. “What do you need me for?”

  “You’re faster than any of us at breaking in.”

  “And the thing is, we could use some better weapons. You know where we can get them, don’t you, Jew?”

  “Aren’t your people and mine enemies?” Reuben asked.

  “Enemies? Where did you get that idea?”

  “We fought each other a year ago. Babylonians like you killed my father.”

  “We didn’t take part in those battles. We have nothing against Jews. We’ll steal from anyone!” All four of them laughed.

  “With better weapons and a good break-in man, we’ll be able to make a really big haul one of these days. One shipment of gold or silver is all we need, and we’ll be set for life. None of us will ever have to work again. We can leave Casiphia and go wherever we want.”

  “Have all the women we want!” Everyone laughed again.

  Reuben could buy back the forge with his share. But he took his time replying, trying not to sound too eager. “What if I don’t want to join you?

  “Now, that would be very tragic. Especially since you know all about us.”

  “I’m blindfolded. I have no idea where I am. I’m not a threat to you.”

  “Come on, why keep breaking into houses, risking getting caught some night by a sleepless servant? Your luck is bound to run out one of these days. Join us, and you can have true riches.”

  “Tell us,” one of them said. “What would you do with your share of the loot?”

  Reuben didn’t even have to think about it—he would buy back his inheritance. Make his boss work for him from now on. Get all of Abba’s tools back. Spit in his uncle’s face. But he would never tell these men his plans.

  “If I were rich,” Reuben said, “I wouldn’t let anyone push me around or make decisions for me.” He heard murmurs of agreement. “All right,” he finally decided. “I’ll join you, but it has to be on an equal basis. We have to split everything fairly. And I get a say in making the decisions.” No one was ever going to decide his fate again the way his uncle had.

  “Will you get weapons for us?”

  “I’ll get them, but you’ll have to pay me.”

  “I’m the leader,” the loud one said.

  “Yes, but I’m your partner. Deal?”

  “Deal.” They pulled off Reuben’s mask, and he squinted in the light. It came from a small oil lamp that barely lit the dingy, low-ceilinged room. He faced four Babylonian men, ten years older than him, squatting in a circle around him. They wore dark robes, dark turbans on their heads, their faces smudged with charcoal. All four of them stood up at the same time and pulled Reuben to his feet. One of the men untied his hands and Reuben massaged his wrists to get the feeling back in his fingers. When they lifted the bar and opened the door to walk outside, he immediately knew where he was. Their hideout was near the first house Reuben had robbed a year ago.

  “How long will it take you to get weapons for us?” one of the men asked.

  “I don’t know . . . maybe two weeks. I know where they’re stored, but I’ll have to steal one at a time so they aren’t missed.”

  “Good. Bring them here two weeks from tonight. We’ll be waiting.” The man tossed Reuben a small leather pouch. Coins jingled inside as he caught it. “Here’s your first payment. Call it an apology for roughing you up.”

  Reuben loosened the drawstring and looked inside. Gold. He suppressed a smile, needing to act tough. “I’ll be back in two weeks,” he said and walked off into the night, alone.

  Chapter

  27

  BABYLON

  Devorah watched her husband swallow his last bite of supper, then rise to leave moments later, and anger boiled up inside her like water in a cooking pot. Ezra had arrived home late, long after Abigail and Michal were asleep, and the food Devorah had prepared for her new husband had grown cold. Now he was leaving again for the yeshiva, where he would study until well past midnight.

  “Don’t wait up,” he said as he lifted the latch to the gate. As if she really intended to! Her anger spilled over as she rose to her feet.

  “This isn’t a marriage, Ezra. We’ve been husband and wife for three months now, and I never see you except when we eat and sleep. Is this what God intended when He commanded us to m
arry each other?”

  He turned and came back, resting his hand on her shoulder as he guided her inside where they could speak in private. He obviously didn’t want the neighbors to know their esteemed leader and his new bride had troubles. “No, Devorah. This isn’t what God intended,” he said. “I’m sorry. But there’s so much work to do at the pottery yard, and then there’s my work at the yeshiva and—”

  “Doesn’t the Torah say two people become one in marriage? We’re not ‘one.’ We’re two people living under the same roof and trying to make a baby to fulfill the law.”

  He winced at her blunt words. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, closing his eyes. “I have obligations. Tell me . . . what do you want me to do? What do other husbands do?”

  “Other newly married husbands want to spend time with their wives. A team of chariot horses couldn’t drag them away every evening, six days a week.” She bit her tongue to stop herself from comparing Ezra to Jude, who had savored every spare moment with her. Would it always be this way? Would she spend the rest of her life comparing her marriage to Ezra with what she enjoyed with his brother?

  “I . . . I didn’t think you would necessarily want to spend time with me,” he said. “I remember how things were with you and Jude, and . . . and I know it wasn’t your idea to marry me.”

  “It was the Holy One’s idea. Which is why I intend to give our marriage a chance, putting the same time and effort into it that Jude and I . . .” Her throat swelled, and she couldn’t finish.

  “Devorah, I’m sorry.” He pulled her close for a moment, and it still felt strange to her to be in his arms, even after three months of marriage.

  “Jude is gone. We’re married to each other now,” she said as she pulled free again. “I don’t think either of us expects to fall in love, but I do expect companionship. The Holy One said it wasn’t good for man to be alone, and the same is true for women. Yet I’m home alone every night.”