The Damascus Way

by Janette Oke

  Only when the final camels had passed him, and Hamman had saluted him before riding through the gates, did Jacob draw an easy breath.

  Jacob had no idea how he should act in Yussuf’s absence, nor how to take on the responsibilities that had thus been laid at his feet. So he tried to do as he thought Alban might.

  First he approached Hamman, the most senior of the new guards. In front of the others, Jacob again saluted him and formally thanked the man for his assistance. He then asked if Hamman might aid him by setting guard shifts. Jacob explained, loudly enough for his words to carry to the nearest drovers, that he had been given responsibility for Latif’s camels and needed to off-load the beasts and see to their evening feed.

  The result was both successful and unnerving. The men responded as if he were already the new guard captain. And yet Jacob was missing Alban more than ever. This was the first time he had been upon the road without his mentor and guardian. Though the tendrils of their disagreement lingered, it was mixed also with a keening sorrow over the absent Latif. And Jacob couldn’t help but wonder if Alban had been there, would he have thought of some way to save their fellow believer. Perhaps if Jacob were a better man, braver . . .

  Jacob retrieved Latif’s three camels, the ones hidden from inspection, from the lead drover. The man, one of Yussuf’s uncles, knew not to ask why Yussuf had assigned him these additional animals to oversee. Jacob led them to a space near the entrance, from where he might remain on guard while seeing to the animals’ needs. As Jacob tethered the trio, the smallest animal, a female with a wicked disposition, tried to nip his shoulder. Jacob responded to this as other drovers did with beasts who misbehaved, slapping the camel’s neck with his leather quirt and shouting loud enough to startle every neighboring beast.

  The drover off-loading closest to Jacob chuckled and said, “She’s nasty, that one. Latif says she thinks she is too pretty for such labors.”

  The female camel was indeed a beauty. Her coat turned the color of bronze in the setting sun. She watched him with huge dark eyes framed by long lashes and an expression that Jacob could only describe as reproachful. He touched the camel’s neck and felt her shift nervously. He talked softly to her, touching the back of her knees with his quirt. The camel dropped to the earth without further protest.

  The drover observed, “You have a way with the beasts. Latif was right to ask for your help.”

  Jacob resisted the unbidden reply that he had not helped Latif at all. One by one he drew the camels down, so their bellies rested upon the earth. He then untied the harnesses and pulled their loads into one huge pile. The other drover watched Jacob direct the camels so that they formed a triangle around the trade goods, expressions showing their approval.

  Jacob worked his way around the beasts, pulling the wooden bits from their mouths, then carefully inspecting each hoof for damage. Camels could tolerate intense heat and go days without water. But their softly padded hooves were extremely sensitive. When Jacob reached the final beast, he once again felt overwhelmed by Latif’s arrest. Several times during the day’s travel he had felt enormous waves of guilt and worry. He gripped the animal’s mane, leaned his head against the long neck, and prayed, asking for Latif’s safety. He prayed that he would have the man’s forgiveness, and God’s. What could I have done? I could have done something . . . chased each other through his distraught mind. The female camel seemed to sense Jacob’s anguish and groaned long and low.

  When Jacob lifted his head and opened his eyes, Hamman was standing beside him. “The guards are stationed and the watches set. And the village elders have returned with sheep for you to inspect.”

  Jacob straightened slowly. He could see the guard’s curiosity, and said, “My heart is heavy over Latif. I should have helped him.”

  The guard shrugged. “Latif was taken by Temple priests, guards, and Roman soldiers. You would be crazy to have interfered.”

  “There must have been something – ”

  “There is. You care for his animals and Jamal’s wares. You offer prayers for his safety. Everything else is far beyond your duty.”

  The guard’s blunt practicality gave Jacob a bit of distance from his regret. “Let us see what these elders have to offer for our supper.” The lambs were all as the elders had promised, young and well fed. Jacob did as he had seen Yussuf do on countless other occasions, inspecting each animal carefully. But the elders appeared to remain intimidated by his threat of leaving, and even offered a sack of milled corn and a basket of fresh herbs and spices, including coriander and mint and cumin. Jacob responded as though the earlier disagreement had never happened, bowing deeply and thanking them for their hospitality.

  Jacob saw to the meal that had been prepared, ensuring that every drover and guard received an equal portion, speaking briefly with each man in turn. Just as he had seen Alban do on countless other nights. By the time he returned to Latif’s animals, night was upon them. Three campfires glowed and tossed embers toward the star-filled sky.

  Jacob decided it was time to inspect Latif’s wares.

  The large slumbering beasts masked his efforts from view. The camels each carried four amphorae, clay vessels as tall as Jacob’s waist used for transport by animal and ship. Four full amphorae could weigh as much as three men.

  The neck of each vessel was sealed with a wooden stopper and lashed into place with hemp. Jacob chose one, quietly unknotted the rope, and used his knife to pluck out the stopper. His senses were instantly awash with the fragrance of cinnamon. He unstopped another, and the night air was spiced by clove.

  But this was indeed a mystery. Trade in such spices was not restricted. So long as the taxes were paid, Latif could have carried this load from one end of the empire to the other.

  On a sudden impulse, Jacob plunged his hand into the vessel containing cinnamon. His searching fingers discovered a packet hidden deep inside the spice.

  Jacob searched each vessel in turn and found a total of sixteen packets. Eventually he resealed each container and wrapped one of the camels’ saddle blankets around the hidden prizes. He sat there a long while, enough for the knife-edged moon to begin its descent. And he knew Latif’s secret, whatever it was, could well mean the end of his own life.

  Yussuf’s arrival came first as a faint sound on the night wind, the shuffling footfalls and quiet snorts of weary beasts. Jacob was ready, crouched in a defile beside the road south of the village caravanserai. He remained silent and hidden until he could identify Yussuf’s silhouette riding against the stars. When Jacob was certain the man traveled alone, he whistled once, softly.

  A casual listener might have mistaken it for the call of a night bird. But Yussuf immediately clicked the camels to a halt and slipped from the horse’s back. He moaned in imitation of a camel as his feet touched the road, then walked over and patted the lead camel’s neck. “Don’t tell me you’ve picked up a thorn,” he said, bending to look at its foot.

  “It is I, Jacob.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

  “I know you are weary,” the man now said more clearly to the camel, and it groaned softly in response. Yussuf crouched by the camel’s left foreleg. “Let me check you out, then we shall go and both have as much rest as the shortened night permits.”

  Jacob said hoarsely, “I have found the secret wares that Jamal placed in Latif’s care.”

  The camel snorted and groaned and permitted Yussuf to lift the foreleg. Yussuf made a cursory inspection of the hoof, now muttering, “Do I want to know what it is?”

  Jacob hesitated. He had been pondering the very same question since he had made his discovery.

  Yussuf said, “Never mind. If Jamal has kept it from me this long, it is for a good reason. Only tell me this. Has my caravan been carrying contraband?”

  On this point, Jacob was certain. “Neither you nor Jamal have broken laws, Roman or Judean.”

  Yussuf took the knife from his belt and scraped at the animal’s hoof. “Saul and that Judean merchant with
the viper’s face spread all Jamal’s wares on the earth and sorted and searched.” His tone, though kept to a low pitch, held his fury. “They were much enraged when they could not find whatever it was they sought. They kept me far too long, forcing me to travel the hills by night. Thankfully, as it turns out from what you have just told me, Latif’s camels were already far north with you. My little caravan disturbed the sleep of no bandits. Were it not for that pitiful sight of Latif in chains, I might be smiling.”

  Jacob crouched behind a creosote bush, and its pungent aroma filled his senses, strong as the guilt that still battered his heart. “If only I could have done something . . . rescued Latif.”

  “You showed good sense in hiding yourself.” Yussuf’s voice had hardened. “Else you would be chained alongside Latif, and I would be out yet another trusted ally.”

  Jacob’s fists pressed against the hard-packed earth. “You were a stronger man than I was. You stood up to them even when they threatened you with death. While I did nothing to defend my fellow brother in our faith.”

  Yussuf snorted. “Of such things as faith or prophets, I know little. But this I do know. You are free to breathe this night air and walk the lands because you hid yourself this day. But Latif? Though they found nothing they still insisted on holding him. What they were looking for – or what they hoped to find – I do not know. Nor do I wish to. The less one knows in this day . . .” He did not finish the thought but shrugged it away with the dip of a shoulder.

  Jacob decided there was nothing to be gained by further discussion on the matter. “I must carry Latif’s secret back to Jamal.”

  Yussuf dropped the hoof, patted the animal’s side, and straightened slowly. “You will travel to Tiberias alone?”

  “I have thought long on this. If that Judean merchant, the one called Ezra, thinks he knows something, who else might be hunting Jamal’s secrets? I will do best as one poor traveler.” Jacob pointed behind him, then realized Yussuf could see nothing. “I have taken two of your donkeys. Hamman saw me. I said only that I had to report to Jamal, and that I would await your return upon the road.”

  “Hamman is a good man – for a Nabataean. He will say nothing. You are armed?”

  “I have my sword and knife and staff.”

  There was the soft clink of metal as Jacob saw Yussuf bend toward the ground. “A pouch of coins awaits you here.” Yussuf clicked softly and tugged upon the lead camel’s reins. “I fear I will have to walk this final stretch, else my old bones will not let me sleep. Take care, young man. I do trust you know what you are doing.”

  Jacob watched the camels tramp on westward. He remained as he was until he was certain the road was empty. Then he crawled forward and retrieved the purse before returning to where he had tethered the donkeys.

  The hills ahead of him were deepest shadows, the night filled with strange sounds. Jacob kept off the main route, traveling parallel to the Roman road. As the ground started rising into the Judean foothills in the north, the first faint wash of dawn grew ahead of him. The donkeys were stalwart and young, scaling the rocky slope with ease. Jacob continued on until the heat of a new day warmed his face. He led the animals further away from the road, back where a wind-carved gorge formed a natural corral. He tethered each and slipped the loads from their backs. Jacob uncorked a waterskin and filled a shallow depression in a rock with water for them. He drank from the same skin while the donkeys shouldered one another and lapped at the bowl. He filled their feed bags from the load of supplies, checked their tethers another time, and finally unrolled his blanket upon the hard earth.

  As he drifted away, he listened yet again to Yussuf’s words floating through his mind. He then prayed another time that Latif would be protected, wherever he was. Jacob had heard the horrendous stories of followers being arrested by Saul of Tarsus and the Temple guards. Some were beaten and released, others never heard from again. He asked the Lord if it had been right for him to walk away. Though he didn’t hear an answer to this cry from his heart, he felt some comfort in being able to ask.

  Latif was the first to be arrested and chained before his very eyes. He fell asleep forming one more prayer for his imprisoned friend. Whatever Jacob did or didn’t do, Latif was in God’s hands.

  CHAPTER

  EIGHT

  Jerusalem

  Abigail moved silently about, preparing for bed. In the corner of their small room, Dorcas slept as only the young can – totally tranquil and at peace with her world. Her soft breathing was a gentle stirring in the stillness.

  Carefully Abigail lifted back a corner of the blanket and eased her weary body onto the pallet beside Dorcas. Abigail and the other believers had talked far too late. And the day’s final hours had been exceedingly busy. There was so much to be done since their decision to depart. Members of the group were determined to leave Jerusalem at first light.

  Jerusalem. Leave Jerusalem.

  The whole thing seemed unreal. Not what she wanted to do. And yet . . .

  As tired as she felt, Abigail knew that sleep was not going to come easily. Her troubled thoughts and churning stomach would certainly keep her awake. She turned away from her sleeping child and finally gave in to the scalding tears she had held back through sheer force of will.

  I cannot leave whirled through her mind. No one, not even Martha or Alban, could force her to go. Let them leave, if that was their desire. The carpenter had kindly offered his shop for accommodation to whomever wished to stay behind. Somehow she would manage. There was still work to be done. A few of the believers, for whatever reasons, remained in Jerusalem. Who would be left to help them?

  But what will happen to Dorcas?

  Abigail lifted herself from the bed, taking a moment to look at her beautiful daughter and tuck the blanket around the chubby shoulders. She drew a long breath and quietly crept to the room’s one small window, pushed back the shutter, and peered out into the night.

  The sky was mostly overcast, but between those layers of clouds the moon was visible. One lone star shone above the hills to her left. It looked as lonely and deserted as she felt.

  Jerusalem stretched before her, devoid of lights or activity. Even the paved streets lay dark and empty. No merchants moved about, displaying their wares. No ringing hooves of Roman mounts. No shouts of children or bustling of women off to market.

  Jerusalem. Such an angry city. Such a turbulent, violent city. So much stored-up hate and bitterness and strife. So much emptiness.

  For a moment she felt resentment rise in her throat. What had brought them to this state of affairs? Why had so many good people left? Why was she being required to flee?

  She closed her eyes to see once again the face of her beloved Stephen. The man who had loved this city. Who had worked for the poor, the downtrodden, the needy. For what? What had it all accomplished – save to bring fear and destruction and death? These followers of the Way – who were now more than family to her – were being broken up into smaller groups, then being further scattered to destinations unknown. She felt like she could hardly remember those wonderful days after their Lord’s resurrection, the flaming tongues of fire, the wind . . . Where was all of that now – when they particularly needed that strength of purpose, that power?

  I hate you, Jerusalem, she inexplicably wanted to cry out against the city stretched out before her in the darkness, but even in her anger and grief she knew it to be a lie.

  Jerusalem. The beloved. She knew in her heart she would always love Jerusalem. It was her city. Stephen’s city. He had given his life for his Savior – and for Jerusalem. For her people. Abigail realized at that moment that if the same situation, the same choice, were hers, she would willingly do likewise. She laid her cheek against the coolness of the stone and mortar wall and wept once more.

  Her tears this time were a mixture of joy and sadness, of bittersweet memories that she would never give up, and her weeping did not last for long. In the morning, perhaps even before the cock crowed, she would leave
this city. Perhaps forever.

  In spite of her earlier declarations, she now accepted that she would leave with the others. There was no way she could stay. Her reason lay just behind her, sleeping soundly on the straw pallet, curly head resting on the camel-hair cushion, quiet breathing the only song in the night.

  Abigail moved slowly back toward the bed and knelt beside her daughter. She reached out and gently enclosed her daughter’s tiny hand. And she prayed with more fervency than she had ever prayed before. For wisdom. For guidance. For safety. Because the little one lying before her was the most precious part of her world. And her highest responsibility. Dorcas had been given to her for a reason. It was now her duty as mother to care for her, to keep her safe, to the best of her ability. And as much as she wished to deny it, Abigail knew there was no longer any safe haven to be found in her dearly loved Jerusalem.

  The journey from Jerusalem to Samaria began in the wee hours of the morning, most of the travelers on foot. Linux arranged for the animals to be shared, allowing the women frequent rides, particularly Martha. Dorcas had never been further from Jerusalem than the villages beyond the Mount of Olives. Everything she saw was a cause for wonder and exclamations. Sunlight upon cliffs, caverns shaped by eons of wind, hawks soaring in the updrafts. The child met every turn with more excitement. She clung to Linux until her mother scolded her. Then, as soon as Abigail was otherwise occupied, she sidled up close again. First she whispered her question, softly pointing out something new and asking its name. Then she repeated the word over and over, her voice growing stronger. Soon she was once again chattering as swift as the blackbirds. When Abigail attempted again to quiet her, Linux smiled with a small wave of his hand and shook his head. The little girl had captured his heart, along with everyone else’s.