Mordechai gave him his full attention. “Yes?”
He looked down, hesitating.
Mordechai was surprised to see that he was suddenly uncomfortable. “Is it correct to say that Miriam is not promised to anyone in Jerusalem?”
Whatever it was that Mordechai had expected, that was not it. “You mean betrothed?” he blurted in surprise.
“Yes.”
Mordechai spoke slowly, even as his mind began to race. “No. I have tried to arrange things with two or three of our prominent families there, but Miriam would have none of it.” He sighed. “As you have surmised by now, I’m sure, Miriam is not a daughter who easily submits her will to anyone, even to me.”
Marcus chuckled at that, thinking of some of their conversations.
Mordechai gave him a long appraising look. “Why do you ask?”
It was not Marcus’s way to skirt around things, so he plunged right in. “I know how your people feel about marrying outside your faith, especially to a Gentile, but—”
To his surprise, Mordechai waved that away. “I am not bothered by foolish notions of what is appropriate and what is not.” There was genuine interest now. “Far more important to me is finding the right family and the right circumstances for Miriam.”
“And is the family of Antonius Marcus Didius that kind of family?” Marcus asked.
Mordechai sat back, his face a study in amazement. “I had wondered as I watched the two of you, but I did not dare to hope.” Then he remembered the actual question. “The family of Mordechai ben Uzziel would consider it an honor of the highest order to join itself with the noble family of Antonius Marcus Didius.”
“Thank you,” Marcus said, a rush of pleasure warming his face.
“Does Miriam know you are having this conversation with me?”
“No, nor do I think the time is right to discuss it with her. First, I needed to talk with you. With your consent, I thought we could keep the arrangements informal for now. I am greatly encouraged by Miriam’s attitude of late.” He looked at his palms. “I believe that she has come to like Rome and that perhaps it is possible to work things out between us.”
“She does,” Mordechai said, trying to hold back the enthusiasm in his voice. “She loves Rome. I have been very pleased with this. She has made many friends. And, as you know, she and your wonderful mother have become close friends. And this latest, with you securing the freedom of Livia’s brother, has done much to lift you even higher in her sight.”
“Thank you. I was hoping it would.”
Mordechai sat back, pressing his fingertips together as he thought. “You would have to keep a home in Jerusalem. She would never agree to it if she thought it meant leaving Judea forever.”
“That would not be a problem. I have come to love your land too.”
The Sadducee barely heard him. “Knowing this makes it easier for me should I decide to return without her. She would have your family here.”
“Agreed,” Marcus said, but then went on in a bit of a warning tone. “But it may take some time for Miriam to get accustomed to the idea. I would not want to say anything to my mother at this point. She would be so pleased that I don’t think she could keep it from Miriam.”
“No, no. I agree. I’m not talking about moving things along too quickly. But this would be good. If I have to leave, she could stay with your family. That would be appropriate under the circumstances, would it not?”
“Not only appropriate, but expected.” Marcus was elated. “I would have spoken to you earlier, but I was not sure if there was any hope for me with Miriam. After the last two evenings together—” He smiled quickly. “Well, let us just say that I am much encouraged.”
Mordechai sobered. “I understand the power of the pater familias in your culture, Marcus. Perhaps it is not as extensive in ours, but in our law, the father still has the final say about whom his daughter marries. To this point, I have not been overly concerned that she is not married. There have been no suitable candidates. But while Miriam is of a strong mind, she also honors my position as the head of the family.”
Then seeing the look of concern that had come into his eyes, Mordechai went on quickly. “But there will not be a problem. Miriam likes you, Marcus. Even a blind man can see that.”
“I would like to think so.” He stood. “Then with your permission, along with my reports on Jesus and the situation with Simeon and Ya’abin, I shall send you a proposal on the betrothal terms. Once you look them over, you can adjust them to your liking.”
Mordechai stood and came over to the younger man. He extended his hand and gripped it firmly. “Thank you, Marcus. I have worried much about Miriam, and not just about her coming back to Jerusalem. But also about the direction her life is taking. About her happiness. This removes a great burden from my shoulders.”
“I am most pleased to hear you say that,” Marcus said happily. “I shall sail tomorrow greatly relieved.”
Chapter Notes
Mention is made in this chapter of the Circus Maximus. Circuses in Rome were not variety shows as they are today, but great stadiums. These were designed primarily for chariot and horse racing, though “hunts” with wild animals were sometimes staged in the circuses as well. The races were highly popular among the Romans of all classes. The circus took its name from the circular track that was its primary feature. This ran around a spina, or center island. The Circus Maximus, literally, “Greatest Circus,” was on a flat area of ground south of the Palatine Hill, below the palaces of the emperors. By the time of the empire, its marble benches could seat sixty thousand spectators. Under later emperors, it eventually was expanded to seat two hundred thousand (see Johnston, 232–42). Many people today have a vivid image in their mind of the Circus Maximus from the surprisingly authentic reproduction of the stadium and the staging of a chariot race in the movie Ben Hur.
Chapter 18
Woe unto them that rise up early in the morning, that they may follow strong drink; that continue until night, till wine inflame them!
—Isaiah 5:11
I
In the wilderness of Judea 6 April, a.d. 31
Simeon turned as he heard the shuffle of feet in the sand. The dark bulk of Yehuda approached, then sat down beside him. He looked at his old friend. “Can’t sleep?”
“I did for a few minutes.”
“No sign of Issachar?”
He shook his head. Issachar, Simeon’s second officer behind Yehuda, had left more than five hours before. This was not too alarming. He had a long way to go and much to do.
Above them, the sky was a brilliant canopy of stars. The spring rains had moved east and evaporated over the great Arabian Desert. The night air was cool, and both men had woolen shawls around their shoulders.
“What about the rest of the men?” Simeon asked.
“Mostly asleep. Some are talking quietly about going up to Jerusalem for Passover. They’re excited to see their families again.”
“I look forward to it too.”
“What if this doesn’t work tonight?”
“We’re still going. Ya’abin will be here when Passover is through.”
“Yes,” came the droll reply, “but what I meant is, if this doesn’t work tonight, we might not be going to Passover.”
“If it doesn’t work, we’ll know right up front,” Simeon said, ignoring the jibe, “and then we won’t go in.”
“Why not?”
He sighed wearily. “Yehuda, we’ve gone over it and over it. You know the answer.”
Yehuda grumbled something unintelligible, but said nothing else. Simeon watched him out of the corner of his eye for a moment, then lay back on the sandy soil of the Judean desert. He was far more than just “looking forward” to being with his family. He needed that change right now. He was tired down to the core of his soul, tired of being on the run, tired of living mostly by night, of slinking from place to place, of rarely having the luxury of a fire, of cold food, when he had any at all. To b
e with his family again, in a warm, dry house, without standing watch all night, sounded like the purest luxury. He turned his head to look at his old friend. “If we fail to take him tonight, we’ll take it up to the next step, after Passover.”
Simeon couldn’t see Yehuda’s face, but sensed it was gloomy. “No answer to that?”
“And what is the next step? Stand on the hillsides and spit, hoping the wind will carry it into their faces?”
“You still think this is all foolishness, don’t you.”
“Not all foolishness,” Yehuda grunted.
“But mostly.”
He answered with a silent shrug.
Simeon smiled in the darkness. He understood his friend’s frustration. After their release from prison, the two of them had spent six weeks moving around the Galilee, meeting with Zealot leaders, reasoning and cajoling and pleading, trying to make them see that if they didn’t pull back, it would launch an all-out war, and Rome would win. The time was coming, or at least that’s what they kept saying, when that would no longer be the case, but for now it was reality. When those negotiations were successfully completed, Simeon had spent a week by himself, trying to work out in his mind how to trap the wily Fox of the Desert. Simeon and his band were Galileans. They had been in the Judean wilderness, but it was not their territory. It was Ya’abin’s. How do you trap a fox in his own backyard?
When Simeon had finally worked out a plan, Yehuda had nearly left him. Yehuda was itching to go into action and had the men at fever pitch. There was some justification for his sense of urgency. Pilate had given them six months to show significant results. If they did, they would have another six months. If not, they would be on the wanted list again. Two of those months had already passed. So when Simeon announced that he didn’t need the full band yet, that only he and Yehuda were headed south, his captain and old friend rebelled. Only when Simeon quietly began to pack and prepare to go it alone did Yehuda relent and go with him.
For three miserable months, the two of them were in the Judean wilderness by themselves. They melted by day and froze by night. They slept in the open—rain, cold, and one brief sleet storm. Sometimes they went days with only a few morsels of food. Gradually they let the wandering tribesmen grow accustomed to their presence. In the fourth month, they received their first invitation. The patriarch of the largest clan asked them to dip meat from his common cooking pot. When he asked why they had come and what they were doing, they told him they were there to destroy the hated Moshe Ya’abin. The reaction had been pleased surprise and open skepticism. So for two more months they lived with the Arabians. They slept in the black tents made of woven goat’s hair; they spent their days out with the shepherds until they knew every hill, every ravine. That was no small accomplishment because the wilderness of Judea covered an area almost the size of the Galilee. They picked up enough language to converse comfortably with the Arabs in their own tongue instead of Aramaic. Simeon judiciously doled out money from Mordechai’s fund to restore damage wreaked by Ya’abin on these simple people. Simeon and Yehuda gave demonstrations of their skill with the bow and arrow, much to the delight of the children.
A major turning point came when six of Ya’abin’s band came into camp on the prowl for food and women. They were mean and looking for trouble. They found it. Led by Yehuda and Simeon, the men of the clan drove them off, taking two captive. There was a wild celebration that night; thereafter, the shrewd old patriarch sent word to all the clans. These men were their friends. Give them whatever help they needed.
Yehuda had really struggled through all of that. He understood Simeon’s strategy and grudgingly admitted it was a workable one, but he had no patience for it. When they finally felt it was time to bring the whole band down to join them, Yehuda was craving action, any kind of action. But Simeon was not. He had twenty-one men, Ya’abin had nearly a hundred. So he waged a war of the mind. The cave, the campfire—those were only the opening salvos. Horses had disappeared, their tracks stopping mysteriously in the center of a road. Five times Simeon’s band had picked off men from Ya’abin’s force—two night sentries whose eyes were heavy, a straggler whose horse went lame, the two raiders on the shepherds’ camp, two more men who slipped into one of the villages to get a woman, and a rider carrying a message between Ya’abin’s lieutenants. Eight men was not a major loss, not when you had a hundred, but psychologically it had been devastating. When word came that all eight were in prison in Jerusalem, it shocked Ya’abin and his band deeply. More importantly, it was something tangible to give to Pilate to show that they were making progress.
“We haven’t lost a single man,” Simeon said quietly.
“Nor have we fought a single battle,” Yehuda shot right back.
“Not of the traditional sort. But you have to admit, we’re winning in another way. Our friends report that in the villages the word is the same. Ya’abin is spooked. His men are frightened. They haven’t gone back to the cave since they found the goat. He’s using half his force to stand guard at night, and that’s wearing them down. If what we heard from Jericho the other day is true, he’s even had some desertions. More importantly, the rush to join his band has trickled down to nothing.” Simeon felt deep satisfaction in his summary.
“And at what point do we stand and fight like men, Simeon? So Ya’abin is spooked. He’s still raiding the King’s Highway. He hit a squad of soldiers on the Jericho Road two nights ago.” His voice was a little sharp. “It’s almost April, Simeon. That leaves us less than four months. When our year is up, Pilate isn’t going to be satisfied with us telling him that we’ve given Ya’abin a bad case of the jitters.”
“We’ll make it.”
“Will we?” Yehuda burst out. “Do you think you’re going to convince Ya’abin to give up? Do you think he’ll come forward and surrender, trembling like a child, begging us to save him from the terrible demons?”
“You know the answer to that.”
“Then when, Simeon? When do we stop playing games? When do we stand and fight like men, as you know sooner or later we are going to have to do?”
“When we can turn the advantage in our favor.” Now he was a little irritated. Yehuda knew all this. Simeon sat up again. “Haven’t there been enough funerals in Beth Neelah?”
Yehuda’s shoulders slumped a little. “Daniel is dead, Simeon. Shana has forgiven you. I have forgiven you.”
Simeon’s breath exploded in frustration. “Do you think that’s what this is all about? Me trying to find expiation? Ya’abin still has ninety men. We have twenty-one!”
“Then we hit and run, use Ya’abin’s own strategy against him. Hit him at night. Hit him at dawn while they’re still getting the sleep out of their eyes. Take them out two or three at a time. Cut the odds more down to size.”
“And lose a man or two every time we do? How long can we afford to trade man for man, Yehuda?”
“Every man here came out knowing the risks, Simeon. They want to go home. We’ve been here a month already. They’re tired. I’m tired. If we can put this behind us once and for all, they’re ready to die if necessary.”
“Well, I’m not ready to have them die. There’s a way to do this and keep our losses at a minimum. Maybe even return with no one tied across their horse.”
Yehuda uttered a sound of disgust. “It always comes back to that, doesn’t it.”
“Back to what?”
“To Jesus. You are so afraid that you’re going to get blood on your hands. Come on, Simeon! You can’t have it both ways. Not out here. This is war, and you’re not going to keep your skirts clean while you wage it.”
“For someone who refused to come down to Capernaum and hear him, you sure are quick to decide what Jesus is saying, aren’t you.”
“I saw him in Nazareth. I don’t need to hear any more to see what he’s doing to you.”
Simeon took a deep breath. “Are you ready to take command, Yehuda?” he asked softly.
He whirled at that. “No, S
imeon. You know that’s not what I’m saying.”
“Isn’t it? If you really believe that I am leading all of us in the wrong direction, then you take charge. I’ll step down this very night. I will. I want to go home too.”
The big man sighed heavily. “Simeon, I—look, I know that if it weren’t for you coming to Caesarea, I wouldn’t be here. Barak and Samuel and I would be dead by now. I can never forget that. But this whole thing with Jesus has got your mind so befuddled, you’re not yourself anymore. Where’s the old Simeon who struck from nowhere like a bolt of lightning or the thrust of a javelin? Where’s the man who plunged into battle without hesitation and feared nothing? All I see now is someone who’s tortured by the wrong decisions he’s made and keeps asking himself over and over if what he is doing is the right thing, the best way.”
“If you had seen what I have seen,” Simeon said earnestly, “you would be a follower too, Yehuda. A twisted and withered hand healed in a single instant. A man walking on water like it was solid rock. A huge crowd eating from one small basket of food. Five thousand people fed and twelve baskets of food left over! How can you not believe he is the Messiah?”
Yehuda didn’t answer, and Simeon knew why. Yehuda had no answer. He knew that Simeon wouldn’t lie to him, and yet he could not—would not!—believe what he told him.
Then Simeon had an idea. “Will you come with me while we’re in Jerusalem? I’m sure Jesus will be there. Hear him for yourself, Yehuda. See him for yourself.” He stopped as Yehuda shook his head with emphatic finality. “Why not?”
“One befuddled mind in this group is enough. I don’t want to see him. I don’t need confusion. I don’t want questions. I want answers!”
Simeon sighed. When Yehuda made up his mind, it was like trying to push Mount Hermon a mile to one side or the other. “That’s a great way to find truth.”
Pricked, Yehuda lashed right back. “You want to know what I think? All right. I don’t know how to explain the things you say you’ve seen—”
“Say I’ve seen?” Simeon cut in hotly. “So you don’t believe me.”
The Kingdom and the Crown Page 97
