The Warrior
Wanda Ann Thomas
Copyright © 2013 by Wanda Ann Thomas
Published by Wanda Ann Thomas of Maine. All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
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This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
~ Dedication ~
For my loving husband who always believed.
Together we are living our own
happily ever after.
CHAPTER 1
Upper Galilee 48 BC
The first scream tore away the blanket of quiet covering the rolling hills. Nathan of Rumah’s donkey brayed and kicked up dust. By the second scream, Nathan was halfway up the hill, running toward the trouble. Habits from his days fighting in the Jewish army kicked in. He slowed, pulled a hunting knife from his belt, and crept forward.
Cresting the knoll, he ducked behind a thorn bush. Willing his breathing to slow, he scanned the rocky terrain. The autumn sun shone down on a bald man standing guard over a family. An older man, a boy, and a young woman knelt in the dirt, clinging to each other. Blood stained their clothing.
Movement on the opposite hill caught his eye. A small band of men and donkeys were making a hasty retreat.
Beelzebub, take them! Judas and Hezekiah were at it again. Why wouldn’t his friends listen? Attacking Roman sympathizers wasn’t going to convince the Romans to go home. Nathan had marched beside the armies of Rome and seen firsthand how they dealt with sedition. Death on a cross was a drawn out and excruciatingly painful affair.
Though he’d dearly love to give chase and take a piece out of someone’s hide, it would have to wait. He sheathed his knife and headed toward the injured travelers.
The bald-headed man, a slave, stepped aside. “My master is Simeon Onias. You know him, I imagine?”
Simeon was a priest and one of the richest men in Judea. He wore the austere robes of a Pharisee. What was the religious man doing in one of the most remote stretches of Galilee? Pharisees lived almost exclusively in Jerusalem, never traveling far from the holy city due to their zealous devotion to the Temple and the sacrifices.
Nathan knelt beside Simeon. The frightened man cringed. His son, a youth of about fourteen, wept loudly. The daughter, a young woman of marriageable age, patted her brother’s back. Trepidation filled her eyes.
The air smelled of blood and fear. Though a common outcome of battles big or small, he never learned to like the smell as many soldiers did. During a fight, he’d been as brutal and senseless to the violence as any of them. Afterward, without fail, he was sickened by what he’d done.
He put his hands up to show them he meant no harm. “Shalom. My name is Nathan of Rumah. I am a farmer. I was on my way south when I heard your screams. You’re safe now. I’ll protect you from any further harm.”
The woman sat up straighter. “They took Lydia.” Blood speckled the heavy white veil covering her face.
“Is Lydia your mother?” Nathan asked.
She shook her head. “No, my sister.” She gestured in the direction the rebels had gone. “Please, Lydia needs your help.”
“Silence, Alexandra,” Simeon Onias said. The Pharisee’s face and neck were covered with large, red welts and his eyes were nearly swollen shut. Yet he still managed to scowl at Nathan. “Forget Lydia. Help my son.”
The boy held his face. Blood streamed down his cheek from a long, horizontal cut.
Nathan was having a hard time accepting what he was seeing—the maiming of the boy, the abduction of a young woman, the pummeling of the religious man. This was no ordinary attack. His friends couldn’t have had a part in this.
“Father,” the young woman protested. “James’s injury will heal. Lydia needs help now.”
Simeon’s lips pursed with distaste. “Cease your clamoring, Daughter.”
The young woman winced, but her eyes stayed on Nathan, begging him to do as she’d asked.
“Don’t play the whore,” Simeon accused.
Alexandra ducked her head.
Nathan interceded. “Who attacked you?”
“The leader is called Judas the Zealot,” Simeon said. “Do you know him?”
I thought I did, Nathan’s mind protested. Sickened to his core, he managed a nod.
The Pharisee waved a dismissive hand. “That whoreson is welcome to keep the girl. No self-respecting man will want to marry her now.”
Nathan glared at Simeon. He would love to go after Lydia just to spite the mean-spirited man, but the family’s donkeys had been stolen, and it was a long walk to the next town. They’d do well to reach shelter before dark. Plus, the boy needed to be stitched up. A line of sweat rolled down Nathan’s back. He exhaled heavily. “Get them up, and I’ll go retrieve my donkey,” he told the slave.
The young woman rose to her feet. Despair clung to her like grave clothes.
Nathan’s chest tightened. He was partly to blame for what had happened here. He should have put a stop to the raids.
He took a step toward Alexandra. “I will find your sister and bring her home to you. You have my solemn promise.”
A tremble shook her. Beautiful gray eyes met his. “Bless you,” she whispered.
He admired her quiet bravery. She’d make some man a fine wife. His hand moved to smooth the soft, brown wisps of hair floating about her face.
She tensed.
His fingers curled. The heat must have turned his brain to mush. She wasn’t his to touch. He moved off. Halfway up the rocky incline, he glanced back. Today’s ordeal would leave scars on the battered family deeper than the one on the boy’s face. Putting a stop to raids was the right thing to do. He scrubbed his face. His friends and neighbors were not going be happy with him when they learned he’d finally chosen a side in their damnable rebellion, and it wasn’t with them.
He hated the whole business. Hated it down to his last fiber.
***
Alexandra watched the broad back of the stranger who had come to their aid disappear over the hill. Strong and handsome, Nathan exuded confidence and vitality. His presence was a great comfort. No more harm would come to them while they were under his care.
But what of Lydia? The sour smell of alcohol from the outlaw’s breath lingered in Alexandra’s nostrils. She gagged and clutched her stomach. Dear Lord in heaven, how much more evil would her sister have to endure?
Why, why, why had Father brought them to this remote wilderness? Her father believed a woman’s place was in the home, a principle he normally followed to the strictest degree. Father’s announcement that he was journeying to Galilee and taking them with him had come as a complete surprise. Her sister had been delighted with the adventure, though. From her constant smile, you’d have thought Lydia was walking on the streets of gold in the kingdom of God rather than the dusty roads of Galilee.
Alexandra wished the outlaws had abducted her instead of her lively sister. Lydia must be terribly frightened. But then Lydia would have been forced to cut James’s face. Alexandra swayed on her feet as the image of
the deadly sharp knife slicing into her brother’s cheek played through her mind. Stealing money hadn’t been enough for the robbers. They had played a cruel game, enjoying the wretched fear it wrought.
James gave a loud cry. Father’s slave, Goda, was attempting to cleanse her brother’s wound.
Alexandra moved closer to James. “Take your hands away. The bleeding has slowed,” she soothed. “Let Goda have a look at it.”
“It stings like a burn,” James complained, sniffling, but he lowered his hands. White flesh glistened beneath a wash of pink blood. The knife had cut deep into the meaty part of the cheek, flaying it open like the belly of a fish.
Another wave of nausea arose. Alexandra swallowed. “It will need to be stitched,” she said as calmly as she could.
Father shoved his way between them. He inspected the diagonal cut crossing James’s right cheek, then poked at it with his finger.
“Ouch,” James squawked, falling back.
“Hold still,” Father ordered. James clenched his teeth and submitted to the exam. Father made a sound of disgust. “It will take a dozen stitches to close the cut. You are going to have a scar the length of my finger.”
James’s lower lip wobbled.
Father wrinkled his nose. “This means the ruin of all my plans.”
“Plans?” James said.
Father ignored the question. “You won’t be able to serve as a priest.”
“But all my friends are to be priests. And...I...I...” James began to wail and covered his face.
“Perhaps the Lord has other plans for you,” Alexandra said rubbing her brother’s back as the full implications of the attack washed over her. The Lord’s priests must be without blemish. Poor James. He could talk of nothing but becoming a priest. Now he would never stand at the Lord’s altar.
An annoyed look crossed Father’s face. “Stop your blubbering.”
Alexandra grabbed her father’s sleeve. “Allow Goda to tend to your wounds. I will take care of James.”
Father pointed a finger in her face. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
She lowered her eyes. “Forgive me.” Better he storm at her than James. Though not much older than her brother and sister, she watched over them as if they were her children, a practice she had followed since their mother had died twelve years ago.
Father turned his back on them.
Alexandra put her arms around James. His shoulders shook from the force of his weeping. Her heart ached for him and for Lydia. The horror of the past hour had changed their destinies. All that remained to be seen was the depth and breadth of the damage.
CHAPTER 2
Jerusalem frothed like the sea in a storm. More than one hundred thousand Jews from the four corners of the world, all wearing pure white garments, poured into the walled courtyard surrounding the Temple, eager to celebrate the holiest day of the year. Yom Kippur.
Nathan guided his six-year-old brother, Timothy, to the shade of the south gate. Rumor had it the Onias Family would be making their first public appearance since they were attacked.
Nathan had led Simeon and his children to the safety of a small inn four weeks ago. He’d spent all his time since then searching the hills and caves surrounding his Galilean home, but he hadn’t found any sign of Lydia or her captors.
He’d gone straight to the Onias’s grand home upon arriving in Jerusalem two days ago to report what he knew and had been turned away. Nathan shook his head. Nothing about the matter sat right. He planned to get an explanation from the Pharisee.
The crowd surrounding them buzzed more loudly, then quieted and parted.
“Here they come,” Timothy squealed excitedly, pointing at Simeon Onias riding high on a sedan chair carried by four rugged slaves.
Nathan patted his brother’s head. “Hush, Monkey.”
The thin middle-aged woman standing in front of Nathan elbowed her husband. “I told you. The Onias boy’s scar is bright as day. He won’t be able to be a priest now.”
Nathan flinched. James’s scar hadn’t healed right. It pulsed, ugly and purple, on the boy’s ashen face.
The husband of the loud-mouthed woman stroked his grizzled beard. “Everyone says the older sister cut the boy. Do you think it’s true?”
Alexandra was half-hidden behind the sedan chair. Head held high, her bearing was regal.
The loud woman craned her neck for a better view. “She does have a cold-blooded look about her.”
“Hold your tongues,” Nathan growled through clenched teeth. He admired Alexandra’s poise and prayed the gossips were wrong. Shedding another person’s blood had a way of eating at your soul. If the story proved true. His fists balled.
Onias’s bald slave walked behind the chair holding his master. Nathan pushed through the press of people, grabbed the slave’s arm, and drew him aside.
The eunuch’s wrinkled brow arched. “What can I do for you?”
“Tell me why your master won’t see me.”
The slave held out his hand. He wanted money for the information.
Impatient and annoyed, Nathan clapped his hand to the pocket of his tunic. The leather pouch he carried barely made a bulge, holding enough money to pay the Temple tax and to buy a few essentials. “Go.” Nathan waved the sly man on.
“I take goods as well.”
Nathan made a sound of disgust. “You are as odious as your master.”
The bald man’s smirk slipped.
“Go,” Nathan said again. “I’ll talk to Simeon myself.”
“Master Onias wants you to stop the search for his daughter. He will take care of the matter in his own way.” Message delivered for free, the slave slithered off.
Nathan found Timothy, then followed the Onias family across the stone-paved courtyard and watched Alexandra enter the arched entryway to the Women’s Court. A wide swath opened around her. No aunts or cousins stepped forward to greet her. Thanks to false reports saying the rebels had defiled her and her sister, Alexandra was being treated like a leper. She was adrift. Alone. Friendless.
Simeon and James moved on, careless of her plight. Curse them.
Incensed, Nathan entered the Men’s Court and guided Timothy to the back, to the lattice screen dividing the men’s and women’s sections. He caught Mary’s attention and signaled his sister to join them.
She hurried over. Brown eyes alight, twelve-year-old Mary spoke in a rush. “Nathan, I swear, one peek of High Priest Hycranus and I would have—”
Nathan tapped his finger to the end of her nose. “Hush, little lamb,” he said, “I have a kindness to ask of you.” He pointed. “Alexandra Onias is in need of a friend. Sweet lamb that you are, I am sure she would welcome your company.”
Mary blinked and swallowed. “But the Onias family belong to the righteous. And we farm and own goats and sheep.”
He squeezed his sister’s shoulder. “Here you are, in your well-washed white gown, and she is in hers. Today, you are all righteous daughters of Israel.” He gave her a gentle nudge. “Go on, now.”
He understood Mary’s doubt. Olive farmers and Pharisees lived in different worlds.
Pharisees strived for spotless purity.
Farming entailed tasks leading to defilement.
Blessed with a kind heart and a warm nature, Mary soon engaged Alexandra in conversation. His sister turned and smiled at him, drawing Alexandra’s attention.
Sad, lovely eyes shone on him. There was no sign of reproach on her face in spite of his failure to keep his promise. With such a father, she was undoubtedly used to disappointment. Nathan rapped his knuckles against the stone latticework. He wouldn’t fail her too. He’d find Lydia, with or without Simeon Onias’s permission. But not on his own. Upper Galilee was pocked with countless caves. He’d need help to search through all of them.
A gruff whisper filled his ear. “The Onias girl would make a fine wife for you, olive farmer.”
Nathan turned and grinned at Herod of Idumea. “I heard you and your father were
back from Egypt.”
Black-eyed and dark-skinned, Herod’s large, white teeth gleamed as he smiled back and clapped Nathan on the shoulder. “You missed a good battle, friend.” Then he nodded toward Alexandra. “A high-ranking priest’s daughter is not likely to come more cheaply.”
“I heard she was supposed to marry a wealthy priest, but the man ended the engagement.” Nathan exhaled heavily. To ensure the purity of the priestly line, priests were not allowed to marry women who had been taken as captives. Alexandra had only been held for a brief time, and her father had been present the whole time, but it was enough to disqualify her.
Nathan couldn’t stop staring at her. Priest’s daughters didn’t come more beautiful than Alexandra Onias. It had been a long time since he craved wealth. Her refined loveliness made him wish he was richest man in the land.
Herod crossed his arms over his wide chest. “If her father wishes to gain even half the money he might have gotten for her, he’ll have to marry her off to a wealthy man outside the priestly families, a man with ambition looking to make an alliance with a family of means and influence.”
Nathan stubbed his sandal into the stone-paved ground. “Do you know who might make an offer?”
“She’s a pretty thing,” Herod remarked. “I ought to marry her myself.”
Nathan’s head snapped up. “What?”
Herod laughed and waggled his brows. “So, you are taken with her?”
Not about to admit to it, Nathan offered a sour grin back. “I am horrified for the girl’s sake, not mine.”
The priestly procession moved toward them, putting an end to the conversation. A hush fell over the crowd and faces filled with reverent awe.
High Priest John Hycranus padded by on bare feet, flanked by the Captain of the Temple and the Director of the daily sacrifices. Next came a priest holding up the sacred breastplate engraved with the names of the twelve tribes and decorated with twelve different precious gems, sparkling brightly.
The Warrior (The Herod Chronicles Book 1) Page 1
