He touched his fingers to the back of Lex’s arm. “Do you mind if I go relieve Sapphira of her burden?” He was extra careful in his dealings with the slave maiden, not wanting to give Lex any cause for concern over the girl.
Lex’s brow furrowed briefly. “Ride Royal and I will catch up with you.”
He climbed atop the saddle, made a clicking noise, and the horse bounded forward. The blast of warm wind to his face was a mere tease. He pulled the horse to a stop next to Sapphira and held out his hand for the lead. “I will take the donkey the rest of the way.”
Passing him the rope, Sapphira glanced up shyly. “Bless you, Nathan. It’s very kind of you.” A red blush showed beneath her pretty freckles.
He still thought of Mary and Sapphira as girls, but they were closer to being young women than children, and he’d do well to treat them thus. He broke eye contact and made his voice cold and distant. “Go. Enjoy the company of your family while you can.”
Sapphira ducked her head, spun around, and took off toward Rumah. The donkey brayed a forlorn complaint. “Hang on little fellow, we are almost there,” Nathan said.
He looked back at Lex. She’d stepped off the road and was picking flowers. Straightening up, she lifted a bouquet of early blooming crocuses to her nose. Stray strands of hair danced around her face. She noticed him watching her.
He waved. “Take your time.”
But she was already hurrying toward him, the spray of flowers bobbing from side to side as she pushed her hair back under her kerchief. She arrived at his side breathless and flushed. Hugging the horse around the neck, she rested her face against Royal’s black mane and smiled up at him. A yellow petal clung to her cheek. “I can lead the donkey the rest of the way.”
The cover of cool reserve she’d worn when they first met had deceived. This was the real Lex. He brushed the back of his hand over her soft skin. “I’m going to miss you.”
Her eyes warmed. “I am glad I please you.”
“I was not just speaking of the nights,” he explained, even as his loins tightened. “I meant you, Lex...Alexandra Onias.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. He hated that she underestimated her worth. That was her father’s doing, and an injustice he planned to redress.
He heard Timothy calling his name, and turned to see the boy racing toward them as fast as his small legs would carry him.
Lex stepped back from the horse. Timothy arrived huffing and puffing. “Nathan, hurry. You have to come.”
“What’s wrong?” Nathan asked.
The boy danced in place. “It’s Mary. She’s spitting mad.”
“Here.” Nathan tossed the lead rope to Lex. “Be firm with the beast and she shouldn’t cause you too much trouble.” He bent forward and reached for Timothy.
His brother grabbed hold of Nathan’s arm. “Hurry, you know how Mary can be.”
He hoisted the boy up. “Our sweet lamb has turned into a lioness, has she? But she just got to the village. What could have happened in so short a time?”
“I don’t know.” Timothy circled his arms about Nathan’s waist. “But I’ve never seen her so furious.” And the little imp ought to know, as he frequently went out of his way to rile his sister.
Nathan turned the horse in a circle and saw his father and Rhoda trying to spur their donkeys on. He stopped beside Lex. Concern filled her eyes. “Mary will be fine. As for the person foolish enough to annoy our sweet lamb...” He offered Lex a chagrined smile and nodded in his parents’ direction. “Please wait for them and let them know there’s no need to hurry.”
Nudging his knees against the horse’s sides, they set off at a lope down the road. “Hold on tight,” he warned Timothy. A slight flick of the reins, and Royal was flying towards Rumah.
Nathan slowed the horse to a trot as they passed under the arched clay gate.
Mary was standing at the threshold of a tidy stone house, pounding her fist against a wooden door. A good portion of the Rumah’s residents stood outside their homes, watching the spectacle. What had gotten into the girl? The house she was assaulting belonged to Bartholomew ben Judah, the grandfather of Mary’s best friend, Tabitha. A town elder and the wealthiest resident of the village, Bartholomew had a habit of pushing his jowly face into everyone else’s business.
Nathan looked back at Timothy. “What did you do to irritate Bartholomew?”
“Me?” The boy’s brows shot up. “I got here and went straight inside the baker’s shop. Old Zeb told me I wasn’t welcome in his shop anymore, and he led me outside by my ear.” Timothy pinched Nathan’s ear in demonstration.
Nathan frowned and pushed the sticky fingers aside. “So why is your sister yelling at Bartholomew instead of pounding on old Zeb’s door?”
Timothy shrugged. “Mary was already arguing with Tabitha’s grandfather when I saw her.” He scrunched his nose up and snarled in imitation. “And I ran as fast as I could to you.”
Nathan squeezed the boy’s knee. “Let’s go see if we can calm Mary.” He jumped off the horse and helped Timothy down.
The door to Bartholomew’s house swung open and Bartholomew stuck his plump face outside. “Get away from my door!” he yelled in Mary’s face.
Did his sister have the sense to back down? No. She went nose-to-nose with the respected elder.
Bartholomew backpedaled. Mary followed. Nathan reached her in two strides and grabbed hold of her skirt. She swung around with her fists up and stopped short. “Nathan.” She turned and pointed an accusing finger. “Bartholomew called you a traitor, and he said I can no longer be friends with Tabitha.” Exhaling a loud breath, she crossed her arms, obviously expecting Nathan to take over where she had left off.
Though he appreciated her outrage on his behalf, she wasn’t considering the cost. Bartholomew had the power to ruin Mary’s reputation. One word from the hard-hearted man and most of Rumah would avoid her like a leper.
Nathan gave his sister a firm look. She gritted her teeth and marched away. “Fine! I will go and visit Judith. I like her grandfather.” She stomped to the next house. Judith’s father and mother saw Mary coming and herded their brood back inside their home and shut their door in her face. Mary spun around, burst into tears, and ran to Nathan.
He gathered her in his arms. She buried her face in his tunic and wept inconsolably. He rubbed her back. “All will be well, sweet lamb.”
Bartholomew frowned. “Take her and go home. You are not welcome in Rumah.” The man’s beefy jowls sagged lower. “None of you are welcome here.”
A loud buzzing filled Nathan’s ears. “You are expelling us from the village?”
Bartholomew eyes screwed up in disdain. “You chose to turn your back on your friends by siding with Herod and Rome. We choose to shut our doors to traitors.”
Nathan’s hand went to the hilt of his sword. Bartholomew’s face drained of color.
A hand covered his. “Son, what’s the trouble?” The sound of his father’s steadying voice stopped Nathan cold.
He let go of the sword handle as if holding of a red-hot coal. Job’s bones! What did he mean to do? Run the tiresome man through over an insult? This whole business with the rebels had him on edge.
Nathan looked around and saw the rest of his family had reached town. He sent Mary to her mother. Rhoda wrapped her arms around the distraught girl and scowled at the gawkers.
Timothy, who had more of Father’s calm nature than his siblings, had taken charge of the donkeys. Fear and confusion clouded his young eyes. Lex stood with her arm wrapped tight about her middle. Nathan could tell from her anguished frown she was blaming herself for the trouble. Plenty of others were at fault: Judas the Zealot and Hezekiah for spilling blood; Nathan and his father for not standing sooner against the rebels; Bartholomew for stirring up the villagers of Rumah against his family. Lex was wholly innocent.
Nathan managed to answer his father evenly, “Bartholomew says we are no longer welcome here.”
“Surely Elder
Bartholomew does not speak for you all?” Joseph asked, gazing around at his neighbors.
Nathan walked to the middle of the narrow dirt road and stared down the fifty-plus families who called Rumah home. They stood beside the doors of their solid stone houses, eyeing him warily.
He could not believe what was happening. Bartholomew was trying to run his family off like a pack of stray dogs? Nathan took his name from Rumah. As a boy he had run up and down this street with his friends, who were now men of influence here. The women of the village had helped raise him, scolding or praising him as needed. He’d learned the scriptures at the feet of the town elders. He attended synagogue, almost daily, with all the men staring at him.
Surely they had an ally or two. “Who among you will stand up for your good friend Joseph?” Nathan asked. No one stirred.
Nathan’s dead mother wasn’t from Rumah, and his father was an only child, but several of his father’s cousins lived in the village. Nathan addressed the eldest directly. “Potiphar?” The stooped-backed man stroked fretfully at his long beard and stared off into the distance, letting his silence speak for him.
Nathan turned in a circle, seeking a sympathetic face. Still getting no response, he tried reasoning with them. “Judas the Zealot is crazed. Someone has to stop him.” To the last person, their faces remained closed to him.
Where was Pinhas? Surely, Pinhas would stand up for him? Nathan twisted back around toward his friend’s modest house. Pinhas and his family was nowhere to be seen. The stonemason hadn’t been out to the farm in over a week, either. Nathan had assumed Pinhas was busy with other matters.
Realization cracked like thunder. His lifelong friend had deserted him.
***
Nathan rode beside Herod, guiding Royal through the large herd of sheep swirling around two shepherd boys. Three weeks spent roaming Galilee, questioning every farmer, shepherd, or traveler they’d come across, and Herod and his band of thirty men were no closer to locating the rebels than when they’d begun.
Nathan dismounted and walked toward the nervous shepherds. The taller and skinnier of the two looked familiar.
Herod stayed in his saddle and spoke to the boys, “I am looking for information.” He shook the cloth bag dangling from his fingers. Coins jingled. “Have you seen or heard anything of a large group of bandits said to be wandering in the area?”
The eyes of the tall, thin boy darted between Herod and the small sack. The younger one screwed his face up in distaste. His sharp, overlarge teeth protruded over his lower lip, making him looking like an angry badger. “We’ve seen none but those we count as friends.”
“Peter!” the older boy scolded, elbowing his companion.
“Saul!” The angry badger turned his snarl on the skinny boy. “John Rumah is my friend as much as he is yours.”
Herod laughed. The harsh bark scattered the sheep. The boys backed up a step and gripped tighter to their gnarled, wooden, shepherd’s crooks.
Peter’s unwitting remark represented the first promising lead of the expedition. Nathan stepped between Herod and the skittish boys. “John Rumah is my neighbor.” He pointed his finger at the skinny youth. “I believe you are Mark the Younger’s brother?”
“I know you.” The boy’s face twisted with hate. “You are the filthy Roman-lover hunting down Hezekiah.”
Nathan winced. He ought to be used to the names people were calling him, but it cut deep each time it happened.
Herod jumped off his horse. “Shut your foul mouth,” he roared, charging at the boys.
The terrified shepherds looked all arms and legs as they scrambled out of the angry man’s way. Herod stepped on the thin boy’s sandaled foot, tumbling him over backward. Saul gave a loud cry and landed hard on his backside, losing hold of his shepherd’s crook. Herod snatched it up and pointed it at the boy. “You need a lesson in respect, dung mouth.”
Hate and defiance simmered behind the tears filling the boy’s eyes. Nathan was just feeling sorry for young Saul when he sucked in his cheeks and spat, spraying wet goo over Herod’s hairy shins.
Herod hefted the wooden staff over his head. “Why you, little...”
Nathan jumped in front of Herod. “Whoa, whoa.” He locked his hand around his friend’s broad wrist. “You won’t earn information this way.”
“You’re defending the little fiend?” Herod tried to yank his arm free.
Nathan tightened his grip. “When did you take up the practice of menacing helpless children?” Nathan made his voice reasonable. “The inhabitants of Galilee are spoiling for a fight. If you take a stick to a shepherd boy, it will only add fuel to their hatred.” The arm under his hand went slack. Thank the holy angels. Nathan released his hold and stepped back.
Herod tossed the wooden staff at the boy. “Watch your tongue. Or you just might provoke someone to cut the vile instrument out of your mouth.”
The young shepherd hugged the crooked stick to his breast and stuck his lower lip out defiantly. Nathan admired the boy’s brave front, foolhardy as it was.
“Find out what they know,” Herod ordered, stalking off.
The shepherds glared hatefully at Nathan. He told them the same thing he’d been telling anyone who would hear him out, “If you see Hezekiah give him a message from me. Tell him if he turns Judas over to Herod and gives up his raiding, he and his men can return home with no fear of being arrested.” The boys’ lips stayed sealed shut. He sighed to himself. These two were more likely to kiss a pig than talk to him.
“Question them,” Nathan told the second-in-command before heading off to where Herod stood under the shade of a wild olive tree. Nathan pulled on the collar of his winter tunic, wishing he’d brought a summer-weight one. Reaching the tree, he plucked off a cluster of cream-colored flowers and rubbed the waxy petals between his fingers. The unusually warm spring had the trees blooming early. Too early. If a killing frost struck now he could lose his entire olive crop.
Herod leaned back against the tree. “The little brats wouldn’t talk to you, either?”
Nathan crushed the sprig of flowers against his palm. “It seems my reputation is no better than yours.”
“You weren’t expecting this, were you?”
“No.” Nathan opened his hand, spilling the ruined buds onto the ground. “And I am more the fool for it. I was so busy warning you to take the peoples’ zealousness for Hezekiah’s cause seriously, I forgot to heed my own advice.”
Herod grinned. “You should see your face.”
“Go ahead and laugh. But you don’t have to live in Galilee for the rest of your life.”
Herod squeezed Nathan’s shoulder. “If it gets too bad for you here...know you will always find a warm welcome in my household.”
The scorn Nathan saw in the eyes of his fellow Galileans chafed more than an ill-fitting sandal, and Pinhas’ betrayal continued to eat at him like a festering sore. Yet here was Herod rallying around him. “You are a good friend, and I appreciate the generous offer.” Nathan stopped to clear his throat. “But don’t expect me to come knocking at your door anytime soon. I won’t be run out of my own country without a fight.”
Herod regarded him thoughtfully. “It sounds like an ugly war.”
An uneasy queasiness filled Nathan. “The sooner we find Hezekiah and Judas the better.”
***
Fresh off the trail from the hunt for the rebels, Nathan couldn’t resist attending synagogue before heading home. Stopping to purify himself, he opened the door leading to the small stone bath attached to the house of prayer which served the whole community. Few families were prosperous enough to have their own baths, and Nathan would be counted among them when his house was finished. He wondered again at the abrupt changes to his life. Where is this all leading, Lord? The prayer was never far from his mind.
The ritual pool was crude compared to a Roman bath. Comprised of side-by-side steps, the bather walked down one set of stairs ritually unclean and walked up the other set of stairs ritu
ally pure. He removed his sandals and washed his feet. As modesty reigned supreme among Israelites, he went into the water fully clothed. The water didn’t quite reach his neck. He dipped down until it lapped against his chin. If it wasn’t considered sacrilegious by some, he’d be tempted to linger. He moved on.
Putting on a clean tunic, he exited the small enclosure and walked around to the front of the stone building. Unadorned and plain, Rumah’s synagogue had nothing to commend it. But Nathan loved it nonetheless. It was a second home to him.
He reached for the door latch. The warmth of the rising sun hitting his back felt good. He stepped inside. Greeted by voices lifted in reverent song, he paused to let his eyes adjust to the dim interior. The singing trailed off.
He checked his father’s seat. Empty. Unease crept up Nathan’s spine. Joseph loved synagogue and came as often as his health allowed. He scanned the benches lining three out of the four the walls, searching for friendly or open faces. A good portion of the town’s men and boys were present, and they all wore the same scowl. Proof his father hadn’t been able to convince any of them to throw their support behind Nathan.
Synagogue was supposed to be a place of sanctuary. Putting the tenet to the test, he took a deep breath and headed for his seat. A low grumble went up. He ignored it and sat down. Pinhas always sat to Nathan’s right, but his friend was nowhere to be seen. Nathan wasn’t sure whether to be glad or relieved. John ben Simon was in his usual spot to the other side of Nathan. He nodded good morning to the stonemason. “Shalom, John.” John’s answer was to get up and move to the opposite side of the room. Nathan flinched.
It was time for the reading of the scriptures. No one moved. All eyes were trained on him. The silence stretched on and on. If none of them would begin the reading, he would. He got up and marched to the wall reserved for the Holy Ark and stomped up the small set of stairs leading to the wooden cupboard holding the Torah scrolls.
“Stop! No!” a chorus of voices called out.
Nathan heard someone coming up behind him. He spun around and came face to face with Bartholomew, the man responsible for making him an outcast in the village. Bartholomew pointed a thick finger at Nathan. “Leave. Go. You are no longer welcome here, Nathan ben Joseph.”
The Warrior (The Herod Chronicles Book 1) Page 16
