Benjamin jabs him with his elbow. “And who was it that jumped out of his skin when he saw that little snake in the last cistern?”
“Little! It was as long as the road from Qumran, and hungrier than me, I’ll wager.”
We all laugh. But suddenly I stop and crane my neck and listen.
“What’s wrong, Father?” Aaron asks.
“Did you hear rocks falling?”
“Rocks have been falling all morning,” Joseph says with a chuckle. “Every time we touch something, rocks fall away.”
But Aaron doesn’t laugh, and neither do I. And by the look on his face I know he’s thinking my thoughts. Has that fox, Lamech, followed us after all?
Our robes are in knots at my feet. We stand in our tunics, dripping with sweat, while the sun glares overhead. It’s the heat of the day, but no one, except me, wants to delay exploring the cistern until it’s cooler. The impatience of youth is often like a runaway chariot, best left to curb itself. There are only three of us to dig. At my insistence, Aaron has posted himself as a sentry, high up in one of the towers to keep Lamech from surprising us again. I know Lamech well enough to understand that he’s a dog who can’t be trusted. At least with Aaron in the tower I feel a measure of peace.
Joseph seems to feel nothing but excitement as he stands grinning and pulling his tunic between his legs. He belts it at the waist. Always first to complain, and first to put himself at risk. He confounds me, this son who is brave and foolish and often annoying. I watch him bend and pick up the knotted robes, then hand the end to Benjamin.
“All the food you stuffed into your mouth last night will make my task the harder,” Benjamin grunts.
Joseph laughs, then taking the other end of the makeshift rope, ties it around his waist. Then he climbs up the outside of the partially buried cistern and lowers himself through the jagged opening.
“What do you see?” I shout, helping Benjamin hold the rope.
“It’s deep! Very deep. And to my left is a large plastered wall, solid from top to bottom; a separation wall. I’ve seen this before in other cisterns. There must be another chamber on the other side . . . but how to get in?” His voice sounds muffled as though his mouth is full of dirt. “The wall still looks well mortared except for . . .” his voice trails off.
“Except for what?” I shout.
“Yes . . . I can see it plainly now . . . a hole, a hole near the ceiling, large enough for a man to crawl through. If only I could get a little closer . . . .”
I hear scraping noises and a thud. “Joseph?”
“There, I’ve lifted myself onto the ledge . . . I can see through the opening, to the other side . . . it’s . . . a shaft, yes, a shaft! The opening is just above my shoulders. If you pull on the rope and I use my arms as levers, I think I can raise myself high enough to go through it.
As Benjamin and I pull, I hear another thud, then groaning, then Joseph’s voice. “I’ve done it. . . I’m through.” And then nothing.
We wait . . . and wait. Finally, when I can stand it no longer I shout, “Joseph? Are you well?” No answer. I pull on the rope. It’s slack. He’s untied himself. “Joseph!”
“Be calm, Father,” Benjamin says softly. “He’s not as foolish as you think. He’ll not take unnecessary risks.”
And so we wait, my mind conjuring up dreadful scenes of what may be happening: Joseph has fallen and broken a leg; a plummeting rock has crushed his skull; the shaft is full of water and he has drowned. I’m getting old. I’m beginning to think like a woman—cautious and fretful. Oh, be careful, Joseph!
It will take two of us to safely pull my son from the cistern, so I can’t go in. If only Aaron were here I’d send him after his brother. And just when my patience is at an end and I’m about to call Aaron from the tower, I hear a muffled voice say through the hole in the roof, “It was dark down there!” The rope jerks and I know it’s Joseph tying himself once again. “Only the hand of Hashem kept me from falling into that well,” he yells to us.
Benjamin and I pull Joseph up. “What’s this about a well?” I say, relieved to see my son, but afraid to show it. It’s not always easy for a father to let his son be a man.
Joseph laughs as he slides off the top of the rounded cistern and lands on his feet beside me. “Oh, yes, there’s a well at the end of the shaft, but between the shaft and the well are stairs, stairs facing east!”
My sons won’t sleep. The young can be foolish in more than matters of love. The sun has long set, and we’re sitting on the first floor of the northwest tower, one of four towers positioned at each corner of the fortress perimeter. A sliver of moon stabs a broken piece of wall. It’s the only light we have.
“What can we use?” Benjamin says. “If we are to dig beneath the steps as the scroll says, we must actually dig inside the well for there is nothing in that space except the well. And Joseph says it’s too dark. What, then, do we use for light?”
“First we must be certain there’s no water in it. We can’t dig if there’s water.” Aaron says.
“I already told you the well is dry.” Joseph’s voice is strained by both annoyance and fatigue.
“How can you be so sure?” Aaron persists. “If it was as dark as you say, then there’s no way to know.”
“It only became dark at the end of the shaft. The light from the hole in the cistern reached at least that far.”
“My point exactly!” Aaron says, sitting cross-legged on the floor, rigidly leaning into our circle.
“Let Joseph explain,” I say, putting my hand on Aaron’s broad shoulder and feeling pleased that my words and touch make him relax against the mudbrick wall.
“As I was saying,” Joseph continues, a bit too cocky, “at the point where it became dark, I dropped to my knees and felt my way forward. That’s when I found the flight of steps and crawled over each one until I felt nothing but air. All the steps, except for the last, were free of debris. That last one was so cluttered with broken bricks and dirt I nearly lost my balance and toppled into the well. Only Hashem’s hand prevented it.”
We all praise Hashem’s name, then Joseph continues. “After making sure the step was sound, I pushed the debris to one side, then carefully felt around. Below the last step my fingers felt a thick lip of stone; below that a wall—stone lined and plastered, and with tufts of dried plants clinging to the cracks. I could reach no further, but I already knew that what my fingers probed was the inside of an old well.” Joseph pulls a clump of dried vegetation from his tunic and hands it to me. “See? I brought this to show you.” He watches as I examine it. “Then to test if the well was dry or not, I tossed in a brick and heard no splash, just the clatter of the brick hitting the sides of the well as it fell.”
“So it’s a dry well. That still doesn’t answer the question of light,” Benjamin says. “We can’t dig inside the well without light. We’ll need torches.”
“Why don’t we just peel back the roof?” Joseph’s voice suddenly sounds drowsy. It’s obvious he wants to be done with this business. But his idea is met with derision as both Aaron and Benjamin laugh.
“Now wait. Your brother might have something,” I say. “If we break into the roof just above the hole in the separation wall we might let enough light into the well for us to be able to dig. It’s worth a try.”
“But Father, we have only those small hammers and chisels and hand shovels Eleazar put in our bags,” my practical Benjamin says. “The mortar in this cistern is still strong and calls for the work of a pickax. It will be difficult to break the roof with our meager tools. Better to make torches; cut strips from our robes and . . . .”
“Without pitch they’ll burn too quickly and it could take a long time to dig through the well. You must consider that, and while you do, I’m going to sleep.” I struggle to my feet, then walk along the wall of the tower searching for a place to stretch out for the night. My son’s voices still dip and rise as I kick away broken bricks from my chosen ground, then spread my robe
for a bed. And even as I drift off to sleep, I hear them arguing.
“Come on, hit it harder!” Aaron shouts.
Benjamin raises his wet glistening arms and brings the small hammer he’s holding crashing down on the slowly crumbling mortar of the cistern roof. “It’s almost there,” he says, perspiration dripping from the drenched rag around his head.
All my sons are drenched from taking their turn at breaking the roof. They have been at if for hours. Since there are still no signs that we were followed, I’ve not taken the precaution of posting a guard. The work is strenuous and we need every hand. Late last night, my sons finally determined the best plan for bringing light into the well was to open the roof, so now they labor at chiseling out the edges of a large circle. The idea is that the weight of the bricks will do the bulk of the work for them. Their hope is that once the circle is partially chiseled and loosened, the weight of the sagging circle will cause it to pull away from the rest of the cistern ceiling.
I think it’s a good plan.
“Watch out now!” Joseph warns. “It’s ready to go!”
Suddenly, the walls of the cistern groan as the weight of the loosened section becomes too great, and bricks and mortar pull away from each other. Then bricks crash and skitter on the way down where they end in a thunderous heap at the bottom.
Amid the noise and swirling grit, Benjamin rolls down the outside of the sloping roof just in time to keep from being sucked in with the falling bricks. The roof did not give way in a neat circle as planned, but pulled other sections with it, sections not solidly held by mortar, including the area where Benjamin had been standing only moments before.
We’re all laughing as we watch dust mushroom upward through the hole; laughing because we’re grateful no one was hurt. And when Benjamin, powdered white from head to toe in lime dust, hands me the hammer still clutched tightly in his hand, we laugh all the harder.
“Surely I should have reached the chest by now,” Joseph complains, scooping more dirt with his shovel, and dropping it onto his robe, the one we’ve been using to haul dirt from the bottom of the well and out through the shaft.”
“We’ll go one cubit more,” I say. “And I’ll dig it.”
“No Father, I’ll do it. But if I don’t reach the chest by then we must try a different site.”
“Agreed,” I say, standing on the last step which juts out slightly over the lip of the well and just above the dirt ramp we’ve built to haul away the debris.
The opening in the roof has supplied all the light we need. It floods the shaft and well. We have each taken our turn digging, then hauling dirt up through the shaft. But we’ve dug so deep Joseph is beginning to work in shadows. Already, my mind has declared this effort a waste and I’m thinking of where to dig next. Perhaps that tower facing the aqueduct? Weren’t there stairs in the corner, jutting out from beneath the debris? But were they facing east? I wasn’t sure.
I watch Joseph work. His sweat has mingled with dirt and now he’s coated in what looks like a thin layer of mud. With every scoop of his shovel, he moves more slowly. I’m about to tell him to stop when he yells, “I’ve hit something.” Quickly, he brushes away the loose dirt and uncovers a flat, hard surface. I peer from the bottom step that overhangs the rim of the well and see that it is wooden . . . and bound with rusted hammered-metal straps. A chest? I look again. Yes! A chest!
“Pull up my robe,” Joseph yells. “It’s nearly full and in the way.”
And so I pull up the heavy bundle of dirt, dragging it first up the dirt ramp, then up the steps, then up the shaft where I finally pour it through the hole in the separation wall and into the cistern below. By the time I return, Joseph has uncovered the chest, broken the straps with his shovel and opened the top to reveal a mound of tarnished coins. With a shout I scramble back up the shaft to where I can see Aaron’s face peering through the opening in the cistern roof. “We’ve found it!” I shout. “We’ve found the chest of silver!”
“How much do you think it’s worth?” Aaron says, staring down at the mound of coins atop one of the robes by our feet. We’re all sweaty and grimy and exhausted from hauling the talent of silver from the well. “All the treasure buried here? What could it be worth?” Aaron repeats.
“It’s hard to say.” I plunge my dagger into the mound, nearly burying the hilt.”
“I’m sure we could have carried more.” Aaron frowns. “You should have let Joseph bring up another robe full.”
“We’ll have a hard enough time with this. We’ll cut up one of the robes, make four bundles and transport the silver that way. Believe me, after an hour of carrying it on your back you’ll begin complaining about how heavy it is.”
“Then let me lighten your load.”
The voice startles me, and when I turn there is Lamech and his men surrounding us, their weapons drawn. But the men hardly give us a glance. They all gape, wide-eyed, at the silver. Only Lamech looks at me, his lips curved like a melon wedge.
“You were as quiet as snakes,” I say, my dagger now pointed at him. “I congratulate you.”
Lamech inclines his head in a mock-bow. “A necessary skill in our trade.” With the point of his own dagger he calmly begins cleaning a thumbnail. “I knew you were up to something. The great general would not be wandering the Judean wilderness, going so far out of his way for nothing. And I was right, eh?”
My sons have all scrambled to retrieve their daggers and now stand battle ready. Lamech pays them no heed. It’s obvious his superior force gives him confidence.
“But tell me this,” his eyes are now riveted on the coins, “why should such a trove be buried way out here in these ruins? Eh?” He juts his chin towards me but seems unable to make his eyes follow. They linger on the mound of silver then flicker, in a back and forth struggle. “There were rumors that Eleazar ben Simon removed the Temple treasure to keep it from Roman hands. Is this it?” I can’t hold his gaze. The pull of the silver is too strong. It owns him now. He runs his thumb slowly over the scar on his cheek. “If it is, then there must be more.”
“The silver is my concern, mine and my son’s,” I say fiercely. “We’re acting on Eleazar’s orders. It’s for the rebels at Masada.” Better to admit the truth, at least in part. It was my only chance of keeping Lamech unbalanced, and possibly dissuaded about more treasure.
“So, you’re not deserters?”
“Hardly,” Aaron answers before I can, his mouth curled with disdain. “We’re rebels still, soldiers ready to fight the Romans.”
Lamech chuckles. “Ah, young son of Ethan, such waste of talent and zeal.” He motions to his men as he stands ready with his blade. “Throw in with us,” he says, looking at me. “We’ll divide our spoils equally, you and me. The roads of the Judean wilderness contain enough plunder for all. A man of your skill would do well. Come, live a life of ease.” The coins draw him once more. “You never did say if the rumors are true; if there was more treasure. But no matter.” He gestures toward the mound. “This is answer enough. Eleazar would not hide just a portion of the Temple wealth and leave the rest in Jerusalem for the Romans to plunder. And I’ll wager you know where it all is, too. Oh, think of it, Ethan, we could be rich men! You and your sons could live like kings. We could all live like kings.”
Aaron bristles, then lunges forward. I restrain him only by pressing my arm firmly across his chest. “Do you really think that’s possible, Lamech? Us joining you?”
Lamech, cutthroat and killer of defenseless wool merchants; Lamech, wearer of fine clothes who snorts and smells like a pig . . . laughs. “I suppose not. We could never tame this son of yours.” He twists the gleaming dagger in his hand. “But that leaves us with a problem. We seek different roads.” He points to the silver. “And both of us want to take that on the road with us. So what is to be done?”
“The matter is already settled. It goes with us to Masada.” Aaron raises his weapon. My other sons do the same.
Lamech points to his men. “Y
ou’re outnumbered. Don’t shed your blood over these coins. Go to Masada. Go and fight the Romans if you must. We’ll let you depart in peace. But the coins remain here.”
Already his men are fanning out, trying to encircle us. There are ten to our four. Still, the advantage is ours. This is our territory. We’ve gotten to know the fortress well. But before I can tell my sons to scatter, Joseph lunges at the two men closest to him, killing one with a quick flick of his blade, then the other, but not before a dagger is thrust into his inner thigh, bringing him to his knees.
It all happens before the rest of us can even move a muscle. Now, the sight of Joseph crumpled on the ground throws me into action. I flash my dagger to and fro in a wide arch, driving Lamech and his remaining men backward. “It’s foolish to continue this,” I say. “We know the ground here. We can hide in places you’d never find. The sun will set soon. You can’t move the treasure off the summit tonight. You have lost two men already. By morning you’ll all be dead. We will kill you, one by one, in the darkness.”
Lamech raises one hand in the air. “Ethan, Ethan. Is this the way friends behave? All this talk of killing. Such a waste. But surely you don’t suggest I leave empty-handed? As you said, I’ve lost two men. Perhaps they were worthless dogs who fought like women,” he spits on the ground, “but they were my dogs. You have so much.” He eyes the mound of silver. “You can afford to be generous.”
“Perhaps,” I say, lowering my dagger. “But not too generous. Your dogs injured my son. Give us your scrips of food and your water skins, then descend the summit. For that, and your two lost men, I’ll allow you to leave with a small bag of coins and your lives.”
“Even now the sun hangs red in the sky. You expect me to travel that steep, winding path at night? Without food or water? All the way back to my wadi? You take me for a fool?” Lamech growls.
“Then come,” I gesture with my dagger, “and I’ll send you to Hades instead.” My sons have fanned out. Even Joseph is back on his feet. Blood covers his leg.
Rebekah's Treasure Page 15
